The Long Road to Paradise

"Two. The apartment is a mess. Amber didn't do her chores; she was so pissed off over some boy. Maybe her dad could have talked to her, where the hell was he?

"Three. Taxes are due next week. Have you even looked at those bloody forms yet?

"Four. My neck is so goddamn sore, I think it's going to burst a blood vessel. And where is my precious husband in all this? You know, the guy who hasn't had a raise in god knows how long? Would it kill him to give me a massage? He's thinking with his cock. As usual.

"Don't fucking touch me."

She rolled over away from him.

Mitt stared at her. This day had been too long, too weary, just too much. He felt a pain in his chest.

Thinking with his cock? That was true in a way, perhaps a bit more literally than Kathy had meant. He could not deny how many of his thoughts and dreams ultimately came from that direction.

He undressed and lay down in the bed, chest still aching.

How had his life ended up this way? Mitt had wrestled with this question many times, often coming up with long explanations, but that gave him no counsel on how to face the present. Or worse yet, the future.

What was life about anyway? Why do we live through things like this? What is it all for? What happens after? Mitt's mind was grappling with these questions, and his chest hurt so much...

His eyes opened. Where was he? He could feel nothing, see nothing, just a gray nothingness.

"I am Allah, the compassionate, the merciful."

"What?"

"Verily, I say to you, today you are with me in Paradise."

"What? I'm in heaven? Am I dead?"

"In truth, you have come to the end of your struggles."

Mitt struggled to think. Wait. Wait a minute-

"Allah? Wait, isn't that the Muslim name for God? I'm not Muslim. Does that make me an infidel or something? Shouldn't I be in hell?"

"I am Allah, the compassionate, the merciful. But many are the names I have. Whether you call me Allah or God, Vishnu or Zeus, Odin or Osiris, I am who I am. There are many paths that lead to me, and all who are righteous find me in the end."

Mitt tried to process this. Was this God? Or was he dreaming? And if this was God, why did-

"You sound...you sound female. Why is your voice female?"

"Allah, the compassionate, the merciful, is neither male nor female. But to you, Paradise is female."

It was then that he recognized it. It was Kathy's voice. Not the Kathy he had spoken to just now, but the Kathy of twenty years ago, the Kathy of the sweet, melodious voice he used to love to listen to, the young voice that he lost himself in endless conversation with.

"Kathy? I don't understand-"

"I have taken the voice of what your wife once sounded like because to you, that is Paradise. Of all the faiths of your world, only the Muslims knew what awaits the righteous. It is indeed as I told my servant Muhammad. They shall have seventy-two houris, and goddess amongst them is the one whom he loved best, and who loved him best."

"Wait. The seventy-two? You mean that thing with the seventy-two virgins? That's actually true?"

"You are a man who has known desire and longing and passion all his life. Did you think that Paradise would be as the Christians imagined it, with nothing but a harp in the clouds for all eternity? That which is the greatest of pleasures on earth is also greatest in heaven. And there is no fear or sin or betrayal here."

Mitt could, now, see beautiful girls appearing all around him. Blonde bombshells, sultry brunettes, redheads kissed by fire, black-haired Chinese ravens, exotic-looking Indians, doe-eyed black girls. Petite girls, tall girls, busty girls, tiny girls. All their own version of literally heavenly perfection.

This could not be real. Surely this was a dream. Soon he would wake up, and that would be that for Paradise.

Seventy-two virgins?

"We, the houris, are virgins, in that we are created for you and have been with no one else," said Stacy. "But we are not human. Angels might be a better word for us in your language."

Said Stacy?

"I am not the Stacy you knew on earth, but you harbored a secret desire for her, so it is her form I have taken. All that you desired, all that you have ever desired, is now yours." He saw, then, not just Stacy, but Melanie, the very first girl he had ever liked as a kid, now a full-grown woman in her twenties. He saw Deanna, she of the massive teen crush he'd never dared reveal, now in her turn a grown woman with an inviting expression.

"We are houris. We can take any appearance that pleases you."

