Life is Wonderful

Envy and enmity on earth always attract the attention of Lucifer, and Clarissa was heartsick at her first look at Damian Porter, the emissary the Dark One sent to take Greg's soul.

Manny Jones had long dabbled in the occult, and he believed fervently in the legend of Robert Johnson. One evening, just after sunset, but while it was still light, Manny visited Johnson's grave, and he made an idle wish.

"I'd sell my soul if someone would come down and take that smug bastard off my hands," he said out loud, to no one in particular.

At first, he didn't notice the man who seemed to materialize out of nowhere at the cemetery. Manny turned to leave the place, and nearly ran into him.

"Where in the hell did you come from?" Manny said.

"Oh, around," Damian said in a smooth, oily voice.

Manny looked the strange man up and down and felt a shiver go through him. The man was several inches over six feet tall and lean, darkly handsome with jet-black hair pulled back into a ponytail that flowed down his back almost to his waist. He was wearing black leather pants and a blood-red silk shirt, and Manny couldn't fail to notice the large bulge in the man's pants.

"How did you get here?" Manny said.

"You sent for me, I believe," Damian said.

"What are you talking about?" Manny said.

"Did you not say you'd sell your soul for a solution to your problem?" Damian said.

"Well, ur, that's just a figure of speech," Manny said.

"Come now, Manny, you should know that Lucifer answers all requests for the sale of a soul," Damian said. "Especially from someone who's been such a loyal servant to the cause."

"I, uh," Manny sputtered. He was becoming genuinely afraid.

"Oh yes, you've been a very good contributor to the cause of evil," Damian said. "And now I'm here to give you what you want. You say you want a solution to the problem of Greg Baldwin, and Lucifer has the answer to your desire. Frankly, he's aggravated at this man's nauseating decency, and he wants to help."

"Help how?" Manny said.

"You may or may not know this, but when Lucifer sends a representative to earth in answer to a petition, the requirement for readmission into hell is a soul," Damian said. "It doesn't matter whose soul it is. It can be the soul of the person the petitioner wants removed, or it can be the soul of the petitioner himself or herself. Doesn't matter to Lucifer; a soul's a soul. You want Greg Baldwin removed, and I want a soul so that I can return home to the delicious torment that I crave."

"Well, then," Manny said. This was too easy. He would offer up Greg's soul, and he'd kill two birds with one stone. He'd be rid of Greg and he wouldn't have to sacrifice his own soul in the process.

"There is, however, a fee that the petitioner must pay in order for another person's soul to be taken in their place," Damian said. "That fee is whatever Lucifer's representative – i.e., myself – decides is appropriate. Are you willing to pay what I require?"

"Uh, sure, whatever," Manny said.

"Good," Damian said with a leer. "Suck my cock."

"What?!" Manny said. "I'm not a fucking faggot! Suck your cock? Like hell I will!"

"You might want to rephrase that," Damian said in a menacing voice. "Do you want me to take Greg Baldwin's soul, or do you want me to take yours? You have 10 seconds to decide."

Manny looked around wildly to see if there was any way out, but the thought of going to hell was suddenly a lot less appealing than sucking Damian's cock. So he dropped to his knees right there in front of Robert Johnson's grave, reached up, undid Damian's pants and stared as the biggest dick he'd ever seen flopped out and hit him in the face.

------

Clarissa stared goggle-eyed as Manny opened his mouth as wide as he could and fed as much of Damian's horse cock past his lips as possible.

"How disgusting," she said, and that brought Joseph's attention back to the bowl. He'd been off in another part of the workroom on some other business.

"Yes, the Dark One often uses men that way to attain what he wants," Joseph said distastefully. "But, you needed to see what you're up against, see how Greg's life was placed in jeopardy. Come, let's move on past that."

Clarissa moved the wheel and Greg's life story lurched forward.

Thus, she didn't see Damian put his hand on the back of Manny's head and force his cock into the man's throat, didn't see the drool running out of the corners of Manny's mouth, didn't see the pained - then lustful - expression on Manny's face, didn't hear Damian grunt hard as he spewed a huge thick load of cum down Manny's throat, and she sure didn't see the wet stain that formed in Manny's pants when his own cock exploded in orgasm without even being touched.

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Greg's trouble started when Manny's daughter showed up in Clarksdale unexpectedly. To say Delilah Jones was a hot number would be a serious understatement.

