Seven Deadly Sins

“On All-Hallow’s Eve,

We daughters of Eve,

Will perform a striptease

To avenge those who grieve.

The men we condemn,

Will suffer their fate,

Based on their sins,

And not out of hate.

The acts of the past,

Forever will last,

And on this special night,

In this curse we delight,

As your fate has already been cast.”

As the malediction concluded, the circle of thirteen women in the Siren’s Song Coven raised their clasped hands to the sky. On the lips, they kissed their sister on their right, then their sister on the left. They blew their breath to the center of the circle and released their hands.

“It’s showtime, ladies,” said Medusa. “Let the sacred energy draw you to the one’s whose punishment is destined on this Halloween night.”

* * * * * * * * *

Medusa walked on stage in a gold-sequined, strapless gown. Mirrored sunglasses hid her deadly eyes from the assemblage of men eager to enjoy the night’s special performance. The dozens of snakes that spouted from her head had a mesmerizing effect on the audience. Many pondered what new-fangled technology could make them appear so real. AI perhaps.

“I will be your Mistress of the Night,” said Medusa. “Once a year, we gather here, to fill you with delight. If your heart is pure, there’s no punishment to endure. Yet, if you have committed a sin of the seven, your soul I promise will not see heaven.”

Hoots, hollers, and cat-calls came from the audience.

“Let the show begin,” announced Medusa. “Our first act — Sloth — is a duo of stunning Russian women called the Rusalki. They are the souls of women who have drowned.”

The club lights faded to black. After 30 seconds, the stage took on the appearance of a magical water world. There were pools filled with fountains surrounding a giant tree lit with multicolored lights. The routine began slowly with two emaciated blondes emerging from the pool, drenched with water. The women slithered around in what appeared to be a drugged state — comfortably numb. The pace never picked up. Their luminescent bodysuits gradually melted away as they frolicked in the fountains.

A rotund Korean man drooled as he watched them from his private booth in the back. He constantly nibbled on a buffet of delicacies such as Parma ham, Kobe steaks, and Iranian caviar as he devoured glasses of Hennessy, while puffing away on Yves Saint Laurent black cigarettes. An attendant lit the fat man’s cigarettes and periodically wiped his mouth or his ass when he went to the men’s room.

At the end of their sultry routine, the Rusalki climbed the illuminated tree like chameleons. Straddling opposing branches, the women began combing their long, blonde locks while simultaneously pumping their torsos on the smooth tree branches until they moaned with pleasure.

Like chameleons, they climbed down from the tree face first and continued on all fours until they came to the Korean’s table. He immediately welcomed them into the booth, where they slowly undressed him and began tickling him all over. From afar, the Rusalki were stunningly beautiful, but up close, their faces were cruelly distorted. The fat man didn’t seem to care.

* * * * *

“Well that certainly made me wet,” said Medusa, fanning herself with her sizable hand. “Our next act — Wrath — may raise a few feathers. Gentlemen — and ladies — allow me to introduce the Harpies.”

Again, the lights went out, and 30 seconds later, the entire room transformed into a formal English garden. Twin Harpies — creatures from Greco-Roman mythology with the face and sexy legs of a woman and the wings, beak, and clawed feet of a bird — strutted onto the stage.

The venue was a smaller version of the MSG Sphere in Las Vegas. The seven booths, each accommodating a group of six were totally private; there were three near the stage and four in the rear. A trio of beautiful women served each booth. The invitation promised each invitee an intimate encounter with one or two of the principal talents. While invitees were allowed up to three guests, a few of the men came alone.

These beautiful and elegant bird women evoked the erotica of Victoria’s Secret Angels. Their performance included flowing dances around the garden and floating routines through the sky with some sort of invisible harness. At one point, like women giving birth, the Harpies spread their legs to the audience and squirted out eggs the size of tennis balls. The audience went nuts — clapping and howling with delight. The harpies gathered their individual eggs and placed them in a basket. Within a minute, the eggs hatched into baby bird-women. The juvenile Harpies soon took flight, circling the stage a few times before landing on the table of a front booth.

The man sitting alone in the booth was buttoned up so tight that his head looked like a balloon sticking out of a suit. He was a man who struggled to manage his emotions, particularly his anger. The moment he let his guard down, he went on the attack to avenge real or perceived slights and offenses. He joined the military as a young man so that he could legally abuse weaker individuals. He literally wrote the book on torture. His attire and mannerisms initially screamed of Victorian morality until his food was served. At that point, he donned a white bib to protect his off-the-rack suit from the slop he began to consume. A variety of junk food that would delight a toddler adorned his table: potato chips, Little Debbie snack cakes, and pudding cups. Whatever he was drinking came out of the straw of a plastic Big-Gulp cup.

