(A bit late for Halloween, but what the hell.)
Smoke, hubbub, pounding music, fumes of sweat and alcohol, perfume and colognes, leather and latex and vinyl. It was fairly standard, as Halloween costume parties go.
It was also, he mused, extraordinarily boring. Not a target in sight, not a conversationalist who could keep up with him, not a single interesting individual worthy of attention this evening. Then again, so many of them had gone overboard with their costumes, while he'd favored the understated approach. No pitchfork and bright red-tailed spandex getup here; he'd chosen a sober grey double-breasted suit, dyed his hair black and slicked it back from the temples, added a bit of rouge to his cheeks, trimmed his goatee so it came to a fine point -- small things, really. His one concession to the devil motif was a pair of tiny horns he'd affixed to his forehead with spirit gum and prosthetic makeup. They were barely noticeable unless you were looking for them. But most people hadn't bothered looking, all night.
Wait a second. That looked promising. Oh, she was a looker, all right. Masses of ash blonde hair tumbling around her creamy white shoulders. A figure that would make hourglasses weep in envy, shoehorned into a clinging diaphanous dress of purest silver that left everything and nothing to the imagination. Purest silver in color, it seemed constructed of cobwebs and moonlight. He wondered idly how she'd gotten here without being arrested. Thigh-high slits on the sides revealed tantalizing flashes of leg as she turned this way and that and the full points of her nipples were clearly visible. Clearly she was enjoying something about this party. Her face, though, was utterly impenetrable, inscrutable, revealing no hint of what she was thinking.
And -- what the fuck? -- an argent halo glittered insubstantially over her head. Stranger still, no one seemed to be paying her -- or it -- any attention.
Surely not, he thought. What's she up to?
He sidled through the crowd and touched her elbow. "Pardon me, my dear," he intoned.
She turned, apparently unsurprised. "Yes?"
"As someone in the business" -- he didn't say which one, knowing she knew full well what business he was in -- "I'm curious about the halo. Draws attention, doesn't it?"
"Only when I allow it to," she answered. "Now that I've drawn yours, I don't need it. Does it bother you?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Bother? No, not exactly. It affects me, that's for certain, but not in the way you might think."
She raised an eyebrow of her own in response. "How then does it affect you, pray tell?"
He smiled grimly at her phrasing. Deliberately, he ran his eyes up and down that statuesque body, then -- just as deliberately -- looked down at his crotch, where his excitement was showing rampantly.
The halo flickered and died over her head. Her lips parted and her eyes smoldered. "Ah," she said, articulating the word very deliberately. "I see."
He slid around behind her, arms encircling her waist, leaning in close to whisper in her ear. "Was this your idea, or that of the Presence?"
She sighed and leaned back against him, pressing her softness against his burgeoning hardness. "Mine. I'm so God-damned tired of His holier-than-thou attitude. He created sex, why is He so uptight about it? I haven't been laid in centuries. This is the Night of Mischief; His attention's elsewhere tonight and I figured no one would miss me."
He chuckled and ran his hands up her front, cupping the weights of her breasts. "I've always enjoyed corrupting you types. I guarantee you'll enjoy yourself, if you'd like to accompany me to somewhere more private." He punctuated the last word by tweaking her nipples sharply, and she gasped, her hips bucking involuntarily back against him.
"Yes, I do think I'd like that," she murmured, undulating against him in a manner that was swiftly stoking his interest -- and his passions -- to a high flame. "How shall we do this?"
He grinned, and took her hand. "The bathroom's unoccupied." She trailed after him, quiescent for now. They stepped into the bathroom and he closed the door behind them; a flash of ire seared and sealed the lock. "Don't want to be disturbed, you know," he remarked offhandedly.
He put both hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. "Tell me, my little Seraphim, what do you want this night?" He knew the ritual: she'd pretend aversion for a token time, then cooperate eagerly, the formalities of her protestations having been satisfied.
But she surprised him by dropping to her knees in front of him and drawing down the zipper of his pants. "To worship this," she said softly. "To take in the profane and make it sacred." Her small hands went inside, caressing, feeling the weight and length of his erection; he growled subvocally as her fingertips rippled up and down. "To feel what I've been denied for so many years."
Abruptly she pulled downwards and his pants fell around his ankles. His cock, hard and red, stood out like a prod, pointing directly at her face. She looked up at him then, and there was in her eyes such a look of lust that even he was swayed by its force.
"Or, not to put too fine a point on it," she purred now, "to have you fuck my brains out." Her hand went to his shaft and grasped it firmly. He gasped at how cool and soft her fingers felt around his heated flesh. She began stroking him, gently twisting her grasp around and around, squeezing him downward and then upward, milking the first drops of pre-cum free. Her hot tongue darted out to taste the pearly beads. "Better than pearly gates," she whispered. Her tongue laved his head, spreading her saliva and his pre-cum all round. "Much better."
