Named after the Inferno’s most lecherous Hell spot, The Second Circle was a type of polyamorous playground frequented by the aristocratically beautiful and the sensually bored. Its regular, highly screened and exclusive clientele sought escape from the mundane, cavorting within a strictly adhered-to hedonistic code. Zoning and dress codes were reinforced for patrons’ comfort, as were the no-phone and no singles rules.
But on Halloween night, scant flesh and small deaths were not enough to entice those just beyond the thin veil to come play. A glamour was set upon the building that doubled as a gateway, only perceived by society’s most depraved. Freaks and Perverts some would call them, though both words had fallen out of favour in polite conversation at the turn of the most recent century.
Not that it mattered. On the thirty-first of October, patrons consumed more and cared less; there was little polite conversation to be had in the illustrious club, unless you counted begging ‘Please!’ and 'Thank you, Master!' as polite, but no one ever did.
Two pairs of sandals strode over the threshold, strapped to the calves of twin Siamese cats. They painted a most tantalizing sight, both adorned in Spartanesque attire that left as little to the imagination as Frank Miller’s warriors.
“Funny we’ve never seen this place before. I’m sure we pass this boulevard at least twenty times a year,” Arno commented, holding out his cover charge to the doorman, who refused the cash point blank.
The twins exchanged a perplexed look and shrugged, attributing the free passage to their good looks and ignoring the throng of individuals behind them who were turned away under the guise of excessive virtuousness.
Celio held his hand out to the Palomino donning a steampunk costume who was eagerly waiting to stamp their hands. “Yeah, well Erik said… fffuck!”
“He said fuck?” Arno asked, looking over his twin’s shoulder to see what had caused him to swear. Sure enough, a sigiled brand, swelling no bigger than a ring, glowed brightly on the back of Celio’s paw where the stamp should have been.
“Not to worry loves, it’ll fade after tonight,” the horse informed them, waiting for Arno to relinquish his paw. “That is, unless you can’t handle a little pain...”
Not to be bested by a taunt, Arno thrust his arm out, pressing his lips together to swallow a hiss when the iron, heated mysteriously without fire, singed his fur. “G-go on…” he told his brother through gritted teeth.
“Yeah,” Celio began, blowing gently on the new mark, “Erik said if we came out this way tonight, we might find something of interest. I’m starting to think he’s putting us on, though.”
That was until the feline pushed the velvet curtain aside, stalling in his steps and causing the other to bump into him. Before them was a two-tiered universe brimming with bodies. Strobe lights, floor lights and spotlights created fleeing flashes like exploding stars, highlighting the distinctively wet, glistening shapes of dancers. They writhed against one another to hypnotic techno music so loud that the erotic pulse of its sound traveled through the floor, tempting Celio’s feet to join them. The poles impaling the large, crowded dance floor were in no danger of being neglected; the one nearest them was occupied by a slutty cheerleader fox leaning in to give an equally scandalous nurse lynx a hungry kiss full of tongue and teeth. Their hands alternated, tugging playfully at what little clothing they wore, and petting against recently oiled fur.
“... that one is empty?”
Reluctantly, Celio snapped out of his trance. His eyes had been devouring the sight of a caged trio strung overhead. Theirs was a mouthwatering performance that rocked the small glass-barred enclosure. From the bottom he could see an otter on all fours, pirate clad as he was, being filled front and back. His small mouth stretched painfully around a viking cheetah’s cock and a mixture of the otter’s ecstatic tears and spit dripped stickily onto the glass beneath him. Behind him, an oryx whose fireman costume pooled around his feet, continuously slammed into him, burying himself to the hilt. His hips snapped back and forth, and he bit down on his bottom lip every time the force of his thrusts caused the otter to gag.
“I said,” Arno sighed, leading his brother by the arm toward the bar, meandering through the dancers, “why’d you think nobody’s using that one?” He was obligated to shout as he pointed to the lone pole mounted upon the center stage, roped off by red velvet cordage.
Celio’s face broke into a devious smile. “Dunno. Special guest? Hope it’s someone fuckable.” He flashed two fingers to the bartender, effectively ordering them drinks and caught Arno’s flushed reflection in the mirror. His fingers traced the progress of heat spreading over his brother’s body from neck to chest, and over the dips and bumps of his firm abdomen until it reached the leather of Arno’s tented loincloth. The unyielding thickness underneath throbbed at the slightest of touches. “But by the feel of things, you seem to think everyone’s fuckable already…”
The twin groaned, his dick hardening even more at the attention it was getting. “Shut up…” But his words didn’t match his actions; he pressed his brother’s hand hard on his erection. Closing his eyes, he reveled in the surrounding debauchery, in the smell of sweat and cum already thick in the air. Moans, nearly imperceptible, weaved through the music’s rhythm like the acoustic thump of a porn flick.
