Wrath James White presents Poisoning Eros I & II

by Monica J. O'Rourke

  “Angela?” No sign of her daughter. “Angela!”

  The shape huddled in the corner, curled into a fetal position and facing the wall was most definitely not her daughter, although Gloria had no idea who it might be. And she didn’t care.

  Until he rolled over to face her.

  “Oh my God,” she sputtered. “Dad?”

  He pushed himself into a standing position, pitching forward a bit on wobbly legs. His face was grossly scarred, and bones in his arms and legs had healed badly.

  “Gloria. Dear sweet Gloria.”

  She threw herself into his arms and sobbed, holding him again, pure joy. She thought she’d never again feel his touch, enjoy the warmth of his scratchy chin against her cheek. It had been so long. An eternity.

  “My god. Dad.” He’d died so long ago. Long before her porn and addictions.

  “But why are you here?” he asked, stroking her hair.

  “Long story.”

  “It has to be a mistake.”

  “Yes,” she said. “In a way. Not that I’d led a good life. I did … things. I’m not proud of what I did with my life.”

  “I know,” he said, fingers now entwined in her hair. “I’ve seen.”

  “You have?” She tried to gently pull away but his fingers were snarled, and he didn’t seem to be letting go.

  “Sure. They show us lots of interesting things in hell.”

  Gloria nodded, tried again to pull away. She felt uncomfortable now but figured it was just the usual. Almost everything in hell felt uncomfortable.

  “Oh, Dad,” she said, trying to enjoy his embrace. It had been so long since she’d seen him, and even longer since she’d had any normal physical contact with anyone other than Angela—and even Angela was stiff, restrained most of the time.

  Still …

  “Why are you here?” she whispered, trying again to pull away. Again unable. Starting to panic just the slightest.

  He leaned in closer, until their naked bodies were pressed together, until she felt his hot breath in her ear.

  “You weren’t the first,” he whispered. “But you were the best.”

  “What?”

  “Let’s not waste time with the psychobabble,” he said, and then laughed, spittle flying into her hair.

  She shoved him, tried to anyway, but he held tight, possessing some bizarre strength he couldn’t possible have held in life.

  “Let go,” she whined, reduced to tears, reduced to feeling once again like a small child, unable to protect herself. “Please,” she begged. “Don’t.”

  He forced her to her knees and followed with her, one hand holding her wrists above her head, his other hand roaming, fingers toying with her pussy. His tongue lapped at her breast, teeth razing over the nipple.

  She tried to fight him off, begged him to stop.

  He was too strong.

  “Tell me you want me,” he groaned. “Like you used to. Say, ‘Fuck me, Daddy!’ Say it.”

  “No! You never molested me!” She threw back her head, bucked her legs. “Get off!”

  “I plan to,” he laughed. He planted his knees between her legs and forced hers apart.

  “Don’t do this,” she sobbed.

  His huge cock was studded with barbs that shredded her flesh as he penetrated. She was used to agony, used to demons fucking her with their ridiculously oversized phalluses, but she’d never been so emotionally assaulted. Even rape by her aborted fetuses had been somehow impersonal—faceless, nameless little creatures. But this—this was her father, and she had no memories of what he’d claimed he’d done to her. You weren’t the first but you were the best. She only remembered a gentle, loving man who had died way too early in her young life.

  The thing crushing her pounded away, fucked her hard while biting chunks from her breast, chewing at the soft tissue until he’d bitten the nipple off. The hand not restraining hers squeezed and yanked on the other breast as if trying to tear it from her body.

  He jerked as he came, spastic shuddering, legs and ass quivering. When he pulled out, his barbed cock shredded a fresh layer of skin from her pussy.

  Gloria lay on the ground even after he released her, even after he climbed from her trembling body. She knew the wounds would heal. She didn’t know how easily she would be able to recover mentally from this assault.

  She crawled onto her knees, wincing in pain. The monster standing before her stroked his cock, and it was already growing hard again in his hands.

