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Leveling Up : Chapters 57-62

My Wife's Infernal Sodomy Adventure

57. The Ruby Red Lounge - Hollywood

A series of high-pitched, staccato beeps and whirs sound as the receipt sputters out of the old and marker defaced taxi cab printer. Outside with a door slam my wife smells car exhaust and hears the sound of traffic. Typical of Los Angeles but there was something odd about this street corner. Wendy tilts her head and looks around. This block. It's strangely clean. No homeless people are here. All the tents she had passed coming over here. None are in sight. She approaches the three story brick building bordering several others. Standing outside the door, two tall and muscular men in suits converse but as she approaches they abruptly end the conversation and stare at her with smirks on their faces.

"I-is this the Ruby Red Lounge?" my wife asks, looks down, rotates her wrist, and swallows.

One of the men raises his eyebrow at her, grins knowingly, and responds in an unusually deep voice, "Ma'am, you're name, please."

"M-my... name?" Wendy asks, tilts her head and scratches at her chin. "It's Wendy. Wendy Tagliacozzi."

The other man swipes at his smart phone before nodding. "Uh huh, she's on the list," he confirms in his own deep sounding voice.

"Wait a minute, how could I be on the list?" my wife asks before the door creeks open before her.

"Enjoy your experience at the Ruby Red Lounge, Ma'am," the first man says with a snicker before grabbing my wife's backside and gently shoving her inside. "The place where your fantasies become realities!"

The door slams shut and my wife is in a very red room. From the scarlet carpet twisted into strange inconsistent geometrical shapes, to the ruby leather couches, and cerise walls. Even the crackling candles lighting the room seem to have a carmine glow to them. The only thing not red in the room are the marble white table tops with slim streaks of black in them. The sole customers in the large lobby are a group of middle aged men in business suits seated surrounding a whiskey bottle with each of their glasses poured with booze. They speak loud and drunkenly using financial and banking jargon she is unfamiliar with.

A tall and elaborately curled mustachioed host approaches wearing a white tuxedo, black bow tie, and with a fresh sliced rose resting snugly in his jacket pocket. He grabs my wife's right hand, lifts it up, kisses it, and stares straight into her eyes. "Ma'am, you just look so confused," he says in a gravely tone as his right eyebrow raises. "What brings you to the lounge on a night like tonight?"

"H-Heath, Heath Halverson," my wife mutters, bites her lip and blushes. "You know, the movie star. He told me this was a place. Somewhere you could... sign a contract that will change your life. I'm going to be a mom soon and I need to make things right between my husband and I. It's something I always promised myself. Not to be like my mom. Our son deserves both of his parents to be around him all the time. I don't want to raise him alone."

"Uh huh, I see," the host replies, nods his head, puffs out his chest, and grins knowingly. "You wouldn't happen to have... an appointment would you?" He leans towards my wife and gently bites down on his lip.

My wife swallows, looks away, scratches at her arm, and shakes her head in the negative.

The host frowns and wrinkles his brow. "Ma'am, this sort of thing usually requires an appointment," he scolds. "Let me see though. Maybe he'll make an exception."

After the host departs he returns and tells Wendy to wait in the lounge before asking the bartender to offer her a martini on the house. As she sits, several suited men pass her quickly closely assembled together. My wife sips gin and vermouth for a short time before the host retrieves her. Up a pair of stairs and into a second story office, they enter a room very similar in aesthetic to the first floor lounge. A large bespectacled man, even taller and more muscular than the others, sits behind a white computer desk wearing a pinstriped dark blue suit over an unbuttoned tie-less white dress shirt. A thick gold watch wraps around his wrist and his fingers are covered in golden rings studded with diamonds. His beard is long, black, narrow, and pointy.

"Take a seat, Wendy," the man behind the desk offers, grins knowingly, puffs out his chest, and gestures to the host to leave the two alone.

The door slams shut behind Wendy. "H-how do you all know my name?" she asks, blinks, and bites down on her lower lip as she takes a seat in one of the red leather chairs.

The man chuckles, leans forward, raises his chin, and stares at my wife with gleaming eyes. "Clients, they love to gossip you know," he answers without elaboration.

"Did Heath Halverson tell you I was coming?" Wendy asks, blinks, and wrinkles her forehead. "Or... could it have been Buck Johnson?"

