Willow Rose Hardcore

Chamosh Drokk was the 77th daughter of Argyle Drokk, the legendary Demonlord and Patriarch of one of the twenty-one trueblood demon families. She was widely considered to be intelligent and kind, with a keen sense for problem-solving and the perfect disposition for Corporate leadership. However, this being Arashmaharr, one of the central Hell dimensions, being Argyle's daughter, having a willing personality, a split tongue, and having a great rack were the accepted reasons for her lofty achievement of being the only female to ever hold an Executive position on a level as high as the Third Floor-Guardian Division.

She sat at her small metal desk in the Records Room and applied Heat-screen lotion to her thighs. The Air Conditioning was broken again and she hoped that Tech-demons everywhere were being rounded up to fix the problem.

Her supervisor had posted a fairly explicit dress code for all female executives on the 3rd floor - only her - which included a pleated black mini skirt, black silk stockings with the little pink ribbons at the top and a tight black sleeveless bodice that laced up the front. Needless to say, she thought her supervisor was a pig, but a pig with a good eye for what she looked great in. Her peach colored skin gleamed against all of the black and the two cute little horns on her head were also black as was her long hair, so she matched.

She had nine of the Official outfits, so she was always ready for work. Getting written up and having to report to the Supervisor's office was not an experience that she wanted to repeat any time soon and to make matters worse, the Laundry-demons were all a bunch of dykes and wanted payment only one way from her so she tried to put it off as long as possible.

Her attention turned from applying the lotion generously to her cleavage to a six Hunter-demon squad all dressed in their wet gray body suits as they used stun batons to wrangle a tall red headed, tattoo covered angel into one of the holding cells. God's creature didn't seem so thrilled to be arrested at that particular time and several of the squad had bruises and green blood splotches on their uniforms. She straightened in her chair because this pathetic little job pretty much only consisted of being a penis resting spot for all higher ranking Execs and filling out arrest records.

Sergeant Glencannon, the squad leader that liked to pretend he was Scottish, came over to her desk and sat in the small folding chair in front of it.

"Gabby didn't come without a fight, eh?" she said to the officer, causing him to chuckle at her nickname for the angel. Of all of the demons that could use status and position to get a position over her, Glencannon never did and she liked him more for that little bit of kindness and that was probably the reason that she got just a little moist when he was around.

"My boys wouldn't know what to do with Gabriel." He laughed again, his two main horns coloring darker with his emotion, causing them to shine against his dark gunmetal gray armored skin. "Name-Roareal or something close to that. Occupation-Pornstar he claims but some of my guys are experts and they don't recognize him so just put Laborer, either way it fits, huh?"

She nodded with him and kept typing into the Volks-machine model 1001, a ten cycle old demon-typewriter with over three thousand buttons on it. That the old Nazi scientist had invented it and made his owner a crapload of credits or Dreams as the money was more commonly known down here.

"We picked him up after a disturbance call from the Pleasure Pits-Sector five-Arena three. He refused to listen to commands and resisted with violence. The original call was for a broken orgy couch during an argument but we couldn't find the other person involved so just make it Public Intoxication or something like that." He smiled, showing off his diamond encrusted black teeth before going back over to his squad as they were about to give the drunk angel a lesson in the consequences of resisting arrest.

She watched his short spiked tail wiggle back and forth as he walked away and was in the middle of a naughty interrogation daydream where the Sergeant was making her work on something that wiggled back and forth when a pair of leather driving-gloves slammed on her desk. She jumped, causing her can of Lemon Cow Juice to tip over and she hurried to save the report and mop up the spill with a copy of the news magazine Hells-Today.

"Smooth move," her supervisor said as he leaned in and brazenly looked down at her cleavage. One of his graying eyebrows arching as he inspected her.

"Hello, Mr. Hamiltonkras," she said as she quickly got herself in order to see what madness he wanted from her now.

"Are you still getting stroked by the boss?" he asked as he slid his hand down the front of her bodice and fondled her breasts, tugging at the nipples.

"I think he's still on vacation, but as far as I know, I'm supposed to be ready for him when he returns." She ignored the overly-tanned hand groping her and focused on the tanning cream stains on the cuff of his black suit.

"Well, he's back," he said and stopped playing with her and gave her a small black plastic box. "Take your tight ass up there and give him this telegram."

"Yes, sir," she said to his back as he walked over to watch the guys stomp on the unconscious angel. At least Hammy didn't go any farther than slap and tickle since the boss started fucking her, she thought as she put the report in it's proper spot in the magical endless-filing cabinet.
She took the telegram and walked to main lobby, ignoring the catcalls from the holding cells along the way. She waded through the mass of demons and other races clogging the red marbled main lobby, pausing to look out of the fifty foot window opposite to the elevators. A twisted red countryside bathed in random spots of flame and large soot covered buildings dominated the view. She watched as three of the death defying Window washer-demons danced along the outside of the glass, moping off soot as they leaped from sill to sill. A hustler was taking bets on any one of them falling but as far as she knew, he was in cahoots with one of them so she ignored him and went to the elevators. A troop of thirty petite big-breasted nymphs dressed like Girl Scouts were waiting at the doors, so instead of being harassed to buy their damn cookies, she ducked into the stairwell and started the climb.

