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  Cover art by Chay Fox (ChayEbookCovers)

  One Man’s Hell

  Because even Satan deserves a soulmate

  Copyright © 2017 by Tanya Chris (www.tanyachris.com)

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.

  The Devil surveyed the man in front of him: slim, short, blond, powerlessly naked against the looming bulk he’d assumed for purposes of intimidation, but not intimidated. The man—Gavriel, his paperwork said—stood strong but not defiant with his hands clasped behind his back and his head down, sneaking little peeks up through his lashes at the magnificent manifestation of evil before him rather as though it turned him on.

  This would never do.

  He didn’t understand why Gavriel, whose record appeared to be stunningly clean, stood on the prickly square of carpet in front of his Throne of Judgement, but it was his job to figure it out, to torture the man sufficiently for his sins and then pass him on up to Heaven a clean and forgiven soul. It was a thing humans needed, apparently—atonement, forgiveness.

  The Devil didn’t exactly understood humans, but he understood his job and this was it.

  “Gavriel,” he intoned in his most monstrously deep voice.

  A shudder ripped through the small figure in front of him, which he would take as a good sign if the shudder didn’t ripple all the way down to the man’s lengthening cock. For God’s sake.

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “Lucifer?”

  Lucifer. Fine. The Devil went by many names, but he had a soft spot for Lucifer because it was the name God had given him back when he’d lived in Heaven with the rest of the archangels. If the Devil had ever had friends, Lucifer was what they’d called him.

  “Do you know where you are?” he continued.

  Gavriel glanced around, quickly surveying his surroundings: the Throne of Judgement, a stunning fountain of flames visible through the picture window behind it—that always impressed the mortals—the cavernous hall whose walls were lined with manacles and spikes and all manner of delicious instruments of torture, through which the occasional bodiless scream echoed.

  “Hell?”

  Gavriel didn’t sound convinced. What more did the man need? Fire, torture, imposing devil figure. All the boxes were ticked here.

  Lucifer sighed. He liked his job. He really did. Or at least the physical aspect of it. It was the tortured souls part that didn’t always do it for him. Like, why did it have to be so angsty. Couldn’t a soul just enjoy what it enjoyed without all the emotional baggage?

  “Yes, Hell,” Lucifer confirmed. “I assume you know why you’ve been sent here.”

  Gavriel took stock of his surroundings again. A small smile graced his face, so hopeful and sweet it would’ve sucked the breath right out of Lucifer’s body if fallen angels actually needed breath or had corporal bodies.

  “I have an idea.”

  This was the part where the mortal was supposed to confess his sins. He’d sentence them to an appropriate penance, punishment would ensue, and all would be forgiven. The mortal could go on up to God and Lucifer could move on to the next sinner, of which he had a never-ending supply. Thank you, humanity.

  He did enjoy his job, and this tempting morsel in front of him would be particularly pleasant to torture. Lucifer could already hear his pitiful screams, could see the graceful way his body would writhe in pain.

  Maybe something with spikes, he thought. Gavriel would look lovely in spikes. He hoped the sin that weighed on his soul justified a nice, long session.

  “Well?” he prompted when no confession was forthcoming, but Gavriel had his eyes back on the floor and he didn’t raise them now. “Do I have to torture it out of you?”

  “OK.” Gavriel’s cock bobbed in a ridiculous fashion, seconding his words.

  Lucifer knew that fear released hormones in mortals that occasionally caused unintended physical reactions, but he was starting to get the idea that Gavriel wanted to be tortured. Which was … nice.

  He so rarely got masochists in Hell. Either they felt like they’d been sufficiently punished for their transgressions on earth or they recognized that punishment didn’t count as punishment when it gave you a fucking hard-on. Which would make this version of Hell ineffective.

  But, OK. Gavriel wanted to be punished and God knew (God being all-knowing etc., etc.) that Lucifer wanted to punish him. This was going to be good.

  He took a mental peek into the purgatorial lobby and found a half dozen souls waiting, but let them wait. They probably believed they deserved it anyway.

