Feature Writer: Falcinator /
Feature Title: Satan’s Sluts /
Story Codes: Erotic Horror /
Synopsis: Back-stage gang-bang gets a bit satanic /
Author’s note: I could have written this with a more serious tone, but where’s the fun in that? This took me about five hours, with breaks for coffee and a bit of pornography. Nothing about this story is meant to be taken seriously, least of all the theology.
Oh, fuck, yeah, time to try and pull the band!
I didn’t really know the band. I don’t think many people did, really. But I had heard they had a reputation for inviting groupies backstage and piling on the champagne, and they played a pretty decent hardcore Satan-metal rock, so why the fuck not?
I had my shiniest nipple rings, no bra, generic demonic grey T-shirt one size too small, my best black panties and the shortest skirt I had. I decided to go girlie, so black sneakers and knee-high socks rounded it out.
I just had to score me a rocker. Didn’t matter if it was the drummer, if he was good with his cock.
I got in, dodged the usual greasy types and grabbed a beer, then angled straight for the front of the mosh pit. I would be moved by superior force, and nothing else.
They were the support act, so people were still coming in. I had heard the main act, but didn’t like them much and didn’t rate my chances of getting laid by the band.
Plus, if I scored with the support act, we’d have longer to party.
I kept a careful eye on the competition, but it looked like all the other girls were either attached or waiting for the main act. More for me, then.
Then they came on stage.
What. The. Fuck.
I found myself staring, stunned. Everyone did. The music went through my groin without bothering to use my ears first. I wanted to dance, to scream that I loved them, to rip my clothes off and throw my naked body at their feet and beg them to whip me.
Who the fuck were these guys?
Suddenly, I had competition.
I elbowed another girl aside as she imploringly shoved herself towards the stage, gave my most piercing wolf-whistle and, jumping up, jerked my T-shirt above my breasts.
Before I landed, an arm snaked around me from behind, grabbed the shirt to prevent me pulling it back down over my left tit, and the most sexual voice I’ve ever heard from a woman said in my ear “You want to go backstage and meet them?”
She said she was their manager, and she was so hot even the women were ogling her as she lead me by the hand towards the No Entry door. I mean, she was taller than me, had fantastic legs right up to her armpits, a dress that barely covered her arse and left her huge breasts pretty much out, and just looking at her face made even me feel a bit like turning.
The bouncer let us straight through, so I guess she was legit.
She left me in a dressing room, gave me a beer, and told me she’d be right back.
I wondered if I should strip before the band came backstage.
Two minutes later, the manager returned with another girl in tow, and left her with me, saying she’d be back soon. Ah, fuck it. I was hoping I’d get them to myself in a great big orgy with me at the center of it.
The new girl was metal goth, with tons of makeup, fishnet shirt over a black bra and tattered short skirt not much longer than mine, huge leather boots with massive soles and metal toe caps and heels, and torn fishnet stockings and a couple of piercings. We could have been friends, if we’d met anywhere else. She was also staring at me like she wanted to eat me, in the good way.
I opened my mouth to tell her I didn’t swing that way, when she said “Want to fuck? I want to lick you ’til you cream my chin.”
I left my mouth open for a minute, then thought well, why not?
I slid forward on the couch and hiked my panties down my legs. “Come on, then,” I offered.
She just about attacked me, grabbing my thighs as she shoved her face in my crotch. I felt so turned on I shoved my crotch back at her when she pushed her tongue straight inside me. Oh, fuck, she had a piercing!
When she slid up to my clit and started licking it, the piercing flicked against me with every lash of her tongue.
“Oh, fuck me harder, bitch!” I gasped out. That seemed to encourage her, so I said it again. “Fuck me harder, BITCH!”
The door opened, and I only cared about that because it might mean the band was back. Instead, the manager swung in and out on those breath-taking legs, leaving us with a punk girl who had even more piercings, a tattered T-shirt over no bra, and ripped jeans.
Her eyes lit up. “Hot fucking damn!” she said. “Can I join in?”
I yanked my shirt above my breasts.
“Suck on these!” I said.
She just about poked my eye out on her hair when she latched onto one nipple. Her tongue piercing got caught on my ring, and first she tried to pull it off, then she tried to shake it off, and I wasn’t helping because she was pulling my nipple about so much all I could do was claw at the couch and scream something about needing to be fucked until my cunt exploded.
