Chapter 12 – Jessica
The Malebolge: The Trench of Flatterers
I think we broke Ithuriel. He hasn’t said a word in hours. He must have compartmentalized the whole dry-humping debacle, seeing as he pretended it never happened the very next day – possibly because he didn’t consent to it. Last night he had every chance to get up and leave, not sit there and witness Sariel getting me off like a motherfluffing pro.
And I don’t regret it; it was hot as, well, Hell, and what’s a little (or huge) orgasm among friends? The only problem – besides possibly breaking an angel I grew to care about – is that I can’t seem to look at Sariel the same way anymore. I always found him ridiculously sexy and as sinful as a chocolate lava cake. But now I keep looking at his beautiful hands. Thinking of them touching me. Wishing they were touching me some more. Every time his lips stretch into that devilish smile I feel them on the side of my neck again. He just gives me butterflies now. And those fuckers are dangerous.
“Penny for your thoughts,” the subject of my thoughts asks.
I raise an eyebrow. “Do you have a penny on you?”
He flicks the tip of my nose with his finger and my stomach vaults.
Damn it.
“That’s avoidance at a competitive level right there,” he says.
I grin. “You can thank my dad for that skill. He was always all up in my business. Texting me if I was five minutes late from coming home. Bugging me about boys at school. Worried I’d go off the rails and ruin his plans for me.” I glance at Itha to check if he’s paying attention to our conversation. Nope, still staring straight ahead.
Sariel frowns. “I thought only the Elioud with few social connections got taken. Wouldn’t your parents be looking for you?”
I shake my head. “Hard to look from prison.”
His eyes widen and even Ithuriel throws us a glance.
“Yeah…” I drawl. “Ponzi scheme. Big mess. Thankfully I wasn’t working for their company at the time; I had my own little photography studio.”
The fallen angel lets out a long, low whistle. “Why did I think descendants of angels would be goody-two-shoes?”
I smile at the thought. “I don’t think anyone’s ever inherently good or inherently bad. Or good all the time, bad all the time. Except maybe Belial. I’m sure he’s rotten all the time.”
He snorts at that. “I don’t think that scum sucker’s done a good thing for the right reasons in his entire, very long existence.”
“Was no one suspicious when he suggested we be brought here to keep Hell from overflowing?” I ask, thinking of how it was that archdemon who suggested to the Celestial Council that we, mortals with Celestial blood in our veins, would be the perfect soldiers in this endeavor.
Sariel shakes his head. “It was a game of attrition, poppet. Now that we know it was all to get Lana here, it’s easy to guess he was at it for almost thirty years. Moving a chess piece here, clicking a puzzle into place there. He took his time to be subtle about it.”
I purse my lips in thought, then scrunch my nose. “What’s that god awful smell?”
“That would be the Stygian River,” Ithuriel speaks for the first time. “A river of filth to drown the flatterers who spewed filth in life.”
I gag. “Wait, it’s not The Styx, is it? The River of Hatred? Isn’t that on the other side of Belial’s territory?”
“It’s an offshoot,” Sariel answers me. “Both waters are smelly, this one’s especially putrid, though. Like Itha said, it’s part of this bolgia’s punishment.”
The silver angel’s still not looking at either of us. I’m starting to feel guilty.
“We will have to swim through it,” he says, matter-of-fact.
I stop in my tracks. “What? Ew!”
“’Fraid he’s right, poppet. Since we can’t fly or use the ether to travel here, going through’s the only option.”
“Aw, man.” I stomp my foot. “Lana told me about having to swim in the sewers of Asmodeus’ ziggurat and I made fun out of it for months. Now she’s gonna hear I swam in literal poop. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Sariel throws his head back and laughs. Even Ithuriel turns to look at the Fallen’s mirth. “The fuck was she doing swimming in Uncle’s sewers?”
Since I’m watching Itha, I can see how his facial muscles clench at Sariel’s moniker for Asmodeus. It’s almost like it causes him pain to hear Sariel has made a life here in Hell without him.
“The same thing we’re doing now, Sar-Sar,” I mutter. “Looking for the damned rift to the human world. Aren’t we about to swim through shit for it too?”
“Fair enough,” he smirks. Why does no one care that our last moments of smelling relatively good are upon us?
“Do either of you ancients have a plan for us to not – literally – smell like shit after this trench?” I ask, exasperated.
The fallen angel swings an arm around my shoulders. “Itha and I will store our things in the ether. There’s a clean pool on each side for the demons.”
“So, we’re swimming through excrement naked?” I ask for clarification.
“I will not be unclothed,” Itha says stiffly.
Sariel laughs rather evilly. “You’ll sink like a sack of bricks in all that steel.” He shakes his head at the angel.
Ithuriel doesn’t even flinch. He’s as stiff as he was on day one. “Then I will store my armor away, but I will remain in my linens.”
“Suit yourself,” the Fallen says in a singsong voice.
It’s then I have a thought. “Wait. Are there no demons to overlook the punished sinners in this trench?”
“There are,” he answers. “They’re flying above the waters.”
“How come they get to fly? And how come they can’t carry us?”
Sariel flicks my nose again. He likes doing that, the patronizing ass. “The answer to both of your questions is that they’re incorporeal. But even if they weren’t, do you think angelface over there would let a demon fly him over a river of shit?”
“No.” Ithuriel’s deadpan answer makes me laugh despite our stinky prospects.
My nose must’ve gotten somewhat desensitized to the stench as it gradually grew stronger because before I know it, we’re standing on the banks of the Stygian River.
