Take off the mask in the feast of the night. I'm going to appear dancing with you in the labyrinth all through the night in the wild hunt and chasing your fear.

(Author’s note: this story as a whole falls under the “dubcon” header for the most part. That said, the following chapter delves even deeper into full on ****. Let this serve as a warning.

TLDR: Trigger warning, ****)

Hellequin might have been a beast from the pits, but perception crafts reality, and the perception of him as The Harlequin cast him as one of the zanni, a clown full of cunning and wickedness. As such he was prone to bouts of comic madness, though they be tinged with a twisted sort of darkness and depravity that is so often the root of comedy in the classical sense.

A laugh, after all, is little more than an aborted scream.

“No no no no, Columbina, this will not do at all!” Hellequin mock scolded the bound Heidi, who lay spread eagle on the bed, tied to it with leather straps, a piece of duct tape over her mouth. “This is Harem Hotel not ze Bachelor. No one is getting saved by a rose, you know?”

Heidi’s eyes spread wide with fear as the giant rose from her desk, tossing the entire list of challenges she’d spent so long crafting for Bob and the audience’s amusement into the fire. The fear, of course, was of what she was sure was about to be done to her. He poked at her pussy with his stick, sodden despite (or perhaps because of) her perilous situation. “A scavenger hunt? Really? Is this some stupid bachelorette party? No, we need something with teeth. And the elimination rule? Was that from the producers? Or from you?”

He dropped a pair of pants that were large enough to cover a car and let his frightening erection spring forward. Angry looking and veiny, the purplish glans veritably throbbed as he advanced on her prone form. “Oh but you cannot respond, can you? Perhaps I shall remove your gag so that you may enlighten me with your oh-so deep wisdom… or perhaps so that your screams of anguish and terror may sweeten my enjoyment as I ruin you for all other lovers.”

He brutally ripped the gag from her mouth, leaving ugly red marks around her full lips. Her eyes were red, her face blotchy with the tears she had shed since being imprisoned in his sack. His full weight upon her, even the towering Adelheid was dwarfed by his bulk. And of course all women are the same height lying down.

“You are a monster. The Producers will hear about this and when they do, you will be hollowed out and filled with molten lead and angry spiders! Your suffering will be legendary even in Hell!”

“Yes, I liked you better gagged, Columbina.” His massive right hand wrapped around her throat, cutting off her air and her voice. “So until you scream you will talk no more, yes?” And with that he lined himself up and thrust into her center, penetrating her with his massive fucktruncheon.

Her screams were heard throughout the Chalet.

“Sir! We have a very bad report from the Chalet set. Hellequin… he’s…”

“Yes. We expected him to shake things up.” The Producer sat in his chair petting a slightly overweight Australian Cattle Dog. “Heidi wasn’t bringing in the views. So we sent him in.”

“But… he’s a little… ****.”

“Give him a week. And get me a list of replacements for him.”

“Yes sir!”

As the PA hustled out of Whysper’s office, the producer massaged his temples. They’d made it sound so easy. ‘Shoot for the soccer mom demographic’ they’d said. ‘Play to the romantics’ they’d said. And look where that had gotten him. An entire workforce of thirteen dead Icelandic folktales, and ratings in the toilet.

Oh well. The checks keep rolling in.

And you know what they say? If at first you don’t succeed send in a gigantic hellspawn ****. And if that didn’t work, well there were other paths he could take. You keep throwing shit at a wall, eventually something will stick.

He scratched the dog affectionately behind the ears and was rewarded with a massive amount of shedding. “Shit, I’m retiring after this season anyway. What are they gonna do, fire me?”

(Title: “Hellekin” by Therion)