WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2015 by The Technician.
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Fred Whetherington held the stiff piece of parchment lightly in his hand as he drank his morning coffee. His wife, Willie, sat across the table from him sipping a glass of juice. His voice was calm as he said, “This was on my pillow this morning when I awoke.”
She smiled and replied lightly, “He does like the dramatic touches, doesn’t he?”
Fred laughed slightly. “At least he didn’t do the full flash of fire and puff of smoke thing this time.”
“Last time he did that,” Willie bristled, “it scorched the carpet. And it took forever to get the sulfur smell out of the house.”
“He once told me that he doesn’t like the smell of brimstone any more than we do,” Fred added with another slight laugh, “but he has to use it to keep up his image.”
A long pause followed before Fred continued. He held up the stiff paper that was still curled slightly from having been rolled up. The heavy wax of a broken seal hung on the back of the upper edge, pulling it slightly back. “This is official notice that the term of our agreement is upon us. Do you want me to read it to you?”
“He expects you to, doesn’t he?” was her only response.
“It says,” he continued as he read the fancy script on the page in front of him, “‘Be it known by all concerned that on this first day of October in the twelve thousand and thirty-ninth year since the great fall and rise of myself, the term of one thousand earthly years having passed, I hereby invoke the completion clause to the contract which exists between myself and Frederick and Wilhelmina Whetherington.’”
“Notice that he uses our current names and the modern calendar,” Fred commented before continuing. “It goes on, ‘This constitutes thirty days notice that on or before midnight of October thirty-first of this year, also known as Halloween, the aforementioned couple’s bodies and souls will be due and collectable. Said bodies and souls are to be brought to the place agreed upon through future missives and presented to me for transfer into Hell. I hereby swear, vow, and affirm that I have fulfilled my portion of the referenced contract and have provided wealth, life, and sustenance as well as the originally-specified unlimited sexual power and opportunity for the term of said contract and now claim the payment agreed upon at the signing of that document.’”
He took a sip of his coffee. “If he always spoke like that, it’s no wonder that The Benevolent One kicked him out of the upper abode,” he said.
“I guess no one has ever liked lawyers,” Willie responded. “Is there any way around it, honey?”
After another sip of coffee, Frederick replied, “Sorry, I don’t see any way out of it. It was nice while it lasted, but the agreement itself is very specific. After one thousand years, we are to be conducted into the depths of Hell.”
“Maybe we can find an escape clause,” she said. “You, yourself, have been a lawyer many times, off and on, in the past thousand years. You know that no contract is unbreakable. There is always a way out.”
“The contract isn’t the main problem,” he said. “It never is. People think having an iron-clad contract will get it done, but do you realize how many times through the years, because of some insignificant loophole, I have been able to reverse things and weasel out of something while still legally fulfilling the exact wording of the contract.”
“Ah yes,” Willie answered with a laugh. “I particularly liked that time that your construction company built a tunnel between that town’s two defensive castles. The contract specifically said that it was to stretch from beneath the moat of the high castle to beneath the moat of the low castle.”
She laughed again. “It never said anything about actually going under the walls of either castle itself. The mayor and council were royally pissed about having to pay extra for all that support structure in the tunnels to safely go beneath the walls. But you showed them clearly that you had fulfilled the terms of the contract as they had written it, and that the additional construction was at their expense.”
“But this isn’t castle walls,” Fred replied. “This is hell, and that is precisely the problem. It is iron clad that we are to enter hell. And there is, unfortunately, no way out of hell, once you have entered,”
“That isn’t totally true, m’Lord,” a deep voice said from behind them.
“Maxwell,” Fred said cheerfully. “I didn’t hear you come in. How much did you overhear?”
“Enough m’Lord,” he answered. “It sounds as if your contract with The Fallen One has come due. I assume that means that your contract with me and Marta will also come to an end.”
“I’m afraid so,” said Fred. “But all you had to promise in return for a long and comfortable life was your faithful service to Willie and me, so it’s a little different for you. After we’re gone, you and Marta will begin aging normally once again and will eventually die. But The Fallen One won’t have any claim on your souls.”
“If you read your contract very carefully– which I have– ” Maxwell continued in his very precise way of speaking, “you will see that he doesn’t actually have any claim on your souls either.”
“What do you mean?” asked Wilhelmina “The wording is specific and unbreakable. On Halloween, sometime before midnight, we are to enter Hell, and once we have entered, there is no return.”
“Back when you first revealed your powers to me and Marta, m’Lord, Florence was the economic power of the world. We entered your service there. Do you not remember that very interesting writer by the name of Durante degli Alighieri whom you often invited to your parties?”
When both Fred and Willie looked back at him with confused faces, he added, “He is better remembered by his nickname, ‘Dante.’”
“Ah yes,” replied Fred. “He was always going on and on about that book he was working on about his journey through Hell.”
“Precisely, m’Lord,” said Maxwell. “His journey THROUGH hell.”
“Dante went through hell and came out on the other side!” both Fred and Willie shouted together. “There has to be an escape clause.”
“I’m sure The Fallen One has changed the wording since Dante let that little piece of information out of the bag, so to speak,” Maxwell said, “but your contract pre-dates him by almost four hundred years. The loophole is still in place. All you have to do is go through the proper levels of hell and emerge on the other side. When you do so, you will have fulfilled your contract to the letter, but will have escaped Hell, itself. I’m not sure if the wealth, life, and all of that will continue as before, but the worst case would be that we would all age normally after you complete the journey.”
