Hello, all. Here's something a little different. Hope you enjoy!
“I never thought it would be like this,” Marty said.
“They never do,” the man behind the desk replied. He was a gray man—gray suit, gray tie, gray eyes, gray hair. Even his skin looked gray. He sounded bored.
“So what now?” Mary asked. There was no trace of fear in his voice, and this surprised him. He knew where he was—indeed, he’d always had a sneaking suspicion that he’d end up here. But he felt no fear of the horrors to come. Even the fact that he was stark naked didn’t bother him.
“What now?” the gray man said after a lengthy pause. “Well, let’s just see.”
There was a red folder on the desk, and the gray man opened it. He shuffled through the papers contained in the folder, nodded to himself, and looked up.
“So,” the gray man said. “You’re a Sodomite.”
“What’s that?” Marty asked. “You mean a fag? No way!”
“It’s quite a clear case, I’m afraid.” The gray man tapped the folder with a bony finger. “You could appeal, of course—“
“But I’m not a fucking FAG!” Marty cried. “I mean, come ON! I liked it EVERY which way!”
“Yes, of course. So it says in your file.” The gray man cleared his throat. “And that, you see, meets our definition of Sodomy. Unnatural love, so to speak. Violence against nature. You did perform certain, ah, acts of a homoerotic nature with your college roommate, did you not? And even earlier, there was that afternoon you spent with your cousin in the upstairs back bedroom. Not to mention some of the, ah, imaginative variations you engaged in with the opposite sex. Yes, your case is really quite clear.”
A chill swept through Marty’s slender, boyish body. “So what happens to me?” he whispered.
“Hmmm, well, let me see. . .” The gray man took a thick, shabbily bound book from the shelf behind his desk. He paged through it, muttering to himself. Legs trembling, Marty waited to learn his fate.
“Ah, here we are,” the gray man said finally. “Yes. How could I have forgotten? Sodomites are consigned to the Rain of Fire.”
“Is that pretty bad?” Marty squeaked.
“Well, there are worse destinations here,” the gray man said kindly. “But it’s bad enough, certainly. Would you care for a preview?”
Before Marty could reply, a powerful reek of sulfur and brimstone invaded his nostrils. With a start of terror, he realized that he had somehow been transported to a trackless plain of rocks and sand that stretched in all directions until it vanished in a copper-colored haze. Looking up, he found that the haze formed a shimmering dome over the desert—a hellish canopy from which descended a slow, steady rain of fireflakes. Then a horrific chorus of shrieking assaulted his ears, and with a start Marty realized that he was not alone in this place.
They were all around him—uncountable herds of naked, writhing, contorted figures, dancing frenetically over the sterile sands. All were human—or had been—and as they danced their frantic hands jerked to and fro to slap away the sticky, clinging fireflakes. And to redouble their torment, the fiery rain ignited the very sand beneath their feet!
The damned souls—for that, Marty realized, was what they were—had had every single hair scorched from their bodies. Other than that they appeared to have suffered nothing more from the fiery rain than a bad sunburn, all over. Their gasping screams, however, left no doubt of the extremity of their torment.
Marty was just beginning to panic when, with no sense of transition, he found himself back in front the desk. The gray man smiled in a way that somehow suggested he had too many teeth in his mouth. “Don’t worry, you’re fine,” he said. “Nothing. . .unfortunate. . .will happen until the Authorities”—he glanced down for a moment—“make a final disposition of your case.”
“But I thought—” Marty began. The gray man waved him silent.
“The Rain of Fire is the standard destination for Sodomites,” he said. “But there are exceptions. Options, I suppose they could be called.”
“You mean I could CHOOSE my. . .eternal punishment?” Marty experienced a wild surge of hope. “What ARE my options?”
“Actually,” the gray man replied after paging briefly through another folder, “we have at the moment only one alternative punishment available for Sodomites. It’s being run on, ah, I suppose you’d call it a trial basis. If the Authorities decide to make it part of the permanent program, you’d remain a permanent part of it. If not, well, into the Rain of Fire you’d go at the end of the trial period.”
“What. . .what is it?” Marty asked in a quavering voice.
The gray man told him, and Marty laughed with sheer relief.
“That’s it?” he whispered. “Are you KIDDING? I’ll take that over the Rain of Fire ANY day!”
As you wish,” the gray man said.
“Hello, my sweet,” the woman said in a voice like silk being slowly ripped. “I am Baktia.”
Marty squealed and looked wildly around. He was standing on a plain of rocky sand identical to the one he’d been made to visit earlier. Mercifully there was no Rain of Fire here to scorch his naked body. Then he turned back to stare at the woman who was standing before him. Except that she wasn’t really a woman, he realized. Baktia was obviously a native of Hell—a demoness. And how to describe this inhuman fiend? Imagine Angelina Jolie, only more voluptuous. Then give her crimson skin and the golden yellow eyes of a feline predator. Make her finger- and toenails black. Finally, make her completely hairless except for strongly arched eyebrows. That was Baktia.