Unconsciously, Arno slid himself up onto the bar stool, spreading his legs under the loincloth to comfortably accommodate his growing bulge. His twin smirked, moving in sadistically to stand between his thighs, fingering the hem of his costume.
“Did you notice the VIP booths on the other side of the dance floor?” Celio breathed against the shell of his brother’s ear, snaking his hand under Arno’s clothes and grasping his already weeping cock. He had counted at least a dozen or so booths; three of which had drawn their curtains for privacy. Six more had been in use, their occupants fucking in plain sight, inviting anyone to watch, anyone to join. “We could always…”
Arno’s chin fell into his chest as he watched the shape of his brother’s hand move under the flimsy leather, slow and tantalizing. A harsh, nostril-flaring breath escaped him when Celio’s wrist gave a fluid twist at the swollen head. “What… makes you think you’re VIP... huh?”
Celio paused, feigning a hurt, martyred expression. He took that moment to spit discreetly into his palm before resuming pawing Arno’s dick in ruthless, languid strokes. “My skills are legendary. Between the both of us, I’m the one that’s good at making people cum.”
“That sounds like a dare...” Arno pointed out, eyeing his twin from under his lashes. He leaned back, elbows coming up on the bar behind him.
It would be easy enough to put it to the test. There were plenty of willing bodies. Just three bar stools down, a small, but buxom waxwing snuck coveted glances. She fondled herself under the skirt of her maid’s outfit, all while sipping on her margarita, the ice of which was black and steaming. Arno supposed he could join an ongoing orgy, explore the dungeon on the lower floor or visit the playrooms situated upstairs, but that wasn’t what he considered fun. There was no victory in fucking anything that threw itself at you.
He wanted, thirsted for something good, something powerful.
The ram serving as bartender deposited two Amarula Baileys next to the handsomely costumed hoplites, inadvertently interrupting the handjob that had the seated Siameses’ claws scratching the wooden veneer of his bar. Normally, he would have doubled the cost of the drinks to cover damages, but it wasn’t every day that the stars aligned.
“Couldn’t help but overhear your conversation…” the bartender started, nudging Arno’s claws from the countertop with his damp bar towel.
“Sure you couldn’t,” Celio said, letting go of his brother and taking a drink from his glass. He licked his lips seductively, relishing the creamy froth accumulated along them. It was unlike any whiskey he’d had: more aphrodisiac than buzz-inducing. The alcohol zinged through his nerves, settling in the pit of his stomach and stirring his cock unnecessarily. Without any forethought, he curled his finger towards the eager waxwing, then pointed to the floor between his brother’s legs.
The bartender chuckled, impossibly erasing the evidence of the cat’s claws in a single swipe. “Ya got me... I was eavesdropping. Difficult when this one,” he nodded towards Arno, “purrs so prettily the way he does.”
“I don’t…” But with the feel of a wet heat latching itself to his cock, Arno became lost for words, features shifting from feline defiance to that of deepest concentration; the kind that forced a mouth open, and furrowed brows. Next to him, Celio pet the bird’s slicked-back coif, sometimes pushing her head, encouraging her to take more, to go deeper.
“Mmmmmn... lazy much?” Arno asked his twin. He let his head fall back and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirrored ceiling. He smirked, seeing a wing partially disappear under his brother’s loincloth.
“You could say you’re welcome instead.”
“Why? You’re not the one sucking my dick,” Arno chided playfully, watching the maid pull off his cock with a smile, then lapped the slit greedily while on her knees. She swallowed him again, dragging her tongue over every bump and ridge, mapping the fat vein on the underside. “Fuck. So good… keep going…” he praised.
Not losing a beat, the waxwing made a sound of assent at the back of her throat that reverberated up the cat’s length. Celio yanked her hair, fisting it roughly by the roots, all while engaged in a superficial conversation with the bartender. She tightened her grip, thumbing at the sticky pre-cum on the tip as she squeezed it and spread it over his stiffness.
Celio hummed a gut-level moan, leaning forward over the bar. “Is it always this crazy?”
“On Halloween, yeah,” the ram answered, plying the cat with more liquor. His eyes flashed to the wendigo bone-masked leopard ascending the stage, and in doing so, sopped Celio’s drink over the rim of the glass and down its sides. “Bout to get rowdier too, by the looks of things.”
