Title: Hellish Reward II Part 1

Category: Paranormal
Author Pen name: Knorg
Email: paxgronk@hotmail.com

Description: A year after the disappearance of the dude from Hellish Reward, three old friends quest to find him. He probably owes them money. Meanwhile, he’s in Hell.

Part 1 contains: Non-Consensual Female-Dominant F/M sex with rough foreplay, including a Non-Consensual impregnation.

The Thin Cat Free House, Norwich

“I’LL MAKE YOU PAY! I’LL MAKE YOU ALL PAY! MWA HA HA HA HA!”

“Someone asked ol’ Cat’s-eye Jenny for credit again?” asked the rotund man with his back to the bar. He didn’t even look.

“Uh-huh” replied the tallish Nordic-looking man who bore an uncanny resemblance to his passport photos. He was staring cautiously into the depths of his Guinness as if he might find untold horrors lying in the dark depths of the glass, such as an angry leprechaun wanting to know who turned on the lights.

The third of them, a gangly strawberry-blonde in glasses, twisted around in his chair to watch the spectacle at the bar. The buxom barmaid continued her tirade of abuse at the unfortunate drunkard who’d tried to start a tab. “Why do you call her Cat’s-eye Jenny?” he asked, a curiosity for the unexplained being a defining feature of his personality, along with squeezing pennies so hard his wallet had unionised in complaint.

The stout goateed man, the only local amongst them, shrugged and said, “She was born in Sellafield and her eyes glow in the dark.”

“Dude! That’s gross!” the tallish fellow dragged his eyes from his beer. His name was Dave, and he was widely rumoured to possess the largest collection of Sims pornography outside of Belgium. The strawberry blonde, widely known as Jim-Bob, said nothing. His own pre-natal encounters with radiation had left him with issues of his own, which had long been explored on the farm he called home.

“How did you find that out, Peter?” Jim-Bob asked the solid-bodied local, “Have you seen her about at night?”

“Ah well…” the multi-chinned one looked embarrassed, “I followed her home once, and stole some knickers off her washing line.”

“YOU’RE SICK!” exclaimed the other two, in the sort of synchronicity often missing from British Olympic swim teams.

“I’m wearing them right now…” he lied.

They knew it was a lie as he had an ass the size of Luxembourg while Jenny’s was small though rounded and rumoured to possess a tail down under her long skirt. As for ears, nobody had ever seen her hatless and made it known.

Dave finished his thankfully pixie-free pint, and slammed the glass down on the stained wooden table. The action closely mimicked by Jim-Bob who had been drinking a strange-smelling local cider, rumoured to be made from apples and horse piss. Well, mostly horse piss. (go terry! Go terry!)

“Your round, dude.” Dave told Peter, who gracefully stood and headed to the bar – not an easy task with an EU lard mountain in his T-Shirt.

Jim-Bob had been a little irritated after his long drive to the obscure city and decided now to make his feelings known.

“Dave. We should’ve got together in one of the pubs near your place. It’s 150 miles to Norwich! We could’ve had Pete come and meet us. We don’t know anybody else who lives around here anymore. The petrol! Won’t somebody please think of the petrol!”

Ignoring the sarcastic melodrama, Dave replied quitly “We’re meeting here because this is the city he disappeared in. He left his digs on that dark and stormy night, and never made it here. This very pub.”

The pub’s legendarily affectionate dog wandered over, her tail wagging, on a well-trodden circuit of the pub’s tables. Diners used to say they could tell when their bar snacks would be coming from the dogs arrival shortly before.

Jim-Bob looked at Dave with watery blue eyes that had seen the rear end of one two many late night birthing cows, and said “What’s that gotta do with anything? He buggered off; he’s probably living under an assumed name in Spain or something. Probably as Susan.”

Dave shuddered at the idea of his friend as a woman. “I have a few other ideas,” he loaded the words with the kind of mystery and suspense Stephen King could fill whole books with in the days before he started writing with the pen wedged in his ass, “I think I know where he is.”

The chubby one returned with three pints, and placed each before its respective drinker. He sat down heavily, for there was no other way, and the building’s much abused (not like that… etc) foundations groaned in protest.