It would be no figure of speech to say that his first sight of Baktia rooted Marty to the spot. For when he attempted to flee, he found that that his feet had sunk ankle-deep into the sand. He jerked and wiggled in a desperate attempt to pull himself free, but the sand held him fast. He could feel it sucking at his feet like a live thing.
“Struggle all you want.” Baktia laughed; it sounded like the ringing of far-off silver bells on a winter’s day. “We have plenty of time, my sweet.’”
“Wha—wha—what are you going to DO to me?” Marty gulped.
“Oh, I think you know what I’m going to do to you.” Baktia took a step closer. “I’m going to execute divine vengeance on you, my sweet. Would you mind bending over for me?”
And instantly, Marty’s muscles obeyed. He bent at the waist as if endeavoring to touch his toes, and his hands sank into the hungry sand. He found himself contorted into a half-squat, with his legs apart and his balls swaying. Baktia studied him for a moment, smiling in a way that made Marty’s flesh creep with dread anticipation. Then she strolled around to kneel behind him. “Let’s begin with THIS,” she whispered.
And so saying, she brought the sharp nails of her left hand into contact with the delicate sac that dangled so vulnerably between his wide-open thighs!
“EEEEEEYAAAAAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!” Marty shrieked. His upthrust, bare behind wiggled frantically in response to Baktia’s keen caress. Her ministrations produced an exquisite, excruciating sensation of intense tickling that vibrated in his nerves with utterly unbearable intensity and brought every hair on his body quivering to stiff attention. It ought to have driven him MAD—but in Hell there are no avenues of escape from one’s torment—no unconsciousness, no insanity and, of course, no death.
“I am SO happy that you chose me over that boring old Rain of Fire,” Baktia said in her ripped-silk voice. She batted his balls back and forth with one hand and tickled his asshole with the other. “I was made for you, my sweet. I was made to be your mistress throughout eternity. And you were born to be my naked tickle toy. . .”
“EEEEEEEEEEEE-HEEE!!! EEEEEEEEEEEE-HEEE!!! EEEEEEEEEEEE-HEEE-HIIIIEEEE- EEEEEEEEEEEE-HEEE!!!!!!” the naked tickle toy screamed girlishly as Baktia probed his puckered orifice with a sharp nail. “EEEEEE-EEEEEE-EEEEEE-HIIIEEE-HEEE-HEEE- EEEEEE-HEEE!!!”
“No doubt you’d rather LIKE it if I went deep,” Baktia said. “I know all about your little affair with your college roommate. But I’m afraid that Hell isn’t about what you’d ENJOY, my sweet. It DOES tickle, though, doesn’t it?”
“EEEEEEEE-HEEE-HEEE-EEEEEEEE-HEEE-HEEE-EEEEEEEE-HEEE-HIIIIEEEE!!!” Marty howled. “YOU’RE KILLING MEEE-HEEE-HEEE-HIIIEEE-HEEE-EEEE-HEEEE-HEEE!!!”
“Now how can THAT be?” Baktia replied with an evil giggle. “You’re ALREADY dead, my sweet, remember?”
The torture went on and on. Not for an instant did Baktia relent. With one hand she teased and tickled his dangling balls—with the other she stroked his ass and the backs of his legs. It was unbearable—absolutely fucking UNBEARABLE. And worst of all, Marty realized as he wiggled and shrieked, there was a part of him that LIKED what beautiful, sexy Baktia was doing. He felt that he ought to have an erection, but somehow he just couldn’t seem to get it UP—!
“No, no, my sweet,” Baktia whispered. “Not unless I permit it. For now, you only have my permission to LAUGH!”
“YAAAAAAHAAAAAA-AAAAH-HAAAA-HAAAA-AAAAH-HAAA-HAAAA-HAAAA-AAAAH-HAAAA-HAAAA!!!” Marty screamed obediently. “BWAAAAAA-HAAA-AAAH-HAAA-HAAA-AAAH-HAAA-HAAA!!!”
He was aware that the dark hairs on his arms and legs were stiff and quivering. He was aware that his skin was bathed in a cold, delicate sweat. He was aware that his entire body was trembling violently. But most of all, Marty was aware that the sensation of tickling produced by Baktia’s dancing fingers was intensifying with every passing moment. And it was never going to fucking END—!
“That’s right, my sweet,” Baktia agreed. “It’s NEVER going to end. It’s going to go on and on and ON!” She gave his balls an affectionate squeeze. “And I must tell you—the torments in store for you are far, FAR more diversified and intense than you can possibly imagine, even now. For instance—”
And instantly, with no sense of transition, Marty found himself in a new position.