They shimmered, they changed form. Girls would appear in any height, face, color, or shape he thought of. He saw every girl he'd ever liked, every girl he'd ever wanted, every random crush. There was every model he'd ogled in magazines, every porn star he'd jerked off to, every starlet he'd fantasized about. He saw the wife from his daydream, the girl from Tinder, the girl in the nightclub, the sorority girls, all smiling, all in his favorite outfits, striking his favorite poses, clearly ready to fulfill his favorite fantasies.

One last earthly thought remained. "What happens to women who go to heaven?"

Melanie laughed. "What do you think? They get seventy-two men to play with for eternity."

With that, all questions of theology left Mitt's mind. It was then that he noticed that his body was changed. There was a strength he hadn't felt in decades. He was like a man of thirty, a man of twenty again. He looked at himself and saw muscles, rock-ribbed muscles he'd never had before. And his cock - it was larger, more powerful than he'd ever seen, like a sword attached to his loins, a symbol of virility and strength.

Surely this could not be real. He would wake up, and it would all go away, would it not?

"Does it, in truth, really matter?" Stacy asked. Then she was kissing him, and he was putting his hands on her ass, her soft, delectable ass, and feeling her tits on his chest. No, it did not matter. Our dreams are our reality. Paradise is where we find it.

Melanie stepped forward, her breasts getting larger and larger, and then they were in his mouth. They felt so soft and delightful, and long he spent nuzzling them, feeling safe and warm and protected. She cradled his head affectionately against her, kissing his forehead, letting him bask in her warmth.

In a last moment of clarity realized Mitt that this should not be possible. You couldn't be kissing one girl and sucking the tits of another, simultaneously, could you?

"The laws of space and position do not hold here," Deanna purred. "You can feel any number of different things, all at once, and yet still appreciate them all, together."

He felt female hands, soft as cotton, touching him everywhere, drawing jolts of joy through his body. They stroked his hair, they massaged his neck and back, they caressed his ass, they tingled his legs and feet. But nowhere did he feel so many hands as his cock and balls, alive with pleasure.

He could do anything, at once. That meant-

And he saw, as if in a single glance, seventy-two tongues beckoning him, seventy-two pussies wet for him, seventy-two asses bending over for him.

Even if this was a dream, then surely, as the old quote said, it was worth sacrificing all the rest of life for a few hours of this joy. Deanna's tongue was licking his cock, flicking it like a banjo, driving him wild. Chanell, his favorite black porn star, was sliding him into her pussy. She felt - well, she felt like heaven, her delectable body under him, letting him probe impossibly deep inside her. There was Elisa, a pin-up model he had hungered after for decades, her ass a rounded testament to perfection, sliding that precious pressure on top of him.

No live person could feel this much, surely. Every possible sensation of pleasure was on him, every possible longing and hunger. Decades of desire for Deanna were fulfilled at last, her lovely mouth wrapped around his cock. Somehow that same cock was pushing deep into Chanell's luscious body, the familiar expression of passion and sluttiness on her face. Elisa's ass was bent over for him, its tightness engulfing him. He felt waves of passion, waves of joy, a whirling inferno of carnal pleasures. His hands were exploring more girls, while yet more girls were touching him, caressing him, fondling him, making him feel more and more impossibly alive.

Male power surged through him. His body roared like fire, pouring round after round of cum into Deanna's mouth. As she swallowed with a gentle smile, his mind spun with wild abandon, feeling the jism spurt into Chanell's pussy. At the same time - the very same time! - Elisa's ass, tight and strong and wonderful, clenched on him, sending courses of energy through him, taking his seed deep inside her.

In this place, one cock could do three girls, all at the same time. Maybe more. He wanted to take every one of these seventy-two beauties, again and again and again.

"That you will," said Elisa. "Your body does not tire here. You need no sleep or rest. Your cum does not exhaust itself. You can keep going as many times as you want. You will have the energy of a hundred men."

He looked at his girls, with wonder in his eyes and lust in his heart. Stacy smiled at him.

"And lo, we will be with you always, even until the end..."