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Angels don’t bleed. Not exactly. But something welled up out of Raphael as he hit the bottom. He staggered to his feet and conjured within his hand the idea of a weapon. He had only a moment before the dread thing was upon him. Asmodei, lord of lust, wore a leonine mane and in both hands he held whips of tanned flesh. His teeth were impeccably white and his smile was bright even in the dark of the depths. He stepped forward and Raphael could feel his influence.

“Cede your flesh to me, high-walker, and you will know pleasure beyond that of your god.”

Raphael does not speak to the creature, instead he attacks. He swings his divine weapon and nearly hacks an arm off of the demon. The wound is deep and from it spits a heat that fills the air with haze. Asmodei wails a demon’s cry and Raphael knows his hurt is true. Yet with his other hand Asmodei cracks his skin-whip and it strikes the angel across his bare chest —

Two men are on a black bed. One is on his hands and knees and the other is behind him. One man licks the other’s asshole, prying it open with his tongue and allowing his mouth to water directly into the other man’s hole. His mouth seems to drain endlessly into the puckered orifice. He whispers as he fills the man’s anus with his spit, an impossible amount of spit, he whispers:

‘I will fill you up and then I will empty you out.’

One man places his cock inside the other man’s hole. He fucks slowly into it. Displacing the spit, which dribbles out as the man on his hands is fucked. When he goes faster, the liquid comes faster, splattering —

Raphael steps back and clutches his wounded chest. The demon’s whip is full of such twisted images. Asmodei sneers gleefully at the angel Raphael, whose prick has roused at the touch of his whip.

“I can give you more images, high-walker. We can share these dreams of filth for all eternity.”

“Enemy of god!” Raphael sings in his golden voice, and Asmodei flinches from his righteousness. The angel comes again with his weapon and strikes, but this time he misses. The demon skitters back on its cloven hooves and flashes his whip again. This time it only licks Raphael’s holy flesh —

Two dozen men surround one. The one is jerking himself madly, his eyes glassy, his mouth dry. The others jerk themselves above him and leer at each other. They finger-fuck each other and coax each other to orgasm with grunts and groans. Some of them kiss, others suck at the hard chests of another. They pleasure each other and wallow in the diesel stink of so many men’s bodies. Then the first of them cums, spraying the first hot bursts on the skinny, writhing body of the one below him. Another, watching this, is pushed over the edge by the display. He begins to cum as well. Another —

Raphael hisses, but does not look down at either his wound or the now throbbing organ between his legs.

“You want it badly, high-walker. You’ve had a taste of my bliss and now you want a mouthful,”  Asmodei leers, and grabs obscenely at his heavy instrument.

Raphael charges again the evil creature and this time manifests two weapons. Singing praises unto the one true god, he cuts away a limb from the filth peddler. Asmodei screams as his arm fell away in the guttural cries of the low-crawlers. Raphael gives thanks to god and raises his weapon again, ready to destroy the foul creature —

Two men are touching a third. The third is bound to a clean white table. The first two run their fingers along his side, up his ribcage, into his arm pits. His skin bristles with goosebumps as their fingers play on his skin. His erection bulges from his tiny white jockstrap, a pearl of wetness grows at the tip of him. His chest heaves as they toy with him, moving their fingers all over his skin, tickling him and prodding him and driving him to near madness. He laughs and moans through the gag in his mouth.

They take turns dipping their fingers between his legs while the other keeps him squirming on the table. They pay special attention to his armpits, digging their fingers into it, forcing him to squirm away. They play with his thighs, the soft place between his balls and ass. He squirms, tenses, begs incomprehensibly. They play with him for hours until his every muscle in his body is strained, the veins bulge in his neck, his skin is covered in sweat, and his swollen cock begins to shoot —

Raphael had not noticed the length of the whip wrapped around his ankle. His hands go limp and his weapons fizzle into non-existence. His mind reels with the lustiness of the images flashing through his head. His mouth springs water and his swollen erection leaks just as freely. His nipples are hard and his eyes have lost focus.

The demon, Asmodei, approaches the divine creature. He hobbles as his body slowly restores itself.

“You are mine now, high-walker,” he says.

The angel does not respond. The whip is still coiled around his ankle and he is beset by the horny images that flow from the demon’s blood. He is thoroughly enslaved. The images won’t stop, his mind reels with scenes of men fucking, sucking, cumming obscene amounts of cum. Cocks that stay hard after dozens of volleys and horny holes that willingly accept every drop.

It is hours of this torture before Asmodei reaches down between the legs of the Angel Raphael and touches his divine erection. Only then does Raphael moan, once, and unload his orgasm — his voice rises to its golden heights and the flood of his desire expels in a torrent of terrible and holy light.