The battalion of wandering strobe lights flickered a handful of times and fixed their gaze to six spots along the club’s periphery. A hush fell over the crowd as cages descended without chains and seemingly out of nowhere. Each was empty. Dark. Darker than dark. Possessed of a strange, hungry energy that seeped through the bars and spilled offensively onto the floor.
Each cage was manned by a guard, mostly grizzlies and rhinos dressed in black suits; were it not for their sheer size, they would have faded into the new tenebrosity. Crimson flickers sparked the floor of the cages, staining the spotlights and making them stand out like blood moons on a night sky canvas.
Immediately, hands rose, and newbie clubgoers flocked to the cages, pushing one another in an attempt to get ahead of the queues. Arno saw the waxwing’s eyes go wide, felt her feathers flutter against his thighs. Hotly, he realized that not even he could sustain her attention as she abandoned her position on the floor, winking and blowing him a kiss.
“Heyyy…” Celio complained. He saw curiosity gleaming in his brother’s eyes and put a firm hand on his shoulder to stop him from following. “What’s going on…”
“They’re volunteering…” the bartender muttered.
“For?” The twins asked at the same time. They could tell that he’d been waiting for this; the subtle upturn of his lips grew into a telling, excited grin that spread to his dilating eyes.
“To be the sacrifice.”
“S-someone’s gonna die?” Celio sputtered.
“Six someones?” Arno rejoined.
“Uh-uh. It’s not literal. Those cages are gateways. Didn’t you know? Every year on the thirty first, demons come through. Mostly incubi and succubi. Just looking for a good time, you know? Like everyone else here.”
“Awesome!” Arno exclaimed, shrugging off Celio’s hand. “Sex with an incubus! Bet you could barely walk after that!”
“Hardly a challenge though,” the bartender commented slyly, reminding them that he’d overheard their conversation.
“Who cares. When else am I gonna have an opportunity to fuck a demon!”
“Riiiiiight. Demons.” Celio rolled his eyes. “A trick of the light, black fog machines... Cool special effects makeup, I bet. PartyCity horns and BDSM pleather outfits?”
On cue, they appeared in their cages. Hungry and desperate, clawing their way through the feeble flames resembling a budgetary pyrotechnic show. They leapt from their gateways, and all at the same time, their feet touched the floor. Swarms of horny clubgoers, the youngest, most experienced of them, or so it seemed, pawed at the demons eagerly.
Without discernment, without any fastidious taste, those first in line were fucked against the wall, or else thrown onto the tables with an ungentle, savage kind of lechery. The music hadn’t come back on yet, or it might have; they wouldn’t have been able to tell over the snarls, screams and moans filling the room.
That’s when the sigil on the back of Celio’s paw began to prickle, then itch until it burned a cool blue.
“That still kinda looks like fun,” Arno pointed out, motioning to a raccoon being bound strappado by invisible rope, a spreader between his feet.
“Nah, just wait,” the bartender thrilled in a slightly higher pitch. “He’s coming. Gonna class up the joint.”
The ram wasn’t the only one excited. In the recent commotion, the twins had missed the larger crowd gathering around the stage. Those from the dungeons, whips and crops in hand, as well as from the playrooms in various states of undress, joined the fray. They were all crooning something about haunting your fucking dreams and swaying in obliviously aroused somnambulism.
The bartender raised his hand towards the DJ and made a convoluted gesture in the air. “I’m surprised any other demons bother to show up at all with Him coming. Let them have their fun now I guess… Once he arrives, they’ll have to make due with his leftovers.”
“Who?” Arno demanded, piqued by a mixture of both fear and horniness.
The name might have been a summons, since the pole on the stage chose that precise point to become a pyre. Instantly, Arno was assaulted by a deluge of thoughts that were not his own. He saw, he felt, he heard, he tasted, in vivid detail, the ecstasies experienced by sinners in their fiery baptisms. Though he’d not studied history extensively, he recognized Rome, Assyria, Egypt, Babylonia… a reverse progression creeping through eras and civilizations in milliseconds. He wondered, in his trance-like state, how far back it would go. Flashes of images continued to speed through Mesopotamia, and further still, reaching the very birth of fire until all that was left was dark and light.
And that’s when Arno blinked the rapture from his eyes. It rained from his lashes and fell on his cheeks in cinders. He could see, clearly now, as if for the first time since he’d walked into the club.