  Gavriel was already naked. Not all souls showed up naked, but a surprising number did. It was the humiliation aspect, Lucifer figured—Hell being the worst thing they could imagine and nudity dovetailing right into that—but Gavriel wore his nudity proudly with his shoulders back and his posture perfect, right down to the submissive angle of his neck.

  Lucifer found himself wanting to see the eyes that fronted Gavriel’s soul, so he wafted down off his throne and put a sharp-tipped nail under Gavriel’s chin to tilt it up.

  Brown? Black? The lighting wasn’t good in Hell.

  He stared deeper into eyes dark enough to be almost colorless, except … yes, a hint of grey surrounded pupils blown wide. Dilated pupils were normal for mortal eyes in dim lighting, but he could see from Gavriel’s faint tremble that something more was at play.

  He ran his thumb over Gavriel’s lower lip, feeling his breath hitch in response. Gavriel wanted this. Really, really wanted this. He wrapped a hand around Gavriel’s throat and lifted, pulling him right off his toes until they were face to face. Gavriel’s feet dangled uselessly several feet off the ground. His eyes flickered shut as he exhaled a breathless fuck.

  Lucifer laughed his most sadistically evil laugh, the one that terrorized mortals, but there was a hint of joy in it today. He carried Gavriel by the throat through the echoing hall. Gavriel didn’t need to breathe, being dead and all, but he wouldn’t know that. Breathing was a habit many mortals never did give up. Even Lucifer enjoyed a good gulp of air now and then.

  But Gavriel didn’t struggle. His body was a limp, surrendered weight in Lucifer’s powerful grasp, almost as though he trusted him.

  Lucifer walked faster. There was no hurry—eternity was eternity, after all—but anticipation lengthened his already-long strides. The echoing moans and screams recorded from sessions past, which reflected true terror, not this lovely acquiescence Gavriel was gifting him with, should’ve have lent atmosphere, but they unexpectedly rankled. He didn’t want to hear anyone other than the man at hand.

  He cut the soundtrack off with a thought, leaving the long corridor quiet except for the sound of Gavriel’s strained breath. He picked a doorway at random, his attention too focused on the man who watched him with placid eyes to keep track of where in the labyrinth of the lower regions they were, and was pleased to discover the room held a rack. Gavriel would look stunning stretched out. With spikes. He remembered the spikes.

  Being the Devil had its perks, one of which was that he only needed to wish Gavriel onto the rack to have him there. His pale limbs, bathed in firelight—those picture windows open to the central pit of Hell in every room had been a stroke of design genius—were stretched unnaturally long. His delicate lashes formed crescents against his cheekbones, and his cock stood upright, defying gravity in its fiercely engorged state.

  “Look at me,” Lucifer ordered.

  He’d put on his best horns that morning—the long, curved ones, which he vaguely wondered if he could fuck Gavriel with. Maybe later. He’d gone with a darker-red skin tone, almost black with just a shimmer of color when he moved. Very elega
nt if you asked him, and Gavriel appeared to appreciate it.

  Gavriel’s gaze moved slowly, head to toe, over Lucifer’s corporal appearance, snagging for a long moment on the inhumanly large cock, which he had to admit he wore only out of vanity, before rising to meet Lucifer’s.

  “You want to be punished, don’t you?”

  “Please. I deserve it.”

  “Why?”

  In his eagerness to torture the man, he’d lost track of the fact that he didn’t really have anything to torture him for. He mentally re-summoned Gavriel’s record and frowned at it. Nice to animals, tolerant of his fellows, made his bed in the morning. No criminal record, no prayers lodged against him. No long list of prayers from him, either. If he’d experienced trouble in his life, he hadn’t complained about it.

  “Why?” he demanded again.

  Whatever Gavriel was flaying himself for mentally that made him think he needed to be flayed physically, it must be too trivial to leap out at him in his excited state.

  “Please?” Gavriel said, his tone exactly right. That begging need, the hunger of it.

  He dismissed Gavriel’s empty rap sheet and stepped closer to him, allowing the fiery warmth of his skin to make Gavriel’s sizzle. Gavriel gasped as his flesh rippled and popped under the scalding heat.

