Hell might be full of fire, brimstone, and bureaucracy, but somehow, Max had just made it… fun.
CHAPTER FIVE
MAX
There are some surreal moments in life —or in the afterlife —that make you question everything. For me, it was the moment they hauled all the contestants into the medical holding stalls to watch an HHB be milked. I don’t know if I just hadn’t put two and two together, or if I wasn’t nearly as bright as I pretended to be. But nothing in Hell or on earth could have prepared me for the mixed emotions that erupted when the top ten contestants were given a clipboard for notes and placed behind a glass wall for a milking session. We were lined up shoulder to shoulder—or in our case, horn to horn—and put in a viewing gallery to witness what I can only describe as what the world’s kinkiest science lab and a barn’s mixed-up baby would look like.
The room beyond the glass was all white tile and chrome, lit from above. Two stations sat side by side like stalls. On the left of each stall sat a gleaming machine with a thick, transparent tube and a curved cradle at hip height; on the right, a padded chaise with a small silver cart of oils, towels, and a coil of tubing awaiting its next victim, er, HHB.
We’d been herded down here by Agnus, who barked “eyes forward” enough times to make my neck lock. Where else did she think we were going to look?
The crazy demoness was militant as she gave us the pitch—consent, safety, the whole song and dance—then stepped aside.
Two additional demonesses entered the lab. They were beautiful women, no doubt about it, but my heart didn’t skip a beat, and my fingers weren’t itching to touch them. Offhandedly, I wondered where Ivy might be. It was obvious that I had a wicked crush on the demoness, despite barely knowing her.
I fought the urge to chew on my nails. I had such a bleak understanding of Hell, and needed to be careful. I didn’t want to end up kicked out of the contest, dickless as a Ken-doll, and nursing a broken heart.
The first woman was tall and dark, with hair braided into a glossy rope that brushed her spine. Her eyes were molten, pupils slit like a cat’s, and when she smiled, it was slow and unhurried, as if she had all of eternity to unwrap you. She was quite literally stunning.
The other was equally as beautiful, shorter, freckled across her abundant breasts, and had auburn hair spilling over her shoulders. She had a fox’s grin and a mouth made for trouble.
My dick didn’t even twitch.
The demonesses didn’t hurry. They let us look, clearly liking being looked at. Like Ivy’s outfit at the dancing event, I’d noticed that the uniforms the demonesses wore were very revealing. Since the majority of the men were Ken-dolled, I supposed they wanted us to want what we couldn’t have. The crazy thing was that I loved women—all kinds of women. But I didn’t want to see them in all their nearly naked beauty. I would have rather seen Ivy in an oversized sweatshirt and a messy bun.
And that scared me.
Thank fuck, all of hell somehow decided to vote me through after that joke of an audition. I knew I had Ivy to thank for that as well. Her obvious attention had her aunt’s stamp of approval. Who wouldn’t vote for what appeared to be Lucy’s favorite? I had a strong notion that if Ivy or Lucy hadn't been so keen on me doing well, I might not have made the cut.
I swallowed. Don’t think about Ivy, I told myself. So, of course, I thought about Ivy. The curve of her jaw, the light dusting of freckles on her cheeks, and her long strawberry blonde hair. She was too good for this place.
The tall demoness called us to attention, brushing my thoughts away. “Welcome, prospects. I’m Nerys. This is Kiera. Today is a demonstration. Two assigned Hellbound HuBulls will show you how it works—one with the machine, one either by hand or mouth.” Her smile deepened. “You will get to see the process a typical HHB experiences daily.”
She gestured to a side door. It opened, and two built dudes with lightly glowing eyes and horns a lot like mine came walking in. There were no chains, and by their filthy grins, it was clear they were excited for what awaited them. You could hardly miss their cocks standing proudly at attention. Much larger than what most earthly men were working with. Thick and heavy, their dicks were ready to blow. The air itself seemed charged, humming against my skin. The uniforms—if you could call a low-slung black belt that crossed across their chests and nothing else a uniform—didn’t hide a thing. And nothing about them was… moderate.
I heard a low whistle to my left. Kevin. “Fuck,” he breathed. “They don’t mess around down here, do they? You never get used to this.”
No kidding. These guys were hung like mythology, the kind of size that looked illegal topside. Big, full balls sat heavyunderneath, tight and aching. Pre-cum already gleamed at both tips, beading, then trembling free in slow, obscene pearls.
Damn it, I had seen my fair share of porn in my day, but this was something else. I wasn’t sure if that made me a good man or a terrible one. Maybe both. It certainly made me honest.
Nerys approached the first man, who stood by the machine, trying and failing to look calm while his cock twitched like it was counting down.
“Name?” she asked, low enough to force us all to hush and listen.
“Hale,” he said, voice rough. “HHB designation three-eleven.”
Nerys’s palm slid up his chest and rested just over his heart. It wasn’t flirty; it was grounding. “Hale, do you consent to being milked with the machine today?”
His throat worked. “Yes.”
“Do you consent to being observed by contestants and staff?”
“Yes.”
“Do you understand you can stop or slow the process at any time?”
“I do.”