His legs were still parted, but now he was buried thigh-deep and his arms were bound behind his back. His dangling balls just brushed the rocky sand. He tried to wiggle free, and found that he was helpless. He couldn’t even bend forward at the waist; the fleshy-feeling tendrils that secured his arms seemed to be growing out of the ground.
“I think you’ll find this interesting,” Baktia breathed into his ear.
Marty shrieked. Baktia, only six inches or so tall but still perfectly proportioned, was sitting on his left shoulder. She giggled as he struggled frantically to free his arms and legs. “No, no, my sweet,” she whispered. “You can’t escape. But I do give you permission to. . .become excited.”
And with that, Marty’s cock began to extend itself. In a matter of seconds he was sporting a rock-hard, throbbing erection!
“Remember the first time you did the nasty with your cousin Josh?” Baktia purred. “The two of you were naked, kneeling face to face, and he STROKED it for you, didn’t he? How long did it take you to CUM that time my sweet? Not long, eh? Why, after three or four minutes you squirted all OVER him, didn’t you?”
Marty trembled. He couldn’t help it. Remembering that afternoon with Jason made him feel all hot and bothered “So maybe you’d like to have ME stroke it!” Baktia giggled. And with that she jumped lightly from his shoulder to straddle his rigid rod!
A potent erotic thrill shot through Marty’s nervous system as the miniature tormentress tightened her legs around his cock. “GAAAARRRRUUUUMPH!!!” he grunted, wiggling his hips. “UMPH-UMPH-UMPH!!!”
“Now, my sweet, we’re going to find out how ticklish you REALLY are,” Baktia cooed. She raised her arms, flexed her sharp-nailed fingers—and began stroking the swollen, supersensitive head of his yearning member!
“EEEEEEEEEEEE!!!” Marty shrieked in a perfect frenzy of hilarious anguish. “EEEEEE-EEEEEE-EEEEEE-HIIIIIIEEEEEE!!!”
The horrid sensations produced by Baktia’s tiny, dancing fingers were quite indescribable. Marty writhed with an energy born of sheer desperation as thrill after intense, electric thrill shot down his shaft to explode in his balls. He strained with all his might to jerk free of the clinging sands and tendrils that held him helpless. He shimmied his hips in an attempt to throw Baktia from her perch. But all his struggles were futile. There was no escaping the embrace of the sand and the tendrils. The diminutive demoness easily kept her seat on his bouncing cock. Thus the tickling torment went on—and on—and relentlessly fucking ON—!
And his torment was redoubled by a desperate, constantly increasing desire to cum his fucking BRAINS out! He was SO ready and he felt SO close—but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite force himself over the edge. He was being tickled to PIECES—he was so fucking HORNY he couldn’t fucking STAND it—and he knew with the certainly of total despair that he’d NEVER be allowed to cum!
“You’re getting the idea now,” Baktia said. And once again, with no sense of transition, Marty found himself in a new and even more terrifying predicament. A thick, fleshy tendril had sprung up out of the sand, wrapped itself around his waist, and lifted him off his feet!
“This is truly going to be a SCREAM,” the crimson-skinned demoness chuckled, flicking out an abnormally long tongue to lick her pouty lips. And indeed, poor Marty was screaming at the top of his lungs. A second tendril shot out of the sand to coil around his left leg. A third erupted to coil around his right leg. Their warm, slightly slimy touch made his skin crawl. Next his wrists were snared and his arms were stretched high over his head. He was struggling in a thicket of tendrils now, some thick and muscular, some slender and delicate. The small ones crept up his torso, probing his ribs and stroking his exposed armpits.
‘BWAAAAH-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-AAH-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!” Marty bellowed. Suddenly he was being tickled all OVER! The tendrils were caressing the backs of his LEGS and the soles of his FEET and the small of his BACK—! “EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HIIIIEEEE-HEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!!!” he shrieked wildly.
Arms akimbo, Baktia stood watching while Marty was tickled pink—literally. He was somehow aware that the voluptuous demoness was controlling the tickling tendrils. She arched an eyebrow, and they attacked the tender spaces between his wriggling TOES! She lifted her chin, and a tendril with a feathery tip slithered up to stroke the bridge of his fucking NOSE—!
Gradually the tendrils maneuvered him into a straining vertical spreadeagle, head about a foot from the sand, toes pointed toward the shimmering coppery haze that passed for a sky. It seemed to Marty that every square INCH of his quivering body was being tickled now. His sides and belly ached furiously. His skin was covered with greasy sweat. And he STILL had a fucking HARD-ON!
“IT’S NOT FAAAAAAIR!!!” Marty shrieked. “GAAAAHAAAA-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA-HAA!!! STOP!!! I’M SORREEEEHEEEE-HIIIIEEEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!!!”
“It’s too late for repentance, my sweet.” Baktia laughed hugely. “Far, FAR too late!”
And again, with absolutely no sense of transition, Marty found himself in a new position.