  “You’re not my father,” she said, suddenly realizing he couldn’t be. “My father was good. He … he wouldn’t be here. You’re not my father!” Gloria was crying, body hitching and jerking as it spasmed with sorrow. This was the worst thing she could imagine. Somehow she had never expected anything this reprehensible, never expected it to go this low. It sounded ridiculous, but she had somehow expected that even in the inferno there would be some standard of decency, some line they would not cross. Incest? Child molestation? If these were not off limits then nothing was. She felt more terrified now than she had in all her time in hell.

  “Of course I’m your father,” he said, licking his lips. “Don’t you recognize me?”

  Gloria scrambled away from him on her hands and knees, blood pouring from between her thighs like an open faucet. This couldn’t be her father. No one would do this to their own child, not even in hell. But even as she said it she knew that it was a lie. On earth there were fathers and mothers who used and sexually abused their own children, children far more innocent than Gloria had ever been.

  “If-if you were my father—stuck in hell like I am—you wouldn’t be rewarded. You wouldn’t be down here fucking whoever you wanted. You’d be getting fucked. You’d be getting raped and tortured and mutilated like me! You wouldn’t be allowed to fuck me. They wouldn’t let you have any pleasure!”

  “I’ve been here a long time, pet. I’ve paid my dues. I’m a demon now, a minion. It’s my job to bring misery to others. This is my occupation now, fucking whores like you.”

  “Bullshit.”

  ‘Believe what you want,” he said, stroking his engorged cock, avoiding the barbs. “Whatever makes you feel better. If it helps you cope.”

  He grinned. “Now come to Poppa.”

  “Get away from me,” she yelled, angry, afraid, repulsed by the slobbering thing in front of her. Whatever it was, father/demon, it was hideous.

  “Get the fuck away from me!” She kicked out at him as he reached for her. Her naked foot collided with his chest and knocked him back.

  But he wasn’t giving up that easily. “I said come here.” He grabbed her shoulders and knocked her to the ground. He ignored her punches and kicks and crying and pleading and easily shoved his cock inside her again, digging deeper, pounding fiercely.

  She couldn’t fight him. More than human, he was a demon, and he possessed a demon’s strength.

  “Fine,” she snapped. “You come here, you crazy cocksucker!” She wrapped her legs around his, pulling him in even deeper. The pain was staggering, brought stars to her eyes, his barbed cock carving her pussy into raw pulp. But she wouldn’t give up, wouldn’t give in.

  “What are you doing?” he gasped, still raping her but more slowly now, trying to pull away from her.

  “Doing?” she moaned. “I’m … fuh-fucking you!”

  He rammed her hard, going deeper, deeper still, until her stomach was one big cramp, until she wanted to vomit.

  But she wouldn’t give up. “Yes!” she cried. “Harder! Come on, is that all you got? Fuck me harder!”

  “Shut up!” he roared, and punched her in the mouth.

  “You suck at this,” she taunted. “Even the lowliest drug dealers could get me off.”

  His fists moved so quickly she couldn’t see them, couldn’t tell where one would land next. Her face was a bloody, bruised mess. He pulled out of her and continued the assault, punching and kicking until she thought she was going to black out.

  In a rage he ye
lled, his bellow shaking the chamber walls.

  His body dissolved into an advanced decay, liquefying into an ichorous flesh pudding that oozed out of her mutilated sex and into the cracks of the cave floor. That overpowering stench of death exuded from her once more as the demon’s putrescence continued to leak from her bleeding sex.

  Gloria lay on the ground for the longest time, until she was again able to get to her feet, able to at least try to limp away, knowing she would heal, and wanting to get moving before some other loathsome thing claimed her for further abuse.

  She staggered through the cave entrance, her legs trembling, blood cascading down her thighs, her nerves singing out in anguish. She found her discarded rags.

  None of this is real! Nothing could be this terrible. Even in hell there has to be mercy!

