The phone call droned on with the kind of obsequious praise that made Valentino's ego swell almost as much as his cock.
"Mr. Valentino, your latest release has broken every record in the Lust Ring," the voice crackled through the speaker, tinny but reverent. "The production quality, the raw carnality—it's unprecedented."
Valentino leaned back in his plush office chair, one hand resting on the armrest while the other threaded through silky purple hair. Beneath his desk, Yoruichi's tongue worked magic along his throbbing shaft, her lips stretched obscenely around his considerable girth. The wet, rhythmic sounds of her worship were mercifully drowned out by the conference call's audio.
"Darling, you flatter me," Valentino purred, his voice smooth as silk despite the exquisite pressure building in his balls. "But I simply give the people what they crave—authenticity, passion, and bodies worth worshipping."
Yoruichi's throat constricted around him, swallowing him deeper, and he had to bite down on his lower lip to suppress a groan. The sharp point of his golden fang dug into tender flesh. Fuck, the woman knew exactly how to reduce him to putty with that sinful mouth.
"We'd like to propose a partnership," another voice chimed in, this one deeper, more authoritative. "Our chain of pleasure clubs across the Pride Ring would provide exclusive venues for your next production. Full access, any amenities you require, and a substantial sponsorship package."
Valentino's eyes gleamed with predatory interest. His fingers tightened in Yoruichi's hair, guiding her rhythm as he processed the offer. Money and prestige—his two favorite aphrodisiacs.
"And in return?" he asked, keeping his tone casual even as his cock twitched against the back of Yoruichi's throat.
"Product placement. Feature our clubs prominently in the film. Perhaps shoot some scenes on location. We want viewers associating our brand with the caliber of depravity only you can deliver."
A slow, wicked grin spread across Valentino's face. His hips rolled subtly, fucking deeper into that warm, welcoming mouth. Yoruichi didn't gag, didn't resist—just took him like the professional he made her to be.
"Consider it done, amorcito," Valentino agreed, his voice dropping to a husky purr. "I already have the perfect talent lined up for something... special. Your clubs will be the backdrop for sins so delicious, they'll have demons lining up around the block."
The praise continued to flow through the speaker, but Valentino barely registered it. His attention narrowed to the building pressure in his groin, the slick slide of Yoruichi's tongue, the obscene hollowing of her cheeks as the naked purple hair slut sucked him with single-minded devotion.
"Send the contracts to Vox," he managed, his composure finally cracking at the edges. "He'll handle the details. Now if you'll excuse me, I have... another appointment."
He disconnected before they could respond, his hand fisting harder in Yoruichi's hair as his release barreled toward him like a freight train.
"Fuck, I'm a goddamn genius," Valentino groaned, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency. "Breaking records, making deals—all while getting the best head in Hell."
His cock drove deeper, stretching Yoruichi's throat impossibly wide. The wet, obscene sounds of her service filled the office, a symphony of debauchery that made his balls tighten with impending release.
"Tell me," he demanded, pulling her off his shaft with a lewd pop. Saliva connected her swollen lips to his glistening tip in gossamer strands. "Tell me how magnificent I am."
Yoruichi gazed up at him with worshipful eyes, her hand stroking his spit-slicked length with practiced efficiency. "You're incredible, Mr. Valentino. A visionary. The most powerful entertainment mogul Hell has ever seen."
The words sent electricity racing down his spine. He guided her mouth back onto him, groaning as her tongue traced the prominent vein along his underside.
"Damn right I am," he panted, his wings twitching with pleasure behind him. "And this deal? This is just the beginning. I'm going to own every pleasure house, every screen, every desperate soul looking for a taste of sin."
Yoruichi hummed her agreement around his cock, the vibrations making his toes curl in his expensive shoes. She pulled back just enough to speak again, her lips brushing against his sensitive head.
"No one does it better than you, sir. Your films, your empire—it's all perfection."
He thrust back into her welcoming heat, chasing the orgasm that coiled tighter in his core with each passing second.
His hips pistoned faster, using her mouth like the fuck-toy she'd so "willingly" become. The wet, sloppy sounds grew louder, more desperate, as he chased his pleasure with single-minded intensity. Yoruichi's hands gripped his thighs for balance, her nails digging into the fabric of his pinstriped pants as he used her throat without mercy.
"That's it," Valentino growled, his head falling back against the leather chair. "Take every fucking inch."
The pressure built to an unbearable crescendo, his balls drawing tight against his body. He could feel the orgasm approaching like a tidal wave, ready to crash through him and leave him trembling in its wake. His fingers tightened almost painfully in her hair, holding her exactly where he needed her.
"Gonna fill that pretty throat," he panted, his voice rough with impending release. "Gonna—fuck—"
The climax slammed into him with devastating force. His cock pulsed as he erupted, flooding Yoruichi's mouth with thick ropes of cum. She swallowed obediently, her throat working around him as he emptied himself down her gullet. Wave after wave of pleasure rolled through him, making his wings flutter and his claws dig into the armrest hard enough to leave gouges in the expensive leather.
When the last tremors finally subsided, he released her hair and slumped back in his chair, thoroughly satisfied. Yoruichi pulled off slowly, licking him clean with deliberate care before tucking him back into his pants with practiced efficiency.
"Dismissed," Valentino murmured, waving a languid hand.
She rose gracefully, wiping the corner of her mouth with one finger. Her curvaceous figure swayed as she walked away, hips shaking her chocolate ass for her moth daddy. Valentino's eyes lingered on the perfect hourglass silhouette of her body, outlined against the light from the hallway, before the door clicked shut behind her, leaving him alone with his thoughts and his triumph.
He reached for his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found Vox's number. The television demon answered on the second ring.
"Val? What's up?"
