The Road to Hell
Featuring the evils of Pollution, Pestilence, Crowley, Famine, War, Ligur, and Hastur because they often intertwine and cannot be separated.
Famine stood beside the shining mini-bus, a picture of perfection. At least he thought so. The bus had been newly painted and buffed until it shone. Much like he had done to himself: freshly scrubbed and shaved, until he was the epitome of flawlessness, nude in all his glory. He cast a despairing look at the others who had gathered. They did not look nearly so beautiful in their nakedness, and for a moment he wished the rest of them had dressed. Then he dismissed them from his thoughts. After all, they were not worthy of more than a moment's consideration. He ran his fingers through his hair, enjoying the soft, silky strands as it gleamed black in the morning sunlight, just like the chrome bumper. A manicured fingernail tapped on the clipboard, as he consulted the list. "Crowley," he said in a bored voice. He did not even bother looking up as the stunning thin man made his way to the door of the vehicle.
Famine shimmied his bony hips, knowing the women behind him would be watching. Tall, shaved in all places, his large dick bouncing and swaying with every step. Women had been known to fight over his long, lean legs, which now propelled him towards the bus. He placed his foot onto the first step, as he flipped his gorgeous raven hair over his head and winked at the women waiting their turn. This was going to be an interesting trip; he just knew it.
As he boarded the bus, Crowley's eyes automatically went to the only person who was sitting in their means of transportation. Pollution looked terribly out of place on the crimson velvet seats. Their beauty was a distinct offset to the creature slumped upon them. The man looked...unkempt was the only word he could think to describe him. He had long straggly hair, which had most likely never been combed, and a face had never been washed. As Crowley walked closer, he could detect the distinct smell of something very unpleasant coming from that body. His skin was covered in dirt, so much so that it almost looked as if he were wearing clothes. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and sat in the seat opposite to him. Pollution did not even bother to turn around or offer a greeting. His gaze was fixed on some unseen point off in the distance, a vacant expression on his face.
"Hastur."
The man with raven black hair scowled. It just figured that Famine would call his name after Crowley. It ate away at him, the inferiority he felt around the lower demon. If only his wings were a little bigger. If only his claws were a little sharper. If only his reach were a little longer. He was almost at the bus when he stumbled, his hand flying out to catch himself just before he fell. If only he were a little more charismatic. He could kill Crowley. His frown deepened, as he made his way up the steps.
"Ligur."
His heavy footsteps rumbled, as he made his way towards the steps; his great bulk shaking with each step he took. His stomach growled loudly. He hoped they would be allowed to eat on the bus. It had been such a long time since his last meal.
"War and Pestilence."
The two horsepersons made there way towards the entrance. Pestilence pushed his shoulder into War, as he made a quick move towards the doorway. It would not do to be the last one. His name should have been the first called. He was the oldest one here, after all.
War's hand moved with great speed, ensnaring Pestilence's sandy locks with hard, cold, fingers, forcing his head backwards, halting his progress all together. No one pushed the mighty War around. Not without paying that is. She smiled wickedly, as Pestilence squirmed in her grasp, trying to free himself. War's orange eyes were almost red, as she watched impassively while her free hand formed a fist and slammed Pestilence right in the jaw. The man tumbled to the ground. "Wait your turn." Slowly, War made her way to the bus.
Pestilence seethed, but there was nothing he could do. War was much better and stronger than he. And there was much, much worse that could happen. Of course, the trip would either be very long or very short. Either way, Pestilence would make sure there was enough time to get what was his due.
With the last passenger on board, Famine tucked the clipboard neatly into the glove compartment of the bus, took the driver's seat, and shut the door. He unfolded the map that had been resting on the dashboard, consulting it carefully. Famine pored over the directions, trying to make sense of it all. There seemed to be no scale so he could not tell how long the trip to Hell would take. He folded the map back up, and started the bus. It didn't really matter anyway. Either way, that was where they were going, and he was going to get them there.