  He ran a claw down the center of Gavriel’s chest, watching a branded line form as he moved. When he reached the spot just below Gavriel’s belly button where his cock bobbed, red in the firelight and hard enough to bounce, he lifted his sharp-tipped finger and paused. He met Gavriel’s eyes, then, with a wicked smile, closed all five claws around Gavriel’s balls and squeezed.

  Gavriel’s screams hit his ears as the smell of burning flesh hit his nose. He watched his talons sink into the tender flesh, cauterizing as they went, creating smoking craters. He changed it up so that his fingers cupped Gavriel almost tenderly and Gavriel moaned, low and grateful, as Lucifer stroked him with a hand that was still much too hot for comfort.

  He leaned in, letting his mouth sizzle against Gavriel’s ear. “I want you decorated. Want to see you wearing the Devil’s charms.”

  “Yes,” Gavriel hissed.

  Lucifer used his thumb and index finger to mold Gavriel’s right nipple into a hard point. He snapped his fingers and a bauble appeared between them. He pinched it around Gavriel’s nipple, deforming the metal until the metal deformed Gavriel, until only a purple dot of flesh peeped through the constriction.

  “Pretty thing,” he said, referring not to the glittery ring of platinum and diamonds but to that nubbin of tortured flesh. He stroked over the tender point, strumming the pain, meeting Gavriel’s fiery eyes above it.

  He revolved the rack slowly, admiring Gavriel from every angle, but settling eventually on a view of his backside. Gavriel had an outstanding specimen of human ass—pale and round, unblemished and eager. Lucifer reared his hand back and let it make contact, watched the responding jiggle, listened to Gavriel’s assenting gasp. His hand made a bright red splotch, each finger separately delineated, his palm print a hotter red in the center. He laid down a swat on the other side for the sake of symmetry.

  “More,” Gavriel pleaded when he paused too long in his admiration.

  “I’m the Devil here.”

  “Be the Devil,” Gavriel urged him. “Punish me.”

  Goaded into action, he flailed the ass in front of him, covering it with handprint after handprint until the prints overlapped to form a glowing red sheen that covered Gavriel’s entire ass—both cheeks and that tempting crest below where the swell of his ass met the top of his thighs and below that too, the tops of his thighs as red as the rounded hills of his cheeks. Gavriel pressed back to meet him, his ass dancing under his hand, seeking it out, then swaying away again.

  He put a hand against all that red, feeling it hotter even than his own skin. He rubbed, sealing the heat in with a bubble of impermeable air so that Gavriel couldn’t avoid feeling every blistering degree of his punishment.

  Gavriel looked over his shoulder. “So hot.”

  Yes, hot. Heh.

  Wait.

  “Are you being funny?”

  In all his eons in Hell, no one had ever cracked a joke, not even him.

  “I’m being honest,” Gavriel said. “It’s really fucking hot. But also, you know, hot.” He snickered.

  All right. Game time was over. It was time to teach this mortal a lesson.

  Lucifer strolled down the wall of torture implements, window shopping to find the perfect weapon to show Gavriel that Hell was not a playground. He took down a riding whip—four feet long and razor thin. It would cut with the first stroke, which should put an end to Gavriel’s merriment and maybe also to the inappropriate erection which hadn’t subsided. Lucifer’s own cock projected from his groin in a manner he liked to think of as fearsome, but Gavriel’s erection was disrespectful. And also distracting.

  The first stroke of whip against skin produced a satisfying red line across the thick of Gavriel’s shoulders and an equally satisfying shriek of pain from his sassy mouth. The whip was so sharp that the line of separated flesh produced very little blood—like a long, stinging incision all the way across his back.

  Lucifer added another and then another. With each strike, Gavriel winced and cried out, his back arching under the force of the relentless blows, a graceful dance of jerk and response.

  The lines crisscrossed down his back in alternating stripes—left to right, then right to left, until Lucifer could no longer find an unmarked inch to aim for. Here and there, drops of blood oozed where the whip had cut particularly deep. He put his tongue to one, savoring the blood and the hiss of burning flesh as his tongue cauterized the wound. His mouth moved from one drop of blood to another, winding its way across Gavriel’s back to absorb and seal each precious point of pain.