This time he was down on all fours, with tendrils wrapped around his wrists and ankles. He scarcely had time to register this fact before something whistled through the air behind him and cracked across his naked ASS!
“EEEEEEEEYAAAAAAAA!!!” Marty screeched. It stung like HELL!
“That was just to get your attention,” Baktia explained. She planted an elegant bare foot on the back of his neck and pressed his face into the sand. “Perhaps you even LIKED it, hmmmm? Well, sweet thing, if you DID like it, you’re going to LOVE what’s coming next!”
She snapped her fingers. A tendril erupted from the sand to wave in front of Marty’s face.
“NO!” he screamed when he saw its shape. “OH NO! NOT THAT! OH PLEASE NOT THAT!”
The tendril was penis-shaped. And it was a good three inches in diameter, with a pulsing, swollen head.
As Marty screamed and struggled, the penis-tendril inched nearer and nearer to his contorted face. Then suddenly, at a gesture from Baktia, it arrowed into his fucking MOUTH—!
“GGGGGGLLLLLLUUUUUUGGGGGGH!!!” Marty grunted. His face turned pink and purple in a futile effort to force a scream past the invading organ—if it was an organ.
“That should keep you quiet, sweet thing,” Baktia giggled. “Honestly, with the way you LAUGH there are times when I simply can’t hear myself THINK! And don’t worry—you’re going to be tickled.
“UUUURRRRUUUUMPH!!!” Marty grunted.
“Oh, and did I mention that it’s going to be a THREESOME?”
Marty had a frightening premonition of what she meant even before he felt something worming its way between his butt cheeks to touch his puckered orifice.
“That’s right, sweet thing, you’re about to get a taste of what it was like to be your cousin Jason. And your girlfriend—what was her name?” Baktia affected a frown. “Oh, yes, Diana. Dear me, how HUMILIATING that was for her!”
The second tendril was tickling Marty’s asshole now, which caress sent intense electric thrills shooting straight into his belly and balls. His cock extended itself, lifting until it was practically parallel to the ground.
“You never let Jason do YOU this way, did you, sweet thing?” Baktia shook her head. “How very SELFISH of you!”
Marty clenched his ass muscles in a frantic attempt to prevent the unthinkable violation that was about to be inflicted on him. But he knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold out long. Another tendril—slender, with a feathery tip—had sprung up to stroke his tumid tool. A greasy, lustful sensation spread through his body, loosening his muscles, teasing away his resistance. . .
“GGGGGGRRRRRRUUUUUUGH!!!” Marty grunted as his defenses failed and the hideous invader nailed him!
“Excellent!” Baktia clapped her hands. “Yes, my sweet, I think you’re really going to enjoy THIS!”
No sooner had she spoken than several more tendrils sprang up out the sand. They immediately attacked Marty’s torso and the soles of his feet, stroking and tickling with their pointed tips. He bucked and writhed like a maniac. Blocked screams gurgled in his throat. The invading tendril thrust in and out, stimulating his sweet spot and redoubling the intensity of the tickling. His balls felt ready to BURST—his rock-hard cock THROBBED—but no matter how hard he tried, Marty couldn’t fucking CUM—!
For Marty, there was no telling how long this went on. It might have been an hour—a day—a century. At some point, though, it ended—but only so that he could be introduced to a new and even more horrid form of tickling torment. And always Baktia was by his side, sometimes directing the actions of the fiendish instruments of his punishment, sometimes administering the torture directly. . .
He was spread-eagled on a wooden rack, and Baktia was tickling his rigid member with a stiff, pointed feather. Marty was shrieking with laughter, straining every muscle in a desperate effort to achieve orgasm. And then he found himself screaming the one thing that he’d promised himself he’d NEVER say: “STOP!!! GAAAAHAAA!!! NO MORE!!! AAAAHAAAA!! NO FUCKING MORE!!! PLEEE-HEE-HEE-HEEEESE!!! JUST PUT ME IN THE RAIN OF FIRE!!! HIIIEEE-HEE-HEE!! THE RAIN OF FIRE!!! PUT ME THERE!!! PUT ME THERE!!!”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Baktia stopped the tickling for a moment. “The Authorities were very pleased with the results of the trial, my sweet. They’ve decided to make tickling torture a permanent alternative punishment for Sodomites. New arrivals will get to choose. But as for you, well, you’ve already MADE your choice, haven’t you?”
And with a wicked smile, she resumed tickling his cock!
“EEEEEEEEEEEEYAAAAAAAAAAAA-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-EEEEEEYAAAAAA-HAA-HAA!!!” Marty screeched. He writhed, wiggled and squirmed. But it was futile—all was futile now—he’d fucking be here FOREVER—!
“Try to look on the bright side, my sweet.” Baktia gave his balls a squeeze. “I’m told that your cousin Jason may be joining us soon. Won’t THAT be fun?”
