The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Once Candy returned to tie up the mad Doctor and his assistant who, together, were responsible for vulcanizing us, I tried to focus on what to do next. We had some major stuff to nail down. Here we were, seven girls thrown together by chance, our bodies transformed into shapes that were (in my newly found opinion) super sexy ... but not exactly human. What now? Were the changes permanent? And was this constant craving for sex permanent, too? Not that I minded, of course—as long as I could get me some.

Which brought up the biggest question. I’d proposed that we feed our needs by taking over the Club. But how, exactly, were we going to make this operation work for us?

Fuck it, I thought. Time for another round with April, right now.

April (now officially ‘Pril’—she decided it sounded tougher) was obviously in the same space, because we were suddenly in a standing lip-lock, our tongues literally tied together, with enough lingua left over to side down each other’s throats. Hey, I thought—no gag reflex. I gotta try this out on Clyde’s prong. And Demi’s tail.

We must have been at it for a while, ‘cause bye and bye and by I felt something squeeze between our legs. It was Candy, joining in our game. She’d come over all lusty, like us. I shivered with delight as her proboscis worked its knobbly way into my ever-ready cunt. Once she was solidly ensconced, things got even better—Pril straddled her crouching ex-pet’s neck and then started humping the back of her smooth noggin from behind.

As Pril ground her sex into Candy (and so drove Candy deeper into me), she—Pril, that is—sort of snickered into my throat, and then finally broke off that glorious kiss to ask, “Does this count as giving head?”

It was kind of dopey, but it got Candy going. I’m here to tell you that when somebody’s cock laughs inside you ... well! It’s probably sort of a reverse hummer. Not to be missed.

After our mini-orgy concluded, I sent Pril into a side-room to check out the inventory; but I figured most of the answers were right there with me. The Doctor knew plenty, except he was presently hanging upside-down in the corner, wrapped up in duct tape like a fly in a web and glaring daggers. Then there was Molly, who was artistically suspended about three feet off the floor, stretched out on her back with heavy ribbons of tape leading from her wrists and ankles to the four corners of the room. Candy may have accepted her new body, preferred it even, but I think she still held a grudge. And she seemed to have found a whole lot of tape.

Molly seemed the best bet. We could hardly trust her but, unlike the Doctor, she was more or less sane. And as I say, she was hanging spread-eagle and naked in the middle of the room. I walked around her, thoughtfully, and observed that my trusty dildo was still projecting from her bald pussy. Cool—we’re gonna have us an interrogation. I reached between her thighs, and hesitated a moment before I rotated the rubber wang inside her (I had discovered a love for antici...pation, as Dr. Frank-N-Furter would have it). When I twisted the toy, I finally noticed a recessed button. That brute was a deluxe vibrator—big enough it must have held three ‘D’ cells, easy. I switched it on, and Molly gasped and rolled her head as an orgasm swept through her. This was going to be fun.

“So, Molly. First question. Are we gonna look like this for good?”

The woman shook in her bonds, and caught her breath. “Yeah ...absolutely. We can’t ... reverse ... only add things. Like, Doc was gonna ... add wings to .... the one you call Demi.”

How’d she know that? Oh, right, I’d sent the girls out to the club floor using the names I’d made up. Barring Candy, of course. And Patches, who had turned back and solemnly said, “Not ‘Patches’. I shall be Mistress Pantoufle.” After she’d left, Alice said, “I don’t think that means what she think it means.” I’d shrugged and said, “Madame Slippers? Probably not.” Shortly after that, we were locked in that major three-way suck-face I mentioned. But I digress.

Molly explained more about the costumes. “We tried to put a girl ... in a second suit ... once. A different one. It went ... horribly wrong. Got full price for her, though. No accounting for taste.”

Well, ugh. “You’ve been doing this—rubberizing girls—in other towns?”

“Mmmm. Sure.” And then, bizarrely enough, she closed her eyes and began to sing in a surprisingly strong alto:

“I travel the world and the seven seas. Everybody’s looking for something. Some of them want to use you; some of them want to get used by you. Some of them want to abuse you; some of them want to be abused...”

Okay, so she was a loonie, after all. Who was I to judge?

Molly echoed my thoughts, singing, “Who am I to disagree?”

