Garden of Hellish Delights Ch. 08bybobsamade©
Er, this is where it gets a bit dark. In more ways than one. Though this section does focus on an interlude which could be dismissed as adolescent fantasy, but that's kinda the point.
It's something different anyway. If you've been following the series, I'd love to know what you think. I promise all will be explained by the end of it all!***
John was still feeling a little out of sorts as he wandered through the wilderness. Though he may have been under the influence of the demonic sap secreted by his previous captor, he had still formed what felt like a very real connection to the lover that held him tight inside it.
Her death it seemed it had taken a very real mental toll on him.
As he stumbled aimlessly forward, he saw her shrivelling face in every crinkled fern, every twisted shrub. The scream she had made -- it was like the screech of the mandragora he and several of his less gifted wizard chums used to uproot for shits and giggles.
Back then they had laughed themselves sick over a face on what looked like a sweet potato scrunching up and giving a piercing howl. The girl's scream wasn't amusing in the least -- it had chilled his very bones.
Still, at least he was free. That was something, right? Right?
A stinging pain from the head of his member distracted him. Looking down he could see the skin on his glans red and dry and on the verge of blistering. His shaft had several sores where the foreskin had cracked open.
As he stared in horrified trance at the wounds, the pain steadily grew as the chemicals he had taken on wore off.
He sank to his knees and screamed as a burning pain hotter than any coal engulfed his crotch.
None of the garden's other creatures had left him in such a state, but then none of the other creatures had ridden him as hard as the girl in the flower.
Minutes passed as an eternity with his mind helplessly focused on the pain, until eventually the sensation died away and he was left with a persistent tingle, as if he had rubbed his dick in a handful of stinging nettles.
When he regained a level head, he realised it had gone dark around him. For the first time ever, he had seen night in the garden. Had it really taken this long, or was he always incapacitated at night?
Probably the latter, he accepted glumly.
There was no moon in the sky, or even stars. Nothing but an endless black void, as if a bucket of ink had been emptied onto the pink canvas of the garden's daylit sky, and had spread across the entire work.
Yet despite the endless noir, moonlight seemed to be filtering in from somewhere and fell onto an isolated hollow tree trunk that lay on its side like a makeshift bench.
John wandered over and sat as he pondered what on earth to do next. He was never leaving -- that much he had accepted like Tara. But whereas Tara had resigned herself to an eternity of pleasure, even that fate was denied to him. Though he had not chosen capture during his last encounter, he had given himself to it with glee, only to have it ripped away from him at the hands of a mystery spellcaster.
He sank his head into his hands, while his elbows perched on his knees, and he began to cry.
It seemed he was determined to wander the garden forever in despair, forever alone. If he couldn't find a way back to Earth, maybe he could find a way to another realm of Hell, where some demon would be only too happy to consume his soul, ending it forever. If he played his cards right, it might not even be painful.
"Are you alright?"
A hand rested lightly on his shoulder as the soft feminine voice spoke to him. As he looked over his shoulder, the woman slinked round in front of him and stood to face him.
She had pale, sheet-white skin and a similar shade of hair, that fell about her in snow-white shoulder-length tresses.
Despite the cold hue surrounding them, her eyes were a warm cyan that welcomed his gaze and she was wearing a friendly smile.
As John's eyes inevitably fell down across the rest of her body, he saw she was wearing a strapless black dress that left her arms exposed and, like a tight corset, lifted her not inconsiderable chest, pushing it out. It looked like it was about to overflow and spill out in front of him.
The dress expanded outwards from her tight waist down to the floor, forming a bulbous crinoline skirt that gave John absolutely no frame of reference with which to guess the appearance of her legs.
"I'm fine..." he began, having long overcome his shyness around both erotic and bizarre physical attributes.
"Oh, you don't look fine, you poor thing..." she began, as she strode towards the bench. No... strode was the wrong word. It was more like glided, as if she was standing on a platform supported by several thousand ants.
John was beyond trying to fathom such things, or even caring.
"So, what are you after?" he began bitterly. "Sperm for food, for hunting or sheer perverse pleasure?"
"No such thing," she said without a hint of offence.
"I picked up on your loneliness. I'm here to comfort you -- my name is Matron.