A long leg adorned with a bone spiked boot, dark as chaos, wrapped itself seductively around the brass pole, center stage. The being to which it was attached was not burning in fire, but in obsidian incandescence. The pyre was by no means a punishment.
This was rebirth.
All around the stage and all around the room, hearts raced, appetites crested nearing their crescendos. Desire blazed, bursting into flame like fated phoenixes. Gothic metal brought the speakers back to life, and the enticing demon in their midst lifted himself up weightlessly, arching back until he suspended upside down, and slowly cascaded the length of the pole in a controlled slide that rose the crowd from their undeserving ashes.
“Fuck! Look at that!” Arno grabbed Celio by the arm and squeezed it excitedly. “It’s an actual demon! A real one!”
Arno rose up on the stool on which he sat to get a better view. Some of the patrons that had queued for the incubi and succubi had abandoned their posts and made way for center-stage instead.
“Would you get down from there! You’re such a gullible motherfucke--” Celio shouted, hands cupped to his mouth. The orchestral obscurity was drowning him out.
“So ghosts and dimensions you believe in… but demon are a no?” If his brother answered, he didn’t hear it. He was hypnotized by the sheer fluidity with which the newcomer spun around the pole, throwing shaded prisms upon the stage when his many horns caught the chromatic lights.
With a come hither glance, Ash summoned three spectators to join him, and made quick work of their bodies’ suppleness, positioning them to his liking so that they stacked like blocks. The first, a rabbit, was on all fours, face to the floor, eager ass pushed in the air. The second, a cat, lay back on the first, breathlessly exposing her pussy to the demon. She was flushed, swollen and wet already, excited at being selected. The third, a lithe, but eager mouse, sat upon the Ragdoll, holding her by the ankles, his own small cock stiff and standing at attention, dripping pre-cum down his own shaft and onto the cat’s meaty slit.
With little to no warning, other than lowering himself to his knees and the nudging of his dick along their exposed bits, Ash took the cat’s cunt, stuffing himself inside of her with enough violence to rock the threesome. She was already screaming by the time he’d hammered into her four times, squirting onto her lower participant.
The mouse too whimpered, having his throbbing length swallowed, rubbing the roof of the demon’s mouth as he continued to slam into the cat’s drenched hole. When it became too loose for his liking, he switched, opting for the rabbit’s tighter ass, now sufficiently slick with the cat’s cum. As the mouse neared orgasm, Ash slowed this thrusts, letting the long curvature of his cock push against the bundle of nerves that had the rabbit biting bloody kisses into the cat’s shoulder as he finally came. All the while, the mouse begged and pleaded for his own release, and with a subtle suck at his aching head, the deed was done.
No sooner, Ash had moved on, lept from the stage, the head of his cock still dark with blood, the shaft knotted with veins that pulsed intensely from the need for more.
The twins mapped Ash’s progress as he strut through the club. They made comments about ferrofluid spikes at his shoulders that moved as he did. That held his prey in place on his dick as he let a Fennec fox bounce on his cock and made her cum twice. He discarded her once he’d filled her, throwing her off his lap to take her boyfriend instead. He climbed atop the table and rode the bull reverse cowboy. The points of the demon’s hooves splintered the table beneath him as he impaled himself. He pushed the bull’s knees up and with a curl of his finger, beckoned a Macaw who’d been jerking off at the sight. He issued an order in the parrot’s brain.
Under him, the bull grunted and groaned, holding the demon by the waist as he slammed into him repeatedly, then keened as the Macaw’s fingers found their way into his ass, one, then two and three at a time. Ash spat, ropes of it landing on the parrot’s fingers, smoothing the rough fingerfuck the bull was now enjoying. With his climax building, the demon rushed the parrot’s head to his dick and spilled into his mouth, massaging his throat to allow him to swallow load after load.
Arno himself was ready to cum untouched; the arrogance with which the demon took his victims astounded him, made him greedy and jealous. His hand was already down his brother’s loin cloth, thumbing his slit and spreading its lubricant down Celio’s shaft when Ash’s crimson glare pinned him in his place.
“Keep going…” Celio urged panting against his brother’s throat. His canines raked over the tender skin there, aggressive in his need to be pleasured. “Don’t stop… I’m almost…” But Arno’s hand stilled, though keeping his twin’s swollen head prisoner in the cage of his fist. “Why are you…”
“He’s thirsty,” Arno whispered. “Look.”
Celio peered over his shoulder and saw Ash, mid-air, shackling a dart frog from the rafters of the ceiling. His low, seductive chuckle raced through every occupant present, raising their flesh in a collective shudder. “C’mon,” he whined, “ He looks too busy to be thirsty… How do you even know?”
