Hell on Earth 1 - Hell's Belles

by Jackie Kessler

  And here mortals thought that Joseph Heller had invented the Catch-22.

  Maybe it had to do with Lillith not being a proper demon. One of the few humans who transformed into a nefarious entity, Lillith had been the first woman. As in Adam's first wife. Never one to choose subservience, she had insisted on taking the dominant position when they consummated their union. Adam, instead of lying back and enjoying the ride, had bitched to God. What a wuss. Frankly, most of the men I'd entertained had been all too happy to let me slide up and down their poles. So Adam asked God to kick Lillith out of Eden and get with the begating of a new wife. Along came Eve. And everyone knows how well that turned out.

  Adam, like most mortals, didn't know just how good he had it until after he fucked it up completely.

  Lillith, story had it, made her way across the world, offering her body to any creature that wanted her sex… for a price. The Queen of the Succubi was the first real working girl, proving that prostitution, and not motherhood, was the oldest profession since Creation. Lillith was so good at her trade that King Asmodai himself wooed her, and lo and behold, Hell had a mortal woman in its midst. A couple of centuries was all it took to transform her into a demon, but human blood still coursed through her veins.

  A demon queen with PMS. Talk about a living Hell.

  I let the basketball drop to the ground, where it bounced halfheartedly, its movement hindered by the piles of junk in the closet. Especially with Lillith watching me, I had to nail this assignment. Which meant getting my ass out of the closet.

  Letting my eyes glow a malefic red, I set my mouth in a fang-flashing grin and opened the door slowly, allowing maximum squeakage. And then I stepped out of the closet.

  A scan of the room—alcove, really—told me the immediate things I needed to know: The man was deeply asleep in his bed; the man was alone in his bed; the man was a mouth-breather. The last was über important when sucking out a soul; mouth-breathers made the job easy.

  Stop that, I told myself as I slowly walked away from the closet. You're not a succubus anymore. No more soul-sucking kisses. No more seduction. No more…

  Ooh, look at the sleeping man. Sculpted cheeks. Strong jaw. Broken nose. Tangled hair that begged for a trim. Muscular neck and shoulders… lots of chest hair peeking up beneath the sheet. The one arm tossed over his head was wonderfully formed—sinewy without being too bulked up. Yummy. I wondered what he looked like without the sheet covering him.

  No. Bad ex-succubus. You're not here to sleep with him. You're here to scare the bejesus out of him.

  Oh, but look at how his chest rose and fell, rose and fell—so rhythmic, almost as if he was dreaming about sex.

  Taking slow, languid steps, I circled the bed, my hooves muffled by the worn, wall-to-wall carpeting. Queen-sized mattress, but a black rail frame; probably a futon. A white sheet clung to the man's body, outlining his form with its tangled embrace. On the floor in a heap, a thick comforter lay discarded. Maybe the lovely human had a flare for violence and he kicked off his blanket in a fit of unconscious rage.

  There, look at how his muscles rippled, how even in repose his body thrummed with animation—a vivid dream captured him. Hmm. Maybe being a Nightmare had its perks.

  In the window, an air conditioner stood sentry, but even though it was a warm night for late September, the box was off; instead, a second window stretched open, frozen in a yawn. Conserving energy, then—careful with his money. On his beech dresser, a Bose stereo perched, silent, waiting to fill the room with soft tones or throbbing backbeats. Not cheap; a man who preferred to spend his money on things he considered worth it. Nice.

  Looking at his slumbering form, I thought I could be very worth his while. I wanted to lick every inch of his body and watch his face to see his reaction when he woke up with his balls in my mouth. Ummm.

  Next to his bed, I brushed my fingers against the surface of his nightstand. Coming across a framed picture, I picked it up. A woman, young, with short brunette hair. Good smile; thin face. I glanced at the sleeping man, then back to the woman. If there was a family resemblance, I missed it. Sure, it was dark in the room, and not even moonlight streamed in, thanks to the overcast weather. But demons didn't need carrots for good eyesight. We saw equally well through the entire spectrum of light. Made my job easier, especially when more often than not they ended in the middle of the night, with all the lights out. It would be majorly embarrassing to lean over for a final kiss and miss the mouth completely.

