Once upon a time there was a young man named Ken. Ken was nothing special to look at. He was too lanky, his limbs awkwardly long and gangly. He was not ugly; indeed there was nothing about his face that was particularly hideous. But it somehow seemed as though every single feature was just a little bit off, his eyes just a bit too close together, nose just a bit too long, chin just a bit too wide, so that the combined effect was somewhat jarring.
Ken wished desperately that he was better-looking. Each day he would watch those around him flirt with each other, see the way they’d eye each other, kiss, fondle, smile. He saw the attention lavished on the beautiful people, and wanted it so badly for his own.
One day, when Ken found himself particularly lonely, he sat hugging his knees on his bed. “I wish,” he said out loud, “that I was better-looking. I’d give anything to be handsome.”
“Anything?” Came a low, throbbing voice, seeping towards him from the surrounding air.
“Who’s there?” asked Ken, frightened.
“What would you give to be handsome?” asked the voice.
“Anything!” Ken repeated, though his own voice quavered now.
Suddenly, a man appeared before him. He was beautiful, but dark and dangerous-looking, like a panther. His swirling black hair haloed his face like a lion’s mane, and a small goatee framed his mouth and chin. His teeth, when he smiled, were shock white and seemed a bit too pointed. He was dressed in a dark business suit, but it was obvious that underneath the clothing his body was lean and strong.
“I can offer you what you wish,” said the man.
Ken sat curled with his back to the wall, shaking in fear. “W-who are you?” he asked in his trembling voice.
“I am the Devil,” said the Devil. “You offered anything to make you handsome. I would like to fulfill your wish.”
“W-what do you want from me?” Ken asked. “My soul?”
“I will offer you a bargain,” said the Devil, stroking his chin thoughtfully. His dark eyes pierced Ken effortlessly. “I will make you handsome, desired by everyone. In return I ask little. When your fame has reached a certain point, I will come to you, and I will ask to partake of your body. All I ask is one night with the beauty you will become.”
Ken moved forward hesitantly. “That doesn’t sound so bad...”
“But!” continued the Devil, “If you refuse me at that time, then both your body and soul will be forfeit to me—not when you die, but immediately. Do we have a deal?”
Ken hesitated, but truly, the deal did not sound bad. “If I accept you when you come for me,” he clarified, “and give you my body for that night, then my soul will remain my own?”
“Your own to save or damn as you so choose,” confirmed the Devil.
“Then,” said Ken, “I accept your deal.”
The Devil stuck out his hand to shake, and, with a deep breath, Ken took it. The Devil’s palm was warm and dry, and the strong hand clasped his firmly. As they shook, Ken winced at a sudden prick of pain, and drew back his hand. When he looked at his palm, he saw a spot of blood staining his skin. A glance at the Devil’s hand confirmed that he shared the stain.
“Our pact has been signed in blood,” the Devil said. “I will come for you when it is time.”
Ken slept fitfully that night, and was disappointed the next morning to note that nothing had changed in his appearance. He felt angry, tricked, but there was nothing he could do. He went to school as usual, and tried to put the whole incident out of his mind. Perhaps it had been a dream.
Over the next few years however, Ken grew into a handsome man. It was a bit late for any change in his body, and yet somehow he seemed to grow into himself, filling out correctly, his features adjusting just the tiniest bit so that he suddenly ceased to be awkward and began to grow beautiful. Within two years he was one of the most handsome men of his age, and within four years, the single most.
People began to pay more attention to Ken. Men and women fell at his feet, begging him to love them. People gave him things for no good reason at all, simply because he would smile at them. He was given a job as an actor, regardless of his lack of ability, because his face was of the perfect sort to be plastered on a movie poster. From there, more jobs of the same kind followed. His fame grew and grew. He had his pick of sexual partners, and picked many of them. His life was excellent.
Seven years after his meeting with the Devil, Ken was 25 years old. He was sitting in a hotel room, resting and preparing himself for another brutal day of movie filming to begin bright and early the next morning, when there came a timid knock at his door.
Ken was somewhat surprised; he had not been expecting anyone. But he padded over to the door, dressed only in his bathrobe and slippers, and pulled it open.
Behind the door was a plain-looking lad of probably around 17 or 18. He was not ugly, but nor was he handsome; his limbs did not quite seem to fit him, and he stood awkwardly in his own skin. His face was peppered with freckles, and his features entirely forgettable. His short, grayish-brown hair seemed almost designed to make him fade into the background.
The boy looked down at the floor, eyes hidden by his bangs. “E-excuse me, Sir,” he asked tremulously. “I know... I know you’re probably too busy for someone like me, but...” He licked his lips. “I’ve been a big fan of yours for quite a while now, and I always thought, if I had the opportunity…” The boy took a deep breath, as though he were building his courage. “I would like to offer myself to you. My body, I mean. If you’ll have me. It doesn’t have to be for more than just tonight—I don’t mean to force any obligation on you or anything. I was just hoping for tonight.”
There was a sudden pain in the center of the palm of Ken’s right hand, and he reached down with his left to massage it while he looked the kid over. “How old are you?” he asked.
