Chapter Eleven
The Story of the Mashed Potatoes (part three)
Bubble gum was created on a cold day in hell.
That has absolutely nothing to do with this story, I just think it’s a fun fact you should know.
We were talking about my mission topside, correct?
Lucie wanted me to go and wrangle this guy’s soul. Lock it down. Frankly, Lucie was really impressed with the guy’s tenacity and wanted him to sign his soul over because it felt like the kind of thing you’d want on your team. Lucie wasn’t even slightly mad about this fool trying to cheat death, because he knew he had no hope of actually succeeding. It was funny to watch though.
So, I came topside and was exposed to all the atrocities that entails. But the mission dragged on. Every time I thought I was in a good position to get this guy’s soul, some freak bit of something would happen and I’d have to start all over again.
And so it goes, that after being topside as long as I was, I actually started to enjoy it. That is a confession that I’m ashamed to make, but not one I can hide any longer. Not after I get through my story, anyway.
I began to crave the rudeness of the human race and how often they would backstab each other. I began to love how quick they were to trash the land they had been gifted by the gods, and I specially came to love a certain vain man that I was constantly chasing after.
I introduced him to butt sex and I’m not sorry about it.
I had to go back to Hell every once in a while and check in with Lucie, because my old man never accepted that I was a fully grown demon capable of looking after myself. Did I mention Lucifer is my sperm donor? You probably don't care about stupid details like that.
But I can respect that he wanted me to check in. Nobody tortures like dear old dad.
Me and this mortal liked to play this game in the bedroom called shish kabob. I’m fairly certain you can work out some of the details yourself.
Well, I guess it plays out just as well in other rooms of a dwelling as well, but there’s something illicit about doing such things where it’s actually expected.
Anyway, it was a particularly gloomy day, which is my favorite in case you’re keeping track, and this mortal was showing me the finer points of romance. He had made it his mission to teach me things about earth to actually love. Not that there were that many, but he seemed to have a different opinion.
As I sit here now and reminisce about those times, I feel mostly grateful.
See, I am a reformed demon.
I was starting to think about accepting Lucie’s offer to remain topside indefinitely so I could be his voice. It’s a pretty sweet gig that came with tempting people to his side, and the bonus was it would give me more time with my mortal, and more bellyfuls of his famous mashed potatoes. These were points one through five on that list of things to love topside if you were trying to puzzle it out. There’s not a lot I wouldn’t do for a taste of those starchy treats. Such an odd-looking food and such an unpleasant texture, but I've never found anything since that satisfies quite the same.
Well, on this one particular day, while we prematurely set up to celebrate the 500 th time of me pounding his prostate to completion, he brought mashed potatoes in vast amounts to the table, and I brought something to him from my room. The anal plug.
This wasn’t your run of the mill plug that could be purchased just anywhere, though. This was a really special one made from imported stone straight from Hell, from a stalagmite that once grew outside my apartment down there. It had special properties that allowed me to imbue this stone with intentions and sensations, and imbue it I did.
I remember bending him over the dining table, rolling him around in the mountain of mashed potatoes he had prepared for the two of us, and lubing that plug up (not with the potatoes in case you’re tracking, with oil like a noncrazy person would use), and sliding it in. I made a big show of it. I fucked him with it a few times before I grew too hungry and smashed his face down, leaving it in there while I eagerly got my starchy treat over his shoulder. While I did that, he experienced a little mashed potato fueled breath play.
What? It's a thing.
And that’s when the trouble began. But how was I to know that he bargained away sole rights for the use of his right nipple?
Do you remember that witch I ever so briefly mentioned earlier? She bought those rights like a damn property card in the monopoly game. Also, warded that beautiful, beautiful nipple so she was alerted when I grabbed it (she chose well, that one is slightly plumper than the other) and pinched it with passion, fingers dripping in butter.
The end.
Well, for now.