Bloodmoon Resort: Satan’s trip 2
It’s time to rekindle old friendships for Satan
Bloodmoon Resort: Satan’s trip 2
It’s time to rekindle old friendships for Satan
“The Bloodmoon Resort was known as Bloodmoon Island. Over centuries, the presence of multiple rifts led to the apparition of Demons, attracted by the natural energy produced by the Island. Its inhabitants, trained in fighting Demons, spent centuries pushing back-”
“Satan to the mortal world. Satan to the mortal world. Are you there?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m listening… What did you say?”
Still stretching on the yoga mat, naked, Satan no longer eyed the group of newcomers guided by a human going for the long historical explanation.
Instead, his eyes went to the Yoga instructor, another helmeted human whose body could bend in all sorts of directions. And then to Be’lakor.
The horned, ashen-skinned Demon was certainly intriguing: snake-like tongue, sunken eyes, osseous growth, an eight-star scar across the chest, and furled wings that had been pierced and reduced to tatters.
Similar to Satan, Be’lakor was a Demon principled by war. In echo, Be’lakor’s world was a good place where Satan used to relax. Yet, it was amusing to see the powerful and often foul-mouthed general stretching like any other, grabbing on clawed toes while bending forward.
“I said. We are planning a karaoke tonight. You’re in?”
“I dunno. Karaoke isn’t my thing,” grumbled Satan, shaking his head as he got to his feet, going for the warrior pose like instructed.
“Your thing? Please? You have the best voice of us all, by far.”
“I don’t like that,” grumbled Satan, shaking his head. “You’ll call me a princess, guys.”
“You are a princess,” answered Be’lakor, moving to another posture, on balance on one foot, much like Satan. An effort when they had additional weights in the form of wings.
“I… Am not,” hissed Satan, already hearing Yogirt’s words.
“Your mind is a river. All trouble shall be washed away. Be the river, always flexible to change.”
“Whoa. It’s true you have changed.”
“Everyone says that,” grumbled Satan, shaking his horns and then going for the standing firefly posture, the muzzle between his legs.
“It’s true. Where did your fire go? Is that why you refused to visit again? I missed our hunting sessions!”
To answer this, Satan grumbled.
But yes, he’d enjoyed the moments hunting mortal souls in the ‘warp’, as was called Be’lakor’s hell. Such a place abounded with prey to hunt, and Satan had even taken a sabbatical year then… Perhaps, two millennia ago? Even then, the Deadly Sin shook his head.
“I missed them, too. But with the Jesus shit-show and Lucifer deciding to abandon his seat, I had to step in. And the place is shaping up!” said Satan, forcing a smile.
“It does?”
“Not really,” grunted the Deadly Sin, raising a hand and getting a nod from the instructor.
He grabbed his mat and was met by Be’lakor, who followed him.
And following him as they went from the beach, with Demons soaking up or taking a swim in the blood sea, to the boardwalk. However, instead of taking the direct path to his bungalow, where Doom or Orcus would be waiting, Satan took the opposite direction towards the ‘Mall’, a community center that had been expanded to include shops.
“You will not talk about it? The Satan I knew would rage about it for years…” said Be’lakor, prodding and stepping faster to be in front of Satan… before he turned, and pointed at Satan with raised brows.
“Okay. Something is wrong, Satan. And I know the solution. Bloodmoon smoothie. That’s on me.”
“I doubt. But it is on my way,” said Satan.
On his way, it meant for the Demon to be buying a few groceries for tonight, like fresh human-soul steaks and hellfire greens. But the idea of the sweet slurry, of blood and ‘cream’, made the trip more appealing to Satan.
Tempted enough, he went into the small convenience store, nodding to the helmeted clerk.
“Spicy smoothies for you?”
“I upgraded to Hellish,” said Be’lakor, grabbing one tray of steak. “Now, tell me.”
For a moment, Satan’s eyes drifted over the alleys. Other demons were going around, mainly old names, even Satan did not know. More than that, he swore he even saw Cthulhu comparing the price of piquette firewine and refined bourbon.
