Paulo's Inferno

Paulo was sweating when he placed the listening piece of the telephone back in its cradle. He mopped his brow and loosened the cravat that now seemed to be choking him. He rose and moved to the window wall of his office that looked down into the assembly line factory floor where his firm, what very soon would be his firm, made the sleekest of horseless carriages that now were being called motorcars. Gina had told him just this morning that she feared his ambition and grasping were unbounded and would be his undoing. This after he had ravished her for the third time in as many days, sex mad she had thought until he had let it slip that he could not be assured of his standing in her father's company until they had given the old man a grandson.

He should be pleased now, after the telephone call. Now he need not waste his seed in the acid-tongued Gina anymore. Not if he could trust that smooth, rich-toned voice on the telephone. And he now was far beyond questioning that whoever was behind the voice on the telephone could deliver what was promised.

Three years previously Paulo had been a pimply faced, chubby clerk in a Milan mattress factory, the son of a butcher and dressmaker, destined for nowhere. But then the telephone calls had started. The smooth, rich-toned voice suggesting what he could do to better himself, promising that if he just did this or that or positioned himself here or there or said this or that to a certain person, he would prosper. Paulo had thought the voice had been that of prankster, but whenever he followed through on the suggestions, he found that they actually worked. He joined a men's athletic club and improved his body and looks. He applied for a job in a business in Milan that everyone was laughing about at the time—the development of an invention of a vehicle that could move without being pulled by a horse. And by taking the periodic suggestions telephoned to him by the mysterious voice, he had prospered. Thus, at length he learned not to second guess the voice and just to do as it said, even to the point of asking for the hand of the company owner's daughter. It had been an absurd proposal, or so he thought. But the company owner had seen only what Paulo had developed to, not what Paulo still saw in himself, and the marriage had been settled.

Repeatedly Paulo had asked the voice on the telephone what he wanted, and invariably there had been a little dry laugh and the declaration that the voice only wanted to see Paulo filled with joy for all eternity.

This generous giving by an unseen and unknown benefactor had disturbed Paulo greatly at first, but as he became more handsome and virile and prosperous and successful at everything he did, he came to believe that what he was receiving was only what was due to him. That he deserved this good fortune by right; even that he himself was wholly the source of his success—that perhaps the voice on the telephone was really just his own internal voice of wisdom and superior intelligence.

Paulo became bold and free with himself. He visited prostitutes, at first women, who flattered him and told him how magnificent he was. He believed them. He acquired a mistress, who told him the same thing, that he was the most handsome man she'd ever known and the greatest lover and cocksman she had ever lain under. Paulo began to worship his body as much as his lovers did and to ever more frequently attend his men's club and display himself in all his glory. There were men at the club who expressed the desire to worship Paulo's body too. And Paulo let them. He was an object of superior beauty; he loved himself and he completely understood that women and other men loved him too and wanted to worship his body, as was only its due.

Men wanted to unite with him, to meld their bodies with his. To enter him and get as close to his perfection as they could. They were passionate for him. And he loved their passion for him and let them make love to his body.

Thus, the telephone call he had just received from the voice should not have come as a shock to him. But it did nonetheless. The voice, in its silky, resonating baritone, had gotten to the heart of his present dilemma.

"You have become disgusted with your Gina, have you not, Paulo? She is ugliness and baseness against your beauty and elegance. You can hardly bear to touch her, is that not true?"

"No, of course not," Paulo said with indignation. And then, because he knew that he could trust the voice and received more when he honestly admitted his most basic needs and wants. "Well, perhaps. But she must be with child—with my child. With a son. Or I shan't have my dream of owning this firm."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," answered the smooth-toned voice.

"I don't understand," Paulo responded.

"If you impregnate your wife, yes, in time you . . . or your son . . . may inherit the firm. In time, one or the other of you. But there may be a way for you to have the firm immediately in your own right, with no reliance on your wife or her womb."

"A way?" Paulo asked. "What way? You can give me the firm now?"

"Oh, yes, I surely could do that," the voice intoned warmly. And then there was that dry little laugh that sent a shiver up Paulo's spine. "But that's quite a jump, Paulo, quite on a whole new level of our relationship."

"Now? I could have control of the firm now?" Paulo's mouth was fairly salivating.

"Yes, certainly. But for something like this you would have to pledge yourself to me. Do you think you could do that, Paulo?"

"How soon, do you think? Could I have it this year? Next year?"

"You could have it Monday morning, Paulo. Today is Friday. You could have it Monday morning."

