24.Z sat in Satan’s office, and to say he was impressed was a massive understatement.
It was a beautiful office. Sleek and modern, employing different rich shades of gray. A gorgeous painting stretched across the whole wall, manifesting itself like a second version of Picasso’s Guernica. Which in fact it was. Z later found out that Picasso had painted this specially for Satan. When Z inquired if Picasso was in hell, Satan gently raised his eyebrows.
“Sometimes.”
Satan’s desk was handcrafted from a glistening cherrywood. A golden clock displaying a multitude of numeric symbols hung on the wall opposite Guernica 2. It was no surprise that time read differently down here. Satan sat there smiling at Z. A way friendlier smile than God had ever given him.
“I’d love to take you on a tour of the facilities, but I’m just swamped. I’m always swamped. Besides, what good is a tour really going to do except upset you even more?”
Z nodded. “Makes sense . . .” Z paused. He wasn’t sure how he should address his new overlord.
Satan chuckled. “You can just call me Satan. Sorry. Maybe you were looking for a more exciting title to address me by. But that’s it. I’m Satan. I don’t really like the other names. They’re so pretentious, and there’s enough for everyone to wrap their heads around down here without worrying about how to address me.”
Z nodded again. “Sounds great . . . Satan.” Wow, Satan was so polite and easygoing. Way more so than God. Not to say that Satan didn’t also possess some insecurities, but he seemed at peace with them. Satan was not afraid to let it all hang out. To top it off, Satan was gorgeous. Sure, he had the horns and hooves and blood-red skin, but none of those monstrous qualities took away from his inarguable sex appeal. Despite being snakelike, his bright emerald-green eyes conveyed a deep kindness and a fun flirtatiousness. His skin glistened against the beautiful Dutch antique lamps that punctuated his office. Shirt off, Satan glowed. Normally a guy just hanging out with his shirt off would be a turnoff to Z. But in this case it was quite welcomed by him. Satan had the best body he had ever seen on a man. His muscles were like chiseled marble, but supple and soft. Unlike God, Satan didn’t really call attention to it, either. Sure, his shirt was off, but it seemed more that he was casually lounging than showing off.
Z’s whole body started to pulsate. He had never wanted anyone as much as he wanted Satan in this very moment. His body ached for him. But Z knew there was no way. I mean, who was he? Some new schmuck who’d pissed off God? He was the trillionth version of the same old thing. Nevertheless, Z pined and fantasized. Z wondered. Everyone in hell probably wanted to do it with Satan. Maybe the true hell was that one would never be able to taste their sweet Satanic desire. An eternity of blue balls for red balls.
Who did Satan have sex with? Did Satan have sex? Of course he did. How could he not? But with who? It had to be with someone. Serial killers were often quite hot. Maybe it was with some of them. Or maybe there were some hot demons. Or maybe the Devil had the power to replicate so that he could literally fuck himself. Questions raced through Z’s mind as quickly as the mental images of what he wanted to do to Satan and what he wanted Satan to do to him.
This whole thought journey Z was on almost perfectly and coincidentally produced a coy smile from Satan. He was so fucking cute you could just eat him up.
“You want to see something I’ve been working on?” He giggled.
“I’d love to.” Z giggled back. Who could say no to that face?
With that Satan blinked his perfect eyes and the wall behind him opened. Satan stood up, giving Z a better peek at his delicious goat legs. He then motioned with his perfect arm for Z to follow him into the room behind him.
The room was large. It was like the inside of a medium-size warehouse. And in this warehouse-size room were what seemed like a few hundred men of different shapes and ages. Z noticed that a great number of them resembled current famous corporate CEOs and congressmen, quite a few cable news hosts as well, and, of course, a whole bunch of influencers. They all stared ahead in a trance. They would have seemed dead if not for the fear in their eyes.
Satan put his arm around Z’s shoulder, giving Z a direct line to the aromatic musk that was emanating from Satan’s armpit. Z put his hands in front of his crotch, in the likelihood that he would get an erection.
“This is one of my new projects. I’m really excited about it.”
Z was all ears. “What is it? I thought all these guys were alive? Did someone nuke Washington and Hollywood?”