  And now that I was a blessed Nightmare, seeing in the dark was a fucking job requirement. Right along with inspiring terror and causing panic attacks, not to mention the occasional heart failure. In other words, Malefic Standard. No creativity, no thoughtful planning, no passion. Just fear. Just my fucking lot in the Afterlife. And it was all because of the Announcement.

  I let out a frustrated sigh. No point in dwelling on what I couldn't change; for the foreseeable future—which meant the better part of forever—I was a bottom-level Nightmare.

  A breeze whispered its way through the screen. The man, perhaps reacting to the windy kiss, stretched his arms and rolled onto his left side. I stared at his back, delighting it its broadness, wondering how it would look decorated in scratches from my talons…

  My eyes gleaming with lascivious thoughts, I cast the picture of the smiling brunette to the floor and glided toward the bed. Approaching him, I saw his face. Beneath his closed lids, his eyes rolled and nicked. His brow wrinkled, and a soft moan sounded in his throat. A bad dream. About to get much worse.

  Wondering whether I should kiss him awake or just shout "Boo!" I trailed my fingers over his jaw. Oh, such a powerful jaw, such sensual lips. How would they taste? Would remnants of his toothpaste cling to his teeth? Did a smoker's shadow cloud his breath? What was his unique flavor, one that mirrored the taste of his soul?

  Beneath the smells of daytime exhaustion and nighttime worries, I took in his musky, human scent. And I grinned.

  Maybe I was a Nightmare, but it wasn't written anywhere that the entire experience had to be terrifying. In fact, the fear factor would be all the more intense if it started out pleasurable. The whole no-light-without-darkness thing.

  So I did what I did best—I climbed on top of him and planted a kiss on his lips.

  His eyes popped open, and so did his mouth. I took advantage of the new space by thrusting my tongue between his lips and running it over his teeth. No toothpaste; just a little sleep fuzz. I held myself over his body with my left hand propped on his shoulder; with my right, I traced slow circles down his chest, tickling his nipple and working down to the patch of hair over his sleepy shaft. Wakey, wakey, sweetie.

  He tensed beneath me as he tried to suck in air through his mouth, except my tongue and teeth and lips were in the way. Crap—he was going to shout, and not in the spine-tingling way.

  Remembering the image from the photograph, I let power wash over me, transforming my red, leathery flesh into pale human skin. Short black hair crowned my head and fell thickly over my dark eyes. My face thinned and my fangs receded. Talons softened into tapered nails. My hooves rippled into small, tender feet. The curly hide on my legs, ass, and pelvis faded to reveal shapely, bare legs, with the smallest triangle of dark hair over my sex.

  I deepened the kiss as my costume settled into place. Once I felt the image lock, I gently pulled away and looked down at his stunned face.

  "Tracy?" His voice, thick from sleep, rumbled softly in the tiny alcove.

  Smiling, I said nothing as I stroked the stubble along his cheek and jaw.

  "Tracy. Tracy!" His voice cracked, as if strangled with sobs. "Oh, God. You're here. You're really here." He wrapped his arms around me, crushed me to him in a hug that should have broken my spine. I felt a shudder run through his body as he pressed me close. I patted his back softly, soothingly, a trusted lover providing comfort.

  He whispered into my neck, "I've missed you so much."

  "Me too." When you don't know t
he speech patterns of the human you're dressing as, your best bet is to keep the conversation short. Even better is using body language for the small talk. Which I did—I cupped his face between my hands and kissed him, letting my mouth and tongue do all the speaking.

  Strong hands covered mine, pulled them away. His eyes searched my face. Brow wrinkling, he asked, "How?"

  "Who cares about how?" I said, keeping my voice pitched low. "I'm here. That's all that matters. Now kiss me."

  Pressing my lips to his, I kissed him as deeply as his closed mouth would let me. Sometimes men thought too much, even in the middle of a passionate act. I figured it came from having two heads; there were bound to be times when the wrong one did the serious thinking. To encourage his gray matter to take a backseat to the red zone, I rocked my hips, bumping against his shaft. Yup, Mister Happy was starting to do his morning stretches.