Paulo was hooked. "Monday morning," he whispered, and his hands began to tremble and his chest puffed out and his eyes lit up.

"Yes, but you would have to give me Saturday night."

"I don't understand."

"Oh, I think you might. You would have to pledge yourself to me. You would have to come to me in Punta Dufour on Saturday and lay with me for one night, for one night only. And then you would have control of the firm on Monday morning."

The air went out of Paulo's chest and he collapsed back into the chair and almost dropped the ear piece to the telephone."

"No, no," he stuttered. "I couldn't possibly . . ."

"Of course you could, Paulo. You've lain with men before. I know that and you know that. You have no secrets from me. If you want to be filled with joy eternally, you'll come to me at the Chateau de la Comte Asmodai in Punta Dufour tomorrow night. The firm, Paulo. Think of what you could do with those motor cars. Gina's father is old and is of the old world. Do you really think there will still be a robust firm making motor cars waiting for you when you have given the old man a grandson?"

Paulo stood at the window, looking down to the shop floor for the longest time, struggling with himself. The price was too great. It was his own talent and abilities that were propelling him to this phenomenal success, not whatever a mere voice on the telephone was doing on his behalf. He would just get Gina pregnant and the firm would be his.

It was a six-hour train ride from Milan up to the Italian alps bordering on Switzerland where the tiny mountain village of Punta Dufour was located. And, of course, Paulo was on the early morning train to the border. It was dark, even though it was still afternoon, when Paulo reached Punta Dufour and stopped at the local tavern for directions to the chateau.

The first question he asked of the jovial tavern keeper concerned the darkness.

"Aye, we live in darkness here, young man," the tavern keeper responded. "Look up there. That would be the Matterhorn that shadows over us. And a beautiful woman she is to encloak us, if I do say myself. And what might be your business in this corner of the world, Sir?"

This led to the second question, directions to the Chateau de la Comte Asmodai. The tavern keeper's joviality melted away and he gruffly pointed up at the Matterhorn and told Paulo which of the trails leading up the mountain from the village would take him to the chateau. And with that, the old man withdrew from the bar without so much as offering Paulo an opportunity to buy a drink, and Paulo had to start the journey up the mountain thirsty and on an empty stomach.

He had almost stumbled on the chateau before he even realized it was anywhere in the vicinity. It was wedged into the cliffside just inside a dark ravine and was constructed of the same rock it was sunk in. Still, it was a very imposing building, but it was cold and foreboding.

The man who met Paulo at the door was anything but foreboding, though. He professed not to be the voice on the telephone, but Paulo assumed that his host was only putting up appearances. The young man who ushered Paulo into the chateau and sat him at a table groaning from the weight of delicious-looking food and drink beside a roaring fire in a huge stone fireplace was as beautiful and perfectly formed as a Michelangelo statue. He was blond and blue-eyed, in keeping with northern Italian stock, and, although he looked no older than Paulo himself, his conversation revealed an excellent education and a broad experience of the world. And he had a melodious baritone voice that very easily could be identified with that of the voice of the telephone when allowances were made for the rudimentary development of that instrument of communication.

Paulo and his host, who identified himself as Giovanni, conversed with ease and great mutual enjoyment as Paulo feasted from the abundance that had been placed before him. Everything about the interior of the chateau was opulent almost to the point of sensuality, and Paulo quickly warmed to the idea of laying with Giovanni and letting the handsome young man make love to him throughout the night. It appeared that the pledge required for Paulo to have his dreams fulfilled would be a pleasant one. And as he gazed at himself in the various mirrors placed about the room, Paulo knew that lying with him would be a pleasant experience for Giovanni as well.

So absorbed with himself was Paulo that he didn't even notice that, although the mirrors were set at all angles in the room, the only visage to be seen in them was his own.

After Paulo had eaten and Giovanni had offered him brandy in the comfortable chairs before the fire and chatted with him in depth on the intricacies of the new world of auto mechanics while he watched Paulo drink deeply of the brandy, Giovanni led Paulo to a richly appointed bedchamber. There a huge, thick-postered canopied poster bed was positioned in the center of the room on a plush oriental carpet. The bed was draped in heavy, ruby-red damask panels, which Giovanni let down as soon as Paulo had stripped himself on request and settled himself in the bed. The fire had been dying as they had entered the room, and with the drapes drawn around the bed, Paulo was completely enveloped in darkness.

The journey had been long, and he had gorged himself on rich food and strong drink. So, Paulo stretched out on the bed on his belly and quickly dozed off.