4th Floor-Finance was the next lobby and she paused to watch the grand auditorium where all the Accountant-demons were chained naked to see-through glass desks as they did their business. She ignored all the Adjustable Rate Mortgage peddlers and decided to stick with the stairs. It couldn't hurt if the boss thought that she was a little out of breath just to see him.

5th Floor-Soul Processing was a darkened tomb of a place. New arrivals stood in great long lines. All naked and many with whatever wounds caused their deaths in the first place. She stopped to check out what must have a been a very bad man as he was covered in his victim's blood. She had no idea why it worked that way, but serial killers showed up with proof of their crimes dripping from them. She watched him go to the front of the line and scream when his soul was warped into his new body, one of a Trash collector-demon. Cool she thought as she went back to the stairs.

6th Floor-Intelligence was a level that she hurried right past. If anyone that knew her had seen her around here, her social life would be in ruins. Only spies and their victims ever came to that level and only the spies ever left. She ran right around a long eared blue demon that was trying to sign others up for some Association of Community Organizers or some kind of crap like that.

7th Floor-Arcanics was a cool level. She went to the lobby and watched the flow of universal magical energy as it danced in an untold number of colors around the ceiling. As she was looking up, a hand grabbed her rear under the skirt. She turned and froze when she recognized the insignia of a seventh level Mage-demon. He had pale yellow skin that had no elasticity and ran in drooping piles all over his shoulders. His black robe was embroidered in golden designs depicting dragons and unicorns and stars. How lame, she thought.

"Nice....serve me," he commanded with his echoing deep psionic voice. His large red eye stared into her face while the large blue one kept checking her body out.

"I've got a telegram for the boss," she said as she showed him the box.

"Then you better...be quick...or I give...extra...two legs and...tail," he ground out as one of his hands slid up her thigh.

She dropped to her knees and lifted his robe. Ignoring other demons as they walked by, she took his yellow heavily curved wang and straightened it with her hands. She kept one hand to massage his drift holes as she pressed her mouth over it and sucked deep, forcing it to the back of her throat so that she'd gag. Mage-demons loved to think they were hurting others, so he'd appreciate the choking. With her other hand she stroked him as fast as she could, using every trick she knew to make this fast. In less than two minutes his deep voice changed to a soprano and he fell into speaking Chinese as his ice-cold black rubbery seed filled her mouth. She spit it out as soon as she could and watched as the acid scarred the marble tiles on the floor. The Chinese demons usually killed the ones they mated with. He patted her on the head and smiled. His droopy face revealing moss covered teeth. He let her go with a wave of his hand and she ran quickly to the stairs.

8th Floor-Lower Reaches was a level full of offices and conference rooms of mid-level managers and was hell to the ambitious demons that constantly were reminded that they were only one level from the top of the Arashmaharr Administrative Tower. She looked into the lobby but quickly jumped back into the stairwell when she seen a force of Guardian-demons strip searching a bunch of the executives from this level. Corruption was the life's blood of Hell, but too much caught the attention of a 9th floor denizen and everyone got punished for it.

Finally she walked into the 9th Floor-Penthouses of Higher Command lobby and made her way past the throng of secretary desks that were positioned in the center. The desk for her boss was empty so she made her way to his private elevator. Every time she stood here waiting for the doors to open she rubbed the tip of her shoe into the floor, just in case one of the solid gold tiles happened to pry up. The legend was that any demon could keep one if you could peel it from the floor and the Maintenance-demons were charged for it's loss.
The elevator doors opened before fate decided to make her rich so she quit the attempt. The music in the boss's elevator was always the same. Some human female band called the Bagels or something like that were crooning about walking like the Egyptians. She had no clue what it meant or why it was considered good. As she walked to his office she could hear him on the Communicator-demon.

"Your boss is a lying piece of Archangel crap," D'Hoffryn said into the fist sized hole in the forehead of the little black demon that served as Hell's phone system. "I was six under, he was THREE. Baphomet needs to pony up, you can tell him I said that." He looked up and watched her walk to his desk. "I'll talk to you later Barry, say hi to those cute kids for me." He put his hand on the Comm-demon. "Close the connection," he commanded and the hole on the demon's head sealed shut. "Chamosh, you fine Pleasure-demon how are you today?"

"Behold, D'Hoffryn! Lord of Arashmaharr, he that turns the air to blood and rains death upon the masses," she announced, down on her knees with her head bowed and the telegram box raised in front of her. "I offer my unworthy life for your convenience and I also bring you a telegram."

