I awoke on a black leather couch with a tremendous headache. I rubbed the blear from my sore eyes as I took in my surroundings, a waiting room with three rows of couches and a hodgepodge of weary occupants, all as disoriented as I.

I was still wearing the red velvet dress that Sandy had picked out for me that morning.

Sandy! Where was she? My wife had been driving. I had drifted to sleep against the window, the first timid snowflakes of the season trembling around us on the highway as I retreated deep into the folds of my anorak, soothed by the warm stream of the heater. She’d been singing along to Bing Crosby on the radio. I hated Bing Crosby, but she was the one driving, and she was the one carrying our child, so she could sing along to whomever she damn well pleased.

A door opened and there was an announcement over the intercom, a cold female voice with an accent half British, half robot.

“Angela Cloverly-Ramirez. Please attend the interview room.”

I looked around. The other occupants of the chamber were staring at me, hollow-eyed. What was this place?

I arose and stepped through the door, which immediately swung shut behind me. The desk was a good half city block’s walk from the door, and the windows behind it emitted an eerie red glow.

My interviewer looked no more than twenty-two. Her black mane fell sleekly to her shoulders. Her dove-grey suit matched the walls. Then I saw her eyes. The whites were entirely black.

As the glimmering orbs peered back at me, the creature giggled and bared its sharp teeth.

“Ooh, I never do get tired of watching humans’ faces when they see my eyes.” She said. “Take a seat, Mrs. Cloverly-Ramirez. I’m Alanna, and you’re in Hell.”

My head reeled.

After the initial shock, my next instinct was anger at God. “I’m damned for being a lesbian, I suppose?”

The demon (I guessed that’s what she must be) laughed again.

“No, silly. We don’t care about that sort of thing around here. Everybody goes to Hell. Doesn’t matter what you did in life. That whole Heaven thing is a myth.”

She reached down and pulled open a heavy file drawer, grabbing a manila folder in her crimson-polished claws and spreading its contents on the desk.

“Alright. You’re in luck. Turns out you’re not quite dead yet. You’re still in the car, crumpled up in a ditch right now. Don’t worry about the drunk driver who hit you. He’s already in his eternal cell.” She giggled again. “Your wife and baby are fine. They are very worried about you, though, waiting for the paramedics.”

“What—” I started, but Alanna cut me off.

“Whether you live or die is up to me now.” She grinned. “Or, more to the point, it’s up to you.” At this, she came around the desk and hopped up on it, sliding one of her stiletto-clad feet onto the arm of the interview chair, then hiking up her skirt in front of me.

“If you make me a happy demoness, Angela, I may be willing to let you get back to your lovely family.” She purred, sliding aside her black silken panties.

I had never cheated on my wife before, but I supposed this was an exceptional circumstance.

With a heavy heart, I leaned forward as she grabbed the back of my head with her nails and forced my face into her hot, open pussy lips. She tasted of brimstone, soil, and wine. My mouth watered as I sucked on her clitoral bud. Despite myself, I felt a heat between my legs. I slid two fingers inside her softness, finding her g-spot. She let out a snarling noise, and then a moan.

Almost without meaning to, I found my other hand wander down underneath my dress and inside my panties. I plunged my fingers inside my hot, aching sex and coaxed myself furiously towards climax as her thighs tightened around my head. She screamed, and her pussy quivered with powerful spasms as we came.

The room collapsed around me and I was plunged into darkness.

When I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital bed with Sandy at my side.

She wept and held me. She said that she’d prayed for me, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her that it hadn’t been divine intervention that had brought me back to her, but entirely the opposite.

THE END