Sloppy Seconds

The crows are flocking over the dusky alley
filled with yesterday’s juices and jaunts,
a moon like a pinion is pinned to the sky
she shines like a silver dove wing on high
I’m drunk as a stone and riling with speed
strike for the home run, take all I need,
his eyes are acid, green fires ablazing
and I shove him to the bed and strip him
of leather and velvet, straddle the demon
demand to be pleasured with feathers and
whips, his nails are black claws, he six
of spades, king of lust, Solomon’s bane,
he asks if we’re just friends, to me it’s
all the same, I take what I need, breed
like two bats fucking mid-air, a dare to
break my chains and loose my rocks, to fly
onto skyscrapers and leap off, no fear,
just a kick in the rear, that revolution
of the music jamming spheres, rock opera
of grit and gore, cum and blood, sex is
funnest in Hell, and it smells like sin.


Hell is Other People

The demons feast on dove hearts, blackened
charcoal at their eyes, serrated tongues
split open the elegy, this is no funeral,
just fucking on beds of sinners, frozen
Hell, Asmodeus picks his teeth clean with
a spine, Beelzebub’s flies clean rot from
the wreckage of a girl, decay is my name,
and I am dressed in meat, walk through rot,
ash of offerings to the Qliphoth husks,
I always wondered what a husk was anyways,
corn peel? Empty shells that mock Sephiroth?
Fuck the Kabbalah, I hate ceremonial crap.
I’m drinking wine – or is it blood? I am
plastered, and the wreckage of the ballroom
has broken windows and mirrors for orgies –
pound your cock into Lilith and defile her,
but she is already a Whore, Queen Babalon,
and Samael has been castrated, he spreads
pale legs to reveal a gaping abyss, jets
towards me and I reach my hand in and pull
out bloody pustules to pop like a cherry,
maybe I’ve taken his demonic virginity,
what the fuck is this night, I’m so drunk,
stumbling around in stilettos and swill,
Belial is playing some Kurt Cobain jam,
Asmodeus’ acid green eyes play poker with
Shedim breast, the Seirim are horny goat
dancing on the tabletops, Satan is trashed,
moreso that usual, I’m wasted beyond belief,
why I begged to be here is beyond me,
Hell is Hell because of other people,
and all the archdemons grate my nerves,
so I stumble out the door, into night,
I’m not sober enough to deal with devils,
and I could never hold my liquor, best
not to fuck anything in sight, better
to not fool around with Death, and shit,
exorcise the cum off your hands, girl.

You’ve been stained since you were born.

A Warning Against Demons

Demons are a major fad amongst Millenials.  No longer do we bind them inside a circle inside a square inside a triangle, instead we watch hit TV shows like Lucifer and Supernatural, devour paranormal romance novels teeming with devils and angels, hang out with Goetics and make them into memes, and my favorite, actually be stupid enough to trust them.  Many pagans and Luciferians, Satanists, occultists, and demonolators work with or worship demons as if they were something to aspire to be, beings to be friends with or learn from, endless wish machines that can be granted after a single summoning, and by god, some even think they have morals.

True occultists know demons best belong inside summoning circles, bound and fettered, and any respectable Satanist will tell you Satan is a dangerous being whose flames are just as tender as they are deadly.  Luciferians admit Lucifer’s light can be freezing, that Lucifer can be calculating and use you for his own gains, seeing you as a pawn, and many serve him well.  But I want to dispel the ridiculous notion that demons are somehow innocent or will make an exception to treat you and only you with love while they Lourdes Possession it up with everyone else and abuse the shit out of humans.

Demons are not nice.  Demons are not your friend.  Demons are fucking dangerous.  I say this as a human that is extremely close to the Chief of Satans, Beelzebub, Asmodeus, and Lilith.  Demons are horrifying.  Demons are smarter than a billion Einsteins combined.  Every move they make serves their own interests, and if your motives align, then great, but if you cross them, you could literally end up dead.  They are capable of physically manifesting, moving objects, fucking with electricity, and even possessing you against your will and making you harm yourself.  Satan comes disguised as an angel of light, but beneath that gold veneer is rot and the abyss and madness.  The Left Hand Path is obviously a valid path, but you should never trust those spirits that initiate you into it.