"Whenever a guest finds this all too much, it's my job to comfort them. That's my job."
"'Guest'? 'Comfort them'? I'm supposed to be in Hell! I should be in a realm of eternal misery!"
"You didn't die," she said, with the air of someone correcting another's grammar.
"So you're a guest. Not to be harmed... too much."
"I think my dick would take issue with that logic," he muttered.
"Oh, come now. It's not really harm if you want it."
He stared ahead vacantly.
"I was cut loose. I didn't want to leave."
"Of course you didn't," the woman simpered, as she put an arm round his back and stroked a hand through his hair.
"I feel so... so sorry you had to go through that."
John could feel his eyes welling up. Oh God no. Not the waterworks. He hadn't done that in front of someone since he was 10. He could always remember the feeling, the pressure building, the knowing sense of inevitability, that there was no way out of this situation without an embarrassing bout of blubbing.
"I... I just want it to end!" he blurted, as his eyes contorted.
"I know. Oh, warlock... I know..."
"I... I was happy on earth and when I came here, I-I thought it would just be a matter of finding the exit and going, but now... Now I know there is no exit, there is no way home, there's just this forever and ever and ever... and I thought if I could at least stay happy it wouldn't be so bad but that's not going to happen, is it..."
"Oh, come on, please don't cry..." the woman said as she pulled his unresisting head to her, allowing it to rest on her enormous bosom.
As his sobs died down, John began to speak again.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have lost control like that...
"You're not a normal demon, are you?"
"I just want to help you... You shouldn't have to struggle through this alone."
"No, I don't want to..."
"I can help you..."
"What if I told you I can soothe all the despair, all the pain and misery away. If I could take it from you and leave only contentment?"
"It's what I do," she stroked his hair again. "It's the sole reason for my existence. To absorb the pain of others."
"Doesn't sound nice."
"Oh, I don't feel it myself. I only remove it. I take it away. I leave a hole in the most painful part of one's soul and fill it with bliss."
A rational man would have known that ripping someone's soul apart and stitching it back together could never be a good thing, but John wasn't rational. He was depressed, angry and above all else, desperate. Desperate for a resolution, desperate for release, desperate for an end.
"What do I do?"
"First, I need a kiss. To taste your suffering."
John was reluctant to lift his head off her chest. He'd found it quite comforting.
Slowly, he lifted his head to hers, parted his lips and leaned in.
Matron took the lead and pressed her tongue gradually into his mouth. She explored the inside of it, and extended it out further an unnatural amount, until John feared she might clog his airway.
She withdrew and frowned as she looked at him with eyes so deep he feared he may drown in them.
"You have been through the wars," she said.
Her eyes closed as she swilled her tongue around in her mouth. From inside her expansive skirt, a series of organic gurgles sloshed around as though her insides were reforming themselves before her eyes opened once more.
"I'm ready," she said, eyes locked on John's.
"What do I do?"
"Embrace me, that's all," she answered.
Matron got off the log and moved to face John once more and glided forward until the front of her skirt was pressing against his legs. Just as he was beginning to wonder how she could possibly sit on his lap, the skirt peeled open at the front, exposing a mass of squirming, wriggling flesh.
Organs slithered and curled like worms and entrails and the entire ensemble glistened with a slick coating of ungodly juice. John's face froze in a mask of shock.
"Don't be scared," Matron cooed, as the flaps of flesh opened wide to engulf him.
"You'll enjoy this."
Perhaps from the shock, or perhaps from the lack of alternative options, John went with the plan and embraced Matron, wrapping his arms round her mercifully intact upper torso, while the mass she rode on closed round his back.
It sealed down him, lifting his backside off the trunk until it too was covered inside the flesh.
Inside, the organ was delightfully warm, acting almost as a snug, moist chamber. Ripples and motions forced the innards against his own flesh and came away reluctantly with the oil sticking to both parties initially. His body and legs were massaged by the insides while something inherently sinful slid tightly over his cock and squeezed slowly and insistently along his entire shaft. Two smooth little spongy cups began sucking at his balls like the tight mouths of the world's hottest young porn stars but without the intrusion of teeth.
He gasped at the sensation as he gripped Matron before slumping into her once more.
