He didn't actually consume the glass of whiskey he had ordered upon returning to the hotel that evening. Typically, he preferred wine or the occasional cocktail, as hard spirits like whiskey were more his older brother's preference. However, that day was different. He felt a strong urge for a stiff drink. Vaggie appeared poised to object, but Charlie simply placed a reassuring hand on her arm and shook her head, signaling that it wouldn't be wise to interfere.
Cherri affectionately wrapped an arm around her best friend's shoulders, showing her support. She refrained from prying into his work troubles, understanding that some challenges had to be faced individually. However, that didn't stop her from feeling concerned. She cared deeply about him and couldn't help but worry, even if she didn't vocalize it.
As the night wore on, most of the hotel's occupants had retired to their rooms, leaving Husk as the sole caretaker of the bar. Angel, lost in his thoughts, sat silently, fixating on the tumbler filled with the mesmerizing, amber-colored liquid. It seemed as if he sought solace or some elusive answer that might reveal itself within the depths of the glass. The quiet ambiance enveloped him, allowing him to reflect without interruption.
Husk grumbled sympathetically, his worn-out voice cutting through the silence. "You know, kid..." he began, acknowledging the challenges Angel faced by associating with Valentino. "I don't envy you. Running with someone like Valentino ain't easy. I've heard enough about his reputation to know he's a real tough customer." Husk's words carried a mixture of understanding and concern. Observing Angel's weary posture, he could sense the weight that rested on his shoulders.
In a hushed whisper that carried a tinge of frustration, Angel Dust expressed his deepest desire, "I just wanna see the end of it, ya know?" His words held an air of weariness, as if he had grown tired of the challenges that plagued his existence. With a sip of the whisky, he allowed the burning sensation to course down his throat, momentarily numbing his worries. The seasoned cat demon, Husk, regarded the younger demon with a mix of sympathy and understanding. Having lived through many more years and experienced the vastness of the world, he could empathize with the urge to flee from a problem that seemed inescapable.
Husk set down the bar rag he had been using to clean a glass, his tone compassionate yet firm. "I ain't one to judge, kid," he began, acknowledging his own struggles. "But let me tell ya, you're not gonna find the answers to your problems at the bottom of a glass of alcohol. I know, 'cause I've been down that road myself."
Angel's shoulders rounded, indicating his disinterest in receiving a lecture at that moment. Undeterred, Husk continued, "Look, I don't know what sort of things Valentino's got you tangled up in, and frankly, it ain't my business. But I've been around, seen my fair share of shit shows. I've witnessed folks trying to make a living through gambling and all sorts of vices. Trust me, they always ended up more messed up than when they started. I've even had my fair share of associations with the criminal underworld."
Angel's curiosity piqued as he picked up on the implications in Husk's words. "So, ya was in the life?" He inquired, seeking clarification. His question was tinged with a mix of intrigue and a desire to understand the extent of Husk's involvement. "Or were you more of a go-between, dealing with them in some way?" Angel's gaze was fixed on Husk, waiting for his response, hoping to uncover more about the cat demon's past.
Husk clarified with a sigh, "Nah, I wasn't part of the Mafia or anything like that. But I did have some involvement with them. I've witnessed the kind of shit they put people through, especially during the war, when profiteering was rampant. Niffty, bless her soul, was just a kid when the Second World War broke out. I'm sure you've got your own horror stories to tell about that time."
His words carried a tinge of weariness, hinting at the dark and challenging times he had experienced. Husk understood the weight of history and the scars it could leave behind.
Angel's voice carried a bitter edge as he responded, unleashing the frustrations and resentments that had been festering within him. "Oh, trust me," he hissed sarcastically, "I absolutely adored havin' to declare myself an enemy alien of the country I was fuckin' born in. And them lovely late-night police interrogations, just to make sure none of us had any sympathies with them Axis powers. How delightful it was, helpin' the government flush out potential Nazis or German spies, all the while knowin' that we could be swept up and thrown into them internment camps ourselves. Boy, what a wonderful world we're livin' in, back then?"
The raw emotions in Angel's words painted a vivid picture of the injustices he had endured, highlighting the pain and anger caused by the wartime circumstances that had affected him deeply.