“One problem,” Willie said dejectedly. “One very big problem. Dante’s book was fiction. He never really went to– or through– Hell.”
“But he had stumbled onto the truth,” Maxwell responded with a raised hand and a slightly raised voice. He pointed his extended finger at Willie as he continued, “And THAT is what is important. Do you not remember the night when HE showed up in the middle of one of your dinner parties in Venice.”
“Ah yes,” said Fred, “half of the guests jumped into the canal when he suddenly appeared in a thunderous flash of light. The rest ran into the inner courtyard and barricaded themselves there until the next morning.”
“Not all of them,” corrected Maxwell. “You and m’Lady just stood there looking very, very upset that your dinner party was ruined. And one guest ran screaming upstairs to the bedrooms seeking a place to hide. The Fallen One followed that guest upstairs and had a very heated discussion about the possible costs of revealing secrets of the nether realm.”
A heavily-accented voice interrupted his story with, “... and I was upstairs getting the guest rooms ready at the time.”
“Marta heard everything,” Maxwell continued. “The Fallen One was extremely upset that Dante had guessed a secret weakness of Hell– or at least of The Fallen One’s contracts. He held him up against the wall and snarled, ‘I’m not sure how much you know and how much you have accidentally guessed, but I am going to explain to you EXACTLY how Hell works. And if your final book is anywhere close to that, or reveals more than you have already said, I will send my minions to tear you limb from limb and eat your flesh for as long as you still live...” The Fallen One’s eyes became pools of flame at this point as he said in an icy staccato, “... and - I - can - make - you - live - FOREVER!’”
Marta again interrupted, “Evidently the real escape path only exists on the night of the completion of the contract. Or maybe it is only open on that night each year when the veil between this world and the nether world is the thinnest. It doesn’t matter which is correct because your contract happens to end on the night of the thinnest veil. So, in either case, the escape route will be open for you this Halloween night when your contract fulfills and you are to enter Hell.”
Maxwell interrupted his wife and said, almost showing excitement in his voice, “The journey itself, like Dante’s final book, is metaphoric, but the levels are not. Despite what Dante wrote, there are only seven– like there are only seven deadly sins. All that is required is for a person to sequentially go through the seven levels of a particular sin between dark and midnight and they can escape Hell forever– at least under the terms of your current contract. Since your contract dealt primarily with sexuality, all you have to do is go through– or at least witness– all seven levels of sexual sin before midnight.”
“In other words,” Willie chirped, “we have to have one hell of a Halloween night in order to stay out of hell.”
She laughed slightly and added, “Even if it doesn’t work, we’ll go out with a bang.”
Maxwell coughed and said in a somewhat embarrassed tone of voice. “Uh... yes m’Lady. That is one way of looking at it.”
“But I’ve never heard of seven levels of sexual sin,” said Fred. “How will we know what to do, and in what order?”
“We’ve done a little research over the years,” said Marta. “We’ve had the time. And we knew this day would eventually come.”
“And?” said Wilhelmina.
“And I will guide you through the seven levels of sexual sin,” replied Maxwell. He was actually starting to sound more pompous than usual. “It has to be done in front of at least a double-double coven of witnesses, so you need to invite forty-eight or more of your friends who will stay all the way through until midnight.”
“Do they have to be invited?” Willie asked. “Friends might leave early. They sometimes do, you know. Perhaps street rabble would be better. If we pay someone to stay, they will remain until they get their money.”
“Perhaps, m’Lady, you should do both,” intoned Maxwell. “Invite your friends, but make it worth their while to stay until the stroke of midnight. And invite some of the rabble of the street. We will also need some unwilling participants in our little journey through sexual hell... unless you want to use some of your friends for that.”
“That might be interesting,” laughed Willie, “but I think it might be safer to use the street rabble.”
“Then I believe it is time to prepare a little parchment of our own,” Fred said slowly as he pushed back his chair and stood next to the table. As he began walking toward his den, he added, “Maxwell, would you please help me prepare the invitations? We are going to invite thirty of our friends to a Halloween orgy they will never forget.”
He laughed– it was not a pleasant laugh. Then he said, “And we can forget about rounding up street rabble. I think I can come up with another list of at least thirty enemies who pretend to be my friends whom I would love to have experience our evening. Fifteen couples who are friends and fifteen who are actually enemies would give us a total of sixty people. That should supply the needed numbers actually attending.”
The invitations went out the next day. Fred and Willie were known for their lavish– and decadent– parties, so the invitations were eagerly received. As an incentive to stay for the whole evening, the invitations also announced that there were to be cash prizes given out at midnight. One thousand dollars would be given for the best costume, another thousand for the sexiest costume, another thousand for the sluttiest, and another thousand for the most evil. In addition, a ten thousand dollar door prize would be given to someone chosen at random from among the guests.
In small type beneath the announcement of the prizes it said, “Certain guests may be called upon to participate in themed demonstrations throughout the evening. Participation is mandatory, but couples who participate will receive a minimum of an additional $5000 each.” It then added in even smaller print, “Acceptance of this invitation is acceptance of these terms.”
No one ever bothers to read the small print, especially on an invitation.