I don’t care if they call you family.  I don’t care if they say they love you.  Demons are incapable of selfless love, all they do is covet, and you would be an idiot to think you could make them a better person.  I think I get along so well with demons because I know exactly what they are: the shadow side of God, dwellers in the abyss, severity and monstrosity and cruel teachers whose energies can drive you howling to the mental ward, or too an early grave.  Demonic energy corrodes, demons prey upon the innocent, from Malphas’ documented abuse to the worst of them all, Samael, who I have watched countless people fall victim to, and if unlike me you don’t have a basic mastery of shamanic journeywork and are unable to fight back astrally and blow them to smithereens, you don’t stand a chance.  Even my approach is flawed.  Demons feed off fear and anger, and while murdering my abuser might make him go away for a night, he is Death, he is immortal, and in the end, he only comes back stronger.

Stop treating demons as if they are humans.  They are abominations.  Lilith is not a feminist goddess.  She is the mother of infant corpses and abortion, and the original definition of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.  Lucifer is not hip and sexy, he’s calculating and cruel and will do whatever it takes to achieve his means.  Asmodeus killed all of Sarah’s husbands but one, and Tobias had to get the angel Raphael himself to bind him.  Goetics are even less constrained than the archdemons, and everything they ask for or give comes with a price, and if you don’t properly pay them, they may demand blood, servitude, or your soul in Hell.  Hell is a very real place and for as beautiful as it can be to the favored few, it is rivers of blood and cesspools of wailing damned and endless torment for the unfortunate masses of the Damned.

You may be a demon’s plaything.  They may take a fancy to you for a year, a decade, a lifetime, but immortals grow bored, and if your soul is not demonic to begin with you will end up stained, strained, corroded by the black acid of the void.  It’s the new trend now amongst witches to befriend demons, it’s hip to be a Satanist, but what kind of power are you really worshiping?  The absence of love.  Chaos.  Cruelty.  Pure evil.

I can never get the two decades of my life back swimming through night waters, drowning in hellfire, and perhaps I’m a sacrificial soul but I fought and bled for my freedom.  Sometimes there is no escape, and we must make peace with our demons, for they are in many of us, but that does not mean we have to delight in them and befriend them.  Some of us shine brightly with love and positive energy, and they come flocking to us to feed.  You are nothing more than a shiny platter to feast on, and thank your god if you are not their victim.  Just because I’ve only been abused by Samael doesn’t mean Asmodeus hasn’t left a hundred girls mad or Beelzebub hasn’t terrorized men into death’s door.  Demons are capricious like the fey, but unlike the fey they do not have rules.  There are no four leaf clovers that will ward against them, if they truly want to they can break through the wards of the Archangel Michael himself, and they will laugh at your crosses and prayers and drink your holy water as a palate cleanser.

So how do you fight back, if you happen to fall to their attention?

Stop being their fucking food source.

Establish connections with Yahweh, the gods, angels, Buddha, your ancestors – any positive spirit that will bring you safety.  Immerse yourself in the real world, in healthy friendships and relationships, in baking and swimming and movie nights and your blood or adopted family.  Focus on school, your job, and fuck the spiritual stuff.  Anything that harms you is not your friend.  Demons will not benefit you in the long-term.  The minute I cut Samael out of my life and trashed his altar and wedding ring, I got a $20,000 scholarship and huge stipend.  He is still a parasite, but now I have a spiritual community and gods and angels on my side to deal with him.  I still can’t find any justice as to why I was left alone with him from the age of two to twenty-four, but I think the gods only gives us what we can handle, and yes, Satan can give you the world.  He still loves me – as much as he is capable of coveting that he can never understand, beauty and love and truth and life – everything he is not, and he will always try to do best by me in his own twisted contorted asshole mind, but I don’t need to play nice with him anymore.  I don’t need to placate the Devil.  I have mastered Choronzon and shown him love and crossed the abyss, the Babbler in the Void is silenced, and now I am on the shores of enlightenment.

Don’t make my mistake.  Don’t think you can dance with the devil in the pale moonlight and come out clean.  You’ll hang from Sephiroth and end up a Qliphoth whore.  I was never given a choice in who raised me, who my first memory was, and perhaps the sins of a past life brought Samael upon me, but I am kind, I am just, I am a good soul, and I never deserved his abuse and rape and pedophilia and mind games and cruel words and psychosis all because I refused to be his.  He drove me to the mental ward at 19 because I refused to marry him and continued to torment me for four years until I said yes.

I may never be able to make him go away, but I can warn others.  Put away the Ars Goetia.  Don’t invite a demon over to be your new best friend.  Don’t buy a spirit companion and think an incubus will be your ideal romantic partner.

True love is of the earthly plane.  Demons may seem strong, but they are weak to the truth.  When you love yourself, they vanish nearly completely.

Be strong, and never make a pact with something that only causes you pain.