THE SANDS OF LAUGHTER
“I never thought it would be like this,” Marty said.
“They never do,” the man behind the desk replied. He was a gray man—gray suit, gray tie, gray eyes, gray hair. Even his skin looked gray. He sounded bored.
“So what now?” Mary asked. There was no trace of fear in his voice, and this surprised him. He knew where he was—indeed, he’d always had a sneaking suspicion that he’d end up here. But he felt no fear of the horrors to come. Even the fact that he was stark naked didn’t bother him.
“What now?” the gray man said after a lengthy pause. “Well, let’s just see.”
There was a red folder on the desk, and the gray man opened it. He shuffled through the papers contained in the folder, nodded to himself, and looked up.
“So,” the gray man said. “You’re a Sodomite.”
“What’s that?” Marty asked. “You mean a fag? No way!”
“It’s quite a clear case, I’m afraid.” The gray man tapped the folder with a bony finger. “You could appeal, of course—“
“But I’m not a fucking FAG!” Marty cried. “I mean, come ON! I liked it EVERY which way!”
“Yes, of course. So it says in your file.” The gray man cleared his throat. “And that, you see, meets our definition of Sodomy. Unnatural love, so to speak. Violence against nature. You did perform certain, ah, acts of a homoerotic nature with your college roommate, did you not? And even earlier, there was that afternoon you spent with your cousin in the upstairs back bedroom. Not to mention some of the, ah, imaginative variations you engaged in with the opposite sex. Yes, your case is really quite clear.”
A chill swept through Marty’s slender, boyish body. “So what happens to me?” he whispered.
“Hmmm, well, let me see. . .” The gray man took a thick, shabbily bound book from the shelf behind his desk. He paged through it, muttering to himself. Legs trembling, Marty waited to learn his fate.
“Ah, here we are,” the gray man said finally. “Yes. How could I have forgotten? Sodomites are consigned to the Rain of Fire.”
“Is that pretty bad?” Marty squeaked.
“Well, there are worse destinations here,” the gray man said kindly. “But it’s bad enough, certainly. Would you care for a preview?”
Before Marty could reply, a powerful reek of sulfur and brimstone invaded his nostrils. With a start of terror, he realized that he had somehow been transported to a trackless plain of rocks and sand that stretched in all directions until it vanished in a copper-colored haze. Looking up, he found that the haze formed a shimmering dome over the desert—a hellish canopy from which descended a slow, steady rain of fireflakes. Then a horrific chorus of shrieking assaulted his ears, and with a start Marty realized that he was not alone in this place.
They were all around him—uncountable herds of naked, writhing, contorted figures, dancing frenetically over the sterile sands. All were human—or had been—and as they danced their frantic hands jerked to and fro to slap away the sticky, clinging fireflakes. And to redouble their torment, the fiery rain ignited the very sand beneath their feet!
The damned souls—for that, Marty realized, was what they were—had had every single hair scorched from their bodies. Other than that they appeared to have suffered nothing more from the fiery rain than a bad sunburn, all over. Their gasping screams, however, left no doubt of the extremity of their torment.
Marty was just beginning to panic when, with no sense of transition, he found himself back in front the desk. The gray man smiled in a way that somehow suggested he had too many teeth in his mouth. “Don’t worry, you’re fine,” he said. “Nothing. . .unfortunate. . .will happen until the Authorities”—he glanced down for a moment—“make a final disposition of your case.”
“But I thought—” Marty began. The gray man waved him silent.
“The Rain of Fire is the standard destination for Sodomites,” he said. “But there are exceptions. Options, I suppose they could be called.”
“You mean I could CHOOSE my. . .eternal punishment?” Marty experienced a wild surge of hope. “What ARE my options?”
“Actually,” the gray man replied after paging briefly through another folder, “we have at the moment only one alternative punishment available for Sodomites. It’s being run on, ah, I suppose you’d call it a trial basis. If the Authorities decide to make it part of the permanent program, you’d remain a permanent part of it. If not, well, into the Rain of Fire you’d go at the end of the trial period.”
“What. . .what is it?” Marty asked in a quavering voice.
The gray man told him, and Marty laughed with sheer relief.
“That’s it?” he whispered. “Are you KIDDING? I’ll take that over the Rain of Fire ANY day!”
As you wish,” the gray man said.
***
“Hello, my sweet,” the woman said in a voice like silk being slowly ripped. “I am Baktia.”
Marty squealed and looked wildly around. He was standing on a plain of rocky sand identical to the one he’d been made to visit earlier. Mercifully there was no Rain of Fire here to scorch his naked body. Then he turned back to stare at the woman who was standing before him. Except that she wasn’t really a woman, he realized. Baktia was obviously a native of Hell—a demoness. And how to describe this inhuman fiend? Imagine Angelina Jolie, only more voluptuous. Then give her crimson skin and the golden yellow eyes of a feline predator. Make her finger- and toenails black. Finally, make her completely hairless except for strongly arched eyebrows. That was Baktia.