Thirty invitations went out. It was hoped that at least twenty-four of the couples would accept the invitation, but within days, replies from all thirty indicated that they would attend.
***
Halloween arrived at last. The long driveway which led back to Whetherington villa was lined with Jack O’Lanterns, and a fake graveyard, complete with a mechanical hooded figure of death, decorated the secluded front lawn. Orange lights outlined all edges on the front of the house. Inside, spider webs festooned with black bows and shiny silk witch’s hats stretched across the walls of the foyer. Ancient broomsticks, carved pumpkins and other symbols of Halloween were scattered throughout the house. A large bubbling caldron in the middle of the living room, whose steam poured out across the floor to form a low hanging mist throughout the house, completed the theme.
The evening was to begin with a sumptuous dinner so the guests began arriving around six for pre-dinner drinks and hors d'oeuvres. Fred and Willie greeted each guest at the door, and immediately after the guests walked past, dictated notes to their personal secretaries who were listening to the earwigs both hosts were wearing.
Fred especially liked the Adam and Eve costumes and they topped his best costume list. Adam was wearing a fig leaf loincloth with what appeared to be a snake peeking out from the front. Eve was also wearing leaves, but two large, red apples with very large stems appeared to hang from the front.
Wilhelmina, on the other hand, felt that the spider and the fly were the best. The makeup was perfect, both the spider and the fly’s faces were horrific, and it was very difficult to tell whether the spider or the fly was the male of the couple. “Maybe you will be able to tell if the spider eats the fly,” Fred told her with a smirk. He then added, “Or perhaps we will have to give out a double prize.”
Both agreed that Marilyn Monroe, accompanied by Madonna, were the sexiest couple, but they disagreed as to which was the sexy slut and which was a sexy drag-queen. “Are you sure that isn’t Cindy and Clarice?” Willie asked.
“No,” answered Fred, “Cindy is Cinderella and Clarice is the handsome prince.”
“They do make a handsome couple, don’t they?” she replied.
“They always have,” he answered. “They always have.”
Fred and Willie also agreed that the naughty nurse and horny doctor were the sluttiest. The doctor was wearing a hospital lab coat, open at the front with nothing under it but a very strategically placed OR mask. The nurse was wearing a skirt not much bigger than a belt, thigh-high white fishnet stockings with red crosses on the front, and an oversized, old-fashioned nurse’s cap. Her tiny, but oddly shaped, thong was red with a white cross exactly over her clit. What made the tiny thong look strange was that it did not decrease in a V to just a G-string going between her legs. Instead, it remained an inch or two wide until it curved slightly up to meet the strings of the waistband. Two stethoscope heads acting as nipple covers completed the ensemble.
By 6:45, it appeared as if all of the guests had arrived and Fred and Willie had all but given up on selecting a most evil costume. Then the door opened and both of their mouths dropped wide open in shock. Someone made up to look exactly like The Fallen One walked through the door with a female companion made up to look like a she-devil– and not just any she-devil. She was the spitting image of The Mother of Lilith.
“It’s not him. It’s not him,” Fred hissed to Willie. “He’s not quite the right height and doesn’t move right, so it’s not him. But, damned, that makeup is exact. It has to be someone who has met him... someone with a huge set of brass balls.”
“It’s not her, either,” Willie hissed back. “She’s smaller, and much more graceful than that, but the skin looks right. With as much as she is showing, it had to have been dyed red all over her body, and her yellow eyes have the same slits as The Mother.”
Fred started to whisper something else to Willie, but stopped because the couple was now directly in front of them. The man took Fred’s outstretched hand in greeting and said in a deep, resonant voice, “Thank you for inviting me into your house. I go by many names, but tonight you may call me ‘Scratch.’”
At the same time, the woman took Willie’s hand and murmured, “And you may call me Lily.”
Maxwell and Marta were standing nearby holding trays of canape’s and champagne for the arriving guests. Both looked over with raised eyebrows and strange expressions on their faces. Max shrugged his shoulders and formed his lips into an exaggerated frown. He then mouthed, “I have no idea.”
Willie recovered first from the shock which had frozen them in place and said cheerily. “Welcome to the greatest Halloween party ever. We will be dining shortly.”
She grabbed a flute of champagne from the tray Marta was holding and offered it to The Mother, saying, “We have opened the best of our wine cellar for tonight. After all, tomorrow may never come.”
“Tomorrow always comes,” the man dressed as The Fallen One said with a deep chuckle. “The question is whether or not you will be there to see the sunrise.”
“Yes,” Fred answered dryly, “that is always the question.” Then after his own forced chuckle he added, “... isn’t it?”
At exactly seven pm, Maxwell appeared at the edge of the room and announced in his typically precise manner, “Dinner is served.”
As the Whetheringtons and their guests filed into the dining room, Max leaned close to Fred and said softly, “I had to set two additional places. We have gatecrashers.” He frowned, then tilting his head slightly upward, pointed his nose at The Fallen One and The Mother and said in his most pompous tone, “I believe it is the couple who dares to impersonate your master and mistress, m’Lord.”
“We will see when the masks come off at midnight, won’t we?” Fred answered.
***
The seven-course meal was presented in European fashion with each course being cleared from the table before the next course was served. Dessert, the final course, was creme brulee. The rich, caramel-topped custard was one of Marta’s specialties and both Fred and Willie’s favorite dessert. Willie had especially requested it for tonight, “just in case this doesn’t work.”
