Life is Wonderful

Not Clarissa. She loved him with her mouth, with her hand subtly working him at the base. She looked up and stared into Greg's eyes, and a merry twinkle radiated from her eyes to his. After a few minutes, she came up for air, smiling broadly.

"That's one thing I like about these times you line in. We can do this without being though of as whores if we do it," Clarissa said. "You know, that's what got me hung. I was taking Farmer Brown in my mouth when his wife caught us. She said only witches put a man's penis in their mouth, and somehow it stood up in court. The bitch."

"Swing around here," Greg said. "I want to see what an angel's pussy tastes like."

"My what?" Clarissa said.

"You pussy, your vagina," Grag said. "You know, that wet gash between your legs that wants my cock."

"Ohhhh!" she said.

Clarissa eagerly swiveled her body around so that she was straddling Greg's face. Greg looked up at the dripping cunt over his face, grabbed her hips and brought her down onto his mouth. He slid his tongue up her furrow and was rewarded with a welling of moisture from her inner depths.

That was all the incentive Clarissa needed to lean over Greg's body and resume sucking his cock, with a little more ardor this time. She wanted to give him every bit as much pleasure as he was giving her. Their hands gripped each other's hips as they feasted on each other like two starving people, which, in a sense, they were.

Greg could feel his cum starting to boil over, and he drove his hips up into Clarissa's voracious mouth, while he tongued, kissed and sucked her squirming pussy. They were both driving hard to a mutual climax, and as much as they wanted to hold back and fuck, they were in the grips of something too strong to stop.

With a muffled whimper, Clarissa arched her back as she felt the climax rush through her body, and her trembling pussy erupted over Greg's mouth.

At the same moment, he threw his hips upward as he surrendered one of the king cumloads of his life into Clarissa's throat. She swallowed as much as she could, but after the first hard spurts, most of his semen ended up flowing over his shaft and down over his balls.

Their bodies were twitching as the dregs of their passion washed over them. When her shuddering finally subsided, Clarissa rolled off Greg's body, but she kept her mouth close to his crotch, then leaned in and licked every drop of cum that she had failed to swallow, until he was relatively clean.

Then she crawled up into his arms and they lay back in the sunny afterglow of sex. Greg was feeling a peace about life for the first time in weeks. Suddenly, everything seemed clear. His hands weren't hurting any more, and he knew he could beat Damian at his own game. And it was all because of Clarissa.

She sensed his mood, and knew she had to be very careful.

"Greg, you know I can't stay," she said. "When my work is done, I'll go back to heaven where I belong, and I won't be back. Once I get my wings, assuming we're successful, there will be no need for me to ever come back to earth. So. I want to enjoy what I have with you today, but I also need to prepare you for when I'm gone."

"What do you mean?" Greg said.

"Greg, have you ever been in love with someone, but that person didn't know it?" Clarissa said, then continued when Greg shook his head no. "Well, there is someone who loves you intensely, and you just look right through her. She worships the ground you walk on, and you can barely give her the time of day. She'll do anything to save you, but you just brush her off like she's crazy."

"What are you talking about?" Greg said. "I don't understand."

"Who was it that risked her life to come over here last night to check on you, dummy?" Clarissa said. "Is that making it clear enough for you?"

"Marie?" Greg said. "But ..."

Then he stopped and thought about it. Marie, who always had a smile and a sparkle in her eyes when he spoke to her. Marie, who had been a sounding board when he first got to Clarksdale. Marie, who had cared enough to see him at his worst because she was afraid for him. Marie, who loved him.

"I, er, I've never really thought about her in those terms," Greg said. "I mean ..."

And again, he stopped and he thought about Marie. She was quite pretty, with an underlying grace that enhanced what she had. She was quiet, but deep.

"See what I mean?" Clarissa said, idly stroking Greg's cock. "I've looked at her life, and she's a strong woman with a lot of character. There have been a lot of ups and downs in her life, but there is strength in her that most women do not have. You may say you don't love her, but give her a chance, and I'll bet you can learn to love her the way she loves you."

"But what about you, what about today," Greg said.

"Oh, she's gone to her mom's in Memphis, so you won't have a chance to see her today," Clarissa said. "But tomorrow, I'll be gone, and she'll still be here."

