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Every hall, every access way, every maintenance corridor and all the atriums were a gloopy canvas of bodily fluids and crusty, desiccated bodies. Cum of every kind painted the walls and doors like a messily erotic version of the first Passover and the floor was slick with the contents of a sperm-bank.

This little moon was named after the ancient Greek deity, Phobos, the son of Ares (Mars) and Aphrodite (Venus). And it seemed Phobos was hitting those frighteningly angsty teenage years, the ones filled with offensive thoughts and copious masturbation.

Cautiously, two marines picked forth through the sexual carnage. They were the only things moving. The ground was littered with dead bodies, dried up mummies of the people they had been before. The humans with their crackly skin pulled taught over their bones, and those with fur looked like mummies wrapped in massive shaggy coats. Clothes lay asunder, mopping up some of the slippery fluids glazing the deck, and large erections, held up with rigor mortis hung between the legs of every fallen man.

Their morbid death-grins painted a grisly picture of what had happened to them.

This was the scene all over the UAC's Phobos facility. Every stiff they stepped over or around was male. All of them stripped, revealing the boners they had held in death, and all of them sucked dry. Neither of them had the cognitive fortitude to wonder why there were no female victims.

Nearly twenty-four hours ago it had all seemed quite surreal. But as time went on the marines had grown quite desensitised to the sight, the same way boot camp had readied them for the gratuitous violence involved in their vocation.

The marine in back finally lowered his pistol, allowing more of the corridor's dim light to reveal the 'Beeswee' nametape stuck to his chest armour.

“Hey, corporal?" he asked, rather loudly but not caring about the way his voice pealed through the sheer emptiness of the facility. “Is your name really 'Slayer' or is that just a callsign?"

A few paces ahead, Slayer missed a step. He paused in his tracks, but kept his assault rifle levelled.

Beeswee was likely talking about the name 'Slayer' printed across the second, larger marine's chest. The same way 'Beeswee' referred to his name as Steve Beeswee, Corporal John Slayer had 'Slayer' to refer to his.

Satisfied the young private had nothing more to say, Slayer pressed on, the ghostly silence masked by the thrum of the facility's utilities churning somewhere underfoot.

“I mean, I had a buddy in boot camp who we called Nunchakus. It was a badass nickname. I wish I had a nickna-…"

Slayer cut Beeswee off by turning and snatching the marine by his collar. Yanking him closer, Slayer put the noise-maker within a few millimetres of his visor, the stained glass doing nothing to hide the smouldering heat of the big man's glare.

He gulped, then shrugged and lowered his voice to a more modest whisper. “I'm just saying. It's fuckin' badass dude."

Slayer shook his head slowly, then released Beeswee with a reassuring pat. He couldn't stay angry at the kid for long. He was from the noble ranks of the few, proud and brave. Most other marines on Phobos had either given into their grisly erotic fate at the hands of cumsucking demons or tried to dip out entirely, driven by self-preservation.

The two only had each other. They had to stick together.

They gave each other a nod, agreeing on that very fact one more time, then Slayer led the way forward again. This had been their mission since Hell rose to swallow Phobos. Aside from making sure they weren't fucked to death like the poor bastards they waded through, the duo had been trying to push deeper into the UAC facilities. The overall mission was comprised of what marines did best. Seek out, close with and destroy; and in this context the job was figuring out where this Hell was spawning from, get to it and tear its fucking balls off.

… or, y'know. If it was a portal spitting out demons, just close that down or whatever.

So far, Slayer and Beeswee had only found more death and misery. All they could do was keep moving. Survivors didn't stop. And the pair had to double time before their luck soured—

Too late.

Death jumped on their backs like a collective of spider-monkeys, clinging and clawing at them until the duo collapsed to the cold hard decking. There were five of them, blurs of brown, leathery hide and glowing red eyes. Slayer had no idea where they had come from, but then imps had the annoying tendency to just appear out of thin air.

So named because they reminded Slayer of something he'd seen in an old book in his childhood. Spiky demons that played with fire, these imps were about the height of a man, so at least a few inches shorter than Slayer. They had brown, leathery skin stretched over their gangly frames with vicious spikes sticking out at the elbows, knees and shoulders, and more on the head to back up the razor-filled mouths.