I broke in. “Right, I’ll take that as a yes.” It looked like it was about time to turn off the vibrator for a bit. Molly whimpered when I did. Next question: “And what did your ... customers make of the weird shit?”

She took a deep breath, and seemed to focus. “If you mean the, um, unusual modifications ... Doc’s only recently started experimenting with that stuff. Up to now, we’ve pretty much stuck to the basic models, Doms and Submissives. You know—any colour you like, as long as it’s black.”

She started to giggle, and I was afraid she was completely loosing her grip, such as it was. But earlier she’d said she actually wanted to join us. And I’d noticed that, mind control machine or not, the four girls in the Submissive costumes were still ... well, submissive. Not like, grovelling, but they were certainly willing to take orders. Of course, I didn’t know whether they were predisposed that way.

“How did you choose who got which costume?”

“I didn’t.”

Fine. That didn’t prove anything, but probably the Sub suits tended to subdue their wearers. I figured the sooner I got a leash and collar on this one, the better. “Are you ready to become one of us?”

“Yes, please ...” said Molly, in a little-girl whisper.

“Geez, I hope you haven’t broken her,” said Pril, who had re-appeared at my side. “We still need her. There’s a full laboratory back there, and lots of costumes, but I couldn’t find any instructions. There was a shoebox with sales records, though. And a whole lot of cash.”

“Sales records?”

“Up to date—as, in there’s two model D003 units available, in blue or black.”

Meaning us. I think I actually growled at that.

Pril continued. “Plus a D012, and four S-Series models. Like she says, the wild combo stuff is mostly new. But there were twenty-two units already sold of the original S-001 models, plus a few others.”

“Maybe we can rescue some of those girls.”

“How?”

“I don’t know—issue a recall? Shipping and handling pre-paid, kind of thing ... wait a sec.” Turning back to Molly, I asked, “How did you ship them?”

“Frozen ... you guys thaw out good as new.”

“Okay, that’s it!” To Pril I said, “Was there anything back there you figure she might deserve?”

“There was a full horse suit—actually, more of a kinky ‘My Little Pony’ kit.”

“Perfect!”

“Memory...” It was Molly again.

“Say what?” I was afraid she was going to sing again.

“We made one once—for an Emir—the girl couldn’t remember anything from before, near as we could figure ...”

“What’s that mean?”

“Well, it was hard to tell. She couldn’t talk, could she?”

“Shit,” said Candy, who had been by the door, enjoying the show. “I’m out of here.”

I shook my head. “April, I mean Pril, see if you can find something you figure would suit our Molly, while I start her off with one of those special recipe Bloody Mary’s.”

I turned to follow Candy and nearly bumped into Pantoufle rushing into the backroom. “We’ve got a problem,” she gasped. I assumed it was something else beside the tacky black vampire cape she was wrapped in—then I remembered she was watching the front door. She must have nicked the cape from cloakroom so as not to frighten off custom. “A woman came in wearing a full Dom suit, and she has two girls on leashes that look like us. Well, like Elfie, most, except they’re black, and their tongues are normal. I think. Oh, and they have cocks where their clits should have been. Regular ones, not like Clyde’s.”

“That must be Carla,” said Molly. “Back in Chicago, we sold her a brace of model S001 Submissives with the lady-pleaser modification. She’s probably shopping for another unit, or maybe she wants to customize the ones she’s got.”

“Whatever,” said Pantoufle. “But when she came in, I zoned out. It was like before you pulled the plug on the mind control machine. We sort of kissed for a while, and she had her pets do me ...”

“Was she wearing a big pendant shaped like a pocket pussy?”

“Um—yes, I suppose it was. I mean, she was.”

“It’s a portable controller. Very effective at short range—say, ten or twenty feet.”

“Well, that explains why the other girls are all hanging around her, taking turns.” She didn’t have to say what they were taking turns at.

“Great,” I said. “How are we supposed to deal with that?”

“Maybe we could get Emile or Trixie to grab it,” said Pantoufle.

“Who?”

“The doorman and the coatroom girl just came back. I think they wanted to see if they still had jobs. I told them, of course you do. They’re back at it now.”