After all had finished and the dishes were cleared, Fred invited everyone into the large front room for coffee and conversation. “We have a few games that ought to make the evening interesting, enjoyable, and memorable,” he said as he ushered people to the couches and chairs which had been arranged in a large ragged circle in the huge room. A warm fire crackled in the large fireplace in the corner along one of the outside walls. Heavy curtains blocked off the wide bay window area.
As the guests found their seats, Maxwell and Marta hurriedly brought two more chairs into the room. Max quietly huffed his displeasure at whomever the party crashers were, but no one except Willie heard or noticed him.
“You have just participated in and enjoyed a seven-course meal,” Fred began. “Now we will participate in– and most of you will enjoy– a seven-course evening of sexual pleasure.”
Several of the women blushed and quiet murmuring filled the room, but no one reacted in shock or attempted to leave. All present knew what type of parties Fred and Willie often gave and were expecting some sort of sexual content to the evening.
“And since,” Fred continued, “my majordomo, Maxwell, did such a superb job of directing us through our marvelous supper, he will now guide us through... The Seven Levels of Sexual Sin.”
Several of the women giggled slightly. One or two of the men laughed aloud and one exclaimed, “All right!”
“Monsieurs and Mademoiselles,” Max began, “all of you agreed to participate as needed in our festivities this evening.” He chuckled deeply. “For those of you who don’t remember agreeing, I would advise that you read the small print on everything in the future.”
He chuckled again. “And for those of you who think you aren’t willing to participate or you won’t participate or that we can’t make you participate, participants have already been selected. If you were selected, you have already been given a very expensive and very secret drug. There was a timed cocktail of sedatives and other drugs in some of your creme brulees that will kick in at the appropriate time.” Another chuckle. “So, if you suddenly feel very, very tired, know that you are perhaps part of the next course.”
He chuckled slightly once again as he looked about the room “Prince Charming and Cinderella,” he asked, “are you feeling a little tired... or perhaps like your inhibitions are fading away?”
“We don’t have any inhibitions to begin with,” Clarice answered cheerily. “As long as it doesn’t involve screwing a man or a horse, bring it on.”
Everyone laughed as Clarice– Prince Charming– took Cinderella into his/her arms and gave her a loud passionate kiss.
A witch in black satin and her partner warlock dressed in a matching robe made from purple satin suddenly stopped laughing as Max added, “What about Merga and Cyric?”
Cyric, the warlock in purple started to rise, but stumbled drunkenly into the center of the circle. “Why the hell not?” witch Merga said with a smile. “It’s not like I haven’t screwed in public before. What do we need to do?”
“Our selection from the first level of sexual sin is Voyeurism– and its complimentary sin, Exhibitionism,” Max explained. “All you have to do is let us watch you have sex. You will be the exhibitionists, we will be the voyeurs.”
“Come here, honey,” Merga said with a lopsided smile. “That drug has totally destroyed my inhibitions and I’m ready to exhibit some primo sex for these nice voyeurs.”
In one swift motion she stripped off her witch’s robe and stood naked in the center of the room. Cyric– actually David, the accountant– stripped off his robe. He was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of sports shorts beneath it. Merga– actually Alice, David’s wife, laughed and said, “I guess I’m the exhibitionist in the family, aren’t I?” She gave another loopy smile and added with a slurred voice, “But you won’t pass up a chance to screw me, will you, honey?”
In answer, Dave pulled off his T-shirt and slid down his shorts. The fact that he was wearing a pair of tighty-whities under the shorts brought a chorus of laughter, causing him to turn bright red as he slid them slowly to the floor.
Alice pushed downward on his shoulders and he slowly went to his knees. She pressed her body against his and it looked, at first, like she was going to press her bushy cunt against his face. Instead she continued pressing against him until he fell over on his back with her straddling his chest. She then slid down slightly on his body and, after raising up a little, impaled herself on his now rigid prick. She began moaning and panting almost immediately as she rode him with forceful bounces that caused him to give out a distinct “oomf” each time she bottomed out against his pelvis.
As her cries continued to climb in volume and pitch, Willie leaned in close to Fred and whispered, “What sort of secret drug did Marta put in those desserts?”
Fred laughed softly and shielded his mouth as he whispered back, “The secret is... there is no drug. But they don’t know that.”
They both laughed quietly as Alice screamed out her first orgasm.
Meanwhile, Cindy and Clarice were naked and locked in a mutual scissors that allowed them to wildly grind their cunts together. Clarice encouraged Cindy with cries of “That’s it baby, harder, harder, harder!” until they both began screaming out in orgasm. Cindy swung around in one sudden motion and embraced Clarice as she pressed their mouths together.
Someone in the crowd of voyeurs began a slow clap that grew in speed and volume until everyone stood with many shouting “Bravo! Bravo!”
As the applause began to die away, Fred motioned for everyone to be quiet and then said, “There is one other rule to the evening that I really should explain at this time. That rule is simple. ‘Once something comes off, it stays off.’ That means masks, clothing, whatever.”
“What about my glasses?” asked Little Bo Peep. From the thickness of her lenses, everyone knew it was Beverly despite the excellence of the rest of her costume and makeup.