  As he worked his way lower to those cheeks that were still red hot, he knew he needed to be inside the ass that moved to meet him. With a snap of his fingers, he had Gavriel bent over a spanking bench, untethered but unresisting.

  He moved to the front of the bench to show Gavriel the cock he’d soon be impaled on. When Gavriel lifted his torso to get a good look, the head of his own dick peeked out from under him, still hard and now wet.

  Lucifer reached towards that glimmering head with a talon-tipped finger. Gavriel’s eyes opened wide as he saw what was coming. He dropped quickly, sheltering his dick with his abs, but Lucifer wrapped a hand around his neck and raised him to expose that precious peep of cock glimmering with a smear of pre-come.

  Gavriel shook his head. Lucifer smiled. He touched the tip of his talon to Gavriel’s slit and listened to the pop of roasting skin as he effectively sealed Gavriel’s dick shut. There, let him try to come now.

  “Fuck,” Gavriel moaned. A shudder ripped through him.

  Lucifer cupped his own balls, lifting his package to present Gavriel with the heft and hardness of his instrument. Gavriel licked his lips in an anticipatory way, so he added some length and thickness, plumping the head to unnatural dimensions. When Gavriel’s eyes grew hungry and hazy, he grew himself even bigger until those eyes widened with fear.

  There. That was better.

  He stepped forward and pressed his unnaturally bulbous cock head against Gavriel’s lips, letting him lick and suck at the tip, letting him struggle to open his mouth wide enough to take it in, letting him imagine his ass adjusting to that same bulk.

  Despite what appeared to be a genuine effort, Gavriel wasn’t able to get his mouth very far down Lucifer’s elongated shaft, and as fun as it was listening to him choke and gasp and try, he wanted that red hot ass, so he moved behind Gavriel and made his fingers slick—more to prevent unnecessary abrasion to his own dick than out of consideration for Gavriel’s ass—and worked them inside. His fingers ended in sharp spikes and were fiery hot, but Gavriel somehow managed to be grateful for them, pushing back and writhing around in a way that had him even more eager to get his cock buri
ed in there.

  He used his thumbs to pull Gavriel’s hole wide, then pressed his dick against it, seeing it cushioned lightly, only the tip of the tip inside. The fleshy flesh surrounding his slit felt to Lucifer like cool relief.

  He eased forward slowly, watching Gavriel’s hole stretch wider to accommodate him—so perfectly snug, so impossibly flexible. Inch by swollen inch Gavriel accepted him until he hovered at his cock’s widest point. Gavriel’s groans were continuous now as his asshole struggled to remain stretched at the full width of Lucifer’s bulbous cock head.

  Fuck, that was so sweet.

  He lingered—wanting to push in and wanting to be right there with Gavriel whimpering on his cock—and then he went in fast, driving deep in a single stroke. Gavriel screamed and kept on screaming as Lucifer rammed into him, over and over—brutally, with inhuman speed, his talons carving furrows in Gavriel’s hips, his cock burrowing beyond Gavriel’s capacity to absorb it.

  He should have activated the recorder. Hell should have no other soundtrack than this, than these anguished, glorious screams.

  But no, this was just for him. He’d savor it over the lonely eons to come, would relive these moments.

  Gavriel’s feet flailed, his legs too short to reach the floor and his kicks too weak to feel like more than gentle strokes against Luther’s shins. He tried to raise himself, his abdominal muscles straining to lift his torso off the spanking bench, his arms reaching back to grab at the demon who fucked him.

  Lucifer wrapped an arm around Gavriel’s body and lifted him. Gavriel’s back bowed like a wooden lady on the front of a ship, his dick pointing the way as Lucifer plowed into him.

  Still hard. Gavriel was still hard. And his hands, which could now reach him, were clinging to him, straining to pull them tighter together, yanking Lucifer’s head forward until he understood what Gavriel wanted and lowered his mouth to rip at Gavriel’s neck with hot, sharp teeth.

  The metallic warmth of Gavriel’s blood flooded his taste buds and he came with a roar. Gavriel convulsed like he was coming too. His dick twitched and his balls pulled up so tight. An agonized shriek ripped from him, reminding Lucifer that he’d sealed Gavriel’s dick shut.