This was all moving way too fast. “Have ... wait, that big ape is named Emile? Anyway, have Emile tell Carla that her pendant is interfering with the master machine, and he’s been asked to turn it off and take it to the cloakroom for safekeeping.”

Molly added her two bits worth. “I expect you’re gonna want to rescue Carla’s pets. She’s very rich—all our customers are. Do you know you cost a hundred grand each? If you were to get her back here and change her over, she’d make a useful member of our community. As in, we could buy this building—or better still, find a secluded place to live, out of town. Doc and I had to move along pretty regular—can’t have too many girls disappear at once.”

I couldn’t help but notice that Molly considered herself one of us, now. And then I registered that last item. “You changed seven of us in one night!”

“Yeah, well—we got kinda greedy. And Doc was so keen to try out his new kinks. I think you might have been a pre-order.”

Ugh, again. Still, she had a point about the secret hideout. But first we had to take out that controller.

Pril had returned with two flat unmarked boxes. She dropped them by the door, and then she and I went out to post ourselves behind the bar, so as to check out Carla. The woman was as advertised, with black camisole and boots, and what appeared to be a cat-o’—nine-tails in her belt. Even across the room, I could feel some of the effects from her control gizmo—I was getting both woozy and horny. Or rather, hornier.

The thing had overwhelmed the rest of Team Latex, except for Pantoufle, who skirted along the furthest wall to get Emile. Like me, she was still near enough to feel the machine’s effects—I could see an elbow bob as she screwed her hand into her hungry cunt. Even so, she was making slow, bow-legged progress for the front door.

As for Carla, she had sat Clyde down and was riding as much cock as she could handle; her back rested on Clyde’s many pillowy breasts, while her body was otherwise balanced over the top of ten unused inches of horse wang.

The other Subs were likewise in the sex-bot zone, all lined up and waiting to serve. Among them, I spotted Carla’s pets. They looked identical to one another—interchangeable. In their present state, they probably couldn’t tell the difference themselves. When (or if) we rescued them, we were going to have to label them: Hello, my name is ...

There were even more customers in the place than before, and most of them were watching Carla and her new entourage. From her unique peg-throne, she assigned each of the Subs to service one or more of her audience. She was putting them through their paces to see which one would be her next purchase. Many people had already experienced Clyde and Candy’s charms, and were particularly eager to try out their cousins.

Elfie, her plump lips stretched tight around her fat pecker-tongue, was set to pleasuring my old friend the Leather Girl, while Candy was lined up with the French maid. The two knelt side by side and began pumping their cunning cocks inside the ecstatic women. I tugged on my clit in envy.

Demi was paired off with a newcomer, a big blonde-bearded dude in a Viking costume. What with the matching horns, they made a good couple. He hoisted her up and stood rogering her in approved Viking fashion, so that she threw her head back and waved her cloven hooves in pleasure. Her tail, still seemingly doing its own thing, sought out the pussy of the scantily clad ‘plunder-maiden’ who trailed on the other end of a chain fastened to his belt. By all appearances, the arrangement suited all three.

The schoolgirl twins managed to call Carla’s two stock S001 units. They happily climbed aboard the rigidly waiting cocks without even waiting for a warm-up spanking.

Bad light notwithstanding, it was no longer possible for people to overlook the fact that we were impossibly endowed. There was a buzz from the crowd, now. Ears or not, my hearing was better than ever (I’ve no idea how). Some people were saying we were from space, while others claimed we were creatures from another dimension. Everyone took it quite well—they seemed to be flattered that Carla (who behaved for all the world like she owned all of us) had chosen Club Latex to share her alien sex-slaves.

Only one patron had noticed that over half a dozen nervous girls in civvies had earlier come in the front door and disappeared out the back. That was the pony girl I had seen when I first arrived, and whom Clyde had later serviced (from behind in a traditional horsy-style fuck, while her ‘owner’ had held her bogus tail clear). Now I could hear her voice for the first time, whispering around her bridle to tell her boss her observations, and wondering if—just maybe—she could finally become a real pony.

It made me think of Pinocchio wanting to be a real boy, and that conjured images of where else the doctor might have thought a cock could grow. Probably not a good look. I shuddered and decided that if THAT suit was in the back room, it had Doc’s name on it. Whatever—Molly was right. There seemed to be a market for voluntary ‘conversions’.

