You thought the decision was made when you died.
That your deeds during your life would either send you to heaven or hell.
That the trip would be almost instantaneous.
And then you are introduced to the River Styx.
Unfortunately for you, a ride on the river, to the other side, is not direct.
Like a cruise ship, there are many stops before you reach your final destination.
I am told each soul experiences the trip differently.
This is my story.
There were seven of us, seven souls on this trip across the river. Four women, and three men. None of us had known the others in life. Or was it that we no longer remembered, now that we were dead, what had gone before?
The trail we had followed had led to the edge of the river and we stood there, waiting, as three dogs trailed around our feet. They each licked us. A chihuahua, an Irish wolfhound, and an airedale.
The boat pulled up. It looked black and enameled, like a piece of Japanese woodwork. The boat was open, blood red inside, like some sort of Gothic gondola. The man?, creature? in the back was apparently in command of the boat and was dressed in a pair of black slacks and a black turtleneck.
"Cerberus!" His voice was thunderous. We all cowered.
The dogs stood together, and changed shape, merging, melting into one another, growing larger.
The immense three headed dog stood above us, growling.
The heads then began picking us up and placing us into the boat. The steersman watched with interest as each of us was placed within.
The last passenger embarked was one of the men. He screamed as the teeth of the second head pierced his body and he was dropped unceremoniously into the front of the boat. We all looked up, then forward, terrified, but the creature simply sat and separated back into the three dogs, which then approached an adult and a number of children walking down the path.
Most of the others looked ahead to where we were going. But I turned to look behind. Another boat was pulling up next to the shore and it was much bigger than the one we were in.
The steersman glanced at me and said, "Multiple dimensions."
I looked at the steersman more closely. He was dark skinned, bald, but sported a goatee. His eyes weren't the deep brown one would expect. Yes, they were red but not like flames. They were the deep red of coals.
He wasn't particularly tall, maybe five foot eight, but you could see the muscles ripple in his arms as he held the tiller. No tail, no horns.
He did, however, have a deep voice, in the Barry White vein. He saw I was examining him and smiled. There were fangs.
Actually, for a demon, or whatever he was, he was mighty fine.
Suddenly, noises that I didn't expect reached my dead ears.
I whipped around to see the man who had been bitten and dropped had one of the women bent over a seat. Her skirt was thrown up on her back and I watched him grasp his dick and plunge in.
The woman fairly screamed at his entrance. He grabbed her hips and started thrusting, grunting, then slapping her ass in time.
I turned back to look at the steersman. He shrugged his shoulders and said, "Football player." The others on the boat either watched in boredom or ignored the sight completely.
I was shocked. At first. Then I started thinking.
No diseases. No risk of pregnancy.
He looked as he did when we joined up on the path, so, no wounds. No scratches or marks would last any length of time.
We could obviously feel things. Emotions. Sensations.
What would I do? What could I try? What had always piqued my interest?
Nasty little fantasies began running through my head.
I turned back to the steersman and found that he was not unaffected by the scene before him. A rather prodiguous bulge had formed in the front of his pants.
What would he be like? Anatomically?
And as I contemplated the being at the back of the boat my nether lips began to fill with blood and become slick.
I was in the middle of the boat, so I had a few rows of seats to move over to get to him.
I made my way slowly, even though the surface of the water we floated on was as smooth as glass, and finally sat before him. I was facing the rear of the boat, not looking at where we were going, but at him. While his eyes kept track of our course, he certainly knew I was there.
I eyed the bulge in his pants and put my hands around his knees.
"What do you want, little one?"
I licked my lips before I answered, then laid one palm upon that bulge. "This."
"Are you certain?"
I looked up at him then. His eyes, if anything, had grown darker as he looked down upon me. They shifted away slightly, then quickly back to my face.
He smelled earthy, smoky, definitively male. "Yes."
I slid my hands up the back of his thighs. The texture of the pants he wore was unusual, not really leather, rough, perhaps the skin of some reptile?
"Sharkskin." He said.
I cupped his buttocks in my hands as I heard other noises behind me, moans, whimpers, the squelching of wet flesh.
I twisted my head around as I continued to knead his buttocks. They were firm, full, and felt good under my palms. He did nothing to stop the fondling of his flesh.
The others were in various states of undress, arousal, and sexual congress.
The football player was still going at it with the woman he was fucking. She was screaming, apparently in pleasure. The football player, himself, was groaning.
From the look on his face, you would think he had already shot his load and had lost control of what his body was doing.
In the meantime, however, one of the other men had yanked down his pants and was shoving his cock into the football player's ass. The second man's eyes were screwed tightly shut, in a grimace of pleasure.
The third man had his cock in his hand and would stroke, then jerk, his organ. His hips were bucking as he pulled roughly on his own flesh. His eyes were glued onto the other two women.
They, in turn, were kissing, hands in each other's shirts. One of them stood, took down, and stepped out of her pants. Her blond hair twisted about her head as she stepped forward and assumed a spreadlegged pose. The brunette seated before her moaned as she buried her face between the blond woman's thighs. The blond's hands went to the other woman's head and she threw her head back as she was eaten.
I turned back to the steersman, finding my hands had gone to the fastening of his pants. My fingers nervously plucked at them, to release the treasure straining behind the sharkskin.
Before pulling down the covering, I rubbed my cheek against it. Both of us moaned as I felt a twitch in the member my face was now very close to.
I looked up at him again as my fingers reached around the top edge of the pants. I could feel a slight burn on my cheek from the roughness of the sharkskin.
I wanted to see what he had, now.
I yanked down everything that had been covering him. Now free, the fascinating appendage that was his cock was now ready to be touched, sucked, adored.
I looked at it in curiousity. He was uncut, which I wasn't used to, so I reached out to touch the tip.
He groaned as my warm hand touched equally warm flesh. "I thought you would be.. cold." I grasped his foreskin, rather gently, and moved it back and forth a couple of times over the knob at the end of his penis. It was surprisingly flexible, and soft.
Another moan left his lips, almost sepulchral in quality.
I wrapped my fingers around his shaft, they didn't quite circle his girth, touching that soft smooth skin. There was a large vein on the underside and I could feel the pulse of the blood beneath my fingers.
It rose from a tangle of dark, curled hairs. It was also dark, thick, and rather long. Why did a being of the underworld need such an impressive piece of equipment?
His thick voice reached my ears. "I was once alive, as you were."