It would be no figure of speech to say that his first sight of Baktia rooted Marty to the spot. For when he attempted to flee, he found that that his feet had sunk ankle-deep into the sand. He jerked and wiggled in a desperate attempt to pull himself free, but the sand held him fast. He could feel it sucking at his feet like a live thing.
“Struggle all you want.” Baktia laughed; it sounded like the ringing of far-off silver bells on a winter’s day. “We have plenty of time, my sweet.’”
“Wha—wha—what are you going to DO to me?” Marty gulped.
“Oh, I think you know what I’m going to do to you.” Baktia took a step closer. “I’m going to execute divine vengeance on you, my sweet. Would you mind bending over for me?”
And instantly, Marty’s muscles obeyed. He bent at the waist as if endeavoring to touch his toes, and his hands sank into the hungry sand. He found himself contorted into a half-squat, with his legs apart and his balls swaying. Baktia studied him for a moment, smiling in a way that made Marty’s flesh creep with dread anticipation. Then she strolled around to kneel behind him. “Let’s begin with THIS,” she whispered.
And so saying, she brought the sharp nails of her left hand into contact with the delicate sac that dangled so vulnerably between his wide-open thighs!
“EEEEEEYAAAAAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!” Marty shrieked. His upthrust, bare behind wiggled frantically in response to Baktia’s keen caress. Her ministrations produced an exquisite, excruciating sensation of intense tickling that vibrated in his nerves with utterly unbearable intensity and brought every hair on his body quivering to stiff attention. It ought to have driven him MAD—but in Hell there are no avenues of escape from one’s torment—no unconsciousness, no insanity and, of course, no death.
“I am SO happy that you chose me over that boring old Rain of Fire,” Baktia said in her ripped-silk voice. She batted his balls back and forth with one hand and tickled his asshole with the other. “I was made for you, my sweet. I was made to be your mistress throughout eternity. And you were born to be my naked tickle toy. . .”
“EEEEEEEEEEEE-HEEE!!! EEEEEEEEEEEE-HEEE!!! EEEEEEEEEEEE-HEEE-HIIIIEEEE- EEEEEEEEEEEE-HEEE!!!!!!” the naked tickle toy screamed girlishly as Baktia probed his puckered orifice with a sharp nail. “EEEEEE-EEEEEE-EEEEEE-HIIIEEE-HEEE-HEEE- EEEEEE-HEEE!!!”
“No doubt you’d rather LIKE it if I went deep,” Baktia said. “I know all about your little affair with your college roommate. But I’m afraid that Hell isn’t about what you’d ENJOY, my sweet. It DOES tickle, though, doesn’t it?”
“EEEEEEEE-HEEE-HEEE-EEEEEEEE-HEEE-HEEE-EEEEEEEE-HEEE-HIIIIEEEE!!!” Marty howled. “YOU’RE KILLING MEEE-HEEE-HEEE-HIIIEEE-HEEE-EEEE-HEEEE-HEEE!!!”
“Now how can THAT be?” Baktia replied with an evil giggle. “You’re ALREADY dead, my sweet, remember?”
The torture went on and on. Not for an instant did Baktia relent. With one hand she teased and tickled his dangling balls—with the other she stroked his ass and the backs of his legs. It was unbearable—absolutely fucking UNBEARABLE. And worst of all, Marty realized as he wiggled and shrieked, there was a part of him that LIKED what beautiful, sexy Baktia was doing. He felt that he ought to have an erection, but somehow he just couldn’t seem to get it UP—!
“No, no, my sweet,” Baktia whispered. “Not unless I permit it. For now, you only have my permission to LAUGH!”
“YAAAAAAHAAAAAA-AAAAH-HAAAA-HAAAA-AAAAH-HAAA-HAAAA-HAAAA-AAAAH-HAAAA-HAAAA!!!” Marty screamed obediently. “BWAAAAAA-HAAA-AAAH-HAAA-HAAA-AAAH-HAAA-HAAA!!!”
He was aware that the dark hairs on his arms and legs were stiff and quivering. He was aware that his skin was bathed in a cold, delicate sweat. He was aware that his entire body was trembling violently. But most of all, Marty was aware that the sensation of tickling produced by Baktia’s dancing fingers was intensifying with every passing moment. And it was never going to fucking END—!
“That’s right, my sweet,” Baktia agreed. “It’s NEVER going to end. It’s going to go on and on and ON!” She gave his balls an affectionate squeeze. “And I must tell you—the torments in store for you are far, FAR more diversified and intense than you can possibly imagine, even now. For instance—”
And instantly, with no sense of transition, Marty found himself in a new position.