Paying more attention to the show than to his manners, the mildly handsome, dark-haired man made a mess out of his surroundings. Following the chips and the snack cakes, he licked his fingers, not caring that the slurping noises distracted the performers. When his spoon proved inadequate, he used three fingers to extract every drop of goodness from the pudding cup.

The young Harpies viciously attacked angry-man’s food. When he tried to shoo them away, they assaulted his hands and arms. The mature Harpies flew to his rescue. They consumed each other’s offspring and sat on either side of angry-man until the final performance. The man was incensed, but powerless. His anger knew no bounds. He would wait until the appropriate opportunity to ring the necks of these wicked creatures of the sky.

* * * * *

“The Were-Women in our next act celebrate the pleasures of Gluttony,” said Medusa. “Get ready to over-indulge.”

A fancy French brothel emerged from the darkness to celebrate every sort of debauchery. A huge dining table overflowed with all types of gourmet food and fancy beverages. There were champagne fountains and chocolate fountains, a carving table with the finest meats, and a three-tiered tray with luscious desserts from every culture. Drugs were being smoked, snorted, ingested, and injected. The massive orgy catered to every sexual fantasy imaginable.

Sitting alone in a back booth, a disheveled man with a greasy, gray-shag hairstyle and three-day stubble watched with enthusiasm as he shoved hot dogs, chicken nuggets, and crinkle-cut fries in his face and washed it all down with Coors Light. He wore cargo shorts and multiple layers of shirts — each caked with the remains of previous meals.

The navy officer ~ turned Goldman Sachs investment banker ~ turned conservative documentary filmmaker ~ turned alt-right cable news influencer ~ turned presidential advisor and proponent of global anarchy got truly excited when two wolves entered the scene and a bestiality vignette began. Two male bodybuilder-types began having aggressive intercourse with the female wolves. The anarchist admired the wolves’ strength and stamina when they turned on the men — savagely biting and clawing them — before turning into women.

* * * * *

“Check out the bush on that beast,” said the sniveling white man sitting next a white woman in the adjoining booth.

“That bush is straight out of the 1970s,” said the Black man in the same booth. “Better than their bushes, those bitches have four sets of tits.”

* * * * *

The Were-Women leaped from the stage straight into the anarchist’s booth, where they licked and caressed him for the remainder of the show.

* * * * *

“While the glutton gets his every wish fulfilled,” said Medusa, “others are left with an insatiable desire for what another possesses. Please join me in welcoming the Yuki-onna from Japan to school you boys on the drawbacks of Envy.”

The darkness turned to light revealing a magical frozen world. Two women emerged from the mist and began an intricately-choreographed ice dance. They immediately caught the attention of the small Russian man who sat alone in a back booth. He forbid anyone to serve him, and instead poured his own vodka into his personal shot glass.

The Russian’s paranoia knew no limits. Convinced someone may attempt to kill him, he accepted nothing that hadn’t been previously taste-tested. He eliminated adversaries before they could strike. Mysterious plane crashes and unexpected poisonings befell all who were close to him. He was clever and crafty, handsome and vain, but his Napoleon complex interfered with his better judgement. Rather than celebrating his assets and accomplishments, he ruminated on all the qualities he personally lacked, the possessions he could never obtain, and the accomplishments he could never achieve. His burning desire for the things he could never have drove him crazy.

With pale skin and icy blue lips, these stunning snow women’s white kimonos contrasted with their long black hair. They were the image of perfection skating barefoot from one end of the icy stage to the other. Speeding past each other and nearly missing a collision made the audience members catch their collective breath.

Evil entities started appearing in the frozen world. Like in a video game, the Yuki-onna began hurling frozen balls at the intruders and stabbing them with icicle swords. Their aim was true. The Yuki-onna nailed their targets in the eye — blinding them. They cut off limbs and heads and genitals with their swords.

While many audience members were put off by these acts of sadism, the Russian was titillated by the violent display. Their act terminated in a gruesome melee in the center of the frozen world. The Yuki-onna stripped out of their bloody garments and did one last floating skate around the mess of corpses on stage.

* * * * *

“This can’t be real,” said a middle-age man with a pencil-thin mustache that curled up at the ends like Salvador Dalí’s.

