DISCLAIMER: The following is fiction. The content of the story is not representative of the writer’s beliefs, opinions, or attitudes. This story is intended for adult entertainment only. The characters and events depicted in this work are fictional. The author does not condone or promote any unlawful activity such as is depicted in the story. By continuing to read this work you acknowledge that you are an adult who wishes to read works of fantasy and fiction for the purpose only of fantasy. All the characters in this story are adults. They may play different ages for the fictional character that they are depicting but they remain at all times adults. All Rights Reserved © 2023 LITTLESALLY666.

STORY CODES: Black Magic, Witchcraft, Satanic, Snuff/Violence/Murder, Abuse, Vodou, Corruption, Evil, Devil Worship, NC, Sexual Sin, Sex Demons, Orgy, BDSM, Young, Pedophilia, Incest.

XP NOTES: Loosely based on one of my favorite stories (The Devil’s Advocate) — Justice was my opportunity to explore the ideas and themes that I thought about whilst watching the 1997 movie; reading the screenplay by Jonathan Lemkin and Tony Gilroy; and book by Andrew Neiderman of the same name. If you haven’t seen it or read it — It is a great story. Justice pays homage in part to all of these — but needs to stand its own ground as a tale of darkness and evil.

THANKS: To BG for not only proofreading this 26,000-word giant — but also for his critical commentary to help me improve the script.

CREATED: 15.01.2021 (V40) / REVISITED: 29.07.2023

Justice 1 (chapters 1 – 3)


Kevin Swift is a lawyer from Small Town. He’s very good at his job. In fact, he has never lost a case. In the courtroom, he has been faultless. After winning an amazing court battle, he becomes sought after by a large multinational law firm. They offer him a job and he and his wife move to Big Town and are soon swept up in the fairy-tale lifestyle of the rich, famous, and powerful. His new employer Milton Maximus — a legal genius himself — sets Kevin at work to free some of the most evil criminals possible. Not everything is as it seems. Soon Kevin finds he is making choices that impact both his relationship and his conscience. Though Kevin is far from being a boy scout, he is forced to ask what is the true nature of Justice, if not to find the truth. But Justice is blind, and the truth may be more evil and wicked than Kevin ever imagined.


Justice is the eleventh card of the Major Arcana — it represents accountability, objectivity, and outcomes — blind to sentiment and emotions and is focused on purely cause and effect. In sexuality, it is about asceticism. The sword aloft is in fact a phallic symbol. Like the donning of the strap-on — it is the equalizer that levels the playing field. Justice is depicted as both male and female. If female, she is depicted in a nun’s habit. As a male, Justice has a masculine face with long, feminine hair, rendering an androgynous quality to this symbol. The dual-sexuality of Justice depicts balance and impartiality. Justice sits enthroned between two pillars that represent the finite differences between right and wrong, good and evil, life and death.


  • Kevin Swift — Protagonist, small town defense attorney, 28
  • Mary Ann Swift — Kevin’s wife, 26
  • Shirley Mills — Pedophile defendant, 29
  • Barbie — Victim of abuse, 12
  • Lee Heath— Black lawyer at Maximas Corp, demon, 35
  • Alice Swift — Kevin’s religious mother, 44
  • Charlotte Stewart — Receptionist/Administrator Maximas Corp, 22
  • Christabella Andreoli — Lawyer at Maximas Corp, Kevin’s step sister, 28
  • Nikki Capone — Assistant to Milton Maximus, transgender, demon, 28
  • Milton Maximus — Chairman of Maximas Corp — AKA Satan, 60
  • Eddie Bates — Managing Partner of Maximas Corp, 55
  • Jackie Heath — Black, beautiful, wife of Leamon Health, demon, 30
  • Dr Phillipe Moyez — Black, Vodou Priest, Leader of Cartel, 48
  • Sandra Bates — Eddie’s wife, 36
  • William Bael— Billionaire developer, accused of triple murder, 52
  • Margaret Stains— William Bael’s secretary, 29
  • Louise Bael — William Bael’s stepdaughter, 14
  • Samuel Weaver — Special Prosecutor from District Attorney’s Office, 45
  • Chedeline Dorvil — Black, executive in Port-Au-Pearl, shemale, 28
  • Wyclef Duval – Black, Counsel for Dr. Phillips Moyez’s Cartel, 50


“Babylon the great is fallen-fallen, and has become a dwelling place of demons, a prison for every foul spirit, and a cage for every unclean and hated bird! For all the nations have drunk of the wine of the wrath of her fornication, the kings of the earth have committed fornication with her, and the merchants of the earth have become rich through the abundance of her luxury.” — Revelations Chapter 18 Verses 1 to 3

My name is Kevin Swift. I am a defense attorney in Small Town. I am twenty-eight years old. I never knew my father. My mother had me at a very early age. I grew up in Small Town. That’s not to say I didn’t feel like my father was missing. There was always a presence. A subliminal feeling like I was being watched and cared for. Nothing provable but too much coincidence leads to suspicion — like the whole thing was a show and I was the lead actor. His watchful eye. His guiding hand. Looking back it is easy to see how His influence made the path for me to follow.

