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Dammed

By Gideon Kalve Jarvis

From the cracks of the rocks, the Bat lifted its head, large ears splayed wide. Not far away, down the cliffside, it had heard the soft "thump" of someone landing on the saffron-scented sands of the lone and level plains. Those plains were just adjacent to the sharp-edged, cinnamon-fragranced crags where the Bat dwelt, not far at all for a thing like the Bat. The Bat, and other things, far worse.

Someone new had arrived.

Stretching out its long, lanky limbs, the Bat clambered out of its hiding place, its twisted muzzle thrust upward, taking the scent of the fresh meat it had been so lucky to come upon first, before anyone else could have a chance with it. Mmm, sweet and succulent, the delicate aroma of a young and healthy virgin, untouched and uncorrupted. Lowering its head, the Bat let its lips curl back, showing its terrible teeth in a ghastly rictus grin as it crept straight down the sheer cliff abutting the sands, its luminous eyes sweeping the plains for its intended prey.

In moments the Bat's search was rewarded, as it locked on the newcomer. Lying prone, face-down on the unearthly orange sands, the newcomer was a sturdy creature, rather small of stature, but blocky and muscular, with the softening sleekness associated with an able swimmer's physique. Of course he was naked, as all newcomers to that place were (after all, you couldn't take it with you...whatever it might be), but the Bat wasn't able to get a good look at the best bits due to the wide, flat tail thrust out just above the taut, muscular rump, covering all but the bare essentials, such as the clearly-visible dimples just above and to either side of that wide, leathery hindrance to the Bat's view.

Obviously it would have to get closer to take in the full measure of its delicious prize.

Placing one frighteningly long, sharp-clawed thumb onto the sands, the Bat crept up, slow and silent, a great and terrible figure flapping its way across the sands, so careful in its approach that it raised not even the slightest puff of debris. The Bat's muzzle was spread wide now, its sickeningly long, bloated tongue extended to its fullest, drool dripping from the very tip, each drop hissing where it struck the saffron-scented sands. Other drops, fat and heavy, splashed on the sands as well, from a source well back from the Bat's needled maw, though this source was no less hungry.

Oh yes...yes...this one would be sweet indeed.

*

Oliver gently blew out through his mouth and nose, dispelling the light dusting of savory-smelling sand that had somehow become accumulated on the surface of his breathing passages. He felt comfortable, actually, just lying there, warm sand beneath, equally warm air all around. Certainly too comfortable to bother opening his eyes. Much better than he'd felt just a short while ago...or was it yesterday? Time was a little hazy right then, and he was sure more of it had slipped past him than he'd expected if he'd had enough time to take a nap after...

A reptilian face, sweet and sad, flashed into Oliver's mind at that moment, and his eyes popped open. Oisin! He'd left dear, wonderful Oisin - run from him, actually - leaving the other male in tears, real tears, not the stereotypical kind for which alligators are famed, while tears had been streaming down Oliver's own face.

Why had he been running? Why hadn't he been looking where he was going? Something had happened, though exactly what was still a little unclear in his memory. All the pieces were a jumble in his head, little crystalline shards that he knew somehow would eventually form into something coherent, if only he could jostle the kaleidoscope of his brain just so.

Suddenly, Oliver's attempt to gather his thoughts was shattered as a pair of powerful, long-fingered hands seized his shoulders, shoving him roughly back to the sands just as he'd been starting to rise, one of those shockingly strong hands quickly going to his head, forcing his cheek hard against the orange sands.

"Beaver boy!" cackled a hideous voice, and as Oliver turned his head just enough to see his attacker, he gaped in horror. The _thing_atop him, dripping jaws wide, eyes like lanterns, was like every nightmare of bats condensed into a single, horrible reality. Personally Oliver liked bats, having always found them quiet, polite, and frankly adorable, but this...this...whatever it was had a face rendered almost skeletal by countless years of dark passions, the flesh pulled taut, the body massive and muscled like whipcord.

The naked body, Oliver amended, swallowing in swiftly rising nervousness as he discovered all the time he'd spent learning judo proved completely ineffective against a creature that could hold him down with a single long, deceptively spindly arm. The other hand of the creature, meanwhile, caressed its way down Oliver's trim-muscled back, the look on the thing's face showing a twisted mix of emotions, somewhere between admiration and lust and longing and something too awful for Oliver to even consider too deeply. Then the thing was gripping Oliver's broad beaver's tail, and try as he might, Oliver couldn't stop the beast from hauling the thick, muscular appendage upward, baring his blocky-muscled rear.

"Fresh," cooed the thing, licking its slavering jaws as that wretched hand prized Oliver's buns apart, letting the beaver feel the steaming hot breath of the beast on his exposed pink tailhole. "Tight. A perfect little tailcherry." The creature looked up, meeting Oliver's eyes, and immediately Oliver wished that he hadn't looked, not when he could see the hideous depths of the _thing's_soul in those darkly luminous orbs.

"I'm going to rape you, little beaver," the thing stated, breathing harder now, faster, its excitement obvious from the massive, tarry dick thrust firmly out from between its splayed, knobby legs. "I'm going to rape you here, then drag you back to my cave. Then I'm going to rape you some more. Then I'm going to make you cry - I know all the ways to make anyone cry, little beaver - and then I'm going to rape your deepest, darkest depths, the parts of your soul you thought nobody would ever know about." The thing_leaned in close, its breath a waft of an abattoir so sickening, Oliver could only try to hold his breath to avoid breathing in the stink. "I'm going to take the thing you thought you were going to give to that someone special, little beaver," the _thing whispered with teasing seduction in Oliver's ear. "You stink of desperate, unrequited love, and of a precious virginity that should have been offered up on the altar of passion and sweet sharing. But now it's mine, little beaver. Mine!"