When she finally got her piercing free, the snap of my nipple springing loose made me cum and I screamed a lot more.
Goth came up from between my legs, and fuck me if I hadn’t actually creamed on her chin. I didn’t know I could cum.
Punk latched onto her chin, sucking hard while they groped at each other’s breasts. All I could reach was punk’s crotch, so I grabbed that.
The door opened again.
This time, she just looked like your basic rock chick. She had short black hair, baggy jeans and a black singlet. She didn’t have a bra either.
A grin split her face. “Whose turn is it next?” she asked.
Punk and goth pounced on her, bearing her to the floor.
“Yours,” goth said, squatting on her, then kissed her. They tried to suck each other’s face off while punk worked her jeans and panties down and jammed two fingers straight into her. She squealed into Goth’s mouth, lifting her hips into punk, who forced a third finger in, grabbed her around the waist to keep her hips off the floor, and started fucking her like she was pounding steak.
Goth retrieved her tongue, slid forwards and positioned her hips over rock chick’s mouth. “Lick me like you mean it, cum-dumpster!” she said.
The way goth started moving, it was like she was sitting on a sybian. I kicked my panties off – no way I was going to be needing them any more – and crawled towards them. I wanted to get goth’s bra off and find out how sensitive her nipples were.
Then the door opened again. “Hot damn, horny sluts delivered!”
This time, it was the band.
They had wild looks in their eyes, like the playing hadn’t tired them, it had just psyched them up so much they were ready to beat up an off-duty army barracks and then fuck an entire porn studio senseless.
I launched myself at the singer, wanting to rip his clothes off and suck all the sweat off his nipples. Punk kept on banging away at the new girl, but she was grinning madly at the band. Goth barely even noticed.
The singer grabbed my hair at the back of my head, yanking me away from him so he could grab my tit and squeeze it so hard tears sprang into my eyes.
“Ever been a pinata?” He asked as I tried to grind my hips against his. “That’s where I chain you to the ceiling and slap you about a bit before drilling you until you scream my name.”
“Are you going to whip me, too?” I gasped out.
The rest of the band walked past us. I heard flies being unzipped, and one of them said. “Get those mouths busy, sluts.”
There were two lots of eager wet slurping as one of the boys said “Make her good and tender for me, bitch.”
From the corner of my eye I saw the manager sit on the edge of a table and cross her endless legs, an amused look on her face, as the singer said “Yeah, I might just fucking do that instead of slapping these juicy tits.”
He put his hand around my throat and walked me backwards to the center of the room. Suddenly, the manager had materialized behind me and I heard a clank of chains before her hands closed fur-lined manacles around my wrists and then jerked me upwards until I was on tiptoe.
When she let go I was hanging, not quite able to stand properly.
The singer ripped his T-shirt off, showing an absolutely ripped torso I wanted to suck dry of all his sweat.
He opened a case and pulled out a leather flogger with a fat dildo for a handle.
“You want some of this, whore?” he asked, running it through his hands.
I licked my lips, staring at it. “Whip me red, if you’ve got the balls.”
His lips drew back from his teeth in a snarl and he lashed me hard across the breasts. I shrieked, half in pain and half with the fierce joy of it, and he lashed me again, searing pain from my nipples but the throbbing so good I started rubbing my thighs together in a desperate attempt to get off.
He lashed my arse, then my back, then started working up and down my body as I hung and writhed with each impact, slowly turning until I could see Punk on hands and knees getting fucked by the machine-like drummer, goth still sitting on rock chick sucking earnestly, one hand around the bassist’s cock and the other around his scrotum, and rock chick underneath her getting pounded by the guitarist, who was holding her legs in the air.
I was aching and burning all over, and nearly exhausted, by the time he said “Fuck, I’m too hard not to fucking bang you like a cheap whore,” and grabbed my hips from behind. He must have dropped the flogger.
“Hope you like it up the arse,” he panted, “‘Cause that’s where you’re getting it!”
I shoved my arse back at him and he jammed his cock in fairly accurately. It felt like he had smeared himself with lube, which was good of him, and the initial stretching pain soon settled down into the most gorgeous feeling of being full as his fingers dug into my hips and he began pounding away like a berserker.
The manager stepped up to me, holding the flogger, and somehow managed to ram it into me in one movement, right up so far I felt it slam into my cervix.
