The bell above the door jingled.
She walked in like she owned gravity itself: late thirties, maybe early forties, curves that turned every head without even trying. Tight white blouse straining across breasts so heavy the buttons looked one deep breath away from surrender, pencil skirt hugging an ass that swayed like a metronome set to "kill me." Dark auburn hair in a messy bun, red lips, heels clicking like a countdown.
She ordered an espresso, took the small table right next to mine (close enough that her perfume, something expensive and sinful, drifted over), and sat with her back to the wall, legs crossed, skirt riding just high enough to flash the lace tops of her stockings.
Exactly my type.
I was already picturing bending her over the counter, skirt hiked up, hand fisted in that hair while I (phone rang).
Her ringtone was shrill, panicked. She snatched it up, listened for three seconds, and her entire body went rigid.
"Yes… yes, I'm coming now. Which ward? …I'll be there in ten."
She hung up, face drained of color, grabbed her bag, and bolted, coffee untouched, heels clacking like gunshots as she burst out the door and flagged the first taxi.
Something twisted in my gut. Not lust anymore. Curiosity. Instinct.
I dropped cash on the table, helmet under my arm, and followed.
My bike snarled to life. The taxi was three cars ahead, weaving through morning traffic. I kept pace easily, lane-splitting when I had to, eyes locked on that auburn bun visible through the rear window.
Fifteen minutes later the taxi pulled into the emergency bay of St. Augustine's General Hospital.
She practically threw money at the driver and ran inside, skirt riding higher with every frantic step.
I parked in the shadows, killed the engine, and watched her disappear through the sliding doors.
Whatever had her that terrified… I needed to know why.
Because something told me this wasn't random.
And when something this perfect walks into your quiet morning and runs straight into chaos?
You follow.
I pulled my gloves tighter, cracked my neck, and walked in after her
I melted into the crowd of the emergency ward, just another concerned face among dozens. She ran straight to the first doctor she saw, a tired-looking guy in scrubs who recognized her instantly.
"Doctor! My son—what happened?!"
The doctor didn't even blink. Deadpan. Professional. Like he'd seen this exact scenario a dozen times this month.
"Ma'am, your son attempted intercourse with a… significantly more experienced partner. She warned him—repeatedly—that he couldn't handle her full weight in cowgirl position. He insisted. Said missionary was 'boring' and demanded she ride him properly."
The mother's eyes went wide, hand flying to her mouth.
The doctor continued, clinical as ever:
"She gave in. Mounted him. And… well… his penis fractured. Clean break. We've got him stabilized in surgery now. He'll be fine, eventually, but he's looking at six to eight weeks minimum recovery. No strenuous activity. At all."
Silence.
You could hear the fluorescent lights humming.
The mother just stood there, mouth open, brain visibly blue-screening. Finally she walked like a zombie to the plastic waiting-room chairs and collapsed, staring at the floor, probably replaying every life decision that led to this exact moment.
Around us, nurses kept typing, patients coughed, someone's IV beeped… but I swear every single person within earshot was fighting for their lives not to laugh. One orderly actually turned away and bit his own sleeve.
Me?
Outside: perfect poker face. Concerned citizen, worried brow, hands in pockets.
Inside: I was dying. Full-on internal nuclear explosion. Tears streaming down my soul. I had to clench every muscle in my body to keep from howling.
Kid tried to flex, demanded cowgirl from a seasoned MILF, and paid the ultimate price.
Legendary.
I leaned against the wall, pretending to check my phone, while silently saluting the absolute mad lad currently under anesthesia with a freshly snapped dick.
Respect.
And also… never change, humanity. Never change.
Ace woke up to the familiar warmth of a succubus curled against him, her pink pussy still leaking last night's load onto the sheets. She stretched like a cat, tail flicking, and gave him a lazy, cum-drunk smile.
"Round four, handsome?" she purred, licking her lips.
Ace just shook his head, already rolling out of bed. "Pass. Got shit to do."
She pouted, tail drooping, then shrugged and sauntered out naked, hips swaying like she owned the hallway.
Quick shower, black hoodie, jeans, boots. Fresh.
He knocked once on Kai's door and pushed it open without waiting.
Inside: Kai had the second succubus pinned missionary on the desk, hips slamming home with wet, rhythmic slaps that echoed off the walls. Her legs were locked around his waist, heels digging into his back, both of them moaning into a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.
Ace leaned against the doorframe. "Yo, bro. Let's roll. Fresh air."
Kai didn't even slow down—just glanced over, grinning, balls still smacking her ass with every thrust.
"Nah, I'm good right here."
Ace sighed. "Alright. Just don't get your dick fractured."
Kai froze mid-thrust.
"…What the hell are you talking about?"
The succubus propped herself up on her elbows, suddenly way too interested. "Yeah, spill."
