Friday, October 26, 2012

The First Order of Business

Sylnie beamed.  "Great!  What do you want me to do?"

I stared at her, my eyes dropping from her face to her nakedness.  "Hold that thought," I said, and I reached for my cell phone.  I dialed Gus.

"Boss-man," Gus answered.  "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," I replied.  "So listen--I got myself a receptionist, but she's kind of...distracting.  Where does one acquire clothing in Hell?"

Gus sighed.  "Are you in your office?" he asked.

I nodded.  Then I realized I was on the phone.  "Yes," I said.

"Go out the back door, go down the hallway to your left, and look for a door that says Staff Wardrobe Storage.  You'll probably find what you need there," he said confidently. 

"Thanks," I said.

"Who's the recep--" he began, but I hung up.

"Follow me," I said to Sylnie, and led her into the hallway behind the office.  Like many hallways in Hell, this one appeared interminable and was very poorly lit.  Eventually, however, we located the door Gus had described and opened it.  Inside was what appeared to be racks and piles of every kind of clothing collected over the last few millennia.

"Wow," Sylnie said, her eyes wide.  "That's a lot of clothes."

"Yep," I said.  I motioned for her to step inside.  "Go nuts.  Come find me when you have something you want to wear."

"Why do I have to wear anything?" she asked.  She seemed genuinely confused.

I openly stared at her chest for about the sixtieth time since meeting her.  "Uh...just...just find something you like and put it on," I begged.  And I hurried back to my office. 

Wednesday, October 24, 2012


"Hi," I said awkwardly as I hung up on Gus.  " can I help you?"

"Hi," the chubby, puke-green demon said shyly.  Her voice had this sweet, pinched quality to it that made her sound almost childish.  

"Do you remember me?  I was the receptionist at--"

"Yeah, no, I definitely remember you," I interrupted clumsily.  I stood up and approached her, extending my hand for a shake.  "Uh, I'm Jason--I mean, the Devil."

She shook my hand lightly.  "I'm Sylnie.  Nice to meet you," she said pleasantly. 

"The niceness is all mine," I replied lamely.  She smiled in amusement but managed not to laugh at me.  "So what brings you here, Sylnie?"

"The new Director of Transportation," she said.

"Ah, Jorge!" I responded proudly.  "What do you think of him so far?"

She smiled weakly.  "He's...decisive.  He's made some big changes already.  He's called it 'streamlining' and 'trimming the fat' and 'cleaning house.'  Anyway, now there are a bunch of us who don't actually have anything to do now, so I was hoping I could come work for your office."

I swallowed.  Sylnie wanted to work for me?  How would I be able to focus with her enormous bare boobs around me all the time?  "You want to work for me?" I repeated.

She looked down.  "Well, I thought we had kind of a connection earlier at the Department of Transportation, so I thought...."  It was hard to tell because of her green skin, but based on her body language, I guessed that she was blushing. 

Sylnie thought we had a connection. 

"Sure!" I exulted.  "I could totally use a receptionist!"

Monday, October 22, 2012

Three Hundred Demons

I sat in dejection for a moment.  Then I reached for my cell phone and dialed Gus' number.

He picked up after the first ring.  "Jorge's settling in nicely, Boss-man," he said.  "I think he might have a real knack for this."

"Hey, why would Kivra need three hundred more demons?" I asked.

"What?" he sounded worried.  "You didn't give her three hundred more demons, did you?"

I swallowed.  "She...may have talked me into it," I admitted. 

"Sir, Kivra is the head of the largest department.  Sure, there's a lot of torturing to do, but they have all of eternity to get the job done.  I would be concerned about what she might need three hundred demons for.  I really doubt she's going to put them to work torturing humans."

"So, what, she's going to build an army to take over Hell?" I asked.

"Could be," he replied.  His tone of voice implied he'd just shrugged.  "But Kivra casts a wide net when it comes to ambition.  She could be planning something even crazier and even worse."

"So what can I do?" I asked.  "She made me sign a Satanic Order."

"Just make a new one reversing your decision," Gus said.

"I can do that?" I replied, incredulous.  "That seems...silly."