“Old enough to be legal,” the boy said defiantly. “I have ID on me if you need me to prove it.”
Ken laughed. “If I wanted, right this very second, I could call any one of a dozen actors and actresses and have them over here and in my bed ready to be fucked within five minutes. And any one of them are better looking than a dozen of you. I really don’t need you kid. Sorry.” And he began to shut the door.
But the boy’s sneaker in the crack of the doorway stopped him. Ken frowned and looked down at the boy’s face, then gasped and took a step backwards.
From the face of the child stared eyes so dark and deep, they seemed to pull him into a void. Ken had never seen eyes like these before, except once.
Ken shook his head in desperation. “No!” he yelled. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t know it was you!”
The boy stepped into the hotel room and closed the door quietly behind him, and as soon as the latch snicked shut, his body began to change.
He grew larger with each step. His body filled out, ripping his clothes to shreds as the muscles bulged past them. His lower legs seemed to twist and change, inverting on themselves, and growing thick hair. His skin began to tinge red. And all this time, the dark eyes watched Ken unceasingly.
When he came to a halt at the foot of Ken’s bed, he was at least eight feet tall. The muscles bulged on his huge human torso, which changed into the lower half of a goat, satyr-like, as Ken’s eyes moved down his body. Between the two thick red-tinged thighs hung the Devil’s enormous, pulsing member. Ken’s eyes were riveted to it, as he crouched at the head of the bed, frightened of what was to come.
“The terms of the contract stand,” the Devil said, and at the deep, throbbing voice, Ken looked up. The Devil’s face was surprisingly similar to the man that had initially appeared to Ken, though his skin now carried a deep red tinge. His black eyes glittered down at Ken from the strong, regal features.
“It’s not fair!” Ken protested. “I didn’t know it was you!”
“I never specified in what form I would appear to you,” said the Devil. “Only that if you refused me, you would be mine.” He reached his hand forward.
Ken tried to cower back against the headboard of his hotel bed, but the Devil’s hand moved inexorably towards him and closed around his wrist. The room seemed to melt around them, turning to wax and running together, the colors mixing and melding and dripping from the disintegrating reality. They darkened as they mingled, until they were all black, glossy, obsidian black.
Ken could take in only the barest minimum of his surroundings: a room that seemed to be made entirely of black glass, or perhaps black stone, walls that were structured but rough-hewn so that dangerous shards protruded from all sides, and in the center, a smooth, raised dais perhaps three feet high, like a plateau pushed up from the floor, onto which the Devil threw Ken’s body.
Landing on his stomach, Ken was suddenly close enough to the stone to see the dark coppery brown stains dried onto the surface. He closed his eyes and whimpered, knowing it was blood that stained the table, dripping in dry rivulets off the sides until it pooled about the base of the protrusion.
Ken also realized that he was suddenly naked; his clothes seemed to have disappeared on the trip from one realm to another. So when the fiery hot hands of the Devil touched him, he felt them burn his bare skin.
Ken cried out in pain as one burning hand wrenched his arms behind his back, yanking him upward so that he was fully splayed on the dais. The Devil seemed able to move Ken’s weight easily, as though he were no more than a child’s doll. The other hand he felt on his thighs, and this too burned him, and he cried out again as it parted his legs, spreading them wide with obvious intent.
And then the hand moved up, up from his legs to his buttocks, and he felt the large, thick fingers pulling his cheeks apart, opening and exposing him. He tried desperately to squirm out of the Devil’s grip, but it was no use—he was held fast. He clenched his teeth together as he felt the presence of the Devil’s member waiting just outside his anus, felt it hovering expectantly, as though savoring the anticipation.
He screamed as it began to push into him. It was large—far too large for a human, more like a horse or bull or other animal’s penis than any that a man might possess—and it split Ken wide open, filling every crevice inside him, plowing in and forcing his insides to part around it, thrusting forward with a slow, painful inevitability.
With the Devil seated fully inside him, Ken thought he might honestly rip in half. But it was nowhere near as bad as when the Devil began to move, began to take him with a steadily building fury that began forceful and worked up to a fever pitch of domination. With each heady plunge of the Devil into his passage, Ken felt a blinding, searing white pain and saw moments from his life flash disjointedly before his eyes, like images illuminated by a strobe light. He screamed until his throat was raw and kept screaming, screamed until he was no longer certain where the screams were coming from, whether it was his open mouth or the walls themselves.
Ken had no idea how long it took. His sense of time was shattered – perhaps it had been hours, months, or centuries that the Devil had been possessing him before finally he felt the red-hot fiery seed of the Beast fill him, burning him from the inside out, consuming him in a damning heat that seeped into every nook and cranny of his body, like flames eating him alive.
He writhed in the pain of it, flipping onto his back and smearing a frothy paste of his own blood and the Devil’s semen across the surface of the dais. Above him, he saw through his red-hazed vision the dark eyes of the Devil, and his sharp teeth as he laughed.
“Welcome,” said the Devil, “to your Hell.”