As he rested his chin on her shoulder, she simply smiled evilly at his response.
His prick was tight inside something warm and slippy, wet and sticky and with every suck he felt almost like his balls were being drawn up with it.
Something flat and slippery lapped at his perineum while a hundred wriggling worms seemed to be engulfing his feet.
With the attention of the sucking organ and the delights of the chamber, John was helpless to prevent the build-up of pressure in his groin and the lapping at his perineum and sucking at his balls only stimulated him further as a hot load pulsed along his shaft in heavy shots. The head of his cock sang in happy pleasure as it did so.
He convulsed in a fit of pleasure, but the all-encompassing suction meant his body was held rigid as he rode it out.
Something small and spongy pressed at the entrance to his arsehole, sending an electric shock of pleasure forwards and along his prick as it worked against his sphincter.
He writhed helplessly at the feeling and the constant squeezing suction at his crotch scored another load from his mesmerised manhood.
"Mmm," purred Matron as she rode atop him, her torso astride the fleshy prison that had swallowed so much of him, sucking and kissing his flesh.
The organ that had so comfortably entered his anus squeezed, and at once a warm liquid squirted against the inner walls of his rectum, seemingly sinking into its inner walls rather than sliding along it.
As it did so, a hint of some form of greater pleasure flashed across John's mind. It was something beyond mere sexual satisfaction, beyond mere orgasm.
"Looks like you need another dose," observed a smiling Matron.
Another squirt shot inside him, much stronger this time, and spreading out noticeably across his body. Somehow defying his body's own physiology, a warm, thick liquid seemed to be spreading across him.
As it did so, he felt a stronger sense of that same bliss. The nirvana now overtaking seemed to be singing to his soul, caressing it, pleasing it, making love to it.
He closed his eyes and sighed, and orgasmed.
This time the load he shot was much, much thicker than before, but it came out much more lazily. It felt like it wouldn't have made the journey out at all had the suction delighting his member not assisted it.
As he came more fluid flooded into him, overwhelming his senses. His eyes closed as he gave himself to it, his body seemingly floating away.
Matron's flesh squirmed around him, and as he opened his eyes he was taken aback to find her standing upright once more, with nothing more of him than his head poking out of her crotch.
The liquid that had pleasured him so still seemed to slosh around him, and perhaps because all feeling in his body had seemingly left it, the orgasm now taking hold of him was one that sang to his very soul. It was everywhere and nowhere, his entire being simply filled with liquid bliss.
A slopping wet sound was coming from within Matron's folds, which seemed to compress -- as if his body was no longer there, or had been wrung, like a wet rag.
With that, his head was pulled inside with a wet, squelching pop. Inside her folds, it was dark, warm... and snug. He could no longer see anything, but the wet rubbery suction that gently pulled at his skin meant that wasn't bothering him.
Instead, his brain fizzled and short circuited as the bliss seeped inside, sweetly kissing it away.
Matron's voice came from far away, but while he heard the words, their meaning failed to seep in.
"Ahhh.... you're mine now, child. Mmmm... Your soul tastes delicious, I'm going to enjoy playing with it..."
He became aware of orifices, organs, tubes and sensations. It was if he was becoming one with Matron herself, and as it happened he heard moans of pleasure reverberating around him.
The cries of satisfaction of hundreds of others bubbled around him in a collective consciousness of exquisite pleasure.
He was surrounded by rippling, sucking, slopping flesh and it pulled gently at his mind itself, until he could feel it falling apart at the seams, as he gave himself to the encompassing nirvana...
White light throbbed and shimmered around him. The moans -- the moans were still there, but they faded, they withdrew...
John's eyes fluttered open. He was looking up a pale white ceiling. A lamp hung from an electrical cord, its bulb surrounded by a blue metal shade. He was lying in a single bed, all white mattress, duvet and pillow.
Looking down, John saw he had had a bit of an accident last night. There wasn't just a damp patch near his crotch, there was practically a puddle. What had he been dreaming of?
Oh wait... was it? Plants? Demons? He could have sworn he dreamt something even ate him -- literally swallowed him -- as well.
What the hell did he have to eat last night?