With the last word, the Bat's face curled back on itself, the expression too horrible for words, for it was nothing possible to a mortal, before it reared up, spreading its vast winglike shadows wide, its bloated penis leaking copiously of the thick, bituminous stuff that was the beast's precum. The thing looked down at Oliver, and its mere presence froze the young beaver in place, like a mouse beneath the shadow of the owl.

"And now," it hissed, low and giddy, tilting its hips downward, and Oliver knew that soon it would punctuate its words with a final, brutal, deflowering thrust, "you are mine, too."

"No."

The voice wasn't loud. The voice wasn't harsh. In fact, there were a great many things such a calm, unassuming voice wasn't. But one thing it was, was powerful. Powerful enough to make the Bat screech in terror, flopping gracelessly away from its intended victim as it scrabbled its way back along the sands, crabwalking toward the high cliffs that Oliver could now see framed one side of the desert plains where he was lying. In another instant, the Bat had flipped itself over and was kicking up great gouts of the saffron sands as it made its escape, scuttling straight up the sheer side of the nearest of the cliffs, its terror writ wide on every aspect of its hideous, twisted body.

Blinking, dazed, Oliver finally managed to tear his eyes from where the Bat was even then disappearing into one of the little crevasses that dotted the cliffside, to see what could possibly be awful enough that even something like it was frightened. Expecting the worst, Oliver turned his head, blinking up through the halo-haze of the strange suns that shone down, framing the creature in awesome light.

It was big, that was Oliver's first impression. _Really_big he soon decided, his eyes just continuing to go up, and up, and up some more, until he finally caught sight of a pair of gleaming eyes, bright blue in color. The creature was even taller than Oisin, and the big, handsome 'gator had been the tallest and most muscular male Oliver had ever personally known.

Oh, and the creature was male. _Very_male, as it so happened. Despite himself, Oliver couldn't stop his eyes from settling on the heavy male organ that was set about a head's height above his eye level when he got up onto his knees, safely contained by its soft-furred sheath. And that sac! If Oliver had been gay, he'd have been drooling over a pair of down-covered goose eggs like those! Fortunately for him, he wasn't interested in males. No, not even a little...

"You should shut your mouth, kid," the big male chuckled, reaching down to playfully rub the beaver's headfur. "There's no telling what might find its way in there if you don't."

Feeling his ears and face burning beneath his brown fur, Oliver somehow managed to make himself look at the male, rather than his male bits. Tall and muscular went without saying, of course, on broad, powerful sheep's legs. He had a sheep's curling horns, too, but then things got...well, a little strange. Despite having so many sheeplike qualities, the male wasn't a sheep. No, not with sharp blue eyes like those, with the rounded pupils of a predator, and a slim lupine muzzle filled with clean white teeth. The merging of the two species wasn't a chimeric mish-mash, though: this being looked right to Oliver, the flawless joining of wolf and sheep so natural, he'd only really noticed it because of how sensitized he'd become to everything unearthly with the rush of adrenaline still sharpening all his perceptions to a razor's edge.

"Call me Wolfram," said the wolfram, his eyes strangely kind, despite having a body that was obviously built for raw, explosive, potentially destructive power. "What's your name?"

"Oliver," answered Oliver without thinking, before he bit his lip as he realized that giving his name away so easily might not have been the wisest choice. But Wolfram only smiled, mostly keeping his teeth covered, deliberately nonthreatening, and knelt before the smaller male, so that they were almost eye-to-eye.

"Can you walk, Oliver?"

The question was gentle and sincere, and suddenly Oliver realized that he was being foolish: anything that could drive off the Bat, a creature so strong that Oliver hadn't even had a chance to fight it (and he was no weakling, short stature and relative youth notwithstanding) wasn't something he could ever hope to resist if it really wanted to hurt him. In the face of this glaring reality, Oliver suddenly felt his whole body start to go weak as the adrenaline finally left him completely, and his head slumped forward.

"I feel so tired, Wolfram," he admitted. "I feel like I've had all the strength just sucked out of me."

"Poor thing," murmured Wolfram, and Oliver didn't resist as those vast arms encircled him, lifting him, cradling him as though he were a child against the creature's chest. "C'mon, I'll take you somewhere safe. I don't promise you'll like it, but it's better than out here in devilhaunt country."

"Devilhaunt?" murmured Oliver in hazy confusion, breathing in the soft scent of the wolfram's chestfur, images of high, wild moors coming unbidden to his mind. Wolfram was running now, but his gait was so smooth, and his body curled so protectively around the smaller male, Oliver only barely noticed, save for the slight breeze that caressed his stiff fur. "Where am I, Wolfram? I've never seen anywhere like this, not even in pictures."

"Uh," Wolfram bit his lower lip, then sucked on it pensively, and Oliver looked up at the extended hesitation. "I don't think you want to know, Oliver."

"Tell me," the beaver insisted with the stereotypical bluntness of his people. "Since it's obviously bad news, we might as well get it over with now. That way I can start to deal with the fallout, whatever it may be, rather than having all the tension of anticipation build up inside."

"All right," the ovine-lupine growled softly. "But you asked for it: you're in Hell."

Oliver blinked.

"Sorry," he apologized, finally raising his head and starting to look around at the rapidly-passing landscape. "I'm not sure I heard you right: I thought you just said that I was in Hell."

"Yeah, you heard right," affirmed Wolfram. "The hot place. Dis. Tartarus. Diyu. Aitch-ee-double hockey sticks. That place your mother warned you about. Well, you're there, and I really don't think you ought to be sightseeing just yet. Just," he moved one hand, and gently pressed Oliver's head down, back into the safe enclosure of his mighty thews, "just trust me on that."