The nearest imp that jumped Slayer pinned him on his back, trapped his rifle harmlessly between their bodies and stuck its teeth into his arm. Pain lanced through his forearm as the imp's teeth locked in place. The titanium weave in his sleeve prevented the daggers from drawing blood, but the crushing force of the jaw muscles were cutting off circulation and Slayer felt his fingertips tingle.

The other imps swarmed poor Beeswee, even as he kicked and screamed, swearing to the high heavens and struggling like a real marine should. At least until the fifth imp presented herself.

As tall as her fellows, but with meatier curves like that of a mortal woman, the impette moved with smooth, seductive grace. Her long tail flicked with the sway of her wide hips as she clambered onto Beeswee, her tantalising and naked body holding the young marine down as much as her weight did. She had scales, the same brown colour as the imps' hide, but on the whole she was more draconic in feature. A long muzzle, lips drawn back in a wicked smile. Her slanted eyes glowed with an evil red light. Hair, blood red in colour fell in a short bob down the back of her scalp between a pair of curved black horns crowning her skull like an evil looking tiara. More spines were visible down her spine, and her fingers ended in space black enamel talons.

She was as unabashed by her nakedness as the imps supporting her, but the impette had a lot more she should have been embarrassed about. Unlike the featureless imps, she had a pair of large breasts, although her scales hid any resemblance of nipples. That said there was the tell-tale cleft of pussy-lips between her thighs, even more pronounced as she lifted a leg over Beeswee to straddle him in place.

As her imp minions held the marine down, Slayer still jerking and struggling somewhere in the background as now his hand was going numb, the impette slid sensually down Beeswee's body, her hands finding what she was after with no hesitation. Beeswee cried out with surprise, but could do nothing else as the front of his pants were shredded. Slayer knew as well as the kid did what was about to happen, but having not seen it first hand yet, neither could comprehend just yet.

One moment the impette had Beeswee's stem clutched firmly in one hand. The very next she swallowed it whole, right down to the base. The boy stiffened, his back lifting a little off the ground to thrust involuntarily into the demoness' mouth.

The impette didn't waste another moment. It happened fast and with violence of action. With the same momentum and zeal Slayer might have employed assaulting an enemy position, the impette swallowed Beeswee again and again. Her head bobbed with choreographed swiftness and not an ounce of trepidation. She gave a throaty swallow with every downward thrust, gulping excess dick that didn't fit in her mouth down into her throat and suckling firmly. Then she'd work her way up the shaft, lips opening just a little to let her hot spittle dribble and drool down his length, tongue swirling and working the crown.

Then the downward dart again and a gulping noise.

No millimetre of Beeswee's cock was left un-licked. And the effect on the marine was instantaneous. He moaned and thrashed against the imps holding him down. He was holding back, that much was for certain. He knew what came next though.

Rapturous doom.

He was powerless to stop it. The impette was too good, and with a sly upward turn of her busy lips, she felt him throb in her mouth. There was a rush, a clench… Beeswee screamed and thrashed. Slayer almost couldn't watch anymore… and then it came.

Long thick ropes of cum jetted down the impette's gullet, and she swallowed them eagerly. She drank him down like it was the essence of life. And it was. Because Beeswee gave her more than his potent young seed.

Slayer cried out, roaring with rage and remorse as Beeswee's face tightened. His very essence sucked away, every ounce of fluid drained from his form, through his cock and into the Impette's belly. He lost more pounds than was healthy in just a second, and soon he was just another dried up mummy. Phobos claimed the life of another marine.

Slayer's muscles stretched to their limit against the imp holding him down, a sudden rush of adrenaline shot through the man's system. His whole body tightened, and as he saw Beeswee's last convulsion flicker from head to toe and the light of life fade from the milky remains of his eyes, Slayer's body uncoiled with the strength that could have shifted Phobos' orbit.

The imp lifted off him, flew straight up and slammed into the ceiling before crashing back down, face meeting Slayer's knuckles. The dazed imp was senseless, clutching feebly at the man's rifle. So he ignored the primary weapon and instead grabbed his sidearm.

He cleared his pistol from its holster and let out shots as quickly as his index finger could feather the trigger. Two went into the chest and the face got the rest.