Though I would have wanted to believe that my success was that of my own doing — but that would not be true. I mean, how much luck can one have? There comes a time when everyone’s luck runs out. The unblemished record is broken — the string of successes — one after another. It just had to end. You roll the dice enough times and you’re bound to lose? Right?

But no.

I had been a public prosecutor for almost five years. It had been a shitty job. The only satisfaction had been putting away the bad guys. And I had been good at it. Sixty-three straight guilty verdicts. I was the District Attorney’s star performer. And then I quit. Was it the money? Maybe. Was it the challenge? Most likely. My wife, Mary Ann, has been very supportive. The lure of the financial rewards was just too much to ignore.

So it began. And I hit a long run of impressive wins — that gained the attention of the press. They said it couldn’t go on. It was going to close out any day soon. And then came Mills. Shirley Mills. A respectable mathematics teacher from one of our local Small Town schools. Mills must have been late twenties at the time. She was accused of molesting one of her twelve-year-old students. Barbie was her name. Sexy little Barbie. She was jail bait. Soft white skin and long blond hair (tied in a ribbon and neat ponytail). Mills had denied any wrongdoing and at first, I believed her.

We all sin. We all have secrets. And I tried to keep mine to myself. Some folks can be so open about their preferences, deviance, and perversions. But, coming from a deeply religious community in Small Town – one knew exactly what sin was. Mathew chapter 5 verse 28 says, “Everyone who looks with lustful intent has already committed adultery in their heart.”

The prosecution had painted the picture of Mills as an evil sexual deviant. Acting upon her uncontrollable sexual urges to molest the pretty young girl, she had kept her back after hours, under the guise of her poor class performance — they alleged that, once alone, she had abused her. It was Barbie’s testimony that Ms. Mills had, at first, put her hand inside her blouse and then up her skirt — touching and playing with her. Her vivid description of Ms. Mills’ actions stirred the courtroom. I looked around and could see how this story agitated the crowd. Barbara cried in the stand as she told of how Ms. Mills forced her to finger her wet vagina, masturbate her and then lick her hot wet cunt. I’m not proud to say it, but there was a small part of me that secretly enjoyed it.

I couldn’t help but notice that this description of their sexual activities seemed to excite Ms. Mills. Ms. Mills had a physical reaction, as the young girl cried and whimpered as she recalled being forced to perform a number of lewd and obscene acts upon her deviant teacher. I was worried that someone else, besides me, might have noticed — but luckily they didn’t. And it was then that I realized for the first time that she could in fact be guilty as charged. I did my best to keep to myself. After all, I was her defense attorney.

The prosecution rested and it was over to the defense. I wiped my brow and asked the Judge for a brief recess, so I could collect my thoughts. The Judge granted a fifteen-minute recess and I headed out to the bathroom.

Once inside the bathroom — I took a long look in the mirror. Splashed my face with water and considered my opinions. Were they really options? I had my reputation at stake. Undefeated. I was there to defend this woman, innocent or not. Whatever everyone thought about her sex crimes — who was I to judge? Was I without sin? No. And I had even found their predicament, dare I say, arousing. Sexy little Barbie had it coming — she probably deserved it. Fuck it, I thought. And I had a job to do.

”Any quote for me?” asked Larry.

Larry was a reporter from the Times.

“It was a good run — had to close out sometime.”

I scowled and didn’t reward him with anything. In my mind, it was still a winnable case. But at what cost?


I approached the stand. Barbie sat waiting. The Judge was waiting. The jury was waiting. My client was waiting.

“It is your sworn testimony that Ms. Mills held you back after class?” I asked.

”Yes,” answered the mousy witness.

”Have you been held back in any other of your classes?”


”And is it true that you have been having some performance issues in Ms. Mills’ class? Wasn’t that the real reason that, on the day in question, Ms. Mills held you back — to address your performance issues?”

”No, that’s not what happened.”

”Have you ever referred to Ms. Mills as a faggot-lesbo-monster?” I asked, “Is this not your handwriting?” I held up a slip of paper and read aloud from it, “Sorry Barbie, I mean a ‘horrible-pig-lesbo-devil,’ Your Honor, I would like to submit this as Exhibit-A.”

”Objection!” said the prosecutor.

”Overruled — I will allow this,” pressed the Judge, “Mr. Swift, I am giving you some slack here — but next time, you submit your evidence in accordance with the rules of discovery.”

”Thank you, your Honor,” I answered.

I turned my attention back to little Barbie. “Is this not your handwriting?”

“Yes — but it wasn’t like that.”

She looked helplessly toward the prosecutor.

I turned to face her but stood between her and the prosecutor.

