“Your one o’clock appointment is here, Chief,” Angelica, the ever-dutiful receptionist, chattered through the Heavenly intercom.
God sighed.
And somewhere on Earth, a thunderstorm brewed.
This meeting had been on His agenda every Thursday since the beginning of time.
Why would today be any different?
He placed His Quill of Forgiveness into the vial of Everlasting Ink and exhaled. Perhaps it was time to use the Quill of Damnation more often—keep her busy downstairs, entangled in her own filth, too preoccupied to claw her way into His kingdom.
A final sigh.
No—a Heavenly Sigh.
“Send her in,” he said.
She entered before He could finish His sentence—
And still, her gaze couldn’t quite leave Angelica.
She was dripping.
With sin, with lust, with temptation itself.
“Hello, Jeeves,” she purred, her smile a slow, sultry sin. “Missed me?”
He hadn’t.
And He let her know with a barely audible huff.
“She new?” she asked, voice slick with filth, nodding toward Angelica before slinking into the chair.
He hadn’t missed her juices spilling onto His Blessed Chair of Truth either.
She crossed her legs, a deliberate echo of Basic Instinct, then leaned onto His desk, resting her face in her hands as if eternity belonged to her. Which, of course, it did.
“You know, Jeeves, time doesn’t start until you put those old scrolls down and offer me your full attention.”
A pause. A wicked smirk.
“It’s okay, I can wait.”
She stretched, back arching, her breasts pressing flush against His desk.
“Mind if I play with myself?”
What was God supposed to do? Take His own name in vain and curse at her?
No.
She was granted full amnesty every God-forsaken Thursday.
Two hours. Untouchable. Unburned.
And before He could even sigh in protest—
Her hand found her crotch.
A wet, obscene sound echoed through His holy office.
It was written.
Signed. Sealed. Archived.
He had checked.
Multiple times.
She moaned through her pleasure, unbothered, indulgent.
“How’s the kid?”
A pause.
A slow, dragging sigh of satisfaction.
“Still hanging?”
She giggled—a sound meant only for herself, for her own amusement.
Her dripping finger met her lips, tasting sin and sacrilege alike.
God’s domain was not one of laughter.
It never had been.
Creation had been trying and failing.
And she?
She was a failure.
And yet, she was still here.
And the longer He stalled, the longer she stayed.
Her eyes drifted to Angelica.
Because in His kingdom, all the walls were glass.
There were no secrets here.
A low purr.
“You know, Jeeves, the longer I’m kept waiting, the more bored I get.”
Another pause.
A slow, satisfied grin.
“I could will her gown open.”
She lifted a finger, tracing the air lazily as if she already had.
As if the fabric was already unraveling, thread by thread, at her whim.
“I’m sure her tits are heavenly.”
A giggle.
Soft. Indulgent. Meant only for herself.
One final sigh.
Then, at last, He set the parchment down and looked at her.
“Jehovah.”
His voice was low. Firm. A warning.
“And you already know this.”
She only pouted, fluttering her lashes, a wicked parody of innocence.
“Why are you always so cranky, oh, grand one?”
He didn’t bite.
Didn’t rise to her bait.
Just exhaled.
“One hour and fifty-nine minutes left.”
A pause.
His voice was tired.
“What do you want?”
Somewhere on Earth, a drought began.
She smiled. Sweet. Too sweet.
“Oh, you know what I want, Daddy.”
Her voice stretched languid, unhurried, inevitable.
Fingers dragging across His desk, leaving behind faint smears of sin—stains that would not wash away.
“Hand me the reins.”
A pause. A smirk.
“It’s overdue.”
She scratched her tit, tilted her head—casual, unbothered, unanswered.
“It’s getting crowded in my place, you know.”
Another lazy flick of her nails.
“But I noticed you have plenty of room up here.”
A slow grin.
“That last extension you made… still sitting empty?”
He didn’t answer.
Didn’t shift. Didn’t waver.
He just shook His head.
No faltering.
No doubt.
And she?
She just sighed.
“Oh, God, you’re so boring.”
She rose, stretching long, unbothered, unapologetic.
And with a flick of her fingers—
She grew.