“That last act had more action than Sackboy,” said his companion, a middle-age woman with long dark hair and eyes that cut through your soul.

“Seriously, those snakes can’t be real.”

“How about those wild bird-women?” said crazy eyes. “This entire show must be cutting-edge illusions created by artificial intelligence.”

* * * * *

The room went dark, and when the lights came back on, Medusa was standing in the middle of a jungle. In the darkness, the Yuki-onna had joined the old Russian in his booth. Cold and naked, the Japanese women went from kissing and fondling the small man to binding and whipping him. He was not only highly aroused from the abuse, the Russian was thrilled to be stripped of his control and for once to be at the mercy of another soul.

* * * * *

“Some may love the cold, while others crave the heat,” said Medusa. “It’s finally time to get hot and bothered. Welcome to the mother-fucking jungle while we communally celebrate Lust.”

An elderly, heavyset Black man sat with his bleached-blonde Caucasian wife, who never had any real beauty to fade. A younger white man-boy with a perpetual snarl sat beside the woman, pounding cans of cheap beer. Both men wore the robes of Supreme Court Justices, while the woman wore an ill-fitting mauve pantsuit. The couple drank Dom Perignon, and all three dined on fillet mignon.

There was every variety of kinky sex imaginable in the sweaty jungle pool: monkeys jerking off, animals fucking animals, and humans fucking everything: animals, humans, and even inanimate objects. When the Succubi took the stage, things got really crazy.

These female versions of Incubi — with their claws, wings, and tails — are notorious for seducing men in their sleep to collect their semen. The demon seductresses brought this wild orgy to a crescendo by using their tails to penetrate every living thing on stage.

They flew to the Justices’ booth, and began whipping the men with their tails, shoving their tongues into every orifice, and using their wings to strip the men of their robes and then their dignity, as the homely blonde watched with enthusiasm. The Black man laid back on the table, thoroughly enjoying the ride of his life, while the white man-boy attempted every position possible with the mysterious Succubus, but ultimately failed to get himself off or his winged partner. Man-boy broke into tears and in a huff blamed the Succubus for his own failure.

* * * * *

“There are only a few individuals on Earth who can truly have it all,” said Medusa. “One of these men is our host for the evening.”

A dark-haired, middle-age man sat in the front and center booth with his lady, a bombastic brunette. The pair indulged in line after line of fine Peruvian flake. Thanks to the coke, they had no appetite for food. Instead, they hydrated themselves by drinking copious amounts of Russian vodka.

The man had recently shaved his head and graying beard. He adopted a Snidely Whiplash cartoon-character mustache to better differentiate himself from his recently deceased father: the Great Pumpkin. He secretly feared that he would morph into a similar creature with a fake tan and an epic combover.

“We genuinely appreciate you sponsoring this affair here at your exclusive Florida country club and inviting some of your closest friends to partake in this evening’s festivities,” said Medusa. “Since narcissism is not one of the Seven Deadly Sins, for you and your family we will celebrate Greed. Enjoy the Vampires, Junior!”

Following the brief period of darkness, the stage became a palace decked out in gold. Hot and sexy Vampires emerged from their gilded coffins dressed in proper Victorian fashion. This was the closest thing to a formal striptease of all the acts of the evening. The Vampires dashed around the golden palace, removing one item of clothing at a time, until they were completely naked.

Always craving public attention, the crazy-eyed woman with Junior darted onto the stage to be part of the show. The Vampires urged her on as she removed her stiletto heels and peeled off her snakeskin dress. She danced a bit in her lace bra, thong underwear, and garter belt with silk hose. Attempting to remove her bra, while dancing and twerking without her shoes on, the woman slipped in her hose and fell flat on her back.

The Vampires dived down and on each side of her neck latched on. They consumed every drop of her blood, leaving her drained corpse behind without offering their own blood so she could properly turn into one of the undead.

With blood still dripping from their mouths, the Vampires flew into Junior’s booth, where he welcomed them with open arms and open-mouth kisses before offering them cocaine and vodka. The earthy, metallic taste from their lips turned him on. They were even more aggressive and dominating then his deceased lady friend, which further excited him.

* * * * *

Walking on stage, Medusa kicked the lifeless body of Junior’s girlfriend aside. She raised her arms, and again the stage went dark. But instead of the lights coming on to reveal a fantasy scene, each member of the audience had the sensation of flying solo through outer space. Every success and failure of their entire life flashed before them as they transported by planets, solar systems, and galaxies. Snarky man-boy Justice cried openly, as did the portly Korean. The others just looked angry.