Honestly, Oliver hadn't seen much, not with the terrain passing by in a blur (this guy could move fast!), but he'd seen enough to know better than to resist good advice. Heard enough, too, if the distant wails of the damned were any indicator. So he stayed right where he'd been put for what felt like almost an hour (if time actually meant anything in a place like this), before Wolfram came to a full stop, and slowly lowered the brown-furred beaver to the bottom step of a long, low, vaguely Greco-Egyptian structure.

"Here we are," declared the wooly wolf, patting Oliver encouragingly on the back. "The place where you belong."

He smiled down at Oliver, as though he were expecting the beaver to jump for joy at this revelation. Honestly, Oliver was having a hard time not screaming his head off at the thought of what his part of Hell must be like on the inside. Still, the big guy had been really nice about everything, and he was still being polite, and he did have these big, sweet, puppyish blue eyes that just made something kind of melt inside Oliver's guts.

"Thanks," Oliver managed after swallowing his heart back down out of his throat. "Um, am I going to be stuck here forever, or...how does this work?"

"Naw," the big wolfish sheep laughed, the sound halfway between a bark and a bleat, and started ascending the short flight of broad stairs leading up to the building. "What's the point in keeping you confined down here? It's Hell! It's not like you've got somewhere better to be. C'mon," he motioned to Oliver, but this time he didn't reach out to touch the beaver, apparently not wanting to frighten the smaller male into thinking he was about to be dragged off into the personal torments specially prepared for him. "I'm just one of the demons around here; I'm only important 'cause I'm on official business, in this case finding you before...well, you know. You've gotta have loads of questions, and if you want 'em answered, the person you wanna talk to is just inside here." Wolfram winked conspiratorially. "He knows _everything_about Hell."

Hesitating just a moment longer, Oliver faced some practical facts. First, if this big, handsome, cuddly guy actually was telling the truth (and that was seeming steadily more likely the more Oliver experienced), then Oliver was in Hell, and Wolfram was one of its demons. Second, Oliver must have done something to deserve going here, so there wasn't much point in putting off the inevitable; his inherent sense of justice just wouldn't allow him to long entertain the prospect of trying to skip out on just deserts. Third and finally, despite his present location, he wasn't actually being forced anywhere. In fact, Wolfram's earlier words about sightseeing made Oliver believe that he'd probably be allowed to go anywhere he wanted. But then, this was Hell, after all, and there were probably more creatures out there like the Bat...or worse. If he didn't have Wolfram there to keep him safe, Oliver wasn't dumb enough to rate his chances higher than somewhere in the depressing range of slim and none.

No, there was a fourth point that suddenly popped into Oliver's head: he could only remember things from...well, when he'd been alive (if he worked on the natural assumption that he was, in fact, dead) in little fits and snatches, and the lack left him feeling dazed and disoriented and more than a little bit lost. Right then, what he wanted most were some explanations to shed a bit of light on the cobwebby recesses of his sorely taxed mind.

"Just lead the way, Wolfram," Oliver said with a grin, forgetting to keep his lips over his embarrassing buck teeth. "If this is going to be educational, then I suppose we'd better hop to it, huh?"

"That's the spirit!" laughed Wolfram, patting the beaver on the back when Oliver came abreast with the sheepwolf, his touch still surprisingly gentle despite his massive size and strength. "Think of it like the biggest adventure ever."

But I hate adventure, Oliver thought to himself with an inner sigh.

*

It was a lot bigger on the inside. Though there were vast pillars and seemingly endless twists and turns and passages all over keeping him from seeing anything in a properly straight line, Oliver got a sense of immensity far beyond the reaches of his eyes inside a building that had looked absolutely monumental when he'd been standing on the front steps.

"Hold my hand, Oliver," said Wolfram, extending a paw, which the beaver took, even if it did swallow up his hand in the palm alone. "I don't think you're quite ready for some of the stuff down these halls. Thing about learning new stuff, even when it's good, it's still a hurt on the mind. An injury, you know? Out there," he indicated a row of doorless doorways, past which Oliver could hear noises, moans and cries and wet, squelching sounds, that made him feel confused, and yet also strangely excited. "Out there, there's stuff that would ruin you if you took it all in too fast. You gotta pace yourself for stuff like..."

The bleatbark's words trailed off as the passage opened up suddenly into a wide chamber, and Oliver's jaw dropped at the sight before him. Not that the architecture there was all that interesting, of course: it was just a sunken floor, with a raised dais on the far end, on which was positioned a surprisingly comfortable-looking throne, sufficiently sized for someone of Wolfram's dimensions, everything done in something that looked like sandstone, while a variety of cushions and poofs and pillows were scattered carelessly around the lower parts of the room. No, what was most interesting about this room were its occupants.

"That's it," growled a sharp-toothed, lightning-furred rabbit-creature, towering and muscular like Wolfram, as it rested one heavy-clawed hand on the head of a snowy white arctic fox, arms bound square behind him, more ropes pinning his arms to his sides, while the tied-up male bobbed his head forward and back, whining softly as he looked up into the dark eyes of the rabbit with an expression so heart-rending, so pleading, it made Oliver ache just to see it. "You're learning your place, Verte. Finally, you're learning to love bunnymeat, the way you could have been enjoying it for so long before."