An intense, booming laugh thunders out of the man's mouth before he grabs a steaming hot cup of coffee off of his desk and appears to guzzle from it. "You know your way around high profile men, I see!" the man proclaims, nods his head, smirks, and chuckles. "Of course we're all about it here. Confidentiality. The Ruby Red Lounge is all about privacy. Anyways, I know your name. So let me introduce myself. My name is Al and I'm the owner and operator of this most esteemed establishment. You've seen only a small part of our operations at work here. If you knew the full extent of the things that take place here. Well, you'd be astounded!"

My wife looks around before commenting, "There is something about this place. I don't know. It just feels odd."

Al shrugs his shoulders, sips coffee, and clinks his mug against his sleek white desk. "So I've been told you're having martial problems," he explains. "I'm afraid there is not much I can do about your husband. Not unless you can bring him back over here. But you. I can give you whatever you need. Good looks, hell you've got that already. Better control over your emotions maybe? Increased libido and sexual seductiveness? What is it that you think would help your little situation?"

"Well, like I said to the host, I'm going to be a mom soon," my wife explains, nods her head, and places her hands in her lap. "I don't want turmoil in my marriage. The issue is my husband has always been... so popular. We're both high school teachers and his students act like he is the greatest teacher they've ever had. I can't help it. Feeling envy all the time. Why can't students love my math class as much as the way he teaches history? Don't get me wrong, my husband is a great man. I understand why the same thing that attracts me to him also attracts his students. But when I asked him once why he married me. He told me because I'm the greatest woman he's ever had in the bedroom. Now I love the feeling of having sex with a man. But I want my husband to love me for who I am and not the things I do with his penis."

"I see," Al says, leans forward, puffs his chest out, and grins knowingly. "But Health Halverson. Buck Johnson. These are famous celebrities. There's more you're not telling me. I've been in this business a very long time, doll. When someone's holding out on me, I can tell."

Wendy grimaces, blushes, and squirms in the scarlet leather chair. "My husband," my wife explains. "His attitude. It's very carefree and hedonistic. He loves to drink and when he's bored he gets kind of perverted. He asked me to cheat on him which I did and it was fun and he liked it too. But..." She stops and releases a heavy sigh.

"Go on," Al entreats before chuckling.

"You're not going to believe this..." Wendy tries to explain.

"Did you have sex with an incubus overwhelming the both of you with urges desiring that you cuckold your husband?" Al asks with sharp precision and a knowing grin on his face. "And this has eventually driven you and your husband apart?"

"Y-yes," my wife answers as her neck hairs bristle. "H-how'd you..."

Al waves his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it!" he reassures. "I've got the perfect contract for you. You tired of living in your husband's shadow? From now on you'll be famous and respected by millions of people. Much more popular than him. Also, this sleazy urge of yours. If you sign this contract, I promise it. No further harm will come to your relationship based off of it. Sound like a plan?"

"That would fix the problem but what am I giving up in return?" Wendy asks, leans forward, stares at him, and wets her lips.

Al chuckles, grins knowingly, and rapidly nods his head. "Of course, I'll tell you happily," he agrees and clasps his hands together. "This contact I'm offering. In fact all of the agreements we offer here. They're created through profane magic. I don't know which if any of the mortal religions you follow. Nor could I offer a guess as to whether one has any more merit over one than another. I can promise though they its likely all of them would consider accepting such a contract to be... disrespectful. Also deeply wrong."

My wife's face pinches and frowns. "I see..." she acknowledges.

Al leans back in his chair, opens a filing cabinet attached to his desk, tiny wheels slide against thin metal tracks, and he pulls out a bottle of dark liquor. The top squeaks as he opens it and pours some into his steaming coffee. "Some refuse it which is fine. That's between them and whatever they interpret as the divine. For you, doll, the decision's easy. You've already acquired demonic power. Your soul is profane and offensive to the divine in a profound way. It may have been accidental. But because you were pregnant, the sex you had was sodomy. And it was not engaged in for some sort of loving purpose but to satisfy some perverted fantasy your husband had of being sexually humiliated. This in turn opened the two of you up to demonic possession. You're already corrupted. Accepting this agreement may level that up to some degree. But refusing it isn't going to mitigate what's already been done."