Satan followed Be’lakor, watching him pick one of the already-prepared smoothies and then fetch the sacrificed goat milk.
It seemed Be’lakor had grabbed an offered handbag from one clerk and enjoyed his shopping.
“So?”
“What are you buying?”
Be’lakor’s eyes rolled, and then he extended a can of virgin blood. “Fresh or extra?”
“Fresh,” answered Satan, watching Be’lakor drop the extra can. Curiosity struck the Deadly Sin. His eyes darted as he saw a Pride Demon getting fingered by one ‘assistant’. Then, Satan frowned and shook his head. “I’ll grab my smoothie and leave.”
“Why the rush? Say what? I’m inviting you to dine with me tonight. You, me, and the blood sports massacres tonight. What do you think?”
“That… Sounds great,” grumbled Satan.
“I know it is. You love it,” laughed Be’lakor, waving his hand towards one bag of seeds Satan grabbed and checked. Popcorn. Not too bad, as the Deadly Sin threw it in the bag. Silent.
It continued, with more items being added until Be’lakor and Satan went to check out.
“Hey Be’lakor, hello, Sir,” began the helmeted clerk, scanning the items.
“Hello, Arghan. Has anyone bothered you?”
“No. Thank you,” answered the human while Be’lakor grabbed the scanned items to throw them in a portal. “It has been a good week for me. And for you? How was it?”
“Great. An old friend finally joined us. Arghan, here is Satan.”
“Hi,” said Satan, waving his hand.
“A pleasure to meet you, Satan,” added the human before everything was scanned, and Be’lakor grabbed the two smoothies. “I hope you’re having an excellent stay at our resort.”
“I am,” nodded Satan, solemn, and grabbed the smoothie he was handing before stepping outside and being back in the open mall, under the skylight.
Followed the sound of Be’lakor slurping and Satan joining him, while they walked in the opposite direction from which they entered.
Much to his dissatisfaction… That smoothie helped Satan feel better.
The Bloodmoon smoothies couldn’t be found anywhere; even if Satan had tried to pitch the idea to Beelzebub, it never took off in Hell. It wasn’t the only thing he missed as he took a deep sip and sighed.
“Better?”
“Better,” nodded Satan, back on the walkways, surrounded by palm trees, bushes, sand, and the iodine wind.
“You’ll tell me now?”
“Ugh. What’s there to say? I could go on and on about why the Goetias are hounding my ass. Lucifer left, but even if I lead the judgments, they undermine me. Oh, and worse! I had to handle political drama with those incestuous birds. Ugh. Judgments. If I don’t do that regularly, they think they can try to throw me down. Do you imagine that?”
“I imagine,” nodded Be’lakor, slurping his smoothie. “I had three assassination attempts on me over the last three months.”
“Right? And they think they’re so smart, masterminds in disguise. If they knew about all the shits I pulled, especially with Paimon’s ass, I-“
“Chill. They’re not here. Plus, nobody can fight here, remember?”
That was true. No demons could wield weapons against other demons or the staff. It was a place for relaxation. Even war-waging Demons could be found meditating on the beach, enjoying the spas with the bubbling lava pools, and then more.
“Yeah. That’s the gist. I’m here. But it feels like-“
“You’re about to get stabbed or betrayed? Satan. This is no plot here. Bloodmoon Resort is our little spot. Come on. You’re probably burnt out. You’ve seen your therapist?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Wait. Really? Even the Warp offers an incentive for mental healthcare!” added Be’lakor, smacking Satan’s back as they walked towards Be’lakor’s bungalow.
“Oh yeah! Before we did, we had thirty percent of our demons suffering from burnout. Too much torture, not enough incentive. Many would decide to lie down or search for another Demon Lord, hoping to land a better spot. Trust me, it never works.”
Satan listened, slurping his smoothie… And grimacing a bit when he felt his brain was freezing. An instant after, it passed. And the Deadly Sin chucked the cup into a portal.
