The lines leading toward the mansion were split by sex, women on the left side of the street, men on the right, each line feeding into the mansion through its own door. As they reached the back of the men's line, Vinnie steered Kurt around and pushed him along the line until they reached the steps of the mansion where the wind suddenly and inexplicably stopped.

Vinnie came around Kurt and grabbed his arm, pulling him up the stairs, cutting in front of the first soul on line in front of the door. That didn't spark any protest from the souls, but it did from inside the doorway.

The doorman was humanoid. At least Kurt could say that for it. It had two arms, two legs, and a head. But that was where the resemblance pretty much ended. It was at least eight feet tall and its head was the size of a twenty inch television. Its skin was gnarled and brown, with thick veins criss-crossing it. Two small horns jutted out from the side of its head, which sloped down from them to a boxy jaw in a sort of upside-down isoceles trapezoid.

"Where do you think you're going," it said, stepping to the side of the doorway and extending an ape-like, overlong arm across it. Its voice was deep and rumbling, like someone had attached a big block muscle car engine to its vocal chords.

Vinnie flashed it a grin, his fangs fully extended. "V.I.P.," he said.

The doorman looked at Vinnie's teeth and nodded its huge head, moving its arm out of their way. "Of course, sir. If you'll just go inside, it's the second door on your right."

Vinnie took the lead, pulling Kurt behind him as they entered the hall. It was plushly appointed, a deep crimson wallpaper setting off a dark-stained wood floor. There were brass light fixtures spaced evenly along the walls and the first door they passed looked to be a heavy oak, stained a deep auburn and impeccably clean. The only things that ruined the beauty were the screams and moans filtering down the hallway, some suggestive of sexual ecstasy, others suggesting fear and pain. Reaching the second door on the right, Vinnie grabbed the brass handle and opened it, shoving Kurt in ahead of him.

The walls and floors were wood, stained a darker shade than the doors, with a creme wallpaper rising from a chair rail up to crown moldings. There were elegant furnishings interspersed around the room and a heavy wooden bar on the far side with a brass foot-rail. It was like the coolest bar in the coolest private club Hollywood could have dreamed up, the kind of place where billion-dollar business deals were done over a handshake. A damned soul stood behind the bar, cleaning a glass, and Vinnie headed straight for him. "Welcome sirs," the bartender said, putting down the glass as Vinnie pushed Kurt at a stool and then took one himself. "My name's Mick. What can I get you?"

"What ya got," Vinnie asked.

"Everything," Mick said, smiling, "and all of it imported from the world."

"Nothing from here," Kurt asked, surprised.

"This is a first class establishment, sir. Only the best. We've got peanuts from the great state of Georgia; Coors beer, brewed with crystal clear water from the Colorado Rocky Mountains; and Evian water from pure springs in France."

"Let me have a Bud," Vinnie said, his mouth widening into a grin, "long neck."

Kurt cringed, but he knew better than to comment. "Got any Coke?"

"The kind you drink or the kind you snort," Mick asked, completely serious.

"The kind you drink."

Mick ducked under the bar and came up with two bottles, a dark glass one for the beer and a clear plastic one for the soda. He popped the cap off Vinnie's first, then twisted the plastic top off Kurt's. "Enjoy, gentlemen," he said, placing the bottles in front of them, then setting glasses down next to them.

Vinnie picked up his bottle and began drinking greedily, but Kurt looked at his cautiously. CA REDEMPTION VALUE, a copyright notice, even a 1-800 number for product information. Everything looked legit, and if it wasn't, he could plead deception... if a plea would even be possible. He wasn't sure what was going on, though he'd grown used to that recently. Slowly he put his hand around the bottle, which was mercifully cold, and raised it to his lips. With the first sip he relaxed. A Coke had never tasted better in his whole life. Satisfied that it wasn't going to kill him and not caring whether or not it would damn him, Kurt guzzled it, putting the empty bottle on the bar and accompanying it with a loud belch.

Vinnie finished his beer around the same time and set the bottle down on the counter. "Buddy," he said, motioning Mick over, "what you got that's imported?"

"Everything's imported, sir."

Vinnie belched at Mick. "What's not American?"

Mick raised a hand and started ticking off a list of beers, counting them off on his fingers as he went along. He was about fifteen names into the list when Vinnie interrupted. "Fuck it," Vinnie shouted. "Just gimme another Bud."

"Another Coke for you sir," Mick asked Kurt.

