tagHumor & SatireHell: We Can Damn You Wholesale

Hell: We Can Damn You Wholesale


Author's note:

This is very silly, doesn't contain a whole lot of sex and is certain to offend a great deal of people who make the mistake of taking it seriously.

Very fun to write, though :)


When Aziferal walked into Hermanarz' office his boss was pistoning into the new secretary, who was bent over the desk while her boss used her waist-length hair like a rodeo rider uses reins.

"Yes, what do you want?" the head of Acquisitions growled, without interrupting his rhythm.

"The Highest Court handed down their decision," the chief project officer replied, staring appreciatively past the young secretary's contorted face to where her substantial breasts were flattened against the desk and completely exposed from this angle by her human-leather bikini top.

"And?" Hermanarz stopped in full penetration and stared wrathfully at his subordinate. "Well?"

Aziferal couldn't stop himself tittering. "We got the Muslims!"

"WONDERFUL!" The senior demon's bellow broke the eardrums of three sinners who had been seconded to the typing pool next door.

"Let's hear the details!" He returned to his pumping, but even more vigorously this time, making the secretary grin maniacally and her fingers start to curl, her talons gouging grooves into the surface of the desk.

"I quote," Aziferal said, then adopted the sarcastically officious tone always used to refer to the highest beings who sat on the Highest Court, "'This Court finds no substantive reason why the religion of Islam should be counted as adequately distinct from the existing Judeo canon, and, with reference to the fact that the founding prophet Mohammed identified with the Judeo theology, and that Jesus Christ has a place in the Islamic order, places the religion solely within the Judeo hierarchy, alongside the Christian branches and sects. Therefore, all Islamic afterlife operations are ordered to consolidate with the Judeo Heaven, Purgatory, Limbo and Hell'.

"We've got them, sir!" Aziferal repeated with a gleeful cackle.

"FANTASTIC! That'll put us way ahead of our expansion quotas!" The damned souls in the typing pool, who were shakily wiping off the blood that had trickled from their rapidly healed ears, screamed in added torment again.

Hermanarz pulled out of the secretary, making her snarl in disappointed rage, and flopped back into his chair, his penis waving like a naval cannon. He had stayed at the Academy to pursue post-graduate studies in lust, which had ultimately lead to an upgrade of the succubi/incubi program and fast-tracked him to his current position as a second-tier executive under Himself, and his cock was not only permanently erect but so huge that only demonic magic made it possible for him to enjoy the odd damned soul.

He sat back and rubbed his hands together. "Now," he said. "The work is just beginning!" He stopped, suddenly. "Have the Mohammedans been granted leave to appeal?"

Aziferal cackled again. "No! They asked, and were told that any appeal in this case would be purely vexatious as the Court was convinced that no possible grounds for any other decision existed. The Mohammedans weren't half annoyed!"

Hermanarz laughed, a sound so thick it bounced off the basalt walls and knocked dust off the ceiling. Next door, the damned souls felt their eardrums burst, their bowels evacuate and their bones crack, simultaneously.

"Maybe some of them will end up as clients, if they don't behave themselves!" A second thought struck him. "Won't those pious bastards Up There get annoyed! We might get some of them, as well! But on to business. Lithilir," he continued, pointing to his enormous phallus, "Get that mouth busy. We shan't be needing you to take notes."

The interning succubi, who had been straightening her human-leather bikini button with all the signs of extreme sulking, her whip-like tail lashing from side to side like a cat two heartbeats shy of gouging its owner's eyes out, brightened up and dived on the manager's cock, her mouth opening wide and then grotesquely wider to accommodate it.

Aziferal could just see, past the edge of the desk, the succubi's neck distend like a snake swallowing a pig as she deep-throated, then her chest widen like a reverse corset. To get a decent stroke going, she had to grasp Hermanarz's scrotum and pull herself back and forth like a rower.

Hermanarz magnanimously waved a hand and sent his desk scuttling over to one side. "Have a go," he invited his subordinate.

Aziferal had to swallow to prevent his saliva corroding the floor, and stepped forwards, hiking up the polynesian pareo he affected in the office. A greed demon, his spindly frame and huge, leering mouth were his most prominent features, but all demons have a plastic physiology and he stretched his cock until it was long enough to suit Lithilir's existing stroke, pulled her bikini bottoms to one side again, considered briefly, and then took her arse, settling in comfortably.