“See if you can keep that in you,” she whispered into my ear before walking away again. “If you let it out, I’ll whip your tits bloody with a cane.”
Oh, fucking hell! Being full front and back made me just about faint as he grunted himself closer to cumming, and I clenched the slippery, tapering handle of the flogger desperately hard, absolutely certain the manager wasn’t joking.
I could feel it slipping by the time he grunted, came deep up my arse and staggered back, leaving me hanging, gasping, and with just enough of a burst of strength to hold onto the flogger long enough for the manager to yank it out of me, say “Well done, little harlot,” kiss me and then say “Open wide, you’re going to lick it clean!”
I stretched my jaw and tilted my head back, and she worked it in slowly to give me time to take it all down, tasting my tartness on it. She drew it out, reversed the handle in her hand and expertly flicked it across my breasts, catching a stinging lash across both nipples at once.
There were gasps, groans and shrieks from behind my back, and I swung around to see the group on the floor disentangle themselves, cum-smeared already.
“Refresher, anyone?” The manager asked, solicitously.
I swung back to see her pointing to fourteen neat lines of white powder on a glass tabletop. The singer grabbed a rolled-up note from her and took one line up each nostril, the coke making his eyes light up all over again. Oh, fuck yeah, this was going to be a long and hard night, in the good way.
Punk took the next two lines, then the drummer, then goth, then the bassist, then the guitarist and finally rock chick.
I was feeling a bit left out.
“Don’t worry,” the manager whispered in my ear as she reached around to slide a finger through each nipple ring and pull outwards until I yelped. “We’ll let you down eventually.”
Rock chick staggered up to me, completely naked now, and leaned into me for a tonsil-clearing kiss, grabbing at my crotch and pushing two fingers inside me.
I ground against her, my toes curling off the ground, and then felt one of the other girls grab my hips from behind. They licked each other’s tonsils over my shoulder, then the guitarist stepped up behind rock chick, grabbed her hips and shoved into her arse. She squealed, next to my ear but muffled, and at the same time I heard the other girl – goth, I think – squeal as well.
Suddenly I was the meat in a sandwich, as both girls were slammed into me, the boys getting in perfect sync. I rolled my head and could just see the drummer grab punks’ collar and hurl her to the ground, kneeling behind her and lining up as the bassist knelt in front of her.
They spit-roast her as rock chick desperately frigged me with her fingers and goth, reaching around, mauled my breasts.
The three of us girls came together but the boys kept pounding, and the gasps in my ear got more and more ragged, rock chicks’ eyes getting that wild, desperate look of someone who’s been pushed too far, but is powerless to do anything and doesn’t want to anyway.
I was feeling exactly the same way when we all five came together.
They staggered away, and I hung exhausted, feeling the strain in my shoulders.
The manager stepped up to me, leaned in, squashing my breasts with her considerably bigger ones, and licked out the inside of my mouth as she slowly undid the manacles.
I crumpled to the ground, but she grabbed my hair and pulled me upright again, pushing me towards where the guitarist was sprawled on the couch. “If you want to lie down, lie down on him, cum-slut,” she suggested.
I stumbled, knees shaking and every part of my body crying out for release, but somehow I just wanted to keep going and I crawled on top of him as he held his cock upright. Fucking hell, was it the coke or had they been main-lining Viagra earlier in the night?
I settled over him with a gasp, finding enough strength to squeeze him and begin humping.
The manager leaned in and poured a trail of small white crystals onto his chest. “Lick that up, whore,” she suggested.
I didn’t even need telling. The taste of the meth mingled with the slightly stale, salty, man-taste of him and seemed to supercharge me, so I began bouncing on him so hard there were slapping noises echoing around the room.
It seemed to take an age for us to both cum, and when we finally did I looked up to see rock chick and goth, kneeling and back to back, getting blasted in their mouths by the singer and the bassist. They turned around and kissed, cum dribbling down their chins.
I suddenly, desperately wanted some of that. I hadn’t had a real cock in my mouth all night, yet.
I stumbled over, lay beneath them and they bent down, opening their mouths and letting mingled cum dribble into mine. It tasted fucking marvelous.
There were popping and hissing noises around us, and a bottle of beer got pushed into my hand.
I sculled it, rinsing out my mouth, and there were cheers from the boys as the three of us finished our bottles together. Another one got pressed into my hand by the bassist, who stood and fondled my tits while I drained that one as well.
I don’t remember the rest of the evening.