Ace pulled out his phone, flashed the message Riven had sent an hour ago:
> Kid tried to flex
> Demanded cowgirl from a seasoned MILF
> Paid the ultimate price
> Clean penile fracture
> Surgery now 😂
Kai stared at the screen for half a second… then lost it. Full-on wheezing laughter, still buried balls-deep. The succubus cackled so hard her wings popped out, tail thrashing.
She suddenly rolled her hips harder, meeting Kai's next thrust with a filthy grind.
"Guess some boys can't handle a real ride," she taunted, then yanked Kai down into another messy kiss, tongues sliding, moans muffled.
Ace just shook his head, already backing out.
"Enjoy your cardio, idiots."
Door clicked shut behind him.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered the corridors alone, smirking at the mental image of some poor human kid currently under anesthesia with a freshly snapped dick and a very embarrassed mother in the waiting room.
Another beautiful morning in Hell's headquarters.
Ace strolled down the executive corridor, hands in pockets, still chuckling about the dick-fracture kid. Lilith's office door was cracked open just enough to spill a thin blade of crimson light and the unmistakable wet rhythm of fingers slamming into soaked flesh.
He nudged the door wider with one knuckle.
The sight hit him like a brick:
Lilith Velloria de Ravenholt, the First Circle's most feared strategist, was half-sprawled across her obsidian desk. Blazer and blouse ripped open, milk dripping from one squeezed breast in rhythmic pulses. Stockings shredded, legs spread impossibly wide, four fingers buried to the knuckles in her pink, gaping pussy while her thumb brutalized her clit. Holograms of our old family videos still floated above the table—big sister's heart-shaped pupils, Mom begging to be bred again—soundtrack on full blast.
Every thrust of her hand sent another arc of slick squirting across the room, splattering reports, the carpet, even the far wall. Her crimson eyes were rolled back, horns glowing, fangs sunk deep into her lower lip as she chased another orgasm like it was the last one she'd ever have.
Ace froze for half a second, raised an eyebrow, and just… closed the door again. Softly. Respectfully.
He turned on his heel, shoved his hands deeper in his pockets, and walked away whistling an obnoxiously cheerful tune (some old human pop song about sunshine and lollipops), like he hadn't just witnessed the literal Queen of Hell absolutely ruining her office furniture with her own cum.
Meanwhile, across the city in St. Augustine's waiting room:
Riven sat three chairs down from the traumatized MILF, pretending to read a dog-eared magazine from 2019. The doctor had just walked past again, muttering "still in surgery… compound fracture… very enthusiastic rider…" and Riven's poker face was hanging on by a thread.
Every time the mother let out another mortified whimper and buried her face in her hands, Riven's shoulders shook harder. A nurse walked by biting her own fist to keep from laughing. An orderly fake-coughed "cowgirl" under his breath.
Riven pressed the magazine higher to hide the fact he was crying silent tears of pure, unholy joy.
Best. Day. Off. Ever.
Ace slowed his stride as he passed the frosted-glass wing marked "Succubi Rehabilitation & Reintegration Division."
The door was cracked open just enough for the soundtrack to spill out into the hallway:
- Wet, rhythmic slaps of flesh on flesh
- Deep, guttural moans (male voices, raw and broken)
- A chorus of sultry, soothing feminine whispers layered on top like velvet:
"That's it, sweetheart… let it all out inside me…"
"Good boy, give Sister another load… you're healing so well…"
"Shh, just focus on how warm and safe my pussy feels… forget everything else…"
Ace peeked through the gap.
Inside: two dimly lit chambers separated by one-way glass.
Chamber One: the original college-kid host, flat on his back, eyes glazed, a crimson-haired succubus riding him slow and deep in cowgirl (her tail wrapped gently around his throat like a leash, wings folded, cooing praises while his hips jerked helplessly upward).
Chamber Two: the billionaire ex-host, bent over a padded bench, a second succubus behind him in missionary-prisoner position (hips rolling in perfect, hypnotic circles while a third knelt in front, letting him suckle lazily at her breast, milk dripping down his chin as he whimpered).
Both men were already cum-drunk, faces slack with forced bliss, bodies moving on pure instinct now. Every orgasm stripped another layer of resistance, another memory of betrayal, another shard of pain. In a couple days they'd be blank-slate loyal agents, smiling politely and calling Lilith "Ma'am" without a flicker of the past.
Ace pulled back, shaking his head with a low whistle.
"Two, maybe three days tops," he muttered. "Succubus therapy is brutal efficiency. No joke."
He shoved his hands back in his pockets and kept walking, humming that same stupid cheerful tune louder now (like a man who'd seen the absolute depths of demonic HR and come out the other side unbothered).
Just another day at the office.