“I was not in a good spot either. Then we moved to an in-house therapist. We implemented shorter weeks and recruited more demons from the other lords while increasing their salaries. Oh, and we even stopped the pizza days. Seriously, who the fuck believes they work?”
“But-“
“No, Satan. Pizza days don’t work. Stop with that.”
Again, Satan grimaced. But he noted the information as they arrived at Be’lakor’s bungalow, and the demon entered without unlocking it. The place was clean, and the cleaning crew was always active. But the scent of sex and cum was hanging around while Be’lakor stretched his arms, summoned his portal, and pulled his groceries from it.
“Make yourself at home. I will be quick,” said Satan’s host, already putting everything in the mini-fridge of that place that looked similar to Satan’s… But only one guest room.
For his part, the Deadly Sin grabbed the remote as he sat down on the Sofa and began the search for an interesting program. News from different Hells or Hellscapes. Weather forecast at Bloodmoon Resort, a drama movie, animated series from a random Earth. Satan went on and on, changing and bouncing from program to program: mortal-based sports, demon-based sports, angel slaughtering, angel fucking, demon fucking, demon fucking with humans, humans fucking, aliens fucking. There were a lot of options on the fucking part until Satan went back on something akin to basketball, though the ball was sentient and prone to bite.
By then, Be’lakor was already cooking something and making a few back and forth between the kitchen and the sofa, checking on Satan while stripping further and further until the winged, ashen-skinned Demon was naked and his uncut cock flapping between his legs.
“You know what we forgot?”
“What?” asked Be’lakor, coming up with the pan so Satan could sniff it.
“Salt. And the fun we had when we used to slaughter them. I used to slaughter my subordinates. But I can’t do that anymore.”
“It doesn’t work, Satan. Respect will get you further than you think... But don’t tell any of my people that.”
Be’lakor even waved his pan like a threat, and Satan mimicked his lips getting ziplocked.
“I won’t say a thing.”
“Good.”
Still, Satan's eyes returned to that game with two sides of the demonic origin, though the more orcish-looking definitely had an advantage over the imps.
“You don’t have any way of earning their respect? An army to slaughter?”
“No. Hell is locked, and they’ve got weapons that can blast us.”
“And you don’t.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve had my minions searching for years, but I gave up.”
“Any uprising?”
“The closest would be on the pride ring, but I don’t want to touch that shit with a five-kilometer stick.”
“Sinners. They are… Yes,” nodded Be’lakor, setting up the plates. “You said people were trying to assassinate you?”
“I won’t let them stab me. It hurts, dammit.”
“No. I mean, you could guide them?”
Satan tilted his head and turned down the volume right as an ‘orc’ scored. It was getting too loud for him.
“What?”
“Okay. Take a plot assassination. Help them indirectly. Set up everything. And when they’re jumping on you, you take them out publicly. Then, you have your tribunal thingy, kill them. But your imps will be impressed.”
“It… Might work. Better even if I do this with a Goetia.”
“The posh cunts you have to babysit?”
Satan nodded, stroking his chin, thoughtful.
“I even got one. A bitch who recently got divorced. Raging cunt, incestuous brother. They’re perfect for this.”
“You’d think. But beware. Wild bitches can be dangerous.”
“Then I’d try the brother.”
“Better,” nodded Be’lakor. “Hey. Now that I’ve got you in a better mood, do you want to try something with me tonight?”
“With you?” scoffed Satan, shaking his head in surprise.
“With me. Since I have you around and I definitely decided not to join the karaoke night, I can order two humans for us to have fun.”
“That’s…” Satan tilted his head. But having a moment with Be’lakor was always fun.
Or so Satan thought as they ate and watched the blood sports, a trans-dimensional program where humans were slaughtered in gruesome ways. Those humans were willing participants, though. They all joined with the hope of being granted a wish. After watching the last participant being culled next to the finish line, Satan should have been in a great mood.
And yet… He was scowling and frowning as he lay on Be’lakor’s bed. He had his eyes blindfolded, his legs spread and lifted, his wings tied, and his knees bent.
