To Reign in Hell Ch. 01-06

"I think that we have a deal," I said, pulling out some parchment and pricking Becky's finger to let her sign her name with her own blood.

"But ... you already own my soul!" Becky objected, even as she signed the pact with me in spite of her protests.

"Yes, but this is an insurance policy, just in case the new King of Heaven chose to get cute and change the rules in mid-term, or whatever. In any case, come with me, Beck. Follow me to Hell ... you've signed away your soul in exchange for permanent access to my dick. Might as well get your money's worth, so to speak. Think of it. No more bills to pay. No more rent. No more job, except to please me. Yes, you'll have to share me ... duh, I'm no one-woman Devil, but still ... I'd give you more than enough dick to keep you well-fucked, both mine and others. As for torment, well, forget fire ... yours is knowing that you'll never be able to return to normal, never be free of your craving for my cock. It will become insatiable, this need of yours, whether you live on Earth or Hell. Might as well live closer to it, rather than far away," I encouraged her, fondling and scratching her ass.

"So, wait ... no fire searing and roasting my flesh. No hot pitchforks up my bum ... but that fine demon cock of yours buried in all of my holes for eternity? Okay ... but if you're lying about this, I'll make Hell truly horrible for you," Becky bluffed.

"Oh, pipe down ... if I were lying, you'd have no way of doing a damned thing about it. Now, follow me to Hell. I don't have all day. Imagine not having to deal with all that humdrum nonsense ever again!" I encouraged her.

Becky nodded and took my hand, at which point I held on tightly, my claws seizing her for all that I was worth, burning into her flesh. We both vanished from the room, reappearing in my throne room, Becky's remaining clothes being ripped off her body as she arrived in my new domain. Fucking that English tart again once she was mine for good was truly on the agenda, and I took her from behind, with her head on the seat of my throne, though this time I was balls deep in her ass. She got more than she could have ever asked of my cock. After all, I wanted to keep my end of the deal. Contrary to myths, we Devils always kept our word, so that our claim to those souls would be irrevocable.

I pumped Becky again and again as I enjoyed the inside of her asshole, its tightness and friction on my diabolical dick, her face being pushed into the upholstery while I sodomized her. Sweet Becky craved more and more of it, I could just tell now. Her whole body shook with her desire, as her flesh turned ashen to indicate her new status as one of the Damned. She was going to get everything that she had begged for, except her earlier request not to be damned to Hell, of course. Becky was now one of my playthings, and while I might discipline her now and then, actual torment in the same sense that John Wayne Gacy, Ken Lay, or Jim Jones suffered was unlikely to be her fate under my command.

Being a Devil, of course, I could get it up again immediately, and I now wished to do exactly that. I looked at Lilith and pointed to Becky's ass, causing her to lick her lips with lust as only a true succubus would. I touched her demonic pussy and made it suddenly turn into a cock and balls, much to Lilith's shock, as I kissed her hot mouth and tangled tongues with her.

"Take your temporary cock and balls ... and fuck Becky with it while I fuck your own ass," I commanded Lilith, who enthusiastically went to work, slamming Becky while I entered her.

"Oh, fuck, yes! Oh, damn ... fuck! Take me, you slut!" Becky pleaded for more fucking at Lilith's hands.

I completely reveled in ramming Lilith while she butt-fucked Becky, of course, the three of us having a train that Becky could never have believed if she hadn't experienced it first-hand. If Becky had a very nice, tight ass, Lilith's was truly hot as ... well, you can guess. I had to admit that while my girlfriend was still hot stuff, Lilith was much sexier, at least to my demonic self. Even so, I had a strangely sentimental love or feeling for poor Becky and I was glad to have her with me for eternity. I came again from fucking Lilith's sweet ass, but also from the realization that the worm had turned and Becky wouldn't try to control me ever again ... I loved knowing that she was under my thumb at last, just as I always wanted. It was about control ... about power, and I truly got off on that. There would be millions more souls at stake, but with apologies to Keanu Reeves and his bizarre movie character, there were only a few souls that I would come to collect in person ... and the top of that list was definitely Becky, my British girlfriend...

