Hell and Its Pleasures (Prince of Lust, #2)

by Lucien Burr

What about me, who has tasted Hell on his tongue? Who would welcome it again? Who covets it; who would make a covenant with a Prince of Hell to live my days in that fiery torment?

If I have forsaken my eternal life at God’s side—a life of nothingness and internal peace, in exchange for the bliss of a body torn asunder by demonic desire—then there is nothing more for me here.

I will walk into Hell with my eyes on God and let the demons take me from behind.

I was giving up the mortal plane, was I not? My body, as it was, meant nothing to me. Here, on earth, I felt pathetic, worthless—but beneath Asmodeus’ lustful gaze, purpose burned to life in me. Worth was bestowed upon my body.

Prince, why have you left me here? Give me the strength to crawl to you. I will drag my body through Hell for you to touch me again.

I heard no voice, and saw no sign, but I felt it—I felt Asmodeus. I felt a calling, a claim on my soul and my body, and the urge to get onto my knees to dig my own grave, my own path to Hell, became almost unbearable.

God, all I wanted was to be had and had roughly, all I wanted was for this body to be worth something, I wanted pleasure, I wanted to be fucked--!

I imagined opening my guts. I remembered the feeling of Asmodeus inside me and the way those claws pressed against the skin of my stomach. How easily it could have punctured me, then. How easy it would have been to spill my internal organs, to have them cascade out in a steaming, looping mess across the ground. Asmodeus would have used that new hole, I had no doubt; it did not care for me, not in the slightest. And this lack of care—this true apathy, which sat in such stark contrast to God’s divine and endless love—aroused me more than anything else.

I turned back to the cave wall, which had ruptured. Cracks sundered the rock wall apart. From between the fissures, the smell of sulphur wafted out; my mind jolted towards it, encouraged by the reminder of Asmodeus, the smell of it, and how entwined with my own arousal the scent had become.

Perhaps lust overrode my defiance, or perhaps I believed entirely in this new religious purpose. And it was religious; Asmodeus and the experiences I had with it felt religious to me.

I quivered. I felt my cock straining. Without touch, it felt warm and firm and twitching. The skin of the glands felt dotted with pleasure, vibrating with it. I wanted to touch myself.

“Oh, I know that look. You are trying to convince yourself that, if you truly think about it, there is a moral need for you to open your mouth and let me slide inside.”

Stop fighting it, my gut said, my heart pleaded, my mind cooed. It didn’t matter who touched me. It didn’t matter what they looked like. I wanted to be had and used and wanted; I wanted this vessel to be made useful.

“We aren’t done, whore,” he grunted. His cock twitched in my line of sight, and I pushed myself up greedily, mouth searching; pathetic, I knew I was, I knew how I must have looked with the dust around me stained and wet and congealing with my saliva. I felt desperate.

I opened my mouth and whispered, “I have sinned.” “You have,” came the reply, and three taps to my cheek had my mouth open and searching for him again. I chased after his cock with my lips, but he pulled away. “Stupid little slut that you are. You have betrayed God, haven’t you?” “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, I have. Willingly. Happily.” “Tell me.” “I opened the gate to Hell. I murdered a man. I did it. . .for Asmodeus.”

“I love it!” I gasped. “I love it! I love being used like this!” “Used like what?” “Like an animal!” I cried out. My cock throbbed as I said it. My cheeks were aflame, shame and pleasure mixing. “Like I was made only for this. To pleasure others.”

Or the voice of him, in confession, asking, Alessandro, is that all you have to tell me? No. It wasn’t. We both knew it back then and we both knew it in that moment. I grunted and twitched, leaning back on one hand to thrust up with a renewed desperation. “I am a slut,” I whispered.

I was lying to myself, to this bishop, to God by omission. Emboldened, further aroused somehow by the deception, my cock twitched in my hand. I squeezed it again, grunting. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” I said.

And then, because I was beginning to enjoy this, because my body was edging ever closer, I slowed my movements, pulling down the foreskin to expose the glands to the warm air, staring at the precum leaking from the top. “Absolve me, Bishop Jonah,” I said pleadingly. “Let me come.”

His voice sounded low and heavy and I flushed thinking about his cum, thinking about him spilling it over my face. How degraded I would be—he was my bishop. I had seen him worship so thoroughly, so full of grace. Now, he wanted to come on me—now he was calling it a holy act.

“God, Holy Father⁠—” He came in warm stripes onto me. I closed my eyes just as the first splatter of cum hit my cheek. I kept my mouth open and panting like a dog to take his holy water onto my tongue, to take that absolution into me, and in this divine way I came, too.

And the more I thought of what Heaven would look like—a place still so devoid of what I wanted, and instead filled with the love of a God who, by His own standards, could not love me truly—the less I wanted to go there.

So, as I crawled towards the sound of the choir, I said aloud: “I am not God’s bitch.” Asmodeus in my ear, just a memory, whispered, “You are mine.”

What had God ever given me? Shame! Unrest! Unease of my soul! Guilt that felt tumorous in my chest and a rabid urge to tear myself apart just to make it all stop! And the Devil? What had he given me? Pleasure. An appreciation for my body. A gravity, an anchor for my soul, a reason to become myself.

God was in my head with His hands around my throat: Return to me! Return to me, you whore. God. . . or Asmodeus?