“What the hell is this?”
“Everyone recommended it. We should try it, too. But I wouldn’t do it alone.”
“Bottoming? I am not a bottom, Be’lakor.”
“Come on, give it a try. It wouldn’t hurt.”
“It would hurt my pride!”
“Don’t be sour. I’ll make up for it,” commented Be’lakor, putting on his blindfold and lying right by Satan. “I promise.”
“You’d better find me my next bitches or find a way I can hog Doom’s ass.”
“You are still into him.”
“He’s got the best ass of all,” coughed Satan, feeling his ribs hit by an elbow. “Watch it.”
“It’s difficult when I’m blindfolded,” commented Be’lakor. “Ready?”
“To be fucked because my friend wants to bottom? No. Not at all.”
“Then you are ready.”
Satan’s brisk breath was right next to Be’lakor’s more relaxed attitude. Nevertheless, the Deadly Sin had his tail swaying as he heard a door opening. Unless invited, no Demon could come. As for the staff, they could access it as long as they wanted, so it was the latter.
The two humans Be’lakor had paid so they would… Fuck demons.
“That’s so stupid,” huffed Satan, shaking his head and hitting something with his horns.
“Watch it,” huffed Be’lakor. “And it ain’t stupid. They’re doing this for first-timers.”
“That’s stupid, I can’t see who’s… o… Ohhh.”
Satan’s words died in his mouth. Something warm, soft, and pleasant was against his asshole, a mortal’s breath. A breath that was delicate, huffing the musky smell coming from the virgin and wrinkled entrance.
A breath that came at a regular pace, as if someone was lost in contemplating the asshole.
And… Satan sighed, and so did Be’lakor when the two had something wet and warm pressed against their entrances.
“What… Was that?”
“A… Tongue, I guess?” moaned Be’lakor, his torso tensing. “Oh. Warp gods. That’s good.”
Good wasn’t the exact word Satan would pick. But it was evidently pleasant to experience. The luscious contact of that subtle tongue dancing upon his wrinkled rim clearly affected Satan. The soft, warm touch, the caresses, the saliva smeared on the muscles as they relaxed. Steadily, the sphincter eased up and hints of red flesh would appear. But not only. Satan’s breathing slowed, his tail rested against the bed. His wings stopped fluttering, much like Be’lakor’s.
“It is better than you thought, right?” asked Be’lakor, his mouth certainly split in a shit-eating grin.
“Shut up.”
But yes, Satan had to force himself to keep scowling and not smile like that idiot. He had to fight not to moan when that tongue, so rigid and dexterous, pushed against his back entrance to force it open, only to pull back.
Pull back as if it were chastising itself. And then, going back inside, pushing and prodding like it had no dealings doing so. But it explored, circling the sphincter, passing over each wrinkle, each little part of that puckered entrance.
It was… A massage. A massage that was given right to the Demon’s asshole, making him feel relaxed and much more than if he’d been on a bed, getting his shoulders squeezed.
And then, Satan moaned.
He moaned out loud when that finger was now pulling on the flesh on one side, while another finger went on the perineum, massaging and squeezing it.
On Satan’s right, Be’lakor was the same with his moans and groans, though the sound of suction that came from him showed he was further than Satan.
“I get why all the sluts are so much into bottoming after that,” laughed Be’lakor, his tongue lolling out.
“Are you… Saying you’ll be bottoming for humans?” asked Satan, huffing when that finger, slightly calloused, found its way at the center of the sphincter and pushed it, pried it open… And dug in.
“Nooo… I’m… I’m a top, Satan. I wouldn’t do that. I’m not like Doom, who’s been whoring… Himself…” coughed Be’lakor.
“Yeah. Totally a top,” chuckled Satan in petto.
“But. It doesn’t sound so bad. I mean… It’s good.”
“Yeah.”
This time, Satan didn’t chuckle. Right then, it felt good. Sure enough, it’d been odd and hurting a bit. But as soon as the entire digit was inside, it wiggled. And after a few breaths, all the pain was gone.