When Lilith came, too, deep inside Becky's bottom, I pulled both ladies up to my face for kisses to their lips. I tapped Lilith's cock and balls, turning them back into a pussy, and then I placed a nice, hot brand on Becky's flesh to mark her as my own. That was, I swore to myself, the last time that Becky would ever burn, despite being in Hell. I rose from my throne and took both girls back to Earth, in my bed with Becky, no less ... after all, there wouldn't be many more chances before the landlords took back our place, and I wanted to have a threesome in my old bed, for old times' sake.

"You'll keep your word, won't you? I don't have to stay here and work for a living, pay bills and all that, right?" Becky reminded me.

"Of course. This is just me wanting to fuck two girls at last in my old bed ... nothing more than that," I chuckled, to which Lilith responded with a wink.

"Except that no other two girls can be gifted with dicks of real flesh and blood now and then, to fuck each other without the need for strap-ons," Lilith observed, to which I reacted by suddenly gifting Becky with male private parts ... yeah, the night was very young ... there was a lot of fun to cum before returning to the hard work of governing Hell ... this was my version of Paradise, after all.

Chapter 3

I had just barely returned to my throne in Hell for about a week when I got a rather unwelcome visitor. It was the Archangel Raphael and he had a mission, evidently. His luminescence was striking in my infernal domain and I had to remind myself that I was once brilliant, a shining light of angelic holiness, before my fall from grace. I had joined Lucifer's revolt aeons ago and never regretted my choice, but it had cost me the radiance that still came so easily to this archangel. It was clear that he had a message to deliver personally to me, so I awaited his notice on my diabolical throne, opting not to rise from it yet.

"So ... Lord Asmodeus, is it? You are the new King of Hell? Very well, then. Lust reigns supreme, I can see that. Fitting, I suppose, for this new, more permissive age. Before you, it was Lucifer and his sin of pride. Anyway, I am here on behalf of the court of Heaven to speak with you, the new master of Hell. I represent, specifically, Lord Michael, the new King of Heaven. The new God, as it were. No longer is he simply Michael the Archangel, but now he has claimed the empty throne left by the passing of Jehovah God and Christ Jesus. Both are slain, as was Lucifer," Raphael rather dramatically announced to me.

"So, it's true. Sin has destroyed God and His Son, too. Well, that's the risk that came with their rather sadomasochistic plan for salvation, isn't it? If he hadn't been crucified, there would have been no old wounds to fester and reopen with their sin released into Heaven, would there? What do you want from me, Raphael?

"We both have better things to do with our time than taunt each other, my once comrade and brother, wasn't it? You have unrealistic nudes to appreciate and pretend that you're not lusting for them, of course. I have my own version of justice to deliver, rough as it is. It's my own idea of what these damned souls really deserve, not what Heaven prefers to believe. In fact, if you want Uriel back, you can have him. He's annoying and constantly bemoans his everlasting damnation. It gets old and pathetic after a while," I smirked.

Raphael scowled at my insinuation of erotic desire on his part, preferring to assert that he only enjoyed the aesthetics of nudes. We both knew better and were aware that eventually, he would have been banished from Heaven if Jehovah and Jesus hadn't perished. Lucky break for him, but he could never admit it. Michael just didn't have his former master's hang-ups about sin, not like Jehovah or Jesus did.

"Yes, as it happens, we do want the Archangel Uriel back where he belongs. In Heaven, with us. As for other business, we also want: Mohandas K. Gandhi, John Lennon, George Harrison, Mark Twain, Jim Morrison, Robin Williams, George Reeves, Liberace, and Freddie Mercury. You can have Jeffrey Dahmer, Ted Bundy, David Berkowitz, Joseph Smith, Brigham Young, John Taylor, John Calvin, John Knox, Pope Paul VI, Cardinal Law, Generalissimo Francisco Franco, Loyola, Torquemada, Joan of Arc, and Sir Thomas More. Evidently, More has annoyed Michael one time too many," Raphael brazenly proposed.

"Should we consider this at least a temporary truce, so we can both lick our wounds and recover, then?" I suggested.

"Well, I was thinking something more permanent, but that remains to be seen. How about we make this pact and see what happens after it?" Raphael replied, something in his face indicating that he was still trying to talk Michael into making a final peace.

"Fair enough, but why do you want rid of Joan of Arc? She was burned at the stake for your team. Is she that annoying?" I asked, truly puzzled by that.

"In a word, yes. She keeps preaching at me about the nudes, okay, and it's getting rather old. Maybe you can break her of that," Raphael answered, visibly agitated.

