The Messenger

The following dialogue is from a seventeenth century publication by an anonymous writer, and will serve as an introduction to my story:

Death: Fair lady, lay your costly robes aside, No longer may you glory in your pride; Take leave of all your carnal vain delight ... I'm come to summon you away this night!

Lady: What bold attempt is this? pray let me know from whence you come, and whither I must go? Must I, who am a lady, stoop or bow to such a pale-faced visage? Who art thou?

Death: Do you not know me? Well! I tell thee, then, it's I that conquer all the sons of men! No pitch of honour from my dart is free; my name is Death! Have you not heard of me?

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Note: It is important to note that no one is killed in this story; any passing from this 'mortal coil' that occurs is from natural causes. Death, just like love and sex is a part of life. The personification of 'Death' in the story is as a messenger—a guide. Please enjoy:

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Present day, in a large city:

She steps out of the shower in her palatial uptown townhouse. Angela is beautiful. She is tall ... and what you might consider statuesque. As she bends down to dry her long slender legs, her ample breasts slip out of her dressing gown. Although she is alone, she smooths her hands over them to push them back in. Touching them feels good to her, and she brushes her fingers over her nipples, moaning softly to herself.

Angela is rich, or rather, her father is rich and she is living on a generous trust set up by him. She is a sometimes model, but at twenty-five is getting a little old for the business and she does not work very hard at it. She is vain and very proud of her body and her looks: her silky dark brown hair, her beautiful emerald eyes, her long slender and silky legs, and her large firm breasts.

She is going out later, but does not have a date; she is on the prowl tonight, and is trying to decide where to start ... which upscale club. Turned-on by her touches to her breasts, she moves her hand down over her stomach, and slides a long slender finger onto her crotch, massages her clit, and slips it up inside her. She lets out a gasp from the pleasurable feeling of her soft squishy insides.

She strokes herself just deeply enough to give herself a little shudder. She feels a warm glow spreading up to her stomach from her autoeroticism.

"God! That feels so fucking good!" she says to herself, trying to regain control of her breathing.

Angela is not a bad person, and she treats the people around her fairly. She is just ... aimless. She has had things handed to her all of her life, and dear Daddy is doing her no favors by financing her vapid lifestyle.

She dries her hair with a large fluffy towel, shakes it loose, and sits at her dressing table to put on her face for the evening. As she puts powderpuff to cheek, she feels an icy chill running up her spine ... and a feeling ... like she is not alone. As she swivels around on her upholstered stool she sees a ... a presence.

She recoils so quickly as she stands and braces herself against the table that she pushes her face powder, body lotion, and an expensive vial of perfume onto the floor. She sees what looks like a man. He is tall, and handsome by human standards, with jet-black hair, and black eyes. She admires his powerful built, but something inside her ... something she does not fully understand ... tells her that he is not human.

"Wh-who are you? What are you doing here? What do you want from me? She asks, frightened by the presence. She grabs a heavy bottle of toilet water to use as a weapon if needed.

He smiles and steps forward and as he does, Angela raises her weapon. He stops and raises his hand in a gesture to tell her that the bottle is not necessary for her defense. She lowers the bottle without looking where it is going, it falls over and rolls off her table.

He steps forward again, and in a soft but cold voice asks,

"Which question shall I answer first, my dear?"

"Let's start with who the hell you are!"

"Well, let's see; I have been known by many names over the centuries. The romans called me 'Mors,' and to the Aztecs I was 'Santa Muerte.' 'Azrael,' 'Kronos,' 'Thanatos,' or 'Grim Reaper' ... have you never heard of me Angela my dear? I am Death!"

Angela's blood runs cold in her veins and she shudders at his frightening declaration. She suddenly notices that in her haste to rise from her stool, a long shapely leg is peering out from her silk dressing gown, all the way to her hip. She sees the dark stranger noticing also, and pulls her robe closed over to cover it.

"You are very lovely, my dear!" the cold voice says, as he takes his black suit coat off, and carefully folds it over the back of a tufted chair near him. Angela gathers her courage to ask another question of the mysterious stranger.