“Pete, Dave reckons he knows where he is.”

Scratching his chin in the manner favoured by literature’s great chin scratchers, Pete shifted his not inconsiderable weight and contemplated Jim-Bob’s statement carefully before giving what he saw as the only possible answer.

“He’s sitting right there. Any fool could see that. Except for someone who’d just pissed off Suge Knight and been skull fucked to death in a dirty back ally.”

“Ewwwwww, Pete! I didn’t mean me. I meant him. You know? HIM!” Dave raised his voice in the frustration common to all experiencing semantic pedantry.

Pete was unmoved – they said it would take a nuke – “Oh,” He said, and sipped at the pint of Kelham Island Pale Rider he’d just bought himself.

A word from our sponsor: Kelham Island Pale Rider joins Woodforde’s Norfolk Nog as proud sponsors of pissed-up Knorg writings!

“So where do you think he is? Room 101? On a mission over Northern Italy, bitching about being sane and having to fly? The Matrix?”

David had their attention, as the mournfully reflected on the good old days before he disappeared and made them all contemplate their mortality.

“He’s in hell.” Dave said, simply.

Jim-Bob and Mr Blobby 2004 broke into peals of unrestrained laughter, with much thigh slapping and leaning forward in chairs.

Dave was known to be a man of the faith, although exactly which sect of it was generally in doubt. However, the scientist and the communist found their usual jovial tolerance of his beliefs – as he tolerated theirs - dissipate.

A good five minutes later, they both composed themselves, looked at Dave’s gently smiling expression, and broke down again.

It was another five minutes after that, with Jenny’s screech to shut the fuck up or feel her stick, that order was restored.

“I love the friendly staff in here,” the corpulent fellow muttered, “except when she pulls it out to beat me with it.”

“They charge for that treatment in London,” interjected the scientist. He was the only one of them capable of interjecting. He could interject at a Postgraduate level.

David sighed at the latest weak pun, and continued “As you’re both aware, I’m very active with my local church group...”

They nodded, and wished they weren’t.

“…Three days ago, during a service, one of the guys suddenly went crazy. He claimed to be the Demon BindiBaji on a mission to exterminate all humans starting with our church. Since we don’t go for all that possession bullshit, we called up a psychiatrist.”

“It’s what I’d have done,” commented Jim-Bob, “that and sold tickets to his ravings and ranting.”

“…Then he started making ectoplasm, quoting excerpts from Battlefield Earth and he set Father O’Whey’s clothes on fire from down the room. Anyway, long story short, before we forced the demon out… it fixed this poor guy’s eyes on me and screamed “You’ll join your friend at the gates of hell!” And then it was gone. I… I knew it meant him.”

Dave noted the other two were drawn in by his conviction, the intensity of his speech. He sipped at his beer, and broke the spell slightly. Pete and Jim-Bob looked at each other with the kind of “feeling foolish” looks known to any group of tourists who’ve handed over money at find-the-lady games.

“We’ve got the money back from the cowboy consecration outfit did our church. Holy ground… Pah!”

“So what happened next?” What did you do?! Jim-Bob asked, anxious as ever to avoid buying drinks as long as possible. That is not dead which can eternal lie, but it’s catnapping compared to the time between Jim-Bob getting a round in.

“The only thing I could do. I called up Nick and asked if he could help me out. You know what he’s like with weird shit. Anyway, last night he got a bunch of witches together, and they summoned up a minor demon. Then they beat the shit out of it until it gave them the information they needed.”

Pete nearly choked on the last of his pint as Dave finished his sentence.

“They beat the shit out of it? What about kissing asses, and selling souls and making deals and… and… gingerbread houses?” The Norwich wideboy seemed particularly pleading on the last point.

“Way Nick tells it, these modern Witches are smarter. They don’t bother with acquiring the power and wealth or cutting deals, they just smack the shit out of minor demons for information. Obviously, being of the faith I shouldn’t really have any dealing with them… but as it happens I’m taking one of the girls out for a flame grilled steak next Wednesday.”

Jim-Bob looked as if he was about to go into a scientific tirade about how Hell and the rest didn’t exist, couldn’t exist and would never exist.

