The pearly gates need a damn good oil, that's for sure. They swing inward ahead of me, and the rending screech of grinding metal echoes across the sun-drenched cloud carpet beyond.

Clanging to a halt at the extent of their swing, the disturbance rolls away to be replaced with, well, nothing. No harps or cherubs or singing choirs. Nothing.

I’m alone. Utterly alone. Ripped leather jacket, skirt and a low-cut beaten top complement the cuts and bruised ribs where the car had ploughed into me on the pavement the night before. My body aches but I can't feel much of anything inside. "Hello? Heh-llowww?"

Nada. My voice dissipates. Not the welcome I expected. "... the fuck? Hello-o?"

Taking a tentative step, then another, I wander into the fluffy complex. My footsteps make no sound, no resistance between the cloud layer and my bare soles, yet I somehow move as if an invisible road is below their surface. It's unnerving. A misstep and I might plunge to the ground, however far that is. Would I then be doubly dead?

I squint at the sun reflecting off the cloud tops and stop at a polite cough to my right, from a man behind a lectern I swear wasn’t there a moment before. Gaunt. White beard. White gown. I shield my eyes. "Where d'you come from?"

“I work here.”

“Ahh, Saint Pete, right? I thought you’d be… taller.”

He offers a disarming smile. “Peter is off sick today.”

“FML. The B-Team. And you are…?”

He points to the name badge pinned to his pristine gown. I lean in a little to read it and give him an eyeful of cleavage. “Saint Bernard? Ha! Shouldn't you have a barrel of whiskey round your neck for emergencies?” 

Another smile, forced this time. Practiced. “Bear-narr,” he corrects my Anglicised pronunciation.

“Ohhh, like Bear Grylls? Wild camping and cooking squirrels?”

“Not really. I am vegetarian.”

“Sucks to be you. Why’m I here?”

He blinks. “Because you are deceased.”

“Well, duhh. I mean specifically,” I wave an arm at cloud kingdom, “here and not, y’know,” I glance down and nod, not sure if I can say the word without setting off a klaxon somewhere, “there.”

“My apologies. Some people struggle to accept death at first.” His piercing blue eyes make me shiver. “One moment while I fetch your records.”

Returning his attention to the lectern, he taps, prods and swipes, eyebrows arching like they belong on someone else's face. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

He swipes again, eyes widening. “Ohhh.”

“The fuck is ‘ohh’ supposed to mean?”

He holds up a finger and taps the lectern screen with his free hand. Eyes me. Eyes the screen. Taps. Eyes me again. “You are Angel Islington of 42 Church Lane?”

I nod. “And before you say it, yeah, like on the Monopoly board.” I offer a weak shrug. “Parents thought it was funny.”

He eyes me briefly. “Mary and Daniel Islington must be a riot.”

“Like you wouldn't believe.”

“No siblings. No dependents. No significant other?”

I place my hands on my hips, then think better of it and return them to my sides. “That’s me. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.”

Consternation crosses his brow and he swipes again. “Well this is most improper. It appears there has been an administrative error.”

My jaw drops. “Wait, what? They make administrative errors in heaven? Now I've heard it all.”

“Yes. You are not supposed to be here.”

I breathe out, “Thank God,” then look around guiltily. “No offence.”

“Of course.”

“So can I go back then?” Bernard fixes me with a pitiful stare he must practise in the mirror a lot, and looks down until I catch his drift. “Oh… you mean, there.”

“Someone selected ‘Angel’ in the dropdown menu. An honest mistake.”

I mutter, “Fucking B-team.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

He appraises me then returns his attention to the screen. “Given your, shall we call it, colourful track record, it seems you are not a very good fit up here and are on,” he strokes his beard, “quite a few naughty lists.”

“So I don't get a cool pair of wings then?” I'm not sure if his pause is for genuine pity or if he has footage of my colourful track record. Guess it depends if PornHub is blocked by the heavenly firewall. My extra-curricular exploits as FilthyAngel69 would make a priest blush. One in particular.

Father Ambrose was rosy-cheeked as all fuck when I exited my side of the confession booth and sank to my knees in his. The loop of rosary beads he futilely clutched banged against the wooden seat in sync with my spirited and gurgled attempts at taking him down my throat.