“He told me,” Arno pointed to his head, “in here.”
“Sure, whatever. Take this as an opportunity to buy him a drink then,” Celio jeered, fuckstrated by his brother’s lack of attention. He turned towards the bartender. “What does a demon,” and he did air quotation marks around the word demon, “even drink?”
“Oh, you know… you, him, her,” he pointed to a ventriloquist-dolphin dummy, “her and him,” to an Alice in Wonderland turtle and wizard Ox. The bartender poured tequila into a dozen or so shot glasses, the liquid spilling over and onto the laden tray. He sent it, with a bowl full of limes and a shaker of salt, hovering along, as though by an invisible force, to the side of the room that had been occupied by the demon.
“So not something you can put on my tab, huh?” Celio asked, incredulous.
The tray reached Ash in no time, having avoided the crowd below him. He allowed himself to drift lower, eye level with the frog, whose teeth held a wedge of lime. With salt sprinkled upon his victim’s neck, he let the liquor rain down the frog’s chest.
“What the fuck, that’s poisonous!” Arno bellowed internally.
The amphibian was spun abruptly to face the cat, and as Ash chased the tequila with his long tongue, so too did Arno feel the rough texture erode his fur in a straight line from pelvis to neck. Ash sucked a maroon mark on the frog’s throat to take in the salt, and then stole the wedge of lime from his lips. Arno tremoured and Celio stared, disbelieving, his gasp a shared melody among the hundred or so in the club.
In the seconds that it had taken for such a feet to occur, the frog had cum forcefully, and was still dribbling onto the floor. With the help of some guards, he was taken down from the rafters, while the demon moved on to his next gambit, and another, and another.
He stalked the public, undeterred by whether people were already busy. At one point, the twins watched as he coercively removed an incubus by its tail from atop its food. He fucked it passionately, savagely slapping it over and over until the shark’s skin chafed red and he begged for more.
He participated in a game of naked Twister, whereupon every colour resulted in the demon’s cock being fucked or sucked. And when that wasn’t enough, an inky spaded tail appeared, more than happy to do double duty.
A game of hot potato ensued, but instead of the tuber, a cum-dumpster of a Suriname toad was passed around, each taking their turn to use and abuse its many orifices. The music stopped when Ash arrived, and as he filled the slutty little toad, he too was jammed from behind with two cocks. He rode them at the same time, the giraffe’s and the lion’s, both driving hard inside him, seemingly rearranging his guts, heating him from the outside-in.
The lion pumped his cock in and out a handful of times before he came and went limp. Ash repaid him in kind, selfishly knocking back the giraffe. The lion felt the demon harden and swell inside of him, and Ash had him gaping in no time as he pistoned his hips to a ferocious rhythm. The lion came again with a roar, and he too was abandoned. What was left of the demon’s arousal was dumped down the giraffe’s throat.
Restraint had been lost to the twins by now; and they took it in turns, spitroasting a priest-clad peacock secured in stocks. As Celio rammed into its tight ass, Arno fed him his cock. Their hands were locked together, holding onto the beam that separated them. It rocked noisily, back and forth with their thrusts and sometimes they would lean in for a slight brush of the tongue, or an exchange of frothy spit.
Between the gagging and moaning and the sound of skin slapping skin, the twins had barely registered the demon brush past to eat and fuck the line of drunken frat penguins that had neatly bent over the nearby bar to simply placate his appetite. Their small barbed tongues stuck out, drooling onto the surface of the mahogany bar the harder he slammed into them, their dorsal feathers slicking with sweat and cum and saliva.
It was Arno’s turn to fuck the peacock when he noticed the demon noticing him.
You’ve been patient tonight, haven’t you, furball?
The subtle purr of Ash’s tenor was a bold ebb and flow down the cat’s spine. It made him explode, painting the bird’s insides with sticky juices. His knees went weak and he crumpled onto the peacock.
Come to me, the demon called hypnotically inside of his mind, and though Arno didn’t resist, he wasn’t given a choice either. A tightness strangled his neck, invisibility collaring him. He stumbled his way up the stage to Ash, his confused brother in tow.
“Where are you…” Celio demanded of his twin, and his hands instantly reached for his own throat.
“Come, kitty, kitty, kitty…” the demon taunted, long fingers grasping something intangible in the air, and giving it a harsh yank.
Both cats faltered; one fell at Ash’s feet, while the other was more or less prostrated. Celio, the fallen one, couldn’t deny the demon’s charm, admired the hellish aesthetic of his costume and the ploy he used to make it feel as though he was pleasantly suffocating.
