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    Devil’s Rapture
     
    ~Andromeda Bliss~
    ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
     
    © Copyright 2015 Andromeda Bliss
    No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
     
    WARNING: This is adult erotica and contains graphic sexual content. It is intended for readers 18 and older only. Author’s note: All characters depicted in sexual acts in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older
     
    Also by Andromeda Bliss, escape to a sultry new world in her Sci-Fi Erotica series, found on Andromeda’s Amazon Author Page and Smashwords Author Page
     
     
    Devil’s Rapture
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    Hell sucks.
    Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. No shit. Ain’t it supposed to suck, asshole? You’re right. (You’re also downright mouthy, but I like that about you.) The thing is, Hell doesn’t just suck for human souls damned to eternal torment. Demons like me have to put up with a lot of hassle down in the pit.
    Sure, the gig starts off great. Lots of succulent souls to torture any way we want, lots of fun to be had for a demon with imagination. But it gets old after a few hundred years. And there is just nowhere to hide from the fiery eye of Big D. Always looking over our shoulders, just waiting for us to screw up so he can shred some demon ass. That sneaky bastard makes sure he gets some, too. Normally I love lies, cheats, and mind games, but not when I’m on the receiving end and never win.
    Having your guts ripped out by the blackest of fallen angels can make a demon feel pretty damned inadequate.
    So I bailed. I’m an escapee, a refugee, a lesser devil on the loose. My brothers and sisters usually don’t last long on the surface. Too drunk on freedom and sweet air, too arrogant to think they’d ever get caught and shipped back down river. Usually they make a spectacle, drawing attention from either those dickless do-gooders upstairs, or from the Boss’ retrieval squad downstairs. I’m smarter than that. I’m also fuckin’ lucky, which helps.
    My escape from Hell didn’t exactly go according to plan. To be honest, I’m pretty sure I got lost. Maybe it was that left at the second level. Maybe it was listening to directions in the first place from that demon bitch with breath like last week’s tacos—she always hated me. Anyway, I found a crack and scraped my way out, but it was like being skinned alive and turned inside out.
    By the time I reached the surface, I was in no shape to party. I had to find a place to lay low, hunker down, and lick my wounds. Recover my dignity and sense of fun.
    I got lucky. I found a cave.
    Didn’t seem so lucky at first, though. I mean, who wouldn’t rather check into a swank hotel, order room service and high-class whores, and recover in luxury? But that would’ve been a little too high-profile—at the time, I didn’t have the strength to look human or ride around inside somebody’s skin. So a cold, dark cave decorated with bat shit became my new home-away-from-home.
    At first, I had no joy. Pain rode me like a racehorse pounding for a fatal finish line. That sucked, but I’d had worse in the pit. The worst thing was the silence. After all the myriad sounds of Hell, the quiet in my little corner of the surface was maddening. I muttered to myself a lot just to hear something other than dripping stalactites and random bat conversation.
    The muttering probably gave me away. That and the acrid, smoky scent of Hell we demons always carry around with us like a souvenir of home. Some enterprising human with the curiosity and balls to explore snuck