“Don’t worry, Beverly,” Fred replied. “If it’s something you need to function, then you can put it back on.”
“I assume that includes my peg leg,” laughed Captain Hook. “The hook’s fake, but I left my real prosthetic leg at home and don’t want to be hopping around all night.”
Fred joined his laughter, “Yes, Gerald,” he replied, “that includes your peg leg.”
***
Maxwell stepped into the center of the room and announced in his typically pompous voice, “It is now time for the second course.”
He nodded to Clarice and Cindy and then to David and Alice and said, “You may return to your seats.”
As they picked up their clothing and walked back to the sofas and chairs, Marta handed each of them a towel with instructions to put it under them before they sat down. After they were seated, Max swivelled his head back and forth several times stopping briefly to stare at this person or that.
“I believe it is time for a horny doctor and slutty nurse to show us the rest of their costumes,” he said firmly. Donna Tucker and Wayne Forrester immediately turned deep red. They were both Fred and Willie’s pick for the sluttiest costumes but, as usual, Maxwell knew the rest of the story better than anyone else in the room. After all, he spoke with the servants and maids of all of the other guests and knew secrets that only those who are deemed invisible by their masters and employers ever get to see.
Neither Donna nor Wayne rose from their chairs. Everyone else in the room was now staring at them. Max again spoke, “Give the drugs a minute to catch up,” he said in a measured tone. “Timing such things can be a very tricky process.”
He walked over so that he was directly in front of the nurse and doctor and asked, “Do you feel that joy juice flowing through your veins shredding your will and destroying your inhibitions?”
He smiled a most disconcerting smile and then added, “You have no choice. Leave what little clothing you have at your seats and come out into the center of the room.”
Both Donna and Wayne stood up, stripped off their insignificant costumes, and walked slowly into the center of the room. Donna obviously had something in her vagina, because a small, T-handle was visible protruding just past her labia. It was most likely a chastity pear as that would match Dave’s cock, which was enclosed in a chastity cage.
“The second level,” intoned Max, “is public humiliation. Our naughty nurse and horny doctor didn’t wear their skimpy costumes just to win the most slutty prize tonight. They did so in the secret hope that something would go wrong with their car, or they would have an accident and have to walk around in public in those costumes. Similarly, they wore their chastity devices beneath their costumes in the perverse hope that they might be forced to publicly expose themselves and their perversions here at this party.”
He paused for a moment and then continued, “Sometimes hopes become reality. If you look carefully, you will see that Donna and Wayne also have almost matching anal plugs.” He chuckled and said, “ Lean over and show the people your hidden jewelry.” Both Donna and Wayne bent at the waist to reveal shiny butt plugs.
“Spread your cheeks and tell us what the plugs say,” Max ordered.
Donna answered for both of them and said, “Mine says ‘slut.’ Dave’s says ‘slave.’”
“You actually get turned on by being humiliated, don’t you?” he asked.
“Yes,” Dave answered softly. Donna merely nodded her head.
“Your holes are all plugged,” mused Max, “so what could I possibly have you do for our sexual enjoyment?”
He turned to the group and asked, “What do you think?”
“They’re not all plugged!” shouted someone. “They still have an open mouth.”
“Ah, yes,” Max replied. “And the most humiliating thing that a woman can do is to give a man a blow job in public.”
Donna turned a deeper shade of red, but at the same time she began to pant slowly.
“And would that not be even more embarrassing for a man?”
Max slowly turned around with his hand in the air pointing at the crowd with his finger. “I guess we need two men to help us out.” He stopped and extended his arm fully “How about Thing 1 and Thing 2?”
Two young men dressed in red shirts with big white circles on the front with the numbers one and two on them stood up. “I know it will be a bit of an imposition to ask that one of you let yourself be sucked off by a woman, but I think the drugs will help you relax your standards a little.”
“A blow job’s a blow job,” answered Thing 2. “As long as she doesn’t bite, I’m game.”
“Keep your costumes on,” Max instructed. “It will add to their humiliation.”
Thing 1 and Thing 2 walked into the center of the room, unzipped their pants, and pulled out their pricks. Thing 1 was already stiff. Thing 2 gave his cock a few quick strokes and it also stiffened.
“On your knees,” Max ordered Donna and Wayne. “... and crawl over to your proper positions.”
Both dropped immediately to their knees and began crawling across the floor to where Thing 1 and Thing 2 were standing. As Wayne approached Thing 1, it was obvious that his own cock was trying to become erect but the rings and thorns of the chastity cage were preventing that.
“Beg for it,” Max ordered, and Wayne said “Thing 1, may I please suck your cock?”
Donna just looked up at Thing 2 and said, “Please?”
Thing 1 and Thing 2 answered in unison, “Of course,” and Wayne and Donna immediately pulled their cocks into their mouths.
Donna was obviously an accomplished cocksucker. Wayne knew what he was doing, but he seemed distracted by the pain of his chastity cage. Amazingly, the humiliation of sucking Thing 1's cock in front of all of these people was turning him on so much that eventually his own cock no longer responded to the pain and swelled up to fill the constraints of the cock cage to the absolute limit. As he continued to suck and lick, Thing 1 began to thrust against his mouth and reached down to hold his head so that it would not bounce away from the thrusts.