His huge rod truly was divine, and that wasn't the only time I enjoyed it. Pious to the core, his delicious girth filled my arse the following Sunday in exactly the same booth. I ground back in his lap, feet on his knees, tiny skirt hiked, with his palm cupping my pussy as if to shield our sin from God’s watchful stare. His rosary beads, still entwined in his fingers, dangled between our legs and bore the brunt of my juices as my muted cries rang through the open confessional door, above his hot whispers in my ear that I was the most beautifully dirty angel he'd ever fucked.

The rhythmic tapping of the beads in my memory match Saint Bernard’s fingertip against the lectern as I drift back from my reverie and focus.

He deliberates. Frowns. Sighs. “Given it is our mistake, I shall permit you one chance to prove your worth. Turn over a new leaf and you can come in.”

I snort. “How gracious of you, Deputy Dawg. I'll be sure to—”

The sentence is whipped from me when he stabs the screen and I double up as if someone has bowled a strike into my belly. Air bursts from my lungs and I'm dragged backwards through the gates, through dimensions, miles of images howling by before I can even blink. Then I tumble and spin and hit the gritty floor.

I spit dust. It’s hot. Fucking KFC Zinger hot, with thumping AC/DC Hell Ain’t A Bad Place To Be. As my eyes adjust and I haul myself up, the vast cave comes into focus.

There's a faint red glow from lights mounted at haphazard intervals on the walls, and traipsing all around me are bodies, mostly men. Naked. The majority are fairly ordinary, of all shapes and sizes. Could be builders, stockbrokers, sailors, nurses, CEOs, whatever. Some, however, are taller, more disfigured, with red eyes and gnarly claws and forked tails and, most notably, impressive cocks dangling as they thread between the crowds. They have an air of authority so I assume they maintain order.

The closest one pauses. Sniffs the air and turns to stare at me.

“Angel, yeah?” he hollers over the din.

“How the fuck…?”

He jerks his chin at the wall over my shoulder. I turn to see my face, name and vitals on a large display, like one of those old mechanical airline departure boards.

His voice is laced with excitement. “Fresh meat.” Extending a clawed fingertip, he traces it from the rip in my skirt up to my neckline, strokes my jaw then slices down through my clothes. Top and bra gape uselessly like my expression. He ogles my tits peeking from behind the lapels of the leather jacket I was wearing to the party. “Too hot for clothes down here. Lose them.”

I stare at him, heart thumping, still barely able to believe he ruined my favourite top and wants me to strip. But everyone else is wearing nothing, so I guess I’d stick out.

Eventually, the unwavering perpetuity of his gaze wins. I shuck my shoulders and the garments pool at my feet, blood thundering through me. His salacious gaze lowers. “And the rest, or shall I cut those from you as well?”

A sheen of sweat is already forming on my skin. I slide hands from damp skin to the skirt zip and notch each tooth, measured to piss off his obvious impatience. I can't help myself; love playing the brat. Peeling the material away and down, I step free of it, lift the crumpled skirt to waist height and drop it by my side.

In just black lace panties, I stand before him, chest heaving at his lewd gaze, nipples firming. It has actually paid off to listen to my grandma's advice: Always wear good underwear to go out. What if you get run over? You don't want the doctors seeing scrubby kecks.

Thanks, Grandma. Ironic to the core given I'm dead and the paramedics probably saw my panties beneath the mini skirt as they battled in vain to save me.

Turning away from him, I thumb the waistband and ease the scrap of fabric south. Bend at the waist and pick them from the floor to give him a proper view. I gradually return to face him, dangling the underwear from my index finger and he obviously approves of how my tight thatch coordinates with the mane of chestnut locks. “Better?”

He reaches for my undies and grabs them. Lifts them to his face and breathes in, eyes crossing and cock rising. “Fuck. You and me gonna get on just fiiine.”

“Yeah? What makes you think I want that?” I nod at his erection.

He laughs, long and hard. “Look around you, sugar. What else is there to do?”

I survey the scene. He's not wrong. The people who aren't miserable and traipsing are locked in tangles of limbs. Kissing, fucking, spanking, biting. Couples against walls, women and men on their knees sucking cocks, fingering, sighing, groaning… everything.

“Fuck. Anything goes down here, huh?”

He says nothing.

“Listen, can we go somewhere a bit quieter?” I yell.