As they traveled along, Pollution continued staring out the window. Crowley watched him with interest. What was he looking at? There was nothing here but cow shit, cow shit, and more cow shit. There was nothing worthwhile to see outside, just the same boring sight. He moved a little closer, looking intently. He wondered if he could tempt him. He was a man; at least he had the equipment. And there had never been a male so far that he had come across whom he could not entice even Aziraphale. He would be no different. Plus, he needed something to do to pass the time.
Crowley slid into the seat next to Pollution, ignoring the smell. After a moment, he didn't even notice it at all. "Hello, Pollution. I'm Crowley. Nice to meet you." He held out his hand.
Pollution didn't move a muscle. He just continued to stare at nothing. Not about to give up so easily, Crowley leaned forward and shook his hand near his face. That usually got attention. Pollution didn't even blink.
Crowley took a look again to make sure he did have the right equipment. Maybe it was broken. It was hard to tell under all that grime. He needed something to clean him with, so he could see a little better. Rummaging through the pocket of the seat in front of him, Crowley found a small cloth. Well, it wouldn't clean all of him, but certainly enough of him to ascertain what he needed to know.
Crowley brushed the fabric over Pollution's limb cock. He frowned. He had only succeeded in moving the dirt around a bit, not really cleaning anything up. The tempter started to gather a huge wad of spittle in his mouth, before he spit it on the resting prick. Then he started to rub vigorously.
It did not take long for things to start happening. As he cleaned his cock, adding saliva when needed, not only did Crowley discover that Pollution did have a magnificent penis hidden under all that dirt, but that it worked extremely well. Soon, it was clean and standing proudly at attention. He smiled, pleased with his work. Not that he seemed to notice at all. He just continued to stare out the window at the tainted land. Well, he couldn't leave an upstanding prick like that unattended; it simply was not in his nature. So, Crowley lowered himself to the seat, lying on his back so he could admire his own cock, and put the cloth in his lap before resting his head there. After all, it wouldn't do to get his hair dirty.
Ligur's ears perked up at the sound of someone slurping. Food. Drink. Something, anything edible. It was all he required. He peeked out into the aisle and saw Crowley's luscious legs sticking out, his knees wide apart. His shaven balls glistened with precum. Ligur's stomach rumbled loudly. His favourite food just got offered on the menu: hot, wet, cum. Not about to deny himself the pleasure, he squeezed into the space between the seats, kneeling on all fours, and buried his face in his soft ass. Eagerly, he lapped up the salty, musky liquid Crowley offered him, while he moaned in delight.
Famine glanced in the rearview mirror, seeing Ligur eating Crowley. He frowned as he peered at the endless shit, which stretched in all
directions. He really had no idea where she was going. The map was of no use at all. He let out a frustrated hiss, and continued on, hoping this was the right way.
Meanwhile Hastur heard something, he was sure of it. It was probably one of the others, talking about him. He was sure they were all discussing how he was not good enough to even be with horsepeople. Angrily, he stood up, intending to give them all a whipping with his tongue. He was not prepared for the scene before him. Crowley's eyes were closed, as he sucked on the dick in his mouth, his body glowing, flushed with passion. Ligur was ravenously eating from his ass, as if he had never tasted one before. The trio paid no attention at all to their surroundings. It was as if he did not exist at all for them. Rage burned inside him. How dare they ignore him this way? What was wrong with him? Why didn't Ligur want to eat his ass?
He should be the one who was sprawled out across the seat, without a care in the world as a man pleasured him, not that stupid Crowley.
Would Ligur even notice if he touched him? He wondered. He seemed so lost in what he was doing he was not sure he would ever be able to get his attention. Did he matter so little? He was going to find out. Without another thought, he sat down in the aisle behind Ligur, and spread his ass cheeks wide apart. He did not even acknowledge him. Well, let's see if he'll respond to this! His tongue flicked out over his tightly puckered hole.
His body jerked, his cock leaping up to hit his pudgy stomach. Hastur smiled. So he did notice him after all. He probably wished it were someone else. He licked him again, letting his hand drift down to his cock, spreading his legs. Dragging a finger along his own length, Hastur found it hard with his horniness. He settled on his base and started to work, as he continued to move his tongue along Ligur's hole.
War watched Hastur sitting right beside her in the aisle. Stupid whore.