But just now, we had a new problem. Supposing Emile managed to shut down the controller, we then had to hustle Carla out the back in front of a big audience, while the Subs all woke up and tried to figure out what had hit them.

Molly was again ahead of me. “Take her a Smirnov on the rocks—a big one,” she called from the back room “Trust me—it’ll mellow her out.”

I had to do it now, and hope Emile pulled it off—so to speak. “Pril! Get a suit ready for her. One of those S001 jobs aught to do it. And better cut down Molly and the Doc, and drag them into the lab, out of sight. Oh, and I think we’ve got a buyer for the pony suit.”

So. There I was, marching across the room and feeling myself slip into my pleasure unit mode. Well, okay, since I had been made into a Dom, maybe I was more of a punishment unit. In any case, I was definitely under the spell of Carla’s machine by the time I reached her.

Carla looked up, pleased to see yet another free sample sex-bot; this one literally high-heeled, and bearing a mouth-watering, tumbler sized Black Russian.

I nearly didn’t give it to her—I wasn’t designed to be a good servant. I came close to arrogantly knocking it back myself, but then I managed to vaguely recall that I was on a mission to do Carla. I leaned in and gave her a lick from chin to earlobe; after closing my eyes and savouring the salty flavour of her skin, I presented the drink with a look that suggested that I was expecting something in trade.

Which at that point I was—I seriously needed to get fucked.

Carla took the hint and, still impaled on Clyde’s organ, leaned forward to suck on my fat starboard nipple. It felt like she had it right down her throat, growling with pleasure around it, and then—Sweet Jesus—I felt myself coming just from the suction. My eyes rolled back and I let go with both guns, the one spurting down her throat and the other catching Leather Girl in the eye.

After a healthy slug of my calcium-rich boob-beverage, she broke off and chased it by draining the spiked cocktail in one long swallow. After, she licked a thick drop off her finger like it was freshly served cum.

While savouring the mixed flavours, she squirmed on her supporting pole for a bit, then she gave me an approving grin, and we settled into a full on, tit-pressing clinch. She was sucking my tongue like she had my teat when Emile finally showed up.

“Excuse me, madam.”

Fuck off, I thought. We’re busy.

Carla was probably thinking the same thing, but when she looked up at the hulking gorilla in the tux, she clearly got a better idea. “Do join us,” she purred.

“Thank you madam, I would be pleased to do so. But before I can take you up on your generous offer, I must deal with a small difficulty. I’ve been instructed to inform you that your lovely pendant is causing some interference difficulties with a similar installation on the premises, and must be shut down. I was told that you would understand the problem, and asked also to relay the management’s hope that you thoroughly enjoy our samples. There is, I believe, a significant discount for repeat customers.”

While our Cro-Magnon Jeeves delivered his speech, Carla’s eyebrows were arched high (whereas I didn’t have a clue what he was on about; I spent the time trying to get inside the man’s pants). After brief consideration, she accepted his request, and reached inside the rude, fleshy blob that hung around her neck.

Just as before, there was a moment rather like when someone shuts down a big noise nearby—like a jet engine or something. There was a sort of ringing sensation in my head, while I got my bearings. I had just caught hold of Jeeve’s pecker when I remembered what I was supposed to be doing. I very briefly considered having a closer look at what was in my hand, but duty called.

Like me, the Subs came to their senses; but apparently they were all still enjoying what their senses were presently ... um, sensing. Of course, their responses and behaviour changed, but subtly. They were no doubt wondering how they had come to have either tongue or tail or cock lodged in a stranger. Several would also be wondering how they came to have a cock at all.

Luckily, Carla was already muddled by her mickey. It went like clockwork. Jeeves lifted her gently off of Clyde, and I relieved her of the pendant. Then we led her by the arm to the change room, both of us acting as though it had been her idea all along. Meanwhile Clyde spotted the two new-to-us latex gals, who were just on the edge of freaking. Although she had no idea what had just gone down, she knew they were going to need a debriefing PDQ. She managed to extricate them from the schoolgirls and lead them out back, right behind us.