"Leveling up?" Wendy asks. "Could I... read the contract?"

Al grins knowingly before sipping from his hot boozed up coffee. "I'm afraid that isn't how it works, doll," he explains. "There is no physical contract. You sign the agreement by engaging in a profane ritual. If you are ready, I'll escort you to one of our ritual rooms. You and I will need to have... carnal relations with each other for the spell to stick. Sordid, corrupt, and immoral acts are an essential component of our dark magic."

My wife does all she can to suppress the perverted urge inside of her and through overwhelming effort and perseverance manages to temporarily restrain its corrupt desires from her conscious personality. Logic and reason processes through her gray matter. Accepting Al's agreement. It would reduce the acrimony in our marriage. Lessen the chance of a divorce and her raising our son without a father around.

Wendy recalls how bitter her own mother was at her father's sexual advances. Like he was a bad or immoral man for desiring carnal relations with his wife. Wendy knows cheating is bad, signing this contract is wrong, and me getting into these wild fights is not good. At the same time, she rejects the idea that sex that isn't for procreation, i.e. sodomy, is wrong. This is something I failed to understand. My wife's free-spirited attitude towards having sex with men wasn't the effect of, but in fact the cause of her high libido. Wendy indulged male sexual desires including my own back in college out of frustration and contempt with how her mother had driven away her father. She promised herself not to end up like her mom and as a result her lack of quid-pro-quo preconditions and indulgent sexuality led her to have easy and positive even if sometimes overly casual relationship with the men she liked. This in turn cultivated her high libido.

Not accepting the agreement means pursuing the status quo which is letting this profane urge inside of her continue to drive her behavior, leading to increased conflicts and her possibly losing me. There were many men out there. Replacing me would be nothing for someone as beautiful as her. But I am the one and only man in the entire extended universe. No one except for me fathered our son. All the men she's fucked so far. Thalsyn, Remy, Brad, Troy, Norman, and Heath. None would hold a candle to me when it comes to raising our soon to be born son.

Accepting the deal would mean cheating on me again which she doesn't want to do. However, she correctly agrees with Al that her and I have already swam in profane pools. It's not clear if she can redeem herself but certainly her best opportunity to do so is through being a good mother and raising our son to be a great man. The best opportunity to do this is to accept the deal.

The only other downside is requiring us to endure yet another humiliation by participating in whatever sexual ritual Al proposes. Certainly a good reason to refuse but does it really refute all of the other reasons why she should move forward with it?

As the logical defenses to not moving forward with the contract melt away, Wendy's free will is flooded by the profane desires of Lohrnihr's tortured, cursed, humiliated, and fractured soul inhabiting both her and I. The thought of cuckolding me for the seventh time as part of some corrupt magic ritual to sign a contract that will render her famous causes her to shiver. She imagines this large and unseemly man roughly fucking her in this sleazy lounge and the thought causes her wet pussy to throb and her ribs to squeeze together.

"Let's proceed," my wife agrees, stares at him, rubs her moist hands together, and smiles.

58. The Ruby Red Lounge - Hollywood

"You shouldn't go in there alone!" Nathan exclaims, places his right hand on my left shoulder, and nods.

"Look, you're so young, and I could never forgive myself," I insist and brush his hand away as the passenger door opens followed by a repetitive beeping noise. "I've heard of this place before. Troy Daniels. I almost killed him a couple of times but this weird glowing pentagram would form on the ground. It saved his life, thank god. If he died, I would have felt terrible. But I saw it again when I relived Lohrnihr's memory of his death. It's some sort of devil spell. If you had demonic power the way I do. It'd be a different story. Already you almost died today. You're a liability in these situations, Nathan. I hired you as an assistant, not a mercenary."

As I step out of the car, I hear Nathan whimper, slam his fists against the steering wheel with a thud, and curse, "Goddamnit!"

I'd feel the same if I was him. But I'm his older and wiser teacher who he needs to listen to. The door slams shut as I look up at it. The Ruby Red Lounge. Not very impressive from the outside. A breeze provides a welcome respite to the warm California summer air. As I approach the two tall and muscular men standing outside the entrance, I realize I need to play this cool.