"Oooh..A telegram. I'm waiting for the Stanley Cup score, I have a wager with Merrows on it." He snatched the box and set it in front of him. "The fool always takes the New Jersey Devils but the damn overachievers actually made it to the finals this time. I'll pox them all with impotence if they cause me to lose this bet."
He looked at her, still in the appropriate pose for being in his presence and said as he started reading the box, "Chamosh, go to my bedroom. I'll be there shortly."

He was disappointed that the writing on the box meant that it wasn't the hockey scores. He glanced at her shapely backside as she disappeared up the stairs to his room. "Oh well, can't delay the inevitable," he said to himself as he cast the simple charm to activate the telegram. The box popped open and a little green demon head appeared in it.

"To-D'Hoffryn, Lord of Arashmaharr. From-Kurtazarian Warnerlan," the little voice boomed out before adjusting it's own volume and continuing. "Sir, I happened to be at Payroll and noticed that Algernon Princeton Winters, who I know was in your service, had not picked up his last several paychecks. Being an old friend to Algy, I checked on him and discovered through a magical restoration spell that he was killed by a vampire named Willow Rose. I checked his log-sheet and found that he was using her to be the Weapon of Vengeance against a murderer that was of course cursed by one of his victims. As soon as my...career is over up here, I'll be looking for a job down there and thought that I could handle this for you as a part of the interview process to join your work force. Please let me know if that would be accept..."

He snapped the box shut, causing the little demon face to scream in pain. This is what happens when I let the Elders talk me into giving one of their boys a job, he thought as he frowned and vowed to himself to get back to his old standards of females only for operatives in the Vengeance and Curse categories at least. The fool probably came on to the sexy little redhead, not knowing that this one is far more unpredictable than my favorite little witch.
"Oh well, morons and their heads are soon parted," he said out loud as he wrote himself a note on a sticky-pad to figure out how to handle, one Willow Rose.

He walked up the stairs and stood in the doorway to his bedroom. Chamosh was wearing tight white shorts, white boots, a white hat, and a blue and white long sleeved half shirt. She was on her hands and knees in the middle of his large bed with the Dallas Cowboys bed covers on it. He growled in appreciation.
"If only Mata Hari had your instincts, I might not have eaten her," he said softly as he went to the bed and dropped his robes, baring his long blue scaled and horned body. He ran his hands over her and threw the cowboy hat away so that her long black hair fell around her neck. He climbed up behind her and tapped the shirt and shorts, causing both of them to disappear. His three cocks were coming to life. It always annoyed him that the lowest one got hard faster than the two higher ones, and had to push it's way past them to stand out. "You are a fine female, my child," he said with appreciation as he tapped the area between her slit and her anus, giving her a third hole so that she would fit with him. He stuffed the three of his members inside her tight holes and pushed them to their depths, relishing in her pained whimpers.
"I miss my Anyanka," he said as he stroked within her quivering insides. He did miss Anyanka, not the failure that he had sent demons to kill, but the glorious woman that she was before that. He remembered fondly, the many times Anyanka was in Chamosh's spot, and he still vowed that one day Rosenberg's tight little ass would be bent before him.

Thinking of the witch, made him think of the vampire...what was he going to do with Willow Rose.

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Willow Rose was not a happy vampire. She was standing in the club's shower trying to scrub the smelly stuff off of her chest and arms when Bacchus peeked in.

"What happened?" he asked, watching her naked body move under the spray of the shower.

"I don't want to talk about it. Come here," she ordered and he instantly walked into the shower fully clothed. "I had gloves on but smell my arms, my chest, and MY FACE!" she growled and presented herself to him. He ran his nose over her and gave a thumbs up signal. She took a deep unnecessary breath and finally relaxed. As she turned the shower off and walked out into the locker-room, she threw him a towel and told him to dry his leather pants before he ruined them. She grabbed another towel and had just started to dry herself when Narcissus walked in. Bacchus dropped to his knees when he felt the power that was radiating off of his Oba.

"Willow, Mr. Krieger is very upset." He took the towel from her and dried her with it, with short angry motions that pushed her body around.

"Fuck him, I'm upset. Oh and by the way, I threw all of that enema equipment away. I'm sure as hell not cleaning it."

"Willow, you're taking a week off," he said. "You're too valuable to fire so let's just consider it a vacation: Alright?" And then dropped the towel before he was done and walked out.

"He..she..IT can blow me too, maybe I just wont come back," she said as Bacchus got a new towel and finished drying her before wrapping it around her hair. "Thanks," she said to the hyena as he started to walk back into the clubroom.

"No matter what, I want to stay friends," he said.

"Round three tonight Bacchus," she whispered with a small smile.

His smile, as he disappeared through the doorway, was much larger.