The demon took a knee and lifted Celio’s chin, “It’s no ploy, my finicky little feline, but if you need to see it, so much the better for our audience.” He snapped his fingers and the leather collar materialized out of nowhere, as did a ball gag.
His brother, Celio noticed, also sported the leather collar but had not been forced quiet. The indignation curled his upper lip and awoke the sadist streak that usually only emerged mid-fuck. Real demon or not, Celio saw himself slowly easing into the role of plaything.
They sat on their heels side by side in front of Ash, obediently waiting. Around them, house rules were forgotten and the audience hooted and hollered, taking out their phones to snap pictures. They expected to be entertained, to witness humiliation, depravity, begging and perversion; the Halloween Party Demon had not yet ever failed to deliver.
He circled the twins like a vulture culling a meal. A crop slid down his arm as he purged the dust from his boots by tapping the leather flap against his heel. It then caressed Celio’s back, haunching him forward until he was on hands and knees.
“Good boy,” Ash crooned with a whip-like smack to the cat’s rear. Celio gasped, then hummed approval. His dick went rock hard under his costume, but only for a moment; both his cape and cloth were removed. He was exposed, and abashed for it.
A weight came down on his back as the demon took a seat on him. Ash could feel the heat of his furniture’s petty ire rise and he encouraged it, made himself more comfortable. No doubt the feline would pay him back for it later.
Arno was pushed back a meter to allow the demon a stretch of his legs. He’d been on them all evening, and thought he deserved a little break... a little worship.
“Well, get on with it,” he told Arno, crossing his arms behind his head. He knew the eager cat understood. He had received his instructions in his head.
“Will I be rewarded?” Arno smirked, crawling towards the underside of Ash’s boots.
“This is your reward, pussycat. I assure you there are at least a hundred privileged others who would cum to take your place.” With the vague threat, an antelope in a goddess’ toga stepped forward, so did her witch of a tiger girlfriend.
A snarl tore up Arno’s throat, and they stopped short. Ash smiled, planting his feet squarely on the floor.
Not one to shy away from a challenge, Arno nuzzled the sleek skin of the boot with his cheek. It was cool to the touch and absorbed the heat from his flushed face. Subtly, he sniffed the left one, then inhaled it, unable to resist the opium high that suddenly came over him. After that, it became only logical to lick and clean the polished hide. His rough tongue bathed the instep, and the more he licked, the more stained with black they became.
“I do have two boots,” Ash reminded, staring down at Arno imperiously. “Oh, and do pleasure yourself for me, just to make it interesting.”
With a most unbecoming snort, Arno switched feet, kissing the shin, the shapely calf, sometimes biting into it. He took himself in hand, and stroked his cock to the same rhythm as the swipes of his tongue.
"You misunderstood me, not with your hand, fluffball, with this." A flourish of Ash's hand was all it took to make a flesh coloured sleeve appear by the cat's side. "The sound of how wet you are is much more enticing with this, wouldn't you agree, pet?" He asked his stool, caressing Celio's hair.
Celio glared at the demon, but nodded anyways, loathe to agree with him. It seemed the right thing to do. His truth was rewarded with warmth pressured against his hole, and since both of Ash's hands were accounted for, he knew deductively that it could only mean his…
"You're going to fuck him with your tail, while I do all the work here?" Arno teased, securing the sleeve over his rigid stiffness.
Celio growled around his gag, urging his twin to shut up. This was the least that could be done for him.
Ash tilted his head coquettishly, a mocking expression on his face of false concern. "Oh, you want to be fucked too, kitten? Don't let me stop your hand…"
With that, his tail railed into Celio with a sharp thwack. The cat's teeth dug into the gag and he moaned loud enough to earn himself a smack on his ass. "Good boy," Ash praised.
Jealous, Arno began to fist himself, the jelly-like feeling of the sleeve rolling over him like a wet cunt. He crammed his tongue between the space of Ash's hoof, then took to sucking the tip.
"Better," the demon flattered, breathing through his nose, "you're getting there."
Arno fucked his hand in tandem with Ash's tail fucking his brother. The pace was measured, built of lust that had both cats curling their toes. The more that his urge to orgasm climbed, the harder he sucked the demon's toes. He switched between boots, spitting and laving and sucking, in a close approximation to fellatio.
Ash groaned in perfect harmonization to the panting, the moaning, the slurping and the smacking, and finally, forcefully inserted his booted foot into Arno's mouth. It choked him. A single moment of blissed asphyxiation had the cat cumming into his hand and the demon on his own boot.