"Sure," Kurt replied, his mouth watering at the thought. "And you said those peanuts were from Georgia?"

Mick bent below the bar again and lifted a large bag of shelled, roasted peanuts onto it. "Right out of the bag, sir." Mick poured some peanuts into a bowl and set it in front of Kurt.

Kurt sighed. He knew exactly where he was, but for the moment the bar was Heaven. Mick placed the drinks in front of the duo just as Kurt tentatively bit into a peanut. It was salty. It was oily. It was delicious. "So when are the women getting here," Vinnie asked, breaking Kurt's train of thought.

"I've buzzed for them, sir," Mick replied. "They should be in any moment now."

Picking up his Coke, Kurt looked around the room, noticing things he hadn't picked up on when they entered. The couches were a deep burgundy leather and erotic art hung on the walls in old-master style. It dawned on him that this was a whorehouse bar.

As if he'd said the secret word, a door at the far end of the room opened and a group of women entered in a single file line. They were beautiful. Each wore some sort of revealing lingerie, perfectly designed to show just enough to tantalize and nothing more. There were about fifteen of them; tall ones, short ones, thin ones, full-figured ones, Caucasian, Asian, Black... you name it. It was like a cross section of the most beautiful women from around the world.

"Your preference, sir," Mick asked.

Vinnie scanned the line, his hand on his chin as if in deep contemplation. "Seventh from the end," he said, indicating a short, Mediterranean type. She had olive skin, long black hair, and beautiful dark eyes.

"Serena," Mick called. She stepped out of line and the remaining girls filed back out of the door as she came to stand in front of Vinnie.

Vinnie looked her over again. "Nice," he said, "but a couple of inches taller and a little bigger in the tits and ass."

Kurt's jaw dropped as Serena's body began to stretch and reshape itself, the breasts and rear swelling, her legs and torso elongating. Vinnie looked her over as the changes stopped. "Perfect." He turned to Mick. "You got any rope?"

Serena stepped forward and ran a hand over Vinnie's chest. "Oooh," she said, her voice sultry, "you're kinky. I like that."

Vinnie reached around and patted her ass as Mick reached under the bar again and came up with a coil of rope. "It's not for you, darling," Vinnie said, taking the rope from Mick with his other hand. "It's for him."

Kurt closed his mouth and gulped as Vinnie yanked him off the bar stool. A leather recliner sat in the corner of the room and Vinnie threw Kurt into it, pushing the back down and bringing up the padded foot rest, laying Kurt out on it. With speed and skill, he wound the rope around Kurt's chest and tied it off. Then biting it with his teeth, he severed a length which he used to tie Kurt's ankles to the footrest.

Tied to the chair, Kurt could only stare at Vinnie, his mouth open in shock. "Yeehaw," Vinnie said, winking at him. Vinnie turned and walked back to Serena, putting an arm around her, then escorted her out through the far door.

Kurt turned his head to look at Mick, behind the bar. "What the hell was that thing?"

"Serena," Mick laughed, "she's a succubus."

"What is this place," Kurt moaned, turning to look up at the ceiling.

Mick laughed again. "You're pulling my leg. You come strolling into the VIP lounge with your vampire buddy and you're telling me you don't know where you are?"

"He's not my buddy," Kurt said, wondering if the guy noticed he'd been hogtied to the chair. "I'm his prisoner."

"You're not kidding, are you?"

Kurt turned his head to look at Mick again. "No."

Twenty minutes later Kurt had told Mick his story and gotten the scoop on where he was. The second ring was for the lustful; adulterers, people who'd been promiscuous, sexual hedonists, etcetera. Each day they had to brave the "winds of desire" and walk down the street to the whorehouse at the end of their avenue where they were forced to engage in the most excruciatingly painful sex acts imaginable, things even masochists wouldn't enjoy. The succubi who serviced the men and the incubi who serviced the women molded themselves into the most disgusting, horrific, and distorted shapes imaginable, adding to the horror of the experience.

Besides telling his story and getting the information, he'd been able to convince Mick to put a few bottles of water, a couple of cokes, two Snickers, and some more peanuts into his backpack which sat on the floor near his stool. But now came the hard favor to convince Mick to do, untie him.

"Sorry," Mick said, "can't do that. I got a room here, a cushy job. Sure, I gotta go for servicing once a day, but I don't have to go out in the wind and if it's a girl I know, sometimes she's a little more gentle with me so it doesn't hurt as much."