The fox wasn't small and slim and weak by any means, Oliver realized, despite many stereotypes of foxes he'd heard about. No, this fox was big, almost the size of some wolves Oliver had known back...well, before, with obvious muscles clearly visible through his gorgeous, fluffy fur. And he wasn't being forced, despite the initial impression of sexual violence. No, he was bobbing his head eagerly, whining out of need as his sizable erection bobbed in time with the motion, dripping copious precum as he tried desperately to choke himself on the thick black bunnymeat in his wide-gaped muzzle.

"Love that nasty, smelly goatcock don'tcha, you slutty spotmeow," came a harsh, bleating laugh from nearby, along with the sharp smack of flesh-on-flesh, and Oliver felt himself turned almost against his will, to see a pair of obscenely massive goat demons (and their demonic nature was pretty obvious, considering the smoldering red eyes and smoke rising from their nostrils) cruelly spitroasting another unfortunate soul, this poor victim a beautiful jaguar, sleek and flawless, his body a living work of art.

"The pretty boy's wanted to be dragged through the mud all his life," laughed the other goat demon, bringing his broad palm down on the rosetted rump he was pounding with another loud smack, only for both of the goat demons to laugh even more boisterously as the exquisite male between them yowled, hot white cum splashing copiously onto the cushion-strewn floor. "C'mon, I'll trade ya: I wanna watch Leonardo's face when I squirt my cum all over his face."

To see someone so perfect treated in such a vulgar way was heart-wrenching for Oliver, and he took a step forward just as the big brutes were pulling out with a squelching sound too obscene for words, leaving the handsome cat panting desperately for breath, his sleek fur stained with sweat and cum. What exactly he intended to do, Oliver really didn't know; all he knew was that he had to do something. But before he could even get close enough to properly consider his next act, the beaver was distracted once more by a loud yet strangely plaintive bellow.

Turning once again, Oliver felt as though he'd swallowed his tongue at the sight that greeted him. There, just within the reach of his arm, so close he could have reached out and gotten a fine double fistful, was a firm, solidly-muscled side of black-furred rump roast. The owner of this powerful posterior was a hulking buffalo, his hide bathed in a sheen of sweat that made him glisten like polished obsidian. The big beef beast was looking sullenly to his left, where an only slightly smaller, heart-achingly handsome wapiti was giving a second, even louder bellow as a pure-blooded wolf of living ice, blue and white and easily the size of a glacier from Oliver's perspective, enthusiastically made the wapiti's tan-furred bottom bounce with each vigorous thrust of his hips.

To the left of the wapiti, a tight-muscled whitetail buck lay with his chin on the floor, his tongue extended, his tailhole gaped and copiously leaking the ice-wolf's last load of cum. On the buck's face was a look of absolute bliss: he'd obviously been humped silly, and enjoyed every moment of it.

"See what I can give you, Radi?" the ice-wolf growled, low and seductive, curling out his tongue teasingly as he gave the big black bull a lingering, lecherous leer. "See how much your friends love it? Come now, surely it can't be so bad. Certainly not now, when nothing that was so important to you before really matters anymore. Let me show you...and then you and your friends can finally begin to explore each other. Just like you always wanted."

"He won't," Wolfram softly murmured in Oliver's ear, the hand holding Oliver's giving a gentle but insistent tug, leading the beaver beyond the debauchery surrounding them on the floor. "Radi's been here almost a century now, and it's always the same scene, over and over. His friends won't leave him here, so they're all stuck in a time loop until that stubborn old jerky finally gets a clue through his rock thick skull."

"Won't leave him?" Oliver answered in a similarly soft tone, shaking his head in confusion, the scenes of sex seeming to fade both from hearing and from sight as they reached and then began to ascend the short stairs leading up to the dais. "You mean they have a choice?"

"Hell is as much a choice as Heaven, Oliver Bentley Sodden," came a low, resonant voice, as deep, and filled with depth, as the sea before a storm. "But far less permanent. At least for most."

Instantly, Oliver's eyes were wrenched upward, his gaze meeting that of the green-eyed Beast on the throne, his cheek resting almost lazily on one thick, scaled fist.

A crocodile, Oliver told himself. Not an alligator. Oisin's an alligator, and you can always tell by looking at the teeth. Oh goodness...look at those teeth!

And that chest.

And that stomach.

And...

...oh my.

"Just like your boyfriend's," Sobek observed casually. "At least in general terms. I'm afraid the size, however, is rather more significant. I hope that won't be a problem."

"Oisin isn't my boyfriend," Oliver stated automatically, before somehow managing to wrench his eyes up from...that. "And how do I know your name?"

"The same way I know yours, Ollie," the god of crocodiles replied with a light shrug. "This isn't a place with physical bodies anymore, you know: thoughts have a way of leaking out, for those with the power to hear them. Thoughts, and impressions, and desires, and needs. Just like you needed love, and Oisin offered it to you."

"And I rejected him," Oliver said flatly, the words drawn out of him because he could not resist the truth. "I rejected the one I loved, because...because..."

They'd been by the pool. Both of them loved swimming. In fact, that's where they'd met, at the local community pool that one summer, back when they'd both been new into high school, and the city had insisted on bussing in kids from the rougher side of town, to broaden their education and give them more opportunities. At least that was the theory, though only a few of the newcomers felt any desire to try and take advantage of the new environment. Oisin was one of them.

Beavers are staunch traditionalists. If asked about it, they'll tell you it's just a part of their nature. They stick to their own communities, to their own kind, and they enjoy peace without any distractions or interference. Salt of the earth sorts, they're always happy to help out someone in need...provided that someone doesn't wear out the welcome.