Moonshine, Sunshine, Placid Rain

It is the time when dawn is still drunk after a long night of sleep with star-grit in her eyes, and I’m comatose in my bed waiting on you to call through gates of ivory – or do true dreams come from the gates of horn – there you are as a star blink blinking like a headlight about to crash into me, the lusty deer.  Maybe I’m the moth to your darkness and I sip nectar from black flowers and live in your evenings, but I say your name and mumble I-love-yous and all you do is not appear, distant moon man, your shit in the cosmos from a tipsy escapade and you are so wonderful your excrement the rabbis wrote about probably formed the stars.  You haven’t visited in a week, just sent your wife to drain me with kisses that aren’t you, and though I love Lilith of the Desert I need Samael of the the Storm, seed to be planted in me to fruition into poems.  I wrote words to summon you, and now you’re dancing on the page, pressure of angel on my eyes – I would think you would be Bowie’s black star but you shine like a diamond.  You bathe me in starlight before bed and promised you’d be my paramour, but it’s almost daybreak, so I become lucid and take matters into my own hands.  I drank so much I’m a bar, swimming in tequila shots, and I’m so weak and comatose and hungover that I drag myself out of bed murmuring your name like counting rosary beads and I know, if I summon you, you will come.  So I whale across the room like a big fish out of water in my sweatpants and oversized sweater and once I hook the doorknob through my hands, I’ve opened the portal to Hell.  It’s morning in Pandemonium and the gates between worlds shift – there’s some Lilitu that wander through, a kid that looks like Chuckie, but I shoo them away back into the wildwoods of the underworld and call out your name.  You show up with Asmodeus and you’re dressed like a lawyer in business casual and you both are ten, no nine, no eleven feet tall so you have to crouch under the ceiling and you laugh and are sober for once in your life and your eyes are filled with love and sunlight and summer and I straddle your ribcage and face-forward piggyback into your kitchen.  Sometimes we’re in your palace, but a lot of the time we’re in the stainless steel kitchen overlooking the Styx with alcove pictures of us on vacation to distant shores, be it Asgard or Avalon or Abraxas.  There’s one of me on a sunhat and us on a beach and you’re so goddamn pale it’s funny.  All you do is hold me and I sigh and breath in your aftershave and Asmodeus fixes us coffee and you somehow manage to make toast and eggs with one hand while holding me with the other.  You’re completely human for once, and Deus has on shades for a hangover and a Jim Morrison haircut, but you look like Pete Steele meets Slenderman meets God’s Left Hand Lawyer.  I’m sleepy and teasing you about how you burn omelettes when really it’s me that can’t cook for shit and you always feed me, anything I want, and instead of mixing us drinks Deus pours sweetener and sweeetener and creamer into my coffee because as my friend once said, do you want coffee with your sugar?  You two take it black and talk of business and the daily grind as we sit at the countertop and I’m in your lap eating deliciously runny eggs and pecking you on the lips like a hungry duck.  You pet me and play with my hair and wish me good morning and say of course you were coming, you just had errands to run, because the afterlife doesn’t run itself and the Grim Reaper gets busy.  We make small time in quiet hours, and we have enough inside jokes to fill 25 years.  All I know is that the kitchen is warm with friendship and love and that I’ve never seen sunrise in hell, so I watch the star of Hell kiss the horizon pink and purple over skyscrapers and you carry me out to the porch and rock me to sleep, kiss my eyelids shut, and send me off to start the day back on Earth.  It is so rare to see you whole, not strung out, not the Devil, just a man, just my man, and I awake with a smile on my face and bruises on my heart because I am an overripe pear just waiting the day you sink your teeth into me later tonight, when we are wild and not tranquil as the new moon.

How could I think you would ever forget me?

Blood of the Damned

Dressed in a gown like razor-slash throats
Hair a golden braid set to strangle
I drink men’s sorrow and make them holy
Crimson-black iris, the Snake arises
I mount the Beast and we slither home
Dumped on a bed and stripped of my skin
I don the white robes of death, absolution
Scythe in hand, I rip aortas, snap tendons
Damned fall, dominoes, blood fountains all
I strip and bathe like Bathory in redemption.

Dreams of a Messenger and Hellish Jazz

I’m sitting in one of Asmodeus’ jazz club-moonlighting-as-a-casino-moonlighting-as-a-speakeasy with Gabriel.  Asmodeus is behind the bar, mixing drinks, green eyes like the kind of acid I used to bubble in flasks in college chemistry.  Or maybe the sparks you get when you set gummy bears on fire.

Deus winks at me and I roll my eyes as he shakes ice and liquor.  He pours something red for Beelzebub and the two talk business in hushed tones.