I woke up with a fucker of a headache, lying sprawled face-down on the couch with a head on my arse.
I pushed it off, hearing them slump to the floor, and reeled towards the dressing room’s en-suite bathroom, the room more drunken than I had been.
I threw up violently, dimly realizing halfway through that someone was holding my hair back.
It turned out to be the manager, who looked like she had just woken up, got dressed and had an army of fucking stylists working on her for two hours.
Her dress was redder than I remembered – like fire-engine red – and she had latex boots over her knees and stockings the rest of the way. I tried to remember if she had been wearing them last night, and couldn’t.
She handed me a bottle of water, and I sculled that. It helped a little bit.
Then I looked about the room, and nearly threw up again.
Goth was lying in the middle of the floor with purple face, protruding tongue and the bassist’s belt around her throat. The bassist was lying next to her in a pool of his own vomit, obviously not breathing any more.
The singer and rock-chick looked like they had fallen unconscious while 69ing and suffocated each other, and punk was stretched out next to the coke table, with white-rimmed nostrils and a staring look in her wide-open eyes.
The head on my arse had been the drummer, who just looked like his heart had stopped, and the guitarist had bled out from a massive head wound, which had probably been the table he was lying next to.
“Fuck,” I groaned, “are they all fucking dead?”
“Fuck yes,” the manager said, calmly. “All except you.” She seemed satisfied about that, which first seemed really weird and then seemed really frightening.
“What’s going to happen?” I gasped. I suddenly realized I was still naked.
“Well,” she said brightly, “you have two options. You can stay here and get seriously arrested, or you can come with me and owe me one.”
I didn’t really think I had a choice, at that point. “Where?” I asked dully.
She opened a door I fucking swear hadn’t been there, and said “This way, don’t worry about clothes, you won’t be needing any.”
I went. There didn’t seem much point in doing anything else.
I nearly jumped out of my fucking skin when I found the band and the other three girls, all naked, and all milling around in confusion like they were still fucking alive.
I turned around, but the door wasn’t there.
There was a red glow and a bit of a flicker to the light, and a faintly sulfurous smell in the air. I thought the flicker might be just my head, but then I suddenly realized I was stone-cold sober.
The singer saw the manager. “What the fuck’s going on?” he demanded.
Suddenly, a voice that made me want to gorge myself on cheesecake while getting fucked in the middle of a night club said “I should have thought that was obvious, to a clever boy like you.”
The way he said “clever” made me want to punch someone while riding his cock, but it also sounded kind of sarcastic.
We all turned. Of course we did. He looked like a male model who could charge more to appear in a porno than women could, and he was lounging carelessly on what looked like a fucking throne. I seriously wanted his fucking throne. While he was licking me out.
The singer looked like he wanted to throttle him, but I don’t know if there would be sex involved as well.
“Hey!” the singer shouted. “You told us we’d be fucking rock stars until the day we fucking died! That was one fucking night, you piece of shit!”
The gorgeous man in the throne laughed, unpleasantly, but it still made me want to fuck every man here, and fuck it, they’d want to, wouldn’t they, it’s not like the other three were as good a lay as me.
“And you all enjoyed yourself so much in that little party last night your lives ended. Now you’re mine, ipso facto. Pay up.”
I could see a dawning realization on the band members’ faces, and I felt a chilly feeling that no, I wasn’t hallucinating or dreaming and yes, I knew what was going on as well. But damn, the devil was hot.
“Hey,” the singer protested. “You have to give us a chance, right? We challenge you, like, to a battle of the bands!”
The devil roared with laughter. I wanted to grind my pussy in his face.
“I’m Satan! I don’t have to do anything! You signed the contracts, you accepted the conditions, you took your reward and then you were so fucking stupid you died after one fucking night! I don’t owe you fucks the time of day!”
“What about us, then?” goth burst out, looking like she wanted to lay about her with sharp knives. “We weren’t part of the deal!”
The devil looked at her incredulously. “You? You all three of you fornicated, with women as well as men, took hard drugs, and died. What makes you think you have any choice, hope or recourse to appeal? You’re all mine now!”
“Suck you off if you let me go,” the rock-chick said bluntly.
Rage made my hands curl into fists. That was my fucking cock, you slimy bitch!
Suddenly the manager’s hand descended on my shoulder and pulled me through another doorway, closing it and shutting off all sound.