"I just closed a deal with the Lust Ring pleasure clubs," Valentino purred, his satisfaction evident in every syllable. "Full sponsorship, unlimited access for filming. We're about to make Hell's most expensive, most depraved production yet."
Vox's voice crackled with interest through the speaker. "How much are we talking?"
"Enough to fund that new tank for Shockwaves I know you've been salivating over," Valentino said, examining his manicured claws with casual pride. The gold rings adorning his fingers caught the low light of his office. "They want product placement, on-location shoots. I told them we'd make it worth their while."
"You got something in mind for the shoot?" Vox asked, his tone shifting to business mode.
Valentino's grin widened as he reached for the leather folder on his desk—the one containing his latest acquisitions. His fingers traced over the glossy surface before flipping it open, revealing a collection of photographs arranged in neat rows. Fresh meat, all of them.
"Oh, I've got the perfect girl already to go," he purred, shuffling through the images with predatory satisfaction.
His hand paused on one particular photo, and something hot and possessive coiled in his gut. There she was—Chelsea. The picture had been taken mere hours after he'd used his smoke on her, when she was still pliant and docile, her mind wrapped in his crimson influence. The studio lighting had captured every delicious detail.
She was completely naked in the shot, her pale skin almost luminescent against the dark backdrop. Those red eyes stared at the camera with a glazed, empty expression that made his cock twitch with interest. Her auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders in silky waves, the rich color contrasting beautifully with her porcelain complexion. The strands fell just enough to tease at her perky tits without fully concealing them—perfect handfuls topped with dusky pink nipples that stood erect in the cool studio air.
Her body was a wet dream made flesh. Slim waist flaring into feminine hips, smooth thighs pressed together just enough to hide her pussy from the camera but promising paradise between them.
The curve of her hips, the way her body promised every filthy fantasy he could conjure and he could image a lot.
"Get everything prepared," Valentino said into the phone, his thumb brushing over Chelsea's photograph. "Lighting, cameras, the works. I want everything ready within the hour." Valentino's wings rustled with anticipation. "Oh, and make sure we have that new 8K equipment. I want every inch of skin captured in exquisite detail."
"You got it. Anything else?"
Valentino leaned forward, his eyes still locked on Chelsea's image. That body was going to look magnificent on screen, writhing and moaning for Hell's viewing pleasure. "Just have everything ready. I'll handle the rest."
He ended the call and immediately pulled up his messages, his claws tapping rapidly across the screen as he typed to Velvette.
Need costumes for a shoot. Bring them to Club Lower Heaven within the hour.
The response came almost instantly, because Velvette lived on her fucking phone.
On it, Val. You're gonna owe me tho. I'm in the middle of a photoshoot.
Bill me, he typed back, already rising from his chair.
His coat swirled around him as he strode toward the door, adjusting his top hat in the reflection of a nearby mirror. Fuck, he looked good. The anticipation thrumming through his veins made him feel even more powerful than usual, if that was possible.
It had been too long since he'd done an on-location shoot. Studio work was efficient, controlled, but there was something about filming in one of the clubs—the ambient sounds of pleasure echoing in the background, the knowledge that real debauchery was happening just beyond the camera frame. It added an authenticity that his viewers craved, a rawness that studio polish couldn't quite capture.
His heels clicked against the marble floor as he made his way through the tower's corridors. Lesser demons scrambled out of his path, their eyes averted in deference. Good. They knew their place.
He reached Chelsea's room—one of the "luxury" suites he kept for his more valuable assets. The door was locked, of course. Couldn't have the merchandise wandering off before he'd gotten his money's worth. He produced a key from his coat pocket and slid it into the lock, the mechanism clicking open with satisfying precision.
The room beyond was decorated in shades of red and black, plush and decadent in a way that masked its true purpose as a gilded cage. Chelsea sat on the edge of the bed, still wearing the outfit from when he'd acquired her—the white shirt, black vest, that deliciously short checkered skirt. The pink butterfly headphones rested around her neck.
She looked up as he entered, those red eyes focusing on him with an expression he couldn't quite read. The smoke's influence had dug deep into her and the contract binding her soul to him was ironclad. She couldn't refuse, couldn't run. She was his. Because she thinks she wants to be.
"Hello, mi corazón," Valentino purred, closing the door behind him. His grin widened as he approached her, drinking in the sight of that pale skin, that auburn hair falling in waves around her shoulders. "I hope you're feeling energetic. We have a very special evening ahead of us."
Chelsea tilted her head slightly, her fingers toying with the lollipop stick she'd been holding. "A shoot?"
"Not just any shoot." He circled her slowly, his eyes roaming over her body with proprietary hunger. The skirt hugged her hips perfectly, the hem riding high enough to showcase those creamy thighs. "We're going to one of the finest pleasure clubs in the Pride Ring. You're going to be the star of something truly magnificent."
He stopped in front of her, reaching out to tip her chin up with one clawed finger. Her skin was soft, warm. Fuck, she was going to look incredible on camera.
"Get yourself ready, darling. We leave in twenty minutes." His thumb brushed across her lower lip. "And don't worry about wearing something nice." Val's grin widened. "You won't be wearing anything long."
_________________________________________________________________
The VIP section of Club Lower Heaven perched above the main floor like a throne overlooking a kingdom of sin. Valentino sprawled across the curved velvet booth, one arm draped along the backrest while his other hand held a crystal tumbler of expensive whiskey. The amber liquid caught the strobing lights from below, fracturing into kaleidoscopic patterns against the glass.
The club itself was a monument to excess. The main floor stretched out beneath him in a writhing mass of bodies—demons grinding against each other to the pounding bass that shook the very foundations. Neon strips lined the walls in shades of electric blue and hot pink, casting everything in an otherworldly glow. Multiple bars flanked either side of the space, their surfaces crowded with desperate souls seeking liquid courage or liquid oblivion.
