“But I’m…”
“Big. Powerful,” I said, reaching down to touch his crotch. “Huge.”
He let out a squeak.
“Mmm. Enormous,” I crooned, stroking him.
He started to pant, and his sweat glands kicked into overtime. Eyes glazed, he said something close to “ahhg.”
My fingers slowly worked their magic—strictly from experience, no infernal power needed—and his shaft swelled in response. My, my. Big Boy here was clearly a big boy where it mattered most. Excellent. I increased the pressure, but kept the movement slow, languorous. Cock tease, thy name is Jezebel.
“Ahhg…”
I mused aloud, “I wonder if my mouth is big enough to take you all the way inside…”
“Ahhg.”
“I agree. Let’s find out.” I yanked the snap of his jeans, pulled down his zipper.
And that’s when a man’s voice called out, “Hello? Anyone here?”
Crap.
Daunuan
One of the rules of Seduction is you always leave your clients begging for more. Unless you’re killing them, that is. (Then you just leave them begging.)
Leaning down over the bed, I kissed my current paramour on her breast, a small press of my lips to the heavy underswell of her flesh. She murmured something nonsensical and then sighed, a smile lingering on her mouth as she rolled over.
Smiling in return, I watched her settle deeper into sleep. She was a beautiful thing—soft where it mattered, and smooth, and altogether sexy. Mortals wouldn’t see the greed marring her soul, staining her nicotine-yellow and condemning her to the Abyss. She was an entrepreneur of sorts: a white-collar criminal who had a knack for creating fake identities and collecting their salaries. Her file said that she’d amassed enough embezzled money over the years to either retire in style or buy herself a private island.
Shame she wouldn’t be doing either. She’d be too busy dying with my name on her lips and her scream in my ears. I could hear it now: the terror in her voice, the lust in her eyes giving way to fear….
Mmm. Shivers.
But that would be in two more weeks, according to the schedule. Until then, it was all about pleasuring her to insensibility. Fine by me. The way I look at it, a lifetime of sin deserves some reward.
Besides, if I had to fuck her to death now, I’d have to drag her soul Below as soon as I was done. And Hell knew, the last thing I wanted to do was wait on line to get admittance into the Abyss. Because after that, I’d have to escort my client to the Heartlands of Lust, where I’d watch her be judged for her mortal crimes. And then I’d have to wait on an even longer line to file the soul claim. Infernal red tape truly sucked bishop balls. I wasn’t in the mood to wait for weeks before my paperwork was processed.
I smiled as I traced the planes of my sleeping client’s face. What I was in the mood for was about two blocks away, based on the strength of our psychic Seducer connection. All creatures of Lust shared the bond. Unless we were distracted—say, entertaining a client—we could sense another of our ilk roughly within a thousand paces. Useful trait when we were looking for a quick fix between assignments.
And in my case, even when I was otherwise occupied, I still sensed Jezebel. It’s been that way for me since…well, since the beginning. (No, not that Beginning.)
I gently brushed a lock of hair away from my client’s brow. Her profile was a vision to behold; her steady breathing was hypnotic to watch as her breasts bobbed up with her inhale, then slowly back down as she exhaled. She was attractive, certainly; desirable, without a doubt.
But she just wasn’t the one I wanted.
Well then, time to go find my favorite succubus. Maybe I could catch her before she finished her client and had to mosey on Downstairs. If I timed it right, she could do her job and we could have some fun before she had to get her affairs in order.
As I rose from the bed, one of the framed posters on the wall caught my eye. My current client was either a movie buff or a Matt Damon worshiper, based on all the ads and stills littering the walls. Ocean’s Eleven, Good Will Hunting, The Talented Mr. Ripley…numerous others. But Dogma stood out in particular. Maybe it was the pseudo wings the actor sported, or maybe it was just the tagline. “Get ‘touched’ by an angel,” indeed. Hah. As if angels knew how to give good touch. They were so fucking frigid they made nuns look like streetwalkers.