The imp fell away, wisps of smoke trailing for the cauterised hole where a face had once been. And lightened of his load, Slayer rolled to his feet, slammed the pistol back into its holster and levelled his assault rifle.

The range between him and the next imp was practically nothing. A sustained burst painted the far wall of the corridor in crimson and reduced the imp to the consistency of street-pizza. He then raked his fire across the corridor and sliced into the third imp. It swatted at a swarm of invisible hornets then dropped with the grace its predecessors lacked.

As the third imp fell the impette turned from the withered remains of Beeswee and hissed venomously, strands of the young marine's cum still dribbling from her lips. Her claw lit up and a fireball threw eldritch crimson light through the corridor.

With a sweeping twirl, the demon whipped around and flung the fireball. Slayer rolled smoothly off the X and the projectile scorched the deck at his heels. Paint bubbled, metal glowed and dripped away into a maintenance duct below, leaving a jagged hole. Had he been a little slower that smouldering hole would have been burnt right through Slayer's trauma-plate.

His feet hit the deck, his rifle came up and rounds zipped out of the barrel and into the last imp. It was mid-leap when the bullets went in. Blood came out and the spikey bastard hung still for a split second, like a puppet suddenly snagged at the strings. It then fell in segregated bloody chunks that rattled the deck.

In the clear, Slayer swivelled to target the impette.

She was gone, but he just about caught the shapely form of her scaly ass disappearing down the corridor ahead. Mouthing a curse word that would have caused global socio-political uproar if ever uttered out loud, Slayer went to pursue but was stopped by a realisation.

Slowly settling back onto his knee, he looked at Beeswee's dried out remains and sighed deeply. He was alone now. That didn't just depress him. It pissed him off to no end.

After a quick reload, then with his assault rifle up and ready to rock, Slayer pushed after the impette. He was going to catch up to that fine ass, even if it was the last thing he did. He had bigger concerns, like the fate of the solar system. But right then, avenging poor Beeswee was a needed booster to Slayer's shitty day.

At the next junction he skidded to a halt. The impette was all but gone, he could hear her rattling and cursing somewhere in the ventilations shafts, those big tits probably having wedged her in place somewhere. Good riddance.

Snapping up his weapon he raked the ceiling with bullets. He wasn't aiming at anything in particular, yet he was rewarded. With both a fireworks display of sparks, and finally the impette's scream of surprise coupled with the wail of tearing metal. Some of the overhead shafts fell out of their harassed mounds and in one lump of wreckage the impette came falling from the shafts above.

Slapping the ground among a pile of debris, she looked over the curves of her ass at the marine, then scrambled around a corner on all fours. Slayer had the bitch on the ropes and pressed after without pause. He didn't necessarily want to shoot her. Given the opportunity, he wanted to use his hands on her. Hell, he'd settle for fucking her to death like she'd done to Beeswee.

It wasn't misogynists. The bitch was a demon! An incarnation of pure evil. Slayer had no problem fucking a demon to death. He'd fuck demons to death all damn day if he could.

And so with those violent, negative thoughts thickening his frontal lobe, Slayer pressed into the next room.

He had expected a lot of things to face him in that chamber. A full-on firefight with more fire-flinging imps. Perhaps a hellknight or a dozen barons of hell just to throw a spanner at his already stellar day.

It was just another machine room of some sort, lined with stuff he couldn't discern a use for. More mummies scattered the deck. More cum splattered every surface. The place was a petri dish of hormones.

What he saw on the far end of the room went beyond anything Slayer had been expecting. Perhaps he'd been optimistic when he expected a dozen barons.

The impette was on her knees, the face of another cradled in her claws. Her head tilted to one side and they turned to give Slayer a front row seat to a little demonic girl-on-girl action.

On her knees before Beeswee's killer was a second impette, somewhat shorter and leaner, but on the overall the same kind of scaled creature with a draconic muzzle, horns and talon-tipped hands. She groped at the breasts of her fellow, hungrily leaning into the kiss as a trickle of desire sparkled on her inner thigh.

When compared to this new impette, the first's age became more apparent. Slayer realised she had a rather buxom frame, plenty of nice curves all the same, but creases in places Slayer hadn't noticed before placed her at about his own age – a nice number that said fit and fun, but ready for a mid-life-crisis.