His legs were still parted, but now he was buried thigh-deep and his arms were bound behind his back. His dangling balls just brushed the rocky sand. He tried to wiggle free, and found that he was helpless. He couldn’t even bend forward at the waist; the fleshy-feeling tendrils that secured his arms seemed to be growing out of the ground.
“I think you’ll find this interesting,” Baktia breathed into his ear.
Marty shrieked. Baktia, only six inches or so tall but still perfectly proportioned, was sitting on his left shoulder. She giggled as he struggled frantically to free his arms and legs. “No, no, my sweet,” she whispered. “You can’t escape. But I do give you permission to. . .become excited.”
And with that, Marty’s cock began to extend itself. In a matter of seconds he was sporting a rock-hard, throbbing erection!
“Remember the first time you did the nasty with your cousin Josh?” Baktia purred. “The two of you were naked, kneeling face to face, and he STROKED it for you, didn’t he? How long did it take you to CUM that time my sweet? Not long, eh? Why, after three or four minutes you squirted all OVER him, didn’t you?”
Marty trembled. He couldn’t help it. Remembering that afternoon with Jason made him feel all hot and bothered “So maybe you’d like to have ME stroke it!” Baktia giggled. And with that she jumped lightly from his shoulder to straddle his rigid rod!
A potent erotic thrill shot through Marty’s nervous system as the miniature tormentress tightened her legs around his cock. “GAAAARRRRUUUUMPH!!!” he grunted, wiggling his hips. “UMPH-UMPH-UMPH!!!”
“Now, my sweet, we’re going to find out how ticklish you REALLY are,” Baktia cooed. She raised her arms, flexed her sharp-nailed fingers—and began stroking the swollen, supersensitive head of his yearning member!
“EEEEEEEEEEEE!!!” Marty shrieked in a perfect frenzy of hilarious anguish. “EEEEEE-EEEEEE-EEEEEE-HIIIIIIEEEEEE!!!”
The horrid sensations produced by Baktia’s tiny, dancing fingers were quite indescribable. Marty writhed with an energy born of sheer desperation as thrill after intense, electric thrill shot down his shaft to explode in his balls. He strained with all his might to jerk free of the clinging sands and tendrils that held him helpless. He shimmied his hips in an attempt to throw Baktia from her perch. But all his struggles were futile. There was no escaping the embrace of the sand and the tendrils. The diminutive demoness easily kept her seat on his bouncing cock. Thus the tickling torment went on—and on—and relentlessly fucking ON—!
And his torment was redoubled by a desperate, constantly increasing desire to cum his fucking BRAINS out! He was SO ready and he felt SO close—but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite force himself over the edge. He was being tickled to PIECES—he was so fucking HORNY he couldn’t fucking STAND it—and he knew with the certainly of total despair that he’d NEVER be allowed to cum!
“You’re getting the idea now,” Baktia said. And once again, with no sense of transition, Marty found himself in a new and even more terrifying predicament. A thick, fleshy tendril had sprung up out of the sand, wrapped itself around his waist, and lifted him off his feet!
“This is truly going to be a SCREAM,” the crimson-skinned demoness chuckled, flicking out an abnormally long tongue to lick her pouty lips. And indeed, poor Marty was screaming at the top of his lungs. A second tendril shot out of the sand to coil around his left leg. A third erupted to coil around his right leg. Their warm, slightly slimy touch made his skin crawl. Next his wrists were snared and his arms were stretched high over his head. He was struggling in a thicket of tendrils now, some thick and muscular, some slender and delicate. The small ones crept up his torso, probing his ribs and stroking his exposed armpits.
‘BWAAAAH-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-AAH-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!” Marty bellowed. Suddenly he was being tickled all OVER! The tendrils were caressing the backs of his LEGS and the soles of his FEET and the small of his BACK—! “EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HIIIIEEEE-HEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!!!” he shrieked wildly.
Arms akimbo, Baktia stood watching while Marty was tickled pink—literally. He was somehow aware that the voluptuous demoness was controlling the tickling tendrils. She arched an eyebrow, and they attacked the tender spaces between his wriggling TOES! She lifted her chin, and a tendril with a feathery tip slithered up to stroke the bridge of his fucking NOSE—!
Gradually the tendrils maneuvered him into a straining vertical spreadeagle, head about a foot from the sand, toes pointed toward the shimmering coppery haze that passed for a sky. It seemed to Marty that every square INCH of his quivering body was being tickled now. His sides and belly ached furiously. His skin was covered with greasy sweat. And he STILL had a fucking HARD-ON!
“IT’S NOT FAAAAAAIR!!!” Marty shrieked. “GAAAAHAAAA-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA-HAA!!! STOP!!! I’M SORREEEEHEEEE-HIIIIEEEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!!!”
“It’s too late for repentance, my sweet.” Baktia laughed hugely. “Far, FAR too late!”
And again, with absolutely no sense of transition, Marty found himself in a new position.