Matt Damon, huh? Well…why the Hell not? Jezzie loved to play dress up. So did I, although I much preferred to play doctor.
I let my power wash over me, transform me from a skinny artistic type—my client’s preferred male—to something that would have gone well on her wall: shorter side of tall, short sandy hair, hazel eyes that hinted at blue. Cleft chin. Trim body, with the muscles well defined. Black-on-black clothing, from trench coat to boots. Cute dimple. Killer smile.
Boom: Bourne Identity, infernal style.
Before I left, I magicked up a piece of paper and wrote my client a love note, telling her I’d see her in two weeks. A little something for her to hold onto over the next fourteen days, and a promise of things to come. I didn’t sign it. She knew who it was from; besides, only stupid demons actually sign their names on anything. (All it takes is one time for a wannabe mage to come across your name. Next thing you know, you find yourself in the middle of a protected circle, and some asshole in a dress is demanding that you make him immortal, or some shit like that. Which would be amusing as Hell, except (a) sometimes the mortals actually have a limited magical ability, which is annoying, and (b) magicians tend to repeat on me.)
Folding the note, I released it with a flick of my fingers. The paper landed on my client’s pillow, the corner close to her rosebud mouth. She kept sleeping, dreaming the dreams of the sexually sated.
See you, doll.
Thinking of Jezebel, I headed to the door.
Jezebel
Even as my hands started working on Big Boy’s big boy, I turned my head and listened. Yep, sure enough, there was a person walking around in the main store. Looked like my client was right: he hadn’t locked up. Terrific.
“AHHG!” This in a strangled whisper. How humans can shout when they whisper is their own sort of mortal magic.
Turning back to my client, I arched a brow as I took in his purpling face, the sheen of perspiration flowing on his forehead and cheeks. “Oh, relax. Well, no, don’t relax,” I said, giving him a squeeze where it counted. “Don’t worry.”
“Ahhg?”
I stroked his cock slowly, a counterpoint to his building terror. “It doesn’t really matter, now, does it? A little exhibitionism never hurt anyone.”
“AHHG!!!”
From outside the office door: “Hello? Is someone in the back room? Can you ring me up, please?”
Big Boy groaned and screwed his eyes shut.
I heard the erratic thump of his heart, smelled the sour odor of his sweat mixed with the heady scent of his terror. Yum. Even with the annoying person outside, I would have blissfully given my client a blow job before getting to the bump and grind, but it was clear that his sheer panic was affecting his ability to enjoy our encounter. Proof of that was softening in my hand.
The infernal Seducer’s creed: The client comes first. Always.
“No worries, sweetie,” I said, patting his dick. “I’ll go out there and tell the mean old customer that we’re closed. Would you like me to do that?”
“Aggh,” he wheezed.
“Okeydokey.” I kissed him on the lips, just a quick peck to let him know that we weren’t done yet. “When I return, I’ll make you feel so good that you’ll scream my name, and you won’t give a shit who hears.”
He smiled weakly, then dropped his head as he clutched the edge of his desk for support.
“Back soon.” With that, I left the office.
The customer—a guy in an off-the-rack suit and ill-fitting wool coat—was all but dancing with impatience as he gripped a card in one hand and a small red box with the other. He sp
otted me as soon as I sauntered into the main room of the store. “About time,” he said, clearly exasperated. “Thought no one was going to help me.”
“Store’s closed, sweetie,” I said, walking up to him. I smiled to let him know that if it were up to me, I’d happily fuck him for his inconvenience. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
His face crumpled. It was the cutest thing to watch. “But it’s Valentine’s Day.”
“So I hear.”
“You can’t kick me out.”
“Not my rules.”
“But she’ll kill me if I don’t give her a card!”
Ooh. “Really? Would she stab you, do you think? Or would she be more subtle about it, maybe poison you over a few weeks?” Murder in a fit of passion would be one for Lust. But a slow, calculated death would probably go to Wrath. Maybe I could get a twofer…
His eyes swam in misery. “Please,” he said, his voice breaking. “Please.”
