Secret Satan

We escape the giddy party by hiding in the office supply closet.

I drop my illusion, expecting him to run from my true succubus form.

Taking off his Santa hat, he turns red, revealing horns.

“I’m your secret Satan, babe!”

I kiss him. Merry. F-ing. Christmas!

Copyright © by Jason H. Abbott, All Rights Reserved.

Discover more of my Aethereal Musings.

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