Husk's voice softened as he acknowledged the shared struggles they both had faced. "I understand," he replied, his tone tinged with empathy. "Believe me, I've seen my fair share of the awful things done to people from all walks of life. There were moments when I wanted to throw in the towel, drown my sorrows with a bottle in hand, and watch the world burn. It felt like giving up on humanity and escaping through the haze of alcohol would bring relief."
He paused for a moment, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "But you know what? Booze, drugs, they only offer a temporary escape, a fleeting numbness that masks the pain. It never truly makes the pain go away," Husk explained. Angel sighed wearily, his gaze fixed on the glass of alcohol before him, knowing all too well the temporary nature of relief found in such substances.
Husk's tone shifted slightly, hinting at a more paternal concern as he asked, "So, tell me, kid... Do you have any family here in Hell that you know of?" Despite not having a natural inclination for offering advice or harboring fondness for the Porn Star, Husk sensed a deep-seated need within the younger demon—a longing for guidance akin to that of a father figure.
He waited for Angel's response, hoping to understand the extent of the support network that surrounded him in this chaotic realm.
Angel sighed, weariness evident in his voice as he shared his family situation. "Unfortunately," he began, rubbing his temples to alleviate the headache looming over him, "Ah, ya see, most of my family is here in Hell. But I ain't exactly on good terms with 'em no more. They're just lousy people in general, so it ain't no surprise they ended up here... especially my old man and my elder brother."
Husk's eyebrow raised slightly at the unexpected revelation, but he remained silent, allowing Angel to continue. With a deep breath, Angel finished the glass of whiskey, preparing to pay for the drink. However, before he could retrieve his purse, Husk gently placed a hand on top of his, signaling for him to pause.
Husk's voice held a rare trace of generosity as he declared, "Don't get used to this, but consider this one on the house." Angel arched an eyebrow, taken aback by the unexpected offer. He knew Husk well enough to understand that he was the type of person who wouldn't let anyone near the bar until they had paid off their tab.
Husk's voice turned defensive as he quickly clarified his intentions, "Hey, hey, hey, let's get one thing straight. I'm only letting you have this one because I can see you need it. Don't start getting any crazy ideas and thinking I like you or anything, 'cause I don't. And even if I did, let's not forget that I've lived enough years to be old enough to be your dad."
His words carried a touch of gruffness, a shield against any potential misinterpretation. Husk wanted to ensure there was no room for misunderstanding or misplaced expectations. He was simply offering a small act of kindness, not a declaration of affection or attachment.
Angel's flippant response brushed off Husk's words as he got up from the bar, leaving a few souls on the counter before heading towards the stairs. "Well, have a good night, Husky," Angel called out as he made his way, his tone somewhat dismissive.
Husk observed the money left behind, noticing a one-soul and a five-soul bill. He placed the one-soul bill in the till but hesitated with the five-soul bill. Something about it stirred a sense of caution within him, and he regarded it with a hint of trepidation.
As Husk contemplated the mention of Angel's father and older brother, a thought wormed its way into his mind. ~His father and older brother...~ he mused silently, connecting the dots. ~And he's a spider... Could he... could he be related to Henroin?~
Angel could feel the familiar buzz of his phone, signaling the arrival of his schedule for the next day. Retrieving it from his jacket pocket, he quickly scanned the contents before carefully stowing it away once more. Inhaling deeply, he exhaled slowly, employing a tried-and-true technique to ready himself for an upcoming performance.
"Angel…" Glancing up, he spotted Charlie standing a few feet away. Clad in a gentle, dusty pink nightgown that gracefully trailed down to her bare feet, she exuded an air of delicate serenity. This appearance was a stark contrast to the commanding presence she typically emanated in her managerial attire. Though her customary cheerful smile was absent, she still managed to offer a warm, appreciative smile to him. "I never took the time to thank you."
"For?" Angel inquired as Charlie drew nearer.
"For telling me and Vaggie about what's been going on," she said, her cheerful eyes now tinged with a gentle concern. "That must have been really difficult... explaining years of pain to two people who are practically strangers."
