Graham is in hell.

A very special version of hell.

For you see: He helped the devil, but he did not sell him his soul, in life.
He pledged to be good. He loved that. Helping people, and doing things for nature and the health of the galaxy. Whatever.

Graham was a 17 year old boy when he decided he wanted to be a doctor; a therapist with a Ph.D or Psy.D. He loved helping people almost as much as helping him self. Which is basically what made sense to him then; material pleasure, success, helping others, transcendence.

But he did not follow the rules; he enjoyed nearly all of these things. Success was one thing but really, our friend did not care to override others, or beat people, compete in games and succeed, outstanding your last success each and every time. This just... didn't make sense to him when it all happened.

Brazil. 1993. He is born, and the world welcomes him, gives him intelligence, wit, emotional profoundity, and of course, undoubtedly the mantle piece of this story: his very special testicles.

He liked porn. He liked his mom. But he liked porn, a lot.

Here he is as he is in hell; he has a computer connected to a virtual, artificial-net that he can explore (for all time), any snacks he wants, and drink, or enema, any sniff, nemels, any drug, and he can have infinite of it. Sometimes he smoked a little grass because he believed it helped him, in his overclocked chimp brain, but he mainly, of course did sex. And this is the main portion of where our story will exist: carnal, sexual pleasure of the highest calibre, given to him by satan, in leiu of his choice, denying god eternal life and pure joy, existing with him in heaven in a likely static, meditative state as far as he can comprehend it. He sits in this high-rise apartment, unable to leave. He can do anything he wants: roam in-side the novels of his youth as a character (as him self if so), to travel the infinite world of Princess Zelda, he can have something outfitted for him; he can live a thousand lives in one second of hell's time.

The room where he mainly stays, now (after so much time) is the pink room. It's walls are covered in a pastel-pink and plum-purple veloure of chalk-paint; he can change out art to sit on the walls from the greatest artists of humanity, of demons, of elves, aliens in other planets, anything to sit on those walls~

And there's a door. A candy-pink door of cast-iron, that no matter what else he can do, even opening it in virtual reality and exploring it to his own discretion, the way he wants--he will never be able to open it. This is the door the females come through.

Demi Moore, Chloe, Stoya, Fuko, children, old women, slug creatures, monster-girls, lilith and morrigan, mini-girls (a derivaive of fairies and chibi combined), 2d girls, his own drawings, The Perfect Girl (unused thus far into the debacle), babies, thousands of babies the sick fuck! Dogs. Animals of any kind. He can have sex with them or do anything--he can make his muscles bigger, turn into a ghost, he can make his penis the ideal size, but of course also the opposite size of what would feel good for the lady, assuming he permitted an idealized version of her soul, to exist within the husk, when he summons her. Our first lady will be that of Pamela Anderson, from when she first started on baywatch! But with the brain of the character from that one teen coming-of-age from the 80s with dark hair and a nymphomania.

-PAMELA-

She walks into the room, and looks down at herself, then her eyes warble. She sits on the plastic-blue inflatable sofa Graham chose for her. Her Ass squibbles and squeaks against the plastic, several milimeters thick, and Graham tells her to strip. She smiles at him, and does it kindly, does a pirouette and her foot flicks at the end staying in the air for a brief second, then she closes her feet close together on the ground, like a guard at buckingham palace.

They go into it relatively quickly (in comparison to the rest). This is Grahams 203'd year here, and he's really not honestly tired of it. Sure, he knew heaven would be better down the line, way down the line, or somewhere near; he didn't care.

He feels up from her nice hip bone to her breast, and the goosebumps arrive as a courier to Alley-Pamela's smile. She's got no makeup, no plastic surgery; just the way He likes it. She just lies there and lets him do what he wants, how he wants--she's linked to him, a bio-synthetic android meant distinctly for pleasure, with more capacity than the real Lilith, and with more suppl'ety than a newborn pug.

He moves his head down to her vagina after slipping the pink scuunci panties halfway down her thick, womanly thighs. He just goes into it like a taco haha. He's eating it up so good, and it smells a bit like lavender, but with a very nearly quasi-nauseating odor mixed in somewhere in the 2 - 8 minute's they've been acquainted. She delicately places her boney-tan hands onto the top of his scruffy head and, pushes him in as he's making out feverishly with her second pair... He goes with the hands up to her boobs and she sucks in the stomach. He loves her boobs. He remembers in this moment going and printing out that picture of her in leather and bleached hair and mascara (with those long-long eyelashes) and jerking off to her when he was a kid, back on the middle-ground. He would cum on the page accidentally, a few months into it; it wasn't like full boy-cum, all thick and globulent, but just squirts: his balls, from back then, adjusting and kicking into emission.

