Sissy Chrissy woke up naked in Hell.

 

 

There was no warning.

No light.

No comforting voice.

One moment there was nothing, and the next

she was lying on black volcanic stone beneath

a sky the color of blood.

The heat was immediate.

So was the shame.

Chrissy covered herself instinctively and

looked around.

There were no clothes.

No shelter.

No walls.

No place to hide.

Only fire, smoke, jagged rock, and distant

screams.

She was still herself.

Forty-seven years old. Tall. Slim. Feminine

in the ways she had worked hard to become

feminine, but otherwise unchanged.

Death had not transformed her.

It had exposed her.

 

Then the judgment came.

A voice rolled across the landscape from

nowhere and everywhere at once.

"Sissy Chrissy."

She froze.

"You have been judged for the sins of your

earthly life."

Chrissy looked around wildly.

"Who's there?"

The voice ignored the question.

"Your punishment has been determined."

The flames seemed to rise higher.

Chrissy's heart began pounding.

"What punishment?"

A shape moved through the smoke.

Large.

Low.

Animal-like.

Then Malachar emerged.

 

He was enormous, with rough blackened

skin, heavy horns, glowing red eyes, clawed

hands, and the hunched posture of

something more beast than man.

He wore nothing.

He carried nothing.

He needed nothing.

He was simply a demon.

Chrissy backed away.

The voice spoke again.

"You will serve Malachar."

Chrissy stared at the creature.

"No."

"You will remain with him."

"No."

"You will not leave him."

Chrissy's breathing became shallow.

"For how long?"

The answer came immediately.

"For eternity."

Chrissy went still.

Malachar growled.

The sound vibrated through the stone beneath

her feet.

"No," Chrissy whispered. "No, that can't be

my punishment."

The voice answered one final time.

"It is."

Then it vanished.

Chrissy was left alone with the fire.

And Malachar.

Except she was not really alone anymore.

That was the point.

Serving Malachar was the punishment.

Not a castle.

Not chains.

Not torture devices.

Him.

His constant presence.

His grip.

His refusal to let her out of reach.

The loss of privacy.

The loss of solitude.

The loss of choice.

Malachar came closer.

Chrissy stepped back.

He followed.

She moved again.

He followed again.

Then he reached out and closed one clawed

hand around her arm.

Chrissy pulled away.

He did not let go.

That was when she understood the sentence.

She had awakened in Hell naked, stripped

of everything she had owned in life.

And for the sins of that life, she had been

condemned to spend eternity serving a

creature that would never leave her side.

Malachar was not merely in Hell with her.

He was her punishment.

From that moment forward, there would

be no distance between them.

No door to close.

No room to retreat to.

No hour alone.

Only Chrissy.

Malachar.

The fire.

And eternity.

 

Sometimes Malachar's constant grip became

something worse.

Chrissy learned to recognize the change in

him before it happened--the way the demon's

breathing deepened, the way his arms

tightened around her, the way his animal-like

attention fixed completely on her.

She would tense immediately.

"No."

Sometimes she said it firmly.

Sometimes barely above a whisper.

But Malachar did not release her.

What followed is better left undescribed.

Chrissy experienced those moments not as

intimacy, but as another violation built into

the horror of her punishment. She would turn

her face toward the fire and focus on anything

else--the red sky, the smoke, the black stone

beneath her--trying to mentally retreat from

what she could not physically escape.

Meanwhile, she could feel Malachar's fiery hot

breath on the back of her neck as he inserted

his long, rock-hard demonic penis into her tgirl

asspussy. Her sphincter and buttcheeks would

instinctively close around it and squeeze it as

the demon shoved it deep inside her over and

over. Chrissy could feel the wide, hard demon

meat fill up her anal cavity and hit her p-spot.

After rhythmically gyrating it in and out, in and

out..in..in..in..getting deeper each time....the

demon gave an earth shattering yell of ecstasy

and blew its evil cum into Chrissy's anus. Chrissy

couldn't help it but also came, also orgasmed,

and squirted her semen, her sperm on to the

lava floor below her.

And afterward, Malachar still held her.

There was no separation.

No private place to recover.

No distance between one horror and the next.

Only his arms around her, the fires of Hell,

and the knowledge that eternity meant

there would always be another day.