"Okay, question number two: Why are you here?" Angela is not sure she wants to know the answer to that question, but she is used to negotiating for what she wants, and feels that whatever it is, she might be able to make a deal. Because she is gorgeous and rich, she feels that she has a lot with which to bargain.

"It is my sad duty to take you with me this night, my lovely Angela!" said the voice.

Angela shudders as this cold message frightens her beyond the capacity to speak. After a moment, she is able to say nervously,

"B-But, I-I am so-so young. I am only, ah, Twenty-one, and still have so much life to live. May I not at least one more evening?" Angela has tears welling up in her beautiful emerald eyes.

"Angela, you are twenty-five, not twenty-one, and you will not need to go anywhere tonight." He says.

"I am rich. I have money, gold and jewels. They are all yours if you will take them, and seize instead, some poor wretch who is old, tired, and weary of living. There must be a hopeless prisoner longing for release from life, or someone in so much grief at the loss of a loved one, that death would be a welcomed friend."

"Your jewels mean nothing to me my dear; they cannot buy you freedom. Your Father is a fine and honorable man, but he did you no favors allowing you to depend on your wealth to solve all of your problems. The message I have for you tonight is not transferable ... I cannot cause your death, nor can I do anything to cancel it. There are lonely and wretched souls in the world to be sure, but my message tonight is not for them, it is for you and you alone my dear."

"Mr. um, Death, I have a beautiful younger sister. She is a little angel, and she is better than I am, for sure. I would wish for time to breathe, to live, and see her wed to a deserving young man. I would want to live to see this at least, if no more than that!"

"This is a frivolous excuse, my dear. Leave your beloved Isabelle to her own fates. Her goodness and beauty will lead her to her righteous future without your help. No, beautiful one, you are coming with me to another place ... tonight." as he takes another step forward, he continues,

"I have obliged Kings to give up their crowns, and to lay their scepters at my feet. If I cannot grant them but a minute longer, how can you think that I have the power to allow you any longer than your allotted time?"

"Look Mr. um, ah, sir, I have been to the opera and I know that you make deals with mortals for their souls. Have you never heard of Faust? You know, like Charles Gounod's "Faust?" I wish to make such a deal for my life, and you may have my soul at the end of it. I promise."

As he laughs at her ridiculous suggestion, he answers, "Faust is a work of fiction, my dear and his deal was with the Devil. I am not the Devil. And if I cannot grant Charles Gounod, or Christopher Marlow, or Johannes Goethe a second longer of life, why would I be able allow you this privilege?"

"Sir, would you cut down a young woman in the early morning of her life. Can you not grant me until at least the noon of it? I have not lived yet ... it is not my time!"

"Do not speak of noon, young lady, I can grant you not a second longer! Please desist with your bargains! Your life here will end tonight at the appointed time! It is not within my power to end your life or to prolong it! You will be obliged to come with me at the end of that time! As I have told you, I am but a messenger!"

Angela fully in tears has exhausted all of the arguments and deals she can imagine making, and she is desperate to hang on to life as long as she is able. All of her pleadings are falling on deaf ears with this tall handsome man.

Then she thinks. "That's it, he is a man! He has not come to me as a Harpy, or a dark flaming angel, or even a Valkyrie riding on a black stallion. He is here as a man, a little on the dark side, but quite a good-looking." She leans back on her table a little, allowing her dressing gown to part enough to expose her long and beautiful legs once more. She helps matters by loosening the belt on her gown.

"Sir, I see that you have appeared to me as a man. Since I must leave tonight and you can do nothing to stop that from happening, I will gladly go with you if you would allow me ... a little pleasure ... before the sands run out on my life completely."

The man looks at Angela, then up and down her beautiful body from her painted toenails to her stomach. She pulls her gown open to give him the full effect, and notices that his trousers have become fuller in front. He must be quite well endowed from what she can see. She can only figure that he appeared to her as a man for some reason. Devil, or messenger, or dark angel, he is a man at present, and if there is one thing Angela has a talent for, it is getting any man she wants into bed.

She can see that he is already regretting his choice of how to appear to her, and he has no ready answer for her. She decides to guild the lily, so to speak,

"Um, Mister, uh, uh, we must have some um, time before I must leave with you. It is daylight savings time here, and since we are on the west coast, we must have a few hours, for ... for ... you know!"