This time he was down on all fours, with tendrils wrapped around his wrists and ankles. He scarcely had time to register this fact before something whistled through the air behind him and cracked across his naked ASS!
“EEEEEEEEYAAAAAAAA!!!” Marty screeched. It stung like HELL!
“That was just to get your attention,” Baktia explained. She planted an elegant bare foot on the back of his neck and pressed his face into the sand. “Perhaps you even LIKED it, hmmmm? Well, sweet thing, if you DID like it, you’re going to LOVE what’s coming next!”
She snapped her fingers. A tendril erupted from the sand to wave in front of Marty’s face.
“NO!” he screamed when he saw its shape. “OH NO! NOT THAT! OH PLEASE NOT THAT!”
The tendril was penis-shaped. And it was a good three inches in diameter, with a pulsing, swollen head.
As Marty screamed and struggled, the penis-tendril inched nearer and nearer to his contorted face. Then suddenly, at a gesture from Baktia, it arrowed into his fucking MOUTH—!
“GGGGGGLLLLLLUUUUUUGGGGGGH!!!” Marty grunted. His face turned pink and purple in a futile effort to force a scream past the invading organ—if it was an organ.
“That should keep you quiet, sweet thing,” Baktia giggled. “Honestly, with the way you LAUGH there are times when I simply can’t hear myself THINK! And don’t worry—you’re going to be tickled.
“UUUURRRRUUUUMPH!!!” Marty grunted.
“Oh, and did I mention that it’s going to be a THREESOME?”
Marty had a frightening premonition of what she meant even before he felt something worming its way between his butt cheeks to touch his puckered orifice.
“That’s right, sweet thing, you’re about to get a taste of what it was like to be your cousin Jason. And your girlfriend—what was her name?” Baktia affected a frown. “Oh, yes, Diana. Dear me, how HUMILIATING that was for her!”
The second tendril was tickling Marty’s asshole now, which caress sent intense electric thrills shooting straight into his belly and balls. His cock extended itself, lifting until it was practically parallel to the ground.
“You never let Jason do YOU this way, did you, sweet thing?” Baktia shook her head. “How very SELFISH of you!”
Marty clenched his ass muscles in a frantic attempt to prevent the unthinkable violation that was about to be inflicted on him. But he knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold out long. Another tendril—slender, with a feathery tip—had sprung up to stroke his tumid tool. A greasy, lustful sensation spread through his body, loosening his muscles, teasing away his resistance. . .
“GGGGGGRRRRRRUUUUUUGH!!!” Marty grunted as his defenses failed and the hideous invader nailed him!
“Excellent!” Baktia clapped her hands. “Yes, my sweet, I think you’re really going to enjoy THIS!”
No sooner had she spoken than several more tendrils sprang up out the sand. They immediately attacked Marty’s torso and the soles of his feet, stroking and tickling with their pointed tips. He bucked and writhed like a maniac. Blocked screams gurgled in his throat. The invading tendril thrust in and out, stimulating his sweet spot and redoubling the intensity of the tickling. His balls felt ready to BURST—his rock-hard cock THROBBED—but no matter how hard he tried, Marty couldn’t fucking CUM—!
For Marty, there was no telling how long this went on. It might have been an hour—a day—a century. At some point, though, it ended—but only so that he could be introduced to a new and even more horrid form of tickling torment. And always Baktia was by his side, sometimes directing the actions of the fiendish instruments of his punishment, sometimes administering the torture directly. . .
He was spread-eagled on a wooden rack, and Baktia was tickling his rigid member with a stiff, pointed feather. Marty was shrieking with laughter, straining every muscle in a desperate effort to achieve orgasm. And then he found himself screaming the one thing that he’d promised himself he’d NEVER say: “STOP!!! GAAAAHAAA!!! NO MORE!!! AAAAHAAAA!! NO FUCKING MORE!!! PLEEE-HEE-HEE-HEEEESE!!! JUST PUT ME IN THE RAIN OF FIRE!!! HIIIEEE-HEE-HEE!! THE RAIN OF FIRE!!! PUT ME THERE!!! PUT ME THERE!!!”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Baktia stopped the tickling for a moment. “The Authorities were very pleased with the results of the trial, my sweet. They’ve decided to make tickling torture a permanent alternative punishment for Sodomites. New arrivals will get to choose. But as for you, well, you’ve already MADE your choice, haven’t you?”
And with a wicked smile, she resumed tickling his cock!
“EEEEEEEEEEEEYAAAAAAAAAAAA-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-EEEEEEYAAAAAA-HAA-HAA!!!” Marty screeched. He writhed, wiggled and squirmed. But it was futile—all was futile now—he’d fucking be here FOREVER—!
“Try to look on the bright side, my sweet.” Baktia gave his balls a squeeze. “I’m told that your cousin Jason may be joining us soon. Won’t THAT be fun?”