I blinked, suddenly feeling myself again. Hang on, had he said “you three”?
“So what about me?” I asked, feeling a bit stupid.
“Isn’t it obvious?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “You’re not dead.”
That was a relief, for about two seconds. “Then what am I doing here?”
“Simpler than letting you get arrested and then trying to sort it out later,” she said candidly. “You’re here because I want to offer you a job, and I made sure you didn’t kill yourself – or get killed, that’s the second time the bassist has done that, but I managed to hide the body the first time – because I want to offer you a job.”
I blinked at her. “A job?” I was still feeling really fucking stupid.
“A job,” she said brightly. “You’d end up down here when you died anyway, but I think you’d be a real asset to the activities of this organization.”
I groaned. I got enough of that sort of language at work. “Can you can the corporate speak?” I asked, feeling my head hurting reflexively.
She shrugged. “Where do you think it came from? Anyway, all the real work around here is done by demons and devils, but the key positions are filled by ex humans, not fallen angels. I’ve been here almost since the beginning. My name’s Sheeba – not that one – and I’m greed. Nice to meet you.”
I automatically shook her hand. “You’re greed?” Yep, still fucking stupid.
“Epitome of,” she said with a careless wave of her hand. “I channel, engender, create – I walk the earth and make otherwise sane men and women with careful budgets want to kill to climb over the bodies of anyone who gets between them and their next promotion.
“The thing is, you see, we’ve got an opening for lust. I think you’d be a good candidate.”
“I thought you’d be lust,” I said, before digesting the fact she thought I would be a good epitome of lust in its purest form, and wondering whether to be proud or insulted.
“They’re easy to confuse,” she said. “But the difference is – I took a band and convinced them to be desperate for stardom as well as girls.
“You, on the other hand, would be making prostitutes and brothels rich, and turning parties into orgies. Any band you managed wouldn’t put their clothes on long enough to practice, but they might wash more often and work on their lines.”
I shook my head. “You seriously want me to, what, lead an entire department and be lust?”
She waved her hand in a vague gesture. “Oh no,” she said. “Operations just sort of take care of themselves. We’re more like demonic forces to look up to. We provide everyone else with the best bad example. And yes, I want you to be lust.”
I looked down at myself. I was still naked, which suddenly made me feel embarrassed again. My tits were nice but not big, my legs were okay, but…
“I’m hardly the hottest body in town,” I said, looking at her meaningfully.
She laughed. “Oh, do you think this is my body? We have a great benefits package, starting with a proper makeover. Will you take it?”
I squinted at her. “So… I get a new body, demonic powers, the ability to make otherwise sane men and women cream their pants when I walk past, and I live forever without having to fear eternal hellfire and damnation?”
“Just yes? No catch?”
“Weeeeell,” she said, “We might lose a war against the heavenly hosts, but that’s unlikely. And if you don’t join us, you’ll suffer everlasting torment anyway.”
“Well, okay then,” I said with a shrug. “I’m in.”
She clapped her hands. “Excellent! I’ll get you changed, and then introduce you to the other girls.”
“The other sins are girls too?”
“All except pride. Satan keeps one man so he have homosexual sex whenever he feels like it, just to piss off It upstairs.”
I perked up. “So we get to fuck Satan?”
She rolled her eyes. “Just about every day. The rest of us have been hanging out on finding a good candidate for lust to let us off the hook. And I’m warning you: Your powers of carnal attraction don’t work on us.”
For just one second, I remembered I used to be straight, then dismissed the thought as being too boring. “I’ll just have to fuck more humans, then.”
She grinned, warmly. “That’s the spirit!”
I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my chambers and stretched, feeling a delicious thrill run all up and down my new body. I still looked a bit like me, but I had mouth-watering legs all the way to huge melons of tits, wide hips and an hourglass waist, long neck – face it, I was a fucking wet dream. I looked fucking sultry next to Sheeba, and I had thought she was the pinnacle of stunning!
I stared at myself and licked my lips. My horns, which I could mentally wish away for short periods, and my wings and tail – ditto – just made me look exotic.
I had to meet Satan before I started work. I was going to fuck him every way I knew how, and suddenly I knew ways I would never even have imagined. Oh yes, it was a good thing we could rearrange time – the boss was going to have his cock in all my holes for about a century.
I bent over backwards, stretching, until I could grab my ankles.
I wonder if I should warm up with a damned soul, first?