  She had found mercy in her demon, the one who had claimed her when she first came to hell. He had pitied her or loved her—or whatever passed for love in this necropolis of pain and woe—and had sacrificed himself to reclaim the beauty he’d once had as an angel of God. He had shown her mercy and that had allowed her to escape and find her daughter and the pathway to heaven.

  But hope and faith are human weaknesses.

  Weaknesses that hell viciously and casually exploits.

  Gloria wondered if her entire flight from hell had been preplanned, orchestrated to cause her even more pain.

  And what about Angela? Why isn’t she here? Could she be part of it too?

  Finding her daughter in the endless corridors of hell had seemed like a miraculous stroke of good luck. Now it seemed too miraculous, too coincidental. Countless millions of souls must inhabit these caves…. Yet somehow she’d managed to find the one thing in all of creation that she gave a fuck about? Stumbled across her in the dark? It wasn’t possible. It had to have been a trick. Maybe that wasn’t even her daughter, just as that grotesque thing that claimed to be her father couldn’t have been. Maybe Angela had been some incarnation sent to confuse her, to trick her, to guarantee that she would renounce her one chance at redemption and turn her back on God.

  Gloria staggered through the dark corridors, her mind reeling, trying to put everything into some coherent framework. Her thoughts dashed about and tripped through her head in riotous disorder. And then a new question, one that her father had sparked in her mind. Is there a way to become one of them? One of the torturers instead of the tortured? Of all the multifarious torments of inferno this constant state of confusion was by far the worst.

  The further she made her way through the inner corridors of hell the more the smells of blood and flesh intensified. Horrific screams of incalculable anguish echoed from every direction. She had become so used to the constant cries of torment that she failed to notice the increase in volume and duration until it was all around her, making her head feel as if it would split as the piercing cries lanced her skull. It sounded like thousands, perhaps even hundreds of thousands, being tortured at once. As if someone had filled a stadium with the damned and was now burning the whole thing down.

  Gloria rounded the corner and her legs collapsed from under her. Her senses screamed in denial, retreating from the overload of terrifying imagery.

  The Lake of Fire was apparently a mere artery of this infinite ocean upon whose banks she now stood. Thousands of miles of twisted flesh and bone seethed and undulated like a living thing, a vast creature that screamed out in pain from its every pore. Waves of liquefied meat crashed against the beach, spilling their shrieking contents onto the rocky earth before the next wave rolled in to drag them back into the sea. No horror she’d ever been subjected to in hell or elsewhere compared to the sheer magnitude of this abomination.

  This was the true heart of hell.

  There was no flame. No lava. The entire ocean was composed of boiling blood and fat and tears. Bodies in varying degrees of degeneration and regeneration crowded every inch of it. Most of them were screaming and praying and cursing, but it was the silent ones that Gloria found the most disturbing, the ones staring out at nothing, with minds empty of everything except their own unending agony.

  It was no different from the lake she’d seen her demon captive throw himself into, the ocean only shocking due to its sheer enormity. An endless sea of boiling humanity larger than all the oceans of the world combined. The concept of eight billion souls burning in hell was one that the human mind simply could not fathom, too large for the finite human mind to encapsulate. Seeing it was more than her mind could bear.

  Gloria tumbled to the cave floor, staring up at an endless sky of blue and brown and green, swirling like a vast kaleidoscope above that boiling ocean of flesh. It was not a sky of clouds and stars but a revolving world hovering miles above hell. It looked like pictures she’d seen of the earth from space and it rained an unending torrent of bodies into the cauldron of flesh and blood beneath it, as if Earth were defecating its human waste. A relentless deluge of the damned flooded the sky, hurtling toward hell a thousand souls a second.

