A Cold Day in Hell (An Erotic Paranormal Short Story) (2 page)

Uncomfortable as it was, she was turned on beyond
belief, bouncing on the ice post, watching it fuck her in the ice's reflection.
The cold made it slow to get to the high level of excitement she needed, but it
had the curious effect of freezing her pleasure and making it stronger. Maybe
her orgasm, when it came, would simply never stop. The thought excited her, and
she rode the ice like a pogo stick, squatting and thrusting, watching it fill
her, pinching the most sensitive parts of her body into shapes they were never meant
to have.

The warm, sweet tide of her orgasm began deep inside
her, swelling under the icy cold, pushing her over the edge. Suddenly she was
cumming, stuck in a pleasure wave that wouldn’t stop. She helped the shaft fill
her over and over, her screams making the cave walls echo. Melted ice rushed
down the post in warm torrents between her legs. She rode ferociously, bucking
and screaming until she was hoarse and gasping.

How long did it last? How was time measured here?
She didn’t know. Eventually, the sweet mixture of cold pain and steaming
pleasure subsided, leaving her once again cold and alone in the hated cave.
Panting and exhausted, she was wet with melted ice and her own juices that
quickly became frost on her inner thighs.

She raised herself gingerly off the dildo. Only a little
was gone from its length, but if she stopped now, she'd have to go through the
whole warming process again, losing all that work. She sighed, tossed back her frost-matted
hair, and took a fresh grip on her body and her courage.

* * * *

Dara lay exhausted on the cave's frosted floor. It
was done. For time without measure she'd fucked the ice until it was gone. Her
thighs ached at the memory of all the squatting and squeezing she'd had to do.
The phallus was destroyed, resembling a candle that had melted to a shapeless
smear.

Her poor pussy. Her last glimpse in the ice mirror
had showed a frosted slit with an angry red opening that gaped even when she
closed her thighs. It was frozen into a state of perpetual invitation,
doubtless destroyed forever. But it was done. There was nothing left of the
shaft to put inside her.

She dozed until the ice pile rumbled with a deep and
grating crack. Opening exhausted eyes, she watched as the demon manifested
itself again, towering and probably terrifying if she’d been able to feel
anything. The frost-blind eyes glanced at the ice slick next to her. "Impressive,”
it pronounced, with what might have been admiration. “Stand up and let me see
you.”

She crawled to her feet, crotch and nipples
throbbing from the constant abuse of riding the ice. In spite of her
exhaustion, a ripple of deeper cold ran through her when she saw the odd, stony
lust in the demon’s eyes. She had an urge to cover herself, even though it had
surely watched every moment of her long, degrading performance.

"Please, can I be at peace now?” she pleaded,
her voice husky from screaming. “I did what you said. I've atoned for my sins."

The demon smiled and shuffled to the wall. Dara
stared blankly at the name illuminated on the icy surface: Richard Walters. It
meant nothing to her.

“How very cold your heart was. You don’t even
remember him. High school history teacher, junior year. You ruined him.”

Now she remembered, but dull anger came with the
memory. “So I teased him a little! I’m hardly the only one who’s ever done
that, and where are those other little bitches in my class who did the same
thing? I don’t see them in here.”

The demon’s smile cooled another hundred degrees.
“They aren’t here because their flaunting was largely innocent and did no harm.
The naked photo you “accidentally” sent him by text. Remember that? How hard
you had to work to get his private number so that
accident
could happen?
So you could make him remember whenever he looked at you after that? That
picture was discovered and cost him his marriage, his family, and his career. Eventually
his life, at his own hand. Are you satisfied?”

A flush heated her face, but it brought no comfort. “I-I
didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t. You were already on to the
next adventure.” The demon deliberately scratched out the name with an icy claw.
Within moments the imprint faded, the eternal righting of wrongs.

Humility. That was the key right now. “I’m sorry. I truly
am. I didn’t know how much I was hurting others. I’ve done what you asked.
Please let me go, whether that’s to heaven or back to life or just to die.
Please. I’m truly sorry.”

The roar of laughter from her hellish host made her
cower. “My dear, you have no idea yet what it is to be sorry. Your damage has
been extreme.”

It gestured to the back of the cave, now illuminated
in cold, eldritch light. She saw rows and rows of ice stalks lining the ceiling
and floor, like the fangs of some improbable beast.

"One for each person you harmed. And you have
harmed many. We provide straps from the ceiling, of course. How else can you
melt the ones on top unless you're upside down? Those are reserved for, shall
we say, other openings than you used on this first round."

Dara started to cry, the tears freezing to delicate,
sparkling lace on her skin.

“You look beautiful in pain and covered with frost.”
The demon’s tone was appreciative. For the first time she noticed that an ice
phallus, so similar to those in the cave, rustled coldly against its massive, rocky
thighs.

Not an it, then. A he.

She tried to control the tremble in her smile, to
stand straighter despite the cold. “Please. I beg you. Please let me go. I’ll
do anything you want.”

The massive head shook slowly side to side, but the
harsh tone was oddly tender now. “It’s beyond my power. Once you’ve worked
through the cave – if you ever work through it – I will be your last test. Then
I may find relief from this hell of my own. I’m sure you can understand that I
have a deep and personal interest in seeing you succeed. I plan to find many
ways to…encourage you.” The leer returned. “And I can promise you that I am not
easily satisfied. This cave is your practice.”

A scream, hopeless and tinged with madness, tore from
her raw throat. “I can’t do this!”

The ice-gray eyes met hers with cold fire behind
them. “Yes, you can, and you will. Because there’s no rest for the wicked,” he
said.

THE END

The characters and events in this
story are a pure work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, dead or
alive, is a hellish coincidence and unintended by the author.

Text copyright © 2013 Deni D’Amore

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be
reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any method without express prior written
consent of the author.