He lifts a gnarled finger, pointing to a gap across the way and I thread towards it through the throngs. Each brush of my nakedness against the strangers sends a thrill coursing through me. I sense him close behind, and fully expect his gaze to be locked on the way my arse sways, so I exaggerate it for effect like a catwalk model. If you got it, flaunt it, right? And I got it, even dead.

The music is quieter at the mouth of the next cave but there are still a tonne of people filtering in and out. We wait.

A man with a paunch and half his remaining hairline wanders past and stops. Casts his gaze up and down me. “Would you step on me? Grind my cock with your heels. Make me pay before you fuck me.”

I flit my gaze between him and the amused guard alongside me. “For real?”

He nods.

“Not my scene, man. Fuck off.” I jerk my thumb towards AC/DC.

He shrugs and trudges away, stopping to ask the same question of a blonde whose tits would give beach volleyballs an inferiority complex.

When a gap opens up, we thread into a slightly smaller space, the music booming in the background behind us. There’s a bar in the corner and a trench hugging the far wall, from which magma bubbles and pops. The room's hot enough to melt steel.

I’m still shaking my head. “Can you believe that guy?”

“Get used to it. Pretty thing like you’s bound to attract them all. Listen,” he says and puts a hot hand on my shoulder, “do yourself a favour and get a drink. Keep hydrated or you'll be ill.” He nods to the bar. “And you can't have fun if you're ill.”

I consider. “Is that what this is? Fun.”

“Beats the boring alternative.” He points up and flutters his hands by his chest, all angelic.

“Ha. I had a run-in up there.”

“Yeah. It's in your file. Read it while you were in transit.”

“You read fast.”

“Time’s elastic.”

“Huh. So… according to Saint Bear Narr—”

“Oh, that dick.”

“Yeah. I'm meant to be here to learn a lesson.” I finger quote: “Turn over a new leaf.”

“Pretty standard for halflings. If you can resist temptation down here, you're more than worthy up there.” He roves my nakedness again. I don't think anyone has paid me more attention. Not even my still-alive boyfriend whom I suspect is already balls deep in Kayleigh fucking Simpson, the treacherous slut. She's wanted him for months and I suspect he cheated on me with her. My bed’s not even cold.

A pang of remorse sweeps through me. All the things I won't get to feel. To experience. Dead at twenty-nine because of some druggy prick who couldn't keep his Beamer on the road. Hope he didn't make it either, or ODs and I see the worthless cunt down here. Then he'll fucking know pain. Maybe I'll trample on his dick. Before I kick it off.

The thought cheers me but I still sigh. Somewhere I read there were seven stages of grief but I've only had anger so far. And lots of it. Perhaps I'm gonna experience the rest in a fucked-up order. That'd be about right for me.

I realise he's staring and puff out my chest. “Take a picture, it lasts longer.”

He stares then lifts his gaze to my eyes. “Drink.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

I strut over, becoming more accustomed to nakedness in the planet’s most eclectic nudist camp. The barman, easily six foot and change, looms and lifts his chin. “What'll it be?”

“Uhhh.” I scan the optics and stone jugs, settling on some clear liquid that I hope is water. “That one. Third from left.”

The guy smirks. “You don't fuck about.”

“Why? What is it?”

“You’ll see.” He upends a metal tumbler and pours a healthy slug. “That'll be three.”

“Three what?”

The barman looks past me to my inherited companion, who shrugs and mouths newbie.

I'm indignant. “Three what? How can I pay if I'm naked?”

The barman slides the drink towards me. “Down the hatch, love.”

I can guess his payment terms. Reach for it. Bring it to my lips and inhale first. Whatever it is, it's strong. Sure isn't water. Smells like apples and petrol and fire. It's sharp on my tongue and I knock my head back.

The spirit burns my throat. Takes my breath away. The heat starts there and spreads to my chest as I slam the tumbler on the bar and gasp, “Fffuck.” The barman steps out and approaches. I don't do a very good job of maintaining the decency of eye contact; his cock is mouthwatering and I’m glad of the distraction when he raises three stubby fingers between us, places the pads on my shoulder and drags them down between my breasts, following the exact path of the liquid inside me. It seems to ignite. Glow. Fuck knows how he does it but the room closes in as he skims my tits and traces my tummy, his hand turning in the process to point towards the floor and continuing to slide south.