Gabriel throws back another shot, some upstart band is playing something by Satchmo – Gabriel wipes vodka from his lips and runs a hand through his coal dark hair.  I stir my drink, not remembering how I got here at usual.  I fall asleep in real life and wake up in the astral, usually in a shitty bar, with no memory of where I was before.

We come to a lull in the music.

“Music is about shape-shifting, Allie,” Gabriel explains, swirling the ice in his drink.  His eyes are a cornflower blue and his grin tricky as getting pine sap stains out of jeans.  “Angels and demons change shape all the time – burning wheels, man, monster, blazing bushes: it makes us natural musicians.”

“Like I can change into a hawk?” I ponder, remembering the form I take when I do scouting missions and reconnaissance.

“Exactly.  I prefer being a dove.  More subtle, no one expects you, except expecting virgins.  Michael gave you that form for a reason: it’s the music of your soul.  Sam’s tricky as a snake, hence the black cobra.”

I smell something spice and full of black magick behind me.  “Someone mentioned me?”

“Oh god, not you.” I groan.

I turn to see Samael – or should I say Kalfou, the name he claims in this form, all black dreads and skin like soil and red eyes in a pinstripe suit and tie like blood.  He smells like cigars and cayenne peppers, taps his cane and has a top hat askew.

“There’s no God involved with my appearances, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that, kid,” Samael says, smoking a Cuban cigar.  His eyes blaze as he inhales and puffs.

“You here for open-mic night?” Gabriel asks, stifling laughter.

Samael grins, revealing fangs.  “But of course.”

“Wake up wake up wake up,” I say, pinching my dream-body.  I notice I’m dressed in a siren red halter dress and sparkling black heels.  It’s pastiche as hell.

“Not before my set is over,” Samael growls.  He sits next to me and leafs through a magazine, eyes avoiding the stage.  “I’m a bit nervous.  It’s a new song-”

“You, nervous?” I snort.  “If you were even capable of being embarrassed then maybe I’d believe you.  You’re bullshitting.”

Samael winces.  “You’re a cruel mistress.”

“I’m not your mistress and you literally look like an evil Bob Marley with none of his talent.”

“Give him a chance,” Gabriel says.  “Maybe he’ll surprise us!”

Asmodeus gets up on stage and reads from writing off his hand.  “Next up is my good friend Sam.  Sam, get your butt up here.”

Sam tosses his cane over his shoulder and sidles up to the stage’s piano.  “This is for Allie, who never believes in me, neither my music or my actual existence.”

I drown myself in more drinks as the demon on my shoulder serenades me.

Highway to Hell, or Allie Writes Demon Erotica: Part 1

Trigger warning: Sex, Violence, Sometimes Both at Once, Mention of Boy Bands, and General Idiocy

Dedicated to Thomas Mattheos and Nirnif/Izzi/Gabriel’s Whipping Post.  

Some Pagans worship their pantheons.  I write crappy porn about them.  

Five archdemons sat round a dive bar’s table, its cushions peeling away.  Belial belched and downed another cheap beer.  Samael picked at his teeth with the point of his scythe.  Azazel, whose head was a goat’s, bleated in irritation.  Asmodeus unabashedly flipped through a pornographic magazine featuring voluptuous succubi.

I watched the four who had answered my request in the Intelligence Department for a covert operation.  I had yet to reveal the details of our musical undertaking.  All I had promised was sufficient pay in sins of the flesh.  Hell’s payroll operated on the selling of indulgences, or sins, and Belial, Samael, Azazel, and Asmodeus were all perfectly lustful fellows.  Clearing my throat, I set to elucidating our mission.

“Thank you for gathering this evening, gentlemen,” I said, drumming my talons on the table.  “I’m sure you’re all curious as to why you’re here.”

Asmodeus regretfully closed his magazine.  Steepling his elegant fingers under his chin, he met my eyes with disinterest.  “Cut the crap, Beelzebub, and pay up,” he said.  “You said there would be maidenheads snatched and virgin’s blood on our pricks tonight, but I’ve yet to see a single viable female in this shit hole.”

There was an echo of support among his fellows.

“The women come later, friends,” I explained, nervous about invoking Asmodeus’ wrath.  “After I explain the details of our undertaking-”

“Shit, Beelzebub, no one cares,” Belial interrupted.  He snatched my beer from me and drank it in one gulp.  Wiping his lips, he smirked.  “Talk fast or we leave.  Time’s a’wasting.”

