How Now Devil Cow Read online

  How Now, Devil Cow

  S.A. Parker

  How Now Devil Cow

  Copyright © 2019 by S.A. Parker.

  All rights reserved.

  This series is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to characters and situations is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Created with Vellum

  Blurb

  I think I’ve died and gone to Hell.

  Literally.

  I glance around the solemn, sparsely lit room filled with hollow-eyed people. A pretty receptionist with a red, spikey tail dancing between her legs, ushers a continuous flow of supposed corpses into spare seats as they arrive. My attention wavers to the ceiling, which is a mass of rolling, black clouds littered with sporadic forks of lightning.

  Yeah, this is definitely Hell.

  I guess it could be worse. I could have died on Halloween wearing a cow costume that miraculously survived my journey to the afterlife ...

  Oh, wait.

  “Next!” The receptionist dashes to her desk and presses a large, red button. A live video of a cow playing hoovesies with her udder fills the calling screen on the wall.

  Whoopsies.

  Clearing my throat, I drop the latex teat and dust off my artificially bloated belly with a hoof. I stand, readjust my wonky cow head, and waddle towards the imposing obsidian door.

  This should be interesting.

  This is a Halloween novelette—a 10,000 word story following Mollie; our synthetically-padded MC and her afterlife adventures.

  There’s more to this cow than meets the eye ...

  For Ashley, who gave me all the feels when she first read this story, which encouraged me to share it with the world.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Connect with S.A. Parker

  Review

  Also by S.A. Parker

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1

  Hell, it’s hot in here.

  A fire, raging in the cavernous hearth set into the wall casts flickering shadows across the expansive room. I rest my elbows on the arms of the ornate, high-backed, obsidian chair I’m sitting in.

  “Name?”

  I stare at the cloaked figure seated behind the enormous, gilded desk which dominates the vastly hollow room, his features hidden by the fall of his hood. His voice is a rich flowing monotone that coils around my nipples, travels between my legs, nuzzles against my clit, and uses it as a pacifier.

  “Mollie,” I answer, surprised by the ominous sound of my voice.

  Hollow.

  Dead.

  “Full name?” His voice reverberates around the room.

  Suckle. Suckle. Suckle.

  I shuffle in my seat.

  “Just Mollie.”

  He scratches at the parchment before him; body curled over, elbow on the desk, head resting on his splayed hand. His black feather quill works quickly across the page. “Okay, Just Mollie. I’m issuing you the number six billion, three million, two thousand and one. How did you die?”

  I pout. “That’s a bit forward, we just met! And besides, I just died. A little empathy wouldn’t go astray.”

  He shrugs, not even bothering to glance up. “I’ve heard it all before. Spare me the violins and cut to the chase, err …” he traces a finger back over his notes, “Just Mollie.”

  “No, it’s just Mollie.”

  “That’s what I said.” He dips his hand into the fall of his hood, giving his face a descent rub.

  I sigh and shuffle in my seat, staring at the tip of his quill, now dancing across the parchment at breakneck speed again. “What are you writing?”

  He dips his quill in a bottle of ink, taps it, then continues writing. “A blow-by-blow account of this riveting meeting.”

  “Oh ...” I scrunch my nose.

  “Please, continue.” He sweeps his hand in my direction with dismissive flair. “Tell me exactly how you died.”

  I fold my arms over my chest. “Fine. It’s actually a really funny story. You’ll never believe it!”

  “Try me,” he says, stifling a yawn.

  I roll my eyes—tough crowd.

  “So, it’s Halloween on Earth, right?”

  He doesn’t answer; just continues to scrawl across the parchment.

  “Anyway, I decided to dress up as a cow.”

  His quill pauses its incessant scratching. “Go on …”

  “Well,” I say, waving a hoof, “it’s all fun and games until someone decides they want to suck your teats.”