Finally, with a deep groan, Thing 1 spurted into Dave’s mouth. As soon as that happened, Dave himself shuddered and a small amount of semen dripped from his trapped cock. His cock remained totally stiff, however, because the tight rings of the cage now trapped the blood in his engorged member.
A moment later, Thing 2 also groaned and thrust one last time very deeply into Donna’s mouth. She pumped her mouth up and down a few more times on Thing 2's cock and then fell over on her back and spread her legs so that she could frantically get herself off with her own hands.
Someone again began a slow clap, but Max held out his hands for silence and said solemnly, “One does not applaud humiliation unless it adds to the humiliation.” After that, everyone stared in silence as Wayne and Donna rose shakily to their feet and looked around the room.
“I’m afraid that cock cage is going to have to be cut off,” Fred said, stepping into the center of the room with a large pair of wire cutters in his hand. “Or we could just wait until gangrene sets in,” he added with a laugh, “and it will drop off all on its own.”
He then turned Wayne so that they were more or less face to face and reached down with the wire cutters and began snipping the rings of the cock cage. “Hold yourself out of the way,” he ordered, “or I might snip off something you don’t want to lose.”
Wayne groaned in added humiliation as he pulled his trapped prick away from the metal rings as best he could so Fred could cut them. A moment later he screamed out in pain as the cage fell away. It was not just the sharp barbs pulling out of his skin. The circulation to his penis was restored and with it came the pain that his body had been prevented from feeling while everything was cut off by his swollen member straining against the metal sheath.
“You know,” said Fred rather matter-of-factly as Dave swayed in pain, “a eunuch doesn’t have to worry about chastity devises or the pain they sometimes cause.” He laughed and added, “And if you don’t get a cock cage with an emergency release, you just might find that out first hand.” He then slapped Wayne soundly on the ass and told him to go sit down.
***
Maxwell had once again come to the center of the room. “The third level of sexual decadence,” he began, “goes beyond exhibitionism and humiliation... ... to pain.”
He again turned slowly in place surveying the assembled party goers. “I’m afraid, however,” he continued, “that we do not have even one matched pair of pain sluts with us tonight.” He smiled, “So that means we have to break up a couple or two for our demonstration.”
He spun rather suddenly and pointed directly at Wonder Woman. “How do you feel about pain, Diana King?”
She gasped and Max laughed as he added, “I do rather like the play on names with Diana Prince and Diana King. But while Diana Prince’s alternate identity is Wonder Woman. Diana King’s alternate identity is PainslutQueen1942, and your password is DCDPDW1942.”
Diana again gasped, this time grabbing at her throat with her hand. “ DC for DC Comics. DP for Diana Prince. DW for Diana White, her married name. And 1942 because that is the year that Wonder Woman premiered in DC comics.”
“How... How... How could you know all that?” she sputtered out.
“PainslutQueen1942 made way too many references to Wonder Woman comics in the chat rooms,” Max explained smugly. “It piqued the interest of a hacker friend of mine. He came to me after he had discovered your secret and asked me if I knew who you were.”
He smiled once again and Diana slumped her shoulders and looked down at the ground. “Now we all know who you really are, don’t we?”
He spun almost 180 degrees and pointed at a really bad Jack Sparrow impersonator. “Just as we know who you really are, Trevor.”
The pirate jumped back slightly as Max advanced on him. “I’ve seen the costumes that you have created for others. They are wonderfully inventive and exquisitely constructed.” He lifted up the felt vest that Trevor was wearing. “This piece of crap, on the other hand, can have only one purpose, and that is to cause people to make fun of you or perhaps go even beyond that and maybe punch you or spank you.”
At the word spank, Trevor began shaking his head and stammering “No, no, it isn’t anything like that.”
“But the drugs will reveal the true you,” replied Max. “Why don’t you just drop your pants to the floor, bend over this sofa, and let your lovely wife Mahaila whale away on your ass with this leather paddle.”
Max once again gave that false smile that somehow seemed very foreboding and continued, “It’s what you have wanted to do for a long time, isn’t it? But you have never had the nerve to ask her to do it.”
Trevor continued to shake his head slowly back and forth, but at the same time inched his way over to the back of the couch and began unbuckling the belt of his costume. Once it was loose, he opened his pants and let them drop to his feet. He wasn’t wearing anything under them.
“We will deal with Wonder Woman in just a minute,” Max said, suddenly very cheerful in his speech. “But first we have to decide how many swats our wretched imitation of Captain Jack Sparrow should receive from his lovely wife.”
As he spoke he handed a black leather paddle to a rather muscular black woman who was dressed as an Amazon warrior. “Trevor made that exquisite costume for you, didn’t he?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied softly. “It was what I wanted.”
“Then don’t you think you should thank him by giving him what he really wants and needs?” Max asked.
In response, she swung the paddle through a wide arc and a loud “Crack” echoed through the room. Trevor gasped... grunted... and then moaned as if someone had just taken his cock into their mouths.
“Not yet,” Max said. “We haven’t decided how many strokes you should give him.”
“Until he cums,” the Amazon replied, “... or begs me to stop.”
With that she stood behind Trevor, and looking defiantly into Max’s eyes, began delivering blow after blow to her husband’s upturned ass. The crowd was counting softly as she repeatedly swung the paddle. At around ten strokes, a light sheen of perspiration appeared on her ebony skin. At around twenty strokes Trevor began grunting out “Oh, oh, oh, oh” with each impact of the shinny leather. On the thirty-ninth stroke, he suddenly yelled out a deep, long cry and stood up. His cock was erect and spurting cum over the top of the leather couch cushions.