"It was bettah ya heard it from me..." Angel sighed, his gaze shifting away with a touch of sadness, as if burdened by the weight of a secret shame he preferred not to dwell on. "Than learnin' 'bout it later when Val comes lookin'."
"But... nobody deserves to go through any of that... even in Hell," Charlie said softly, her fingers gently grasping the lapel of his Valentino jacket. The gesture wasn't hostile, but it did startle him enough to refocus his attention on her. Her eyes glistened with tears as they met his pinkish-red irises. "You certainly don't deserve any of that... you never did."
"How can you be so sure?" Angel questioned, his voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and a hint of self-doubt. Gently removing her hand from his lapel, he began to make his way towards his room, a solemn expression etched upon his face.
"I know you feel you're a sinner, Angel," Charlie spoke with conviction, her voice filled with unwavering belief. "But when I see you, I don't see a sinful soul. I see... I see a good-hearted being who is lost and doesn't know where to turn." Her words hung in the air, carrying a sense of compassion and understanding.
"Is that why ya felt I was suitable for redemption?" Angel's voice faltered slightly as he paused, his gaze turning back to face Charlie. His darker, mismatched eye regarded her, not with anger or suspicion, but with a curious questioning. "Ya know, ya never really answered the question I asked ya in the car when we first met, 'Why me?'"
"Oh…" Charlie replied, her voice filled with a mix of uncertainty and introspection. She struggled to find the right words to explain her intuition, for the truth was that she couldn't fully articulate why she felt he was suitable to be the first test subject for redemption. It was a hunch, a gut feeling that defied easy explanation. "I knew from the moment I first saw you that there was something good in you, and I had a feeling you would listen." Angel eyed her, his expression conveying a mixture of doubt and contemplation, before turning and resuming his journey towards his room.
"Wait," Charlie interjected, catching Angel's attention once more. This time, his white eye met her gaze as she spoke with earnestness. "I know you've been hurt by people in the past, and I understand that it's difficult for you to open yourself up to others. I also realize I haven't earned the same level of trust as Cherri, and I haven't had the opportunity to know you as deeply as she has. But I would genuinely like to be someone you see as a friend. In fact, I already consider you a friend."
1982
"Wait... what the fuck are you doing? Get off me!" Angel Dust protested, his voice laced with both irritation and fear. He struggled against the larger demon's grip, feeling his back pressed firmly against the wall. The suddenness of the situation left him disoriented and on edge.
As he glanced around, taking in the gaudy surroundings of the penthouse suite, Angel couldn't help but feel a wave of unease wash over him. He had no idea why Valentino had dragged him here, or what twisted game he had in mind. The demon had yanked him out of the car, propelled him up an elevator, and brought him into this ostentatious room.
The Overlord had simply discarded his red robe, hanging it up on the coat rack with an air of nonchalance that only fueled Angel's frustration. Grabbing him by the arm, the Moth demon dragged his reluctant prize down the hall to a godlily furnished bedroom. He was now trapped in this corner, with one arm pinned overhead by Valentino's strong grasp, while his lower arms were trapped by Val's second set. His only remaining arm fought desperately to push the other demon away, but it was a futile effort against the overwhelming strength of the larger demon.
"Let me go, you sick bastard!" Angel growled, his voice laced with a mix of anger and fear. His mind raced, trying to come up with a plan of escape or at least a way to gain the upper hand in this precarious situation. He refused to be a pawn in whatever sick game was being played, but for now, he was at the mercy of the larger demon's hold.
Valentino's smirk widened, revealing his predatory nature as he tightened his grip on Angel Dust's chin. His voice dripped with a mix of arrogance and sadistic pleasure.
"I dropped some serious cash on you, darling." Valentino taunted, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. "And don't even dream that I won't give my new investment a thorough examination, sweetheart. If I'm gonna transform you into a sensation, I gotta know precisely what kind of experience you can deliver to folks."
Angel's eyes narrowed, a fierce defiance burning within him despite his vulnerable position. He despised being treated like an object, a mere commodity for Valentino's twisted desires. His free arm continued to push against the larger demon, desperate to break free from his grasp.