For his part, the loosing side of the battle of the bulge was looking at the peanuts hanging behind the bar.

Dave interrupted both before they could begin, “Look, Jim lad, I’ll be able to prove it to you tomorrow, right? Then you can write a paper on it or something. Do a PowerPoint presentation on the flora and fauna of Hell. Whatever. But for now, it’s your round.”

Jim-Bob nodded, knowing that resisting the round would be as futile as trying to turn over an hour-glass in Oz, or buy a strong beer there, stood up. He opened his wallet and a species of moth long believed extinct fluttered off to be eaten by the dog.

The moral is that surviving for years in the darkness means shit if there’s a big hungry dog waiting outside.

“Fine. I’ll put it in my diary… Dave proves hell exists and it freezes over at same time!” Jim headed for the bar, the weak sarcasm hanging in the air before the dog ate it.

“Weather’s bad out there,” the robustly bodied one commented, fulfilling the English tradition of weather small-talk “this time last year it was pissing it down and real windy, this year we get a blizzard.”

“Ah, I like to see a bit of snow in the streets, it’s a nice look for the world. Real bugger to drive in though.”

“Yeah, driving’s a bitch! But we did have so much fun snowballing last night!” replied the overgutted lad cheerfully.

The eavesdropping pub fell into a horrified, contemplative silence.

“HE MEANS A SNOWBALL FIGHT, YOU SICK SONS OF BITCHES” Dave shouted, as drinkers failed to meet his eye and even the affectionate dog looked somewhat repulsed.

Outside, the snowstorm continued to rage.

The Gates of Hell

A once paved and now ruinous path leads to the gates of Hell from the place between the worlds. It looks like once it was easy to walk, but now the road to hell is hard, and broken. The young man who sits naked but for a collar and chained to a post outside the gates has sometimes wondered if it was symbolic of how a lot of the old sins weren’t treated as such in the world anymore. The route to hell was harder if you limited the “sins” available.

He had old scars criss-crossing his body, fresh wounds, bite marks and others. He didn’t really seem the worse for it. His hair hung about his shoulders, dark brown with lighter streaks, though his face appeared recently shaved. His eyes were bright blue, and intelligent. His body firm and young; you would think him 22-25 years old.

The strong dark walls of hell towered behind and above him, running as far as he could see in either direction from the gates, utterly surrounding the ‘boundless’ expanse of Hell. He’d quickly discovered the whole boundless thing was hearsay and exaggeration. He was sat with his back to a three-foot post and watching storms ravage the boggy marshes that stretched off on each side of the road. The winds that blew were by turns warm and chill, and he found the weather to his liking.

He noted with minor interest the couple making their way apprehensively along the broken road towards the gates. They had less choice than an Amish video store.

“Hey, Bob!” He called, and reached up to pull on the rope that hung near his head. A sonorous DUNG! resounded as the rope rang the bell. The gatekeeper, Boababaroth, had asked the young man to give him a little prior warning of new arrivals, so he could get up and be at the gate to meet them. He’d said getting old took on a whole new meaning when you had been in a place since the fall. And He didn’t mean autumn.

The naked young man began to whistle cheerfully, and adjusted the collar around his neck slightly, making the chain that ran from it clink together. Bob usually had a little reward for him in exchange for tipping him the wink, and such things could break up the monotony slightly. In all fairness he rarely got bored chained to the post, there was always something to occupy his thoughts.

“Hiya, you crazy kids!” he called cheerfully, offering a little wave at the two who now stood extremely apprehensively in front of the gates. He could see them reading the “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here” sign, which cleverly made itself readable to all – even the illiterate - Though it refused to be Esperanto.

“This is Hell! We’re in Hell!” the young blonde man wailed, as the girl with him clutched around him, shaking in terror.

“Naaah! You’re not in Hell,” the naked man informed them. They both looked instantly relieved, suddenly paying him attention.

“Nah, you’re just outside the gates. That’s Hell in there.”

The wailing began anew. The young man wondered if spending so much time at the gates of Hell had changed him to be the kind of guy who’d make that kind of joke. Bob still hadn’t arrived, and he considered if the old boy hadn’t heard the bell. He reached up and rang it again, twice.