“I think this is definitely going to change some things around our house,” Mahaila said as she stood with the paddle at her side panting– perhaps in exertion, perhaps in passion. “I’m going to take him over in the corner, and he is now going to do a little something for me.” She smiled as she slapped the leather against her hand. “Only his paddle is a lot smaller and wetter and can get to just the right spots if he sticks it out far enough.”
As Mahaila pulled Trevor toward the far corner, Maxwell once again stepped into the center of the room. “We haven’t forgotten you, Diana,” he began. “And before you waste your time protesting that we are wrong about you, look down. Your body testifies against you.”
Diana looked down at her blue spandex costume. A darker blue splotch now decorated the area between her legs and the stars within the splotch were no longer shining white. “Why don’t you just take off those sopping wet bottoms– or for that matter, why not take everything off except your bracelets and crown, and put yourself over the couch like Trevor did?”
Wonder Woman slowly slid her panty-like bottoms to the ground, followed shortly thereafter by her red top and cape. That left her standing there in her crown, her bracelets, and her thigh-high red and white shiny leather boots. “The couch,” said Max and she slowly draped herself over the leather cushions.
“On second thought,” he said, “it might be better if you were just on your hands and knees in the middle of the room.” Diana pushed herself up from the couch and followed Max’s directions so that she was now on her hands and knees in the spot he indicated.
“We are going to see just how much of a pain slut you really are,” he said. “You can get up and go back to your partner at any time, but if you do so before you orgasm from the pain, you will not be able to cum in any fashion for the rest of the evening. The drugs you ingested will prevent that and I won’t give you the antidote unless you stay with the pain all the way to the peak. Do you understand that?”
“Yes,” she answered. “I cum from the pain or I don’t get to cum at all for at least the rest of the night.”
“You understand very well,” Max said with a smile. Marta walked into the center of the room to join him for a moment. She was carrying a long, cane-like object which she handed to her husband and then returned to the edges of the crowd.
Max lifted the cane and placed its tip– or should I say tips– against Wonder Woman’s cunt and asshole. There was a slight click, a soft “pffft”, and an extremely loud scream as the cattle prod discharged. Diana’s body reflexively straightened from the jolt which passed through it and she launched herself forward several feet to where she lay panting and sobbing on the floor.
“Return to the position,” Max ordered softly. As she pulled herself back up to her hands and knees and crawled back into place, he turned to the room and asked, “How many do you think it will take for her to cum?” He surveyed the crowd and added, “Or do you think she will break first?”
“She will take whatever you give her,” said Superman, who had accompanied Wonder Woman to the party. “She is that much into pain.”
Six more times the click, pffft, and scream were repeated. Each time it took just a little longer for her to pull herself back up to her hands and knees and return to her position. The last time, as she wobbled back to her place in front of Max, instead of finalizing her position by spreading her hands and knees to brace herself, she rolled over onto her back with her legs drawn up and her feet nearly against her ass. She then spread her knees widely.
“Are you sure you want to do it this way?” Max asked.
In response, she spread her knees even further apart causing her cunt to gape slightly. Max muttered, “So be it,” and pressed the prod against her from the front. Now the two prongs were against her clit and the very back of her cunt opening. This time the click, pffft, was followed by an extremely loud and long yell that sounded like the scream of a tormented soul from the depths of hell.
Diana took a gurgling intake of breath and continued to scream, but the tone of the scream changed. It was deeper, throatier, and broken into short gasps. Her back arched so greatly that her body came up off the ground except where her shoulders and heels were touching. She remained in that position quivering and screaming for several minutes until she collapsed back to the floor with a sigh.
Several people in the crowd could be seen exchanging money. Evidently there had been a few side bets as to whether or not anyone could actually cum from such pain. Diana rose shakily to her feet and Marta handed her a small glass. “It will taste like white wine,” Marta murmured, “but it will counteract any effects of the other drugs.”
Diana drained the small glass in one gulp and returned to Superman on one of the leather couches. Again, Marta handed her a towel to sit on.
“It’s time for a short intermission to our activities,” Max announced. “Refill your drinks. Pick up some snacks. But do not leave. We will resume shortly.
***
About a half hour later, Maxwell called everyone back into the front room. The furniture had been slightly re-arranged so that it was now in a semi-circle facing the outer wall. Four raised lecterns or podia stood facing the room. A fifth was slightly to the side.
“For our next courses of sexual sin,” Max explained, “We are going to play a little game for some very high stakes.” One of the helpers came into the room and handed something very heavy to Max, who grunted slightly as he stepped forward and placed it on a small pedestal slightly in front of where he was standing. When he stepped back so that the object could be seen, there was a loud gasp from the crowd.
“Yes,” he said smugly, “that is a standard 400 ounce bar of gold bullion.” He chuckled, “I’m sure that all of you know the current price of gold. It is down a little from its peak, but this shiny door stopper is still worth somewhere around a half a million dollars.”
He looked around the crowd, stopping to make eye contact with several of the people who were staring greedily at the softly shining gold bar. “Are any of you greedy enough to put yourself up against this gold bar in our little game?”