Something in my chest tugged, and I blew out a sigh. “Fine. Just this once, though.”
“Thank you! Oh God, thank you so much!”
Heh. “I’m not Him, sweetie. Come on, let’s take care of you. I’ve got business to attend to.”
He was already at the counter, turning his card just so. Okay, so I had to let him pay for the items. I had no idea how the cash machine worked, and I also didn’t care. As I took the card and the small box with the big piece of chocolate, my fingers brushed his. I pushed my power into him, and he gasped, closed his eyes.
I watched the bliss work its way onto his face. Hey, no one should be so frantic on a day meant for love and lust. Smiling at his reaction—and hello, his erection—I tucked his items into a paper bag from beneath the counter.
“You’re all set, sweetie.”
His eyes popped open. “What? Oh…thanks,” he said, blinking. He looked confused, and somewhat caught in the afterglow. A dazed smile on his face, he took the bag and floated to the door.
I brushed my hands together and nodded. Now, back to—
“You’re open! Oh, thank God!”
This from the skinny woman who just marched through the door…along with two other people.
“Hey,” I said, scowling. “We’re closed.”
“I saw you just ring up that guy,” the woman said, “I’ll just be a second…”
“Miss? Is this on sale?”
“Excuse me, do you have any of those huge Hershey’s kisses?”
“Miss? Did you hear me?”
“Oh, look,” the first woman said, “this mug is perfect, but there’s no box. Is there a discount for a display item?”
“Hey! Are you deaf? I want to know if this is on sale!”
I closed my eyes as I debated whether I could get biblical and do a little pre-holiday smiting. Or maybe just hit them all with my magic, make them all drop to the floor in a puddle of ecstasy.
But slaughtering humans without the proper paperwork meant I’d be up to my chin in Wrongful Termination forms. Ditto for unleashing too much infernal power on mortals who weren’t scheduled clients; one or two people could be explained as collateral damage, but more than that meant forms out the wazoo. Bad enough I’d missed most of the 1990s and the turn of the current millennium, thanks to a little demonic misunderstanding. I didn’t want to spend the next ten or so years in another administrative nightmare.
In the time that it had taken me to come to the conclusion that I couldn’t just bedazzle everyone (let alone kill them), five more people had scampered into the store, visions of candy hearts dancing in their eyes.
Fuck this.
“You all have two minutes,” I growled. “Then I lock the door and shut the lights, whether or not you’re still inside. Ready? Scurry!”
They scurried.
Daunuan
I slipped into the greeting-card store just as Jezebel finished threatening the customers with imprisonment. Me, I would have threatened dismemberment. Then again, she always did have a better understanding of how humans thought and felt outside of the bedroom than I did.
Pit and Paradise, look at her standing there behind the counter, frustration blotching her cheeks, rage simmering in her eyes. Her lips, painted a wet fuck-me red, were pressed together in an angry line, and her arms were crossed beneath her ample—my, my, very ample—bosom. I couldn’t see her foot from here, but knowing my little succubus, it was tapping erratically. (Jezzie was about as patient as a cat in heat. And about as loud, with the right encouragement.)
Whatever form she wore across the ages, whether swimsuit-model gorgeous or next-door quiet beauty, she was always immediately recognizable to me. Perk of our Sin’s psychic bond. She’d know me for who I was as well; if she were a second-level Seducer, like me, she would have sensed me before now.
Hmm, maybe not: she was rather distracted at the moment, too busy huffing at the customers and intimidating them in her adorable way. I could have announced myself to her, but for now I preferred to watch her. To bask in her.
Oh, Jezzie. Look at you.
The very sight of her was enough to make me hard. But more than just seeing her, I sensed her—this seductive presence, a maddening scent of cinnamon and sex…a sound, low and lush, that I heard in my mind and felt in my groin: her voice, her breath, the memory of her laughter.
Her. Jezebel.
Grrrrowl.