“This is a very serious matter. A woman’s reputation is on the line. Her future and her standing in the community of Small Town is at stake,” I paused, “What really happened after school Barbie? You are under oath.”

”It was, like I said,” she was about to tear up again.

”Are you familiar with a game called ‘Secret Places’?” I asked.


”And you have played this game at a party?”


”Is it a game of a sexual nature?” I raised my voice, “Let me ask you again — is it a game of a sexual nature?”

”Objection. Irrelevant your Honor,” pressed the prosecutor,

He looked off balance.

“You will answer the question,” the Judge instructed Barbie.

”Yes … But … I only played it once.”

”I have checked with the other children and they denied any allegation of misconduct on the part of Ms. Mills. In fact, they said that it was you that threatened them — if they didn’t agree to go along with your story — that you would tell their parents about the game — Is that true?”

“I … I … didn’t want to be the only one! But it did happen,” cried little Barbie.

”I move to dismiss these charges at this time your Honor on the grounds of reasonable doubt,” I said to the judge.

Just then Barbie’s father lurched forward from the gallery. His intent was obvious — but his effort was thwarted by the bailiff, who managed to restrain him.

“You bastard!” her father screamed at me as the courtroom erupted into chaos.

“Order! Order! Order in my courtroom,” shouted the judge, slamming his wooden hammer to regain some semblance of decorum.


Mary Ann and a few close friends met up at the club for some drinks. It was worth celebrating. The verdict was in my client’s favor. We lined up the shots. I kissed Mary Ann hard on the mouth and we hugged tightly. Another victory.

I was making my way to the bathroom, when a black dude dressed in a very expensive suit, held out his hand.

“Congratulations,” he said, “Very impressive win.”

“Er, thanks — I just know how to read juries,” I muttered.

I was a little drunk at the time and high on the euphoria of the win.

He held out a business card.

“My name is Lee Heath of Maximus Corp — we have been watching you for quite some time, Mr. Swift.”

I took the card from him and laughed.

“Yer right! Who put you up to this? I mean, you’re really good … the whole business card … fancy suit … black guy thing!”

“I assure you it is real. And we have a proposition for you. We want you to come to Big Town. Meet Milton Maximus. You and your wife — travel first class. All expenses paid. It will take no more than a few days.”


That night I had a vivid dream. And like most dreams, how I came to be in the House of Fornication, I am not sure. But the Madam, a slender negro woman in her early thirties guided me to a room downstairs in their basement.

Maybe it was all the drinking of the evening that had brought about this strangeness, but my horniness was undeniable. Inside the room, there were no windows — only candlelight illuminated the strange bedroom setting with its red and black fixtures. A large mirror faced the low round bed. There was a large neon crucifix hung on the wall — noticeably, it was underside-down. This was not just a den of iniquity but the domain of demons.

”Undress,” said the attractive Negress.

It was more of an order than a request. She was sexily dressed in a small black bra top and high heels; with a short plaid skirt that only covered the topmost of her stocking-ed thighs..

I undressed in front of her. My cock was already hard and she looked on approvingly. She unpinned her short skirt and revealed her own erect penis. A transsexual. Her cock was black as night, thick, with a bulbous head to it. She gripped her meat stick and began to rub it seductively … wantonly …

”Kneel,” she ordered. I complied. “Suck me.”

This was wrong. Wicked. Unnatural. I could never remember having thoughts about this kind of abnormal coupling — yet all I could think about now was how I wanted to taste her succulent black cock. To feel it thrusting into the roof of my mouth and taste her delicious precum. I grabbed her throbbing shaft and began to smother it with kisses. I licked it up and down with total adoration. Worshiping it with my mouth and my entire being.

”Good boy,” she said.

The dream shifted pace as dreams do without rhyme or reason. The door opened and Ms. Mills entered. My perverted client. She was naked as I was, and dressed in only a thick dog collar was sexy little Barbie in tow. Ms. Mills was masturbating herself as she dragged little petite Barbie towards me, yanking her forward by a leash.

The Negress told me to get on the bed and lay down. She took hold of Barbie and positioned over my rampant cock. Barbie was crying and shaking, as she had done in the courtroom. Or was she pretending? It seemed to me that she wanted something done to her, willing it, wanting something unsavoury. Ms. Mills slapped her face hard.

“Please don’t hurt me, Ms. Pig-lesbo-devil,” she muttered between tearing sobs.

Mills was on the bed and knelt behind her. She forced the young girl to kiss her mouth. The exchange did not look completely unwilling. Like a game of cat and mouse. Something was not right about all this … maybe I was just too horny to pay close attention to it all — as I wanted to fuck little Barbie.