Remained then an odd mix of discomfort and pleasure. One that continued with the fingers dancing upon his perineum and inside his asshole, finding some place that was… Relaxing to touch.
Satan’s four eyes clenched tight when the finger suddenly thrust within, down to the last knuckle… And then pulled free, all the while pulling on the sphincter or forcing it to open… No… To make room, space. And then. A second finger.
“That… fist is big, right?”
“… Fist?” asked Satan, coughing in surprise.
“What?”
“What?!”
As soon as Satan and Be’lakor were about to talk… A shift in their ‘partners’ actions left them groaning and moaning. For Satan, it was for the second finger to be inside his asshole. His wrinkled entrance no longer looked as wrinkled. But it was undoubtedly not stretched open or swollen like Doom’s donuthole.
Even then, the fingers, twins, were happily digging into Satan and massaging him.
Somehow, even the discomfort was gone. Remained then the massage of his perineum, the circles drawn onto the scalie red skin. The pressure remained on different spots of his inner walls until something forced the fingers to shift their presence. And here, those fingers were yanked out, leaving Satan gasping and grumbling.
“Hey. Watch out. Don’t leave me ha-n-g-ing!”
A third finger. A third, and it was enough to have Satan tensing and almost squealing from the surprise. He was no bottom. He was no slut. But if he’d figured himself as a stoic and perfectly enduring top, he was surprised by how… Easy, he was to break under that touch.
“Sh-shit. What… Is that? You… Paid them…. Hgnrh,” tried to articulate Satan, his sentence losing meaning.
Be’lakor’s answer was just as meaningless when all that came through the Demon’s throat were loud, bellowing, and heartfelt moans. All followed by a blabber that Satan couldn’t understand. Even if he had all his wits, he wouldn’t have understood.
But under the fingers’ touch, with his shaft already throbbing and ascending, the Deadly Sin didn’t have the brainpower to decipher what was told.
Instead, he, too, began to melt away when the fourth finger joined. And then the fifth, closing it with the whole fist inserted within Satan. It was what Be’lakor meant?
“Fu-uuuuuuUUUu-ck!” cried Satan, little sparks spewing from his nostrils. He craned his neck, his horns planted in his bed… And here he was. Fisted. Wholly fisted while another hand was stroking his perineum and continuously massaging that spot that felt divine… And even more when that fist moved, churned the Demon’s guts, rearranged what was inside him like he’d done with many others.
This time, Satan was on the receiving end.
And rather than feeling like he was crushed from the inside. Rather than feeling humiliated, lessened, or diminished, Satan was… Blissful. He even smiled, though his huffs and moans were growing louder and filling the room, or at least echoing Be’lakor’s cries.
“More! More! Deeper!” cried the hulking Demon, finding a second wind and second wits to shout what he desired.
Satan would have laughed. Many top demons would have laughed just like him, mocking someone who thought himself superior to the others.
But… Satan did not. Not when he was understanding how good it was. That internal massage, delivered by that fist, wasn’t mere abuse. It was a perfectly planned and trained movement. It was… Something made to break Demons. To make them feel a pleasure that was far beyond the slaughter and abuse. Far beyond the joy of a bloodbath and destruction.
Satan smiled, feeling that fist move around and pump while his own asshole was suctioning on the wrist, slowing down but not even stopping the movements.
“Lucifer’s cunt,” groaned Satan, his wings weakly flapping due to the pleasure he felt growing under the touch.
Somewhere in his groin, a fire had been lit, and every action, every second, was more fuel to that fire that grew and grew. Much like Satan’s erection, finally pointing up and spewing precum all over those muscular red thighs or those abdominal muscles.
His lips curled into a smile. His asshole closed tighter without producing a break.
He was so close, so darn close. But the fist wouldn’t push deeper; it wouldn’t hit that spot here, right by it. Just one tiny brush, and it would be enough.
But… That human wouldn’t give him that release.