He throws his head back and laughs heartily at her lame attempt at bargaining for her life. But, he realizes that although it has nothing to do with time zones, she does in fact have some time. For whatever reason, he has appeared to her early, and it will be a little over two hours for her life to expire naturally.

She reaches up and lowers the top of her gown off her shoulders, and gathers it around her breasts, still exposing her legs all the way to her stomach. Her breasts are large, firm, and beautiful. He approaches her, and when he comes close enough, she reaches down and unzips his fly. Her gown falls from her body as she kneels, and he is able to see her beauty in total.

She pulls out what must be eight inches, and as thick as her wrist. She gasps, as she takes it into her hands. She loves the feel of it. It is heavy. It is not cold, but not exactly warm either. She thinks to herself,

"I'll warm this asshole up! If there is anything I know about, it is men ... and cocks!"

He smiles, reading her thoughts, but says nothing.

Angela takes him into her mouth. She smooths one hand down the long length of the shaft, as she teases the glans with her lips. Her tongue tickles it from underneath. Her other hand is on his massive balls, feeling them ... massaging them ... squeezing them. She heart is beating faster and she becomes more excited, but wary of having sex with such an unearthly creature.

"What will Death's cock feel like inside her?" She wonders. The prospect is frightening and exciting at the same time.

The head of it pops into her mouth with relative ease, but the long thick shaft is never going to fit. She uses her hand to pump his shaft as she feels a large amount of his pre-cum on her tongue. She is determined to fit as much of him in her mouth as she can, and his tip is near her throat. Her lips are as wide as they can possibly be, to accommodate his thickness.

She sees his eyes closing, as his massive chest heaves. He gives out a loud open-mouthed moan that sounds like it is coming from the bottom of a tomb. She shudders at the sound, but keeps stroking him with her mouth and her hand. She can sense that he getting closer and closer, until he finally stiffens and unloads in her mouth. She struggles to swallow as much as she can. Some of it escapes her lips and dribbles down her chin, but she is able to swallow most of it.

The taste is similar to other men she has serviced in the past, and as he pulls out of her mouth, she as a smile on his face. He relaxes from his convulsions and smiles down on her. He dribbles a little onto her breasts. As he offers her his hand to help her up, he moves in and licks her chin and her breasts. He kisses her passionately. His lips seem warm to her as she puts all of her passion, all of her womanhood, all of herself, into kissing him.

He picks her up in his strong arms, and she can feel that his arm and chest muscles are rock hard. She is thinking to herself as they head to the bedroom,

"If I must go tonight, at least it will be with a real hunk, and the largest cock I have ever seen." She is looking forward to what is to come, but dreading the end of it.

Her arms are around his neck as he carries her upstairs to her bed. She is smiling as she looks into his handsome face, and dark eyes. She kisses him again, and dares to ask,

"So are you a devil, or a god or demi-god, or like an angel?"

He looks into her beautiful emerald-green eyes and laughs.

"Must I go through the litany of names again? Once again my dear, I am not the Devil. I am not Hades, Pluto, or Beelzebub. I am a kind of messenger. I have brought you a message, and I must deliver you to your next state of being ... your next world."

"Well ... wh-what will it be like?"

"It is different for everyone so I cannot say what it will be like for you." He leans down and deposits her softly on the bed.

She looks up at him with a fearful look in her round wide-open green eyes, she screws up her courage and asks through the lump in her throat,

"W-will it b-be like, like Devils with pitchforks, poking my ass for all eternity ... will there be fire?"

He laughs again. "My dear child, you have really bought into all of the myths haven't you? No. No self-respecting devil would dare to poke a pitchfork into that lovely ass of yours, my dear. And ... you do have a lovely ass." He looks deep into her eyes and continues,

"Your experience will be one that it is beyond your capacity to understand now, but you will when you arrive. I will be your guide to this new existence. It will be more of an existence of the spirit than the body. Isabelle and your parents will find your beautiful remains tomorrow, lying right here on this bed, wrapped in your lovely dressing gown. You will be beautiful, and as much as they grieve your passing, they will get on with their temporal lives, as you will with your spiritual one. It is all part of a design that is greater than any of us." He thinks for a moment biting his lip, and leans in a little as he quietly tells her as if sharing a secret,

"If it is a comfort to you, I can tell you that Isabelle will grow more beautiful, and will marry a fine young man. They will live a long life and have four children: three boys, and a dark-haired, green-eyed girl that they will name Angela. There is no harm in you knowing at this late stage."