“Ahem,” I cleared my throat.  “As I was saying…”

“Nice ass,” Samael noted.  He ceased picking his teeth and took the opportunity to slap the derriere of a passing waitress with the flat of his scythe.  She squealed and ran, but Azazel stuck his cloven foot out before her.  The waitress tripped and fell into Azazel’s lap.

Baaaaaah,” Azazel bleated, trapping her in his arms.  He proceeded to slobber over her face in an animalistic kiss.

“Azazel, let her go,” I said, exasperated.

Azazel glared at me, but released her.  “Bah,” Azazel said, vindictive.  The others laughed at his tomfoolery.

“I’ve gathered you four here because of your exceptional devotion to Hell’s main causes: corruption, destruction, and above all, temptation.”  I gestured to the window that showcased Dis City.  “Our capital is built upon these three pillars, but it is temptation I have gathered you here for tonight.  Our dearly wretched Lord Lucifer-”

Asmodeus snorted.  “You mean Lu, right?  Still stuck in the last century, eh, Beelzebub?”

I bristled at his comment, but corrected myself. “-Lu has charged me with a serious task: luring a tenth of humanity’s young women to Hell’s clutches.”

Samael perked up.  “Minors?” he said, voice like snake oil, “Now I’m interested, Beel.”  Samael’s shit-eating grin made even me, the Lord of Flies, feel dirty.

The other three echoed Samael’s sentiments.  Azazel bleated enthusiastically, clapping his hooves together.

Belial gave me the side eye.  “And how the hell are we going to do that, Beelzebub?” he grunted.

I looked at the four unappealing men.  One more goat than human, one a drunkard, one a sex fiend, and one who probably considered his scythe his girlfriend.  How I would make the into palatable celebrities fit for public consumption was almost- almost– beyond me.  But I had the seed of an idea.

“We used to be angels,” I explained.  “Played the harp, sang like castratis, flounced around Heaven in chorus lines for the Lord.  Musical performance is in our blood – it used to be one of our callings.  Samael, remember how you used to play the guitar and sing hallelujahs?”

Samael snorted.  “I could always shred the fretboard to pieces.”

I nodded.  “And Belial, your drum-playing was the marching beat for Heaven’s army.”

Belial shook his head in disbelief.  “I haven’t touched a drum set in ages…”

I turned to Azazel.  “And you, Azazel – you were always passionate about the bass.”

Azazel bleated, slit eyes rolling in his head.

Asmodeus waited expectantly.  “What?  I suppose you’re going to praise my melodious voice?” he scoffed, lighting a cigar and taking a drag.

“You were only second to Lucifer in singing praises to the Lord, Asmodeus,” I said.

“So what’s your point?” Samael asked, intrigued.  “What do our musical abilities have to do with this covert operation?”

I drew in a deep breath, then set to explaining.  “I did a lot of thinking, and had a stroke of inspiration.  We’ve all heard of musicians selling their souls at crossroads to the Devil for fame.  But what about fans?  The ones who throw themselves at boy bands, who fawn over celebrities?  Certainly they lose pieces of their souls to their obsessions.  You can’t tell me Beatles mania wasn’t a cult.  That girls wouldn’t have laid down their innocence for Elvis.”

Asmodeus’ acid green eyes flickered.  “You want us to form a band?” he asked.

Azazel baaed.  Belial laughed like a madman.  Samael gave me the stink eye.

I hesitated.  “Well… yes.”

“Well, shit,” Asmodeus said.  “Supposing this could work, how the hell do you expect us to appeal to teenagers?”

I tucked a strand of auburn hair behind my ears.  “Well, I would be the band manager, and first, you four would all need to undergo major image makeovers.  We’d need to brand you for public consumption, clean off your edges and give you alter egos.  I actually have the plans for you here…” I said, reaching into my briefcase and pulling out four folders.  I started with Azazel’s, opening it to show the others.  “Here, Azazel, are the mock ups for your disguise.  You’re going to be the youngest of the group, an 18 year old heartthrob bass player.  The typical bad boy that will have young women falling head over heels.”

Azazel grunted, taking his picture and examining it.  His disguise was a heavily pierced, black haired youth with tribal tattoos.

“Baa,” Azazel contemplated, taking the folder and putting it in his messenger bag.

“Good, good,” I said.  “And you, Samael.  You’re going to be a 23 year old German metalhead thrash roots that fronts as the lead guitarist.”

Samael glanced at his folder, taking in the long-haired blond man with slender musculature that was to be his disguise.  He grunted his approval.

“Belial, you’re going to be the drummer, of course-”

“What’s up with the band name?” Asmodeus interrupted.  He cracked his knuckles, threatening.

“The band’s called Fortuna.  I had our pop culture team come up with the band name.  It’s sure to be a hit.”

