I melted into the crowd of the emergency ward, just another concerned face among dozens. She ran straight to the first doctor she saw, a tired-looking guy in scrubs who recognized her instantly.
"Doctor! My son—what happened?!"
The doctor didn't even blink. Deadpan. Professional. Like he'd seen this exact scenario a dozen times this month.
"Ma'am, your son attempted intercourse with a… significantly more experienced partner. She warned him—repeatedly—that he couldn't handle her full weight in cowgirl position. He insisted. Said missionary was 'boring' and demanded she ride him properly."
The mother's eyes went wide, hand flying to her mouth.
The doctor continued, clinical as ever:
"She gave in. Mounted him. And… well… his penis fractured. Clean break. We've got him stabilized in surgery now. He'll be fine, eventually, but he's looking at six to eight weeks minimum recovery. No strenuous activity. At all."
Silence.
You could hear the fluorescent lights humming.
The mother just stood there, mouth open, brain visibly blue-screening. Finally she walked like a zombie to the plastic waiting-room chairs and collapsed, staring at the floor, probably replaying every life decision that led to this exact moment.
Around us, nurses kept typing, patients coughed, someone's IV beeped… but I swear every single person within earshot was fighting for their lives not to laugh. One orderly actually turned away and bit his own sleeve.
Me?
Outside: perfect poker face. Concerned citizen, worried brow, hands in pockets.
Inside: I was dying. Full-on internal nuclear explosion. Tears streaming down my soul. I had to clench every muscle in my body to keep from howling.
Kid tried to flex, demanded cowgirl from a seasoned MILF, and paid the ultimate price.
Legendary.
I leaned against the wall, pretending to check my phone, while silently saluting the absolute mad lad currently under anesthesia with a freshly snapped dick.
Respect.
And also… never change, humanity. Never change
Ace woke up to the familiar warmth of a succubus curled against him, her pink pussy still leaking last night's load onto the sheets. She stretched like a cat, tail flicking, and gave him a lazy, cum-drunk smile.
"Round four, handsome?" she purred, licking her lips.
Ace just shook his head, already rolling out of bed. "Pass. Got shit to do."
She pouted, tail drooping, then shrugged and sauntered out naked, hips swaying like she owned the hallway.
Quick shower, black hoodie, jeans, boots. Fresh.
He knocked once on Kai's door and pushed it open without waiting.
Inside: Kai had the second succubus pinned missionary on the desk, hips slamming home with wet, rhythmic slaps that echoed off the walls. Her legs were locked around his waist, heels digging into his back, both of them moaning into a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.
Ace leaned against the doorframe. "Yo, bro. Let's roll. Fresh air."
Kai didn't even slow down—just glanced over, grinning, balls still smacking her ass with every thrust.
"Nah, I'm good right here."
Ace sighed. "Alright. Just don't get your dick fractured."
Kai froze mid-thrust.
"…What the hell are you talking about?"
The succubus propped herself up on her elbows, suddenly way too interested. "Yeah, spill."
Ace pulled out his phone, flashed the message Riven had sent an hour ago:
> Kid tried to flex
> Demanded cowgirl from a seasoned MILF
> Paid the ultimate price
> Clean penile fracture
> Surgery now 😂
Kai stared at the screen for half a second… then lost it. Full-on wheezing laughter, still buried balls-deep. The succubus cackled so hard her wings popped out, tail thrashing.
She suddenly rolled her hips harder, meeting Kai's next thrust with a filthy grind.
"Guess some boys can't handle a real ride," she taunted, then yanked Kai down into another messy kiss, tongues sliding, moans muffled.
Ace just shook his head, already backing out.
"Enjoy your cardio, idiots."
Door clicked shut behind him.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered the corridors alone, smirking at the mental image of some poor human kid currently under anesthesia with a freshly snapped dick and a very embarrassed mother in the waiting room.
Another beautiful morning in Hell's headquarters.
Ace strolled down the executive corridor, hands in pockets, still chuckling about the dick-fracture kid. Lilith's office door was cracked open just enough to spill a thin blade of crimson light and the unmistakable wet rhythm of fingers slamming into soaked flesh.
He nudged the door wider with one knuckle.
The sight hit him like a brick:
Lilith Velloria de Ravenholt, the First Circle's most feared strategist, was half-sprawled across her obsidian desk. Blazer and blouse ripped open, milk dripping from one squeezed breast in rhythmic pulses. Stockings shredded, legs spread impossibly wide, four fingers buried to the knuckles in her pink, gaping pussy while her thumb brutalized her clit. Holograms of our old family videos still floated above the table—big sister's heart-shaped pupils, Mom begging to be bred again—soundtrack on full blast.