Manny had sent his only child to Ole Miss for four years in hopes that she might find some sort of career. But the only thing she was proficient at in college was sex. A dedicated Chi-O, she'd been the queen of Kappa Alpha ... and Kappa Sigma ... and Sigma Nu, Sigma Chi and Chi Psi. She'd been a regular at the Pike house and the Deke house, and she had spent more nights with the Phi Taus, Phi Delts and Phi Kappas than she had at the Chi-O house.

In fact, the only fraternity guys that she didn't know intimately were the Omegas, because, as she once so eloquently put it, "Ah do have mah standahds, and ah do NOT fuck niggahs."

It wasn't hard to see why she was so popular at Ole Miss. She had a thick mane of raven hair that cascaded down her back, big brown eyes, full lips, a pendulous pair of rounded tits and an ass that was most commonly referred to as succulent.

After college, about the only job offer she got was from an import-export company in Fort Lauderdale, which she quickly learned was a front for a large drug smuggling operation.

She had no qualms at all about giving her body away in the furtherance of the company's dealings, but she had somehow gotten a warning that a major bust was imminent. She had fled town just two days before the FBI staged a major raid on the company's headquarters.

Delilah had high-tailed it to Clarksdale until things cooled off, sneaking off with a large bundle of processed coke and a half-pound of quality marijuana. It never occurred to her that her theft might be noted once everything died down, or that her bosses might wonder about the timing of her departure.

Greg was playing hard on a typical Saturday night when Delilah showed up at the Crossroads for the first time. She looked Greg up and down about like a hungry dog eyes a T-bone. Her pussy started flowing as she stared lustfully at Greg.

She saw a man in his mid-30s, with brown hair that he wore a little long, but not too long. He had a thick moustache, sparkling blue eyes in a nice-looking face. He was slightly under six feet tall and trim, with an especially cute butt for a man.

Greg couldn't fail to notice the curvy brunette who sauntered to a spot right in front of the stage. It would have been hard not to notice her. Delilah was wearing a short skirt and tight blouse, both black in color. The blouse was open to expose an ample amount of her generous cleavage, which spilled bounteously from the top of her black lacy bra. She had fishnet stockings encasing her legs, five-inch heels, and she was quite exquisitely made up.

She stood right in front of Greg through the remainder of the set, staring at his rapidly-stiffening cock and licking her lips seductively. As far as Greg was concerned, she might as well have had a sign around her neck saying, "fuck me!"

Which he did.

After the set, Delilah walked over to the bar and ordered a drink, and Greg walked over and introduced himself. Greg was taken aback – a little wary – when he learned who she was, but she was smooth.

"You know Daddy listens to me, and he'll give me anything I want," she said in her syrupy Southern drawl. "I'm sure I can get you whatever you want, if you treat me right. Why don't you hang around backstage later and I'll show you what I can do."

She traced a finger up Greg's jean-clad leg to where his cock was straining to get free. Greg was absolutely intoxicated with lust. There was no shortage of willing women who were eager to fuck the lead guitarist for the Bluesrockers, and Greg had availed himself of a few of them.

But he'd never had a woman who looked like Delilah come onto him like that. She was all he could think about during the last set, and with his concentration elsewhere, the show degenerated into a sloppy mess.

Greg's bandmates – especially Steve – had taken note of the exchange, and the result, but they just figured it would be just a one-time thing and let it go.

The rest of the band drifted away that night after the club closed, but Greg lingered. He was about to give up on Delilah when he heard the click-clack of her heels. There was a fire in her eyes as she walked right up to him, pressing her hot body to his.

She pulled him into a fierce embrace and in seconds they were kissing ravenously, her hot tongue invading his mouth. And Greg responded in kind, slashing his tongue against hers in a duet of all-consuming lust.

Delilah's hands roamed all over his body, down his back to his butt and around to his front, where his cock was rock hard in his jeans. Greg filled his hands with her delightful tits, and she groaned in lust.

She broke the embrace long enough to push Greg onto the battered sofa that sat against one wall. She sat down next to him, reached in her voluminous purse and fished out a vial with a small silver spoon attached to the top.

Delilah unscrewed the top, stuck the spoon inside and brought out a measure of crystal powder. She didn't even give Greg a chance to say no. She just stuck the spoon to his nose and told him to snort.