"Where are you going to go?" Greg said.

"I have business to attend to tomorrow," Clarissa said. "Business that you can't be any part of. It's the down and dirty part of soul saving when a demon is involved. But I have that tomorrow. Today is ours. Now, are you going to love me or not? We have to build up our reserves before we go out to fight Damian."

Greg laughed then, the best and hardest laugh he'd enjoyed since this whole thing had started. He took Clarissa in his arms and they proceeded to spend the rest of the afternoon and most of the night in bed together.

Despite the workout he'd gone through that day, Greg woke up refreshed on Monday. He wasn't surprised to see that his bed was empty and Clarissa was gone. He sensed that he'd see her again before she left, but that they would not repeat Sunday's fuckathon.

And he didn't have time to dwell on it. He had things to do. He got out his guitar, plugged it into his small house amp and began to play, and to play like he'd never played before. He played with a joy that surpassed all understanding. After three hours, he was rejuvenated enough to leave the house and start getting the old Bluesrockers back together.

Damian Porter was seated in an overstuffed leather chair behind the desk in the office in Manny Jones' house, where he was staying while he conducted his business in Clarksdale. He was resting his eyes, when he felt a disturbing presence.

He opened his eyes to the sight of a good-looking blonde woman striding into the room. She was exquisitely made up, with pink lip-gloss, heavily shadowed eyes and wearing a filmy white dress that did nothing to hide the pink coloring of her unfettered breasts or the golden thatch of hair between her legs. He smiled a greeting, yet something about the woman disturbed him.

"Who are you? And how did you get in here?" Damian said.

"Oh, I let myself in," Clarissa said, working hard to drop her voice down several octaves from her normal pure tone.

"You didn't answer my question," Damian said. "Who are you?"

"Just call me Clara," she said, as she unfastened the sash to her dress. It fell to the floor in a gossamer flow. She walked up to Damian and leaned over letting her tits almost brush his face, but when he reached up to fondle them, she flitted just out of reach.

"Not so fast, lover boy," Clarissa said. "Didn't your mother teach you that all things come to those who wait?"

Clarissa's heart was beating 90 miles an hour, but she willed herself to be calm, to be strong. This was the critical part of the battle, and she was taking a huge risk. If he got his hands on her, got his cock in her, she would lose. But if she got her hands on him first...

"They tell me you have the biggest and best cock in town," Clarissa said. "They say no woman can resist it. Is that true?"

Damian's pride swelled, and it momentarily clouded his judgment.

"Would you like to see it?" he said, already anticipating ravishing this delightful treat.

"Oooooh! Can I?" she said.

Damian grinned evilly as he unfastened and unzipped his leather jeans. His huge cock sprang out hot and hard. Clarissa's eyes widened. It was one thing to see it through God's crystal bowl, but quite another to see it in person.

"Can I... Can I touch it?" she said.

"Why of course," Damian said, lust flowing through his veins. "Touch it, suck it, do anything you want with it."

Clarissa knelt at Damian's feet, between his spread legs, and took Damian's cock in both of her hands and held it tight. Damian's eyes were closed in reverent anticipation of the blonde's seduction, so it took him several seconds to figure out what was happening.

As Clarissa held his cock and prayed, it slowly, steadily shrank in her hands, until it was the size of a gherkin, all but invisible in his forest of dark pubic hair. Then she let go of it and dashed from the room.

Damian's eyes were wide with shock and rage when he saw what had happened. He looked up just in time to see the tail of Clarissa's dress as she floated out of the room. His scream of rage was positively diabolical as he realized that he had let an angel touch his dick.

It was like a game of celestial tag, and the genitals were the key. Demons and angels held the power of evil or good in their sex organs. For angels, it was merely the receptacle of their power, but in demons, their power derived from the size and capability of their genitals.

So in the warfare between demons and angels, whoever got their hands on the other's genitals first possessed those organs, and could do anything they wanted with them.

Clarissa wanted to rob Damian of his manhood the way he had robbed Greg of his, and she had won.

The noise had roused Delilah from her sex and drug-sated slumber and she stood in the doorway to the office, naked, her brunette locks tousled.