Its tail was thick and smooth, without the trident tip Asmodeus’ possessed, and the first wicked thought I had was about that thing pulsing inside me. How it might feel wriggling and warm as it worked its way inside.

And even if part of my heart longed for Asmodeus, a baser and more feral part of my soul desired anything that would have me.

Incense clogged the air, reminding me of holy sermon; if I closed my eyes, part of me felt as I had once in amongst my brethren, deep in prayer, waiting for God to touch me. But it wouldn’t be God who touched me now. Two sets of hands pressed upon my skin with an eagerness that had me shivering. “Open your legs,” one commanded, and I did it without thinking.

“Yes,” I said, and the three of us shivered as the air in the church shifted. “Yes, make me a creature of lust.” The taller one leaned forward and kissed my neck. Both its tongues slid over my body, and its four hands roamed, teasing at my nipples, pulling at my hair. The other creature reached up and pressed it hands against the cheeks of my ass. It spread them open. Spread me open for devouring.

It pressed forward into the cleft of my ass with its tongue outstretched. I felt its warm exhale drift over my skin. And then it licked. I whimpered.

I could conceive of a world where I was nothing but meat to be fucked, a set of holes for cocks to slide in and out of. I could be used until my body gave out and that would make sense to me. I could find pleasure in that degradation. But for something to try and give me pleasure? I had never felt so guilty. I had never felt so—wrong.

Both demons moved slowly, the first with its roaming hands, fingers gently circling my nipples, plucking at them, and then slowly sucking, each tongue long enough to reach both simultaneously. The pleasure pulsed down through my body as if everything was interconnected: touching the nipples felt the same as touching my cock. This, combined with the consistent roll of the other’s tongue over and into my hole, made me hard in seconds, straining high and leaking precum with such intensity it appeared like I had never touched myself before now.

I groaned. Halfway between shame and arousal, those words made my cock jump. I locked eyes with the taller, trying to maintain some semblance of composure as its spittle dribbled down my stinging cheeks, and its brethren fucked in and out of me with its thumb.

“Say it,” the demon growled. “I am your cocksleeve.”

If they were going to fuck shame out of me, then I needed to forget God. I needed sex to be my religion, an altar I could worship at, or be fucked over, communion the gift of their cocks on my tongue.

Fingers began to scissor my hole open, and then the way Asmodeus had done, the taller one’s tail pushed inside me. At the same time, its dual tongues lapped over my swollen cock.

“Stay still, little lamb,” one cooed. “You wanted this. You begged for it.” “Please,” I whispered, meeting the eyes of the one holding me in place.

And those four rough hands became six as the other demon held onto my thighs and pulled me onto its cock.

It started grunting short and fast, ramming deep into my guts, its grip tight around my thighs.

The other one lifted its four hands from my body and used them instead to tease my nipples and cock at once. Overstimulation hit me almost immediately. I forgot what I had been concerned about. I forgot to be embarrassed. I let myself get fucked, let the demon’s cock slide in and out of my dripping hole, and I rode the pleasure that pulsed in waves up my spine.

“Such a cock slut,” a voice said, and it echoed back with a choral harmony, near angelic in how it made me feel. Yes, I was a cock slut. Yes, I was desperate, and pathetic, and perhaps I had been born to be used for the pleasure of demons. That was my entire purpose.

I felt both their cocks pressing against my hole, their heads kissing the twitching open thing. United, they pushed forward, and pressed me open.

But as they kissed and slid further in, and as I opened, as my body relaxed around the thick mass of them, my mind—broke. Not enough to forget who I was. Not enough to forget wholly where I had come from. But enough that, as they impaled me, my head tingled so intensely that I lost all meaning except for this act. And by the time they were all the way inside, cocks twitching and pushing up into my guts, and I was rendered nothing more than a vessel for their pleasure, my mind and body had accepted its fate.

With my limbs forced above me, I hung weakly and open. I could offer no resistance; I was a hole to be used without end; I could die here and not impede their pleasure. Fear jolted through me and turned to a corrupted kind of pleasure—I was nothing but a piece of fuck meat, and whether I wanted this or not, they would take me.

They fucked into me. I knew I was warm and wet and tight, opening more and more with every out of sync thrust. They each fucked forward independently, so at every second an entire length of cock was inside me, and every second I had no break, I could barely contain myself. Both took advantage of the angle, so they could move in me at the same time, and they thrust up hard⁠—

The church smelled of sex. Like an unholy incense, it spread cloyingly to every corner; the smell of precum, of sweat, of the demonic sulphur and whatever naturally left my body. Condensation fogged the stained-glass windows and the light dimmed. I could see nothing but their panting faces. I was nothing beyond this moment, which stretched out the way my hole stretched, destroyed so completely I could never be anything more than this.

When they came, the first time, I thought I would burst. I felt the warm splatter inside me, and groaned from that unique pleasure.

I rolled my hips over the remaining cock in me. This demon locked me in place with its four hands and grinned, sliding its softening cock in and out a miniscule amount. That motion was enough to slosh the cum in my belly, and I whimpered.

“You want release?” the demon above me cooed. The other moved close to lick at my ear. It sucked on my lobe and opened its breathy mouth to whisper, “How long can you keep our loads inside you?”

The smaller demon moved to work both its hands up and down my shaft painfully slowly. I gasped and thrust, hole still plugged tight by the other demon’s cock.