"Well, we will, but you won't get her back. Just a warning. Once we swap, this is a one-time deal. No more prisoner exchanges. Are we clear?" I declared.

"Very well, then. Let's do this now," Raphael called down the "saints" who were about to be damned, while I nodded, and had Lilith bring in those about to be turned over to Heaven for a different kind of torment.

Joan of Arc was furious and I could tell just how much she hated being consigned to Hell, but the real shock was the terror on Torquemada's face. Finally, someone had broken his calm, his sanctimonious serenity, and he dropped to his knees, begging Raphael not to give him to me. I smirked as Raphael kicked him until he ended up at my feet. Well, he had reason to fear this. I wasn't going to go easy on the likes of him. At least Franco and Loyola kept their dignity and pride in the middle of all of this, being the soldiers that they were.

Mark Twain grimaced a bit, but finally laughed when Robin Williams whispered a joke in his ear. In the past week, since I had stopped the unconditional torments, they had both gotten to lounge and joke a bit in my palace, eating potato chips, French fries, and hamburgers without getting sick or fat, and even drinking chocolate malts to wash them down. Gandhi stuck to a perfectly vegan treat, chocolate covered almonds. He wasn't even protesting this thing, of course, though he was admittedly not one for self-indulgence. He even had a heated debate (how appropriate for Hell, right) with Anton LaVey over that, in fact. Jim Morrison was enjoying one last acid trip and one last puff before he had to give up his drugs for eternity. Liberace and Freddie Mercury shared a last dance before leaving me forever.

"Too bad that you didn't take over Hell sooner, friend. You are quite the honest bloke," John Lennon assured me with a handshake before he left my presence for Heaven.

"Yes, and I'm just glad that I continue to spend eternity with John and with Gandhi. That's a real honor, whether in Heaven or Hell," George Harrison noted philosophically.

Uriel and George Reeves high-fived each other, knowing that they would make it safely to Heaven. I got the impression that Reeves was seeing Heaven through Uriel's eyes, not a realist's. Uriel was nostalgic for his former abode, but he must have forgotten what a jackass Michael could be (at times, though not always), and now the Archangel ran the show there. The rules might be loosened a bit, but only so much. Lilith and I had a running bet about sexual things. I thought that it would take a week for Michael to introduce marriage into Heaven, thus ending the total celibacy requirement there. She thought that it would take three days, tops.

Once Raphael had left with his trophies, I turned to Pope Paul VI and told him, "Not sure what you did to anger the new boss, but it must have been big. However, you haven't really pissed me off that much. I wasn't fond of your positions on sexuality and things like that, but that was your job and all that, what side you were on back then. I'll have Lilith find a place for you. No torment or anything like that. Just don't start undermining my plans for the new Hell and we'll get along fine. Capiche?"

The former pontiff answered quietly in Italian, and followed Lilith to his new apartments, reportedly pleased that he wouldn't have to pay any bills for electricity and such. He got a permanent supply of cannolis and cappuccino, and he was good. Amazing what consuming a lot of coffee and unhealthy food does one's mood, right? He also apparently looked at a lot of male nudity on Hell TV (my new network, full of interesting programming). This reinforced to me the old rumors of the man's repressed homosexuality.

I then spoke to Sir Thomas More, "Hey, what exactly have you been doing to anger Michael so much? I know that he isn't bound to follow the canon anymore, but damn! This I've got to hear!"

"I drew up a proposed constitution for Heaven, including courts of chancery, law, etc. I also proposed that all wealth be held in common up there as well, and the rulers stop flashing so much gold around. I further suggested that only God had the right to be King of Heaven, so that office should be abolished in favor of a Council. Then I proposed that a new Gospel be commissioned for Man, telling him the truth about what had taken place, this to replace the Holy Scriptures of the past. All of my proposals were rejected out of hand, but I continued to agitate for such reforms," Sir Thomas boldly announced.

"Wow, that would do it! A bit Luciferian of you, More. I'm impressed. I'm almost prepared to forgive you the burning of dissidents, especially in light of your own beheading by Henry VIII. Instead, I will make you roommates with Good King Harry and Thomas Cromwell for eternity. That will be a perfect punishment. What, are you shocked they're down here? They've been here for a good while, in fact.