Oliver's parents felt that Oisin wore out his welcome pretty early on, him being an inner city alligator, and Oliver a fine, upstanding beaver with a bright future ahead of him. He was almost sure to get a scholarship for that engineering degree his parents had wanted for him almost before he was born, and friendship with someone like an alligator...well, it just wouldn't do. All the same, their little Ollie stayed an excellent student, despite his association with this outsider, and after he started inviting his 'gator friend over for study sessions, the 'gator's grades soon reached similar standards. With results like that, Ollie's parents couldn't simply turn out the scaly boy, not when his presence made them look like such upstanding members of their community, helping an underprivileged child rise in the world.

Oh, but if only his parents had known what else the two boys had been up to. If they'd only known about how Ollie had first seen Oisin in the public pool's changing room, savagely beating out his thick, uncircumcised green meat in the curtained shower area, trying to ease off some pressure from seeing all the hot naked guys. He'd never told Oisin that he'd seen that, but it was the catalyst that made him want to get to know the bigger boy with the sad eyes and the gentle voice better.

Then there was the secret stash of porn magazines - gay porn magazines - Oisin's older brother collected, and which both Oisin and Ollie often borrowed without letting anyone know. Sometimes they'd even open up their pants together, masturbating on opposite ends of the dirty rag, never touching, because Ollie was too scared of what might happen next; of him suddenly turning gay. Oisin had been the one to show Ollie how to put on a condom, though of course neither of them had any need for one just then, since they weren't dating any girls, and boys were completely out of the question for Ollie, not openly, where his parents and his whole community could see.

What was most precious to Ollie, though, were those times when he'd just be sitting next to his friend, probably the only person in the world who didn't want to force him to be something they wanted. Maybe they'd be watching a movie together, or maybe doing some studying, or maybe just sitting next to each other at some random place, where nobody else could see, and then Oisin would casually rest his big, black-clawed hand near Ollie's. And Ollie...well, he'd take that hand in his own. Every single time. And then they'd just stay like that, and not say anything at all.

In fact, the only thing just as precious to Oliver as those times of silence were the ones when they were swimming together, just laughing and splashing around in the public pool, not a care in the world except the sheer joy of the moment.

"That's where I told him I was going to that upstate university instead of community college," Oliver said, seeing the events flashing in the jade mirrors of Sobek's eyes, his memories coming back now, too hard, too fast, too strong. "It was summer break, and we were so happy, and everything was wonderful. But I had to go to that high-class place my parents wanted, because it would look so much better for me, and open up all sorts of opportunities that I'd miss otherwise. To a place where Oisin couldn't come, because he just didn't have the money."

Wasn't that the right thing, though? After all, it wasn't as though they were in love or anything. They were both guys! Oisin was a tough guy, and tough guys don't do fairy stuff, not like his twee older brother, turning tricks in bars.

As for Oliver, well, he was a beaver, and everyone knew that beavers had to put family and community and tradition first of all, each and every time. They were bedrock sorts who worked hard, got good jobs, worked even harder, got married, worked harder still, and raised lots of kids, then made sure all of them learned the value of hard work and stolid acceptance of the status quo, just like all the generations before.

"But he didn't get it," the beaver said with a desperate catch in his voice, the mirrors of those beautiful immortal eyes suddenly shattering before his eyes, his cheeks quickly growing soaked as he sank to his knees before the god of the secret deep places. "He didn't want me to leave, said he loved me, that he wanted us to be together forever. I...I didn't know! I mean, how could I know?"

"You knew," said Sobek, and those two words were enough to drop the boy to hands-and-knees, his whole body shuddering with sobs.

"Yes!" Oliver gasped out between gasping hiccups. "I knew! I'd made myself blind on purpose, but I knew! And I loved him back! But...but..."

"You were afraid," Sobek prompted, and as Oliver felt that vast, broad, muscular tail brush against him, he seized it, hugging it tight against his chest.

"Yes," he moaned, pressing his face against the iron-hard scales, so strangely warm beneath his touch. "I was afraid of losing everything I'd been told was so important. Losing it all because...because...because I love Oisin! And I still love him! And I'll always love him! And I'm here in Hell because I didn't admit it to him when I had the chance! Because I didn't accept him, and us, even when I knew it was the right thing to do, because I was too afraid of what other people would think."

"And then you ran."

"And then I ran," Oliver continued, the events playing out on the stage of his fevered memories. "I couldn't see because of the tears, and I knew better than to run next to a swimming pool, but I ran all the same, because I didn't know what else to do, because if I stayed, I might not have been cruel enough to resist giving my heart to the one I loved. And...and then..."

"Then you slipped."

The tail curled around Oliver's body, pulling him into the arms of the crocodile. Despite his fierce appearance, Sobek's touch was gentle, and even his black diamond claws, easily terrible enough to rend stone and steel, stroked through the young beaver's fur like the teeth of a comb. Wolfram was there as well, arms wrapping around Oliver from behind, the two massive creatures engulfing Oliver in their warmth and tenderness, letting him cry himself out.

When there were finally no tears left, Ollie let Sobek seat him on one thick-muscled thigh, using the arm of the cushioned throne as a backrest, while the jade mirror eyes of the deep god regarded him.

"I think you are ready to learn what Hell really is, Ollie," he murmured, and Oliver realized with a slight start that he'd never once seen Sobek's mouth move, the words more like feelings conveyed directly to his body than actual sound. "It's not a judgment doled out to miserable sinners by an uncaring celestial judiciary. Nor is it someplace you get sent if you happen to have too much sin and not enough good to balance the great scales, by however minor an amount. Truthfully, Hell isn't really even a place, though there is a place prepared for those souls who aren't suited for Heaven: this place, and this place has become Hell because of the people who dwell therein. But people everywhere, when they die, go to where they will be most comfortable, the most happy. If that place is here, well, so be it.