She breathes in with a couple of emotional hitches to her breaths, smiles with joyful tears in her sparkling eyes, and she says haltingly,

"Thank you ... so much for that. It will make ... things a little easier for me to accept ... my fate." She rises up and gives him a sweet kiss.

She watches as he takes off his shirt, and exposes his expansive shoulders and chest. She admires his chiseled features, and involuntarily says, "Ohhh, my!"

She can feel herself becoming very moist, as he removes his trousers and sport briefs. He now matches her completely naked state as he lowers himself into a passionate embrace with Angela. His slab of meat dangles to almost eight inches; as he moves down to put his face between her wide-open legs. The beauty he must escort from this world amazes him.

The sweet musky aroma of her sex reaches his nostrils, and he takes a moment to breathe in her bouquet. This causes him to swell to his full length and thickness.

"Please be gentle with me!" She says looking up at him with her wide-open green eyes.

"Absolutely, my dear."

He puts his strong hands under her and lifts her firm buttocks to his face as he kisses her mound, and teases her clit with his tongue. She gasps loudly, and starts to breathe in and out deeply. She can feel her heart beating in her throat. "Ohhh!!" is all she is able to utter.

When he slides his tongue into her, she screams as she shudders and convulses into the strongest orgasm she as felt in a very long time. She can feel the electricity in her buttocks, surging down her thighs to her feet. Then it spreads up into her stomach as a very warm feeling. She involuntarily utters, "OH MY GODDD!!"

He looks up at her, and she giggles asking, "Can I say that to you. I mean ... 'God'?"

He laughs as he quietly reminds her, "I am not the Devil, I am Death—a messenger. God is a part of my ontology!"

She giggles, smiles sweetly at him and softly says, "Oh!" Then she looks deep into his eyes,

"Please fuck me!"

He knows that he has to be gentle with her at first, but he is taking full advantage of his human persona, and is intent on making love to this beautiful woman. He is thinking that he has to do this more often ... appear as a human man to the women, and to arrive a few hours early. He chuckles to himself thinking of these things.

"What's so funny darling?" She asks with a quizzical look.

"Mmm, nothing my sweet!" He says smiling.

It is time for him to change his position so he can enter her completely. He pushes the tip up against her smooth and very moist slit. She gasps as he starts to push it in, just a little. She moans, and he can see her biting her lip a little with nervousness ... and maybe a little discomfort.

He pulls out of her, and slides the tip up and down her labia to gather her moisture. He reenters her, but pushes in the whole glans and another inch or two. She is breathing hard, open-mouthed and he can feel her heart beating like a drum. "Ohhh! Goddd!!" she says with the pleasure and the little bit of pain she is feeling. She spreads her legs further, and lifts her hips to allow him better access to her.

He slides another couple of inches into her and she moans loudly, but he senses that it is with more pleasure than pain, so he slides it in right to her cervix, and backs off a little. He seems to have about six inches or so in her, but with a slow motion in and out, he can feel her expanding to accept more. He is able, after a while, to get it all inside her and just let it throb as she shudders and quakes in another strong orgasm.

She is thinking, "Oh, God. I have never felt so full ... so completely filled up!" When she slows to a couple of minor shudders, he grabs her hips, and starts to slide in and out of her in a smooth rhythm. I suppose you could say that he has lost his virginity to the beautiful Angela.

"Oh, my sweet man! Fuck me! Fuck me so good! I need to feel your cock inside me!" She says breathlessly.

Her very direct language arouses him. As a spiritual being, he is not used to sex with a human woman, but he is feeling his arousal building in him. He continues to slide in and out of her lovely willing body, and starts fucking her hard. Her vocal responses tell him that she is enjoying his hard cock in her, and he continues to pound her with it.