A giant, red cock, dripping with pre-sin.
Casually, she strolled around His table.
Then leaned in.
A whisper.
A slow, deliberate grind against His shoulder.
“Are you jealous that I’m bigger than you?”
Angelica shuddered.
Looked away.
Only to sneak a peek.
The Devil saw.
Of course, she saw.
But still—
She didn’t push it. Not yet.
“You feel the heat throbbing off me, don’t you, Jeevsy?”
A heavy breath.
Just enough for a pause.
“You want to touch me just a little. Just to feel.”
She winked at Angelica as she let the massive body of fuck meat fall onto the stone table—a loud, wet thud that echoed through the Saintly Halls.
All seven of them.
She giggled and shrunk herself back to something soft, slick, and leaking—
And slid onto His desk.
She smeared herself against His pile of complaints.
Complaints.
They had been racking up.
And though only twenty years behind, the backlog was beginning to look like an eternity.
“I’m tired,” He said.
She grinned.
Bright. Wicked. Triumphant.
“Oh, I know.”
She leaned in, lips ghosting His ear.
“Which is why the time is right.”
But He only sighed.
“You’ve used the same argument for a thousand years.”
She spun. Slid onto His lap.
Placed a leg on each side of Him—
And dripped onto His robes.
He muttered.
A final attempt.
A final plea.
“If there’s nothing else, I have work to do.”
She laughed.
“We have one hour and fifty-seven minutes to go, Your Crankiness.”
Another one of her pauses.
Enough for Him to feel her seeping through His robe.
A smirk.
“And you’re staring at my tits. Again.”
His Holy Hands were on her hips.
If He moved them now, it would look like a mistake.
And God?
God doesn’t make mistakes.
He thought about it.
For too long.
“You’re still staring, Jehovah.”
He pulled back.
And she laughed as she slid herself off Him—
Only leaving a smear behind.
A slow, indulgent sigh.
She slipped glasses onto her face and picked up the parchment.
She grinned.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…”
A slow, teasing flick through the pages.
“They all start the same, don’t they?”
She waved the parchment, mocking its weight.
“This one’s easy. I’ve felt tempted.”
She pressed the parchment against her crotch.
Rubbed it in.
“And now you’ve sinned.”
She laughed.
Then she tilted her head, studying Him.
And for a moment—a fleeting, cruel moment—
Her expression almost resembled care.
“And you promised to answer them all, didn’t you?”
A smirk.
“Had them promise in that book of ours.”
Another laugh.
“And these?”
She leaned in from behind Him, hands sliding onto His shoulders.
“These are the easy ones.”
Massaging.
Teasing.
Corrupting.
Her lips ghosted His ear.
“Forgiveness is so easy, Jehovah.”
A pause.
A slow, dangerous whisper.
“You made the rules, baby.”
Not Lord. Not God.
Just baby.
“And now you’re working overtime just to cope.”
A breathy sigh.
“You know—men doing men, women lapping women… adultery, whoring.”
She smirked.
“It’s all we do at my place. And it works.”
And then—
A flick of her split tongue against His ear.
“In Hell, we don’t have paperwork.”
A breath.
A smile.
“Even your letters.”
A slow, indulgent exhale.
“Straight into the incinerator.”
Her hands tightened on His shoulders.
“It’s efficient. Smooth.”
A smirk against His skin.
“And it gives us time.”
A pause.
A whisper.
“To fuck.”
And to her, fucking through eternity never felt like punishment at all.
“Enough!” He exhaled.
He rose, trembling with fury.
And a volcano erupted among His Children.
A roar of fire and ash spilled onto the earth.
A warning.
A punishment.
A reaction.
And she?
She grinned.
“Oh, yes, spank me, Lord!” she moaned, bending over, testing Him.
“Spank me hard. Spank me until you flood the place. Brilliant plan, by the way.”
“Enough!”
His voice ripped through Heaven, shaking the coast of California as if the very land was warning its sinners.
Harsh. Determined.
She rose.
Silenced.
For a moment.
Then, with mock offense, she dusted herself off like His fury had been nothing more than a gust of wind.
“Peter boy needs to adjust his manners, J.”
She sounded casual.
