Chapter 6: Naughty Girls Need Love Too

Voluptua lay naked in her silk-lined coffin, smoking a cigarette with one hand and masturbating lazily with the other.
“Do you want a hand with that, my lady?” asked her butler, the indefatigable Mr. Deshedned.
“Not tonight, Deshedned, I’m thinking,” said Voluptua softly. “Bring me a gin and tonic and try to think of a way to seduce a neoconservative vampire slayer and a gun-lugging priest.”
“If I knew how to do that I wouldn’t be lazing around here, getting you drinks and cleaning your vibrators, ma’am,” said Deshedned. “Lime or lemon?”
“Guess,” said Voluptua, “and if you get it wrong, I’ll spank you.”
“Oh dear.”
“No. I don’t see a gin and tonic in my hand. Do you? Where could it be? It looks like a cigarette, but I can’t believe my faithful retainer, Deshedned, would in any way keep me waiting. Looks like a cigarette, tastes like a cigarette—come here--- yes, burns human flesh like a cigarette. Which leads me to conclude that it is not, in fact, a gin and tonic.”
“I’ll fetch it directly, milady,” murmured Deshedned, rubbing his burned thigh and leaving Voluptua to her post-orgasmic contemplations.
Voluptua rose and, without bothering to wash her hand, got dressed. This took her no time at all because her breasts were too full and perky to require a bra, and panties slowed her down. Make-up was pointless because her features were already perfect, a pleasant side-effect of having sold her soul to the night. The only adornment she wore was a white rose, tangled in her silky black hair, plucked from the garden of Eden. It was prophesied in the un-nameable book of prophecies that this rose would remain young as long as Voluptua did, wilting only when someone pure of heart touched it.
Outside, the sun had just set, signaling the beginning of another night. Voluptua smiled nastily and ran a well-experienced tongue over hungry lips.
“Milady? Your drink?”
Voluptua turned. “I see you added lime. Come here, Deshedned.”


Fr. Stephen was walking home in the cold, dark hours of the morning when he noticed that he was being followed by a black stretch limo. Irritated, he stopped and grabbed one of the many guns he kept concealed under his vestments.
The window rolled down. “Get in the car, priest.”
Stephen blinked. “Um, no. Have no intention of doing that. Why are you using a stretch limo to stalk me anyway?”
This seemed to produce some kind of argument within the backseat of the limo. Stephen guessed there were two men at least. Then the door opened, and before Stephen could discharge any or all of his firearms, he found himself whipped into the car by some kind of red serpent.
“What the hell was that?” he yelled, disoriented.
“My tail,” Lucretius said. “I have other shapes. I am a demon, you know.”
Stephen found himself confronted with Lucretius and another man he didn’t know. Both were pale, good-looking and well-dressed.
“Nicely done, Lucy,” said the darker man. “Now, we have a proposition for you.”
“If this is some kind of homosexual come-on, I’m not interested,” Stephen said firmly, eyeing the man’s lacy ruff and well-mannicured hands.
“Ha! You wish, pervo. I’m straight as a wooden plank and twice as hard.”
Lucretius grimaced. “Right now, Roquefort? Errgh,”
“No, I meant in general. I am generally very hard. Not in this specific instance. The problem with you, Lucy, is that you have no sense of context.”
“I’ve told you how I feel about being called Lucy, Cheesy. Why don’t you—oh, hang on, the priest is leaving.”
For Stephen had indeed sensed an opportunity to move toward the door. The two men, or demons, or what have you, seemed much more interested in flirting than in doing anything to him.
Roquefort dragged Stephen back in. “Just where do you think you’re going, Reverend Father?”
“I thought if I tactfully left you two could get back to buttfucking,” Stephen said. “You must be the Roquefort I’ve heard so much about.”
“Nothing Tarin the Righteous says about me is true, the lying horned toad!” Roquefort said.
“Now, now. I like Tarin,” Lucretius said.
“Impurely!” Roquefort snapped. “Anyway, you’re a friend of hers, right, Father?”
“Yes. Why do you care?”
“Oh, you’ll see. This limo has a built in bar. Would you like a drink?” Roquefort pressed a button and the window behind Stephen slid back to reveal a full stocked bar and a surly-looking bartender. Stephen twisted away, but still was wary about sitting between Roquefort and Lucretius.
“I’ll have a scotch,” he said.
“Our bartender is mute, because Voluptua ripped his tongue out. He’s quite good, though,” Roquefort said. “I’ll have a Slow, Comfortable Southern Screw. Lucy?”
“I’ll have and Awkward, Badly-Considered Screw, Where We Realize Halfway Through That No One Has a Condom. Hold the pineapple,” Lucretius said. “And now, priest, our proposition…”