“You’re looking kinda depressed there, huh? I see a lot of people come by here looking depressed. Stands to reason really. You want to hear my story while you’re waiting for the gatekeeper?” the young man began, starting his story, only to be interrupted.

“You evil hellbeast! Bloodsoaked spawn of Satan! Lord protect us!” he spoke in an accent that TV and Movies had impressed on the sitting man’s mind as Deep South, or Neo-Redneck.

“Hellbeast? Me? I’m one of the guests. See the chain? See the collar? See the great little collar-nametag She got for me?”

“Sh-She…?” That was the first time the blonde woman spoke, and Chris noted her accent matched the guys. They both looked like terror-mazed lost souls. Which made a lot of sense considering.

“I’ll tell you all about Her and how I met Her. It was a dark…”

“No! Ah will not listen to you! We’re not stayin’ here!”

The young man sighed and shrugged. He watched them realise they couldn’t just turn and walk away. He heard the first groans of the gates being opened, and the rumbling throaty breathing of the gatekeeper. They swung inwards, and a 15 foot tall demon with grey-green skin, stood in the doorway. He was naked, and the muscles bulged under his glistening slimy skin, his face having more eyes than you’d normally see on something with two legs; outside the wilder parts of West Virginia, or the East Anglian fenlands.

“Hey Bob. Rang the bell and you didn’t answer.”

“ARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” commented the two damned souls, clutching at each other. They could’ve crapped enough to supply the entire German porno industry for a year in their fear.

Bob merely grunted something along the lines of missing his soaps, took each soul in one great hand, and walked inside. The gates closed behind him.

“I bet the lad in charge will regret signing up for cable TV one of these days,” commented the naked lad as the gates shut again, “What was that line about evil sowing the seeds of it’s own destruction?”

He spat on the ground nearby, “Fucking white supremacists… hope they get the special pits… ” he muttered, having noted tattoos to the effect on the couple as the gatekeeper took them. He moved over to the gate, and picked up a stone. He was working on carving “Hell – Twinned with Slough” into the age hardened wood. He had all the time in the…uh…world outside the gates of Hell.

He felt he was making good progress on the H of Hell when saw another approaching the gate, walking with a jaunty step and cheerful manner. He was mildly surprised. She covered the ground far faster than any others the man had seen, and was soon at the gate, as he dropped his rock and returned to sit at his post.

“You’re new aren’t you?” the cheerful woman asked. She was wearing a fashionably cut black business suit, with shiny black high-heeled boots. She had her black hair held back in a ponytail, and green eyes that caught the light under long lashes.

“I’ve been in Hell since Feburary 2002, and chained out here for some of that period. Time… is odd here ya know; like, my hair’s grown, but my beard hasn’t… I had my hair short when I came down here, now it’s about my shoulders. It’s how She likes hair. I don’t think I’m dead, either... cos I reckon I could head back down that path if it weren’t for this chain. Way I hear it; damned souls have to take another way out.”

He paused, as reflectively and finished “Don’t know how long I’ve been here… years?”

“One year and pocket change. You seem alive to me. I once said the same about Cher though, and was proved wrong.”

“Wow… seems longer… When She’s back in Hell I’m with Her.” The young man thought about ringing the bell for Bob, but he was curious and so held off – and even without the Bell, Bob would know before too long. It was his nature.

A few minutes out of eternity didn’t make much difference, as anyone who’s taken a toilet break during a Radiohead set can attest.

“It’s been a very long time since I saw anyone who wasn’t dead down here, I have to say. Dante might’ve been the last one I saw, and he used so much creative licence I coulda just spit. I’m sure there have been others though.”

The stranger had picked up the inflections in his speech, “So… your Mistress is off travelling?”

“Yeah, she goes up on Earth and tempts people, like the wavering cases? Tries to damn ‘em to down here when they die. She brought me here alive though on account I saved her existence.”

“Really? What happened?”

The young man recounted his story, as told in Hellish Reward (now out on DVD, VHS and DivX pirate).