"Dude, you're the Devil.  This is not a democratic process.  The masses of damned souls and demons you rule over are one hundred percent subject to your every whim.  You can change your mind whenever the hell you feel like it.  And the only thing they can do about it--"

"--is mount a rebellion?" I finished dryly.

"Yeah, pretty much," he replied darkly.

Just then the door to my office opened softly.  I glanced up to see the exceptionally large-breasted receptionist from the Department of Transportation enter, looking strangely demure. 

"Gus?" I said, unable to tear my eyes away from her naked body, "I think I'll have to call you back."

Friday, October 19, 2012

Satanic Order

"What do you want, Kivra?" I asked waveringly.  Her nipples were...alluring.

"Remember those three hundred demons I asked you to transfer back into my department?" she asked, walking around the desk to get uncomfortably close to me.  As she approached, she slid a piece of legal-size paper onto my desk.

I quickly adjusted the way I was sitting to obscure the fact that the crotch of my pants was starting to bulge.  "Yes," I said.

She leaned over me, her hands clamped on the armrests of my chair.  Those glorious breasts were inches away from my face.  I'd never touched a naked breast before.  I knew she was trying to make a power play, and I knew I needed to focus, but her body was making it so difficult....

"I don't have them back in my department yet," she snarled sweetly.  She heaved a deep sigh, pretending not to notice the way it made her chest swell in front of me.  "You haven't signed a Satanic Order for their transfer."

I didn't want to.  I didn't trust Kivra.  I didn't want her to have three hundred more demons at her command--a command she might use to overthrow me.  But her fingers played so gently along my arm.

"I'm not sure you need three hundred more demons," I said weakly.

She curled her lip.  "Okay, fuck subtlety," she grunted disinterestedly.  She reached around behind my head, planted her hand at the base of my skull, and roughly shoved my face into her cleavage.

"What the fuck!" I shouted--though the sound was muffled by the abundant soft flesh around my mouth.

"Here's how it's going to work, ," she growled.  Why was her growl so sexy?  "You're going to sign that paper in blood so that I can get my demons back, and you're going to do it right now.  And if you find some courage in that fucking useless echo chamber of yours to try and refuse, I will turn this pleasant pressure on your dick into an excruciating agony of a duration to be determined by how much I enjoyment I derive from watching you writhe and squirm like a helpless fucking maggot."

Her hand did indeed feel pleasant on my crotch.  I imagined it could very easily feel very different.

"Okay," I said hoarsely.  "Uh, here, let me sign it."

A moment later, Kivra was walking out of my office, signed Satanic Order in hand, wagging her juicy little ass tauntingly at me as she left.

I felt powerless.  I felt unsatisfied.  I felt stupid.  I felt weak.

"I should've set her eyeballs on fire," I grumbled to myself.

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

A Moment Alone

Gus and Jorge had departed to meet up with General Gavsot's men.  Alone in my office, I sat importantly behind my desk. 

I'd trapped Vilnius in a spell that pretty much made him my bitch.  I'd taken on Azraal, gotten captured, pulled off a nearly impossible escape, and got him locked up.  Now I was making important decisions and hand-picking my lieutenants.  I was running things.  I was powerful.  I was the fuckin' Devil.

I sighed.  I was in Hell, but if I didn't know any better, I might think that I was actually happy.

Then my office door opened and that happiness and feeling of control was gone.  Like it had never been there at all.

"How's my favorite virginal devil?" Kivra said with such syrupy sarcasm that I felt myself blush shamefully.

She was, as always, naked.  And she was, as always, smoking hot.  And I suppose spending thousands of years walking around nude with that body had given her no shortage of confidence.  She approached my desk, swinging her hips in a walk that was so sexual that I had a hard time believing she hadn't been practicing it over the centuries.

I tried not to stare at her firm, pleasantly round breasts.  But if I wasn't doing that, I was staring at her bare crotch, which either didn't grow hair (considering she had a bunch of horns on her head instead of flowing locks) or she kept meticulously shaven.  And when I was trying not to stare at that, I was staring at the slender curves of her strong thighs.  And when I wasn't ogling those, I was admiring the smooth, athletic tone of her belly.  And when I wasn't drooling over that, I was attempting to make eye contact.