"The King wasn't cheerful about his past torment, but I awarded him free pheasant, meat pies, English stout, and buttered bread for life, a Rhine maiden, and an MP3 player full of Bach, and he hasn't been happier. Cromwell required a typewriter, paper, endless ice cream sandwiches, a Thai ladyboy, and all of the absinthe that he could drink before he'd get over being tormented for centuries. I don't blame them. They were unfairly roasted for hundreds of years. They deserve a little pampering, but only a little. Now, what are your requests? Think well on them. They're everlasting. Women? Food?" I asked him.

"I want all of the drawings of Da Vinci's, Mona Lisa, maybe a fresh painting of myself by Holbein, the use of a Mac for anything that I want to write, a CD collection of everything Kansas ever sang, lots of pepperoni, deep dish pizza, iced tea, and a dominatrix to whip me into shape now and then, if you can arrange it," Sir Thomas coughed.

"I knew it!" Martin Fiske, who was now an incubus (by his own request) chuckled in response to that last part.

"Done!" I winked at Becky, one of my consorts in Hell and my former human girlfriend, who giggled a little in her new demonic body, her pointed tail swishing in response to her good mood.

"What to do with you?" I now looked at Torquemada, "Rack him for a thousand years, and then we'll review his case for possible parole."

Fiends now seized the architect of the Spanish Inquisition for some real, rather karmic punishment. He was to spend a millennium on the rack, just as a beginning, his body stretched and broken repeatedly until I was done with his torture. He shrieked as he was laid out on the rack for his new life of agony and torment. His screams could be heard halfway across Hell, in fact.

John Calvin and Cardinal Law were put into glory holes, forced to suck large demon cocks, nonstop, for the next three centuries, with the option on my part to continue or terminate this penalty. Their entire diet would consist of demon jizz and piss, of course, which turned out to be rather hot, burning their throats worse than whiskey. That would get them out of my hair for a good while, thank you very much. John Knox was made Lilith's personal toilet slave for three centuries, though only for number one, and he was also forced to eat her out whenever she wished it for that long. I figured that serving a succubus was a fitting penalty for his extreme misogyny.

Franco was sentenced to five hundred years in a replica of a Masonic lodge, with nothing but Masonic literature to read for that long, and having to be fed by men dressed as Freemasons. His wine was to be served from a chalice with Masonic symbols, and he was given only thin wafers like those used in Communion to eat, but again with Masonic symbols on the plate and the wafers themselves. Yes, his torment was deliberately kept more psychological than physiological, but no less agonizing for that fact, given his hatred of all things Masonic. The rooms were full of portraits of great Freemasons throughout history, too, such as Benjamin Franklin, George Washington, and Frederick the Great.

Ted Bundy and David Berkowitz were sentenced to be chased for a thousand years by mobs of angry brunettes armed with .44 caliber revolvers. If shot, they didn't die, just suffered the effects of flesh growing back, only to be struck by bullets again, and to have to stay ahead of the brunettes. Jeffrey Dahmer was to be partially eaten, repeatedly, by young Asian men, without the release of death to end the agony. His tortured cries were going to be heard by all for another thousand years. Every time a body part was eaten, it grew back, much like the liver of Prometheus with the vulture. The whole time that he was eaten, however, he was to be brutally sodomized by the Asian youths as well.

Loyola's punishment was mitigated by the mixed legacy of his Jesuits, so he ended up serving as Nietzsche's butler for the next four centuries. This meant wearing a tuxedo at all times, not to mention listening to old Fritz lecturing him about his Superman concept and how morality was subjective, not objective. On the plus side, he got to eat plenty of burritos and chimichangas, which he found too good to resist, and drink nothing but Spanish red wine. I found this to be fitting for a man like the founder of the Jesuits, to have to work for a lifelong atheist like Nietzsche.

"You three ... well, polygamy is no sin in my sight, but you also terrorized people, persecuted them, and several other crimes, including a racist dogma. However, it should be noted that you were also spoonfed a lot of nonsense by that Moroni character, who was just an angel angry at both sides, as I recall. He threw you guys under the bus, I can see that. Damn coward. Now he's back in Heaven, hobnobbing with Michael as if nothing happened.

"So, here's the deal. For the next thousand years, you're to be the plural husbands of Joan of Arc. Don't fret. I will ensure that she won't expect you to be faithful, but that's beside the point. You'll have to share your spouse with other spouses, just as your wives did, the only difference being that she'll let you fool around. She'll be your primary partner, but you won't know which one is hers.