One minute past midnight, the start of the Witching Hour, I exited the portal and hurried to the house.

Hell was repetitious. Every day you woke in perfect health then were slowly tortured to death. Many went insane within a week and were never seen again. I learned to limit my screaming: it only encouraged the demon torturers. I took every opportunity to talk to other survivors and even the demons themselves. They were just doing their job and were happy to share their knowledge as they hosed you with flesh-eating acid or thrust a red-hot poker into your eye socket.

Eventually I came to the attention of Satan himself. He made me an offer, promotion to demon to become a torturer. I made him a counter-offer. He liked it, although it took time to iron out the details.

Satan got on his hotline to God and reached agreement that I didn’t deserve to be in Hell; I could be allowed to make an unprecedented return provided I hadn’t become a demon. Nevertheless Satan endowed me with some talents I’d find useful.

I scanned the house from outside, reading the occupants’ minds. The Halloween party had reached the private stage. Dracula was Kevin Ellerby, who’d made a large fortune through insider trading and money laundering, then spent a small fortune buying a seat in the House of Lords. Pandora was his collaborating, virgin, prick-tease daughter. Kevin’s much-abused wife, Lucinda, had written a suicide note then taken an overdose on the promise that he would never harm Pandora, but Kevin had plans to publicly take her virginity on her forthcoming 21st birthday as part of a power-enhancing black magic ritual.

The buffet had finished, so I slipped into the kitchen and helped myself from the fridge. Delicious, the first food I’d eaten for a year.

Approaching half past twelve I entered the dining room. Pandora actually sought me out.

“Hi, I haven’t seen you before. What’s your name?”

“Hello Pandora.” I removed the glamour I’d used to hide my appearance. “It’s Jonathan. We met last year.”

Pandora blanched then panicked so I mentally calmed her. Thank you Satan.

I mentally ordered Dracula and Pandora to follow me, but everyone else to stay in the house. I led them the now familiar route to the portal. Then I made Dracula stand silently and watch.

I mentally forced Pandora to undress. Her body was every bit as nubile and flawless as I had hoped. She shivered because there was a chill in the air.

I activated the portal, and the atmosphere became warm and sulphurous. Internally Pandora was getting hysterical, thinking I intended to send her to Hell. Dracula was filled with incandescent rage, realising I had something else in mind.

I took off my own clothes. My hard prick clearly betrayed my intentions.

I opened the portal fully, then made Pandora lie on her back, above her waist on Earth, below her waist in Hell. Then I lay on top of her.

“Please, no!” she begged in vain. “I’m a virgin.”

I forced Pandora’s legs apart then tested her with fingers. Dry. I positioned my dick at her entrance and thrust hard. She screamed as my dick tore through her hymen into her dry pussy. We might have a lifetime ahead for foreplay and love-making, but this time I just needed to get it over with.

I repeatedly thrust brutally into Pandora’s dryness, making her scream with pain every time. She was so hot and tight it didn’t take long before I came, spewing my come into her fertile womb. I heard Satan chuckling from Hell at the conception of his son, his future emissary on Earth.

I dragged Pandora away from the portal. She stood there sobbing, blood and come seeping down her thighs.

One minute to one o’clock. I forced the hitherto unsuspecting Dracula screaming through the portal, which promptly closed as the hour ticked over.

“Get dressed,” I ordered Pandora. “Time to claim my dues.”