"Whasamatta, baby?" she drawled. "You like to wake up the dead with that racket."

Damian's pants were still open as he stood up, and Delilah saw what was left of his cock. Where a short while before there had been the cock of the ages, as far as she was concerned, now there was shriveled stump.

She couldn't help it. A stoned giggle escaped her lips when she saw what Damian had buried between his legs. But the giggle died on her lips when she saw the look on Damian's face as he strode violently toward her.

He backhanded her across the face, then dragged her by her hair to the bedroom she'd grown up in, with the expensive four-poster bed she'd begged Manny to buy her for Christmas when she was 15.

Damian dragged her to the bed, threw her on it, then took the cover sheet and tore it into four long strips. As Delilah lay screaming in fear, he rolled her onto her stomach, then tied her to the bedposts, so she was spread-eagled.

"Oh God, please don't hurt me!" she wailed, but Damian was oblivious. He found some Vaseline and an old softball bat she'd had from her younger days. He was going to show this whore that Lucifer was not to be mocked.

And he did, and then some.

He smeared a generous amount of the Vaseline on the end of the bat, then thrust it roughly into Delilah's pussy. Her scream of pain was otherworldly, but Damian just kept viciously pushing it back and forth, back and forth, stretching her to an obscene width and depth.

Just about the time Delilah was starting to adjust to the size of the intruder in her pussy, Damian wrenched it free and pressed it to the opening to her ass. Delilah screamed bloody murder then and tried to shy away from the assault that was coming.

But there was nowhere for her to go. When the end of the bat wouldn't go in her anus at first, Damian opened her up roughly, spreading her open with his fingers.

Then he tried again, and this time it went in, as Delilah went through a whole songbook of terrified, painful screams. Damian fucked her ass with the bat until she finally passed out from the pain. Then he shook her awake and started the process all over again.

Delilah was a shapeless mass of screamed-out flesh around 10 o'clock that night when Damian finally tired of abusing her with the bat.

He untied her ankles and wrists, but if, in some dim recess of her tortured mind, Delilah thought she was going to get a respite, she was sadly mistaken.

Damian's rage was still white-hot, and he'd made some contacts in town to give Delilah Jones a punishment she would never forget – or would never remember. He dragged her by her hair, stumbling and mumbling incoherently through the house and out the door. He threw her into the back seat of her car, where she lay almost comatose, then drove angrily to the black quarters, to a well-known crack house.

The ride had allowed Delilah time to regain some of her awareness, and when she saw where Damian was taking her she screamed, "Nooooooo!" Over and over, as he dragged her out of the car until he brought her to the front door, she screamed hysterically.

A group of hard-looking men simply stepped aside to let Damian bring his white whore into the living room of the house, where a dozen or more men sat around in a smoky haze.

"I bring you a gift, from sweet Satan," Damian said. "A stuck-up whore who thinks she's too good to 'fuck niggers,' as she once put it. Use her to the fullest extent. Call as many of your friends as you can find, keep her for as long as you like. I'm finished with her."

He turned and walked out the door, and the men all gave him a wide berth as he stormed out the door and drove off in Delilah's Mercedes.

Then they turned their attention to the naked woman lying on the floor with an expression of utter, irrational fear on her face. A dozen men surrounded her, and they leered at her as they began to unfasten their pants.

Much earlier that day, in a quiet neighborhood in Clarksdale, Marie was folding clothes on the sofa in the front room of her small apartment when she heard a knock at the door. She caught her breath when she looked through the peephole and saw Greg on the other side.

"Greg!" she said as she threw the door open. "Thank God, you're OK. Come in, come in. Sorry about the clutter."

Greg chuckled at Marie's definition of clutter. He'd never been to her place before, and all in all it reflected Marie's personality. It was clean as a whistle, everything was in its place, and tastefully decorated. The only clutter he could see was the small pile of freshly washed clothes on the sofa.

He also took note of the nervous twinkle in her eyes when she saw him come in, the excitement in her eyes at seeing him alive and well. He wondered how he could have missed it before. As a result, he was all the more glad he'd bought a long-stemmed rose at the florist on his way over. He produced it from behind his back and offered it to her.