It took all of my control not to leap over the counter and slam her against the wall and thrust into her right there. My hands clenched as I watched her carelessly brush a tendril of black hair away from her eyes. I wanted my cock inside of her, surrounded by her, filling her. Now.
But creatures of Hell have rules—ten of them, to be precise—and one was to keep mortals unaware of our true natures if we weren’t taking them to the Abyss for judgment. And my true nature was to fuck everything in sight.
In other words, now was not the time to think with the wrong head. So…control. Deep breath, Daun. (This was a mortal trick, and it usually worked. The infernal don’t need to breathe, but the act of breathing was somewhat relaxing. Rather like meditation, or eating a yoga instructor.)
Besides, I’d gone for almost twenty years without her, all because she’d screwed up an assignment back around 1990. I could wait a few more minutes.
Exhaling slowly, I grinned, allowing my fangs to slip through my false human teeth for just a moment. Soon I’d be inside of her. Soon she’d be writhing on top of me, her claws sinking into me, digging into me with my every thrust.
Soon.
As Jezebel glowered at the various customers scuttling around the store, I quietly scanned them. A few of the humans looked like candidates for future collections, but none of them were clearly marked as Jezzie’s current client. Given how she was trying to kick everyone out, that meant her squeeze toy was somewhere else. Another customer, perhaps, tucked out of sight behind the counter?
No. She wouldn’t have taken someone here in the store if they were just passing through—so that meant the person was a store employee. Jezebel liked to pounce on a person’s home turf. Made them more comfortable, she said. Just thinking about that made me roll my eyes. Like I gave two shits about where I screwed someone’s brains out.
I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. Women. Whether mortal or infernal, they always focused too much on the atmosphere. On setting the mood. The only mood music I needed was my client’s heavy breathing.
Stuffing my hands into my coat pockets, I strolled around the store, throwing looks at people’s chests to see if they sported name tags (and just admiring the view if they didn’t). Heeeeere, person, person, person. Where are you hiding? Did Jezzie get you too worked up to come work?
As I walked up and down the aisles, I took in all of the sickeningly sweet terms of endearment emblazoned on the thousands of cards and toys and candy. Leave it to humans to turn messages of the heart into a commercial opportunity. Rather insidious. I had to admire that.
“One minute,” Jezeb
el snarled to the store at large.
At least three people groaned. One woman whimpered as she pawed through a stack of cards. A man, clutching a stuffed cat in one hand and two embracing bears in the other, looked like he was either going to vomit or maybe have a bowel movement right there in his pants.
All of this, over which gaudy display of token affection was just right. Humans bemuse the Hell out of me.
“All right, people,” Jezebel said, her voice deadly soft. “If you leave before I say it’s time, whatever you’ve got is free of charge. If you can carry it out of here, it’s yours. Free. Sixty seconds, starting now.”
No one moved.
“Fifty-nine,” she singsonged. “Fifty-eight.”
The customers bellowed their glee, and then in a human stampede they proceeded to clear the shelves.
Heh.
As I laughed silently at the display of mortal greed, I noticed a sign by the back of the store. “Employees Only.” Sounded promising. Ignoring human rules and physics, I ghosted through the back door and followed my nose down a narrow hallway to a tiny office.
And what I saw there, lying in a heap on the floor, made me grin.
“My, my,” I said aloud. “Jezzie always was bad at writing her name on her toys. And she’s worse about putting them away when she’s done playing.”
The obese man’s mouth opened, closed, opened again, but only a strangled breath emerged. His face was a rather alarming shade of purple. He reeked of sweat and fear, and something else—a more pungent odor, much more toxic. Impossible to ignore.
“And her timing is pretty lousy today,” I said. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
He whispered something and tried to get up from the floor, but his body didn’t seem to work properly. Poor man. Someone should put him out of his misery.
Happy Valentine’s Day to me.
I hunkered down on my haunches and flashed my fangs through my grin. “Tell me, Trigger,” I said to the terrified man, “what does ‘gift horse’ mean to you?”
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