"Vai a succhiare la fica di tua madre e muori, fottuto bastardo, (Go suck your mothers cunt and die, you fucking bastard)" Angel snarled in Italian, his voice dripping with venom and anger. The words rolled off his tongue, a seething insult directed at Valentino, laced with his frustration and contempt.
However, to Angel's dismay, Valentino only laughed in amusement, finding delight in his rage-fueled outburst. The larger demon's laughter echoed through the room, a chilling sound that only fueled Angel's fury further.
"You've got quite the spark, don't ya?" Valentino chuckled, his amusement evident in his voice. "They did tell me you'd be spirited. Lucky for me, I know how to tame that. Now take it easy, sweetheart, I'm about to show you a good time... maybe the best you've ever had." Forcibly he pressed his mouth against Angel's, squeezing the smaller demon's jaw to have him open it enough to roughly force his tongue inside.
"Oh, man...Angel baby. You taste delicious," Val said as he pressed himself against Angel's body. Removing his hand from the Spider's face he reached down, grabbing hold of one of Angel's legs and hooking it around his waist. "You feel that...you feel how hard you make me. I'm gonna have so much fun with you"
"No…" Angel groaned in discomfort as the larger demon started grinding his hardening manhood against him. Digging his sharp-clawed fingers into the larger demon's shoulder. The blue-skinned demon had moved to licking and sucking along Angel Dust's neck.
Valentino let out a deep, rumbling groan of pleasure, his voice filled with a mixture of delight and desire. "Damn, Sweetheart," he muttered, his words laced with a hint of sinful satisfaction. The intoxicating scent of strawberries wafted in the air, enveloping the demon in a tempting allure. "You smell like strawberries... I fucking love strawberries," he confessed, his voice dripping with wicked appreciation.
Angel, his head nestled against Val's strong shoulder, was consumed by a surge of conflicting emotions. His mismatched eyes burned with a fiery rage, a storm of passion swirling within them. In an impulsive act of dominance, he sank his fang-like teeth into the flesh of the taller demon's shoulder, marking him with a possessive force that conveyed both desire to be free and defiance.
"You son of a bitch," Valentino seethed, his voice dripping with venom as he staggered away, clutching at the bleeding wound on his shoulder. The moth demon's snarl filled the air, a twisted blend of anger and satisfaction. The force of his backhanded blow had sent Angel hurtling to the floor, the impact resonating throughout the room.
Valentino's anger burned deep within him as he examined the damage inflicted upon his attire. Puncture marks marred the exquisite silk vest he wore, the fabric torn and stained with his own blood. The once-immaculate dress shirt beneath suffered a similar fate, tainted slowly by the crimson fluid.
Despite the pain and disarray, Angel was quick to recover, swiftly maneuvering himself into a defensive kneeling position. His muscles tensed, ready to engage in a fight if necessary. The determination gleamed in his eyes, a stark contrast to the chaos that surrounded them.
Valentino's gaze bore into Angel's, a mixture of fury etched upon his features. He straightened his posture, his breath heavy with anger and frustration.
"Well, look at you, a regular surprise package, ain't ya, Sugar?"Valentino's voice laced with a mixture of irritation and grudging admiration. His eyes narrowed as he spoke, his tone dripping with a cold determination. "I'm gonna make you regret... doing that."
With a swift motion, Valentino extended his hand, intending to seize hold of the scrawnier demon before him. However, his actions were abruptly interrupted as a wave of weakness washed over him. His vision blurred, causing the world around him to waver and distort. He staggered back, his grip on reality faltering.
"What... what did you do to me?" Valentino's voice quivered, a hint of fear creeping into his words. The confident facade he had maintained began to crack under the weight of uncertainty. His hand trembled as he clutched at his aching wound, the pain intensifying with each passing moment.
Valentino's eyes darted towards Angel, a mixture of suspicion and vulnerability playing across his features.
"I'm a spider," Angel growled, his voice laced with anger and a hint of defiance."Take a fuckin' guess." He pushed himself up from the floor, rising to his full height. With a swift motion, he wiped the back of his arm across his mouth, smearing away the blood-tinged saliva before spitting it onto the floor.