I noticed how Mills wore an obscenely long and thick strap-on. Mills’ hands were groped feverishly at Barbie’s flattish white chest and I couldn’t help but watch with drooling lust. The Negress knelt next to me. She kissed my mouth and whispered that Barbie was a gift for winning Mills’ freedom (to re-offend) — that I was to be the first to fuck her virgin cunt and make her bleed. The two of them wasted no time in pressing young Barbie downwards against my wanton cock. Her screams of pain or delight filled my head, only making me want to fuck her harder and harder.

It was then that I awoke.

I was horny as hell. My cock was rampant with vivid thoughts of fucking young Barbie. It was wrong. Perverse. But I couldn’t deny my own wantonness. Mary Ann stirred next to me but didn’t wake as she was a heavy sleeper. I got up and walked naked into my study. I opened my laptop and searched for the article in the Times on Ms. Mills and Barbie. I rubbed my cock whilst looking at both of them and imagining Barbie being molested by her teacher. Fuck, it turned me on. In no time I creamed my chest and stomach — and then slipped guiltily back into bed.


I could hear the church choir from all the way down the street. Inside the church, I looked for my dear mother. She was there, as she was, most days — singing those awful hymns of praise. I waited at the back for the service to conclude before saying my piece.

”It’s just a few days,” I told my mother.

”Fallen, fallen is Babylon the Great. It has become a dwelling place of demons.’ Revelation Eighteen. Wouldn’t hurt you to look it over,” she replied.

“Couldn’t forget it if I tried,” I answered.

“And what happened to Babylon?” questioned my mother.

“Thou mighty city. In one hour hast thou mighty judgment come,” I retorted.

“And the light of a single lamp shall shine in thee no more,” my mother added.

I kissed her and said goodbye.



“Behold, I am sending you out like sheep among wolves; therefore be as shrewd as serpents and as innocent as doves. But beware of men; for they will hand you over to their councils and flog you in their synagogues. On My account, you will be brought before governors and kings as witnesses to them and to the Gentiles. But when they hand you over, do not worry about how to respond or what to say. In that hour you will be given what to say. For it will not be you speaking, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you.” — Matthew chapter 10 verses 16 to 20

From the pavement, I looked upwards at the gleaming Gothic tower of Maximus Corp. Their offices were located on the sixtieth floor.

As soon as I stepped out of the elevator, I faced a spectacular view of the downtown area and the countless high-rise towers that seemed to compete against each other to be the brightest and the tallest. I felt the jitters of apprehensiveness but was very excited. Upon the adjacent wall hung a bright painting that appeared to be an original Kandinsky. The paintings’ minimalism and colorful motifs seemed to counterpoise against the polished concrete walls. The interplay between delicate finishes and industrial rawness gave their offices an avant-garde appeal.

There were a few people standing in the foyer (all of whom had the same look of awe as myself). I took a deep breath and approached the reception desk. The receptionist smiled warmly as I stood before her. She had the face and body of a fashion model.

“Mr. Swift,” she said to me, “Mr. Heath has been expecting you. Let me show you to his office.”

The beautiful woman stood up and indicated that I follow her.

“My name is Charlotte. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Perrier maybe?”

“Perrier. Thank you, Charlotte.”

I deliberately used her name, letting it roll around in my mind as my eyes focused on the young woman’s fitness — lithe of body, small pert breasts, tiny waist, and those squared model shoulders. She stopped by an oversized glass-door chiller and retrieved a bottle of Perrier and a cold glass. She moved like a gazelle — and she made me feel like a hungry lion.

We walked passed rows and rows of glassed-walled offices that all looked outwards over the cityscape. Lee had said the firm had some forty partners and over six hundred associates. They were working with corporate clients from twenty-five foreign countries. Middle East, Balkans, Central America, and West Africa. Interesting work, but travel intensive, he’d added. Milton Maximus had just returned from Indonesia.

Through a large window, I noticed another elegant woman pacing her office. She’s wearing a headset and arguing loudly in machine-gun Italian. My mouth began to immediately salivate and I felt a tightening in my groin. I don’t think I had ever had such an immediate response to the sight of a woman before — not even Mary Ann — she looked like an absolute goddess that inspired the most awful of sins. She was beautiful beyond propriety. She turned, seeing me leering directly at her. Starring right back at me momentarily; she then closed the Venetian blinds and slammed the door shut — the name on the door read “Christabella Andreoli“.

I made a mental note to find out more about Christabella.

It was nothing more than a moment or at least it felt like that — like a brief flash — but it was as if I had already seen this goddess before. Maybe in a dream? I wasn’t really sure. I saw her naked. She looked incredible. Powerful and lustful. As I looked more carefully I realized there were small curved horns upon her head — a sexual demon or a succubus? Her body undulated — moving with an oily shimmer — more like a serpent than a woman. As fast as it happened the image was gone.

Charlotte had stopped. She turned to look at me, as she waited patiently for me to continue to follow her.