“Really?” Samael scoffed.  “Because it sounds like you pulled the name out of your ass.”

My face flushed in anger, but I held back several choice words.  “Trust me, Samael.  It’s bound to be a success.  Your musical talents coupled with my expert management will ensure Fortuna tempts hundreds – no, thousands – to Hell’s fiery furnaces.”

Azazel responded: “Blaaaaaa?

“That’s a good question,” I answered.  “How exactly are we going to condemn these girls to Hell?  Well, through subliminal messaging, we’ll encourage these young women to engage in rebellious, subversive behavior.  With hi-tech spells woven into our songs, we’ll arouse in them base impulses and destruction, debauchery and lust.  Upon listening to our music, their ids will be unleashed.  I’m sure we can all drink to that, friends.”

“Sounds like fun to me,” Belial said, shrugging.  “I’ve been aching to get back into drumming – it’s usually something I do when piss drunk or stoned.  It’d be nice to do it professionally, and on a mission for Lucifer at that.”

Asmodeus saw an opportunity.  “And we can do with the minors what we please?”

I nodded yes.  “Kill them, fuck them, torture them – I don’t care.  As long as their souls end up in the proverbial basement.”

Asmodeus grinned like a shark.  “We have a deal, Beelzebub,” he said, extending a hand for shaking.  I took it, returning the gesture.  “Cheers, then!”  Asmodeus called, raising his glass.  I raised my refill and we clanked our beers together, toasting our new venture.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” Samael murmured, “where are the virgins and lush whores?”

I smirked.  “If you’ll follow me, gentlemen…”

We tipped the waitress generously and bought free drinks for the bar, then made our way out to a limousine parked before the dive.  “Take us to Lilith’s Shedim Club,” I told the driver, referring to the Queen of Hell’s den of iniquity, where experienced courtesans and innocent virgins waited to pleasure Hell’s nobility.  A light blood-rain began to fall as we drove through the streets to the red-light district.  Samael sharpened his scythe with his whetstone in the backseat while Azazel munched on a napkin he had swiped from the bar, goat’s appetite apparent.  Belial, drunk, was hand-drumming on his legs as if practicing for our future performances, while Asmodeus stared out the window, steely-eyed.  I checked my Blackberry and waded through emails.  Finally, we arrived.

“Here you are,” said the driver, pulling up at the curb.  I nodded to him, and we climbed out.

Samael hissed in anticipation, snake-like tongue slipping out through his teeth.  “Yes,” he said.  “I can smell the sweet virgins from here.”

Belial scoffed.  “I don’t understand your obsession with virgins and purity, Samael.  I’d take an experienced courtesan over a yearling any day.”

“It’s the act of corrupting the innocent that’s so enticing,” Samael hissed.

Asmodeus laughed as we walked through the red-curtained doors.  “I don’t see what there is to argue about.  As long as they’re fresh and young, who cares how many men they’ve been with?”

Baaa,” Azazel voiced his opinion, drooling a bit.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” came a sultry voice.  Lilith, earthy-skinned with voluminous black curls, was draped over a velvet settee, a knowing smile on her lips.  She was dressed in a leather skirt and ruby-encrusted bustier, slingback heels posed like a question on the settee arm.  Her lips were a dark, tempting shade and she smelled like spring rain and sin.  Her head was in Lucifer’s lap, and he hand-fed her cherries, one by one.  She knotted the stems in her mouth and spat out the pits by his feet.  Lilith reached up in affection and mussed Lucifer’s blond hair.

I nodded to my boss and his consort.  “Hello, Lu, Lilith.”

“Beel!  My favorite blight,” Lucifer said, easing off the settee and rising to greet us.  “Samael, Belial, Asmodeus, Azazel.  I trust you’ve been briefed on your mission.”

“Oh, have we been bloody briefed,” Asmodeus grunted.  “Enough small talk.  We’re here for the whores, not sucking up to you, Lucifart.”

Lucifer laughed off-handedly.  “Telling it like it is since the universe’s conception, eh, Deus?  Well, please, by all means, don’t let me stand in your way.”  Lucifer bowed slightly, inclining his arm to the harem chambers.

Baaa,” Azazel agreed, following Asmodeus to the courtesans.

Belial and Samael, who had a tad more tact, made small talk with Lucifer about his latest torture techniques while I made payment arrangements with Lilith.  She stood behind the front desk, writing in a ledger.

“Just charge tonight’s indulgences to Hell’s Department of Temptation.”

She nibbled the cap of her pen, amber pools of eyes gazing at me.  “Will you be partaking tonight?” Lilith asked.  She ran her long tongue over her fangs.