"You... you..." Valentino's voice trailed off, his mind reeling as he tried to process the situation. He wasn't dying, but an unsettling sense of illness gripped him, weakening his resolve. He blinked, trying to clear his blurred vision, but the effects of whatever Angel had done persisted.
With a mixture of frustration and apprehension, Valentino watched as the effeminate spider made his way towards the door. The sight of Angel's bared, clawed fingers signaled the Spider readiness to engage in a fight if necessary. Reaching the door, Angel had flicked the lock open and was out the door and racing for the elevator. Hurriedly he pressed the down button.
"Come on, come on…" Angel muttered, his voice filled with desperation as he repeatedly stabbed the elevator button, hoping against hope that the car would arrive faster. His gaze darted around the penthouse, scanning for any possible escape routes—a stairwell, a fire escape—anything that could offer a means of getting out of this predicament. His heart raced, his senses heightened as he anxiously glanced back at the door, expecting Valentino to come charging after him at any moment.
Finally, the elevator door chimed, its arrival bringing a glimmer of hope to Angel's eyes. But his relief was short-lived as the doors opened to reveal the screen-faced smirk of Vox. Before he could react, a brutal punch landed square in his solar plexus, the impact stealing his breath away. Darkness consumed his vision as he crumpled to the floor, consciousness slipping from his grasp.
Grogginess clouded his senses as he reluctantly pried his eyes open, only to be greeted by a disorienting sight. Before him, an oppressive darkness engulfed the room, revealing nothing but the damp concrete floor that supported his bewildered form. In truth, the space resembled more of a desolate cell than anything else. Its sparse contents consisted of a solitary queen-size futon mattress, an aging couch, a worn-out dresser, and a modest arrangement of a small table and chair. Neglected by any adornments, the room held an air of desolation, accentuated by the absence of curtains surrounding the corner where a shower and toilet stood.
Angel's attention was abruptly seized by an alarming sight: a network of chains strategically placed adjacent to the queen-sized futon. These restraints, seemingly designed to accommodate beings with multiple appendages, sent a chill down Angel's spine. The disconcerting display continued as additional chains and shackles adorned the walls and hung ominously from the ceiling, their purpose shrouded in a foreboding mystery.
A disheartening realization settled in as Angel surveyed his own predicament. His jacket had been forcibly stripped away during his unconsciousness, leaving him with only his thigh-high boots, a short black skirt, and undergarments. The absence of any other clothing accentuated the vulnerability of his situation. To make matters worse, his wrists were cruelly confined to the wall by tight wrist restraints, denying him even the slightest freedom of movement.
The implications were clear—Val and his accomplice had somehow discovered Angel's ability to retract his limbs into his body. In a twisted act of exploitation, they had taken advantage of this knowledge, rendering him defenseless and at their mercy.
In a distant corner, a persistent blinking red light caught Angel's attention—a telltale sign of surveillance. The presence of the camera indicated that, whether Val and his accomplice were aware of his consciousness or not, they would soon be alerted to his awakening. Every movement, every vulnerable moment would be meticulously captured by the unblinking lens, further intensifying his sense of captivity.
His gaze then fell upon the only entrance to the room—a formidable vault-like door, solid and impenetrable. Absent of any windows, the lack of natural light suggested the disquieting possibility that this place lay hidden underground, a clandestine dungeon concealing its true location from the outside world.
The passage of time remained an enigma to Angel, his memory betraying him as he struggled to recall the duration of his confinement. Though it seemed as though he had not been imprisoned for an extended period, the uncertainty only deepened his growing unease.
A distorted voice, unmistakably belonging to Val, resounded through the room via the speaker system, shattering the silence. Despite the lingering effects of his own disorientation, Val's tone carried a twisted mixture of amusement and malice, fueling Angel's apprehension.
"Morning, Angel Cakes," Val's voice taunted, drawing attention to the demeaning nickname. The residual effects of the venom still resonated in his speech, leaving him sounding weak and unsteady. It became evident that the venom's potency varied depending on its target and dosage—ranging from a few days of debilitation to well over a week of lingering weakness.