He laughed then said, “Of course you are. How silly of me to ask.” He raised his hand with one finger extended like some ancient orator and asked, “But are any of you greedy enough to put your spouse up against this ‘Good Delivery Certified’ bar of precious metal?
“What about you, Dracula? Are you willing to put Elvira at risk?
“And you, Klingon? Would you risk your Starfleet mate?
“Or perhaps you, Doctor Frankenstein. Are you willing to put up your bride?
“Perhaps Clyde would be willing to put Bonnie on the block for a chance to win this little bauble?”
The room became very quiet. Max waited for a few more moments and said softly, “I assure you that none of you have been given any drugs. The only drug acting on you right now is your own greed.
“The rules of the game are very simple. We will play four rounds. The loser of the first round experiences forced exhibition. The loser of the second round receives forced humiliation. The third round is, of course, forced pain. And the fourth round... well, we will discuss that when we get there. But at that point, the remaining player will have to decide if they are going to walk away with a consolation prize or risk everything going for even more than this bauble that you now see before you.”
Marta was standing next to the curtains which closed off the bay window area. She reached behind the edge of the curtains and they began slowly sliding open. “If you are willing to take the risk,” Max continued, “then restrain your partner or spouse in one the devices in the bay window and go take your position behind the corresponding podium.”
For several more moments, no one moved. Then the mad doctor stood up and pulled his wife to a standing position. “Do I have to?” she whined. “You said I wouldn’t have to do anything tonight. I only came because I wanted to see what that crazy old bastard was up to this time.”
“I know what he is up to,” Dr. Frankenstein– actually Harold Bently, a local real estate developer– said harshly. “He is hoping that he can embarrass me or hurt me. That might happen, but I’m willing to take the risk. That gold bar is worth over $500,000 dollars.”
“But I’m the one who might get stuck with a cattle prod or have to suck off one of these old farts,” Gloria whined, shaking her heavy, lightning-bolt-streaked wig from side to side.
“You married me for my power and wealth,” he shot back, “remember, honey? And you’ve gotten real used to using that power and spending my money. Don’t you think it’s time that you earned some of it?”
With that he dragged her over to the first platform, which was labeled with a large number 1. “Into the stocks,” he ordered. Gloria complied and he quickly closed the top over her head and hands.
“Actually,” Maxwell said, now holding his hand up as if instructing a student, “these are pillories, even though they are commonly called stocks. Technically, a stock is flat on the ground and holds a person’s legs while they are seated on the ground. A pillory, on the other hand, holds a person bent over at the waist by trapping their hands and head.”
“Whatever,” snarled a rough-looking man in a pin-striped 1920's style suit as he locked his partner in crime into pillory number 2. Bonnie was actually Loraine Westcamp, and Clyde was her husband Tim. Tim was a local banker known for foreclosing on properties as soon as possible if a person began to have trouble making the payments. Loraine was known for controlling most of the upscale social activities in town and taking great joy in freezing out any woman whom she deemed to be unworthy.
Mr. Worf, actually Virgil Hampton, a physics teacher at the local high school, carefully placed his companion’s head in pillory number 3. “I’ll do my best to win,” he assured him. “I know it’s a risk, but we really could use the extra cash.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have worn a red shirt tonight,” the Starfleet midshipman wailed in response. He was actually Lee Williams, a grade school teacher.
Meanwhile, Dracula and Vampira continued a rather loud, hissing argument. Dracula– actually an accountant named Bruce Stover– and Vampira– actually his significant other and co-owner of his accounting firm, Wendy Saperstein– evidently reached agreement because she walked over and set her hands and head into Pillory number 4.
Several heads swivelled in an attempt to get a good view down Vampira’s cleavage, but as she leaned over it was very obvious that she had a thin blouse or some other kind of wrap beneath the deep V of the black dress. Actually all four of the “spouses” were very conservatively dressed for one of Fred’s parties. It was rather obvious that none of them had intended to be participants in whatever it was that Maxwell and Fred had in mind.
“We are not going to rely on buzzers or any other gimmicks like that,” Max began. “This will not be a contest of luck and speed, but rather will be purely a competition of knowledge, wisdom, and cunning.”
He paused to look each contestant squarely in the eyes and said, “You have heard the rules. You know what you are risking. We are descending into non-consensual sex. There are many different choices at each level, but we are going to stick with our choices from the three consensual levels. That means non-consensual exhibition, non-consensual humiliation, and non-consensual pain. That is what you are risking.”
He paused and took a deep breath before continuing quietly, “You can still change your mind at this point. All you have to do is release your partner and go back to your chairs.” His voice suddenly became loud and forceful, “But once we begin, there is no backing out. You are in this contest until you win or until your partner pays the forfeit.”
Max again looked each man in the eyes and asked, “Are you in or out?”
“I’m in,” responded each in turn.
“Then we begin,” he said softly.
***
“The first question is a moral and legal one,” Max explained. “Your company has built a substandard apartment building which collapsed when it caught fire from faulty wiring. Many people were killed in the inferno and you are being held personally and legally liable for the negligence. What do you do?”
Max reached under his podium and pulled out a large analog timer. It was set to five minutes. “You have five minutes to come up with an appropriate solution,” he said. “After we have heard all solutions, the group will judge them from best to worst.” He laughed and added, “Remember, you don’t have to hav