As if she were speaking to some man in a suit.
A mortgage.
A failing marriage.
She tilted her head, voice a lazy purr, dragging a nail along His desk.
“Left me waiting for minutes by the gates.”
A sigh, indulgent.
“Didn’t even bother speaking to me.”
She licked her lips.
“But… fuck…”
A slow smirk.
“His stare on my ass?”
She ran a finger down her butt crack, slow, deliberate.
“I think he’s got the noughties.”
A pause.
A grin.
“A good Jewish boy, is he?
A flick of her tongue.
“Up the ass?”
God exhaled slowly—
And somewhere, a new plague took root.
“Silence.”
But it wasn’t as harsh as He intended.
Because He knew.
She wasn’t lying.
“Is that all you think about? Filth?”
He muttered it.
Not with fire.
Not even with Sunday school condescension.
And she?
She smiled.
Wide. Wicked.
And wrapped herself around Him like a serpent reclaiming its first love.
Her breath curled against His throat.
Sulphurous. Slow.
Her lips brushed His skin.
“Oh, baby.”
Her fingers traced the back of His neck.
“When all the work is done… when all the rules are burnt…”
A whisper.
A sigh.
A truth He could not outrun.
“What else is there to do?”
She grinned.
“Sodomy.”
Deep inhale.
A smirk.
“Whips.”
A tilt of her head.
“Gags and chains.”
And He watched her.
Watched her shift, slither, settle back into herself as she stepped away.
And for a moment—just a moment—He saw her patience was running low.
“You have them singing the same old Psalms and tunes.”
She sighed, stretching her arms over her head, her curves gleaming in the golden glow of His kingdom.
“Your churches are empty, J.”
She let it sit.
“And the dwellers that do come?”
She ran her fingers along the desk where His holy decrees were stacked, dampening the parchment with sin.
“They’re old.”
A flick of a page.
“They’re angry.”
She softened.
Just a flicker.
Not mockery. Not triumph.
Something dangerous. Something close to sorrow.
“They’re just as tired as you, my Holy Ghost.”
She wrapped herself around Him again, this time grinding, dragging, marking His robes with need.
“And you?”
Her whisper poisoned the air.
The space between them smothered in sulfur and sweat.
“You want to fuck me.”
He shoved her away.
But not with hands.
With divine intervention.
Because if He touched her, if He felt her, if He let His fingers press into her skin—
It would be over.
Instead, He stepped back.
And without looking at her, He muttered—
“One hour and forty-six minutes.”
She grinned.
Slow. Feline. Inevitable.
“Plenty of time for foreplay.”
Angelica sat silent and watched. Not because she wanted to, but because she couldn’t not.
And that drew the Devil’s attention like sin at Bible camp.
“Would you rather have me take her while I wait?”
The words slithered through the room, curling around Angelica’s trembling body.
“She might not last long, Jeeves.”
A pause.
A glance at the Heavenly robes Angelica clutched too tightly.
“Like you said… time is ticking.”
She mused at the thought, running her tongue along her teeth.
“You know I can will her naked and spread on her desk.”
Angelica shuddered.
“I can summon serpents to tie her down.”
She licked her lips.
“And her heavenly pit?”
A smirk. A tease.
A dare.
“Would you have me seed her?”
And Angelica heard it all.
Not because the Devil spoke.
But because she willed it.
Because this kingdom has no walls.
No shadows. No mercy.
And Angelica?
She trembled beneath her robe.
She whispered futile prayers.
Futile because He was too occupied to listen.
Because her body betrayed her before her faith could intervene.
“I could have her masturbate.”
Her breath quickened.
“Did you see that scene in The Exorcist?”
A slow tilt of her head.
A pause.
Then—
A sickening, fluid twist.
A full 180.
Her grin, now backward, wide, inevitable.
“Is that what you want for Angelica?”
She licked her lips and let her head spin back to normalcy.
Like He had intended her to be.
“Oh, my.”
She sighed it, smirked it, savored it.
And He clenched His teeth.
And somewhere, deep in the frozen core of Earth, a glacier cracked.
Because she saw it.
She saw how His holy eyes flickered for half a second too long and how His breath slowed like a man lingering on the edge of an abyss.