We were met by Pril ... and by Molly, who had already been reconstructed by a shiny new suit. She was now a standard issue collared Sub, in fire engine red, and sporting an extraordinarily big ‘lady-pleaser’ option. She looked great. As for Doc, some clunking sounds from the far back room told me where he was. I turned over Carla to Pril for processing, and then helped Candy calm and recruit our newest sisters.

It turned out that, after having been Carla’s mindless slaves for a month or two, they were having trouble doing much of anything on their own. Sort of like my Uncle Gilbert, Pfc, after he finally retired from the army. In his case, Auntie Irma took up the reins for him, and I could see that for now I was going to have to do the same for ... what were their names? They barely remembered, themselves, but after some discussion, the agreed they were Destiny and Raven. I suspected these were professional names, but they suited well enough.

While Carla was in the change booth—God knows what they told her to get her in there—Pril took the opportunity to demonstrate Molly’s new cock.

“I fitted her with a double-ender from the accessory rack,” she told me, while holding her hands wide apart to demonstrate. “Check this out!”

I’d assumed Molly had received an enlarged clit, like Carla’s base model pets. On closer inspection, I saw that a stiff foot of black latex dildo projected directly from her box, and from Pril’s description I knew there must be as much again mirrored inside her. She obligingly tipped her pelvis toward me, and so I took hold of the thing. It was supple, but cool; not like the other girls’ hot new organs. Her shiny red pussy lips were wrapped tightly around the middle of the thing’s curved shaft. But when I pulled on it, I could see that those lips had fused to it, just inside her. On the outstroke, her labia stretched out, further and further, rolling over the hidden ribbed surface of the portion of the dong that had been buried in her belly. Then, when I shoved it back into her, all that stretched skin folded back up and disappeared inside. I kept pushing until only four inches of dildo projected, at which point there was enough excess pussy-lip flesh to tightly hide it (and my hand) like a foreskin.

All through this process, Molly’s eyes were crossing and her knees were trembling. She started to rub the bulge on the surface of her belly where the dildo’s inner knob was pressing. It was clear she was having a good time.

I cycled that that pole in and out of her some more, and was about to try riding my end of it when Carla stepped out of her booth. She now looked exactly like her ex-pets. Using a trickle of pre-cum for lube, she was pumping away on her new clit-cock. She was using an overhand grip, so that she had a few fingers free to dive into her drooling cunt on each down-stroke. If her demotion to Sub troubled her, you wouldn’t know it. She was plainly desperate with that first hunger for release we’d all had after the change, so I bent her over the back of a nearby chair. She continued to worry her wang, but the position more favourably displayed her pulsating pussy.

Molly whimpered with lust, but she waited until I gave her permission before thrusting her built-in dildo into Carla. The rest of us watched the performance. Destiny and Raven stood side by side, each holding the other’s hard cock (it turned out they were sisters); meanwhile Pril, pleased with her handiwork, stood behind me stroking my big nipples and rubbing her own against my back. Nearby, Carla had her cock-bill deep in a tall glass of cola, sucking contentedly.

Things were mostly beginning to come back into some kind of control—which you will grant is important to a newly forged Dominatrix like me. Alpha Dominatrix, if you please—the other two Doms were now looking to me for direction.

My qualifications as A/D were immediately put to the test, when Pantoufle appeared with the cowgirl and her hopeful steed in tow. “Candy tells me we may be able to make a pony out of Fran, here. She seems awfully keen. And it seems her mistress, Mizz Lewis, owns a verrry secluded ranch up in the hills.”

Good call. I figured as long as we still had some girls out on the club floor to keep things going, maybe this would be a good time to do our first deal. I soon arranged to convert the willing Fran, in exchange for our future access to this Lewis woman’s ranch. Lewis threw in an offer to begin construction on a private lodge for us, if we would enhance her as well. (Not in a cow-ish way, incidentally, in spite of what I’ve been calling her. She was more interested in Clyde’s attributes.)

The truth is, I would have done Fran for nothing. The girl was pitifully eager, and I was keen to see a transformation from the outside, so to speak. I’d managed to miss Carla and Molly’s initiations, but this would do nicely. As it turned out, I got an eyeful.