  He tilts his head, watching me from the shadows staining his face. Though the fall of his hood hides his features, I can practically feel his heavy gaze raking over my round, synthetically padded body in a languid stroke, making my cheeks bloom beneath the faux head propped atop my shoulders hiding everything except my eyes.

  He points at my udder with the tip of his quill. “These ones?”

  I nod, jiggling my udder and making the teats wobble.

  “And?”

  “I said no! We’d just met. I’m not a fucking milkshake.”

  “Right.” He straightens and clears his throat. “What happened next?”

  I shrug. “He chased me.”

  He huffs out a sigh. “My time is limited. I have more than a million other dead people to delegate today. Get to the point.” His voice holds a sharp edge like he’s grinding it against a wet rock, ready to slice me into some prime, marbled steaks.

  I think this guy is more than just the office clerk.

  “Well, he held a plastic axe, you see. And he wore this horrific white mask which was trapped in a perpetual scream.”

  The man nods. “I’m familiar with the one.”

  I pop my hoof out. “You understand why I ran then. The problem was, we were on the rooftop garden of this really tall building. I jumped off the side and, well … here I am.”

  He pushes his hood back slightly, revealing a shadowed, ruby gaze framed with thick, black lashes—his eyes smouldering with a fierce intensity. He cocks a perfectly arched ebony brow, and I suck in a sharp breath, noting the scarcely veiled curiosity in his sizzling gaze, the flawless ivory skin, strong jawline, and pillowy, sinful lips.

  Holy heaven spawn, I may need to empty my udder.

  His gaze roams down, then up again, paving a heated trail. I shuffle in my seat to alleviate the growing ache between my legs.

  “Why are you still wearing the cow suit?”

  “Were you not paying attention? I jumped off the building in it!” I throw my hooves over my mouth. “Sorry,” I mutter because he suddenly looks like he wants to throw me in the fire until I’m medium-rare, drizzle gravy over me, and serve me with a side of mash.

  Instead, he reaches across his desk and rifles through a three-foot-high pile of papers.

  “Got a bit of filing to do, I see.”

  He nods, opens a large envelope, and pulls out a sheet of paper, glancing over it with a frown.

  I stand and waddle around the edge of the desk, then peer over his shoulder at a photo of me looking like a cow pancake. With ketchup. Lots and lots of ketchup.

  “What are you doing?” he asks, glancing back at me.

  “Wow, I really did a number on myself, didn’t I?” I reach over him, pointing at the photo.

  “Do you mind?” He swats my hoof away, turning to face me while indicating my chair. “Go sit back down.”

  He gives me a little nudge and I sway backwards, overcorrect, then stumble forwards, udder swinging, and fall … landing face first in his lap with my cow nose squashed into his crotch. I can’t move, can’t do anything except breathe his woodsy scent while noting the s
ubstantial size of his curiously firm dick ...

  I think he likes going head-to-head with my cow.

  “Back in your seat,” he growls, plucking me up by the scruff of my cow’s neck and dropping me onto my hooves, his eyes flashing flames and feral fortitude while he readjusts his pants.

  “Yes, sir.” I bumble back to my chair and sit down, cheeks burning, chewing on my bottom lip. “Sorry about your …” I wave a hoof in the general direction of his bulging crotch then fiddle with my udder, so it’s not dangling on the ground.

  He shifts in his seat, adjusting his cloak so it falls over his rearing manhood when there’s a booming knock on the door.

  He sighs, mumbles something inaudible, and snaps for them to ‘enter’.

  I swivel in my seat to see a tall man stride into the room, his face all rugged splendour with a peppering of stubble. He’s sporting enough brawn to feed a starving family, wearing an ornate chest plate which accentuates his wide shoulders that are tickled by long shaggy hair the colour of fire.

  My gaze runs down the length of his body as he walks past, coming to rest on the massive cock swaying between his legs, almost stealing the attention entirely from the red tail blooming between the cheeks of his perky ass.

  This place just got a hell of a lot more interesting.

  The man carefully places a pile of papers onto the stack of filing, now leaning precariously.