Inside the dark recesses of his mind, the marine chuckled. Beeswee had the life sucked out of him by a cougar! Not a bad way to go, considering. He'd give the boy a pat on the back when they regrouped in the hot place.

The new impette couldn't have been older than eighteen, a teen-like build with ample breasts that hung slightly apart but perky and firm all the same. Her wide hips tapered to a slim waist, giving her an overall lean frame.

As Slayer approached in a confused state, the older impette broke the kiss and pulled back. Their lips were still connected by a stream of white light. It crackled with energy as the life force Slayer assumed was Beeswee's transferred from the older impette into her younger ward. The realisation hit Slayer like a shotgun blast to the trauma-plate.

She was feeding the younger impette.

Hearing the human's staggering steps, the older impette whirled around, putting herself between the younger demon and Slayer. But gone was that venomous expression she'd worn before. Gone was the malice from the crimson glow in her eyes. Her features seemed softer, more sorrowful.

Like a mother pleading for the life of her beloved daughter…

Slayer's mouth fell opened and he stared for a long, stunned moment. Suddenly fucking the bitch to death, especially in front of her daughter, wasn't such a cool idea anymore. He couldn't figure out how to proceed, and with the muzzle of his rifle bobbing down to the ground, Slayer just kept staring at the draconic women, trying to comprehend the 'humanity' of what he was seeing.

Before much sense could be made of it though, there were heavy, flat footfalls. Slayer wheeled around, unaware he was wilfully turning his back on a pair of demons. But in the grand scheme of things, exposing his back to the impette mother and her teenage daughter was preferable to turning his back on a pair of pinky demons. Since Hell had broken loose there were no more dull moments on Phobos.

The pinky demons were squat and broad, all body and no neck, dominated by an enormous tooth-filled mouth. The fierce porkers were lent their name from the pink skin that stretched over their bulky bone structure, with bony spikes jutting from places.

The two pinky demons eyed not just Slayer but the impette and her ward as well, then with a fierce roar that shook the air all around they charged into the room with a thirst for blood. It wouldn't be the first time Slayer had witnessed the demons in-fighting, and he still hadn't figured out the delicate hierarchy of power the various beasts shared. But for these demons to wilfully attack a single impette and a young teen when Slayer was enough of a target for them to focus on seemed a little suspicious.

Slayer's rifle snapped up and he rattled off five shots that hit the lead pinky in the head, but the bullets just grazed harmlessly through flesh and flattened against the armoured skull beneath. A second later they collided with just a bone-jarring impact and Slayer nearly fumbled his rifle. Grabbing on to the creature as it snapped at him, the marine was carried backwards and finally slammed into a wall where he was pinned by the mouthy demon.

Thankfully, the rigors of boot camp had given him the upper body strength to push the demon back, stopping the pinky from closing that final inch and tearing him open with its tusks. The heavy maw snapped open and shut, pining for the taste of his flesh, but with obvious effort Slayer was able to keep the interlocking teeth at bay.

The impette mother on the other hand wasn't so lucky.

She screeched a challenge to the charging pinky, but it was a sound that caught, gargled and then died in her throat as the bulkier creature collided jaws first. Teeth meshed and tore at her flesh, gnashing and smashing bone, pulping meat… Slayer couldn't see the impette mother anymore as the pinky bore down on her, thrashing from side to side like a shark refusing to let go of a meal. And only a few metres away, the daughter of the impette cowered, helplessly watching her maternal figure chewed mercilessly into a crimson bile.

Something triggered in Slayer. He wasn't sure what it was, and figured he might never figure it out. But it started with a simmer. And in moments, the full wrath of his fury boiled over.

A more collected and arguably intelligent warrior would have observed the situation, calculated the conditions and approached the problem with cold, calculated methodology of death laced with a hint of caution. But Slayer was Marine Corps, a military branch that bred heroes like a bar bred drunks – loud, proud and spoiling for a fight!

With an unintelligible battle cry, Slayer dug his fingers into the pinky's enormous maw, while at the same time his knee trapped the lower mandible. With a mighty push he shoved the demon back, levered the mouth open as far as it would go and then with his free hand jammed the muzzle of his assault rifle down the pinky's throat.