Finally, we arrived at a door with Lee Heath‘s name etched into it. Charlotte poured my drink as Lee welcomed me, and again, I was captivated by the view. He said that my office had exactly the same view — in fact, why didn’t we just drop into my office, so I could see it for myself? He said that Milton Maximus was expecting me and that he was very pleased to hear about the outstanding verdict of Mill’s trial. He said that he had every confidence that I was going to fit in perfectly at Maximus Corp.

Lee walked me up a wide set of stairs that linked two of the office floors and at the top were the double doors to Mr Maximus’ office, which seemed to occupy a large corner section of the upper floor. Lee knocked and entered.

We were received by Milton’s personal assistant who introduced herself as Nikki Capone. She had an eerie brightness about her eyes that were captivating; and though she wasn’t tall, she looked slim and well-proportioned. Her long dark hair was blue-black and reached down to the base of her backless dress that showed off her exotic olive skin.

”Welcome Mr. Swift,” said Nikki in a sensually deep voice, “Mr. Maximus has been expecting you.”

Lee nodded to Nikki, stepped back, closed the door behind him, and was gone.

“This way Mr. Swift,” she said.

Milton’s office was huge and round. There were no windows. The walls are made of stone and like the reception area. The office was minimalist in style with touches of raw luxury. There was a wide modern fireplace with three Le Corbusier couches positioned around a low glass table. The art looked tribal — almost phallic.

“Behind you.”

I turned around. Milton looked to be in his late fifties, maybe early sixties. He wasn’t particularly tall or imposing in build. Average everything. But his eyes looked at me intensely — we shook hands.

“Milton Maximus,” said Milton.

“Nice to meet you,” I replied.

“Have we been treating you well?” he asked.

“Very well,” I said, “Thank you. The whole thing’s been great.”

“Good,” said Milton, “That’s our secret here. We’ll kill you with kindness … so what’s your secret?”

“I couldn’t say,” I answered honestly.

“You were a prosecutor,” Milton stated.

“Out of law school. Five years in the Small Town DA’s office.”

“Sixty-four straight convictions,” he said with a nod that said it was a good run, “What a number.”

“I like to be in court. I didn’t plead out a lot.”

“What’s that like? One day you’re putting them away and the next you’re setting them free?”

Milton laughed. His smile was wicked with the bright white teeth of a carnivore.

“Takes a little getting used to,” I replied.

“Pays better though, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does,” I agreed.

“The math teacher. The Mills’ case. I hear you were brilliant.”

“Prosecutor dropped the ball,” I answered (almost honestly).

“Really. So you think your client was guilty?” asked Milton.

“I didn’t say that. How’s this? I began the case with a clear conscience.”

Milton looked at me, considering my words. He smiled again. ”Walk with me.”

He pushed a button on a wall panel and it slid open to reveal a roof terrace with a wide triangular infinity pool that seemed to run right off the edge of the building. We were sixty stories up. Milton walked down a narrow walkway straight to the very edge of the building. There was no boundary or barrier — it was straight down. And it was a long way down.

“What do you think? Some people can’t handle it,” said Milton as he stopped only inches from the precipice.

“It’s peaceful,” I said, as I tried not to look down over the edge. On a windy day, I could imagine that you could be blown right off the edge.

“Exactly,” agreed Milton, who seemed to have a total disregard for any danger. “Fill in the resume — tell me about your family. What does your father do?”

“I never got to know my father,” I said, “He passed away before I was born. My mom raised me. Just the two of us.”

“She never remarried?” asked Milton.

“She wasn’t married the first time.“

He walked even closer to the building’s edge.

“Little different when you’re looking down, isn’t it?” I couldn’t believe his lack of fear. “Tell me about her. Your mother. What’s she like?”

“She’s a preacher’s daughter. She’s tough. She’s worked in the same poultry plant for as long as I can remember. I think she’s up to eight-fifty an hour. She’s got a church she really likes; so she’s usually either there, or they go out; they do a lot of volunteer work.”

“Many are in high places, and of great renown: but mysteries are revealed unto the meek,” quoted Milton from Ecclesiastics.

“So they say,” I added.

“Didn’t rub off on you? The book? The church?”

“I’m on parole. Early release for time served.”

Milton was quiet for a moment and looked to the distant horizon. My eyes followed his, over the towering buildings that densely filled Big Town.

”Lots of potential clients down there.“

“You don’t have to sell me on Big Town —” I answered.

“You like it here, don’t you?” Milton asked.

“Are we negotiating?”

“Always,” Milton grinned broadly.


Lee Heath took Mary Ann and me to visit Milton’s prewar apartment block. They had told me that it would be ours — rent-free. Mary Ann was very excited. Looking up, I noticed how the penthouse looked like the dark version of a tiered wedding cake. It was elegant but very Gothic.

Lee’s wife, Jackie, met us on the second floor. She was a stylish black woman with expensive tastes. She looked to be in her early thirties. She was lean of the body with that African-American big hair. Her face was narrow and attractive and she had that look about her that said that she watched every calorie.