How He entertained the thought.
She grinned.
Because He was no stranger to slaughter.
He’d drown them at will.
He’d scorch them to crisps if necessary.
Send a plague their way if needed.
Turn them to salt, without hesitation.
And always—always—
Just and mercifully, as He promised.
A loving God.
A just God.
A God of wrath and righteousness.
For the Earthlings.
He had His kid nailed to a cross.
And they carried it as a sign of His love.
But to give up His angels so easily?
She shook her head.
That was new.
That was interesting.
That was…
Delicious.
She pushed Him aside.
Not gently.
Not hesitantly.
Like He was nothing but another useless prophet in her way.
And she walked up to the glass.
A glass house.
Because, of course.
Because He had promised transparency.
Because they needed to see Him.
See Him sweat at His desk, drowning in salvation, crushed under the weight of eternity.
Day and night.
But when the time truly came?
When He finally threw the first stone?
Would His glass house survive?
Or—
An explosion of shattered glass.
His kingdom collapsing.
Intriguing.
Stirring.
Fucking horny.
Doomsday could wait.
She turned back to Him, stretching like sin, letting her hunger glisten against her skin.
“You know, Jeeves, it’s all the same to me.”
She shrugged, lazy, indulgent, inevitable.
Ran a finger down her slit.
Licked it.
Savored it.
“Someone’s getting fucked, and someone’s doing the fucking.”
She dragged her finger across His desk, leaving a smear behind.
“I really don’t care who.”
It shook Him.
A soft rumble on Earth.
But He hesitated.
And that was all she needed.
“Have it your way, Your Lordship,” she growled.
Angelica flung into the air.
Her garments disintegrated mid-flight, and for the first time in eternity, sin became beautiful.
She hovered above her desk—untouched, unburned—
And then, she fell.
With a crash that cracked the Crystal Empire,
With an echo that shattered her wings beneath her,
And when she hit the table, her mind was already lost.
She no longer saw the angels.
She no longer saw her Savior.
She saw nothing but sin.
And her serpents answered.
Eight mighty beasts, summoned from her very abyss, coiling around her wrists, her ankles—
Spreading her. Offering her. Making her theirs.
She was truly delightful.
The Devil shifted again.
Her form grew, stretched, pulsed—
Hard and dripping.
Because Angelica was already leaking corruption onto her desk,
Seeping into the Holy Appointment Book, soaking its pages, and signing her sin into the Holy Archives for the rest of eternity.
The Devil smiled greedily, licked her lips, and turned fully the beast.
And the angels wept.
They cowered.
They knew.
Because she was no longer defying Heaven.
She was replacing it.
And the Devil was already at the door—
Satisfied. Triumphant. Inevitable.
When He muttered it.
A whisper. A plea.
“Wait…”
And the winds on Earth stopped.
And she turned.
She smiled.
And when she turned to Him, her eyes dark with pleasure and prophecy—
He saw it.
Her patience was running low.
“You created this game, Father Almighty.”
A pause.
A sigh.
She tilted her head.
Flicked her tongue.
“Now play—
Or be played.”
And He surrendered.
The forests held their breath.
The angels wept.
St. Peter locked the gates.
Because He could not push her away this time.
He could not silence her.
He could not tell her she was wrong.
And so—
He let His robe fall.
The oceans stilled.
And His Holy Rod of Doom stood erect before her.
And the angels awed.
At His size.
At His failure.
At His submission.
She smirked.
“Oh, my. So easy, my King?”
Her voice curled around the words, soft and sinful, steeped in victory.
He should have known.
Should have had the divinity to see it coming.
Because when she touched His Holy Wand, her fingers slick with her own sin, sliding up His chest—
When her lips brushed against His skin, hot and heavy with sulfur and seduction—When she whispered, gentle as temptation itself—
“Top or bottom?”
And all the harps in Heaven stilled.
All their wings stopped fluttering.
“Suck me,” He said, breath heavy with something dangerously close to surrender.
“Oh, boring. So utterly predictable, Sire.”
She sighed but knelt before Him anyway, knowing He had never tasted of old sins.