"Now," Hermanarz said, all business, as the slender demoness settled into a steady rhythm between them, "we're going to have to be bloody careful they don't try anything, and will have to vet everybody. You'll need to liaise with Inhuman Resources about all the new staff we'll get - they'll all have to take a couple of demotions, of course, and be on probation for a decade or two, and we'll need to start building new punishments.

"I don't know how they do it now - I'll need a report on that - but I imagine you'll be able to use some of the new damned souls who are coming on as staff - devils, I love sexual perversity - and that reminds me, we've got a new batch approved so we're passing them around upper management for a year or two before finding places for them. I'll send a note to the holding pens to make sure you get first pick, you deserve it."

"Oh, thank you, lord!"

Hermanarz magnanimously waved off the gushing thanks. "You deserve it, I said! Now, can you get me a draft of the initial attack plan by, say, close of business next winter solstice?"

Aziferal didn't even need to consider - late at day, if unable to sleep, he had been sketching down proposals and ideas for many seasons as they waited for the final Highest Court decision to be handed down. "I can give it to you mid summer."

Hermanarz's obsidian eyes glittered - he knew exactly what his temperamentally greedy and restless project officer had been doing - but he said "Make it winter solstice. If it's better, it's better. And you'd best get to it. Take a couple of souls to help and if you have ideas, drop them on Lithilir's desk any time.

"Take her back, before you go."

Chest bursting with pride at this unexpected reward (not literally, although he had several cousins who had mastered the trick), Aziferal pulled out of Lithilir's arse, aimed and fired. In contrast to human physiology demons don't climax but they can cum at any time and thick, ropey strands of yellow gel burst from the end of his penis and slammed into the back of Lithilir's head, her neck, all over her back and down to her arse.

When he was satisfied, he grabbed a thick handful and shoved it into the succubi's cunt, pushing it up as far as it would go (succubi feed on sexual excreta, and demon cum makes a tasty snack in any orifice, or even absorbed through the skin, which was happening even as Aziferal watched) and then extracted his hand with some difficulty, Lithilir not wanting to let it go.

As he left, Hermanarz was humming a triumphal funeral dirge as his desk scuttled back into place, and as the vaulted doors to his office boomed shut close on Aziferal's waddling heels they cut off the manager of acquisitions saying "Another month of that and then I've got some letters to dictate."

When he got back to his office, Aziferal went straight to the head of his research department, opened his mouth and then noticed she had a new footstool. "Bel," he asked, "who is that?"

The obese gluttony demon looked up at him over the tops of her half-moon glasses. "New acquisition," she said. The soul she was resting her cloven hooves on was curled into a tight foetal position, sobbing, and repeating a mantra which Aziferal thought was "No, it can't be," which was understandable but lacked much as an explanation.

"He was a misogynistic, rapist skinhead who beat up women who were too fat," she explained with satisfaction, digging one hoof into his floating ribs to punctuate the sentence. "He can't accept that the Jews were fundamentally right and they gave him to me. Easiest punishment we ever devised, I reckon."

"You may be right, at that," Aziferal mused. Even the most deluded sinners came to terms with their situation fairly quickly and needed help to suffer, but he supposed there were still people so stupid and inflexible that mere existence was going to do it. Still, it cut down on the demon-hours needed to run the place and Accounting would be chuffed about that. He shook himself. Work to be done.

"Bel," he started again, "I need a report on the complete operations of the Islamic Hell. We'll leave it to Intake to review all inhabitants of the whole system. How soon can you get that to me?"

Bel gave him a smug look, which would have given most still-living humans nightmares. "Tomorrow," she said. "We just need to get it printed. We're running short on human vellum. We did a complete profile when the court case started."

"Bel, you're amazing," Aziferal said, honestly impressed. "Get the flayers working overtime if necessary and you have authority to use any extra sinners you need to get enough vellum. One copy each for myself, Hermanarz and the library. Sooner than you can."

When Aziferal left his office suite, Bel was reaching for the phone with the gleeful anticipation of the true professional.