Making eye contact with Kivra always felt like a mistake.

She effortlessly put me completely off my guard.  All the control I thought I'd gained over my circumstances down here in Hell vanished.  I felt helpless to her impressive feminine--and demonic--wiles. 

And she knew it.

Monday, October 15, 2012

Breaking it Down

"This is a job interview?" Jorge said cautiously.  "I don't think I understand."

I leaned forward across my desk.  "Jorge," I said.  "You know you're dead, right?  This is Hell."

He swallowed nervously.  "Okay, I'm prepared to accept that part, but the job interview thing is what's really throwing me for a loop here."

I shrugged.  "Let me break it down for you as simply as I can," I began.  I paused and gave him a sympathetic wince.  "Even the short version seems kind of complicated, but here goes:  Until recently, I was human like you, until the devil tricked me into taking his spot.  So now I'm the Devil, but my rule has been under threat since the moment it began.  I recently managed to defeat and imprison one of my opponents, who held a position of moderate power in Hell's infrastructure.  I need to install someone in that position who I can rely on to be loyal to me, and I just plain don't trust demons, so I thought I'd try giving the job to a human."

Jorge was shaking his head with what seemed to be dumbfounded incredulity, but he was paying close attention nonetheless.
"So the bottom line is that I want to put you in charge of Hell's Department of Transportation, so that you could head an organization that mostly handles prisoner transfers from one area of the pit to another.  This would be done to spare you the tortures of fire and brimstone, et cetera et cetera, that the overwhelming majority of humankind is subjected to down here.  In return, I'd like your allegiance and your help when requested in the extremely likely chance that I'll need to defend myself against various demonic rebels, usurpers, revolutionaries and mutineers."  I stood and moved around my desk to offer him a handshake.

He slumped in his chair and gazed up at me appraisingly.  "It's a good deal," I prompted.

"I don't have to surrender my soul or anything?" he asked.

"No, no," I said quickly.  "Your soul, your essence, your immortal spirit, whatever it is, you can keep all that crap.  I don't want it.  I just need a friend.  A friend who knows how to run a business"--I paused to reconsider--"or a business-like thing that doesn't make any money but definitely could improve by being run by someone who knows how to run a business.  And a friend who, because he's human, might naturally take the same sides of issues that I would." 

He took my hand like he was putting his fingers into a mousetrap and shook slowly.

I smiled.  "Great.  Gus," I barked, "Will you help this fine young gentleman get set up in his new post?"

"Would you like me to call General Gavsot for an armed escort?" Gus asked dutifully.

"Legitimize Jorge's power?" I asked.  "Great idea.  Do it."

I felt like I was in charge.  This was actually pretty awesome.

Friday, October 12, 2012

Candidate #11

I'd been through half of Winston's files so far, and I hadn't seen many candidates that I liked.  I needed someone strong, loyal, and not too evil.  Most of these people were too pathetic or too corrupt.  I'd passed on the Bangladeshi slave trader, the mid-level Russian mobster, the backstabbing Swedish gymnast and the Kenyan thief.  Currently entering my office was Jorge Campos, the 28-year-old Chilean slumlord.

Immediately, I was impressed with his physique.  He appeared to have died in his sleep (or perhaps while working out) because he'd arrived in a tight t-shirt and sweatpants.  He wasn't massive, but he was clearly muscular, and he moved smoothly enough to surmise that he'd learned how to use those muscles. 

"Jorge Campos," I said solemnly, opening his file on my computer.

He was also the first person who seemed relatively unafraid.  He only nodded when I said his name as though I were taking attendance.

"So you inherited your father's building when he died and managed to grow his business into six different apartment buildings across western Santiago," I summarized.

"Yes," he said.  Actually, he said, "Si," but I'd understood him in English, as I had the Bangladeshi, the Russian, the Swede and the Kenyan.  I'd thought for a moment that knowing every language was one of my Devil superpowers, but judging from Gus's ability to understand, I'd guessed that maybe there was simply no language barrier in Hell.

"And you managed to do that by cutting costs drastically--costs like maintenance, heating, and occasionally plumbing, all the while managing to cleverly skirt around the city's ordinances," I concluded.