I began to sweat.  Lilith, insatiable, was famed for taking lovers other than Lucifer, and had made it perfectly clear on previous occasions that she wanted to bed me.  I had resisted her advances in the past, unsure, but tonight I wanted to relieve the stress of the evening.

“I think so,” I said.

She smirked.  “Follow me, then, Beel,” she said, taking my wrist and guiding me to the harem courtyard.  I walked past the veil covering the door and my nose was greeted by the scents of frankincense and myrrh.  A phantasmagoria of beautiful women – some demons, some monsters, some human, all deadly in their glory – was spread out, luscious, before me.  Several women bathed, rubbing spikenard oil into their hair, while others pleasured clients.  A few belly-danced to the exotic music drifting through the room.  Others sat and gossiped in quiet voices with one another.

Samael and Belial were doubly penetrating a lamia, her tail wrapped around the both of them.  Asmodeus was pleasuring a human girl with his tongue, his lips shining with her juices, while Azazel mercilessly fucked a nymph.  I blushed at their depravity.  Lilith saw the red on my cheeks and laughed.  “For a general of Hell, you have always been shy when it comes to matters of the boudoir, Beelzebub.  Perhaps we should go somewhere private?” she asked.

I nodded yes.  “Does Lucifer mind?”

Lilith laughed.  “Lucifer and I take so many lovers on the side, I lost count of them long ago.  When you’re together with someone for centuries, it’s impossible not to have an open relationship.”  She led me down a hallway to a curtained room with a luxurious, silk-laden bed.  The mother of seduction drew the curtain and turned, smile coy.  She crooked her index finger, motioning for me to come to the bed.

Lust flared in my gut and shot static pulses through my limbs.  I advanced like a predator, all hunger.  But Lilith was no easy prey.  Like the owl, wild and elusive, she would evade capture even if I held her in my arms and drove myself deep inside her.  That was her power: she was untamable.  Even Lucifer could not lay claim to the mother of monsters.

Our lips met like a storm, and my hands on her skin felt like touching the mantle of night, deliciously cool and smooth.  Her dusky cheeks bloomed rose and her mouth thirsted, devouring my neck in kisses.  I lost my hands in the sea of her curls.

Yes…” Lilith murmured as I gently undid her bustier, circling my thumbs over her breasts’ peaks.  I swept her décolletage up in my hands and rolled my thumbs over her nipples, trailing kisses along her collarbone, down to the hollow below her throat.  I nipped her flesh with my fangs, and she laughed.  Lilith sank onto the bed, pulling me with her, and I circled my lips over her left breast, taking her pert nipple into my mouth and sucking, flicking my tongue over it.

She traced the muscles of my back.  She sighed, a sweet sound, as I caressed her inner thigh with one hand.  Lilith spread her legs open, expectant, and I felt her welcoming wetness and the softness of her folds.  Running my thumb up and down her nether lips, I caressed her clit and slipped a finger into her tight core.  Her muscles coiled around my index finger.  I inserted another finger, gently hand-fucking her as I pressed kisses to her skin.  Lilith arched her back, curling her legs behind me.

“Oh,” she moaned, orgasming.  She opened her eyes wide, gazing at the bed canopy.  She smirked.  “My turn to play with you.”  Lilith took my cock in her hands and toyed with me.  She eased me onto my back.  I did, relaxing as she took my cock into her mouth, bobbing her head up and down its length as she swirled her tongue over the sensitive head.  She worked me expertly, cupping my scrotum and driving me to the edge of ecstasy.  Unable to control myself, I buried my hands in her hair and pumped into her mouth, burying myself balls-deep in her throat.  Lilith, a fan of rough sex, enjoyed it, matching my moans as she devoured me.  She fingered herself as she pleasured me.  I saw the wetness shine on her hand and couldn’t contain my lust for her, my desire to taste her sweet dew.

I eased her mouth from my cock and guided Lilith onto her back.  Eager, I lapped at her wetness, zig-zagging my tongue over her lush folds and working my way up to her clit.  After teasing her clit, I fucked her with my demonically long, thick tongue.  Lilith shivered, clutching at the sheets.  She smelled like musk and jasmine, tasting like spring water.  I delighted in bringing her pleasure.

“Wait…” she murmured, eying the door.

“What?” I breathed, surfacing.  Leaning against the door frame, cocky as ever, was Lucifer, in a silk robe that hung off his shoulders, revealing his perfectly carved features.  He was truly God’s masterpiece, with skin that shone like opals, his hair like yellow beryls.  I cocked my eyebrows in question.