Cage dancers gyrated on elevated platforms scattered throughout the venue, their bodies barely covered by scraps of glittering fabric. The DJ booth dominated one wall, a massive setup of screens and equipment where some imp worked the crowd into a frenzy with carefully crafted drops and buildups.
Private alcoves ringed the perimeter, their curtains drawn or open depending on how exhibitionist the occupants felt. Valentino could see flashes of flesh, hear the muted sounds of pleasure barely audible above the music. The air itself was thick with the mingled scents of sweat, sex, alcohol, and something else—something chemical and sweet that made his antennae twitch. Aphrodisiac mist, probably, pumped through the ventilation to keep the crowd horny and spending.
"Quite the operation you've got here," Valentino said, turning his attention to the demon seated across from him.
Victor, the club's owner, was a stocky demon with crimson skin and curling ram's horns that jutted from his temples. He wore a tailored suit that probably cost more than most of the patrons made in a year, and his smile was all sharp teeth and business acumen.
"Twenty years I've been building this place," Victor l said, gesturing expansively toward the floor below. "Started as shitty dive bar and worked my way up. Now? Lower Heaven's the hottest spot in the Pride Ring. We pull in thousands of souls on a good weekend."
Valentino took a slow sip of his whiskey, letting the burn slide down his throat. Impressive numbers, but he'd expected nothing less. The club's reputation had preceded it—a playground for the wealthy and depraved, where inhibitions went to die and credit cards got maxed out in pursuit of pleasure.
"The layout's perfect for what I have in mind," Valentino mused, his eyes scanning the various levels and spaces. "Multiple angles, natural ambient action in the background. My viewers eat that shit up—makes them feel like they're part of something bigger than just watching two people fuck."
Victor leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "We've cleared out the main VIP lounge on the second level for your shoot. Soundproofed, but you'll still get the club's energy bleeding through. Plus, the one-way glass overlooks the dance floor—you want crowd shots, you got 'em."
"Perfect." Valentino's cock stirred at the thought of his girls spread out on display, the oblivious masses grinding below while he captured every moment of her defilement. "What about lighting?"
"We've got a full rig installed—adjustable, programmable, whatever you need. My tech guy worked in film before he ended up down here." Victor pulled out a tablet, swiping through what looked like technical specifications. "We can do mood lighting, spotlights, blacklight if you're into that aesthetic. Color temperature's fully adjustable."
Valentino nodded approvingly. The attention to detail was exactly what he needed. Too many of these pleasure clubs cut corners, thinking atmosphere alone was enough. But Victor understood that presentation mattered, that the right lighting could transform good pussy into legendary pussy.
"And security?" Valentino asked, though he already knew the answer. Victor wouldn't have gotten this far without being thorough.
"Airtight. Once you're in that room, nobody gets in or out without clearance. Cameras on the club floor don't reach the private sections—your shoot stays private until you decide to release it." Victor's grin widened. "Discretion's our specialty. Half my clientele are Overlords and high-ranking demons who'd rather their extracurricular activities stay off the gossip channels."
The music shifted below, the tempo increasing as the DJ transitioned into something harder, faster. The crowd responded immediately, the writhing mass of bodies becoming more frenzied. Valentino watched a succubus press herself against some wolf demon, her hands already working at his belt while he groped her ass with shameless enthusiasm.
"You've built something special here," Valentino admitted, and he meant it. This wasn't just a club—it was an ecosystem of sin, carefully cultivated to extract maximum pleasure and profit from every soul that walked through the doors. "The sponsorship deal's going to be very lucrative for both of us."
Victor raised his own glass—some dark liquor that smelled like burnt sugar and regret. "To profitable partnerships and sins worth filming."
Valentino clinked his tumbler against Azrael's, the crystal singing a clear note that somehow cut through the bass. "To depravity that breaks records."
They drank in unison, and Valentino savored the burn, the weight of impending success settling pleasantly in his chest. The club pulsed around them, a living thing of bass and bodies and barely restrained chaos.
Victor set his glass down, leaning back with the satisfied posture of a man who'd just secured a lucrative deal. "So when did you want to shoot the first flick? I can have the crew prep the space, make sure everything's perfect. Tomorrow night? Next week?"
Valentino chuckled, low and rich, the sound vibrating through his chest. He set his own glass aside and straightened in his seat, his grin widening until his cerise teeth gleamed in the neon light.
"Now."
Victor's expression shifted, confusion creasing his features. "Now? But I thought—your talent, the equipment, I haven't even—"
Valentino held up one hand, cutting him off. His other hand produced a sleek remote from his coat pocket—black with glowing blue accents, unmistakably Vox's handiwork. He aimed it at one of the flat screens mounted on the VIP section's wall, the display currently showing silent footage of the dance floor below.
"Watch," Valentino purred, pressing a button. "The perks of being friends with Vox."
The screen flickered to life, splitting into multiple camera feeds. The first showed the club's entrance, where a figure pushed through the heavy doors into the pulsing chaos beyond.
Chelsea stepped into the strobing lights wearing an outfit that left almost nothing to the imagination. A black crop top clung to her small breasts, the fabric so thin her nipples pressed visibly against the material. The top ended just below her ribcage, exposing a generous expanse of pale stomach. Her skirt—if it could even be called that—was little more than a belt of metallic silver fabric that barely covered her ass, riding high on her hips and threatening to reveal everything with each step. Fishnet stockings encased her legs, the pattern stretching over her thighs and disappearing beneath the micro-skirt. Black platform heels added height to her petite frame. A white medical mask covered the lower half of her face, the innocent accessory contrasting sharply with the rest of her slutty ensemble.