  “Huge … stack,” I say, quirking a brow.

  I’m brushed by his hazel gaze, which lands on my udder; then his dick goes from floppy sea serpent to Loch Ness fucking monster.

  What is it about these teats?

  “Wow,” I say, hoof splayed over my chest. “Seems you’re a shower and a grower.”

  My sombre interrogator clears his throat, throws a white handkerchief over the impressive appendage almost prodding him in the eye, and escorts Loch Cock to the door.

  “No more looking at my servant’s dicks,” he growls, stomping back to his seat.

  “Huh?” I say, frowning. “It was kind of hard to ignore. That thing’s big enough to have its own centre of gravity.”

  He mumbles something inaudible, glances at his own crotch with a scowl, then narrows his gaze on me. “Why did you jump off the building, number six billion, three million, two thousand and one?” he asks, with an extra bite in his voice.

  I didn’t realise this whole ‘death’ thing would require an entry interview. To be honest, I’m not sure I’d be welcome here if he knew the truth.

  “I’m dead already, why all the fine print?”

  He shrugs. “Admin requirement. Helps me figure out which department to put you in. Now, I’ll ask you again, why did you jump off the building? This century, if you don’t mind.”

  Sigh.

  Good thing I’m an expert at telling porkies.

  “Mehhh … hoooo …” I groan, then frown. What the hell? I sound surprisingly like a cow, though that certainly wasn’t the intention.

  He narrows his gaze and the temperature in the room rises.

  “You’re trying to lie to me,” he growls, pummelling me with a heavy glare.

  I shake my head and try again. “Meeeeehhh! Hoooo!”

  “You’re doing it again!” he roars, eyes flashing.

  Literally.

  “Your fingernails are on fire!” I screech, pushing a vase of dead, crumbling flowers towards him, but it topples over—sending a puddle cascading into his lap where it sizzles and smokes.

  Interesting.

  He stands, crotch steaming, fingernails extinguished. “Why did you jump off that building?”

  Good God, this man is relentless.

  “It’s hot in here. Why is it so hot in here?” I can feel beads of sweat crawling down my temples beneath my cow head. I fan my face with a hoof. “And why were your fingernails on fire?”

  His glare boils to a simmering scorch. He places his fists on the table and leans forward—perfect, chiselled features fierce. “This is the gateway to Hell, and I’m Lucifer; bringer of fire and wrath, King of the dead and ruler of the underworld. I am fire!”

  I cock my head to the side, appreciating the view from another angle. “Mmm, doubtful. You’re too sexy. I’m sure I read somewhere that the Devil is a feral beast with red horns and a forked tongue. And a tail.” I arch my body to the side, peeking around him, and shake my head in disappointment. “Loch Cock had a tail. You have no tail.”

  “You don’t believe me?” he roars, slamming his hands on the table.

  “No. I mean, the flaming fingers were impressive, but …”

  He pushes back his hood, revealing a magnificent mane of ebony curls, and the full extent of his fine, chiselled features. He rolls up the sleeves, stands with his legs apart, hands on his hips, and with a whoosh, erupts into a sexy, roaring inferno.

  I gasp, trying to fuse with the chair.

  Fire is spitting this way and that, whipping past my face, magically missing his stack of filing but getting far too close to me for comfort.

  Is he trying to roast me?

  “Fuck!” I dive from my chair and scurry on all four hooves to crouch behind it.

  Who would have thought Lucifer would be so … hot?

  “Impressive,” I say, swatting at the gathering smoke and trying to ignore the fact that I just pissed off the fucking Devil. “So … why am I in Hell?” I yell, trying to raise my voice over the roar of the flames.

  I know I can be a pain in the arse sometimes, thanks to a disastrous combination of genetics, but surely that doesn’t warrant a trip to the fiery pits of the underworld.

  “You’re here because you died,” he grinds out, his fire dampening.