Molly, when she had mostly recovered from her latest orgasm, took over her old duties. She provided Fran with a slug of ‘VodkaPlus’, which was, she said, fortified not only with sedatives but drugs essential to the process. And vitamins.

The girl was then stripped of all of her elaborate harness, and issued with a shiny brown bodysuit. Out of the box it looked pretty much the same as mine had, except for the big tail attached. She quickly slipped inside, grinning goofily with drug-addled delight at the feel of the shimmering stuff as it flowed over her flesh. But then her eyes glazed over completely, and IT began.

She shuddered slightly, and spread her legs as though bracing herself. Then with a small grunt she buckled forward at the waist, and kept going until she caught herself with her hands on the floor. Folded over like that, you could see her hips were shimmying inside like squirrels in a sack, as her body rearranged itself—or, more exactly, as her new skin rearranged it for her. Her hips spread while her thighs shortened, and then her back and neck began to stretch. The neck thing was particularly creepy, ‘cause soon she was able to twist her head right around to watch her body changing. Her shoulder blades commenced to growing and shifting, too, while her forearms shrank up into her bulking chest. It was dizzying, and a just a little gruesome, to watch.

When the process had slowed down, some, Molly helped her put on two pairs of tall boots, front and back. Like the rest of the costume, they immediately began to re-arrange their contents. Fran’s body slowly gained elevation, on account of, all the various bits of her hands and feet were fusing together and growing longer. Everything below her heels and wrists finished up pointing straight down, sort of ‘en pointe’ (okay, so I took ballet classes when I was a kid). Except that each remaining toe or finger on which she balanced was now a humungous hoof the size of a dinner plate.

After a last few adjustments, she swished the latex tail that was protruding from the base of her spine. Her body was now more or less that of a small pony—if you ignored her shiny rubber hide that stopped at her neck, the tits that still stood proudly on her chest, and her pink flushed face. Molly stood by holding an elaborate mask, which was designed to take care of that last item.

“Ready?”

“Yes. Please!”

Molly pulled the pony-hood over her head, and within minutes it was done. Her nose and mouth now protruded together, pony shaped but with a cartoonish snubness. Her ears stood high, while a latex Mohawk-cut mane now ran from the crest of her head down her long neck. Not quite a pony, but certainly a real pony-girl.

She was fidgeting like Carla had just done and I could tell she was suffering from the same desperate need. I sent Candy to the club floor so as to bring back the Sub most qualified to satisfy her, and we were soon enjoying the sight of our newest member plunging and bucking to Clyde’s deeply felt assistance.

During the show, Molly appeared at my elbow and said, “According to what the sheik told us, she won’t remember anything about being a woman. She’ll be smart though. He said she learned some impressive, um, tricks. Also, she’s gonna grow some. It’s sort of like she’d just a foal now. Filly, actually, I guess.”

I gave her a hard stare.

“I’m sorry. I know how to make the suits, but I don’t have any idea why they work.”

Just then, there was a great clatter from the lab. What now? I was first through the door. The window was broken and there was a bid pile of ragged duct tape on the floor. Somehow Doc had found a way to free his hands—I spotted a sharp-edged bench leg with fresh blood on it. It didn’t matter. “Get him—now,” I ordered.

The Subs scattered to obey, all except Molly who held back for a moment. “Begging your pardon, Mistress Lori, but he won’t get far.” She poked a tape-tangled lab coat and trousers with her toe. “For one thing, he’s buck naked. For another, I splashed some VodkaPlus on him a while back, seeing as he wasn’t keen to drink it. The stuff gets absorbed through the skin,” she explained. It works slower that way, but he shouldn’t be too hard to catch.”

I thought, ‘Mistress Lori’? What the hell, it’ll do.

The man ducked into an alley and leaned on the brick wall to catch his breath. He had just spent an exhilarating five minutes preaching fire and brimstone to an entire den full of drunkards and whores. Now, having boldly chastised the patrons of the Olde Irish Alehouse, he felt positively aglow with virtue and moral superiority—plus with the adrenalin rush he’d needed to escape from the enraged sinners.

Perhaps he may have gone a bit overboard when he had started caning that licentiously dressed girl, but of course it was for her own good. It was then that he had been forced to flee. But the Lord had clearly rewarded his actions by guiding him to this quiet haven.