“So… why did she need your help to beat the priests then? Why not just slash up the lads and come back down here? Or just come down here until they died? Hell can be quite entertaining…” asked the stranger, picking at minor plot holes that came about when the story had changed its ending half way through.

“They’d managed to suck out part of Her essence, and bound it in a magic circle. They tried some silver Jack first, apparently, but it already had a soul affecting it. Anyway, that meant she was stuck on Earth, in a weakened form and they had some powerful tools and weapons. Chased her for years. Then ‘cos of me, she was able to beat ‘em. When they died their circle stopped working, ‘parently. Don’t know how it works meself.”

The stranger nodded, “Thought it would be something like that. I suppose you must find this netherworld stuff rather complicated?”

“Yeah, but I think I’ve picked up most of it. Still having problems with how re-incarnation works for some people, but it’s not like there’s gonna be a test!”

The stranger smiled, “Nothing in the universe’s black and white. Even Brad Pitt’s girlfriend was only black and blue,” she said, courting a libel case. Gracefully, she took the man’s chin in her hand and raised and looked closely into his bright blue eyes. He didn’t resist or comment. He soon realised she was reading his mind, as he saw flickers of memories as she disturbed them.

“So what’s your story? You don’t seem like one of the normal poor bastards comes through here or one of them demons?” The young man felt slightly uncomfortable after having his mind read, it was a more subtle violation than he was used to. He noted the woman’s demeanour changing slightly, her breathing too. He realised she was growing aroused at the memories she pulled from his mind.

The women let go of his chin abruptly and said “Ah… One of my Daughters…”

“Wha?” the young man looked surprised, spotting little family resemblance. While his mistress had something of the classic demon look - with dark, crimson skin, cloven hooves and two large black horns growing up out of her forehead – the stranger looked like Liz Hurley. Although, when he’d first met Her in Norwich, She’d looked a little different to blend in on Earth.

“I am Lilith.”

“The Lilith? Oh wow…” he thought, a little awestruck.

“I used to be quite famous on Earth in the old days,” she sighed, “but most people don’t care to remember me now. I really must engage one of the less reputable PR firms and have more people cowering in fear. You’ve heard of me,” she ended with a pointed statement.

The man nodded, and said “Yes Ma’am!” with all the respect of a naked man chained to a post before a legendarily scary woman.

He had indeed heard of her, and had once written a few stories about her. He hoped she’d never found out because it was something she might take offence at. And then he remembered she’d just read his mind, and started hoping like crazy she’d not spotted it then. Reading the emotions from his face, Lilith threw him an almost pitying look and pointed up and behind him. He noted anew the sign above the gate, and knew he had entered there a number of times.

“Don’t worry so much… I’m rather flattered,” She tousled his hair gently, “and you did save one of my daughters from oblivion. Honestly, they never tell me anything these days… Even though I carry a Nokia…” She looked him in the eyes again, holding his hair. She was looking at him hungrily; in that he saw the family resemblance.

“Since my wayward daughter’s away, perhaps you can entertain me instead, hmm?” she said, “I’m down here to visit with some of my other children and to do a little business… but I’ve all the time in the world. Literally.” She was now looking at him as if he were the last Rolo.

“I… I’m Hers… I…C-c-can’t without Her permission” the young man stammered, deeply afraid of what the demoness that held him in Hell might do to him if she were ever really angry. He imagined it might be a fate akin to being photographed in costume at an anime-convention and having the pictures go public; only, slightly less painful.

“You think you have a choice?” Lilith laughed musically, and picked the young man up by his neck, examining his body. The chain clinked behind him against the post as his legs kicked uselessly at the air, “I have quite the reputation for laying with demons, but if one of my daughters is willing to keep you around… then you must be worth it…”

The young man tried to free the hand from about his throat. The struggle was worthless; he couldn’t budge Lilith’s long tanned fingers. He tried pulling at her arm, but the hard warm flesh was like iron to his attempts. Lilith arousal grew with his struggles, and she decided to punish him a little for trying to defy her will. She enjoyed the fear in his eyes.