Medusa strutted over to a front booth occupied by a relatively handsome man with brown hair and a perpetual scowl. It had been some time, but tonight he elected to revert back to the style of his youth, and he donned a red and white polka-dot bow tie. He was proud of his many accomplishments, particularly his rise to the top of the cable news industry and his prominent role in helping to destroy American democracy thanks to the countless lies he spouted on his nightly “news” show.

Bow-tie man dined on a massive plate of shellfish: lobsters, mussels, clams, and crabs. He used the nutcracker and tiny fork with the skill reserved for someone who made a hobby out of cracking nuts. There were a variety of sauces in which to dip his many meats. He washed it all down with club soda.

“You, my lovely, epitomize Pride, the opposite of humility and the source or mother of all the other sins,” said Medusa, as she landed on his table.

She stripped off her gold-sequined gown to reveal a massive penis.

“You’re a Black trans woman!” Bow-tie man shouted. Along with immigration, feminism, and liberalism of all degrees, LGBTQ+ rights had been a cause that he targeted, criticized, and reviled on his nightly show. His look of utter disgust turned to rage when she lowered her face to his crotch so that the dozens of snakes on her head could attack his manhood. His wailing went on for minutes, until his lifeless head finally fell forward. The other guests watched in amusement or horror, believing the show had concluded.

“I may have killed off Pride, but the other sins still need to be addressed.” She made eye contact with the other women of the coven. “Your turn ladies!”

* * * * *

“Greed,” yelled Medusa to the exclusive audience.

In tandem, the Vampires bit Junior on opposite sides of his neck, and then offered themselves to him. Without hesitation, Junior bit into their jugulars and sucked hard, thus becoming one of their kind. For a man determined to possess more than what he could ever possibly need, as a vampire, he would never be satisfied. For eternity, Junior would seek the unattainable and never experience a sense of fulfillment.

* * * * *

“Lust!”

The Succubi castrated and killed both Justices with their claws before decapitating the blonde bitch.

* * * * *

“Envy!”

While one of the Yuki-onna went down on the cruel Russian, the other locked her lips on his stern mouth. They used their freezing breath to suck the life out of him on both ends.

* * * * *

“Gluttony!”

The Were-Women transformed back into wolves — scratching, biting, and finally cannibalizing the anarchist.

* * * * *

“Wrath!”

After watching the demise of the gluttonous anarchist, angry-man grabbed the neck of the Harpy to his right. But, before he could squeeze the life out of her, the other Harpy laid into him: scratching his face and arms with her razor-sharp talons. When he abandoned his grasp on the first Harpy to protect his face, they attacked him in tandem, pecking and clawing him to death.

* * * * *

“And finally, Sloth!”

Despite observing the other spectacles, the fat Korean had not moved an inch. The lazy tyrant, who never did a thing for himself his entire privileged life could not control the tickling of the Russian vixens. His pleas to stop were ignored.

One Rusalki spoke slowly, “You care only for yourself, neglecting and starving your people of food and entertainment and the pleasures of the modern world. You have abandoned your responsibilities to your people. For the sin of Sloth, you will never know rest or comfort again.”

What began as giggles and squirms two hours earlier became screams and spasms by the time that the bow-tie man had his dick and testicles consumed by Medusa’s snakes. Even after the Rusalki wandered away, the sensation of bugs crawling all over his body continued to torment the evil, fat Korean.

Eventually, Medusa lost interest in him. She walked over, and in her platform shoes, Medusa stomped on the fat man’s head — popping it like melon. “That was messy!”

Medusa briefly raised her mirrored sunglasses and looked the Korean’s attendant in the eyes — turning him into stone. “Gather ‘round, ladies.”

“On this one special night,

The world we make right.

What you’ve earned, you’ll receive,

It matters not what you believe.

For sinners of the Seven

Shall never know heaven.

As women of the Siren’s Song,

We’re true to the coven to which we belong.

A year from now, we’ll meet again

To avenge the wrongs of men who sin.

During every other day of the year,

As regular women in your community we appear.”

The Rusalki, the Harpies, the Were-Women, the Yuki-onna, the Succubi, and the Vampires all gathered in a circle with Medusa, clasping hands. Once again, the circle of thirteen women in the Siren’s Song Coven raised their clasped hands to the sky. On the lips, they kissed their sister on their right, then their sister on the left. They blew their breath to the center of the circle and released their hands.