Satan laughed. “If only, right?!” He squeezed Z closer, and Z could feel his penis shift to the left side and down his pant leg. Not a full erection, but definitely some movement. “No, they’re all still alive. They’re just sleeping. And when they sleep their souls come here. And I’ve made it so they can’t move. But they can hear and feel everything. They think they’re just dreaming. One big, crazy, horrible dream.”
Z was fascinated. “So, what? You just have them sit here? Do you torture them?”
Satan smiled even wider. “Well, depends what you consider torture. See, after our meeting, what I’m going to do is I’m going to go in there and I’m going to close the wall, and I’m going to fuck the shit out of each and every one of them.”
Z started to feel faint. “You are? All of them?”
Satan slapped Z’s back. “Yep. I fuck them. I fuck them in their dreams. And let me tell you, it’s nasty.”
Z liked the sound of this. “Can I watch?” he almost pleaded. To see the Dark Lord punish the worst people on earth and to get to see him fuck, that was a total win.
Satan gave his answer some thought. He looked long and hard at Z. He gave him another light pat. “You know, as much as I’d love you to, I think it’d be a little irresponsible of me. You just got here. As much as you feel like you want to see it now, I think it will ultimately be way too intense for you. Seeing me do that might make you go insane. Not so much the fucking, but their reactions. It’s really horrible. I mean, I like it—of course I like it—but it’s a lot.”
Z was disappointed but he understood. Despite only knowing Satan for not more than thirty minutes, he already had complete respect and trust in his judgment. “That’s fine,” said Z. “You know what’s best, I’m sure.”
Z was getting nervous that his meeting with Satan was coming to an end. When would be the next time he could see him again? He was going to miss him so much. Too much. Was that crazy? Yes, of course it was, but he couldn’t help it. Never before had his desire known such ravishing hunger. Never before had he wished he was a congressman.
But maybe he didn’t need to be. Z had an idea. Maybe if this room filled with sociopaths was the main course, maybe Z could be an appetizer? Maybe he could be Satan’s little warm-up for the main event. He was scared to ask. Surely many had asked before. How could they not? Especially with the amount of sexual deviants who came down here. But Z wouldn’t be asking from any type of perverted place. No way. Z’s lust for Satan was as pure as his childhood lust for Jessica Rabbit. Z’s worry grew. Who knew if after this moment he would ever have the opportunity to ask again? Who knew if he would even see Satan ever again? Maybe it would just be this first meeting and that was it. A whole eternity without ever seeing the one person he had ever desired this much in his whole existence. He had to ask. Surely if he was rejected it would be painful, but not nearly as painful as the not knowing. Not nearly as painful as the eternal regret of being a coward.
So Z asked:
“Satan?” Z murmured as he took what was hopefully not the last strong whiff of Satan’s intoxicating BO.
Z could feel Satan’s eyes look at him, and when Z looked up, he could feel his penis become rock hard from the sexiest gaze he had ever gazed up at. Satan lowered his head and, with this head lowering, penetrated Z’s being even more than ever before.
“Yes?”
Z reached up and gently touched Satan’s forearm. “Satan, I’ve so enjoyed our meeting. As horrible as I know hell might be, I’m so grateful that I’ve gotten to meet you and spend this time with you. I hope it’s not the last time . . . maybe it is . . . but whatever the case . . . I was just wondering . . .”
Z started to tremble. Satan pulled him ever so gently closer and closer. “What is it?” Satan asked.
Z opened his mouth, and out came the words he had been wanting to speak for minutes, which felt like hours, which felt like lifetimes. “Satan . . . will you make love to me?”
Satan cocked his head. He took his arm off Z’s shoulder. “Make love to you?”
Z’s face grew almost redder than Satan’s. “Sorry, is that a lame way to ask that? Is it too soft? Should I have said ‘fuck’? Okay, will you fuck me? Will you fuck me, Satan?”
With this, Satan’s beautiful eyes glazed over and his face seemed almost sad. “No, it’s not that. It’s just . . . I don’t really see you that way. And also I’ve gotta fuck all these guys in their dreams, and I . . . Maybe some other time, okay?”
Z’s heart broke in a million pieces. He had never felt such an atomic rejection. He had never wanted to die more that he did in this very moment, and he was already dead. Maybe there was something worse than death. Actually, there was. And he was about to experience it for eternity. The thought that the Prince of Darkness, when all was said and done, just wasn’t sexually attracted to him.