  He pulled back, a frown pulling at his face. "This can't be happening. You're dead."

  The framed picture on the nightstand; the lack of a ring on his finger, of a woman by his side. The click was so loud in my head that my eardrums should have burst. "So maybe this way you and I can both finally rest in peace."

  It must have been the wrong thing to say. His eyes narrowed, and his shoulders tensed. Then he turned his head away, anger radiating from him like summer heat off of blacktop. "Why now, after two years?"

  "Sweetie," I crooned, touching my finger to his chin and gently nudging him to look me in the eye, "don't think about it. Just let your body do what it wants to do, what it needs to do." I rubbed against him, feeling his penis swell with blood and heat. After kissing his lips again, I darted my tongue across his cheek until my mouth found his earlobe. There I nibbled playfully while I reached down to rub the tip of his erection with my fingers.

  His hands grabbed my shoulders, and before I knew what was happening he rolled me onto my back, with him on top of me, pinning my hands by my head. Ooh, my man liked it rough, eh? I flexed, blowing a ripple of power over him. His eyes widened, and for a moment I thought he saw my true form. Then he kissed me hard enough to make my lips bleed.

  I opened my mouth, and his tongue thrust against mine, dueling more than tumbling, as if he were at war with the passion that enveloped him. Still pinning my wrists, he kissed down my neck, the hollow of my throat, down to the curve of my left breast. Licking the underswell, his saliva tingled coolly on my flesh. I cooed with delight as he gave into the desire raging through his body, as his mouth latched onto my nipple and sucked.

  My back arched from his attention, and I threw back my head and bucked my hips. He moved to my other breast, his teeth grazing the nipple in a dangerous tease just before he gave suck. A wet heat bloomed in my groin, and I let out a moan.

  It wasn't supposed to be like this. I was supposed to be doing the seducing. "Let my hands go," I whispered, "and I'll ride you until you explode."

  He released my breast and paused, his gaze locked on mine. His eyes were dark with passion, but through the haze of lust, something glittered brightly, something I couldn't place. "You're not Tracy."

  Lie, or tell the truth? Meet him halfway. "No, sweetie. I'm a dream."

  Pushing his cock hard against my belly, he said, "This is no dream. You're here, you're real." He pushed again, and I felt his erection straining to burst from his shorts. His voice gruff, he said, "Who are you?"

  "For now, I'm your lover." Wrapping my legs around his torso, I pulled his body down to mine. With a flick of my wrists, I freed my hands and grabbed his hair. Then I yanked his head to mine and I kissed him deeply, imagining the taste of his soul against my lips. He rocked his hips, all hesitation gone as his movement increased in speed, in force.

  Yes, sweetie. That's right. Fuck me hard.

  Just as I was about to pull off his pajama shorts with my toes, Lillith's voice screeched in my mind: YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO SCARE HIM, NOT SEDUCE HIM! TERRIFY HIM NOW, OR I'LL SEND YOU TO THE LAKE OF FIRE FOR A CENTURY!

  Her words sliced through my mind, lacerating my thoughts. My physical shell reacted to the psychic attack, and I shook violently, my teeth chattering loudly.

  "What's wrong?"

  I looked up at the man straddling me, biting my lip to keep my teeth from clattering out of my mouth. That made me shiver even harder.

  A calloused hand stroked my cheek. His eyes brimming with concern, he said, "You're trembling."

  Even awash in my power, the man had pulled himself out of his burning hunger—a hunger that should have been consuming his will—to ask me if I was all right. His compassion stunned me beyond my ability to speak. Something loosened in my chest, and I struggled to understand the emotion filling me to the breaking point.

  No, this was wrong. I was a demon. I didn't feel things for people… for flesh puppets. I used them and discarded them, I collected their souls like trading cards.

  I didn't care about them.

  I didn't

  In my mind, His words echoed, disdainful and full of scorn: You are too soft.

  Oh, bless me six ways to Salvation, He'd been right.

  "Please," the man said, his hand stroking my face. "You're crying. Did I hurt you?"

  Momentarily flummoxed, I gazed into his eyes, his beautiful sea-green eyes, and said, "I'm so sorry."