Its dull pig-eyes widened with shock before Slayer pulled the trigger and blew his load inside the demon. It was robbed of the opportunity to scream, and vomiting blood from several orifices, some it was born with, others Slayer had given it, the gargling creature slumped to one side and died.

Yanking the bloodied weapon from the demon's throat, he butted the stock to his shoulder and tracked the second pinky as it abandoned the ragged remains of the older impette and charged at the younger. She still failed to react to the danger, and with a distinctly girly scream the draconic teenager cowered deeper into her arms, expecting the searing pain of teeth to lock about her body at any second.

Slayer led the target slightly and pulled the trigger. His gun did not react and for a second he though the gore had fouled the system. Canting the weapon to one side he noticed the bolt was locked open. In the excitement he didn't realise he'd literally emptied the magazine into the previous pinky. He could have transitioned to his pistol, for all the good that would have done.

But instead, with another inarticulate cry he threw the rifle over one shoulder, letting it catch on the mag-lock on his back. Slayer surged forward and t-boned the pinky's mass with his own.

Just moments from sinking its teeth in the young impette, the creature slumped sideways, pinned under Slayer's bulk. One hand digging its thumb into the screaming demon's eye-socket, Slayer secured a grip on one of the tusks and yanked it out with a crack and a fleshy pop. The tooth flipped in his hand like a dagger and he dug it deep into the pinky's throat, drawing to one side and slitting open flesh and arteries that wept waterfalls of blood to the deck.

As quickly as it had begun, the fight was over and silence descended upon the room again. There was just the sound of some far-off churning machine; a rattle of survivor gunfire in the next facility; the thud of Slayer's boots as he righted himself and his laboured breaths breaking on his visor. The tooth was still gripped like a knife in one hand as he looked around.

The impette girl was gone, but it didn't take long, or a copious amount of common sense to find her. Slayer turned and found her by the remains of the mother who had fed her Beeswee's life essence just minutes ago. The draconic girl was on her knees, weeping into her hands. It was a thing Slayer didn't even know demons could do, never mind be physically capable off. It tore at him for a second, then he looked down at the tooth and dropped it.

He suddenly didn't feel like killing things anymore. Not that he relished death as much as he did the thrill of the fight. Given the option he'd rather not kill, but then demons didn't usually give him a choice. Right now though, he had a call to make. And it wasn't as easy as the calls he made when faced with life and death prospects.

His rifle came off his back and a new magazine was seated in place. The mechanism cycled with a yank of the charging lever and a round was chambered. The impette barely registered the sharp clack of the metal. Barely even knew how close death stalked her.

But without pause, Slayer walked around behind the girl, and with his rifle pointed at the deck he moved to make his exit. There was no point harming her. The impette wasn't attacking, and clearly wouldn't any time soon.

But loitering in the doorway, Slayer turned back. The impette hadn't moved. Tears glistened on her scaly cheeks and the evil glow in her eyes had dimmed sadly. It was difficult not to feel sorry for the demon.

Slayer realised he was feeling altogether too sorry for the demon, and even as he traced his path back to her side he was sighing with frustration. Mostly at himself. Partially at the fact he had no idea what he was doing.

Still, he paused at her side and the impette looked up a little bewildered at the hand he offered. Swallowing hard, the young demon looked between the hand and the fleshy remains of her caretaker, then with an air of feminine grace she wiped her eyes and took Slayer's hand.

Hand in hand the demon-killer and the demon left.

++++

“I'm Isabel."

The introduction just sort of hung between them, answered only by the metal clicks and clacks of Slayer disassembling his assault rifle.

Sitting on the ground in some isolated little store room, Slayer had laid out an anti-dust mat, next to which lay the parts of his cleaning kit. Spread out across the mat were the internal components of his assault rifle, neatly organised and lined up with OCD-like precision. Piece by piece he wiped them down with a rag, oiled the moving parts and scrubbed accumulated carbon from the key components.

When he glanced up without saying anything, the young impette sitting awkwardly before him leaned forward a little.