"They take pity on you," Kurt asked, not able to believe that a demoness could feel an emotion.

"Nah. It's a trade off. I was a writer when I was alive, and trust me, if there's anything a demon likes more than messing with you, it's a good story, especially when they're in it. They're vain as all get out."

Kurt filed the fact away in his memory for future reference. "Anyway," Mick continued, "I wouldn't be doing you much of a favor if I let ya go. Your best bet of getting out of here is at Pandaemonium..." His voice dropped a notch, a hint of somber realization entering it. "That's if they don't kill you first." He paused. "And your best bet of getting there is with that vampire..."

"If he doesn't kill me first," Kurt said, finishing the sentence for him. Mick nodded.

"Howdy do, Mickey," a feminine voice said as the far door opened, a succubus entering the room. She was tall, near six feet, blonde, and had curves in all the right places, her lingerie showing them off perfectly. If Kurt didn't know her nature, she'd be extremely appealing. But knowing what she was made Kurt feel a touch of nausea.

"Hey Lil," Mick said, busying himself behind the bar.

Halfway to the bar, Lil stopped, turning toward Kurt. "What have we here," she asked.

"Don't mess with him, Lil," Mick warned.

Lil turned her head 180 degrees on her neck. "Don't presume to tell me what to do, barkeep," she hissed. "Remember your place."

Mick looked down at the glass he was cleaning and polished it with a new fervor as Lil turned her head back to Kurt. "Are you mortal," she cooed, looking him over. "Oh, how delicious."

Walking over to the recliner, she sat on its arm and ran a hand through Kurt's hair. "You're so cute," she said, licking her lips. "I could just eat you up."

Kurt struggled against the ropes, afraid she might mean the last comment literally. Her hands caught his head, stopping its motion as she looked down at him. "Oh," she said, chiding him, "don't be such a naughty boy. Give momma a kiss."

As she lowered her face toward his, Kurt shuddered, part in fear, part in anger, part in disgust, but he couldn't stop her and her lips pressed against his, warm and flesh-like, her tongue pushing between his lips. He clenched his teeth to keep it from getting inside his mouth, but she just ran it over them.

As she released him from the kiss, he spit. "Such a spirited boy," she said, releasing his head. "Let's see what kind of six-gun this cowboy is packing."

Standing up from the arm of the chair, she stepped to the side and bent over his crotch, delicately unbuttoning his pants and lowering the zipper. He tried to move his hips to shake her hands away, but ceased when he heard her squeal with glee as if his gyrations were exciting her.

With a yank, she pulled his pants and underwear down to his knees, exposing his penis. He was limp, the fear and revulsion keeping him from becoming aroused by her, something which did not escape her notice. "Let's see if we can make this soldier salute," she said, licking her lips.

Placing her hand on his chest, she ran it down along his shirt, her fingernails scratching softly, reaching his penis and beginning to slowly stroke it. Her head followed her hand as she took a light grip on his penis lifting it up to circle the head with her tongue. "Ooh," she giggled, "looks like we're getting some results."

Kurt couldn't deny it. As much as he wished it was otherwise, he was beginning to get hard. He tried thinking of baseball, the cafeteria lady with the hairnet and perpetual sneer, even sumo wrestlers. Nothing worked against the effect of Lil's mouth on his stiffening prick. It was warm, soft, wet. As much as he hated to admit it, it was the best blowjob he'd ever had and he almost regretted not being able to enjoy it, having to try to fight against it. But the fight was futile. Lil stepped away, his penis standing at full attention.

"That's a good little private," she said as she removed her lingerie.

Kurt hated this and closed his eyes, having gotten a glimpse of her breasts. They were perfectly shaped, the nipples just the right size, the right color. He kept his eyes closed as he felt Lil step up onto the seat, swinging one leg over him, and grasp his penis as she lowered herself onto it. Her vagina was like her mouth--warm, moist--and just as talented, the muscles rhythmically clenching around his prick as she slid over it. Kurt tried to think of baseball, sumo wrestlers, but it was no help.

Suddenly, as she began her upstroke, Kurt felt weak. It wasn't a sexual euphoria or wave of pleasure. As she'd moved up, she pulled something out of him. Kurt opened his eyes and stared up at her face. The beautiful facade was gone and in its place was something... It was like her face had been made out of wax and someone had heated it, melting the features until they ran into one another, the drippings collecting on her breastbone, leaving stringy trails down from her chin. She moved down and then up again, drawing more out of Kurt.