It’s somehow even worse than I imagined. The wide trench is filled with a murky dark brown river of thick excrement. The liquid churns and bubbles constantly and the sight is so revolting I’d feel nauseated even if it wasn’t for the smell. Sinners are submerged in the river, some up to their necks, some completely underwater. Most are thrashing and flailing in the putrid waters, choking on the filth, though some are unmoving, their faces frozen in anguish and despair. Looks like they checked out. I don’t blame them.
The walls around the trench are slick and slimy, streaked with waste and growing algae. And above the swirling waters and wailing sinners are shadowy, half-corporeal forms, mocking the punished below. If they care about our presence, they’re not letting on.
“I really don’t want to go in there,” I whine futilely.
“Neither do I, sweetcheeks, but such is life in Hell,” Sariel replies, patting the top of my head. “Now, strip.”
With a groan, I drop my backpack and start removing my leather armor. As soon as my fingers touch the fastenings, Itha turns away. I can hear rustling behind me as Sariel tackles his vest and leather pants, and clinking on my other side, where Ithuriel unbuckles his plate. A minute later, the angel’s still wearing his linen underclothes, like he said he would, I’m in my bandeau and panties, and Sariel…
Every thought in my sinful head comes to a screeching halt when I turn around and see the fallen angel standing there, buck-naked.
“Sweet mother of…” I mutter, my eyes caressing his body from the top of his black-haired head to his surprisingly attractive feet. His skin is a warm, golden tan expanse of silk, lovingly stretched over defined muscles. He has a smattering of dark hair on his forearms and calves, and a line of it between that delicious V of oblique muscles – an arrow pointing to the culmination of all my dark fantasies. I can now confirm that Sariel’s cock makes my mouth water even in the most unappetizing circumstances.
Thickening in front of my eyes, it’s already large. Larger than what I thought I wanted, if you had asked me ten minutes ago, but the sight of it now makes my womb ache with the need to have it inside of me, filling me. Beneath it, his balls hang heavy and round. As I picture them emptying after his wrestle with Ithuriel, my pussy starts weeping. I clench my thighs instinctively.
Sariel chuckles and lifts his arms above his head, stretching like a lazy cat. He turns to the river, presenting me with the tightest, roundest ass in existence, and snaps his fingers. From the corner of my eyes, I can see our belongings disappear into the ether, but I can’t take my gaze off of the Fallen’s sculpted back muscles. It’s not until he’s waist-deep in the Stygian that I finally look away.
Ithuriel’s beautiful face is turned to where the fallen angel waits for us to join him. The expression of hunger mixed with pain on it twists my stomach and sends another pulse of lust to my clit. He wakes out of his reverie with a violent twitch and, with a furtive glance at me, starts wading through the muck to where Sariel stands, keeping a good distance between them.
With no choice, I take a deep breath of the foul air and prepare to never feel clean again, ever. I step in, the vile mud squelches between my toes, and I gag. Not the best start.
“Come on, poppet,” Sariel calls out to me. “Mind over matter.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Fecal matter.”
As I take my next step, the sucking sound of the mud trying to keep my foot immersed in it overpowers Sariel’s amused snort. It’s like walking with resistance bands, but eventually, my shorter legs bring me to the boys.
“Easy part’s over,” the Fallen sings. I roll my eyes, then look at the silent angel beside us.
“Are you okay, Itha?” I ask tentatively.
His head slowly turns in my direction. “Why would I not be alright?” he asks with a hollow tone.
I shrug as much as the river will let me. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”
“I have nothing to say,” he replies.
I open and close my mouth a few times as Sariel starts humming the chorus of Losing My Religion . I press my lips together and pull my hand out of the mud with great difficulty so I can smack his shoulder. Shit flies everywhere from the point of impact, including back at my face. Well… shit .
Throwing his head back on a roar of laughter that temporarily silences the wails of the tortured, Sariel pulls me in until I have no choice but to start swimming. Ugh. I’d tell him off but I don’t want to risk opening my mouth this close to the water. Ithuriel joins us on a muted splash, and together we trudge through the thick liquid.
It’s not long until we swim past the first sinners. The demons above are still ignoring us, and don’t seem worried we might try to save someone from their fate. Fifteen minutes in, one of the punished souls tries to use me as a life raft. This time it’s Itha that gets to her first, breaking the arms she used to crawl over me and throwing her away. After that, we make sure to stay as far away as possible.
My eyes are tearing up from the noxious fumes and even if they weren’t, I feel like crying anyway. This is the most horrible thing I’ve gone through so far in Hell, and that includes the dislocated shoulder a couple of months ago and the three broken ribs a year before that. Finally, the edge of the other side comes into view, and the three of us find our second wind and pick up speed.
Sariel reaches the ledge first and pulls himself up. I’d appreciate the sight of his ass right in front of my face a lot more if he wasn’t covered in sludge. Itha climbs up next, the sucking mud almost tugging his clothes off as he does. Turning around, he reaches for my hand. Just as I’m about to grasp it, the water starts churning underneath me, a spinning vortex ripping me out of the angel’s reach.
“Jessica!” he shouts, but it’s too late. The current pulls me under. As my body twirls in the maelstrom, the viscous liquid tries to force itself into my mouth, my nose. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on before my body instinctively seeks air. I don’t want to die in a river of shit in Hell!
Large hands find me in the darkness, sliding up my hips to my waist. If they weren’t so warm and inviting, I’d think one of the sinners is trying to pull me further under. My savior and I burst through the surface of the putrid river. I spit and gulp down air, choking on stray droplets of muck. I’m passed into another pair of strong arms and pulled to safety. I open my eyes.
Ithuriel climbs up after me and gazes at me with such worry that I feel like crying all over again. “You keep saving me,” I tell him.
“I won’t stop,” he vows.
“Come on, poppet,” Sariel murmurs. “The pool’s this way.”