"How you liken' your new accommodations?" Val's sadistic inquiry echoed, emphasizing the underlying satisfaction in his voice. "You're in what I like to call one of my "Special Rooms." These are reserved for sluts who need a bit of... correction." The mention of "Special Rooms"sent a shiver down Angel's spine, providing a chilling glimpse into Val's malevolent practices. These rooms were reserved for the sole purpose of breaking the spirit of those considered problematic within Val's perverse hierarchy.
As Val's words sank in, a wave of dread washed over Angel, highlighting the severity of his situation and the imminent torment that awaited him within these confining walls.
"Vaffanculo a te e ai tuoi antenati bastardi! (Fuck you and your bastard ancestors!)"Angel Dust snarled, his voice dripping with venomous Italian. The smug laughter coming from Valentino's face only grew more enthusiastic, as if he found Angel's anger amusing.
"Yeah, that's gonna be at the top of my to-do list when it comes to you." Valentino remarked with a gravelly voice. "I might not understand your mumbo jumbo, but I'm damn sure it's downright dirty. Settle in, sweetheart, 'cause you'll be cozying up in there for a good while." There was a brief pause, and then the line went silent, leaving Angel trapped and alone.
How long had it been since he had been locked in this room? Days... a week... there wasn't any way to tell time. The only thing that seemed to suggest time had passed is there was rythmic thumping from overhead along with shouts and screams of enjoyment. Though these noises didn't tell Angel if it was day or night. It certainly sounded like there was something loud and exciting going on, and it would carry on for several hours before going quiet for a fleeting span of time before starting up again. The torment of hunger gnawed at his insides, a constant reminder of his demonic existence. As a demon, he couldn't die again, not unless he faced an angelic weapon. But that didn't mean he didn't feel pain, or hunger, or the countless other sensations that made him question if he would meet death for a second time.
His throat was parched, and his tongue felt dry and papery in his mouth. The mere thought of Valentino entering the room, filled with malevolent intentions, sent a shiver down his spine. He knew that if Valentino came in to violate him, he wouldn't stand a chance. Helpless and pinned to the wall, his demonic strength rendered useless, he felt a deep sense of vulnerability and fear coursing through his veins.
The sound of the locking mechanism finally echoed through the room, and Valentino sauntered in with a menacing grin, his gaze fixed on the helpless Spider before him. His presence exuded a sadistic pleasure as he reveled in the delicious irony of the situation. A spider, a known predator in the insect kingdom, now found itself at the mercy of a creature that would typically have been its prey. Valentino's eyes glinted with wicked delight, savoring the twisted power dynamic that unfolded before him.
Placing a bag on the table, the Moth turned his attention towards his captive. With calculated caution, he approached, his touch gentle as he cupped Angel's chin. Mindful to keep his hand out of biting range, he forced the captive spider to look at him, the Overlord's red eyes gleaming with a mixture of curiosity and wicked intent.
"Now, you ain't thinkin' 'bout takin' another bite, are ya, sugar?" Valentino's voice dripped with a twisted mix of amusement and warning. The Moth's gaze lingered on the listless glaze that had settled over Angel's eyes, his lips curling into a leering grin. He took perverse pleasure in the visible signs of fatigue that marred the boy's face, dark circles a testament to the lack of comfortable sleep. Yet, within those bright pink orbs, he still saw a flicker of defiance—a flame that refused to be extinguished. That defiance pleased Valentino; it meant there was still fight left in his captive. After all, he had no interest in engaging with a lifeless doll; that would render the money he had spent on the young male utterly worthless. Angel hissed slightly and tucked his legs closer to his body, a primal satisfaction surged through Valentino at this action. He could already feel himself becoming aroused by the thought of breaking this spirited whore.
"Don't be like that," Valentino cooed, his voice laced with a sickening sweetness. "I'm not gonna hurt you... not yet, at least." He paused, allowing his words to sink in. "You've been cooped up in here for three whole days, honey. I reckon you're probably feelin' mighty famished by now." His eyes fixated on the bag on the table as though eager to share the contents he had specially acquired. "See that bag? Those are some real fancy pastries, specially for you, fresh outta the bakery. But, there's a little twist, my dear." He leaned in closer, his breath grazing Angel's ear. "Before those treats are all yours, you gotta let me take you for a test run. I gotta see what kind of performance you bring to the table before I can sell you as a top-notch act." A perverse grin played on his lips, reveling in the power dynamic he held over Angel. "Now, be a good boy for me."
