“Hey, are you the devil?” she asked as she flipped her dyed black hair out of her eyes. She had one of those German-Berlin goth girl looks. You know, the pantomime done right? Like Brandon Lee’s hot ex-girlfriend came up to you at his funeral and looked for some strings-free emotional release. Man, if you never have been come on to at wake, you haven’t been at many funerals in large families. She looked like Aunt Vicki who was forty and recently widowed.
I put down my harmonica that I always played at the cross roads to call out the idiotic new agers who still believed in this crap. It was the investment that I was lead proud of, but it was always a lucrative one. People always love to find shortcuts to true happiness. Eventually, cyclically, rhtymically, they will return this old idea. Every so often, I got to come to earth and collect. It can’t all just be atheists and scientists. I mean, a demon’s got to have some variety.
“If you are here, now, you know precisely who I am.” I breathed over the lip of my Hohner and set it down in my lap. She looked like one of those combative ones. She had those big eyes with real well done makeup. Not only did she slave over her appearance, but she slaved over every artistic technique required to render black on black in gray and make it look good. Monochrome paletes required to pay attention to your fabric and its finish. She had those perfectly sculpted lips with the shape and the shading in perfect. A black whole in the universe but surround by the light of twirling stars.
She wore a choker. Apparently, they were all the rage again. Like anyone on instagram would ever recognize how it was supposed to mimic a priests collar or be a subtle jab a BDSM life style. This little strip of fabric that I am a self-actualized slut who is perfectly ok with her gender and perfectly against the patrimony. But, like the rest of her look, she pulled it off.
At least she didn’t wear a corset. I had no idea why any of the people went through to get dressed up to get fucked. At a certain point, you don’t need to get any sexier. It’s not a stage production. You’re not getting married; you’re picking up some rando at a warehouse part. She wore a sensible black dress with black lace sleeves that extended over the should down toward her bosom. The lace had the intricate details of flowers up close, but they looked like lines of lightning whenever she moved. A gothic overtown that did not risk going out of date with the next revolution of the fashion social mechanism. The tides of what to wear could come and go and she’d still look timeless. I do love a practical woman.
Even beneath the dress, her figure stood out. She had that right balance of medium sized tits and definitive ass. Nothing against fat or skinny girls as comfortable with themselves, but I still have a favorite flavor, you know. Nothing judgmental beyond my personal taste and she more than satisfied my pallete.
“Yeah.” She said and stuck the to of her thigh-high boot and drove the metal toe into gray dirt beneath the crossroads. “I want you to kill someone.” Nice. She was staight to the point.
“Oh, I see. Someone specific in mind?” I arched an eyebrow as she drew close paced around me. She twirled in an informal pierotte and the hem of her skirt lifted ever so slightly and she sidled real close. Draping her arms over my shoulders, she whispered up into my ear. She bit my lobe and murmurred, “Donald Trump.”
“Oh, I don’t really dabble in politics.” There’s way to much competition in that realm. With the utter immorality of your average Washington bureaucrat, what the hell am I going to do? Start wars? Kill people with robots?"
“Oh, I don’t care about the election.” She grabbed the lapels of his jacket. “It’s to get back at his son. See, my dad’s their lawyer. I overheard one of his business meetings because he didn’t think I could hear. See, he forgot I had come home college. They’re out of the will.”
“So, my dad said Ivonna hates them. Like there’s a bit family squabble coming if Trump dies. All the money would go to her and his two shit head animal murdering mother fuckers will be out of their trust fund.”
“Wow. I mean. Let me check something.” I pulled my iPhone out of my pocket and called in one of those favors the company still owed me.
“Siri. Check out the file on Donald and Eric Trump Jr.” She responded immediately with all the latest controversies and verified facts above the fold. God damn the internet made omniescence so much better. Sure, you have easy access to ever fact in the multiverse, but have you ever tried to find a book in a really big library. I’d be digging in the microfiche archives for moments to get access to the exact same bullet points sorted on my phone. I just had to filter out all of my bull shit and all of his bull shit and I had all the facts.
“By god, you’re a devious little bitch.” I threw her up against the sign post I had been leaning on and I lifted her leg with mine. My hand brushed her crotch for briefest second and I felt that she wore no panties beneath that little black dress. I felt body heat, dry skin and moisture slide against the back of my hand.