“You must be Mary Ann — welcome — I’m Jackie Heath,” she said.

“It’s so sweet of you to come by,” replied Mary Ann.

“Please. We live across the hall,” she laughed.

It was true. And there were only two apartments per floor. They told us that many of the firm’s key associates live in the building — and that our apartment was highly sought after — we were obviously in a highly favored position to jump the long queue. Lee told us that it took them six years to get into the building. The inside of the apartment looked simply amazing. Mary Ann was speechless. The ceilings were twelve feet above us. The walls were all freshly painted white. And in the giant foyer there stood a piano. Mary Ann ran her fingers along the ivory and then could not help herself, as she played some Beethoven.

“You play beautifully,” remarked Jackie as she gently stroked Mary Ann’s back in a friendly way.

I was kind of distracted talking shop with Lee, but I couldn’t help but notice the attention Jackie was paying my wife. Maybe it was all in my head? Mary Ann was too engrossed in playing the piano. For a brief second, I swear I thought I saw a devious twinkle in Jackie’s eyes, licking her lips as if Mary Ann were fresh meat to be eaten.


That night I had another vivid dream.

I found myself back in the circular office of Milton Maximus. The fire was burning. I saw naked flames. The strange tribal art appeared even more phallic — almost perverse — the artwork depicted some kind of voodoo goddess, only half man, and half woman. Androgynous. Transsexual. Nikki was there dressed in an outfit that looked as if it was only held in place by her erect nipples.

She half whispered, “Welcome … Mr … Swift …”

And I bent forward and kissed the back of her delicate ringed hand — her fingers were sticky and smelt of cunt and female cum juice. She pressed her dirty fingers into my mouth and made me suck each digit so that my mouth was filled with the taste of her.

As I looked up, I realized that we were both completely naked.

The fire burned even brighter and was now the only source of light. She laughed, touching herself between her open legs. Beautiful legs. Shapely legs. Hairless vagina. She moaned as her fingers slipped between her vulva. She brought her cunt-soaked fingers to her own mouth and tasted herself too. As she turned around, she looked over her shoulder, but her face had changed.

Christabella? Or was it Charlotte? Or Nikki? They were all so damn sexy. Maybe it was a blend of all three of them. One minute she looked exactly how I remembered Nikki; next it was more like Charlotte; and then in my mind, she turned again, I could have sworn it was the beautiful face of young Christabella.

She was not a woman. I knew it. In my dream, I guessed she was a demon — something evil and wicked. Like the artworks upon the dark walls of Milton’s office – she was a divine goddess of pagan sexuality. Lilith maybe? Charming, beautiful — but filled with malicious carnality. But despite this knowledge – I was unafraid. She had small curved horns upon her head that seemed to be matter-of-fact. Her masturbation had become more vigorous. The flames burned amber and vermilion. She grinned evilly at me again as Christabella, pinched her perky hard nipples with one hand and vigorously finger-fucking her oily hairless slit with the other.

I wanted her — like I have never wanted any woman before.

In my dream, it was as if my entire life had led up to this single point in time — I desired her with every atom of my existence. I found my hand wrapped around my cock as I stroked and watched the shape-shifter now turn seamlessly into Jackie, Lee’s negro wife with her big hair and pointed breasts. Jackie licked her black lips as she continued to masturbate. Her movements were elegant but raunchy as she began to dance before the tribal fireplace decorated in erect phallus’ that was now filled with a roaring blaze. My heart pounded like a native drum beat. A Pedro drum — calling to the wicked ones to offer a human sacrifice.

”Suck my cock, Mr. Swift,” said the shape-shifting demon with Christabella’s strongly Italian accent.

From between her slender brown thighs, her thick nigger cock stood upright and drooling with delicious precum. I was on my knees as the demon danced before my upturned face. She rubbed her cock-flesh against my cheeks and then pressed its drooling black tip against my lips — pressed gently into my mouth as she gyrated to the pagan beat. My tongue snaked out, licking at it. My lips opened and closed around its curved form, sucking upon it as the demon began to fuck my face.

“You are your father’s son,” groaned the demon as I sucked her cock, “Hail the Father! You are the Chosen One! You can have any of us … you want Christabella? Charlotte? Nikki? Or you can have us all? We are here to serve you, Kevin. But before you take your pick — I want to piss down your fucking throat.”

I awake abruptly. Sweating. Hot. Excited.

My mouth tasted strange. Acrid. I licked my salty lips. Mary Ann was fast asleep. I quickly found my hands wrapped around my throbbing cock. I desperately needed sexual relief.



“1 When human beings began to increase in number on the earth and daughters were born to them, 2 the sons of God saw that the daughters of humans were beautiful, and they married any of them they chose. 3 Then the Lord said, “My Spirit will not contend with humans forever, for they are mortal; their days will be a hundred and twenty years.” 4 The Nephilim were on the earth in those days — and also afterward — when the sons of God went to the daughters of humans and had children by them. They were the heroes of old, men of renown.” — Genesis chapter 6 verses 1 to 4

The next day I was introduced to the entire Maximus team. The boardroom was huge and every seat was filled, except two. Each lawyer introduced him or herself — one by one. Christabella was the last to arrive.