She moved through the crowd, her auburn hair catching the neon lights as bodies pressed against her from all sides. Her lips moved behind the mask, the words inaudible over the pounding bass.
Chelsea sucked her teeth, tasting the lingering sweetness as she navigated between writhing bodies. "Fucking Najenda, always on my case about my damn lollipops," she muttered under her breath. " Like avoiding cavities should be my priority in our line of work."
Hands reached out from the mass of demons around her. Someone's palm slapped her exposed ass, the crack of flesh on flesh lost in the music. Another hand groped her breast, squeezing roughly before she moved past. Fingers trailed along her thigh, her stomach, her back. The crowd treated her like public property, sampling her body as she navigated through them.
Chelsea didn't react to any of it. She kept walking, her red eyes fixed on a destination only she could see. More hands grabbed, more palms struck her ass and thighs, leaving red marks on her pale skin. She pushed forward with mechanical determination.
The back of the club was darker, the crowd thinning as she approached a nondescript door marked only with a glowing pink symbol. She pushed it open and slipped inside, the door closing behind her and muffling the music to a dull throb.
"Can't just quit cold turkey," she said to the empty hallway, pulling the mask down to hang around her neck. "Need something to replace the habit. Something to keep my mouth busy."
She walked down the corridor, her heels clicking on the tile floor. Another door waited at the end, this one unmarked. She opened it and stepped inside.
The room was small, maybe ten feet by ten feet, with dim red lighting that cast everything in crimson shadows. The walls were covered in holes of various heights—some at waist level, others lower, a few higher up. The floor was padded vinyl, easy to clean. A bench ran along one wall.
Chelsea surveyed the space with those striking red eyes, taking in the glory hole setup with clinical detachment. She walked to the center of the room and lowered herself to her knees on the padded floor, positioning herself in front of one of the waist-high holes.
"This'll work," she said softly, adjusting her position. Her hands rested on her thighs as she waited, staring at the circular opening in the wall.
From somewhere beyond the wall came muffled sounds—footsteps, voices, the distant thump of music. The hole remained empty for a long moment.
Then movement. Something pressed against the other side of the opening.
A thick cock pushed through the hole, already hard and glistening slightly in the red lighting. Chelsea's eyes lit up, her lips parting as she pulled the white mask from her face and tossed it aside.
She leaned forward immediately, pressing her face against the shaft. Her cheek rubbed along its length, then the other cheek, her nose trailing from base to tip. She inhaled deeply, audibly, her chest rising and falling. Then again, harder, her face buried against the stranger's cock as she breathed in his scent.
"Fuck," she whispered, her breath hot against the skin. She pulled back slightly, her tongue darting out to drag along the underside in one long, slow lick. Then another, this time circling the head. Small kisses peppered the shaft—one, two, three, four—her lips pressing delicately against different spots.
"Need this," she murmured between kisses, her voice breathy. "Need something for my tongue. With out my lollipops I need something for my mouth." Another lick, this one starting at the base and traveling upward. "This might be so much better."
Her mouth opened wider, lips stretching around the head as she took it inside. Her eyes fluttered closed as she sank down, taking several inches in one smooth motion. She pulled back, her lips dragging along the shaft, then pushed forward again. The wet sounds of suction filled the small room.
She moved like she was savoring candy, her head bobbing with steady rhythm. One hand came up to grip the base, holding it steady as she worked. Saliva began to coat the length, making everything slicker, wetter. The sounds grew louder—slurping, sucking, the occasional wet pop when she pulled off to catch her breath.
"Mmm," she moaned around the cock, the vibration traveling through it. She sank deeper, taking more than before, her throat working to accommodate the girth. Her free hand moved to her own body, fingers sliding under the hem of her tiny skirt.
Back in the VIP booth, Valentino leaned forward, his eyes locked on the screen. The camera angle was perfect—mounted somewhere in the glory hole room to capture Chelsea's profile as she serviced the anonymous cock. Another feed showed a wider shot, displaying her entire body kneeling on the padded floor.
"Beautiful," Valentino purred, his hand already moving to adjust himself through his pants. "Fucking beautiful."
Victor stared at the screens, his mouth hanging open slightly. "You had cameras installed in there? How did you—"
"Vox has access to every electronic system in this club," Valentino interrupted, not taking his eyes off Chelsea's performance. "Every camera, every speaker, every screen. We've been preparing for this shoot since I made the deal with you."
On screen, Chelsea pulled off the cock with a gasp, strings of saliva connecting her lips to the tip. She stroked it with her hand, her grip firm, while she caught her breath.
"So good," she panted, her voice barely audible over the distant music. "So much better than candy." She dove back down, taking it deeper than before, her nose pressing against the wall as she swallowed around the length.
Her throat convulsed around the shaft as she pushed deeper, her body trembling. One hand disappeared beneath the metallic silver skirt, fingers working between her legs. The other hand slid under her crop top, palm cupping her breast. She kneaded the flesh through the thin fabric while her hips rolled against her own touch.
She pulled back slowly, the cock sliding from her throat until just the tip rested against her lips. Her tongue swirled around the head before she turned her face, pressing the length against the inside of her left cheek. The skin bulged outward, stretched taut around the shape. She moved her head side to side, rubbing the tip back and forth against the soft inner wall of her mouth.
"Fuck," came a muffled groan from beyond the wall.
Chelsea switched to the other cheek, the cock distending the right side of her face now. Her lips remained sealed around the shaft, creating suction as she worked. The bulge moved as she ground the sensitive tip against her cheek, then switched back to the left side. Her hand under her skirt moved faster, fingers pumping.
She took the cock back into her mouth fully, her lips pressed hard against the base. The shaft disappeared between those pink lips as she bobbed her head, taking every inch. Saliva dripped down her chin, making her skin glisten in the red light. Her head moved with increasing speed, the wet sounds echoing in the small room.