“D-Deeper, dammit,” grumbled Satan, giving up on his pride.
Two words. One begging. And here was the fist, digging further and just at the right angle. No sign, no more suggestions. That fist, the one who employed it, expertly hit Satan and sent him crying. No. Shouting as his cock exploded in a cumshot, a potent and white jet that ascended through the air… And finally landed all over his chest, his face, even his horns. All that cum, searing hot like magma, landed over the Demon. It went into his nostrils, into his mouth, on the blindfold.
And he smiled, stupidly even, as he was feeling satisfied, spent… And eager for more.
“More! Dammit! More!” he shouted, giving in to the appetite with his wings flapping.
And this time, he was echoing Be’lakor, both of them crying their despair and desires at the same time.
Both demons were giving in. Were wanting it. And both were happily crying to anyone who could hear it how much they loved those fists pumping in their assholes. Whether it was one lone fist, digging so deep the elbows were tingling the widening rims. Or double, when two fists were going in tandem, alternating between them while their knuckles brushed the spots the Demons craved for.
In and out, in and out. The two Demons were writhing and crying and cumming all over themselves, their mouths open while saliva spewed out of their mouth only to have cum spewed in.
In and out.
Their legs were tensing and trembling and quivering and giving out. They were going numb, so numb they wouldn’t even tell when their toes curled, when their muscles were pulled, when their articulations would give out.
In and out.
Their cocks would shoot and shoot. Ever again, always for more. And it would not stop. If they did, it was for a second before their supernatural stamina took over and gave them a second, third, fourth wind. And every time, their cocks would be back throbbing, their abdominal muscles clenching, and their ejaculation spewing forth while destroying the little furniture in the cabin.
In and out.
Their smiles. Their satisfaction. Their desires were plastered all over them, and none could deny it. Not Satan, whose tongue lolled out. Not Be’lakor, whose eyes rolled under the blindfold.
And none looked like a top. None of them looked like a dom when they had their legs spread so wide and their assholes fisted to the point the rims gaped when the fists were pulled out.
Sadly, much like everything, those fists had to stop.
No words were said or exchanged. Only came the ringing of an alarm signaling they could remove the blindfolds. The automatic cuffs opened, liberating legs and arms, allowing the two to move. But they didn’t.
Satan dropped, his legs hitting the bed before they bounced on the ruined mattress, and finally, his feet landed over the edge.
His legs were cramped. So were his arms.
And it seemed to be the same for Be’lakor, whose movements were sluggish. The groans coming from the ashen-skinned Demon were obvious, as was the growls whenever the bed creaked under them.
And it creaked.
“What… Was that?” finally blurted out Satan, spitting a mix of cum and saliva. Cum that was already cooling down and steaming.
“That’s… A first-time inner massage. You… You never bought it?” asked Be’lakor, laughing. But his laugh was empty, nervous. Afraid?
“No. Why… Would I buy something made for… Bottoms?” scoffed Satan, shaking his head in denial, impaling his horns into the mattress.
“Yeah. I-I figured,” mumbled Be’lakor, his clawed hands coming to remove Satan’s blindfold, allowing the Sin to admire the state of the place. The entire bedroom had been coated with cum. There were no spots untouched, and even the two were sticky and drippy.
They were in such a poor state, something… Something that would have made Satan laugh, more so as he observed Be’lakor trying to stand up and saw his asshole, gaping and dripping with lube.
“They… did a number on your hole,” said Satan, commenting.
“Yeah. Just like yours,” commented back Be’lakor, leaving the Deadly Sin wondering as he looked between his legs, trying to lift them. But his muscles were weak, even his mind. Hence, he gave up. And put his arms on his chest, breathing loudly.
“Probably… … I-“
Silence.
He loved it? He enjoyed it? Yes. His balls were sore and hurting. He’d been cumming so much during that time, it was no surprise. But he looked at the ceiling above, with some droplets falling from the ruined bulb.
And then.
“My bungalow has a few guest rooms. Come sleep at my place.”
“Thanks. Satan.”