Graham pulls his pants down and his boner flips out, raising a bit more than normal, towards his belly button. He lies on top of her, hugging her. And pushing his face into her large, developed breasts. She squeezes them together into his face as he eats them, her legs wrapping around his heavy-set ass, and pushing his dick face-down into the na're there fat of her pubis and her lower tummy.

He just lies into it, and starts rocking a bit, moaning "nnnnnughfffmm.. UNGmmmmmFUH!"

She giggles a little bit and asks him "Do you worry?"

"No darling.. all I need is you, right now. I'm okay see"

He hunches his hips against her second-lips another time, and it's abit wetter now, than before. The buoyant and counteracting force of her soft skin, combined with the suppl'ety of her bosom, and the fat under the skin, make him go a little bit mad. He never fucks the same girl twice, of course.

She digs her nails into his back and wheens a bit biting her red-stained lip, glossy like a well-kept 1949 Buick Roadmaster. He raises a bit from his in-bedded position and makes out with her. His large tongue entering her mouth, and she suckles on it, and her toes lift his body up and gently, gently into the cusp of her vagina... He hesitates, strenuating the hips against the natural position of his lean into her, and then falls into it, like a box car and a jug of wine.

He helped the devil take humanity.

She lets her legs rest to the side a little bit and, his pubes are a bit long but he's really getting into it and she just loves that, the old bimbo. She has her hands rested on his head now, sucking away, they're like an old englishman does to his beer belly when waiting for his turn in pool. He cums into her. He keeps going, and cum spilling out and a driving force into her cervix, he presses hard, and forces the cum out faster, he screams and presses into her, she flips him, conjoined in the air, and now his tailbone is rested nicely and floatingly into the center of the water bed, it's the center of his weight.

As he's cumming she and him start crying, and she humps down with the joint of her hips fucking back and forth, she reaches to her behind and graps at the pool of cum it's slapping into with wind-marks, and creams it and smushes it all over her asshole. it's really thick, of course, and she takes his dick out for a second to swallow some, and to cover them in the juice--then gets back on and rides even faster. His screams are great now and his blush is almost cartoonic.

She embraces him like he was doing her and holds his head like a baby kissing into it. She punches him in his balls and a jolt of spray enters her uterus at the same time it pumps down and wraps itself around the tip of his digging, forever-entering dick. She shudders, her entire body and she holds him in her embrace hard as he fills through her canal and grasping down on his member tightly, gets it allll up into there as he grows it bigger and bigger, and her belly now starts to blimp.

She's blushing hard too as well and he's groping at her thick-set, creamed ass. She's squirting all over him and gyrating in their squeeze. She jelques her pivot (hips) down against his balls, and does a reach-around and massages them tenderly as she drops down onto him, her tits cramped at his neck and their warm hearts beating steadily together against their hot-sweaty skin. The cum peters out like a gargling sink of a pipe system from russia that sucks water instead of giving it. His 'set shrivels up into a weird alien baby brain looking stance and "Whooo!", lighting up a pall mall menthol.

She's gone for good as she exits the door, the black abyss from behind the door erasing her, and he goes back to his video games after some teal-green towel's flying, carried over by sprites come and pat him down clean.

End of part 1.

---

-GRASSY KNOLLE-

This time. This time, Graham is smoking a cigarette, as he was last, and grows fond of the experience of Pamela, now requiring a install, a grom'tick'le'for-tre'nough of disgusting, slimy and fortuitous force of nature, of the mind and imagination to come to him and take hold of him.

The lamia-creature hobbles in through the door, not opening but phazing directly though it. It's got a long tail up to it's belly button, with a v-section spluiced down up to her behind, where although human shape is covered in slimy-snake, scale-skin. It's got the body of a princess up top with hair like the girl from The Ring, but with teeny little hands and a cute little face with freckles, and red lips, a kind smile, and her hair is brushed and combed, dried and frayed at the tips. You can only see the v-section portion of her. Her hair is in fact the old-man's beard.