Greg could feel the whispers of warning from his conscience. Cocaine had been the downfall of his last band, and he'd never been much of a user himself. But it happened so fast that he really didn't have a chance to think about what he was doing. He just took it and the second shot up the other nostril, then watched through lust-glazed eyes as Delilah gave herself a couple of snorts, then put the cap back on stuck it back in her purse then set the purse back on the floor.

Then she resumed her attack on Greg in earnest, and he didn't resist in any way, shape or form. She drew him to her again and they kissed again, hot and hard. She dropped her hand on his lap and kneaded the hard bulge under his jeans.

Greg deftly flipped open the rest of the buttons on Delilah's blouse, then popped the clasp on her front-loading bra. He gasped as her breasts fell open, the pink nipples hard with desire. He filled both hands with her tits, squeezing her flesh and lightly pinching her nipples.

As Greg fondled her tits, Delilah unbuttoned Greg's pants and fished his cock out of his boxers. It was hard, purple and throbbing with need, and as the cocaine began to work through his veins, his seemed to take on new dimensions.

He couldn't remember when his cock had been harder, and a big ball of pre-cum oozed out the tip from his arousal. He slid his hands up Delilah's legs, past where her stockings were attached to her garter belt and was pleasantly surprised to find that her clean-shaved pussy was uncovered by panties, and that she was dripping with the juice of her passion.

Greg dipped two fingers in Delilah's creamy cunt and rolled her clit around with his thumb, producing a low growl of lust. He rolled her tight skirt up to her waist, while she pulled his pants down to his knees, then she straddled his hips. Gripping his cock at the base to keep it aimed high, she fit the head to her gash and slid her pussy all the way down, engulfing his cock in one long plunge.

In all of his 35 years, Greg had never had his cock in a pussy as hot as Delilah's. She was hot, wet and muscular, gripping his cock with her sugar walls as she worked her hips up and down.

As the cocaine hit them full-force, they humped like demons, with Delilah slamming her hips down on Greg's cock, while Greg pushed his hips up to drive his nuclear spear deeper in Delilah's hungry cunt. Animal sounds of lust escaped their lips, then Delilah found her voice, and it rang throughout the club. She didn't care who heard.

"OH GOD! FUCK ME! FUCK ME! FUCK ME!" she wailed.

The noise drew the attention of Marie, who was counting up her tips behind the bar. There was no mistaking the sound, but she was curious to see who it was. She slipped quietly behind the stage and peeked around the corner into the backstage area.

It took her several seconds to figure out who it was, then her hand went to her mouth. She watched fascinated as Greg's cock drilled up and down in and out of the clenching pussy of the dark-haired woman she'd seen earlier that night.

The sight was quite stimulating, and she could feel her own pussy start to moisten. But it also filled her with dismay, because it was Greg fucking another woman. She'd fallen for Greg the very first time she'd laid eyes on him, and they had become friends.

So far, there was nothing more between them, but she always had hope that he'd see how she felt about him and ask her out. Yet she was too shy to ask him herself, and now Manny's daughter had swooped in and apparently had gotten to him.

As he worked Delilah's hips up and down on his iron shaft, Greg happened to look over Delilah's shoulder and saw Marie staring at them, with a crestfallen look on her face.

He felt bad that she'd seen what she'd seen. He liked the quiet little waitress; she was someone he felt comfortable talking to, and she was a very sweet girl. But he was way too far gone to stop what he was doing, and he really didn't feel like he owed Marie anything anyway. She was nice, but it wasn't like they were married or even dating.

Then he felt Delilah forcing one of her breasts to his mouth and he turned his attention back to the task at hand. He licked and sucked on her bullet-hard tips, sending spasms of lust through her body. When he released one tit and went for the other, he looked back toward the door, but Marie was gone.

Delilah was oblivious. She worked her body up and down on Greg's piston, a colossal orgasm building to a white-hot intensity in her body. She could feel it building in her gut, and she began to shudder and quake as it came to a head. She threw her head back and screamed out her passion, and Greg gasped, then grunted as his own climax exploded in his groin.

Like a runaway train, their mutual orgasm swept them along. Greg felt the crackle of sensation as his cum jetted through his shaft and spewed out the end of his cock, and Delilah felt her own juices spurting from deep within her womb s her climax ripped through her body.