  I shuffle out from behind the chair and sit back down, panting in the stifling heat. I frown when I notice my crotch is steaming.

  Guess that little fire show did the trick.

  “What, I don’t get a say in where I go? Isn’t there a test or something?” I ask, fanning the flow of juju mist somehow making it through all the layers of synthetic material and teddy-fill cushioning my body, hoping it just blends in with the smoke.

  He sighs, shaking a hand and extinguishing a flaming fingernail. “Contrary to popular belief, there is nowhere else to go. Hell is for the dead, Earth is for the living, and Heaven is for the blessed who watch over the living from above.”

  He comes out from behind the desk, and in three heavy strides he’s standing before me, marinating in all my vag steam.

  I drag my gaze up, up, until I meet his sizzling stare.

  “Hey there …”

  No answer.

  Cocking a brow, he leans forward and places his hands on the arms of my chair, crowding me with his choking darkness. I wriggle backwards until I’m pressed against the back of the chair—udder high and perky, swaying between us.

  I cough. “You’re a bit smoky …”

  “And you’re a bit annoying. Stop diverting. Why did you jump off the building?”

  I swallow, trying to ignore the fact that I have a sexy Devil curled over me, breathing hot, delicious breath into my face. “I, ah, forgot I didnhavwinss.”

  His gaze narrows, eyes red embers scorching my fucking soul.

  “You’re grinding my satanic-nerve, number six billion, three million, two thousand and one. My satanic-nerve likes to flay people when it’s agitated.”

  I gasp. “Surely you don’t mean that …”

  He sneers. Reaching into the thralls of his cloak, he pulls a long, thin blade from the sheath slung low at his hip and brings the tip to my lips, pressing it against my cupid’s bow. “What’s it to be, Just Mollie?”

  The way his lips caress my name almost turns me to stew, but then he puts a little more pressure on the knife …

  I glance down and notice a very large bulge pressing against my hide … good God. Is he aroused by the thought of flaying me?

  Shit just got real here.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you. Just put your tool away … I mean your blade,
knife, flaying thing.”

  “Tell me first.”

  I shake my head, just a little. Don’t want to lose face. “You go first.”

  “No, you go first.”

  “I insist.”

  He presses the tip of the blade into the tender skin above my lip, drawing a fine line of pain. “Ladies first. Spit it out, Just Mollie.”

  “It’s just Mollie.”

  “That’s what I fucking said!”

  Choose your battles, Mollie. Choose your battles.

  I scrunch my face up. “You might not like what I have to say …”

  He takes a deep, laboured breath. “I’ve heard it all. Try me.”

  “Okaaaay.” I lift a hoof, pushing the knife to the side. “I forgot I didn’t have wings.”

  “Wings?” He frowns, sheathing his flaying blade. “You used to have wings?”

  I nod, wincing. “Pretty golden ones …”

  His entire face drops. “You were an angel?”

  Sigh. Looks like the cow is out of the paddock.

  “I … was a little bit angel.” I point to the ceiling, which is not really a ceiling, more a rolling mass of dark clouds with the odd flash of lightning. “I was born up there. In Heaven.”

  “Ex … excuse me?” he stutters, skin blanching.

  “You’re excused.”

  He pushes away from my chair and walks to the hearth, his cape billowing behind him like a tortured shadow. He turns, watching me with guarded interest. “Angels are not born in Heaven. They’re created.”

  Here we go.

  “Cool story … buuuut I definitely came from an angelic vagina.”

  He shakes his head, face tightening like he just chewed a lemon. “That’s not possible.”

  “Yet, here I am.” I gesture my hooves down my plump, mottled body. “The unfortunate result of a failed experiment.”

  It’s not a lie. As soon as I learnt to walk and talk … and inadvertently destroy things, all of Heaven’s angelic inhabitants realised that the grass is certainly not greener on the other side. I’m the reason the sales of Heavenly Condoms spiked indefinitely, despite the fact that angels are supposedly infertile.