"Marie, I owe you an apology for my behavior the other night," he said. "I was way out of line. It was just that no one had been to see me in four days, like I'd just disappeared, and I was a little bitter about it."

"Well, you scared me to death," Marie said, touching him gently on the arm. "I ... worry about you."

"Is that all?" Greg said. "Just worry? Or is there something else?"

She stared in his eyes, and saw something she'd never seen before. Love. For her? She wasn't quite ready to believe it.

"Marie, the most incredible, wonderful thing happened to me Saturday night after you left," Greg said. "I ... realized that life truly is wonderful, that the secret to life is love, true love. I thought about it yesterday. I started thinking about you, thinking about the talks we've had, about the way you look at me, the way you overcame your fear to check up on me. And I remember the look on your face when you caught me and ... that whore ... screwing backstage that night. It was like someone had just told you there was no such thing as Santa Claus. You were just ... crushed. Yet you came to see me when I needed you most."

Marie was crying when Greg finished, and she couldn't help herself. She threw herself into his arms and they embraced like they never wanted to let each other go.

"Oh, Greg, Greg, I prayed for this," she said weepily. "I've loved you since the first time you showed up at the club, and I was hoping and praying that you would see it. I know I'm not as pretty as some girls, not as well built as some girls or as full of zip as some girls. But ..."

"Nonsense," Greg said. "You're very pretty, big tits are overrated, and your personality is just fine. Anyway, I'd like to take you to dinner. I want to know all about you. Everything. I want to touch your soul."

"Let me change clothes and I'll get my things," Marie said.

At dinner, Greg talked excitedly about his day. After getting his playing fingers back, he'd gone to see Steve and they had played together for about an hour. When Greg left Steve's, they had agreed that Greg would be back in the lead role for Tuesday's gig, that they would stand up to Damian, and to Manny.

Marie could hardly believe that this animated, virulently alive man was the same figure of walking death she'd seen just two nights before. It was a miracle, and, she knew, an answered prayer.

Some time during the evening, Marie let it slip that she'd taken piano lessons for years, and that she'd gotten to be pretty good, and that she'd sung in the choir at her church, before she strayed away from the straight and narrow.

That gave Greg the germ of an idea, but he kept it to himself. He was having too much fun sharing the story of his life with Marie and learning about hers. And it was a life that had had some dead ends and wrong turns.

Marie had always thought she was plain, and her shyness in high school down in South Alabama left her pretty insecure. As a sophomore, she had tried to overcome her shyness – and her difficult home life with an abusive father who drank a lot – by giving the boys what they wanted, and had ended up pregnant at 17. She'd let herself be talked into having an abortion, something she said she'd never quite forgiven herself for.

Later, she'd been married for three years to a guy who was a heavy drinker, and when he started roughing her up, she'd left him and gotten a divorce. She'd moved to Clarksdale, because it was a long way from anywhere and anything she'd known before. She'd wanted a new start, and so far she'd straightened her life out in the three years she'd been there.

By the time she got to that part, they were kicked back on her sofa, relaxing and listening to some old blues records. Greg had his arm around her shoulders and Marie was snuggled up against him. It felt right.

Neither one said much, then Greg turned slightly, and looked her in the eyes as he slowly brought his face close to hers. The first touch of their lips together was light, tentative, but within seconds all of the pent-up passion flowed between them, and they were working their mouths together furiously, their tongues fighting for space in each other's mouth.

Greg brought his hand around to pull her to him, running it up her side. It was then that Marie broke the embrace. She looked up at him with sparkling eyes, yet there was almost a sad look on her face.

"Greg, please," she said. "I love you, and I want you, but not now, not tonight. It's too soon. One of the mistakes I've always made with a guy is to rush in and jump in bed with him, and then they don't respect me afterwards. I don't want that with you. I don't want to be just another piece of ass for you."

Greg smiled at that, even though his hard-on was quite painful.

"I promise I'll be a gentleman," he said. "But I still want to kiss you."

And he did. They kissed with the ease of two people who knew their time was about to come. When he left a little while later, Greg said he'd have a surprise for Marie in the morning, and that he had some place he wanted to take her that afternoon.

When Greg returned to his house, he was surprised to see Clarissa sitting quietly on the chair. She had a beatific smile on her face and she was back in her uniform.