  Then I shrieked, releasing my confusion, my fear, my shame—and my mouth and chest erupted in blood as if my heart had exploded. Maybe it had. Nothing made sense anymore.

  Above me, the man's screams joined my own, his terror and agony riding the cool September breeze. My blood splattered his face and chest, baptizing him in horror.

  His anguished cries echoed in my ears, even after I materialized in Pandemonium.

  Better, Lillith whispered. Go file the case as complete.

  Shivering, I reached up and touched dampness on my face, but in the red-tinged heat of Hell, I didn't know if it was blood or tears that stained my fingertips.

  I took a step toward the administrative wing of Pandemonium, then another, and then my feet stopped. My human feet; I hadn't shed my costume.

  An eternity of this.

  Forever and ever, wondering what side I was really on.

  King Lucifer's sad eyes, telling me something that I couldn't understand. King Lucifer's kiss, lingering on my lips.

  The King of Hell, telling us…

  Cutting off the thought, I turned away from the administrative wing and marched out of Pandemonium, heading toward the Gates. I didn't know where I was going, but one thing was certain: I couldn't stay in Hell any longer.

  Chapter 18

  Belles (II)

  "Okay," I said, shutting the door to the VIP room, "it's your dime. What's your flavor—striptease or private dance?"

  "How about we just talk?"

  I flounced over to one of the plush fake-leather sofas and sank down, crossing my legs and my arms. Me defensive? Never. "Okay, sweetie. Talk."

  With a deep sigh, Paul ambled over and sat next to me—within slapping distance, but a bit of a stretch for swapping spit. "I want to talk about what happened earlier today."

  "You mean when you had my heart for breakfast then puked it all over my new shoes?"

  "Christ, Jesse, will you stop being pissed off so that I can just talk?"

  That quenched the fire in my gut. Softening, I said, "Okay."

  He ran his fingers through his hair, away from his face. I wondered what he'd look like with long hair crashing over his shoulders, wearing a leather duster instead of a suit jacket. Not meeting my eyes, he said, "You caught me off-guard before. I really just meant to comfort you, to let you know that I heard you. And then you were all over me like a kid on candy."

  Taking a deep breath, he continued, "And it was just as sweet. God, you have no idea how desirable you are." Blinking, his lips quirked into a smile. "What'm I saying? Look at where you're working. Of course you have an idea."

  I wanted to raise my eyebrows in amusement, to let him know that I got he was trying to cut t
he tension. But I was still too angry with him; the fire sparked once again into a steady simmer, one that could either suddenly boil over or die out completely, depending on how it was fed. So instead of encouraging him, I stared, hard, waiting for his next words.

  "But the timing was damned lousy. You'd just bared your soul to me—how could I take advantage of that?"

  I couldn't help it; I let out an angry laugh. Baring my soul was pretty damn easy, considering I didn't have one. "I told you it was okay. I begged you to take advantage."

  "I know. I was there. But I couldn't do that to you."

  "Why?"

  "Because there are some things you just don't do. It's in the rulebook. You don't make a play on a woman you really like when she's drunk or depressed."

  I swung my leg as I considered his words. "You have a rule-book?"

  "Of course we do. Comes with the union card. I think it's chapter eight: Times When You Never, Ever Make a Pass."

  Despite my best efforts, the right side of my mouth lifted up into a half-smile. "Isn't that chapter six?"

  Clucking his tongue, he said, "Man, someone let you see the book? One of the rules is never to show the rulebook to a woman."

  Now my entire mouth was in on the smile. "I can be very persuasive."

  "I know."

  Crap. Full circle again. My smile deflated until it flapped off of my face.

  "It'd be different if I just wanted something physical with you." His mouth twisted into a tight grin. "If it was just about sex, that'd be a no-brainer. I'd never have walked out of that hotel room."

  "But you did," I said.

  "But I did. Because I don't want it just to be about a quick fling and making plans that never happen."

  "You're not into casual," I said. "I get it."

  "No, you don't. It's been a long time, Jesse." His voice was so low, so soft, that I had a hard time hearing it over the Pink tune blaring from the overhead speaker. "I've had plenty of casual nights. But only one real relationship. And that ended two years ago."