A thick cock emerged from another hole to her right, level with her shoulder. She turned her head, pulling off the first dick with a wet pop. Her hand immediately wrapped around it, stroking while she guided the second cock to her mouth.
This one was slightly thicker, stretching her lips wider as she took it inside. She moaned around the girth, her tongue working along the underside. Her other hand continued stroking the first cock, keeping it hard and ready. The hand under her shirt pinched and pulled, her movements becoming more frantic.
She switched between them, taking the left cock deep into her throat for several strokes before turning to service the right one. Back and forth she went, her mouth never empty. When one filled her throat, her hand worked the other. Drool ran down both shafts, coating her fingers.
Her hips bucked against her own hand beneath the skirt, her thighs trembling. She took the left cock back into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked hard. The fingers under her crop top moved frantically, the fabric shifting with each motion.
"Holy shit," Victor breathed, his eyes glued to the screens.
Valentino's hand moved slowly over the bulge in his pants, his grin widening. "And we're just getting started."
On screen, Chelsea alternated faster now, taking each cock for only a few strokes before switching to the other. Her hand between her legs moved in visible rhythm, her whole body rocking. She pulled off both cocks momentarily, gasping for air, strings of saliva connecting her lips to both tips.
"Need more," she said, her voice hoarse. She dove back onto the right cock, taking it to the base in one motion. Her throat worked around it as she held herself there, nose pressed against the wall. Her hand flew over the other shaft, stroking it with desperate speed.
She pulled back and switched again, giving the left cock the same treatment—deep, hard, fast. Her fingers worked beneath her skirt with increasing urgency, her thighs clenching. The hand under her shirt had pushed the fabric up, exposing her pale stomach and the bottom curve of her breast.
Chelsea's pace became frantic, switching between the two cocks every few seconds. Her mouth stretched wide, her lips swollen and reddened. Saliva covered her chin and dripped onto her exposed stomach. The sounds of wet suction filled the room, punctuated by her muffled moans.
A third cock pushed through a hole directly in front of her at chest height. Chelsea's eyes widened as she spotted it, her movements faltering for just a moment before she adjusted. She wrapped her left hand around the new arrival while her mouth continued working the cock to her right. Her other hand still stroked the shaft on her left side.
Within seconds, more holes filled. A fourth cock emerged from a lower opening near the floor. Then a fifth from above, level with her face. A sixth pushed through on her left side, just below the first one. The small room transformed into a forest of erect shafts, all pointing toward her kneeling form.
Chelsea turned her head rapidly, trying to service each one. Her mouth moved from the cock in front of her to the one on her right, sucking hard for several strokes before switching to the left. Her hands worked two more simultaneously, stroking with firm grips. But three cocks remained untouched, twitching and waiting.
She pulled her mouth off one shaft and immediately took another, her lips stretching wide. Her hands never stopped moving, pumping two different cocks while her head bobbed. She released one hand to grab a cock she'd been neglecting, stroking it quickly before switching back. The logistics became impossible—too many, not enough hands, not enough time.
A cock to her right began pulsing in her hand. She turned and took it into her mouth just as it erupted, thick ropes of cum shooting across her tongue. She swallowed, her throat working, but before she could fully finish, another cock pushed through the same hole. The spent man had been replaced immediately.
"Fuck," she gasped, pulling off. White streaks marked her lips and chin.
She wrapped her hand around the new cock and stroked while her mouth moved to service another. Her other hand worked a different shaft, trying to maintain rhythm across multiple targets. The cock above her head dripped precum, untouched and waiting. She couldn't reach it without standing, couldn't give it attention while handling the others.
Her left hand pumped faster on the cock it held, the shaft slick with her saliva. It throbbed and released, cum spurting across her fingers and wrist. She kept stroking through the orgasm, milking it, but within seconds that cock withdrew and a new one took its place. Harder, thicker, demanding attention.
She took the cock directly in front of her into her mouth, sucking desperately while both hands worked two others. Her head turned to the left, switching to that shaft. Three strokes, four, then back to the center. Her hands never stopped moving, but she could feel herself falling behind. Too many cocks, all of them hard and waiting.
The one she'd been stroking with her right hand pulsed. She turned and opened her mouth, catching some of the cum on her tongue while the rest splattered across her cheek. Before she could wipe it away, that cock disappeared and another replaced it. Fresh, ready, expectant.
"Need—" she started to say, but cut herself off to take another cock into her mouth.
Her hands worked frantically now, switching between shafts every few seconds. She'd stroke one until it got close, then abandon it for another. Her mouth alternated just as rapidly, never spending more than a few moments on any single cock. Saliva and cum dripped down her chin, coating her neck and the top of her crop top.
Another cock erupted, this one in her left hand. The warm fluid coated her fingers and ran down her wrist. She barely had time to register it before that shaft withdrew and a new one emerged. She grabbed it immediately, adding it to her rotation.
Her jaw ached from the constant motion. Her hands cramped from gripping and stroking. But the cocks kept coming—literally and figuratively. Each time she managed to make one cum, it vanished only to be replaced by another eager shaft pushing through the wall.
She turned to the cock above her, rising slightly on her knees to reach it with her mouth. Her lips wrapped around the head, sucking hard while her hands continued working two others below. She could only maintain the angle for a few seconds before her neck protested. She dropped back down, leaving that cock glistening but unsatisfied.
The cock directly in front of her pulsed, and she quickly took it into her mouth. It erupted immediately, flooding her mouth with cum. She swallowed what she could, but some escaped, running down her chin. She pulled off, gasping, and that cock withdrew. Another took its place within seconds.
