A Cold Day in Hell

Annabel and Stella were sitting on a rock. The plain around was typical hellish grey, a field of ash and stone with an occasional sad excuse for a bush, with more thorns than leaves, clawing its way to life.

There was no ashfall today. It was frigid, as usual, but this was a decent spot. No smell of sulphur and the ground was almost entirely bone-free. The plain ended abruptly ahead, where a vertical cliff provided a lethal shortcut to the Settlement. In the distance, the looming towers of the Administration Building, spiked, sculpted and grotesque, rose infinitely higher than any of the half-ruined dwellings of the pathetic city sprawling around it.

And on top of the easternmost tower, a bell was ringing. It was eerily cheery.

“What the hell is that?” Annabel asked.

“Oh, it’s marking the start of the countdown—just 12 days till Christmas,” Stella said.

Annabel looked at her friend like she had told her the ash falling from the sky was edible.

“Christmas? This is the last place they would celebrate Christmas!”

Stella looked at her with exasperation.

“And just how long have you been in Hell, dear?”

“Well, a little under a year, but…”

“Is it all you expected?”

No. It wasn’t. It was always cold, for one thing, although there were a few rivers – streams, rather – of fire. The landscape was depressing, but there was no torture, and the demons were not horrifying. Tails, sure. Horns, aplenty. But those few she had met were bored bureaucrats, not evil spirits. She admitted as much.

“Right. And how long have I been here?”

“Eight hundred and thirty-two years,” she said meekly.

“That’s correct. So maybe I know better, yes?”

“But surely…I mean, why?”

“It’s part of the ceasefire agreement or something? Every Christmas, Hell can send one of us up there. Or maybe they have the right to take one of us? Not sure.”

“Wait, wait. There is a way out?”

“Aha. There’s some sort of contest, if you pass the test, you can go.”

Annabel jumped up, waiving her arms like Kermit the Frog. “What the flying fuck? Why didn't you tell me earlier?”

Stella looked surprised. “I sometimes forget you are new here. Don’t fret. This happens every year but only a handful have ever actually left. I suppose the contest is difficult?”

“You mean you’ve never tried?”

“My dear, I’ve been here a very long time. I’ve adjusted quite well."

Devil take the Hindmost

She entered the Administration building. There was a line for registration; much shorter than she expected. It seemed people really could get used to anything, if they did not bother to take this chance.

“Name and sin?” asked the monotonous voice of a demoness.

“Annabel Stone, murder. Can I ask, what is the contest exactly?”

The demoness looked up. “Sex.”

“Sex?”

“Sex. Twelve days of fucking. Make it to the end, and you get a ticket to the rich neighbourhood. If you want it. First-day activities begin in two hours. NEEEEEEXT”

Well, that wasn’t so bad.

***

The Administration building had running water. It was always cold, but she was used to that. She took a shower, preparing mentally for what was to come. She hadn’t had sex since she was alive. Nobody in the Settlement interested her. In fact, Stella was her only friend here.

She was led along with the other contestants to a vast underground hall. A demon ceremoniously uncovered the first image of a huge advent calendar on a soot-covered wall. It showed a satyr fucking a woman. Naturally.

Annabel had stayed behind the mass of other participants, gawking at the size of the hall and the floor mosaic. Feeling something poking her back, she turned to see a demon, not unlike the calendar’s satyr, whose monstrous cock rose from the height of her stomach almost up to her chin.

“Cool,” she said. With such a tool and the physique of a stereotypical ancient god, she could overlook the goat legs. The horns were kind of cute even.

He grabbed her by the hair and threw her face down on the floor. He pounded her like a jackhammer, his cock reaching deeper than she thought possible, setting her insides on fire. She passed out mid-orgasm, waking up in a pool of cum and her cunt's juices.

“Did I pass?” she asked an imp she imagined was the referee.

“Sure, why not.”

The following days followed the same pattern—brought to the great hall, the advent calendar revealing some new depravity. Day two was an orgy among the damned. She found that unsatisfying—getting passed around and switching partners proved tiresome and somewhat boring. On day three, an otherwise human-looking she-demon used her half-meter long forked tongue to lick Annabel’s holes in ways she had never imagined, making her scream such obscenities that would surely suffice to condemn her to Hell all over again.

She almost crawled back to the half-standing four walls she called a house. Stella was there.

“I don’t get it. I guess it’s hard to endure such relentless pounding for twelve days, but is that the only challenge? It's win-win.”

“Spite is all the Administration has. They got to devise their own stairway to Heaven and naturally came up with what seemed the most insulting design.”

There was no gradual escalation – the schedule seemed random. Day four was a simple fuck machine, except she had to stay strapped to it for what at least seemed like hours. Day five was bukkake day – the herd of contestants had already thinned out, but she didn’t notice, trying not to choke on unrealistic loads of demon-cum running down her throat, face and body.

By day six they had probably run out of ideas. Another satyr-like guy again, except this time the enormous cock took her ass. Joke's on them. She had expected something like that and practiced with dildos – plastic pollution in Hell was somehow not a surprise – the previous days, and though none matched that girth, she managed to enjoy it.

On day seven she ate pussy. A lot of pussy. Despite lingering superstitions, none had teeth, and although the she-devils clawed a lot, she loved it, at least before her mouth went completely numb. Day eight, she just sat and played with herself all day – no one was paying much attention to her and she wasn’t sure she needed to keep it up, but she didn’t want to spoil the prize.

On the ninth day – it must be the winter solstice, she thought – she was tied to a bed, with a long line of both demons and the damned (unclear how they were chosen, was there a separate registration?) lining up to fuck her. She took them all with a smile. On day ten she was whipped and fucked with a strap-on by what she could only describe as a "demonatrix."

Day eleven saw her getting fisted, from both ends. And that was it – one day left. One challenge and she could escape Hell. 

The Devil you know

On the last day, she was brought not to the hall, but to one of the great towers. There was no advent calendar here and only one demon waiting – no, not a demon. The most beautiful creature she had ever seen.

“Hell-elujah, if you are the last person I have to fuck, I’m ready.”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“You’ve already gained your pass. If you still want it.”

“Why wouldn't I want it? Have you seen this place?”

“This,” he said, waving a literal pass, signed and everything, “will take you to a place that is arguably much more pleasant. But ask yourself this, Annabel. Will there be Angels there with enormous cocks to fuck? Well, yes, actually there will be, but do you think they will be any good at it?”

“There’s more to afterlife than sex,” she said, a little hesitantly.

“No doubt. But, come here. Do you see that tree?” he said, pointing out the window. She forced herself to look away from his ass, and at the saddest tree she had seen in her life and death.

He read her look. “Yes, ok, it's pathetic, but a thousand years ago, there wasn’t the slightest sign of life. Apart from after-life, that is. Now there are plants. Such as they are, but give it another thousand years, and who knows? The air is certainly much less sulphury than it was before.”

He turned to her. “You don’t lose the pass if you want it in the future. But consider this: Sartre says that Hell is other people. He’s right. But so is Heaven. They're both other people, not places. And people can turn even Hell into something else. Something better.”

Somewhere above, the bell began to ring. It was Christmas eve.

“Merry Christmas, Annabel,” he said, unironically. 

“Merry Christmas, Satan.”