Her tail, covered by vines and roots, sticking out of no-where seemingly. Her breasts are like Juliette's but slightly more of a larger shape, of the Ridgemont high's, and with a dotted pink arealoa that's soft and slightly inverted, the nipples peeking out all semi-hard and ready to be gotten...

Her eyes are a hard, mixture of mustard dijon yellow and with cat slivers where there isn't even a third lid...

She slithers over the trees branch' trickling the soft pink ground velvet of the room like natural velcro and those spider webs that are the retainers and master of tree's someawheres in the jungle in malaysia.

It crinkles and snaps across' it as she enters his space.

She gentley tattles her hand on his and smoothly grasps it, directing him to the bathroom.

The bathroom is old victorian, like the cheapest rooms at the El Tovar, but with a lime-green redux too'et.

She turns on the cheerful soft water of the golden elephant's trunk spout and lightly rests herself in the tub. She waits there with crescent eyes and a silent blind-person's smile until the water begins to overflow. Then beckons him into her.

He plops down onto her, the bathtub growing to accomodate, and slowly wraps her thistled tail around him, tightly grasping him and feathering her arms, womanly around his back and rests his face in her pert-chest.

"hmm mmm~mmmmm, mmm hm'mm mmm" she sirens to his ear.
He grows underneath and she accomodates with an adjustment, slipping him inside her dolphin-slit.

They lie there all night with the lights off, the branches kicking and knestling into his side, but with the soft-slimey skin of hers as a barreir to the madness, a perfect motherly hollow of his nuts, resting tuckedly and snugly into an engravement in her pouch.

His semen starts overflowing in oil-like sheen mixed in to the running water.