In typical infernal fashion, Inhuman Resources was all the way across the vast, sprawling and labyrinthine Hell complex from their close colleagues in Acquisitions.

Demons weren't allowed to make their existences easier by exercising their powers of translocation inside the premises (remember where we are), so Aziferal commandeered a buggy pulled by two damned ponygirls dressed in crotch-high leather boots with horseshoes on the base and ankles forced into painful near-straightness, harnesses strapped to their hips, arms zipped into sheaths behind their backs and sturdy bits in their mouths.

Aziferal relaxed on the human-leather cushions as a stunted demon with long arms wielded a bull whip, and relished the delightful background aroma of mingled, discordant suffering as he was pulled along, the two ponygirls radiating an aura of perverted enjoyment that wafted back over him like perfume.

Aziferal had never tired of enjoying the Highest Court decision which had, in light of the ruling on Heaven setting the moral flavour of all actions (the now infamous "Killed for God" case), made the enjoyment of punishment secondary to the fact of the punishment being administered. It was that ruling, which had divorced the emotional experience of divinely-ordained punishments from the intent, which had allowed perverts to serve as staff in Hell and allowed the staff to feed off them.

In his more philosophical moments he had wondered just what the heaven the divine all-father had been thinking when he made the experiences of the flesh more important than the experiences of the soul, but he had done so furtively in case the demented old bugger caught on and corrected things.

In line with established practice, the journey to Inhuman Resources took an eternity. In consideration of the necessity of ensuring maximum torment through efficient governance, Aziferal reached Inhuman Resources in only a couple of hours and hopped out of the buggy with only a year's worth of stiffness in his back.

He took it out on the two human secretaries, who had been chained to their desk to the detriment of their families in life and were now chained to their desks, through large metal rods inserted through each thigh in wounds that never healed or calloused, in death.

Their cringing fear and yowls of pain put Aziferal in a better mood by the time he was ushered in to the inner offices where the Intake Manager, Mormora, greeted him like the old bitter enemies they were.

"Azi, you fatuous old pig! I haven't seen you since the last ice-age!"

"Moron," Aziferal replied, using the pet name that only he was allowed to, "How's things?"

The two embraced, then took a few moments to sort out whose body part was whose.

"Shall I invite in a chair?" Mormora invited.

"Oh, yes please. I can't get enough of pain and suffering today. Did you hear? We're getting the Muslims."

Mormora gave a howl of delight as he hammered with one knobbly fist on one of several brass buttons on his desk.

A side door opened and a solidly built male soul wearing a leather hood with eye and nose openings and a pair of leather shorts which were obviously painfully too tight shuffled in and got down on hands and knees for Aziferal to sit on.

"Now, what can I do for you?" the manager asked when they were both settled.

"I believe you've got a new acquisition of souls for staff."

"That's right!" Mormora snapped his fingers, a sound which ricocheted around the room several times before dying away, and began shuffling in a tray on his desk.

"I know Hermanarz sent a note about that," he said absent-mindedly. "Where the fuck is it. Oh, sod it. MARIA!"

His secretary, a soul wearing a very neat and stylish skirt, blouse and suit jacket made out of translucent yellow latex, entered, saw Aziferal and pulled a note out of the bundle Mormora was waving in irritation.

His expression cleared to one of triumph.

"Isn't she fantastic!" he boomed. "And she gives the best tit-fuck I've ever had from a human. Want a go?"

Maria turned towards Aziferal, licking her lips and beginning to shrug off her rubber jacket but, as tempted as he was, he was far too eager to get his hands on a new slave of his own and regretfully declined. She shrugged and began putting her jacket back on before Mormora stopped her with a snap of his fingers and pointed meaningfully to his groin.

The soul's breasts were E-cups and set close together on a thin chest, so it was no surprise Mormora wanted to fuck them as often as he could.

As she settled onto her knees before her boss, grabbing her breasts in each hand and slathering saliva on the tip of his cock for lubrication, he settled comfortably back in his chair and steepled his fingers together.

"Intake keeps sending us bundles," he said, ending on a grunt of satisfaction as his cock disappeared in Maria's flesh.