The Lord was a prime example. She didn’t have toys like this at home, so she indulged.
Her tongue flicked over The Holy Shaft, as it had for countless Thursdays, and sermons across the land fell still.
Her forked tongue, slick with all the sins of forever, traced downward, slow, deliberate.
Gliding over The Jewels of Trinity.
Easing Him deeper.
Darker.
Until she slid inside His Gate of Revelation.
And when God moaned—because even the Sacred Prostate is not above sensation—
Tsunamis answered.
The deeper she burrowed, the more He shrunk.
And the more He shrunk, the deeper He slipped His power into her.
And the more power she took—
The more He slipped.
It took Biblical Force for Him to pull free.
He stumbled, leaning against the glass.
Slick with her.
And even mighty Everest trembled.
She licked her lips.
Her tongue smacked against her skin.
She barely breathed.
“You want me to take you, don’t you, J?”
She purred it—low, deep, from her gut.
“You’re tired of dominating, aren’t you?”
She stood.
She walked toward Him.
“Just for once—”
A step closer.
“Bent over those filthy prayers?”
Another step.
Her breath hot against His trembling divinity.
“To receive instead of always having to give?”
“Silence!” He shouted, and the angels rose—
For they had to witness the return of their King.
The Devil flew through the air and landed atop His stone table,
For God was Fury.
The Quill of Forgiveness snapped in two.
The vial of Everlasting Ink shattered against the floor, soaking Heaven in black.
But a far worse fate awaited The Quill of Damnation—
For it broke against her back.
And with the skill of Moses, He parted her legs and bared her flood for all to see—
For such was His will.
Such was His intent.
And when He speared her, He expected utter obedience.
But the Devil?
She laughed.
“I thought the wrath of God at least would be felt.”
But her legs wrapped around Him, pulling Him in.
And God agreed.
And God grew.
And it pleased her.
“Oh, the love of God is fair-sized,” she groaned.
He plunged harder.
Deeper.
And she pushed herself against Him.
“Did Mary moan?” she whispered, her claws dragging red scripture into His back.
“Vile creature!” He struck back.
She only moaned.
“Created in Your image, oh, Lord.”
“Silence!”
He ushered the command as His hand met her face.
“Again!” she dared.
“Harder.”
And again, the hand of God struck her.
And an Ancient Darkness embraced Earth.
“Does your Divine Strength push you closer to the edge, my Lordship?” she grunted.
Flat against His stone table, spread and claimed, she sat up—
Slow.
Deliberate.
Inevitable.
And as she rose, she took Him deeper, impaling herself further onto His Holy Rod, swallowing Him with wanton hunger.
Ethereal Transpiration met wicked sweat; divinity spoiled in the heat of her hunger.
His veins pulsed with corrupted blood, His Holiness slick with her unrelenting glaze.
Her fingers tangled in His hair, yanking Him in—commanding, not pleading.
Her lips crashed against His in Unholy Surrender, the final desecration, the last threshold crossed.
Then—her tongue, a serpent of sin, slithered past His lips, down His Chamber of Decree, silencing His Speech of Condemnation.
And in His mind alone, where no ear could hear—
Her voice, dark as prophecy.
“Seed me with your fallen angels.”
He pushed free, and she fell to the cold floor.
“Ouch! Rough, Jeeves!” She grinned, breathless. “You know how that turns me on.”
His fury burned, but His breath was heavy.
He cast His Holy Reins of Submission upon her—
And flipped her around.
“I will not seed your womb,” He panted.
His grip tightened.
“You wanted sodomy, ropes, and gags?”
A pause.
A promise.
“Then the Lord Giveth!”
And the angels gathered around.
For the Lord showed no mercy on the sinner.
He thrust His Scepter of Fury into her star of corruption—
So violent, so absolute—
That sparks ignited between their skins.
And even she, in all her filth,
Felt it.
“Oh. Fuck. God.”
She moaned.
Not His name.
Just out of habit.
Because in all the prayers, all the psalms, all the sermons—
This was the only time they truly used His name with intent.
“Punish my hole, Daddy.
Punish me.
Dare me to repent.”
And the Lord answered with growing Fury.