Dressed in my costume, an elegant, retro, and expensive 1960s era suit, but now its shredded, singed with burn marks, and drenched in dried blood stains. My body wafts odors of smoke and iron and my face is dirty and bruised. Nonetheless, I strut forward towards the men at the door with a huge smirk on my face, puff up my chest and raise my chin high. "Gentlemen!" I announce with enthusiasm. "I'm dying of thirst here. It's been so long. The sobriety. It's slowly killing me. Let me in so I can wet my whistle. I've got what you want." I reach into my pocket and pull out a wad of cash. My thumb and right index finger wipe across my tongue before I begin flipping through the crisp notes. "What's a good tip to get in?"

The two men look at each other, grin at the same time and chuckle loudly. Finally, one of them in a gruff voice responds, "Get lost, douchebag. We don't give a shit about your money."

I stuff the cash back into my pocket, cross my arms across my chest, lean backwards, scowl and cord my neck. Fuck, how many cigarettes does this asshole smoke in a day to sound like this? I uncross my arms, raise my hands up with the palms pointed to my face. Using my left hand I pick at the smoky soot and dark red dried blood behind my right hand's fingernails with my similarly afflicted left handed digits. "Fuck off asshole, my wife is in there," I threaten. "You could have made some money today but if you'd rather me kick the shit out of you than alright. If you think I look bad right now, just wait until I'm done with you two faggots. If multiple explosions couldn't kill me earlier today, you assholes haven't got a chance in Hell." These guys are taller than me but not necessarily bigger. I've got the wider chest. Maybe I body slam him and catch him off guard.

I lower my head, rush, and slam right shoulder first into the nearest bouncer. My body's momentum carries him forward but as I slam into him I feel the other bouncer behind me do the same to me and suddenly the first bouncer followed by my flailing body burst through the front door with a crash and whoosh and both him and I spill out against the scarlet patterned carpet. A hand grabs the back of my neck, presumably belonging to the second bouncer, before slamming it hard against the, thankfully carpeted, ground causing my vision to blur and my head to feel dizzy.

"Do you recognize him?" a deep male voice asks. "I think he's that guy that Alastor told us about. That little situation we have. Malzor killing himself in that holding cell. Looks like it just solved itself."

"A mortal?" another deep voice asks. "You've got to be kidding."

"Did you not pay any attention to Alastor?" the other voice scolds. "This is that mortal with demonic powers. Here, let's take him to staging." Two strong pairs of arms grip each of my own as I'm lead into a small closet sized room I soon recognize as an elevator. One of the men flicks a button which chimes and lights up as the door behind us slams shut. A low mechanical hum sounds along with a faint whir as the elevator begins to descend.

"What did this degenerate say outside?" asks the man on my right as he turns to the one on my left, grins widely, twinkles his eyes, and wiggles his right eyebrow. "We didn't have a chance in Hell?" The two men burst into riotous laughter and the illusion around them fades revealing their true nature as red-skinned, winged, horned, and spade tipped tailed creatures. Devils just like the traitor wizard Asmolt.

They have my arms but not my legs. Time to get the upper hand. My head swings back fast and slams hard into the jaw of the devil on my right. The bones in our skulls clunk loudly when they collide and my head aches and he also cries in pain. My vision blurs but as I had planned, my legs leap off the ground and slam into the devil on my left's stomach causing him to gasp and flutter towards the other end of the elevator where his winged body smashes against the wall resulting in the whole structure rattling. I fall hard on my ass and wince in pain but now my arms are free. Something strange and warm wraps across my neck and then does again a second time and my breathing constricts as I start to choke. My vision restores and I see the devil on my right has wrapped his spade tipped tail around my vulnerable neck. The tip flutters before my face. Nostrils flaring, I bare my teeth and attempt to bite hard down on it only for it to quickly flip downwards. Teeth hit teeth with a loud chomp.

The devil on my right curls his clawed hand into a fist and punches me hard in the stomach.

My body winces, eyes glass, and mouth coughs up phlegm followed by red, iron-tasting blood. The tail tightens and I begin to choke again.

The devil who had been on my left taps an elevator button with one of his clawed fingers. It lights up. "We're going to need backup at staging two!" his deep voice yells into an elevator intercom. The tail releases from my neck and I breath rapidly as I try to regain oxygen. The two devils grab my arms and stand me up again.