He scuffs my mound. My insides percolate, then rumble and the most intense sensation begins in my hips, making every hair follicle stand on end. Before I can react, he curls all three fingers inside me and I'm mesmerised by the electricity of his invasion, frozen to the spot, yet boiling inside. It's the first thing I've felt since I've been here. He flexes his fingers and the alcohol or whatever fucking abracadabra is in that drink, fires sparks from my aching—and I now notice dripping—pussy upward.

My hand flaps and claws uselessly at the bar edge until I make solid contact and grip it for all I'm worth as an unexpected orgasm rips through me. I cry into the space and the barman ploughs his fingers deeper to amplify its power. My pussy clutches at his intrusion and never wants to let go, the intensity fluttering and soaring as the heat dissipates, rolling outward.

Strong arms catch me as my knees give way and I'm acutely aware of the guardian's gigantic cock against my arse. His musky scent swirls. Even though my brain circuits are fried by whatever voodoo the barman has conjured, every brush of skin against skin is amplified and I'm consumed by a hunger to fuck absolutely everything.

Just as it peaks and I'm about to lose control, the barman yanks his fingers free. I gush and convulse, held up only by the mysterious guy with the incredible dick and my whitening fingertips on the bar edge as the climax blasts holes in everything I thought I knew about pleasure.

Better than anything I experienced on earth—better even than Ben & Jerry's Phish Food ice cream—my body is battered from the inside out and I gasp between waves of rapturous release. Fuck knows how long I'm in suspended animation for. Maybe it's more of that elastic time. All I know is I want more. And more.

Maybe death isn't so bad after all.

As soon as I'm able to stand unassisted, I do, still panting and shaking. Predatory instincts roam unchecked and I'm aware of scanning the room for something to slake my thirst. My attention zips from cock to cock, appraising, assessing each for shape, size and how it might feel as it ravages me. I want them all. But I have to start somewhere. My focus lands on the man-beast who first talked to me when I landed.

He grips his hardening shaft, a wry grin spreading. “Oh, you want some of this now?”

“No.” I reach out and stroke its impressive length. “I want all of this now.”

Sinking to my knees, I kiss its tip, leaking pre-cum. Watch and delight as each feathery brush with my lips causes him to firm more. Grow. Lengthen. Thicken. Fuck, it's incredible. So masculine. So powerful.

I'm practically drooling by the time he's ramrod hard and I open my mouth to accept him. He tastes of ginger and paprika and raw energy that intensifies with each inch that slithers past my tongue. I'm determined to take it all but fall woefully short before coughing and hauling free.

He seems amused and strokes my cheek with a scratchy fingertip. “So cute. They all think they can manage it.”

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, staring up at him defiantly, wanking my saliva and his silky pre-cum. “I can.”

Sticking out my tongue, I drive my mouth around him, stretching, gasping, gagging and soldiering on, swallowing maybe three-quarters of his gargantuan length before my eyes water enough I have to pull free. He nods in appreciation as I wipe his cock clean with my fist. “Very good. You're one spirited angel, I’ll give you that.”

I swirl my tongue around the ridge of his glans, sucking and popping his girth free. “Mmmm, fuck. I think,” slurp, “I know,” lick, “somewhere this will fit.” 

Spitting on his shaft, I stand, turn and place two hands on the bar edge, wiggling my arse at him. “Come on, you fucker. Or aren't you man enough to try and break me?”

His hands grip my rump seconds before his massive tool finds my entrance and plunges inside. I'm nearly launched across the bar with his ferocity and I scream as he fills me. Gasp as he yanks free, moan when he splits me all over again. He drives deeper with each thrust and I angle my hips upward to fit more until his strokes bottom out. It's the fullest I've ever been.

I throw my gaze over my shoulder and grit my teeth. “Fuck me. Show me a good time. Yeah. Like that.”

I'm fucking delirious as he slams into me. His body covers mine and he pulls my hands from the bar edge, gripping them behind my back so I'm half leaning forward. He pounds every inch of that delicious meat into my sopping cunt and I squeak with joy at every thrust.

The barman reappears in front of me and runs his hand down from my throat to my tits. He grabs a handful of one and pulls. Slaps. Pinches each nipple and I cry out as whatever magic heat he possesses tears through my tits to my abdomen and eddies around the monstrous invading phallus.