Every thrust of her hand sent another arc of slick squirting across the room, splattering reports, the carpet, even the far wall. Her crimson eyes were rolled back, horns glowing, fangs sunk deep into her lower lip as she chased another orgasm like it was the last one she'd ever have.
Ace froze for half a second, raised an eyebrow, and just… closed the door again. Softly. Respectfully.
He turned on his heel, shoved his hands deeper in his pockets, and walked away whistling an obnoxiously cheerful tune (some old human pop song about sunshine and lollipops), like he hadn't just witnessed the literal Queen of Hell absolutely ruining her office furniture with her own cum.
Meanwhile, across the city in St. Augustine's waiting room:
Riven sat three chairs down from the traumatized MILF, pretending to read a dog-eared magazine from 2019. The doctor had just walked past again, muttering "still in surgery… compound fracture… very enthusiastic rider…" and Riven's poker face was hanging on by a thread.
Every time the mother let out another mortified whimper and buried her face in her hands, Riven's shoulders shook harder. A nurse walked by biting her own fist to keep from laughing. An orderly fake-coughed "cowgirl" under his breath.
Riven pressed the magazine higher to hide the fact he was crying silent tears of pure, unholy joy.
Best. Day. Off. Ever.
Ace slowed his stride as he passed the frosted-glass wing marked "Succubi Rehabilitation & Reintegration Division."
The door was cracked open just enough for the soundtrack to spill out into the hallway:
- Wet, rhythmic slaps of flesh on flesh
- Deep, guttural moans (male voices, raw and broken)
- A chorus of sultry, soothing feminine whispers layered on top like velvet:
"That's it, sweetheart… let it all out inside me…"
"Good boy, give Sister another load… you're healing so well…"
"Shh, just focus on how warm and safe my pussy feels… forget everything else…"
Ace peeked through the gap.
Inside: two dimly lit chambers separated by one-way glass.
Chamber One: the original college-kid host, flat on his back, eyes glazed, a crimson-haired succubus riding him slow and deep in cowgirl (her tail wrapped gently around his throat like a leash, wings folded, cooing praises while his hips jerked helplessly upward).
Chamber Two: the billionaire ex-host, bent over a padded bench, a second succubus behind him in missionary-prisoner position (hips rolling in perfect, hypnotic circles while a third knelt in front, letting him suckle lazily at her breast, milk dripping down his chin as he whimpered).
Both men were already cum-drunk, faces slack with forced bliss, bodies moving on pure instinct now. Every orgasm stripped another layer of resistance, another memory of betrayal, another shard of pain. In a couple days they'd be blank-slate loyal agents, smiling politely and calling Lilith "Ma'am" without a flicker of the past.
Ace pulled back, shaking his head with a low whistle.
"Two, maybe three days tops," he muttered. "Succubus therapy is brutal efficiency. No joke."
He shoved his hands back in his pockets and kept walking, humming that same stupid cheerful tune louder now (like a man who'd seen the absolute depths of demonic HR and come out the other side unbothered).
Just another day at the office.
Lilith was mid-orgasm, thighs trembling, milk dripping from one breast, four fingers buried knuckle-deep, when her private line buzzed on the desk.
She didn't even stop thrusting. With her free hand she swiped accept, put it on speaker, and kept riding her own fingers like nothing was happening.
On the holo-screen popped her biological son, twenty-two, crimson horns just like hers, currently balls-deep in a violet-eyed succubus bent over a couch.
He grinned, not missing a beat as he slammed forward.
"Hey, Mom. Work good?"
Lilith's voice came out breathy but perfectly composed, even as another squirt hit the carpet.
"It's fine, sweetheart. Productive morning. Why the call?"
"On my way home tonight. Bring me those chocolate-chip cookies from the surface (the ones with the sea-salt), two large pepperoni pizzas, and the newest iPhone. The rose-gold one."
She curled her fingers harder, biting back a moan.
"Anything else, darling?"
"That's it. Love you, Mom."
"Love you too, honey. Be safe."
Call ended.
The succubus on screen whimpered, "Who was that?"
"My son," he answered casually, grabbing her horns like handlebars and picking up the pace. "He's bringing snacks."
Then he slammed home in a steady, brutal rhythm (wet slaps echoing through both rooms now).
"Ahh—ahh—your pussy feels so fucking good—so warm—hitting my cervix every time—"
She screamed into the cushions, wings flaring.
He yanked her head back, crushed his mouth to hers, tongues messy and deep, and pounded harder.
Minutes later they shattered together: him flooding her with thick ropes, her spasming and squirting down his balls.
He pulled out slow, gave her ass a playful smack.
"Gotta go. Mom hates waiting on pizza."
And somewhere in headquarters, Lilith finally came again, harder this time, laughing breathlessly at the ceiling while milk and slick rained onto her ruined reports.
Just another perfectly normal mother-son check-in in Hell.