“Christabella Andreoli. Economics,” she introduced herself.

She took her place at the imposing table. And then there was only one seat remaining (intended for me).

Milton stood up.

“There you go, Kevin. The whole team. I’m trying to think how long it’s been since we were all together. All of us. Too long. I’m looking around, I know some of you came from very far away to be with us here today. It’s appreciated.”

Milton paced to the window.

“This room we’re in was built — architecturally designed — to promote healthy group dynamics. A psychic centrifuge. Makes you want to reach out, doesn’t it? Inclusion. Commonality. Synergy. All that good shit. That’s what I’m looking for today. Because when I hear stories — the kind of stories I’ve been hearing — about backbiting, about partners not working together, departments cutting each other’s throats over clients, or worse … I feel drained. It drains me. I feel empty. I feel as though I’ve let you all down.”

The room was deadly silent.

“We need something. A gesture. What do I need, Eddie?”

“How about a public flogging?” said Eddie.

Eddie Bates, the company’s Managing Partner.

“Wait a minute. I got it. It’s perfect. It’s intimate. It’s quick. Doesn’t cost a thing. There’s a power to it. What is it?” Milton thumped his fist onto the boardroom table, “Let’s hold hands. All of us. Together.”

Milton was first. Reluctantly the others began to follow. I found myself holding Christabella’s hand. It felt tingly and ever-s-slightly wet.

“You want out of this, Eddie?”

“You’ve made your point, Milton,” said Eddie.

Bates followed. And the circle was complete.


So, it was my first case for Maximus Corp. It was important to me to make it a success — all this talk about how good I was — how brilliant I was in court — it was a lot to live up to.

Nikki Capone had given me the case file and I made my way downtown to meet the client. The client was Dr. Phillipe Moyez. Not a medical doctor. Moyez was a witch doctor from the Port-Au-Pearl (a remote place, famed for its poverty, Vodou rituals, and human trafficking). It seemed that he had got himself into some trouble over the sacrifice of a goat.

As I got out of the cab, onto the sidewalk there was a large black dog barking loudly at a couple of vagrants. I watched them stumble backward in haste as the dog leaped to the full length of its chain, snapping its mouth full of sharp canines. The angry dog kept barking loudly even as the vagrant moved away. At the other end of the leash was a skinny African woman, who seemed to say something that I didn’t understand — but the dog immediately stopped barking and sat peacefully at her side.

The woman looked at me with an evil glare.

“Dr. Philippe Moyez, I’m looking for the Doctor.”

“Who are you?” she demanded to know.

”I”m his lawyer,” I said, “From Maximus.”

”Milton Maximus?” she asked and I nodded nervously.

The woman pulled the fierce dog closer to her and stepped aside — indicating that I should go through the darkened entry and down the basement stairs. I followed her instructions. Inside the run-down old industrial building, I could smell stale piss and other pungencies. I walked carefully down the steep staircase that was lined with candles. I looked back, wondering if I was in the wrong place. A young boy passed me on his way up.

”I’m looking for Dr. Moyez?” I asked and the boy looked back at me with a vacant expression, then pointed downwards into the darkness.

Nikki had given me the briefing notes and I had spent most of the previous evening reading to get up to speed. This had been followed by my own research had taken me most of the night — as I carefully studied the City’s codes to establish the precedents for the case. I rubbed my tired eyes.

At the bottom of the stairs, I came across a closed metallic door. I knocked on it. A hollow metallic sound echoed back. A narrow slit opened with a sharp metal-on-metal shrill. And I was scrutinized by a pair of back pearls.

“Looking for Dr. Moyez. I’m Kevin Swift. His lawyer. Milton Maximus sent me.”

The rusty slit slammed closed and I heard the sound of deadbolts drawing back. The heavy door opened and I hesitantly stepped over the threshold. Inside it was just as dingy. There was the sound of female chanting. In the dull light, I noticed a group of naked girls. They all looked so young, maybe even under-aged. They all huddled together in a group, seated over several filthy mattresses.

“This way,” said my client, “I am Moyez. Milton Maximus sent you?”

“Yes,” I answered, “I wanted to meet to discuss the case. Is there somewhere we could …”

As my eyes became more accustomed to the darkness, I noticed the truly pornographic nature of this subterranean world of Dr. Moyez. My eyes swept the Ounfò that was filled with the trappings of Vodou occult — a dark twilight world of mystic cultism, black magic, bizango, iwa, and ritual sex. The dozen or so, young girls seemed to wriggle against each other — kissing and caressing each other without any regard for my presence. It was, in fact, as if I were invisible, in what appeared to be a drug-induced state of sensual arousal. Ahead of them was a strange idol that seemed to be formed from various skeletal remains of animals, outstretched limbs, human skulls, and crowned with the head of a horrific horned beast.