He stretched her vile rump, His fingers digging deep, clawing, marking.
Pulling.
Stretching.
The Reins of Submission tightened—
Around her neck.
Around her breasts.
He pulled her up, forcing her to arch—
Her body heaved for breath.
“This, My Lord,” she panted, her head spinning to face Him, unnatural, inevitable—
“Would be so much better if I had a cock.”
She grinned.
And He saw inside her twisted mind.
That she did.
And He was not repulsed.
He was struck with desire.
His sweat dripped onto her ass and evaporated in a puff of steam, for such was her heat from his Divine Fucking.
“Enough foreplay,” she cursed and shattered His reins with ease.
He fell back.
And she was on Him.
Her Whip of Doom lashed through the heavens with a crack, pinning Him beneath her.
His Holy Rod of Near Spillage stood, inviting.
Begging.
And she answered.
She lowered herself onto Him, her massive girth pressing down—
Crushing against His Celestial Abs of Strength.
And for the first time in eternity—
God was beneath her.
She leaned in.
“Say my name.”
She hissed it—dangerous, inevitable.
“Whore,” He spat.
She rode His girth.
Not slow.
Hard.
With intent.
Slamming the meat of her cock against Him with every brutal descent.
“You can do better!” she snarled.
Bodies colliding, burning, writhing—
Her scorching cheeks slamming against His thighs,
Her massive balls grinding against His pelvis.
“Vile beast!” He cursed.
She spilled slick wetness onto His chest,
And each time she slammed down onto Him, it splattered across His body.
She saw it—
The tension in His jaw.
The tremble in His grip.
The failure in His holiness.
“You will not outlast me, Lord,” she grinned.
Because she saw it on His face.
He was close.
“This, my Lord…” she whispered, low, still riding Him.
And He saw it.
Saw it in her eyes.
He was already doomed.
She grinned.
She moaned at the revelation.
“…Daddy?” she groaned, voice thick with mockery.
Her hips ground down.
Sealing His fate.
“Isn’t this incest?”
And the angels stilled.
And then, they scattered.
Their hopeful flutters died.
For she was in His image.
And the Lord wept as His spillage filled her.
Out of control as He thrust against her, driven by withheld pleasure through Eons.
Through every prayer.
Through every Psalms.
Through every whispered “Oh, God” ever muttered in lust.
And now He took His own name in vain.
But the Devil?
She was treacherous.
Her body shifted, taking Him deeper, bending to Her own will.
And as He pumped The Royal Seeds into her—
He realized.
He had filled her womb.
And it only made His surrender more intense.
And He gasped for air.
That Heavenly air.
As she pumped her seed onto His chest.
His face.
His gasping mouth.
He closed His eyes.
And swallowed.
“You did good,” she purred, delighted, indulgent.
“I feel you swimming inside me.”
She kissed Him.
Soft. Sweet. Inevitable.
“Who would have thought?”
A breath. A smirk.
“Me— filled to the brim with the Lord Himself.”
And she rose,
Dripping spillage onto Him.
Onto His Sacred floor.
“You look ravished,” she mused, wiping a bead of sin from her thigh.
“You should have an apple.”
She strolled toward the door—
But stopped.
Spun her head.
“See you next week, babe,” she grinned.
A wink. A promise. A prophecy.
“And we both know it’s your ass this time.”
And the Lord agreed.
She let Angelica lick her clean before releasing her from her serpents.
“Sorry about the wings,” she said, stroking a trembling cheek.
“I hear you grow new ones?”
And as she walked,
She left a trail of the Lord’s sin behind her.
The angels knelt.
Not for Him.
For Her.
But only the ones who hadn’t already succumbed.
To sodomy.
To lust.
To withheld sin.
And then—
The sound of thousands of angels shedding their wings.
Ripping. Falling. Rising.
Through His corrupted Kingdom,
A choir of the damned ascending—
Moans.
Groans.
Shrieks.
The final hymn of Heaven.
At the gates, she checked her time.
Five minutes on the clock.
She turned to St. Peter, her grin slow, inevitable.
“Oh, St. Pete—”
She ran a finger down his robes.
“Do bend over.
We have time for a quickie.”