A small, proud smile flashed across his face for a fleeting moment.  Then he said, "That's correct."

I smiled broadly.  "Well aren't you a scumbag!" I exulted.

He appeared confused.  "What do you mean?" he asked.

"This is now a job interview," I said.  "Let's talk, Jorge."

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Candidate #1

"Joseph Stoudt," I said.  It wasn't a question.  And it wasn't really a statement, either.  I just enjoyed fucking with him, making him wonder what he was supposed to say.

He was a pretty big guy.  Maybe a little extra body fat, but he looked like he could've played rugby.  Of course, I knew from his file that he was actually not very athletic, but he just seemed like he'd look in place in a team photo of a beefy, sweaty, muddy rugby team.

"Yes?" he answered fearfully.

I'd been staring at the computer screen, but I suddenly whipped my head around to give him a narrow-eyed glare.  "I wasn't talking to you," I snarled.  And I calmly resumed reading through his file as he probably pissed himself. 

Maybe this Devil gig had some perks. 

"I see you've had a little embezzling problem," I said disapprovingly.

He swallowed.  "I did, but the reason I--"

"Which was necessary to maintain your gambling problem," I continued, ignoring him.

"Who goes to Hell for gambling?" he blubbered hopelessly.

"Which, of course, you only started to fund your cocaine problem," I added.

"Sure, I did coke, but--"

"And you only started on the cocaine because the alcohol wasn't enough to make you forget your guilt over your little brother's death, which, by the way," I said with a meaningful gaze, "was entirely your fault."

He hung his head, and, instead of pissing himself, he sobbed.  I'm not sure if that was out of guilt or fear.  Either way, he seemed like a little too much of a loser for my purposes.  Plus he was just plain weak.

"You're dismissed, Joseph," I announced with a wave of my hand.  "Go back to the waiting room to await your sentencing."
He seemed grateful.  He scurried out.  I glanced at Gus, who was observing quietly in a corner.  "Call the next one," I said.

Monday, October 8, 2012

File Transfer

For the first time since I'd become the Devil, I actually felt like I was in charge.  This was because I was now dealing with fresh-off-the-boat humans.  They had no idea that I was a new ruler of the Underworld.  They had no idea that I was busy fighting off numerous usurpers and insurgents.  They had no idea that I was really just a 17-year-old kid in a devil suit.  I could tell as soon as each of them walked fearfully into my office that I scared the shit out of them. 

This was a feeling I relished.  I finally felt in control.  I felt unchallenged.  I felt strong.  I felt awesome.

I'd instructed Winston to send me the files for the twenty most physically fit humans in my massive waiting room.  He'd breathed a loud sigh over the phone and asked "Hard copy or soft copy?" with his usual lifeless tone. 

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Do you want me to print them out, or can I just email them?"

I imagined myself lifting up a bulging manila file folder, and flipping menacingly through the pages while inquiring deep into the lives and misdeeds of my twenty candidates.  "Print them out," I said, grinning.

"Very well," he replied.  "I'll have Dramien drop them off in your office in a few minutes."

"Uh, no," I said quickly, before he could hang up.  Dramien didn't like me, and he didn't bother to mask his contempt.  He also went around naked, like most demons, and I didn't feel like seeing his hairy chest or dangling genitalia.  "Bring them yourself."

Winston sighed.  "Really?  You know, I do have work I need to--"

"Email will be fine," I said curtly, and hung up.  I didn't really want to deal with Winston in person, either. 

And that was why, with 30-year-old, recently deceased Joe Stoudt sitting in front of me, I did my best to menacingly scroll through his information on my computer screen.  

Friday, October 5, 2012


I couldn't believe Azraal's body language.  The cocksure demon who'd gloated over his victory a few minutes earlier had seemingly accepted his defeat and sat pitifully in this hellish jail cell, looking weak and humbled.

"He'll be basically human for the next few hours," Gavsot's soldier said, sensing my curiosity.  "He'll have limited strength and no telepathic abilities whatsoever.  Every five hours a guard will stab him again with that same potion, effectively rendering him powerless until we choose to release him."

"What's in the potion?" I asked.