  Angels with skin like untouched snow, with eyes like starlit night, hairless and sexless with wings three times the length of a human body swooped down among them, dodging in between the cascade of hurtling bodies, catching some before they plunged into the sea and carting them away. Tears spilled from Gloria’s eyes as she watched, wishing they would take her away as well, but there had never been an angel for her. No one to lift her up and fly her away from the horrors of the world. The only angel she’d ever known had been the demon who’d tortured and imprisoned her when she’d first arrived. Briefly she wondered what had become of him. What terrors he was being subjected to now that he walked damnation, undisguised, as a living example of God’s fickle mercy.

  She remembered him as she’d seen him last. Those midnight eyes that somehow still cast light, that seemed to swirl with every color of the rainbow and burned like exploding stars, skin like morning light, unmarred despite eons imprisoned in that tomb of disfigured flesh. He had been beautiful, the most beautiful creature she’d ever seen. Now he was being tortured because of her. She tried not to think about him being cut and burned and sodomized and whipped, his wings torn from their sockets over and over again as they regenerated. Being defecated on and pissed on as she had been at his hands. All the things they would do to him to shame and degrade him, to vent their rage and frustration at being trapped in inferno.

  Gloria tried to push these thoughts out of her mind, to concentrate on finding Angela. Angela was her priority. Still, her thoughts kept drifting back to her beautiful angel. She wanted to see him again.

  Perhaps he could help her escape. Even take her to heaven with him. Surely he has suffered enough. God would have to take him back. God has to have mercy for one of his own.

  But Gloria wasn’t so sure. She looked back out over the Lake of Fire, watching as more bodies fell into its scalding waters, trying to count how many the angels rescued. It was maybe one in a thousand. The odds weren’t good. She looked down at the souls boiling in that sea of liquefied flesh and wondered if God had any mercy at all.

  Then her mind shut down.

  She dreamt of her life before hell. Even in her current surroundings her life still seemed like a nightmare. She remembered the height of her porn career. The fame. The money. The sex. The drugs. At the time it had seemed like paradise. She had thought she had everything she could ever want. Now it all seemed like one great tragedy. She awoke screaming, the remnants of her last dream fading from her mind too slowly. The image of Vlad’s fat leering face still fresh in her mind, and the taste of worm semen haunting her tongue. She sat staring at the Lake of Fire for a long moment, her will diminishing more and more the longer she watched the ceaseless influx of the damned. It took all her remaining resolve to peel her eyes away from it and turn her mind back to her task. Find Angela. Find a way out of hell.

  She rose slowly and turned to the nearest tunnel, walking toward whatever fate awaited her. Now even more determined to find Angela and her angel. In
one or both of them she was sure her salvation would be found.

  Before she’d taken more than a few steps, she spotted the old man she’d met in the tunnel, the father who’d been trying to rescue his family from hell. He was alone now, and his face had fallen, as if all the vitality had been leeched from his soul. He stared longingly out across the Lake of Fire as tears ran the maze of wrinkles and worry lines down his face. Gloria recognized the expression: defeat, resignation. He was walking toward the boiling lake in a trance. Gloria was certain that he was seconds from throwing himself in.

  “Hey!” Gloria called out, getting no response. Her voice was swallowed in the ceaseless din of tortured souls screaming out for a release that would never come.

  She walked toward him and called out again, now so close she could have spit on him. Still, he gave no indication that he’d heard her. Odd behavior for a longtime citizen of hell, she thought, where constant wariness and vigilance was the only defense against victimization.

  Gloria reached out and grabbed his shoulder. He glanced at her with a look devoid of all recognition.

  “It’s me. I met you in the tunnel. You were trying to get to heaven with your family. What happened?”

  His eyes focused on hers and his mind slowly returned from wherever dark place it had been. “They made it. God took them back. But he wouldn’t take me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I was the one who convinced my wife to turn her back on him. I was the one who decided our children would be raised as atheists. I was the one who damned them. It was my fault. I’m the one who should be punished.”

  His eyes swam away from hers and his face once again began to take up that vacuous expression.

  “Then why did he send them here in the first place?”

  “What?” His eyes focused on hers again.