Immediately, Ash stopped what he was doing, simultaneously withdrawing his foot and his tail. He stood and allowed Celio to arch his back with a plaintive wail.
Surely this needs to be tidied up if anything else is to occur.
Much to Arno’s surprise, his twin was first to lick up the dripping juices from Ash’s boot. It was even more of a surprise that he was willing to share, especially since his cock looked angry and sore with denial. The twins lapped at the demon’s spunk; it was thick and refused to dilute with their spit, retaining its original texture and bittersweet flavour - for which they were both grateful.
“Go higher,” Ash encouraged.
The twins complied, tails swishing and on their knees before the demon, licking their way from knee to thigh to pelvis. Between them, the spent cock began dripping, already hardening. They exchanged a look, one of mirrored appreciation for the specimen of a dick and for the opportunity to work together. They shared the head, ravenous in their appetite.
Ash tightened the hold on their leashes when the two kissed, passing the cum they’d still left on their tongues between them. He moaned as they swallowed and continued to suck and kiss at his cock. They mouthed the bumps and ridges and fat veins, and as Arno continued, Celio ducked down, taking Ash’s balls, one at a time, tonguing the heavy globes and filling his mouth with them. The wrinkled flesh there hardened until they were practically solid, and he saw his member grow at the same time.
Arno’s head bobbed when Celio came up and put his fist at the base to pump it hard. It was inelegant, a riot of moans and wet sounds, both of them licking up and down the shaft or else sucking or jerking it. They drooled and slobbered upon it, let it sluice down its length, only to lap it back up together. They beat it off Celio’s nipples, letting the strings of spit break apart before swallowing it wholly once more.
“If I had any idea you could work together so well, we could have started with this…” the demon told them, a hint of a jest in his quavering voice.
The cats’ ears perked up and Celio’s gag fell from his mouth. “We work very well together,” they told him, separating as the floor opened up. A spanking bench, red with leather and shine, rose onto the platform, as the mirrors overhead glinted when additional lights came on. Screens once used to broadcast trashy porn now held their image, showing Arno disrobing to match his twin.
“Huh,” Arno started, eagerly climbing atop the horse and moving to its front. He leaned his face against the surface and stuck his ass up high, hands at his sides over the armrests. “I thought you’d have something fancier up here, like one of those Slave Driver Fuck Machines.”
“And what makes you think that it’s not attached to me, my angry little cocksucker?” Ash inquired, giving himself a few languid pumps before climbing up after the cat. He splayed his hands over Arno’s ass, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh. The demon half wanted to tease himself, half wanted to fuck the cat senseless to end the night on a high note. He compromised by tormenting Arno, moving a wet finger lazily around the entrance of his hole, nearly dipping in, but stopping at the last minute. The cat cursed under his breath as the demon decided to finally insert a finger, then two and four. He moved them in and then he moved them out, licking his lips as Arno rocked back onto them, forcing small whimpers from where he bit into the edge of the bench.
Arno trembled all over, wanting to spread his legs further, to take more of Ash inside himself, but could not for fear of falling off the legrests. A bead of pre-cum, then another and another dripped from his cock and onto the leather. Behind him, just under his taint, Ash’s erection throbbed impatiently. “Just put it in!”
“Beg for it, kitten…”
“Fuck you,” Arno growled, ass clenching in an attempt to keep Ash’s fingers inside. He wouldn’t give him the opportunity to withdraw them, to leave him empty.
The demon tsked the bent-over cat, continuing to finger him, and once he found his prostate began massaging it. Arno shuddered, eyes rolling in tune with his hips, mewling, seeking... “Please. Just … please for fucks sake.”
“Now was that so difficult?” The demon asked. One hand gripped the cat’s hip and soon enough, he filled him completely.
As Arno arched his back from the welcomed intrusion, Celio, found himself at the demon’s ear.
“What about you, demon? Do you beg for cock as well?”
“Only if it’s good,” Ash replied, eyeing Celio’s dick. It likely was: the cat was frustrated enough, keen to fuck his greedy hole. “Well, do you plan on finding out soon, or shall we make an appointment for next year?”
Celio grinned, twisting his fingers in Ash’s g-string and pulling up hard. The demon hissed and he did it again; this time the fabric tore with a snap. He placed his cock between Ash’s cheeks, and spat, slicking it and sliding it between them. “Hope you’re this tight everywhere else…”
“You’ve fucked your brother, haven’t you furball?” He asked over his shoulder, slamming into Arno, whose breath expelled in seething swears.