“I'm-…" she went to repeat herself, but Slayer quickly held up a hand and nodded, indicating he understood. She eased off for a few moments, then read the nametape on the front of his tac-vest. “Your name is Slayer, right?"

Another silent nod.

“Don't say much, do you, Mister Slayer?" she commented with a little smirk.

Slayer just shrugged.

“Well… thank you." It sounded quiet odd, getting thanks from a demon. It was enough to make Slayer pause with bemusement. Even Isabel looked awkward about it, like she'd never practiced using the words before. “You could have killed me, or left me… but you didn't. So, thanks."

Slayer stared a little longer. Nothing about Isabel seemed right. She looked like a demon of course, her draconic features cute on the one hand, but with her fierce horns curling around her skull like a crown of evil she was at the same time not a girl you'd like to meet in a dark alley. At the same time, she didn't have the sound of a demon. Whereas the other demons Slayer had met (and slain) made screeches like the edges of blades run over each other, Isabel sounded like a choir girl. He loathed to use the term 'angelic' however.

In that respect she didn't carry herself like a demon either. She had a more slouched posture, like a goth chick who just didn't give a fuck about anything. Not that she dressed like one… or dressed at all for that matter.

His gaze declined away from the sumptuous, taught curves of her lean body and Slayer went back to the various puzzle-pieces of his rifle. Done with cleaning he started re-assembling the weapon.

Slipping the bolt back in place and locking the upper receiver back to the lower receiver, he heard Isabel say, “I, uh… don't suppose you know why you saved me, do you?"

Slayer honestly shook his head. Frankly, his rifle wasn't even in dire need of cleaning. He just did it because it was therapeutic. The choreographed motions were as simple to him as breathing or fighting. It helped clear his head. Helped him think.

“Well, while you figure it out, I don't suppose you'd let me feed on you a little?"

Slayer's gaze snapped up with surprise.

Realising her mistake, Isabel quickly held up her hands, almost defensively. “Oh, devils. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say it like that. It's just I'm a little hungry, and…"

His rifle wasn't quite loaded yet, and in the surprise of Isabel's statement, he dropped the magazine he'd pulled from a holster on his belt. Fumbling in a panic that was uncommon for a man of his station, and his size, Slayer abandoned his assault rifle and went for the pistol on his thigh. It came away with a rasp of the metal housing on the plastic holster, and the energy weapon gave a deadly hum as the barrel came up to the impette's head.

The scales on her draconic snout wrinkled and Isabel held up her hands defensively. Though not out of fear as her aspect showed more of a disgust for Slayer's sudden draw.

“Seriously? You saved me and brought me along only to murder me when I get a little peckish?" She pouted.

Slayer hesitated and looked between her cute face and his pistol. She was of course absolutely right, but he'd never admit that out loud. It didn't make any sense to be honest. But what was he supposed to do now? Let her suck the life out of him?

“I guess with everything you've seen you must be nervous about me feeding on you," Isabel continued as if reading his mind. “That's fair. But you haven't seen everything. You've seen demons kill people because they suck too much life force out of mortals. We don't have to but… well… demons are just greedy by nature, y'know?" She gave a reassuring smile. “I can feed on you to sustain myself and not kill you. We can spread it out, letting you recharge between feeds… oh, like a cow!"

The human snorted.

She giggled. “Hey! You made a sound!" When Slayer was done rolling his eyes, Isabel added, “C'mon, Mister Slayer. I'm going to have to feed at some point. And I can pretty much guaranty you'll enjoy the process." Pressing forward, she rose onto her hands and feet. Her eyes were half lidded and there was a smile on her lips that tread the fine line between lusty and devious. “Trust me."

Easier said than done. But it seemed Slayer wasn't going to be getting much of a choice. In his distracted ponderings he'd lowered his pistol to the ground at his side, and with a stunned expression behind the visor of his helmet he watched Isabel crawl closer.

She kept her bust close to the deck, wagging her wide hips from side to side in order to show off the glorious roundness of her exposed bottom. Her tail flicked along with the exaggerated movement for good measure. She knew exactly what she was doing, but at the same time…

Slayer's growing erection faltered a moment and he had to suppress a chuckle when Isabel stumbled with the grace of a buckling catwalk model, her hands tripping over where his rifle and cleaning gear lay. Fluttering her eyelashes with bewilderment she looked at the gear strewn over the no-man's-land between them. To her credit, she recovered quickly enough and the seductive smile returned to her expression. Then taking her time, she slid the weapon and corresponding gear aside.