I brought my hand up, licked my fingers tips and thrust my hand back down between her legs.
She lift up on her heels and smiled back in my ears. “Don’t you want something in return?”
I was too busy exploring the inner wall of her vagina to think about bargains. There’s something about that wall of muscle that is undefinable. You can’t really be attracted to a part of someone’s inner anatomy can you? You can’t have a type of anus. I mean there’s a preferred depth and girth and width and tightness like this young woman’s vagina, can you?
“Hunh?” I asked and immediately grabbed hold of the conversation again. I had this talk a million times. I knew exactly what she had just said without having heard here. I just picked up like everyone else does when they tune out their conversant. “I am going to have to think about that one. It’s a tremendously unusual kind of offer.”
She hooked her leg over my ass and crushed me against her body so my hand was forced upwards. I had little choice but to form all my fingers into a sort of diamond shape nestled in my palm. It was either that or jamb my fingers against her pelvic bone.
“Don’t you want something, you know? Personal.” Always a hand talker, I could not help but gesticulate with my free hand. Like I had to draw attention to my point rather than the fact that I was apparently supposed to try and tickle her cervix with my inverted finger tips.
“Oh, it is personal. We’re all going to sell our souls to you sometime, right?” She moaned and rolled her body against mind, rubbing her breasts against my stomach. “What’s your sucess rate?”
“Oh,” I rolled my eyes in that humbly dismissive sort of way when we brag without actually bragging. “You know. Like 97% last time I checked. I have people who care about those numbers. I just make sure they are still green on my reports” I confessed. Running an international syndicate of fallen souls, fallen angels and imps required a fair amount of energy on my part.
“See? I am going to sellout anyway. It’s not like it really matters until I am dead anyway. By then it will be over something pointless and inevitable like the safety of my children or my dying husband.”
With a callous disregard for the human condition that got me so incredibly hard, she mocked the hypothetical mortal geriatics. “Oh, please, saaave my husband. I will do anything.” She snorted. “Like waste what is essentially a blank check to run my life however I want it.”
“So, you want me to assassinate a presidential candidate to ruin the life of his son because his son took an illegal hunting trip and went safari hunting of endangered animals.”
“Yeah. And make it a fucking spectacle. I don’t want any of this ‘could be happenstance’ easily explained shit. I want you to make it public and messaged and full of self-righteous fury. I want CNN talking about how someone finally stood up to this assholes and reminding them what our fucking ancestors did to the last people who tried to pull this shit and treat us like second class citizens. We might have a long history of treating other people like second class citizens or worse, but when has hypocrisy ever stopped our self-righteous indignation. We need to let them know hat they eventually give birth to these immoral shitheads who do the most incognitable things because they are so blinded by their privilege and power that they forget to act like decent fucking human beings for once.”
I stopped our ardor and I looked down at her with an unexpected appreciation. I hadn’t heard such an eloquent silloquey since that time Peter Jennings explained his way out of an eternity in burning coffin. I fell into those eyes and kissed her mouth mostly to shut her up. Her body language said that this wasn’t the end of her rant, but just a convenient point to pause and fuck.
I unzipped my pants and fucked her on the signpost of the cross roads where Muddy Waters traded something similar for an eternity as a blues legend. Like any two people who are made to have sex, where the pace, rhyhtym, and angles all lined up, we came quickly and almost in sync. When she dug her claws into my shoulders and threw her head back so she could bear her throat and show off the lines of her neck. I kissed her arteries as I ejaculated with my pelvis grinding against her. I wanted to smear my seed onto her ovaries. I’d check my phone later to see if she was ovulating. She looked like the kind of girl who want to have my baby and then deny me vistation rights as she raised it Mormon just to see what would happen.
We finished and I whirled away from her. I paced like and animal and tore at my hair like a sex-crazed beast. It had been almost milennia since I fucked Jezebel. No one even came close. Not until now. Never did I get to feel so god damn alive, like a virile demon who could still rip apart the heavens in a war if I wanted to. Who cares if I spent all my days behind a desk these days. Board rooms, battle fields, it’s all the same and I am still running things. She made me feel like Jesus' was acoming, but I still had some time to shine, baby.
Old Lucifer was just getting started.