Moyez grinned broadly (approvingly) at my reaction as I tried to disguise my own arousal at such a sordid sight.

“They are all followers of the Goddess Ezili,” explained Moyez with a strong Creole accent, “She is our Loa (spirit) of sex and fertility. I am their ‘Oungan’ … their high priest … their souls are possessed by her sexual spirits and in this trance-like state there is no vulgarity or perversity that they will not explore. Choose one — Mr. Swift. Choose two — if you prefer. But be aware, where I am from in Port-Au-Pearl, a man can lose his mind among their carnal kind. They may appear as just young nubile children. But don’t be fooled … They are all mambos (priestesses) and are possessed by sex-hungry demons.

I swallowed hard.

My eyes feasted on their delicate child-like features. So young and completely uninhibited. Young mouths closed around flat-chests, crested with hard nipples. Slender limbs intertwined. Tongues wriggled between open mouths and hairless pussies. Small hands, feet and emanated torsos moved back and forth — like a singular moving mechanism as they masturbated themselves and each other.

Yes, though Moyez’s invitation was more than tempting and I tried to bring the conversation back round to the impending trail.

“Dr. Moyez — we’re up against a prosecutor who claims you sacrificed a goat?”

The sounds of perverted sex and black magic chanting seemed only to intensify. My cock leaked precum and throbbed painfully inside my pants as I tried to focus on the job at hand. I turned away and did my best to ignore the ensuing orgy that seemed to be happening right before my eyes.

“Ah, yes, the sacrificial goat … I like to think about it as spiritual currency,” he corrected, “An offering made, for preternatural favor.”

”The hearing is tomorrow and I just want to get the facts straight.”

“What is his name?” asked Moyez.

He laid the tongue of a beast out on the bloodied altar — maybe it was a cow or horse. I couldn’t tell. He sprinkled rusty nails over it and made strange incantations.

“Merto. Assistant District Attorney Arnold Merto,” I answered plainly.

“Bhalla. La chemise noire. Vite!” cried Moyez as he used a hammer to drive the nails into the animal’s tongue, “He will not give you any problems.”

“Yes,” I said, not understanding what the hell he was talking about, “But … “

“Our business with the case is done,” said Moyez confidently, “I must now go and join the others.”

Dr. Moyez discarded his robe as he stepped among the naked girls. They moved around him, enclosing him as if all connected as a single being. I had never seen anything like it. It aroused and scared me, both at the same time. The group began to moan and groan in sexual ecstasy. All I could do was stand there. Rooted to the spot as I observed this strange spectacle. My mouth agasp. I watched like a voyeur as my cock was straining against the inside of my pants. I felt a hand reach around my waist and press against my tingling bulge.

“You are frustrated,” whispered a breathy feminine voice that felt warm against my earlobe, “The Goddess welcomes all of Mr. Maximus’ people. We have an understanding between us.”

I shuddered as her strong fingers gripped my manhood through my trousers. Part of me wanted to leave this wicked place. I momentarily thought of Mary Ann waiting for me patiently at the apartment. But undeniably, there was a part of me that felt that it belonged here in this decrepit and wicked place. I watched Moyez as he mounted one of the young eager girls. His naked black body dwarfed the girl that knelt beneath him. She looked no older than twelve or thirteen. Skinny, white, hairless, and flat-chested.

There was something about all of Moyez’s groupies. I could not deny that I wanted to fuck them all too. It felt hypocritical of me. Female fingers opened my fly and my cock was now in the mouth of another young girl, suckling upon the head of my aching cock as she masturbated my shaft and cradled my testicles. I watched Moyez thrust his impossibly long cock in and out of the fragile twat of the tiny young girl.


“Your honor,” I said, “Dr. Moyez is different. He is not a conventional ‘Man of God’ — but still a man that honors faith. His faith is not Christian. Not Buddhist. Not Muslim. Not even close. But still, he is a man of his own faith. It is his right under our constitution to be free to follow his faith. And in doing so, he killed a goat. He killed the goat, humanly, on his own property.”

I paused and looked around. Milton sat in the front row of the audience. He nodded approvingly.

“Freedom of religion is everyone’s right. Protected under the First Amendment. We must uphold Dr. Moyez’s right to practice his faith — in whatever form it takes. Whether or not we agree with it.”

”Ob-oooooo,” stuttered the Assistant District Attorney, “Obbbbb-ooooyoooo …”

He seemed to cough insistently every time he opened his mouth.

“Mr. Merto?” asked the judge as the Assistant District Attorney’s coughing continued, “Do you actually have anything else to add?”

The Assistant District Attorney could only shake his head — unable to effectively respond to my counterargument to his accusations against Dr. Moyez.


To be continued …


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