Valentino pounced on Angel with the swiftness of a predator, his lips traced against the demon's neck as he kissed, licked, and suckled at the sensitive flesh. His grip tightened, one hand firmly holding Angel's chin to prevent any further attempts at biting. Meanwhile, his other hand delved into the fluff on the scrawnier demon's chest, his fingers combing through the soft white and pink strands. The two lower arms snaked around Angel's hips, securing their hold on him possessively. The moth's fiery red eyes gleamed with a mix of desire and sadistic pleasure, forming a leering red grin upon his face.
With a swift motion, one of Valentino's hands slipped beneath Angel's skirt, forcefully yanking down his undergarments and carelessly tossing them aside. The air became thick with a predatory tension, as Valentino reveled in the power he held over his captive.
The sensation of a scorching mouth and a long, slimy tongue traced along the tender flesh of Angel's inner thighs, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. The sound of a zipper being drawn added an ominous undertone to the scene, as anticipation hung heavily in the air.
"No... please," Angel mustered a feeble protest, his voice strained and barely audible due to his parched throat. His desperation was palpable as he felt his skirt being pushed upwards, and one of his legs being placed over Valentino's shoulder. "N... NO!" Angel's voice cracked with a mix of fear and defiance. "Don't..." he pleaded, his words filled with a raw and desperate resistance.
"Don't what, Sugar," Valentino asked, with an evil grin? "Don't do this?" Angel let out a strangled cry of pain as Valentino forcefully shoved himself inside him and began to thrust. "Damn...your ass is so tight. If I didn't know you've been fucked by guys before, I'd swear this would be your first time."
Angel felt tears spring to his eyes as he felt himself being raped by the larger demon. The thrusts were becoming harder, longer, more forceful until there was one final thrust that crescendoed with a hot explosion as Val came inside his body. He winced as he felt Val's dick being removed.
"I was right about you," Val sneered, readjusting his trousers and swiftly zipping them up. "You possess a fuck that people would pay good money for. And mark my words, you'll be using that scrawny ass of yours to make me very, very rich." Angel's shoulders trembled with humiliation, overwhelmed by the weight of everything that had transpired. His breath caught in his throat as his face was violently seized by Val's dark hand, forcing him to lock eyes with the sinister glow of Valentino's red gaze and his twisted, taunting grin.
"I dig catchin' a glimpse of those tears, Angel Cakes." Valentino sneered, savoring the vulnerability displayed on Angel's face."It sure makes you seem mighty fragile, darling." The smile twisted into an angry frown as Val's grip on Angel's chin transformed into a harsh grasp of the fur that adorned his head, yanking it painfully. "Tears also make you look like the little bitch that you are. Ain't nobody payin' for a waterworks show, you feel me? When you're in the thick of it, you gotta strut your stuff with that killer smile and soak in the vibe like the piece of ass you are."
Releasing his grip on Angel, the Moth swaggered over to the bag of pastries, casually plucking one from within. With deliberate flair, he indulged in a dramatic display of consuming the treat, emitting exaggerated moans of satisfaction and delight. Securing the bag in his grasp, he set his sights on the door once more, prepared to make his exit.
"And Angel..." Valentino remarked, playfully brandishing the bag of pastries before him. "Take this as your payback, my way of showing you what happens when you mess up my favorite shirt and vest." With a decisive click, the door closed and sealed shut once more, marking the conclusion of day one in Angel Dust's new life as a porn star.
Angel's eyes flew open, and he jolted upright in bed. His gaze darted around the room, scanning for any signs of danger until he gradually calmed, realizing he was safe within the confines of his hotel room. Exhaustion weighed heavily upon him as he wearily ran a hand across his face, attempting to gather his scattered thoughts. Glancing out the window, his eyes landed upon the sprawling cityscape below—the studio, the clubs, the drug dens—each element a stark reminder of the world he found himself entangled in.