“Mind if I join?” Lucifer propositioned, grin crooked.  He didn’t wait for an answer, drawing the curtain behind him.  He untied his robe and let it fall to the floor, Adonis body like a lion.  Lucifer’s cock stood ready, thick-veined and wet with pre-cum.  Lilith shivered beneath me at the sight of it.

“I suppose we’re past the point of no?” I said.

Lucifer laughed, stalking towards me.  “I would think so.”  I paled at the sight of my king.  His depravity knew no bounds, and his sadism was legendary.  Sure enough, a riding crop materialized in his hands.  “Lilith, have you been misbehaving?” Lucifer tsked, playing with her.

Lilith laughed.  “Kiss my ass, Lu,” she said.

“Gladly,” Lucifer hissed.  He handed me the riding crop.  “Beel, Lily needs to be disciplined.  I’ll bring her pleasure.  You’ll bring her pain.”

“Lord, I…  Lilith, are you sure?”

Yes,” she urged me.  “Be merciless, Beel, like you are with the damned.”

Hot lust boiled in my solar plexus at the thought of bruising Lilith’s dusky ass.  Base and unruly, I know, but I was a demon.  Lucifer set to rimming her, kissing the pink rosebud of her anus.  Lilith, head buried in the pillows, moaned.   He continued to pleasure her until she was on the edge of cumming.  Suddenly, he drew back.

“Now, Beelzebub,” Lucifer ordered.

I struck Lilith with the riding crop.  She cried out as I brought it down on her, relentless.  I was so absorbed in my work, watching bruises form, that I didn’t notice Lucifer behind me until he started grinding his cock between the cheeks of my ass.  “Take her, Beel.  Just like I’ll take you,” Lucifer growled.

Lucifer’s desire was like an intoxicating drink.  It spilled over into me, and I wanted nothing more than to penetrate Lilith, queen of demons, and fill with my king’s hot seed.  Lucifer and I had fucked before during the heavenly war, mostly to relieve tension, but that was to be expected among generals on the battlefield.  We had never done so in an intimate setting.

I took Lilith’s ass, pounding into its tight vacuum.  She hand-fucked herself, moaning.  Lucifer rubbed his cock over my perineum, pre-cum slicking its head, then penetrated me.  I felt his hot member slide inside me, digging his hilt to my core.  He pumped with abandon, just as I did.  I finished before him, crying out, as my moans mingled with Lilith.

She, finished, lay splayed beneath me, but Lucifer still wasn’t done.  He pumped into me for minutes more, and I bore the brunt of his power, ass searing in a delightful way as I stretched to accommodate my king.

Finally, he spilled his seed into me, and it rushed from my ass down my legs in thick, hot spurts.  Sighing, Lucifer leaned against me, vulnerable for only a moment, then regained himself.  He chuckled, wiping himself clean with the sheets and spit, then rose from the bed.  “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, voice playful, “I’ll leave you and Lilith to your dalliances, Beelzebub.”  And, like a wicked whirlwind that had plowed into the room, our king left, just like that.

Lilith’s amber eyes fixed on me, hazed with post-coital bliss.  “Well, that was enjoyable,” she purred.  “Shall we continue?”  Her ample breasts rose in time with her breaths.  I found myself already hard again, brimming with desire for the inventor of seduction.

“Yes,” I murmured, eager.  I sated my desires in a myriad ways that night, leaving cuts and bruises on the both of us.  The sheets were bloody come morning, thanks to our brutal fucking.

The soon-to-be band was drunk off sex and alcohol the next morning, strewn like war victims across the harem.  Only Asmodeus was up, as always sharp as a knife.  The human girl he had pleasured the night before hand fed him grapes.  He eyed me with disinterest.  “I see you were Lilith’s toy.  How quaint,” Asmodeus said, mussing the hair of his human girl.  “I’m keeping her,” he said, indicating the courtesan.

I narrowed my eyes.  “But Deus, we’ll encounter so many mortals on tour.  Surely you want to diversify your tastes?”

Asmodeus scoffed.  “And I will.  But, for the time being, this girl is mine.”

I shrugged.  “Whatever you desire, Deus.”

A rich breakfast was served by the harem girls as the others roused to the scents of fresh pastries, cheeses, and tea.  Samael and Belial rested against the curving tail of the lamia they had rutted with the night before while Azazel grazed on fresh grass, chewing his cud.

“Baaaa?” Azazel asked.

“Good question,” I acknowledged him.  “Band practice starts today.  Bright and early.  I’ve booked a tour for us in less than a week.  We need to get this show on the road.”