“Ack… ugk.. aarchh…” he was having trouble breathing, her tight grip was cutting his air. Lilith snapped the chain away from his collar with her free hand, and easily tossed him a few feet away. He landed painfully, and rolled over onto his side, on the cold, hard rock, only a short distance away from where the boggy marshes began. He had the strangest idea that he could hear someone complaining distantly about not looking at lights.

“…and if you aren’t worth it, I’ll take you to Limbo and feed you to Cerberus.” Lilith wasn’t serious. She’d seen the care that her daughter took for him in his mind, and was genuinely grateful that he had saved her. But she liked to play and this was a fun game. It would be good to take a little personal pleasure before the rigours of Hell.

“Plea… please don’t… I’m Hers… I’m…”

The mother of demons, the first wife of Adam, she who was first expelled from Eden, strolled over to the young man and kicked him hard enough in the ribs to put him flat on his back. She laughed again and slapped his face. He saw stars and yelped, blood trickling from his split lip. Lilith stood back, and held the toe of her boot against his throat. He suddenly knew what an accelerator pedal felt like.

“You still defy me? You DARE? I am Lilith! I am consort and mother to demons! I took Adam and started mankind’s corruption long before that snake’s whore Eve started scrumping! You are an insect. You are NOTHING!”

Lilith dropped her voice to a harsh whisper “Too long have you had it easy in Hell, boy.”

She liked watching him squirm, helpless before her. He felt his skin graze against the sharp, hard rocks. He realised his body was responding to her abuse, his meaty cock growing hard. Lilith wasn’t slow in noting it either, triumph blazing in her green eyes. She felt so hot, the visions of her daughter’s pleasure with this mortal had hotwired her sex to her brain.

She stood back from him, and incredibly pirouetted, turning in a blur. When she stopped, she stood naked before him, save for her boots. He saw then they went all the way up to her thighs, shiny black leather and laced. The wind picked up over the marsh, and goose-pimples formed over the man’s skin as he shivered slightly in this chill breeze.

He couldn’t take his eyes from Lilith’s gaze as she stood before him, hands on hips. She glared down at him, her face curled in a snarl.

“If you fight more, I’ll really make you scream.” Mike Tyson’s favourite pick up line, her voice cold and hard as the rising wind. He lay still then, quiet. The sky churned high above, like a first time goatse viewer’s stomach. He reached up and began to rub and jack himself, making himself fully hard for her. He knew the stories of how Lilith liked it; how that had cost her place in the garden.

She closed her eyes, and sifted through the memories she’d seen, the times he’d been taken by her daughter, obeying her every command, fulfilling a need for human companionship she’d seemingly developed during her forced exile on Earth; it reminded Lilith of a tale she’d once heard, of Lord Greystoke’s frequent visits to London zoo to fulfil his needs after his own accidental exile.

She moved forward, and then kneeled down, her ass on his chest. He kept on jacking himself, his eyes fixed on her pussy. He winced as she rubbed against some of his fresher wounds, and fought to urge to twist his head away as she reached a finger down and ran it through the blood drying on his lip. She slurped her finger into her mouth sensually; the sound made him shiver and he started to feel more aroused. He didn’t notice the irony, either.

Lilith reached her bronzed hands down, and took the man by the wrists. He let her as meekly as a puppy. She guided his hands up to hold her breasts and began to fondle herself with them. He quickly got the message of the massage and began to play with Lilith’s tanned and beautiful mounds. ‘For a woman who’s had so many children they sure are in great shape’, he found himself thinking.

Lilith closed her eyes yet again, resting her own hands on her thighs fingers resting on her boots, and enjoyed the experienced hands. Her daughter had trained him after all. He gently pinched and rubbed her nipples, his rubbing growing firmer, increasingly confident. Lilith’s breathing grew deeper, and he felt her sex growing wet on his chest, his cock began leaking a little precum, the scent of sex starting to overcome Hell’s odours.

“That’s good, boy, like that… oohhh… trained you well… more… yess…. There…” she started to pant, her eyes still closed. She wanted to climax purely from having her breasts stimulated. She lent over him, one hand rubbing his chest, the hard musculature, the welts and scars; the other she tangled in his hair and held his head back against the rough ground.