Just as this satisfying thought crossed his mind, a nearby door burst open and a naked crimson demon leapt out at him. The beast was complete with horns and tail ... and jutting tits. A demonness, then. The thing’s collar, and the iron ring at its throat, proclaimed it to be a slave of its Dark Master, unleashed to do his bidding. It came straight for him, then stopped and said, “Did you thee ...” Its forked tongue was causing an odd lisp. “Aw, thcrew it,” it finished, and with that, it ran off down the alley, its cloven hooves ringing on the cobbles.

As he stood quaking, three more collared creatures spilled out from the Back Gate of Hell and tore off after the first. These were black and smaller than the red one—imps, perhaps. Identical to one another, they were human in shape, but each had boobs, gaping pussies ... and erect cocks. Their mouths were open, too, and rounded as though for singing—no doubt they were intended to mock the celestial choirs.

There was a brief pause, but a hellish din was coming from the still open door and he was too frightened to run away. The next thing to appear was a pair of oversized schoolgirls. They must, he supposed, be lost souls taking advantage of the unguarded door. They were holding one another and staggering like drunken sailors ... and giggling, presumably from hysteria. Their clothing seemed to be made of something resembling plastic—possibly something that could resist the flames—and the stuff was so tattered that one girl was actually exposing her shaved pussy. He saw it was swollen and red, and leaking the juices of endless demonic assaults.

Given the extent of her suffering, he was embarrassed to find himself getting aroused again, just as he had at that foul speakeasy. Perhaps, he hoped, his responses were forgivable, just a reaction to his stress.

Next out the Hell Gate was another imp, in red. This one WAS singing, rather dementedly. As it swerved off down the lane, he could hear the words:

“I say, ‘Doctor! ain’t der nothin’ I can take,

I say, Doctor! To relieve my belly ache?’

And he say ‘Lemme get dis straight -

You put de lime in de coconut, drink ‘em bot togeder,

put de lime in de coconut, you drink ‘em bot’ up ...’”

Meanwhile, several more of the damned took their chance to bolt (or at least stroll) out the Door. One was an oriental man in a long leather coat that made him look like a pirate, and the other was a woman in a Nazi uniform. He hoped that they weren’t quite as bad as they looked—he hated to think he was somehow the cause of this breakout.

Then another surge of naked demons rushed out. The first was an Oz-green female imp, which stuck out its huge tongue at him—or was that a ... ? He was distracted from the rude sight by the appearance of the second creature, a brown one fitted with multiple tits. From its waist down, it resembled a horse. While it had no tail, its legs, hooves, and both its vagina and matching phallus were all horse-like. The beast’s yard stood tall and gleamed in the streetlight thanks to a coating of fresh demon cum. He cringed at the implied menace of this organ.

And then the next monster arrived. This one was black, and like the other it had the legs and pussy of a horse. It also had a dick, but in this case that feature was unnervingly mounted where the creature’s mouth belonged. Between its single brace of major tits was an equally disturbing whip. The wicked looking thing was hanging handle-up from the ring of its slave collar. Ignoring the runaway souls, it strode straight over to him, and tiny little lips at the end of its prominent pecker began to move.

Trembling, he pointed down the alley.

“Thanks,” it squeaked, and set off at a gallop. The others followed, the little green one turning back for a moment to flash its impudent tongue ... or whatever.

He squeezed his eyes shut, as the clatter of hooves faded. Just maybe, he considered, God was trying to tell him something. When he opened his eyes again, in front of him stood what was obviously the devil-in-charge, a creature that seemed to be wearing most of the flayed skin of a young woman over its shiny black hide. It was the moment of truth.

“Don’t mind us,” the thing said, and then strolled away down the lane after its minions. As this latest horror disappeared into the shadows, it called back, “Have a nice day”.

Which didn’t seem likely, because he could hear footsteps behind him. He turned up toward the alley’s entrance to see a girl with a bruised face, an Irish publican, and a large frowning policeman. The latter was also, probably, Irish. With one last foolish notion of escape (I shall repent, Oh Lord, but please not this) he turned back, only to face the dreaded Door. Just in time to see a huge shape in a tuxedo lean out, catch hold of the Knob, and draw it softly closed.