The guard began to explain, but General Gavsot interrupted him.  "You don't want to know," he said simply.  Then he motioned for us to leave the cell.  When I stepped into the dark, winding hallway and the cell door closed behind me, I suddenly realized that our crazy little plan had actually been a success.

"General Gavsot," I said authoritatively.  "I want to thank you for your assistance.  One of the greatest threats to my reign has been captured, and I couldn't have done it without you."

Gavsot gave a stiff, formal bow.  "Of course."  I thought I detected a slight tone of respect in his curt response.

"If you'd like some more heads to bust," I added, "perhaps you'd like to keep the Department of Transportation in line for a while.  You know, make sure they don't try to mount a rescue?"

"With pleasure," he replied, and turned as though he was about to get started on his new assignment immediately.  Then he stopped.

"If I might make a suggestion, my Lord," he said hesitantly, speaking with what sounded like my formal title.

It took me a moment to realize he was asking a question.  "Uh, yeah, of course," I said.  "What's your suggestion?"

"You may want to consider installing a new Director for the now-headless Department of Transportation," General Gavsot said.  "One of your supporters."

"Oh," I said.  "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.  Thanks."

Gavsot gave another quick bow and headed off down the corridor.  I glanced at Gus.  "So should I find a new Director?" I asked.

Gus shrugged.  "Gavsot's right," he admitted.  "But you kind of have a problem."  I raised my eyebrows to prompt him to speak further. 

"You don't have any supporters to install as a Director," he said candidly.

I chuckled.  "Yeah.  Well, I guess I'll have to find one."

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Azraal's Cell

Gavsot and his soldier had teleported me and Gus to a room I was not familiar with, but I assumed it must be somewhere deep in the Department of Enforcement.  It was small and seemed to have been crudely assembled with mortar and large, oddly shaped slabs of gray stone.  The room was featureless and austere. 

In the center, a pair of ugly pit guards were busily tangling the still-unconscious Azraal in a complicated set of shackles.  When they'd finished, their prisoner would have had the freedom to move in a circle about two feet in diameter--had he been awake.  Instead, he lay limply crumpled in a loose bundle of chains. 

" just chain him up in here and he'll stay put?" I said.  I felt stupid saying it, but I wanted to understand how my enemy was going to remain powerless and confined safely to this small room.

Gavsot nodded.  "Yes."

"Did you already perform that spell you were talking about?" I asked. 

Gavsot shook his head.  "Not yet."

"Then when will you--"  The rest of my question was drowned out by Azraal's waking scream of rage.  He was writhing against his restraints and the thick chains--unbelievably--were already beginning to bend.

General Gavsot reacted quickly.  He grabbed a long spear that was standing by the door, dipped it in a bucket of a red, frothy liquid, and swiftly drove the spear into Azraal's belly.  Azraal's scream of rage became a cry of anguish, and he slowly relaxed, hanging his head in dejection.  "Limiting spell," he muttered bitterly.  "You fuckers."

Monday, October 1, 2012


General Gavsot and his remaining soldier teleported Azraal's body back to the Department of Enforcement (presumably) and quickly returned for the bodies of their unconscious comrades.  Seconds later, they reappeared.  Gavsot put his hand on my shoulder.

"Wait!" I said.  "I want to try teleporting."

Gavsot gave a slight shrug, which I interpreted to mean, "Okay, but hurry up."

I closed my eyes, pictured the front door of the Department of Enforcement, and tried to access whatever part of my brain that my telepathy came from.  I focused as hard as I possibly could on making myself appear in the spot I was envisioning.  I had my eyes squeezed so tightly in concentration that I'm a little surprised I didn't pop a blood vessel.

"Boss-man," came Gus's strained stage whisper.  "Maybe we should leave the experimentation for another time.  Azraal's guys should be coming after us any second now."

It was true.  I could hear them organizing themselves just behind the door.  "I can get this," I murmured, trying to refocus my efforts and block out all distractions.  "I feel like I'm so close...."

With a sudden bang, the door to the Department of Transportation burst open so violently it nearly came off its hinges.  My concentration broken, I glanced back toward the noise and saw at least a dozen of Azraal's guard squad charging toward us.

I nodded abashedly to Gavsot.  "Fuck it, just take me," I said, and we were gone.