I'm no stranger to threesomes. FilthyAngel69 has had her fair share, both on- and off-cam, but this is something else. My most memorable was with twins who double-teamed me until I was a dribbling wreck. This encounter looks set to eclipse that as the bartender zeroes on my clit and sets it on fire with pinches and flicks as the uncountable inches pummel my pussy.

“Yesss,” I hiss. “Fuck me harder. Make me feel.”

The clawed hand crashes into my rear and it's going to leave a mark but I don't care as the spreading heat connects with what's radiating from Magic Barman’s attention to my slick clit.

The second orgasm grips me from somewhere deep within my pelvis and I repeatedly groan as it flashes through me. Heat and light strobe in my periphery and I freeze as the pair continue to use me. The guy behind starts to roar, tightens his grip around my wrists and releases a spunk torrent that blasts inside and drips as he pulls out and plunges back in. There's so much of it.

I can do nothing but whimper as my orgasm peaks and ebbs the other side of the high. I'm coated in sweat and my wrists slip free of his grasp. He wipes my back as the barman continues to frig my needy jewel.

When the sensitivity overwhelms me, I grab his wrist and pull it free. Drop to my knees in front of him and gaze up past his semi-rigid staff. Not for approval to continue, but because it makes him surge and thicken.

The barman smears my juices all over his shaft and offers it. Opening my mouth, I take just the head in, closing my lips around the ridge of his glans, and suck. He hardens a little. The unmistakable top note of my arousal drifts, and I suck harder. He swells more when I give him doe eyes, then pop free. I repeat the teasing again and again until he’s bone hard and the tip of his length glimmers in the combination of white and red from the bar lights and boiling magma river. He strokes locks of hair behind my ear, encouraging me further.

“Wanna show me how much of a fucking little angel you really are?”

I nod. Toy with his cock and flutter my fingertips and nails over his weighty sac before kissing my way down his shaft and  taking one, then the other, in my mouth until they too glisten in the light.

Jacking his shaft, I pile on the filth. “You like that, huh? Like my slutty mouth slobbering on your fat cock?”

I plunge half of him in me and pull free. Wank him some more. “Bet you're dying to fuck me just like he did. Fill me with this hot, hard cock. But which hole will you choose? He knows my pussy’s tight but it's nothing compared to my arse.”

Kissing his tip and lapping the dots of pre-cum, I smear them over his cock head and kiss slick lips down either side of his girth before returning to take a mouthful of his prime man meat.

This time I stick out my tongue and take the lot. It's a struggle and I cough and splutter but the appreciative groan he makes is worth it. He swells against my throat entrance and I pull back an inch to breathe, then sink to the hilt again. 

He hisses. “Good girl.”

When I splutter and yank free of his spit and cum-soaked hardness, I scoop up the loops of saliva and jack his organ with them. I pant breathlessly and make eye contact. “Yeah, I'm fucking good, you'd better believe it. Nobody sucks cock like me.”

“Mmm. Show me. I'll put a good word in for you upstairs.”

Sliding my hands up his thighs, I grip his arse cheeks, place my lips at the very tip of his dripping tool, wink up at him and sink his entirety. My throat closes around his glans and I haul free. Tighten my lips and split them with the next thrust until my nose nestles in his pubic hair again. I gag and yank away, gasping and drooling spit and pre-cum before jamming him down my throat.

He reaches back and grips the bar edge, fucking my face to match the rhythmic swallows and filthy gurps I emit. My fingernails dig into his rear, and his beautiful staff fills my slutty mouth over and over as his groans escalate, balls tightening.

His breathing becomes taut. Strained. With a final deep thrust, he freezes lodged in my throat and lets out a low growl as his length pulses against my tongue. “Fuck, Angel. Fuck yess. Such a pretty slut, yeah.”

I take him for as long as I dare before fearing I'll black out, jerking free of his throbbing member. The last spurt of his load arcs low and splatters my breast, the rest slithering down inside me.

It's only when I sit back on my heels and wipe my eyes free of tears that I realise a small crowd has gathered around the bar area. A semi-circle of dicks and pussy at my eye level in various states of arousal, from half-hard cocks being stroked by their owners, to fully-veined erections dying for action. All for me.