Her hands flew over two shafts, pumping them with mechanical efficiency. Her mouth moved to a third, taking it deep. She pulled off and switched to a fourth, then a fifth. Back and forth, round and round, trying desperately to give each one attention. But there were too many. Always too many.
Cum streaked her face now—across her cheeks, her chin, her forehead where one errant shot had landed. Her hands were slick with it, making her grip slide slightly as she stroked. Her crop top had white stains on the black fabric. More cum dripped onto her exposed stomach, running down toward her skirt.
She took a cock to her left into her mouth, sucking hard and fast. It erupted after just a few strokes, adding more cum to the mess already coating her tongue. She swallowed and moved on, that cock already disappearing to be replaced by another.
Her right hand worked a shaft that had been waiting, stroking from base to tip with firm pressure. It pulsed and released, cum shooting across her arm and shoulder. Gone. Replaced. New cock. She grabbed it and added it to her rotation.
The room filled with the sounds of wet suction, flesh on flesh, her muffled moans and gasps. The cocks surrounded her completely now, a wall of rigid shafts all pointing at her kneeling form. She serviced them as best she could, but it was never enough.
Victor leaned forward in his seat, his elbows resting on his knees as he watched the screens. His tongue ran across his sharp teeth. "That is quite the slut you've got there."
Valentino chuckled, swirling the whiskey in his glass before taking a slow sip. "She's perfect, isn't she?" He gestured toward the screens with his free hand. "Though I haven't settled on a title yet."
Victor waved dismissively. "The name doesn't matter. This will sell regardless. Look at her work."
On screen, Chelsea's hands pumped two different cocks while her mouth stretched around a third. Cum dripped from her chin onto her chest.
"Oh, it'll sell even better than you think," Valentino said, his grin widening. "Especially after the publicity."
Victor turned to look at him, confusion creasing his features. "Publicity?"
Valentino's smile turned predatory. He raised the remote and pressed another button, his finger deliberate on the control.
The massive screen mounted above the dance floor flickered. The abstract light patterns and promotional graphics vanished, replaced by a live feed of Chelsea in the glory hole room. The image was crystal clear—her pale skin, the cocks surrounding her, the cum streaking her face. Every detail visible to everyone below.
The music continued pounding, but heads began turning toward the screen. Voices rose in excitement. Someone shouted. Then another. Within seconds, the entire dance floor erupted in cheers and hollers. Demons pointed at the screen, their bodies still moving to the bass but their attention locked on the display above them.
"Holy shit!" someone yelled from the crowd below.
"Look at that whore go!" another voice called out.
The mass of bodies pressed closer together, everyone trying to get a better view. Some pulled out phones, recording the screen. Others simply stared, their movements slowing as they watched Chelsea service cock after cock. The cage dancers stopped their routines, turning to look at what had captured the crowd's attention.
Valentino took another sip of whiskey, watching the chaos below with satisfaction. "Free advertising. Every demon in this club is going to remember this night. They'll tell their friends, post about it, share those videos. By tomorrow, everyone in the Pride Ring will know that Valentino shot something special at Club Lower Heaven."
Victor stared at the scene below, then back at the screens showing Chelsea's continued performance, then down at the dance floor again. His mouth opened slightly.
"You're a fucking genius," Victor said finally.
On the main screen, Chelsea took a cock deep into her throat while both hands worked others. The crowd roared approval. Someone started a chant—words lost in the music but the rhythm clear. Others joined in, their voices rising together.
Valentino set his glass down and leaned back, spreading his arms along the booth's backrest. "I know."
The screens showed Chelsea from multiple angles now—Valentino must have pressed another button. One feed captured her profile, another showed the full scene, a third focused on her face. The main screen above the dance floor cycled through the different views every few seconds.
Another cock erupted across Chelsea's cheek. She turned immediately to take a different one into her mouth. The crowd below went wild, their cheers nearly drowning out the music.
"This is going to break every record I've ever set," Valentino said, his voice carrying absolute certainty. "And your club is going to be legendary."
Victor picked up his glass and drained it in one swallow. "How long are you planning to keep her in there?"
Valentino laughed, the sound rich and full of dark promise. He lifted the remote again, his thumb hovering over another button. "This show hasn't even reached the intermission yet."
He pressed it.
Above Chelsea's head, vents in the ceiling hissed open. Crimson smoke poured down in thick streams, filling the small room with pink-tinged fog. The substance descended like liquid, wrapping around her kneeling form and settling into every corner of the space.
Chelsea breathed in, her chest rising sharply. Then again, deeper. Her movements stuttered, her hand freezing mid-stroke on the cock she'd been servicing. Her eyes widened, pupils dilating until the red of her irises nearly disappeared.
"Fuck," she gasped, her voice cracking. "Oh fuck, I need—"
Her hands released the cocks they'd been holding. She grabbed the hem of her crop top and yanked upward, pulling the fabric over her head in one violent motion. She threw it aside, revealing small, perky breasts with dusky pink nipples already hard and pointing. Cum streaked across her chest, white lines cutting through the pale skin.
She stood on shaking legs, reaching down to tear at her micro-skirt. The metallic fabric ripped as she pulled, the material giving way and falling to the floor in pieces. Her fishnet stockings followed, shredded by her frantic clawing until they hung in tatters around her legs. She kicked off her platform heels, leaving her completely naked except for the remnants of netting clinging to her thighs.
Her body was petite but curved in all the right places. Her breasts sat high on her chest, small handfuls that moved with each ragged breath. Her stomach was flat and toned, the pale skin marred by streaks of cum that ran down toward her hips. The gentle flare of her hips led to creamy thighs, now pressed together as she stood trembling. Between her legs, her pussy was completely bare and visibly glistening, moisture running down her inner thighs.