"Hell is a state of being, Ollie," Sobek explained. "Though I suppose it can be described as a place as well, a place for two sorts of person. The first are the damned. These are people who chose to do the wrong things, and want to keep doing them. The Bat you met is an example of such pitiful creatures; a devil, a former mortal that has been given every opportunity to choose what is right, and is still given every opportunity, and yet prefers darkness to light. They don't start out that way, of course. Rather, they become the stuff of nightmares, choice by choice, until they find that evil is just what is most natural to them. Sometimes it happens when they're still alive, and other times it happens down here, after they reject efforts to reclaim them. Either way, it warps them until eventually they become something that suits their true natures outwardly as well as inside.

"Besides the damned, there is the second type of people who go to Hell, and the most common: the sinners, like you: the dammed." As he said the word, Oliver could sense the change in spelling, even if the pronunciation didn't make it obvious. "A sin is a mistake, a bad choice, some error in your past that has impacted your entire life, and continues to warp you even when you leave life behind. You're not really bad; you've just taken a wrong turn somewhere. You don't belong in Heaven, because you have baggage weighing you down, so you end up here so you can have an opportunity to work it off. Some people only stay here a short while. Others stay for eons. Some get to liking it here, and turn Hell into their own personal sort of Heaven. Time, however, isn't important, not when all of eternity looms ahead. All that matters is that everyone, eventually, finds the place where they belong. Where they can break past the dams they've built for themselves, and become the sort of person that can finally be happy."

"But," Oliver started, then gave a soft gasp as he felt Wolfram's big, strong hands on his shoulders, kneading into them, releasing tensions he didn't know were possible in a postmortal body, "but what about you, and Wolfram, and those others? You're not...well, you're not like us, are you?"

"Nope," answered Wolfram with a cheery grin, forgetting to hide his many sharp teeth. "We're demons! I was born here, in Hell. Same with Sobek, and Zomo, and the twins, and Fenris, and all the others. We were never mortal, exactly, but we've got our own set of choices to make, and our own destinies to find."

"There are many factions among we demons," explained Sobek, slowly tilting Oliver forward, the beaver not resisting as he was laid out on his front over the big crocodile's lap, sighing contentedly as Wolfram continued his loving massage, kneading his way slowly down the boy's brown-furred back. "Some of us choose the side of the devils, while others choose the side of the angels. The ones out in devilhaunt country are mostly bandits and raiders, eager to catch souls like you, fresh into Hell, unwary and unprotected. Sometimes they do this to try and corrupt the ones they take prisoner. Most of the time they do it for amusement, because you dammed souls are a lot weaker than they are, and it's easier to abuse you than it is to try and make one of their own kind, or one of the damned, submit to such treatment.

"As for we who help the work of angels," Sobek indicated the room, with its strange, hazy shapes writhing just outside of Oliver's line of conscious sight, with a toothy grin that was more than merely the natural shape of his jaw, "we like to help you dammed ones break through."

"So, what?" Oliver murmured, feeling warm and comfortable now, completely relaxed, all the pain he'd remembered now so far away and unimportant with these two gorgeous males tending to him, focusing themselves entirely on serving his needs. "You do sex therapy? Is that how you help people get to Heaven?"

"Yeah, kinda," chuckled Wolfram, lifting Oliver's tail to give his toned bottom a friendly pat. "That's what this building is for, after all: for the people that got hung up on all the mess that is love and sex and all the stuff around those big bits. Believe you me, there's a lot that can go wrong, what with all the complicated stuff you mortals mix in with your relationships. We demons built the place so we could have some privacy while we helped out you deaders get yourselves fixed up in the head and the heart." Oliver could hear the blush in the wolfish sheep's voice as he continued his explanation. "And, uh, we demons kinda view the place as a rec center of sorts, too. A place to relax, you know, take our minds off our own problems, focus on somebody else's."

"And have lots of sex while doing it," Ollie added with a chuckle, even when saying such things made him feel a blush of his own creeping its way across his face and turning down his ears. "Bet that really helps to ease tensions, huh?"

"Surprisingly, yes," Sobek replied, since Wolfram was biting his lower lip with a royal flush on his furry face; as he spoke, the great crocodile slipped a hand beneath Ollie, stroking down his firm and blocky chest, his lightly rippled abdomen...and then a little lower still, to where the beaver's penis had slid free from his sheath as he'd found himself relaxing, and then reliving his memories of the other activities taking place in that very room, just barely outside the reach of his conscious vision. "You would be amazed how many problems can be solved by simply giving love, and accepting it in turn. Giving, and taking, but not selfishly."

"Just love, huh?" Ollie murmured, his breathing already starting to get a little ragged as his shaft stiffened under the slow, skilled stroking of the crocodile god. "No ulterior motives at all?"

"Maybe a few," chuckled Sobek, making Ollie suck in breath sharply as he gave the beaver's penis a light squeeze, his other hand now joining the fun, cupping the plump, brown-furred sac in its immense palm. "But somehow we thought you wouldn't object."

"Ngh," winced Ollie, unresisting as Wolfram, sensing the change in mood, pushed the beaver boy's tail all the way up, letting it rest draped over his tight-muscled back while the big wooly wolf began kneading his powerful paws into Ollie's square-cut buns. "No, I guess I really don't. I mean, what's the point in lying to myself now, when it's all over? I've got nothing left to lose."

"Oh, but you do," said Sobek, licking his scaly maw when Ollie gasped loudly, feeling Wolfram's heavy paws spreading his buns wide. "Old gods like myself simply love...virgin sacrifices."