What a slut he was. Just look at him. But worse than that, those withering and twisting bodies had not even asked her to join in. Well, who needed them? She stood up in front of Hastur. If he wanted to act like a horseperson, she would treat him like one. He was licking Ligur's ass-hole like a dirty little bitch. War leaned over him, resting his hand on the seat on the other side of his body and spread her lips with the other hand. She started to wank, right in front of his head. She was going to cum all over his hair, and there was nothing he was going to do to stop it. After all, it was no less that he deserved.
Pestilence watched the five of them, locked together in their sins. He was not going to be left out either. He wanted what he wanted. And looking at those five bodies, he wanted all of them. But first he would start with War. He rubbed his sore jaw. That woman owed him. He climbed over the seats until he was in the one War had just vacated. That nice tight ass was just begging to be taken. Pestilence was not one to ignore an offer like that. In one smooth move, he parted those butt cheeks and forced his way inside that snug hole.
And so the six demons began their dance. Their bodies withering and twisting together, so it was impossible to tell where one started and the other began. Indeed, they all seemed to be enjoying not only their own weakness but the others as well.
It was only Famine who stood apart. He watched them all meshed together in the rearview mirror. He did not think of joining them. After all, they were not good enough for him. But as he watched, he could not help but let his legs drift open over the velvet seats. He let one hand dip inside his legs, surprised to find himself so hard. She looked around again. There was nothing in all directions except shit. He had no idea where they were anymore. It seemed that they had been traveling in circles. Indeed, Famine could see tire tracks in the shit in front of him, which matched the bus' wheels. The map was hopeless. There was no one to ask directions, even if he wanted to. Which he did not. At the moment he was entirely too frustrated with his inability to accomplish what seemed to be a very simple task. What he needed was a break, Famine decided. So he stopped the vehicle where it was, put it in park, and turned his attention to where it was needed. After all, what would it really hurt if he indulged himself just a little? He deserved it, after all.
Both hands glided over his body, cupping his full balls, lifting them up as if offering them to someone. Famine had yet to find someone worthy of touching him, other than himself. His dark pink areolas tightened and puckered, and his thumb barely grazed the tips. They looked so taut, so pointy, just begging to be played with. How could he resist such perfection? He grasped both nipples between his thumb and forefinger, and tugged on them, stretching them from his body. Famine let out a soft moan, as the feelings of warmth and desire flooded his body. He wiggled on the velvet seat, letting it brush against his nuts. It was so soft, so exquisite, as it caressed his intimate parts. He gave his nipples a painful twist, crying out, as the heat stabbed straight to his core.
Unable to resist any longer, he spread his legs wide, on either side of the seat, and shamelessly thrust his hips forward to give him better access to what he most wanted. The first finger slid in easily, as did the second. His thumb rubbed back and forth, slowly across his gland, as his other hand continued to pluck the ripeness of his nipples.
Famine could feel the bus rocking with the movements of the others, and lost himself to the pleasure of his touch. He knew it was crazy, that what they were all doing was crazy, but then he ceased to care. It no longer mattered if they were indulging in their weaknesses. The only thing that mattered was the pleasure of his fingers, fucking his hot ass. He could hear the wet squelching sounds, as he plunged in and out, his thumb never stopping its intimate kiss. The smell of sex permeated the air, not only his, but of those from the others behind him. He could hear them, moaning louder now, a course of cries coming together to make beautiful music.
His breathing quickened, his heart beating furiously, as he heard the cries of ecstasy, one after the other coming from behind him. It was more than he could take. With one final flick of his thumb, Famine tipped over the edge, letting himself drift in the intensity of his climax.
As Famine felt the blissfulness of his orgasm receding, he blinked in
surprise. The bus was now parked in front of the gates of hell. They had not been there when he pulled over. Frowning he looked down. The vehicle was still in park. A knock at the door interrupted his confused thoughts. Automatically he opened it. A dazzling male strode up the steps, smiling brightly. "Welcome to Hell," the stranger greeted him.
"But, how did we get here?" he asked in bewilderment.
"Why I brought you here, of course." The man laughed merrily. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Guilt."