More cum covered her—across her shoulders, down her arms, splattered on her stomach and breasts. The white fluid contrasted sharply with her porcelain skin, marking her like a canvas.
"Need more," she moaned, dropping back to her knees. "Need all of it."
She grabbed the cock directly in front of her, but instead of taking it into her mouth, she pressed it against her stomach. She rubbed the shaft across her skin, smearing the existing cum around. Her other hand grabbed another cock and brought it to her breast, sliding the length across the small mound and over her hardened nipple.
She moved frantically, taking a cock in each hand and rubbing them against her body. One dragged across her collarbone while the other traced down her side. She released them and grabbed two more, pressing one between her breasts and the other against her inner thigh. Her hips rolled, grinding against nothing.
"More, need more," she panted, her voice desperate.
She positioned herself between multiple cocks, pressing her body against them. Her back arched as she slid against one shaft while her hands worked two others against her stomach and chest. She turned, putting her back to a different cock, grinding her ass against it while her hands brought two more to her breasts.
One cock pulsed in her hand. She quickly pressed it against her nipple just as it erupted, warm cum shooting across her breast and running down her stomach. She moaned, the sound raw and needy. She immediately grabbed another cock, stroking it rapidly while rubbing it against her other breast.
Her mouth found a cock and she took it deep, sucking hard while her hands continued working others against her body. She pulled off and turned, taking a different shaft into her mouth while pressing another against her hip. Her free hand grabbed a cock and brought it between her legs.
She rubbed the shaft along her slit, the length sliding through her wetness. Her hips bucked forward, grinding against it. She moved it back and forth, coating the cock in her arousal while her mouth continued servicing another. The wet sounds multiplied—her mouth, her pussy, the slick slide of cocks against her cum-covered skin.
The cock between her legs pulsed and released, adding more fluid to the mess already coating her thighs. She grabbed another immediately, pressing the head against her entrance. She pushed back, taking it inside with one smooth motion. The angle was awkward through the hole in the wall, but she managed to work her hips, fucking herself on the anonymous shaft.
"Yes, yes, fuck yes," she gasped around the cock in her mouth.
Her hands never stopped moving, grabbing cocks and rubbing them against whatever part of her body was closest. One dragged across her cheek, leaving a trail of precum. Another slid between her breasts. A third pressed against her ass cheek. She serviced them all—mouth, hands, breasts, pussy—using every inch of her body.
The cock inside her withdrew suddenly. She whined at the loss, but another pushed through a lower hole. She positioned herself over it, sinking down with a loud moan. Her hips moved in frantic circles, riding the shaft while her hands worked two others against her breasts.
"Fuck me, use me, give me more," she begged, her voice hoarse.
She bounced on the cock beneath her, her small breasts moving with each motion. Cum dripped from her body onto the padded floor. More covered her with each passing second as the cocks she'd been stroking released across her skin. Her stomach, her thighs, her back—every surface became painted white.
She pulled off the cock inside her and turned, pressing her back against it. The shaft slid between her ass cheeks as she ground against it. Her hands brought two cocks to her front, stroking them while pressing them against her stomach. Her mouth found another shaft, her lips stretching wide as she took it deep into her throat.
"Need to suck something," she moaned, pulling off briefly. "Need it in my mouth."
She dove back onto the cock, her head bobbing frantically as she deep-throated the length. Her hands continued their work across two other shafts, stroking them against her cum-slicked skin. The crimson smoke swirled thicker around her, the pink haze filling her lungs with each desperate breath.
On the dance floor below, the crowd had pressed closer to the stage area, their faces turned upward toward the massive screen. Phones lit up the darkness as dozens of demons recorded the display. The chanting grew louder, more rhythmic, matching the bass that pounded through the club's speakers.
"Look at that fucking whore!"
"She's taking all of them!"
"Someone get me in that room!"
The voices overlapped, creating a wall of sound that rivaled the music itself.
In the glory hole room, something changed. The cocks surrounding Chelsea began to swell, growing thicker and longer before her eyes. The shafts pulsed, veins standing out prominently against the skin. They pushed further through the holes in the wall, giving her more length to work with.
The smoke was affecting them too—the men on the other side breathing in the aphrodisiac-laced air through the openings. Their arousal heightened, their bodies responding to the chemical influence with increased size and stamina.
Chelsea grabbed the largest cock she could see—a thick black shaft that had emerged from a hole to her left. She wrapped both hands around it, barely able to encircle the girth. She brought it to her mouth, her jaw stretching wide to accommodate the massive head. She pushed forward, taking it into her throat inch by inch.
Two more cocks pressed against her face from either side. The shafts rubbed against her cheeks simultaneously, the heads sliding across her skin and leaving trails of precum. She kept the black cock buried in her throat while the two others thrust against her face, using her as a surface to grind against.
Another cock lowered from above, resting on top of her head. The weight of it pressed down on her auburn hair as the man on the other side began moving his hips, fucking against her scalp.
Her hands released the black cock in her mouth, trusting it to stay lodged in her throat, and moved to grab two more shafts. She brought them to her breasts, pressing the heads against her nipples while her hips continued their frantic motion on the cock penetrating her pussy from below.
The shaft inside her had grown as well, stretching her walls and reaching deeper than before. She bounced on it desperately, her thighs trembling with the effort. Every other available cock pressed against her body—against her sides, her back, her arms, her legs. The room had become a mass of flesh and motion, all centered on her small frame.
The cocks began to pulse in unison, a synchronized throbbing that signaled imminent release. The black shaft in her throat swelled even larger. The two grinding against her cheeks moved faster. The one on her head pressed down harder. The cock inside her pussy thrust upward with increased urgency.
Chelsea's entire body tensed. Her back arched, pushing her breasts forward into the cocks pressed against them. Her throat convulsed around the massive black shaft, swallowing reflexively. Her pussy clenched around the cock pistoning inside her.