With the distance between them reduced to nothing, Isabel touched him for the first time since he'd taken her hand. Back then he hadn't hesitated or even thought about it too much. Ignorance really was bliss.

Now though, feeling her claw close on the fabric of his pants just above the knee-pad hewn into the fatigues, Slayer couldn't help twitch. He knew what she wanted. Knew what she was going to do to him. And like the time the big-bad-marine lost his virginity to the prom queen in the back of his piece-of-shit car, Slayer was a deer in the headlights.

The common sense portion of his brain urged him to bring that pistol up again and put some searing flashes of laser through the demon's dome. But the carnal, more primal portion of his brain took initiative and was letting this happen.

Isabel actually reminded Slayer of that cheerleader who'd been his first. She had the same, taught, limber body and similar attractive features. And while Slayer was confident he'd kept in shape all these years, he still figured that going by what the impette's human age might be, he was old enough to be her dad…

He purged the thought before things got weird… weirder.

Isabel had Slayer's pants open with the grace of a teenager fumbling to undo a bra for the first time. The belt came loose with a few clumsy tugs, but it didn't take her long to figure out the buttons and zipper. Before long the man's mast was gripped in both her petite hands, and there was still some to spare.

“Oh, daddy!" Isabel cried at the sight, her eyes growing wider as she drank it in, both sight and smell.

Slayer shook his head disapprovingly. She just had to go there.

His manner made Isabel giggle. “Oh, don't be like that, Mister Slayer," she purred with a smouldering need in her voice. Her face lowered down and the tip of her muzzle gently rubbed the tender flesh on his shaft.

Then came her tongue, soft and nimble, darting up his cock with a quick motion. Slayer's whole body jerked and he nearly doubled back. His grip on his gun, though it was safely pointed away, tightened and he worried about a negligent discharge of two totally different varieties. More so, he wondered about what in the crikey-fuck he was doing! Was he really going to let this happen? Let this demon girl feed on him?

But what were his options? Execute her after going through the trouble of saving her? Let her starve to death like some monster? No, that would make him worse than the demons he fought.

With a gulp, Slayer swallowed his trepidations and decided to just go with it. What was the worst that could happen?

Well, the worst that could happen was that he could die. But then Hell had already come to Phobos, so in any event he wouldn't have far to walk.

As if sensing his approval, Isabel opened wide with a broad smile. The sight of her teeth did nothing for Slayer, but the moment of wilting only lasted a split second. Then her hot, wet maw came down, crashing in on all sides, and with a heat that was unlike anything he'd felt before, the slippery warmth of her serpentine tongue coiled about the shaft.

All the way down to the base it stretched, and then tightening like a noose her tongue worked up and down the sleek haft of his spear. Her lips brushed him about three quarters way down and he felt his head jab the roof of her mouth timidly. Isabel wasn't like her mother, who had taken Beeswee in one quaff. She was progressing slowly, almost cautiously, like she was either savouring the cock or tasting one for the very first time. She even looked up, pushing a few strands of red hair from her face as her eyes searched Slayer's visor for approval.

She was getting it until a prickle of pain suddenly caught the skin on his shaft, Isabel's daggers teeth catching and raking the delicate flesh. Slayer yelped with surprise and nearly leapt to his feet.

Isabel giggled apologetically. “Sorry! Sorry. This is my first time feeding on my own."

Great, Slayer thought to himself, setting his pistol aside again. A virgin vampiric demon.

The impette planted a soppy kiss on the part her teeth had caught, then slid upward to plant another on the crown. Then smiling as she did it, she pressed her head down on his erection once more. Her tight lips raked down over the head wetly. The slick motion made Slayer shudder with delight, and with that encouragement Isabel pressed down further.

Her tongue didn't coil this time, and while it felt amazing the first time, Slayer was a little glad. This way Isabel could focus on the task at hand. Already he'd totally forgotten she was doing this to feed herself. She was drawing it out far longer than any other demon on Phobos had done to any of their victims. Isabel was almost having far too much fun with this. Remembering himself, Slayer wanted to tell her to stop playing with her food.