"They do all the processing, send a steady stream towards Sentencing, and put all the potential new staff to one side for later. Suddenly we get 50 of the perverts all at once. We'll run short, make do, then suddenly wham! We have to return everyone's calls. Makes unlife blessed inconvenient I tell you. Still, it's their department so it can't be helped.

"If I remember you, Azi, you want a female into torture and blood-work, is that right?"

Aziferal had to spit out a large glob of drool, dissolving a potted palm that Mormora politely provided for the destructive satisfaction of guests, before replying.

"Got one?"

Mormora chuckled, knowingly. "Got a couple. There's one that came to us with her clitoris and both nipples pierced twice, at right angles. She could do the same to other souls with her hair, that one. Can't see the appeal in those types, myself, but I have a colleague over in the Employee Confusion Program who can't get enough of them.

"Oh, well. Tell you what, let's go out to the hold pens and have a look. Maria, lean back, there's a good worthless slut."

The secretary bent backwards, raising her hips until her body was a bow from her knees, resting on the floor, to her elbows, with her arms locked and bracing her against the floor. She rolled her head back, an expression of contentment on her face as Mormora grabbed his cock, pumped it vigorously three times, grunted, and sprayed thick cum all over Maria's chest, from neck to waist, globs spreading glutinously all over her heavy globes and pooling in the slight hollow of her belly.

When he had finished she stood up gracefully, picked up her latex jacket and blouse and walked briskly out on her 6" heels.

"We have a soul," Mormora said meditatively as he heaved himself to his feet and, after a moment's consideration, decided not to bother with trousers, "who was condemned for I can't remember what, but who was an utter cock-tease. Used to promise anything - blow jobs, anal, whatever it took, then got men to go down on her first, then refused to go any further. Tasered a couple who objected to her going back on her word.

"Anyway, we found out that forcing her to lick cum was the best torment we could devise. So Maria, who has a good strong Mistress streak in her, is going to have the time of her death forcing the conniving whore to lick her clean and eat all of it." He gave a wistful sigh as he remembered the last time he watched, then shook himself vigorously.

"Anyway, that's not getting you a slave, is it? This way."

He lead Aziferal to the back of his office and out a door into an employees-only passageway which ran past all the holding pens.

They were sorted by dominant category - pony-girls and -boys, humiliation, whipping, anal whores, strict-restraint or predicament bondage and, Aziferal's favourite, piercings.

Two orgies were in full swing and at least one of the pens had the lost and sad air of a puppy with no master to tell it what to do.

Mormora stopped in irritation, pointed at the unrestrained strict restraint group and bellowed "Just fuck each other!"

Two men and three women occupied the end pen.

They were all kept in place by delicate silver chains connecting their piercings to various bars of the cage, but could easily reach each other. The men didn't interest Aziferal - he never could understand why the 1 in 10 rule on homosexuality among humans applied to angels and demons as well, and from all reports neither could anybody Up There - but the three women made him drool so much Mormora tactfully moved him sideways over a drain hole set into the corridor.

The one Mormora had mentioned, punk and with more metal than an armoury, had a dominate-me-I-dare-you look on her face which Aziferal, who preferred things easy and varied, found too much like hard work.

She was squatting over one of the men and making him fuck her by twisting the rings in his nipples. He was moaning in ecstasy every time she did, and slamming up into her tirelessly.

The second woman was licking the arse of the other man. He had so many rings in his cock she couldn't masturbate him, but he didn't look or sound as though he needed it.

The third woman had no piercings and was chained by a spiked collar with the spikes on the inside. There were three trickles of blood running down her neck already. She was passing the time using a hairpin to puncture her nipples and get a thin stream of blood running down her chest, where she used it to draw quite artistic designs.

Aziferal gurgled and had to spit.

She looked up at him with a calculating look on her face.

"Pierce your clit," he said hoarsely.

Without taking her eyes off him, she reached down, squeezed either side of her clitoris to make it stand up and slowly pushed the pin through.

Aziferal's cock bobbed up and through the bars of the cage.

She dropped to hands and knees, crawled forwards and engulfed it almost as soon as she grabbed it.

He shuddered and his eyes rolled up in his head.

"Her name's Victoria," Mormora said helpfully few seconds before she directed his jets of cum onto her hanging breasts. "Would you like her to go?"

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