All Ollie could really do right then was wish he didn't sound so needy when Wolfram started to work his tongue into the beaver's tightly-clenched tailhole, moving his muzzle in time with Sobek's big hands stroking him, keeping him throbbing at full erection, precum bubbling up from the tip of his aching dark brown penis in great, fat drops. His knuckles were turning white as he gripped the thigh of the huge crocodile, bracing himself against that mighty, muscular male, and without thinking, he felt himself moving now, thrusting back into Wolfram's mouth, and forward into Sobek's expert fingers.

"He's ready, Sobek," Wolfram informed the scaled demon god, lifting his head from his fun, leaving poor Ollie panting hard, his face registering confusion for a moment when the stimulation to his tailhole suddenly stopped, then his eyes widened as he looked up into Sobek's expectant face, feeling the crocodile's hand resting on his rump, kneading him.

"Perhaps you would like to prepare me a little more, dear Oliver," Sobek suggested, his other hand moving to the back of Ollie's head, tilting it downward, so that the beaver was staring straight down the barrel of the crocodile's thick, scaly, uncircumcised shaft. "If you are still feeling uncertain. Wolfram has had ample experience, though: if he says you are ready, then I think you can handle this without too much discomfort."

"You're pretty tight, though," Wolram added, and Ollie risked a glance over his shoulder as he shifted in Sobek's lap, until his penis was nudging against the vastly larger prick of the crocodile god. That glance was enough to let Ollie know why Wolfram's voice sounded strained: he was eagerly jerking off, squeezing the solid pink bar of his penis between the fingers of one meaty fist, precum splattering to the ground like a leaky firehose. "Whenever you decide to take it, it's gonna be pretty intense. No way around it, sorry."

"How...how about this?" the beaver queried, feeling his whole body aflame with need as he turned around, then began to grind Sobek's cock between his buns, letting his broad, flat tail rub firmly against the heavily-seeping tip. "How about you come over here, Wolfram, and I show you some gratitude for saving me? And while I'm doing that," he started working his hips faster, glancing over his shoulder to see Sobek's expression, though the crocodile god was obviously trying to keep his face as neutral as possible, "Sobek here can get his virgin sacrifice."

"I like this plan," growled the big croc, rising slightly, tilting his heavy cockhead forward as Oliver tumbled onto all-fours, resting his hands on Sobek's knees. Both of his massive, scaly hands seized the beaver's bottom tightly, squeezing it, then rolling his buns apart, exposing the tense pink pucker of Oliver's tailhole.

"Can't say I'm against it either," admitted Wolfram, panting as he stepped forward, fisting his own heavily-leaking shaft, before pressing the pointed tip against Oliver's lips. "Just whenever you're ready, Ollie."

Closing his eyes for a moment, Oliver could see his present position clearly, just as though he were watching from an outsider's perspective. For all he knew, that might be exactly what was going on, considering how different everything was down here. There he was, on hands-and-knees on the thighs of a scaly demon god, who was regarding his tight-gripped bottom with a tilted head and speculative air, his brutally thick, fine-scaled penis bent forward, the fat, blunt tip nudging against Oliver's tailring with just barely enough penetration to hold it in place. That meant that Ollie had maybe a fourth of that dark green glans stuck in him, and even if it wasn't much from a relative standpoint, from the standpoint of pure mass, he was already starting to feel a bit stretched.

Then there was Wolfram, the big wooly guy, standing right in front of him, his knotless, pointed wolfcock nudging Ollie's lips, before Oliver started to rub his cheeks against the heavily-leaking tip, first one side, then the other, like some lust-crazed cat. That just made the sheepish wolf's dick spit little jets of strong-smelling precum, spattering Oliver's face on his cheeks, his forehead, and the bridge of his nose.

Mmm...that smell...it was heady, like well-spiced wine. The sort of scent that left you light-headed, weak in the knees, and eager to do stuff you probably never would otherwise. Not that this was a big surprise! After all, Oliver was outside of all the old boundaries, the stuff that had held him back finally fallen away. There was no need to hold back anymore. Not now. Not ever again, no matter what might come next.

And speaking of cumming...

"Ah!"

The supple, firm-bodied beaver couldn't hold back the cry as he thrust himself back onto Sobek's cock. That...that was bigger than he'd expected. So much bigger...so big...so full...

Not thinking about it - not letting himself think! - Ollie opened his mouth wide and gulped frantically as he started gobbling up thick, juicy, slick and sweet sheepwolf cock. Did he need to breathe down here, now that he didn't have a body anymore? He'd been able to smell just the same as before, and you had to breathe to do that...oh well, guess he'd find out soon enough. Shoving that thought aside, Ollie opened his eyes, which widened in shock as he saw Wolfram's washboard belly just a short distance in front of him. Somehow, he'd managed to take almost all of it!

"You see what you can get when you just stop being afraid and...seize it?" Sobek growled, his voice low and husky (well, lower and huskier than before; the big guy's voice was an _intensely_sexy growl normally, and now it was melting Ollie's insides almost as fast as his cock). "You want it, you feel that it's right, and now...now..."

Sobek rose from his throne with a mighty bellow that sent shudders through Ollie's whole body. Did he cum? He was pretty sure he did, not that it slowed down his erection one bit. This new change left the beaver boy dangling, spitroasted between the two males, taken so deeply by those monster cocks that they just had to be meeting right in the middle. His middle, as a point of fact.

"Now you will have it all!"

Oh God...oh God...could God even hear him down here? Because if he could, Ollie would beg that this feeling never stop. At first Wolfram had hesitated, looking down at the beaver while Ollie was shoved forward and back on his cock by the sheer force and speed and power of Sobek's thrusting hips, sweet concern in his beautiful blue eyes. Then Ollie had reached up, grabbing Wolfram's cock tight in both hands, the last little bits he just couldn't manage, whatever physics governed things down here, and started to pump with all his might, looking up at the smoking hot capriwolf with an expression so pleading, so desperate with need, Wolfram couldn't hold back, pity as much as lust driving his hips forward.

