The Time of His Life

"Cum in me. Give me your seed. Give me your soul. Give me everything."

Lloyd's cock responded instantly to her demand, throbbing in phantom pleasure before opening at the tip to flood her bowels with cum. His body burst with pleasure, heat spreading from his buried dick through the rest of his body as each spurt of white propelled itself from his tip. He buried himself to the hilt inside her, shaking and pulsing in her depths as her still-orgasming body wringed him for all he was worth, and more. As he flooded her with white, blackness filled his vision, growing each time his cock pulsed and spewed inside her. Before his orgasm even began to subside, the darkness had eclipsed his last sight – the shaking back and spasming wings of the demon that took his life – and he felt no more. In the last instant as consciousness faded, he heard her last words to him:

"I won."

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At long last, the frenzied thumping and mad howling coming from upstairs had come to an end. Father Albertelli resolved to give "it" a minute or two to compose itself before he would come knocking. That was the story, and he was sticking to it; his decision to stay seated had absolutely nothing to do with the bulge in his robes.

After a poignant silence, the aging priest dragged his reluctant body to the room of the presumably deceased, dreading what kind of mess he would be responsible for. Whoever decided that the clergy would be responsible for cleaning up these kinds of messes did not come from the Heavenly Host. Even outside the door, the air reeked of sweat, sex, and burning. It was with no little hesitation that he brought his hand up to the door and rapped thrice. He was answered with a frantic scurrying sound and a garbled vocalization that sounded quite a bit like, "Shit!" Unsure but uncaring exactly what form of treachery, blasphemy, knavery, or especially unholy admixture of the three may be afoot, he barged in with a practiced glare of judgment refined over decades of instilling the fear of God.

What he saw, however, was quite some distance from anything that he could have imagined. A slight haze of smoke hung in the air, tinged with sex but dominated by the smell of a recently extinguished fire. His eyes were drawn immediately to the center of the room where what remained of the bed once stood. A pile of scorched and shattered timber held barely stable above an equally blackened mattress, intact save for the man-shaped hole burned straight through the linen, down, and hay. Lloyd had deserved better, but he had little time to pity the damned when evil was surely afoot. Only a few dull embers still burned inside the wreckage, the majority of the fire having been already successfully extinguished by an immense pool of some thick, whitish liq- WATER. It had been mostly definitely extinguished by plain, ordinary water that contained no bodily fluids. Of this, he was certain. He was, after all, a priest. He knew what water looked like.

A sudden flood of light from the heretofore shuttered window drew his attention just quickly enough to see the nude form of the demon crouched menacingly – not to mention blasphemously – in the window. It shot him a glance over its shoulder, making absolutely no effort to cover its modesty in its haste to escape and likely sow evil and temptation elsewhere. As he opened his mouth to command it to halt, it threw itself out the window with unholy speed. Father Albertelli rushed to the window just in time to see the demon's hideous wings unfurl and propel their owner into the sky. The priest slumped to the ground as he watched the beast escape. His mouth, shaking with holy indignation after his close encounter with the Spawn of Hell, uttered but a single sentence at the creature's departure.

"Holy shit, it actually can fly."

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Lloyd stood stock still with his eyes clenched shut. Two possible explanations for his current predicament rolled around in his mind. The first was that he had just died, his life forcibly yanked through his dick by Allal. In this case, whatever greeted him when he opened his eyes was what he was going to see for the rest of eternity. The second was that he had once again been cheap and stupid, eaten moldy rye, and managed to give himself ergotism. In this case, he was very likely naked, covered in something brown he insisted was dirt, and alone in the middle of a forest, plain, or possibly even desert, depending on exactly how long it had been since he had his wits about him. Either prospect gave him little incentive to open his eyes.

While he lay on his death bed, he had imagined that an honorable life would have granted him salvation in death. It had only occurred to him as he had slowly regained "consciousness" that suicide by succubus had a pretty decent chance of being a rather weighty sin. Then again, this didn't really feel like Hell. It didn't exactly feel like heaven though, either. Perhaps he stood before the saints and angels, awaiting judgment? That seemed plausible, but that would mean that he had been standing in front of the choirs naked, with his eyes shut for...maybe fifteen minutes? That probably didn't look good. Maybe if he stood there for a while longer, they would think he was asleep? Fuck. Lying to an angel was also bad. Is that really lying, though? He was, after all, awfully nervous, and-

"Holy shit, how long are you just going to stand there? The fuck are you trying to do, pretend to sleep standing up?"

His bluff had been a long shot, no doubt. However, instead of sinking at the revelation that he had been found out, his entire set of viscera had migrated to his throat. He knew that voice.

"Allal?"

"It's a lot easier to tell if you open your eyes, you know."

"I am not falling for your tricks, Saint Peter. I know your game. You can't judge me if I can't see you."

Lloyd was reasonably sure that was in the Bible somewhere.

"I am not Saint Peter."

"That sounds exactly like what Saint Peter would say. Keep your judgment away from me."

The hard clack of hoof on stone filled the silence, stopping inches away from him.

"Would Saint Peter grab your dick?"

That seemed pretty unlikely, to be honest. Plus, he doubted Saint Peter had such feminine hands. That would have been terribly embarrassing. Still not entirely convinced he had not just fallen for a trap, Lloyd opened his eyes.

He was almost surprised when he saw a familiar angled, pale face set with glowing, inhuman eyes staring back at him. His gaze followed its natural path downwards, confirming the presence of salacious breasts, full hips, and a slender arm terminating in a relatively dainty (in comparison with Saint Peter) hand gently holding his flaccid shaft. That answered question number one.

Question number two was slightly more difficult. Rather than a literal hellscape composed predominantly of obsidian, bone, and flame, he found himself inside what was clearly a home. The walls were roughly hewn from some form of mildly ominous black volcanic stone, but the woven carpets and reasonably comfortable-looking benches and chairs were not consistent with his mental image of the Second Circle. Neither were the scattered pieces of decoration in the form of non-hideous statuettes and a hanging print that looked suspiciously like "Ritter, Tod und Teufel". Maybe the Devil got royalties? Even disregarding the engraving-turned-print, not much was fitting together here.

"I am dead."

"Yes."

"This is Hell."

"Also yes."

"Truth be told, I am slightly disappointed."

"Oh, don't worry about that. It's pretty terrible outside, but this is my home. You will be safe in here."

"That brings me to my next question..."

"Why are you here? I took your soul when you died and brought you back with me. One of the conditions we agreed to in order to travel your world freely was to only feed on dying men. It was a pretty good deal for both us and the Church. We got to eat without being hunted and they got to limit our 'corrupting influence'. We just failed to mention that when a succubus takes a life, she also takes a soul."

Lloyd wanted to be surprised by her news, but nothing was particularly shocking at this point. There was still one lingering question, though.

"So what now?"

"Well, you're dead. You can't very well die again, no matter what I do to you or how often I do it. For the rest of eternity."

She sank to her knees.

"Starting now."