“Real good… arrrhh… arrrHHHHH!” Lilith was unintentionally moving her crotch against him, hurting fresher wounds and welts as it caught them. His involuntary flinching sped her towards her peak.

“My nipples… now… pinch them NOW!” he did rolling her nipples ‘tween thumb and forefinger to push her over the edge. Lilith screamed, beastial and crazy, and came hard. Rattlesnake fast, she was gripping his hands against her breasts so hard his wrists felt like they were clamped in hot fleshy steel vices, he groaned at the pain.

Of all the strange things that had happened to him since that stormy night in Norwich, this experience was straight in the chart at number one, ratfans. Yeeeeyyyyy! Raped on the shores of Hell by Lilith, overcome with her lust after viewing his memories. Lilith who now sat with chest heaving and body shaking. Lilith enjoying her climax as she had enjoyed all her climaxes since the dawn of man.

The man’s cock was straining, aching for use; twitching each time it nudged Lilith’s tanned buttocks, her smooth ass.

“Do… do you want me, boy?” Lilith asked, slowly releasing his sore wrists, “Would you father a child on me, like so many before? Would you send your seed after all the pitspawn’s I’ve tupped? It’s been an age of man since mortal painted my womb…” She was whispering again.

As he dropped his wrists onto his chest, the young man realised that Lilith was talking as much to herself as to him. He remained silent - his loyalty was to her daughter – though he wondered why she did. Was she crazier than a shithouse rat? Hell was a lot like a university faculty – if she were, it was doubtful many if any else would have noticed.

It seemed several minutes passed as Lilith drifted into closed eyed silence, the two of them still as the wind grew. Calm at the centre of a growing storm

Lilith moved first, opening her eyes. She took ahold of of the young man’s wrists again, regaining control. He was surprised as she gripped him gently, tenderly and moved his arms back over behind his head. Pinned to the ground with her breasts in his face. After only a moment’s hesitation, he began to kiss and lick Lilith’s sensitive flesh, suckling one nipple into his mouth, and then the other.

He groaned with pleasure as she wriggled back and impaled herself on his meat. He felt her leather boots against him. He could see only her breasts; smell only her as she began to ride him. She took all of him inside her, her juice utterly coating his ball-sack on her second thrust. He could hear her moaning, was surprised by her gentleness. The roughness replaced with sensuality.

He felt himself getting into it, the feel of her pussy a change after her daughters; her skin-sweaty taste less spicy, more human. In his mind it was She who rode him. The rocky sharp ground continued to open small cuts on his back, little grazes. An uncontrolled, yet subtle, blend of pleasure and pain.

They sped up together, moving in time; the short length of chain dangling from his collar clinking along with them. Lilith was humping herself on his cock trying different angles. Her ecstatic moans mixing with their skin slapping as he filled her. Lilith’s voice rose in pitch as she slammed herself down on him, chasing her climax, calling his seed. His hands were opening and closing against the ground as her grip tightened on his wrists; suckling and nibbling her nipples like a hungry child.

He felt her pussy contract, squeezing his meat, and they came together. Lilith’s scream sounded far across the bogs. His cock was wrapped in highest pleasure, shooting his sticky spunk as far up as he could, load after load. Lilith’s pussy streamed, it’s juices washing some back out, coating his crotch with her pleasure.

Finally they were done. He felt the warm breeze drying her juice on him, blinked sweat from his eyes. Lilith ran a gentle hand through his long hair, and slowly pulled herself off his wilting cock, her thighs were sticky as his crotch. She stood over him again, and their eyes met.

He saw proud Lilith, naked but for leather thigh boots; a beatific smile of satisfaction upon her face.

She saw her daughter’s toy, bleeding, sore, throat exposed, fresh bruising on his wrists. Apprehensive.

Lilith stroked her flat stomach, and held her hand against it.

“It will be a boy,” She whispered. He shivered.

“Sleep now.”

She blew a kiss at him, and he slept.

At the gates of Hell;

I sleep, dreaming of the world.

Does it dream o’ me?

End of part 1!

Will the intrepid rescuers find their friend in hell?

Will Jim-Bob buy another pint before Hell freezes over?

Will Pete lose weight?

Will Dave do something of interest?

Will either of those two characters get names?