To the casual observer, the vibrant cityscape below appeared as a dazzling paradise of perpetual lights, ceaseless sounds, and a kaleidoscope of colors. It was a realm that had once enticed Angel, where he had reveled in its pleasures alongside his companion Cherri, enjoying the euphoric highs of the extravagant lifestyle. But in this moment, as he surveyed the scene, it no longer held the same allure. It had transformed into an alien landscape, a gilded prison where he felt trapped.
Over the years, the deafening cheers and adoration he received as "Angel Dust" had served as a blinding veil, shielding him from the harsh realities of his existence. Yet now, the truth pierced through the facade, seeping into his consciousness. He could no longer deny or deceive himself about the grim reality of his circumstances, of what he was subjected to and what others like him endured.
Perhaps his heightened awareness and discomfort were a direct result of his active pursuit to break free from this life. He cast a glance towards his vanity, all he would need was a single line of dust, and then he would receive the promised temporary relief from the pain.
But instead of succumbing to the tempting escape, Angel resisted the urge. He rose from the bed and approached the window, his gaze fixed upon the twinkling city lights that resembled precious jewels. The words of Charlie, spoken earlier, echoed in his mind.
But... nobody deserves to go through any of that... even in Hell. You certainly don't deserve any of that... you never did.
I know you feel you're a sinner, Angel. But when I see you, I don't see a sinful soul. I see... I see a good-hearted being who is lost and doesn't know where to turn.
Being what everyone else sees or believes to be at the top of the world, he was surrounded by grandeur. The recognition, the fame, the company of others—it all seemed perfect. Yet, deep inside, he grappled with a profound sense of loneliness. It was as if he existed only as an idea, not as a person. People failed to grasp the truth: they couldn't comprehend how isolated he truly felt. They fixated on his accomplishments, what he was known for, and what they desired from him, never realizing the emptiness within.
For years, he had been trapped in a relentless performance, portraying a Mafiosi to please his father, despite despising every moment of it. He lived a façade, pretending to be interested in girls to protect his true sexual identity, knowing that revealing it would invite certain death or a fate worse than death. Escape or seeking help were not viable options either, as they would endanger not only himself but also his beloved Sorellina (Little Sister).
After finding himself in Hell, he continued to play a role for the sake of survival, having grown accustomed to wearing masks. He had embraced this act for so long that he had lost touch with his authentic self, unable to remember what it truly felt like to be genuine. Even Cherri, who had shared intimate moments with him and glimpsed his vulnerabilities, had never truly witnessed his true essence. Charlie, however, appeared to be the first person capable of peering beyond the façade and seeing the person he truly was beneath it all.
Wait! I know you've been hurt by people in the past, and I understand that it's difficult for you to open yourself up to others. I also realize I haven't earned the same level of trust as Cherri, and I haven't had the opportunity to know you as deeply as she has. But I would genuinely like to be someone you see as a friend. In fact, I already consider you a friend.
It wasn't merely the past hurts inflicted upon him by others that weighed heavily on him. From the very core of his existence, he was burdened with a life of secrecy and distrust, imposed upon him as part of the Costa Nostra. His father, driven by the family's traditions, had coerced him into joining the fold and proving himself as a made man. He had indeed proved his worth, but his heart yearned to break free from that life. While he cherished his culture and held deep love for his family, he felt no pride in the path they had chosen. He never desired such a life for himself, nor did he want Molly, his dear sister, to be tainted by it.
Even without the ties to the mob, he had to endure constant mockery, teasing, and disdain from those around him. Merely due to the culture he was born into, he was often unfairly labeled as a criminal or treated as someone needing correction. It was a painful reality he was forced to confront, as his true essence was overshadowed and judged solely based on his heritage.
Leaning against the window frame, he gazed out at the cityscape as the sky gradually brightened with the approaching dawn. The weight of his emotions pressed upon him, and he closed his eyes, seeking solace in the darkness behind his lids. Unbeknownst to him, a solitary tear escaped, tracing a path down his cheek and descending silently onto the carpet below, where it was absorbed without a trace. Standing there in his stockinged feet, he found a fleeting release in this private moment of vulnerability, away from the prying eyes of the world.