And the sounds! Heavy slapping of fur-on-scales every time Sobek's balls slapped against the back of Oliver's. Even louder, meatier slapping as the croc's hips pounded the poor beaver's bottom, until soon his buns were glowing so bright and red, it shone through even his thick brown fur. The crack_of Sobek's tail as it lashed wildly from side to side, breaking the sound barrier on every third or fourth snap. The needy whine of sweet Wolfram as he gripped Ollie's head, though more just to provide the beaver with support than to work his hips: even as keyed up as he was, Wolfram didn't force Ollie down on his cock, instead letting the beaver do that with all the eagerness in his heart and soul. And, of course, the sounds that Oliver himself was making: moans, whimpers, throaty gasps, grunts from deep within...grunts that meshed neatly with the savage, bestial grunts of the god who was so utterly intent on _wrecking his tailhole!

Another out-of-body experience swept over Ollie, this time while his eyes were still open, still looking worshipfully up into the sky blue ones of the sweet-faced puplamb who's cock was already starting to throb in his muzzle with imminent eruption, the constant jets of precum starting to turn rapidly thicker, more filled with that strange, spicy-yet-sweet flavor. He could see Sobek in this state, see the deep god's muscular body flexing, every impossibly massive muscle standing out like whipcord through his thick scales. See the crocodile's mighty teeth bared as he curled his lips back in a feral snarl of triumphant lust as his thrusts started to get shorter, faster, harder, making Ollie's squre-cut butt bounce and jiggle as though he were some bubble-bottomed bunny. See the thick white fluid dripping down the back of his far-smaller balls as Sobek's precum filled him up to overflowing; and there was no telling what it would be like when he came!

An itch was building inside of Oliver now, somewhere deep inside, near where he guessed his spirit was probably housed, if there was such a place. He'd cum before, of that he was mostly sure, probably...maybe twice now. But those little explosions had been almost lost between the titans that skewered him on their rampant pricks, hardly noteworthy, even to him, and he was the one who'd had them! He could feel another explosion coming, an eruption really, like the upheavals of the Earth in its fiery volcanic throes. This one would be the big one, overwhelming everything inside of him, body and mind and soul.

Rather than hesitating at this precipice, however, Ollie hastened toward it, reaching out to grab Wolfram's hips (for that was as far as his arms could reach around the big sheepwolf), using that grip to force himself forward and back, meeting the thrusts of Sobek, even as he somehow managed to get himself all the way down to Wolfram's fat white balls, feeling their contents churning against his chin with each frantic, near-tectonic collision of Sobek's body against his backside, and his wide-stretched mouth against the very base of Wolfram's taproot.

There! It was coming! He could feel it rushing forward, feel the tremors of the twin titans before and behind him, see Wolfram's sculpted muscles standing out like steel cables under his soft wooly fur as the big wolfish sheep finally lost control of himself, no longer able to keep his hips from thrusting, making his balls slap against Oliver's chin in time with Sobek's own weighty goose eggs against the beaver's much-abused sac.

Then Wolfram was bellowing, roaring like a lion rather than a sheep or a wolf, baring his powerful canines as he threw back his head, letting the cum gush from him and almost directly into Oliver's belly. From behind, another bellow sounded, and Oliver's whole body spasmed when the crocodile god brought down one broad palm in a resounding slap to his undertail, cum splashing against the floor in a hard spurt, more powerful than anything he'd felt to that point...but nothing compared to what came next.

There was so much of it. That was all that rushed through Ollie's mind as he felt Sobek's cum blast his insides, filling him up like a river whose dam has burst, instantly overflowing not just his body, but his very being. The first splash struck his prostate, and instantly everything else was turned to sweet light, light that suffused his soul.

Did he pass out? Were you even able to pass out in Hell? Oliver blinked up into a pair of green eyes with some confusion. They were emerald green, not the jade orbs of the deep god of secrets. In fact, they were the same shade of green as those of...

"Oisin?"

"Ollie!" exclaimed the alligator, throwing his arms around his best friend. "Ollie, I thought you were dead! After I pulled you out of the pool I just kept pounding and pounding on your chest like the first aid manual said, trying to get your heart started, but you just didn't move, and...and..."

"Shh," the beaver hushed his friend, then kissed him on the cheek...and then, after a moment's hesitation, on the lips. Softly, though, not too hard, not after what he'd been through. "Everything's all right now, Oisin." He could see the paramedics coming up behind his friend at a careful trot, making sure they didn't end up doing something as silly as what Oliver had done. "I love you, Oisin."

"I...I love you too, Ollie," the alligator said, tears of joy taking the place of the tears of fright on his cheeks. "Why...what...how...?"

"I'd have to be pretty dumb not to take a second chance when I'm given it, wouldn't I?" replied Oliver with the smile of someone grown wise before their time, letting himself just go limp as the paramedics surrounded him, and Oisin stepped back, staying out of their way. "We'll figure out the college thing, Oisin, don't worry about that. Just as long as we have each other. That's what's important, isn't it?"

"Yeah," replied the young reptile, trailing along as his best friend, and now lover, was carried off on a stretcher, staying as close as he was allowed. "That's all that matters to me."

"Heaven is Hell if you're alone," Oliver said softly. "But Hell can be Heaven, with the right people beside you."

"Sure, buddy," Oisin replied, not really understanding what his friend was saying, but not really caring either. Not when he was in love!