“And was he to your satisfaction?”
“Yes,” Celio said, grinding nice and snow, fully sandwiching his cock.
Ash chuckled low. “Then I dare you not to cum the moment you’re inside me.”
“What… What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Arno called back, pushing hard against the demon’s dick. He reached back clumsily and grasped the demon’s balls. They were as full as he was, hard and tender all at once.
“Shut up and keep begging, pussycat.” Wings that served only an aesthetic purpose sprung from Ash’s back, shielding the brothers from one another. Selfishly, he coveted them both, and separately.
Celio rubbed his adamant cock against Ash’s hole, nudging and teasing, the tight, pink ring of muscles twitching every time his head slid over it. Finally, he pressed into the demon, his sweaty head resting mid-back.
Ash’s gloved fingers-turned-claw traveled the length of Arno’s back as he was penetrated, and a raw, gluttonous growl rumbled in his chest. The pleasure pain of being stuffed and crammed tore through the demon like a fire, the cat’s cock splitting him as it slammed all the way inside him. He felt the challenging edge of the sex, let it drive his own length deeper into the twin, and gave himself over to the nascent desire of filling and being filled.
Behind him, Celio concentrated on giving the demon pleasure, held him by the shoulders and rammed into him, reveling in the squelching sounds. His thrusts drove deeper and harder and even deeper into that tight, maddening heat. He fucked into him with an erratic, almost violent rhythm, caught up within the heady cheers of the crowd, staggering with the sensation that assailed his body.
“More,” Arno screamed, attempting to grip something futile. His voice was hoarse and aching.
“Has your brother always been a nasty cockslut?”
“Yes!” Celio screamed, pinching and biting and scratching at the demon’s back with the effort of not cumming so soon. It was nearly ruined when Ash turned his head and smirked.
“Come feel my cock pressed against yours as we finish him together, then.”
The thought of his dick and Ash’s crammed into his brother nearly made Celio explode. He wanted to see the demon lose his composure, wanted to see his face crack when he came inside of Arno. Nobody knew better than him, the way that his twin’s body was relentless in its hold when he came.
So he pulled out, and walked around the bench as Arno was pulled up. He faced the demon, eyes dangerous and draped his legs over Ash’s. With the help of his demon’s tail, Ash was able to usher the second cat’s girth to be accommodated in the sheath of his brother’s stretching hole.
Arno practically sobbed, wrapping his arms around his twin’s neck as his rear was lifted and left to fall over and over on the throbbing pair of dicks inside him. It was hellishly painful and sinfully delicious. He simply couldn’t help the cries that left him.
With difficulty, Ash suppressed a groan, mind slipping into that sweet spot where only pleasure mattered. His own pleasure. He pushed Celio onto his back, and tipped his brother over him. He bet that Celio could feel his brother’s belly bulge, their dicks working in tandem the way they were. Holding onto Arno’s hips steadily, he poised their bodies, slamming into the cat, snapping his hips back and forth until the sheath strangled him, milked his cock, pulled him deeper and held him there.
Inside, he felt Celio’s cream spread, warm at first, then hot, spreading and seeping from the hole and onto his own stomach, sticking to his brother’s fur. When both cats mewled, crying out the demon’s name repeatedly in raspy, panting breaths, when they begged for him to stop, kissing in kinky comfort, when Ash fed enough off the burn of their vulnerability, the demon came in brutal, overwhelming spurts, pulling out sloppily to leave his claim on them both.
The music dimmed and the lights muted. By Ash’s best estimate, it was thirty-three minutes past the third hour. With new undergarments knitting themselves over his less than modest length, he cleared his throat, calling for the twins’ attention one last time.
The sigil on the back of their paws came to life again, glowing vivid and burning crimson. It shone and reflected from their suspiciously narrowed eyes, rearranging itself into something more pleasing, something more exotic: a demon’s tail, curvaceous limbs twined around a pole with prominent petioles at the arch and witch letters at its periphery.
Ash took each hand, examining his own brand with an air of arrogant delight. “That’s better,” he hummed courteously, “much better than the trash that was there before.”
“But what does it mean?” The twins asked in unison, breathlessly exhausted, slumped over the spanking horse.
“It means I’ll know where to find you next year, furballs.” And with that, he bid the cats and clubgoers farewell with a lazy flourish of his clawed hand. He embraced the torrid, blistering smoke that rose where he stood and vanished in search of his next conquests.
After all, the night was still young.