"John! Breakfast's ready!" called a voice from outside the room.
As he unsteadily got to his feet, he saw a neatly folded shirt and jeans combo laid out for him on a chair near the door. He pulled them on before making his exit.
Opening the door, he was greeted by a corridor of white wall, white ceiling, and white carpet. It was very... white. As he stepped out into the unusually thick carpet, his feet sank into the rich depths of it. Every step was like an exceptionally pleasant miniature hug against his bare feet.
It was the same as he went down the stairs and entered the kitchen.
A woman with a cream and white chequered dress was busy washing a few pots and pans. It was his... mother, that was it.
"Are you alright dear? You look a little off?" she said, catching the momentary signs of confusion crossing his face.
"Yeah, sorry," he grinned sheepishly. "Had a very odd dream last night, taking me a while to wake up."
"Sounds awful," she sympathised. "Here, have some breakfast, you'll feel better in no time."
She placed a white bowl in front of him, filled with milk. John reached for a spoon when he stopped.
Milk? On its own? Shouldn't there be something else...?
Oh wait, no. Of course. It was milk. What was wrong with him today?
Grabbing the bowl with both hands, he lifted it to his lips, tilted and drained it.
Within seconds of it flowing into his tum, he was already feeling better. Mum was as good as her word.
"Now then," she beamed. "I've got to head off for a spot of shopping, but your college classes are still postponed to this afternoon.
"They say they just need to check all their brand new equipment before it can be used, but they've ASSURED me, it'll be ready for your 2pm."
Equipment. Classes. Right. Damn college.
"In the meantime, why don't you go and see Ms Fir next door? She's just bought that new car, but say she's hopeless with them. You could show her what all the gizmos do."
"Er..." John remembered Ms Fir. She was in her mid-30s, seemed to be perpetually single and she terrified him -- mainly because he found her mix of physical beauty and flirtatious attitude a bit... compelling.
"Oh come on, you're 18 now," chided his mother, apparently thinking he was worried he'd be fussed over. "She'll treat you as a man, not a baby."
That's what he was afraid of.
With a mounting sense of trepidation, John knocked on Ms Fir's door and waited as footsteps approached for the latch to turn.
When the door opened, he was greeted by a vision of voluptuous beauty. The stunning bronzed woman standing before him had obviously just flung on her dressing gown, because beneath it there rested a skimpy babydoll and not a single rag more.
Not that John was looking -- as Ms Fir leaned one arm against the doorframe with the other propping open the door, the robe parted to fully expose the revealing number.
It hugged her body tightly, while a veil light as air almost floated round it. A hefty bosom pressed and strained against the cups, threatening to spill out at any moment.
Ms Fir gazed at him with an air of amused interest, brunette ringlets bobbing as she cocked her head to one side.
"Er... I... I... came to see... if you needed help with the car..." John managed.
"Oh did you now? That's so sweet! Come in, sit down, have a drink!"
"Thank you Ms Fir."
"Oh please, how long have we been neighbours? Call me Lucy. Come on in."
'Lucy' leaned back against the door to allow John room to enter -- though not much. He had to squeeze to fit past her, brushing against her chest in the process.
He couldn't help but feel she could have easily given him more space to get in.
Once inside the house he followed the entrance hall to a large lounge decked out with a large sofa, a grand piano, a minibar and an enormous television. The floor was covered in a soft fur rug that almost seemed to sway in a non-existent breeze.
THIS was living. Had she worked in some high-flying career at some point, or simply done a deal with the devil?
"Have a seat, hon. Would you like a drink?"
"Er... no, thank you Ms F... Lucy."
As he sat down, nay sank into the luxuriously soft cushions of the sofa, he took a look at what was being shown on the television. It was a music video showing a bevy of scantily clad beuaties gyrating on a stage set seemingly in nowhere, while a rig of lights ran pulsing sequences behind them.
They all had killer bods, and it became obvious they hadn't got into the industry through their voices.
Though he would normally have quite liked to see more, being in Ms Fir's house it would probably be a good idea to change channel to avoid mutual embarrassment.
John began to reach for the channel changer but had barely lifted his hand when a flash from the television stunned him. The lights behind the girls had flared up suddenly and dazzled him.