Every cock erupted at once.
The black shaft in her throat pumped directly into her stomach, flooding her with hot cum. She couldn't swallow fast enough—the volume was too much. It leaked from the corners of her mouth, running down her chin and neck.
The two cocks against her cheeks released simultaneously, painting both sides of her face white. The fluid ran down her jaw, dripping onto her chest. The cock on her head shot across her hair, coating the auburn strands in thick ropes of cum that matted the locks together.
The shaft inside her pussy pulsed, filling her with load after load. The excess immediately began running down her thighs, adding to the mess already coating her legs. Every other cock pressed against her body released as well—across her stomach, her breasts, her back, her arms. The cum came in waves, covering every inch of exposed skin.
She was drowning in it. The fluid dripped from her hair, her face, her breasts. It pooled on the floor beneath her, mixing with her own arousal. Her skin disappeared under layers of white, the pale flesh completely obscured by the sheer volume of cum covering her.
The crowd below roared their approval, the sound finally overpowering the music. The DJ had lowered the volume, letting the chaos of voices fill the space instead.
In the VIP booth, Valentino leaned forward, his hand moving slowly over the bulge in his pants. His tongue ran across his teeth as he watched the screens, each angle capturing a different view of Chelsea's complete defilement.
"Perfect," he said, his voice barely audible over the noise. "Absolutely perfect."
The cocks began to withdraw from the holes, disappearing back through the walls. She pulled the black cock from her throat with a wet gasp, cum pouring from her mouth. She didn't wipe her face, didn't clean herself off.
Instead, she brought her hand down to the floor, dragging her fingers through the thick pool of cum that had accumulated on the padded vinyl. She lifted her hand, the white fluid dripping from her digits, and brought her fingers to her mouth.
Her lips parted and she slid three fingers inside, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked. She pulled them out slowly, then pushed them back in deeper, her throat working around them. Her other hand scooped up more cum from the floor and she repeated the motion, deep-throating her own fingers while her body swayed.
"Fuck," she moaned, pulling her fingers out with a wet pop. "I wish my lollipops tasted this good."
The crowd below exploded. Phones lifted higher, recording every moment. Voices screamed approval and encouragement. The chanting grew louder, more frenzied.
Her small breasts hung beneath her, cum dripping from the hardened nipples onto the floor. White fluid coated every inch of her petite frame—matted in her auburn hair, streaked across her face, running down her flat stomach and curved hips. Her thighs were painted white, the cum still leaking from her used pussy. She looked like a painting, every pale curve highlighted by layers of seed.
She pushed her fingers deeper into her throat, gagging slightly but not stopping. Her free hand gathered more cum from the puddle beneath her.
Victor turned to Valentino, his expression caught between shock and awe. "Look at them." He gestured toward the dance floor where the mass of bodies pressed against each other, all attention fixed on the screen. "They're fucking rabid."
"Told you," Valentino said, standing and adjusting his coat. The remote remained in his hand.
Victor couldn't tear his eyes from the writhing mass below, the sea of demonic forms grinding against each other, their skin glistening with sweat under the pulsing crimson lights. "We're going to make a fortune with this arrangement," he said, his forked tongue flicking across his lips.
"Indeed." Valentino adjusted his silk top hat with gloved fingers, the moth-wing patterns on the back of his hands catching the light. His yellow eyes glowed with satisfaction beneath the brim. "Unfortunately, I have other ventures requiring my attention."
"Let me escort you to the exit," Victor said, rising from his velvet seat. No matter how much he tryed to play the host he couldn't focused of Valentino, his gaze kept going back to the red head slut on screen.
Valentino shook his head, his grin widening. "No need. You should stay and enjoy the show." His thumb moved to the last button on the remote. "The finale is about to begin."
He pressed it.
On the main dance floor, a mechanical whir cut through the noise. In the center of the stage area, the floor split apart. A large glass box rose from beneath, hydraulics lifting it smoothly until it stood at chest height for most of the crowd. The box was transparent on all sides, roughly six feet tall and four feet wide. Holes of various sizes covered every surface—the sides, even the top.
In the glory hole room, the crimson smoke thickened dramatically. The pink haze became so dense that Chelsea's form disappeared completely behind the swirling fog. The screens showed nothing but smoke for several seconds.
Then it dissipated, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. The room was empty. Chelsea was gone.
A puff of crimson smoke burst into existence inside the glass box on the dance floor. When it cleared, Chelsea knelt in the center of the transparent prison, her cum-covered body now on full display for every demon in the club.
The crowd surged forward. Bodies pushed and shoved, everyone trying to get closer to the box. The music had stopped completely now. Only voices remained—shouting, cheering, demanding.
Chelsea's head turned slowly, taking in the mass of faces surrounding her. Hundreds of eyes locked on her naked, defiled form. Hands pressed against the glass from the outside. The box was elevated enough that she was at perfect height for the crowd to see everything.
She dropped to all fours, her small breasts hanging beneath her. She crawled to one side of the box where a hole sat at face level. She pressed her mouth to the opening and extended her tongue through it. The pink muscle waved in the air outside the glass, moving in wild circles.
"Please," she called through the hole, her voice muffled but audible. "Give me more lollipops to suck. Need more."
The crowd erupted. Demons rushed the stage from all sides, climbing over each other in their desperation to reach the box.
Valentino turned and walked toward the exit of the VIP section. Behind him, Victor stood frozen at the railing, watching as his club descended into beautiful chaos. Every demon in the building pushed toward the stage where Chelsea waited in her glass prison, tongue still extended through the hole.
The moth demon's heels clicked against the floor as he made his way out, the sounds of the frenzied crowd following him even as he left.