As he thought it, so did she. And with a focuses expression she slid her mouth down around his cock, all the way down. Her gullet relaxed and she swallowed him with a loud, throaty gulp.

She could only hold it for a short moment before her body reacted. She seemed about to retch, and quickly pulled back. The cock slipped from her mouth and though she coughed and gasped, the impette was smiling.

One hand still stroked up and down the saliva glazed length as her eyes found Slayer's. “Something tells me I'm not doing too badly though."

The marine wouldn't agree out loud. But then, the way he shook, he didn't have to.

Pitching her gaze downward again, Isabel's lips slid back over his cock and got back to work. In the minutes that followed the only sound in the store room was a garbled mix of gurgles and slaps. The impette choked a few times, but it was nothing to lose her breath over. She took it with ladylike grace, learning from every mistake. And like an equestrian falling off the horse, she jumped right back in the saddle and gave it another whirl. Nothing seemed capable of stopping her from mastering this elusive, tricky skill.

Each time she fouled up she set back in until she found her rhythm. And Slayer was beyond impressed. Before long he could practically close his eyes and imagine there was a mad-woman wildly riding in his lap. Not that he closed his eyes. He was entranced by the sight, his visor bobbing up and down in synch with the motions of Isabel's head.

She was brutally fucking him with her mouth. And she made it look like she was loving every moment.

It but a fraction of what Slayer felt. It was unlike anything he'd ever done with any human woman. Isabel was ravenous, and this was her first time with a dick trapped between her lips. The euphoria blinded the marine as the warmth of her throat came crashing down around his cock again and again. As time went on he wasn't just being pushed to the edge. He was being dragged and shoved.

Isabel thrust down one more time, and at the same time her eyes flitted up. The abyssal crimson of her gaze held the promise of vast pleasures, excess in every form and indulgences of all kinds. But something else too. Something lingered in the heart, in what some might call her soul. It wasn't like the other demons Slayer had locked eyes with. There was some innocence there.

Some humanity.

Regardless, Slayer was done. The dragoness had finished him off with one fell swoop, and he broke visual contact as he rolled his head back.

Slayer felt his balls react as if he jumped into a freezing pool. They retreated up into his gut and for a second he was afraid Isabel would suck them out entirely. It was of course rationally impossible, but then she was a fire-flinging demon of Hell. Slayer was willing to believe anything could happen at this point.

He erupted into her mouth. Her lips had moved up to close around his head, tongue swirling the width of the crown for good measure. Long streams of cum filled her maw until her cheeks bulged. She swallowed as quickly as she could, but years of self-neglect had built quite a load, and Slayer wasn't holding a drop back. He gave her his all, filled her mouth to overflow and felt some small streams leak between where her lips clamped on the shaft as hard as she could manage.

Slayer went light headed and lost track of everything. Sensation, gravity, time. All things became just a vague concept in the back of his consciousness, and he figured Isabel may have lied to him. He figured he might be dead. Slayer fully expected to open his eyes and awaken in the hot place the nuns always said he'd end up in.

When the light faded though and reality snapped back into place he realised he was still sitting in the store room, Isabel's head still in his crotch, happy cooing noises coming from the demoness.

She lifted her face upward, his cock slipping from her lips with a wet 'pop' and she swallowed the last dregs heavily before catching her breath. Some more of Slayer's essence dribbled down his cock. Isabel quickly lapped it up so not to waste a drop.

“Hmmmm," she hummed contently. “That's a potent load. So thick and strong. So filling. I love it! That'll last me a good while." Her smile wilted, but only a little and Slayer spotted some disappointment bleeding the satisfied glimmer in her eyes. “Which is a pity. I'd like to do this again… and soon. Practice makes perfect, right?"

Slayer sighed and rolled his eyes. He could tell. This was the beginning of a beauti-… strange relationship.

++CAN'T GO TO HELL IF YOU'RE ALREADY THERE++

A/N : To keep things legal, I would like to state for the record that the female lead in this story is eighteen years of age… despite the fact that she is a demon and that in the supernatural context of things, that doesn't make any fucking sense.

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