He awoke to a tongue flicking along the side of his neck. The thin, but tightly muscled body of another man was stretched on top of him, the man's legs stretched on top of his, and his strong hands holding Paulo's wrists in long, sensuous fingers, their thumbs on Paulo's pulse, enabling both lovers to enjoy ever-more-rapid beat signaling Paulo's arousal.

Paulo's lover was already in full, and prodigious, erection, and his hard cock was curved up under Paulo's ball sack and between his slightly spread thighs.

With visions of Giovanni, Paulo responded to his new-found lover and began to move his body underneath the chest and belly that were closely covering his back. His lover was kissing and sucking at the arteries pumping blood up the side of Paulo's neck, which was sending engorging signals to Paulo's member, and Paulo lifted his pelvis slightly and began stroking the satiny sheets on the bed with his hard tool, slicking them up with his precum.

His lover was humming to him now in a resonate baritone as he worked his lips on Paulo's neck and slid his hard, moist cock back and forth between Paulo's butt cheeks, sliding up and down, up and down across the rim of Paulo's asshole. Paulo's lover was flowing in precum, which was moving into Paulo's ass channel as the curved cock ran up and down across the hole. Paulo felt the moist lubrication of his lover's desire seeping into his passage, helping to open him up to that monstrous cock.

Paulo was moaning and panting now. He'd never been prepared like this before, his body worshipped like this before. He turned his head, searching for and finding full, sensuous lips. The lips that had attracted him to Giovanni's handsome face. His lover was possessing his mouth with a searching, filling tongue, as sweet tasting as honey.

Paulo lifted his pelvis higher and stroked harder across the slickened surface of the satin sheets. He was pinned to the bed by the ropy chest muscles of a thin but strong torso and by those sensuous fingers of steel at his wrists. The lifting of Paulo's pelvis brought the head of his lover's curved cock squarely on his asshole, and with a slow rotating motion, the cock was entering him, opening him up, stretching him wide and moving into him.

Paulo wanted to scream out in the pain of exquisite passion, but his lover fully possessed his mouth and would not allow him to do so.

Deeper, deeper was he possessed by his lover's cock, which seemed to thicken and length to impossible proportions as it moved into him. Paulo was straining against his imprisonment now, wanting to writhe wildly to this glorious possession, but he was being held fast. He groaned as his passage walls undulated around the sinking cock, and he gasped as he strained at the steely fingers grasping his wrists and burbled his semen across the sheets underneath him in the ecstasy of release. But still his lover moved deeper and wider inside him.

Paulo opened his mouth wide in a silent scream, fully gagged by that sweet-tasting tongue, a tongue that strangely seemed to be forked, as his lover bottomed inside him and with a cry of his own sent his seed spouting deep inside his prey.

It was only then that Paulo realized that something had been switching at his sides and thighs. But before he could focus on this, his lover withdrew his tongue and placed his lips close to Paulo's ear and hissed, "Now you are mine. With this seeding you are fully pledged to me. There is no turning back now."

A chill shot through Paulo's body. His arms were released, although he was still pinned to the bed by his lover's torso and the hard, throbbing cock buried deep inside Paulo's ass. Paulo wildly felt around at his sides and his hands wrapped themselves around a flicking tail.

He turned his body under that of his lover just as flames shot up all around the bed. Not consuming flames, but illuminating flames. Flames that made the world quite clear—a brief, an oh so brief—illumination of a dark, dark world.

He saw his lover for the first time. And the horror of it was overwhelming. His lover was red-skinned, and horned, and he had a long, forked, flicking tail. And his sneering face was fully satanic.

"Oh, God," Paulo cried out involuntarily.

"God has absolutely nothing to do with it," the devil cackled with that dry laugh of his.

"But you promised that on Monday . . ."

"You pledged an entire night lying with me," the devil chortled. "And here, in the shadow of the Matterhorn it is always night. And I promised you would be filled with joy eternally."

And then he went off in a gale of laughter. And when he could control himself again, he rolled off to the side of a Paulo immobilized by fear and shock and confusion and pulled his cock out of his prey with a sucking sound and wagged it with his hand.

"And this I call Joy," he said with a cackle. "You have sold yourself to me with your unbounding ambition and conceit and, as I promised, I will fill you with Joy for all eternity."

And with that, He rolled back on top of the paralyzed Paulo, pulled his prey up to all fours with the palms of his strong hands on Paulo's belly and, crouching above him, thrust that long, thick curved cock back inside the young man and started pumping hard, his cock thickening and lengthening, filling Paulo once more and ever more possessively with Joy. And fucking him hard and roughly for all eternity.