He groaned and raised her to her feet. His hands roamed now, all over her body, questing, caressing, stroking, and then clenching and grasping hard. The fabric of her dress tore with a barely-audible thrumming sound, and her breasts -- marvels of shadowed rondure -- spilled free. He manhandled them, squeezing and tugging, mashing them together, cupping them, hefting and pulling. She gasped and threw her head back. "Yes," she sighed, "like that. Oh, yes, like that. Harder. Bite them!"
He did as he was told, feeling her hands still twisting and caressing on his cock, now slick with her saliva. Worse yet, he was rapidly losing control in her grasp. He growled deep in his throat as she milked the head, making circles around the mushroom tip. A particularly apt touch drew a rattling, ragged gasp from him and another from her as he bit harder on her nipple. "Christ yes," she moaned. "Oh, fuck me. Wanted your cum first but I can't wait."
"You've much to learn about devils," he grunted as she began pumping his shaft, hard. "We excel at teasing....but we can stay hard as long as we want."
"Ah, so?" she grinned wickedly. "Then let's have it. C'mon. I want that devilcum all over my tits." She began pumping him in earnest and dropped to her knees again, presenting him with a tempting target, working his shaft with enthusiasm and skill he'd rarely felt even from the lower-circle demonesses. He howled his delight as his burning seed erupted and splashed all over her tits, streams and spurts flowing and coating her creamy white flesh with even more whiteness. "Yes, yes, yes," she moaned, working him harder. "More. More! I want more!" He reached down inside and kept it going, erupting and erupting, all over her hands and forearms, all over her tits, splashing and splattering over the ripped remnants of her dress, drooling down her legs and pooling on the floor.
Finally he stopped, afraid he'd drown her before he'd even gotten into her, but she surged to her feet and engulfed his lips in a savage kiss. He felt his hot cum smearing all over his suit and tore furiously at it, wondering why he wasn't as nude as she was, or at least close to it. Buttons flew and cloth fell to the floor as he pulled her hard against his bare chest. "Mmmmmph," she moaned into his mouth. "Need it now. Give me that big hard cock. Want it in me. Now. Now!"
He ripped savagely at the shreds of the dress around her waist, getting them out of the way. In a twinkling he had spun her to face the mirror and slammed her down on the counter. She sang a high crystalline note of pure voiceless need and spread her legs as far as she could; he accepted her offering and drove home into her, hard and deep.
A red haze filmed his vision. This was what he was. He snarled and his hands clenched; the fingernails grew till they were claws. One hand clapped hard on her shoulder, yanking her against him; the other came down with a loud crack on her ass. She yowled in delight and began shoving back against him as he pistoned into her, fucking her deep and hard. And he began reviling her, savaging her with words as he savaged her body: "Slut. Filth. You're all the same -- so pure and holy and good when He's watching, but give you a little taste of the good stuff and you're all over it. You can't get enough. I could fuck you for days and it wouldn't be anywhere near what you need; you'll be begging for more cock even after I've bruised you inside, filled you with gallons of come, clawed and shredded your flesh, fucked you till you were damn near split in two. Isn't that right?"
"Yeah," she gasped. "I want it. I'm a dirty slut. I want cock. I'm meant for fucking. Take me, use me, pound me, fill me. Fuck my filthy hole with that big devil cock. Give me more of that hot steaming seed. I want it so bad."
And he drove into her. In. In. In. Harder and faster. She was gasping, screaming, her hair flying about, her eyes blazing, locked with his in the mirror as he pounded her harder, deeper, faster. Their bodies blurred together, pounding and thrusting in desperate frenzy. Time stretched and flowed, everything in the universe drawn down to this one unholy mergence. They fucked and they clawed and they scratched and they bit. He banged her from behind till the countertop shattered. He threw her against the wall and she jumped onto his cock again, wrapping her legs around him so tight he felt something creak. He drove her to the floor and had her there, leaving claw marks on her shoulders, her waist, her legs, her breasts; she left him unmarked but took everything he threw at her and begged for more.
Eventually even immortal flesh tires, but not without a final climax. He drew her down hard and fast, clenching her ass, pouring his essence into her in a fiery river of pleasure so great it was agony. She shrieked filthy words in a voice made raw by lust and rough use, and he howled imprecations at her, calling her slut, whore, succubus, finally grunting oaths in bastard pre-Druidic language as the pleasure overwhelmed him. They collapsed together to the floor, neither one truly sated yet, but knowing that their time here was done. Such a union isn't meant to be, after all.