For long seconds, they clutched at each other as their passion slowly ebbed. Then, as Greg's slightly-wilting cock slipped out of her sheath, Delilah slid to the floor, kneeling between Greg's legs, took his cock in hand and slowly, sensually licked him clean of all the slimy juice that covered his cock.

His cock stayed semi-hard, thanks to Delilah's ministrations and the cocaine that was still surging through his system. And Delilah could feel her own arousal reigniting as she felt Greg's cum oozing out of her dilated pussy and down the insides of her thighs.

"How about we go back to my house where we can go another round in more comfortable surroundings?" Greg said.

"I never thought you'd ask," Delilah said.

She stood up then, and Greg stood up then. He stuffed his cock back in his pants, but she didn't bother to close her bra or her blouse, but walked out with Greg with her tits swaying provocatively.

They went back to Greg's small rental house, where Delilah lined out another healthy dose of coke and they smoked a joint of her potent herb. Then they got naked and fucked until the sun was well up in the eastern sky.

Greg fucked her everywhere – fucked her mouth, fucked her ass and fucked her pussy again, and Delilah came over and over again.

She moved in with him the next day, much to the chagrin of Marie, who had gone home that Saturday night and cried herself to sleep.

Greg seemed to be his old self at the Bluesrockers' next performance. In fact, he seemed more amped than usual, but Steve suspected that there was something behind that, something white and crystalline. He knew Delilah from way back, and he knew she was wrong for Greg.

But Greg was deaf to any suspicions, besotted as he was with Delilah's hot body. Not to mention the fact that Delilah talked Manny into giving him a healthy raise. Manny didn't mind doing it, because he knew he'd soon be rid of Greg anyway.

It went on for a month before Steve caught Greg and Delilah doing spoons of coke in the men's bathroom on Saturday night between sets. He watched undetected as they snorted up two spoonfuls each, then he watched dumbfounded as she dropped to her knees, pulled out his cock and sucked him off.

Delilah smacked her lips and licked a little drop of cum from the corner of her mouth as she saw Steve standing there. She smiled wickedly and ran her hand over his cock, which was stiff in his pants.

"If you want, I'll give you blowjob too," she said.

Steve just turned and walked away in disgust, with Delilah's mocking laughter ringing in his ears.

That was just the latest of many little things Greg had seen and heard about his new girlfriend that disturbed him. He could sense that things were suddenly falling out of control, that a good thing was falling apart, especially when Steve lit into him the moment he got Greg alone.

"You're letting that ... whore ... fuck you up, man," Steve said. "I thought we made an agreement about no drugs in this band. What happened to that? I'm telling you, flat-out, brother. I've known Delilah Jones all my life. You forget, I grew up here, and she's always been bad news."

"Ah, you're just jealous because I'm fucking her and you're not," Greg mumbled.

"Look, we've got something good going here, and you're letting her ruin it," Steve said. "Greg, you know in your heart that I'm right."

"Yeah, well, we can talk about it some other time," Greg said. "Right now, we got another set to play."

It was about halfway through that set that Damian Porter made his first appearance at the Crossroads.

He slipped in apparently unnoticed and stood at the back of the bar, just watching. As he was playing a solo, Greg felt something funny and he missed a couple of notes as he got a sense of something, some presence. Then he shrugged it off and continued playing.

Damian then turned his attention to a nubile young thing who was swaying drunkenly to the music. She was, of course, captivated by his charms, never suspecting his true intentions. It would be weeks before her remains were found.

After the set, Greg's fingers were aching, almost like he'd contracted a sudden case of arthritis. But no one in his family had ever had arthritis, a fact he confirmed when he called his mother the next day. However, his fingers continued to ache all day and through Monday, and by Tuesday he could barely move them

He had spent Sunday and Monday doing what he'd done every Sunday and Monday for the past month - snorting coke, smoking pot, drinking a little beer and fucking Delilah. She still had plenty of her coke left, and so far no one suspicious had come around looking for her.

Nevertheless, she kept a loaded .38 in a drawer, just in case.

Greg arrived at the club on Tuesday to discover that Manny had set up a challenge for the next night. He tried to limber up his aching fingers in preparation for the night's show, but it got worse, especially after he saw the tall stranger walk in and sit at the bar to observe him.