He turned his head toward the bar. Mick was pretending to arrange the bottles at the back of the bar, though Kurt knew Mick could see them in the mirror. "Mick," he called, "help me."

Mick paused a moment, but then started back to his task. "Mick," Kurt called again. "Please."

Mick turned around, approaching the bar, placing his hands on it. "Keep out of this, barkeep," Lil hissed, turning her hideous head toward him, the strands between her chin and chest stretching with the movement. "Don't worry," she said to Kurt, her head snapping back to look at him, "it'll all be over soon. When you come... you go." A laugh issued forth from the gaping hole where her mouth used to be, the misshapen tongue inside wiggling in concert with the sound.

Another downstroke and then up, the walls of her vagina massaging his penis, clenching and unclenching, the sensation a dark pleasure in contrast to the events unfolding outside that contact. He felt the next bit of his strength flee. "She's killing me, Mick," he pleaded, his voice now no louder than an emphatic whisper.

Mick lowered one hand under the bar, but made no other move. "Don't," Lil said, her head turning toward him. Mick raised his other hand in a gesture of submission and Lil turned back to the task at hand.

Another drop, another rise. Kurt felt too weak to move his head and it lolled to the side, staring emptily at Mick. He couldn't tell what Mick was doing, but it looked like he was staring at himself in the mirror, talking quietly to himself. Then, as if he'd made up his mind, he turned. Steeling himself, Mick placed his hands on the bar, one of them holding a large knife, and he leapt over.

Lil reached out for him, her arm stretching across the room straight for his throat. Mick paused in his approach, catching her wrist in one hand, the fingers stretching to grab him. Raising the knife, he brought it down on her forearm, slicing through it like butter. The hand dropped to the ground, still and lifeless, and the remainder of her arm snapped back to her like elastic. Mick launched himself into a run as she put up her other arm to defend herself, leaping as he got close to the recliner, catching her across the chest. The impact knocked her off Kurt and carried both Lil and Mick over the other side of the chair.

The moment she was off of him, Kurt could feel his strength flooding back. He could hear her screaming and Mick grunting, but couldn't see anything. The scream was quickly cut off and all he could hear was Mick grunting. Moments later, Mick was standing at his side, cutting the ropes that bound him to the chair. "I'm gonna catch Hell for this," Mick said, a wan smile on his face.

The ropes around his torso cut, Mick set about to freeing Kurt's feet as Kurt shifted himself to look over the side of the chair. Lil was in pieces on the floor, her head the only part of her left reasonably intact. She stared up at him, her tongue wiggling, her contorted lips moving as if she were trying to say something, but without lungs to provide breath, there was no speech.

With a final snapping sound, Kurt felt the ropes around his feet release. He quickly got up from the chair, pulling up his pants as he backed away. As he zipped up, he stared at the recliner. He'd almost had the life fucked out of him and the perpetrator of the deed lay in pieces on the other side. He shuddered, opening his mouth as he felt the soda he'd drank and peanuts he'd eaten beginning to come back up.

"Hey," Mick said, grabbing his arms and shaking him. "You've got to go."

Kurt came back to reality with a jerk. "Uh, yeah," he said, running over to the bar stool and grabbing his backpack. "What's the best way out?"

Mick pointed to the door through which Lil had come in. "Go through there, stay to your right and follow it all the way back. There's a door at the end that leads out to a verandah right on the edge. Hop the railing and you're gold."

Kurt walked toward Mick, stopping a foot away, and clasped his arm. "I wish I could repay you..."

"You can," Mick said eagerly. Stepping back, breaking Kurt's hold on his arm, Mick raised the knife and swept it down, slicing through his left pinky, severing it just below the middle knuckle. He winced in pain as he picked it up off the floor and offered it to Kurt. "Take this with you," he said, his voice strained.

"Mick," Kurt protested, grimacing in sympathetic pain.

"I'm betting you can get out of this place," Mick said, forcing the severed digit into Kurt's hand, "and if a piece of me can get out of here with you, maybe the rest of me can follow." Kurt closed his hand around the piece of Mick's pinky. "Now go," Mick shouted, putting his hand in his armpit and bending over from the pain. "Go!"

Kurt shoved the finger into his jeans pocket and ran for the door, opening it and running down the hallway. There was no time to look back.