The lights go *click!*

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dabs!ABCDEDEZEY 15/06/19(Fri)01:53 No. 936 File 143469320256.jpg - (7.72KB , 320x240 , 031266_58.jpg ) -SEX ROBOT- It's, what? Sunday? Hahaha. Our hero is now wanting to grasp his key-tar hidden over behind the stack of doujinshi from the 20th century, along with etchi school girl mags, his keytar is a candy-lavender sheen with golden keys where the black should be. The main keys are white... he grabs it and lies down on the water-bed, flipping the switch on the keytar making it spin. The little, brown, tobacco-stained lever wasn't there before he decided it should be... Graham... is in hell. A very special version of hell. And this time, he's ready for something nasty. The large, cast-iron door is a weird pink; pastel with polka-dots. He can decide on any color in the room, any decor, but he has to grab it out of an un-locked chest from within an alcove, which he removes from it and opens, to find anything he would like to decorate the room with. After playing out "Toot Suite," on the kawaii-sugoi instrument of the early 1980's, he decides to get something to "decorate" his experience; his abode, with. Turning on the fatty ps2 under his bed with the dip-switch ingrained behind his left ear Graham decides to play some Grand Theft Auto 3, illuminated in a holograph, illustrated in matrix-green on the bathroom mirror. In there it's a bit lighter pink than in the main room. The dirty, almost weirdly hellish programming inherent in the graphics of the old game priques Graham's young penis, entering a jive of blood and electricity in the end of his meatus. "I know a place on the edge of the red light district where we can lay low. But my hands are all messed up so you better drive, brother." 8-ball is the somewhat oddly-set majordomo of the 'mute protagonist of the 6th generation title, Claude. He's requiring Claude to drive since his hands have been bounds due to a reason not alluded to or spoken of in the game. It's kind of an odd title that Graham hasn't played since he was in like 5th grade. Claude hops in and head radio blips on. The trunk opens up by itself, and from the corner of his eye Graham notices a figure from Ghost in The Shell walking over to him--it is an out-dated sex droid from the movie "Innocence." Sitting down on the spinning pink round bed, it lies about 4 or 5 inches from graham, the jade holograph of cartoonic scenes of early-2000's death and mischief now the center of Graham's vision as his back waddles in the wake of her disruption of the gel-substance composing the entirety of the bed's internals. His hands release from the shape of holding a video game controller, and lie down on the bed, the visuals disappearing as he does. "Eh hee ey hee ey, eh hee ey hee ey," " sings "Stripe Summers" of head radio in the room as the child-like fuck-husk cocks her head. Graham's eyes lock with her green eyes as he looks over at her, a perfectly neotenic presentation of sex from The Lord of the Flies, himself. A genuine smile creeps to his face as he visualizes his guardian angel from Earth filling his heads of his memoirs and short stories from his time as the Anti-Christ. The cask of a geisha kid slides it's velvet-strapped mechanically-jointed fingers across his cheek, it's cherubic face luring into his frontal cortex feelings of uncanny valley as he holds onto it's hand and brings it to the floor. The shag on the floor feels good on his bare back as she takes off his pants and his member flops up onto his stomach like there's some garrotte twins rigging it there. With a medium-pitched whirr she gets onto his crotch, it's tip tickling between the soft velvet on her stomach-plate, and his tongue feeling the nine-volt current of her tongue as she rests her robot hips. His inflated urethra is a bit flattened with the rest of the vans deferens vibrating inside of his loins, the three spongey tubes lying there between them, a sexual layer of vacuum between their bodies. Her porcelain white ass, with all of it's divine curvature, resting plump and crooked; raised in the air with her knees bent to his sides, she mounts him closer, the antler-product--the velvet--irritating his increasingly growing penis as it lies protracted awkwardly without adjustment below her heavy but petite cyborg body. The breast plates have a layer of temper-foam scuunci on the cask, (the default portion of her body; normally it'd have additional outfits and exteriors for further customization) designated to that spot by the designers for any cyber-jockies for a real thing for the bare-bones look of that. More whining and whirring by the worm-and-sector automation-system of her appendages and their joints. Graham lifts a hand to that ass and squeezes it, the bot auto-adjusting to his tastes, lifting a leg and jelquing her synthetic vagina, fold against the tip of his cock, her weight further lifted up so he can enjoy it further with his mouth. The ass is soft and supple, but 'old-world' and not what he'd expect upon his original viewing of the auxiliary cyberpunk title of the famous series. Her ass is crooking back and forth, it's plush depths seemingly endless amidst Graham's hard grip of the meat of the thing. Finally, she adjusts and her face sits lifeless as the cavity of her hips slide onto his cock, grating and vibrating inside with the mechanics of it, as it struggles to maintain it all. With her arms down and her chest propped up tangent to his supine lying-down stance, she jitters about an inch or two with each pump, her black mop-top jelly-fishing sporadically with every grisk of the function. He lifts his hands over and behind his head and arches his back as the wonderful machine arches in the opposite direction, something of a scalene triangle, now. Grabbing and locking their hands, they rock back and forth feverishly like an ivy league rowing team in-tandem with one another at a practice session on a free saturday. It begins excreting a mixture of light oil, containing a percentage of KY but mainly baby oil to lubricate their session as her toes arch, and dig into the carpet like some sort of sex monk. His sweat coats her mechanical shell, and he drags them over still-conjoined to the pastel wall and rests his tailbone, relaxing his core into the crook of the wall to the left of the bathroom door. Placing her hands on a towel-bar above his head, he lies down and it takes the queue: She mounts her US-size 2 feet onto the floor like a rock-blower in a quarry and adjusts her weight to the act. Sliding up and down up and down the lewd pseudo-human doll created for rich businessmen tracts it's hips further into his, locking down the suction inside of her hip cavity to acquaint for the size of his phallus compared to her lower-body's size, accomodating further as she goes faster and faster, more professionally against his every tremble and toss, feeling the pre-ejaculate flowing out like a half-broken water-fountain in a Battery Park, she goes faster and faster, milking the suffixal stuff until his body tenses, sharply stopping motion to let him decide what to do. "Yeah..!" Graham calls out weakly, and her pupils give out a weird colored light as she motions into a hyper-drive, his cum now expanding her uterus-back until the belly plates creak into an exterior position. The Anti-Christ whimpers as his penis is oversensitively milked, writhed, and his balls twine like a damp towel being wrenched, his mouth open and croaking at this absurd motion taking him for all he's got. His penis grows inside of the thing and it spazzes out going faster, and faster as blood start to shoot out, his testicles grinding and reformulating themselves via devil's magic so he can go in and out of sexual consciousness, refractory be damned, the floor drenched and his libido, now, fully relaxed and satisfied by this act... As the robot now slides off of him, slacking to the spot on the wall next to him, he hands her a Benson and Hedges lite, a smoke cloud filling the dark room, and her head leans against his shoulder, both lighting up, with his balls lifted up into his stomach, and his semen inflating hers.