Try to run

I turned and walked away rapidly into the crowd, using the same tactics I always used when I caught the eye of perverts (or ex-boyfriends). They followed, there movements predatory, like a pack of wolves.

I sped up, but they kept pace. It was then I realised my mistake. In the living world, a crowd would deter a group like this. But here, in hell, no one would care if they fucked me in the middle of the street except for the people who had to walk around them.

The thought of being brutally used while people walked by was undeniably titillating. I remembered one time, on a bet, I’d gone to a bad part of town dressed as sluttily as I could – and I could dress pretty damn sluttily – and set about mercilessly teasing a group of young men. I hadn’t expected it to be quite so effective, but I barely put up a fight when they dragged me into an abandoned building. I was so turned on by their desire and the fact I’d actually made them loose control, and by my utterly helpless position, that it ended up being the best rounds of fucking I ever had. They seemed tireless, and by the time they’d finished they’d had me every way a dozen times over, torn my clothes to rags and left me lying in a pool of cum. Which made getting back a bit difficult, but that’s another story…

With hindsight, I should have been paying attention to where I was going, rather than happy memories. I didn’t even notice him until he grabbed me, an ugly, leering devil who held me close with the iron grip of one arm while roughly groping my tits with the other. As I expected, no one paid any attention to my struggles, although when it tore away the ragged cloth that covered my chest, a few of them stopped to stare appreciatively as my breasts spilled out.

Then, a knife flashed past me, plunging into his throat. He dropped me and clutched at the wound, black blood pouring out. To my surprise, he didn’t seem to die, but he did collapse, swearing. Before I could react, I was grabbed again, and pushed into an alley mouth. I realise that my ‘rescuers’ were my original pursuers. One of the demon-men pinned my wrists above my head. The girl was the one with the knife, and she sliced away my ragged skirt. Then they paused to admire their catch.

“What shall we do with her?” one of the demon-men asked.

“Fuck her, of course,” the one holding me replied, grinning down at me with crocked teeth. I could see a bulge developing at his crotch.

“I mean after that.”

“We could sssell her to the pleasssure ssslavers,” the snake-man hissed. It was bending down, its forked tongue flickering hungrily towards my crotch.

“Or the brothels,” a demon-man suggested. “After all, they pay with credit.”

“Better the monster breeders,” the other replied. “They don’t mind if we knock her up first.”

“Maybe we don’t have to sell her?” the girl mused. Before you can wonder if this is a sign of mercy, she continues, “we might be able to make more if we keep her and whore her out. Also, if we had a cute new succubus like that as a fuckslave, maybe you lot wouldn’t spend so much in the brothels.”

You struggle futily as they debate your fate.