My cunt clenches and flutters at the excitement and I crawl to the left, towards a delicious looking shaft being offered by a stocky guy. I sit in front of him and open my mouth. He doesn't need another invitation, steps in and jams himself three-quarters of the way in.

That seems to be the trigger. All of a sudden, I'm manhandled. The centrepiece of desire and it makes me uncontrollably wet. One guy lies on the floor and slides back under me, kissing my needy folds on the way to guiding his dick between them. I sink around him and start to bounce as I devour the fat cock ahead of me.

There's only one thing better than two cocks: three. And soon enough my arsehole is spat on and swabbed by an eager tongue. Then a finger. Then two. And finally as I'm deliriously sucking the first guy to completion, I'm treated to the dull sensation of a rock hard dick at my rear.

The guy in my gash has the courtesy to slow his thrusts to allow the new invader entry. But as soon as he breaches the inner ring of muscle and I groan around the shaft in my throat, my pussy reaming continues.

I'm injected with a second shot of spunk that I hungrily swallow, while the pair behind me set up a rough rhythm. 

The drained guy steps away on shaky legs as I kiss his flagging tip and no sooner is he clear, another takes his place. His shaft is reedy and long and there's no prelude. Straight down my throat as I hum and rock my hips to receive my triple fucking like a proper slut.

My arse is plundered fully. The guy even rains a series of open-palmed spanks on it. All I can do is cry out and whimper around the cock stuffed in my throat as the pleasure builds. I cum again and the clenching and my moaning sets them both off. With a primal roar, the guy in my arse unloads, alternating gripping my cheeks and spanking them.

When he pulls free, cum oozes from my distended rosebud and drizzles onto the shaft pounding my pussy, to be fed back inside me. Frothy cum clings to my entrance. The slick rhythmic pumping in sync with our panting grows to a crescendo. His groans turn to a growl and he slams in, holding himself steady as he fills me with ropes of searing spunk, and onlookers stroke, awaiting their turn with Angel the revitalised whore.

I'm a panting, fucked up mess but I'm alive… figuratively. So alive. I'd like to say the orgy ends there but I can't get enough. I fuck everyone I can in the room. Even chow down on a pretty little thing in her forties with a shaved cunt that makes strawberries and cream seem bland in comparison. She writhes under me as one of the guardians fucks her face and she cums hot and stickily in my eager mouth a few moments after he unloads in hers.

It's during my next round of cock that it happens. A pull at first, then a stronger tug and the clutches of my fuckmates tear away from me as I'm unceremoniously dragged through the dimensions again and drift up through the clouds to a halt standing outside the pearly gates, this time wearing nothing but a sheen of sweat, spunk and a dirty grin.

The gates grind open. Clearly they haven't found any WD-40 in my absence. Before they fully swing, I strut through and pause at the lectern and Bernard’s obvious disapproval. The gates clang to a halt and he stares me down.

“Do you call that making amends, young lady?”

I eye him. “Fuck whiskey, I'm parched. Got any water? It’s hot as hell down there.” I'm not struck down so the word must be okay.

“You do not appear to be taking this very seriously.”

His eyes slide all over my nakedness, from top to toe. And again, for good measure. I shiver at the attention, and take a sideways step so he can better see my disheveled state. Then forward and up to join him on the lectern. He tracks me the entire way until our bodies brush and there's a definite midriff tent in his robe.

He lets out a polite cough and half turns away. “We have a considerable waiting list and I gave you a chance to jump it. Do you not want to be good?”

I reach across and skim his leg then creep my touch closer to scuff the edge of his obvious erection. Run a fingertip up and down it through the flimsy gown material, feeling him respond.

“Oh I can be good. Real fucking good.”

We both regard the lectern screen, with its sky blue background and two side-by-side buttons. One white. One red.

Crunch time.

Saint Bernard crawls his gaze from my wandering fingertips up my body and settles on my eyes. The need is obvious. Warring with his duty. "Oh, Angel."

I flutter my lashes. Angelic to the core. He turns his attention back to the screen as I wrap my fingers around his thickening tumescence through the material. He lifts one bony finger and pauses, hovering between the on-screen options and bites his lip.

Somehow we both know I'm going to fuck my way to oblivion, whatever colour the walls are.