Part 2: 'Daddy packs one Hell of a wallop'.

Part two was told a while back, but got put on the shelf in lieu of many other fantasies that Jenna preferred at the time. We have worked down the list now, so here it is... enjoy!

Blackheart blinked, looking around the room that he had spent years in when he had been Blackheart, Son of Satan, prince of Hell. Back before his fall. Before Menilis, the black demon who had taken him down from his lofty place of being second only to the ruler of Hell and made a eternal mockery of him. Blackheart's eyes widened with shock when he felt his own mobility as his hands reached back to clasp his ass, as if they had forever wished to do so. His heart raced as the realization that he was no longer being spanked registered with his dazed mind. That he could be free of that dark creature's grasp was a concept now foreign to him, and Blackheart felt sick with elation once the confusion had passed.

The Son of Satan once more, Blackheart threw his head back and laughed his joy, as if being free in itself were a triumph he had somehow brought about for himself. He knew this wasn't the case, though, and wary eyes jaded from lifetimes of torture and deceit scanned around for the trap... the catch. Surely his freedom was an illusion meant to give him false hope, for false hope was a pleasure to take away from a victim. No one appeared to laugh at his mirth, though. As he stood he realized he had no pain in his rear, that he was completely healed, which suggested that he had been laying here in shock for some time before his stuttering mind had come to.

Blackheart looked outside the door to his living quarters warily, but no one stood smiling in the halls to mock him. He released a breath he had not realized he was holding and returned to his room to think for a time, collecting himself. If this was a trick, he would be certain that he gave neither his father nor Menilis the pleasure of seeing it effect him. His face was stoic as he exited his room, walking down the corridors of his father's castle, the very bricks of which were living souls that screamed in pain from their eternal prisons within the masonry.

Blackheart saw his father in his throne room, brooding as he was apt to do in silence upon his throne of moving bones, and he thought to retreat while Satan's back was still to him when he heard the mild voice of the Lord of Lies grate in his ears. "Son. I see you are done trembling upon the floor... I expect Menilis has taught you manners?"

Blackheart bit his tongue hard, tasting blood as he fought with all of his will not to launch an angry reply in protest, painful memories of what had happened clear in his mind. They seared his ego, his will, those images he could not hide from; him twisting and screaming as a child might in the ceaseless grip of the powerful demon, helpless as a newborn babe to stop the humiliating punishment. So simple and yet so powerful; Menilis had chosen spanking because it would be the most shameful way to break the prince.

When Satan saw that his son's only reaction was an enraged choking sound, he smiled, and drank in the defeated look that followed. "Yes, you were going to try and hide yourself from me, to pretend it did not effect you; that nothing effects you. Wrong again, son. By the way, I am opening the gates of Hell tomorrow to the middle world." The Slanderer stroked his chin as he watched his son's reaction to this news, still smiling. "I shall leave it open indefinitely, as I no longer know any demons foolish enough to attempt crossing it's boundaries, am I correct?"

Blackheart only shook with his impotent fury, staring fire at his father, wishing he could will him to erupt into flames for his mockery. Satan was opening the gates to taunt him, knowing he was now afraid of being returned to Hell by Lucifer's pet Ghost Rider. Returned to a fate that Blackheart now knew to be wholly cruel and well worth his fear. He had no concept of how long he had been in the demon's domain; it could have been years or minutes. Torture in Hell always became worse, not better, and the relatively young prince shook at the thought of worse.

Blackheart grit his teeth and turned from Satan's grin, walking away quickly; he had lost this battle, so there was no point in remaining so that his father could continue to gloat over it. He stormed down the halls, swearing and slamming his fists into the screaming souls that lined them, taking some satisfaction in their wails of agony when he fists pummeled and cracked them. Once he had returned to his room, panting from his exertion, he slammed the door and fell to his knees, unable to stop the tears now that he was alone.

Several days later Blackheart found himself standing in front of the gate, staring at the swirling greens and reds that whirl-pooled in the center of the demonic door. It stood open, as his father had said it would, taunting him with it's lure to try again where had failed before. His father wanted him to try again, seemed to encourage it, even as his silent threats lingered in the air; threats of what would happen should he do something so 'foolish'. Blackheart ground his teeth together, balling his fists at his sides as he trembled with absolute indignation.

He looked to his left and right, seeing that no one watched. Perhaps Lucifer was content to believe that his son was sufficiently cowed, may-hap Satan would not even notice until it was too late that Blackheart had evaded him. Blackheart raised a foot, stepping it to hover over the threshold of the door, where it froze. Last time, his foot had frozen with a spell cast by the insidious Menilis, but this time it was doubt that kept him from completing his action. Even if he managed to escape now, what kept Satan from calling his dogs on Blackheart once on the other side? Lucifer had already proven he didn't need to go the Earth to fetch him back.

Blackheart put his foot back down, unable to fight the waves of frustration that contorted his face into a mask of sad rage that he was glad his father could not see. He walked quickly back to his room, slamming the door once more and breaking most of his furniture, which shouted it's terror as he vented his uncontrolled emotion. Blackheart saw his reflection in the mirror, and though he knew that doing so would indeed be seven years of bad luck, he smashed it too, yelling his anger as those treacherous tears tracked his face, the shards of his once mirror now creating many images of his leaking visage.

Blackheart was fed up with the anxiety that kept him a prisoner with an open door mocking his own weakness. He decided that if he was to be worth anything at all, he must come up with a way to wipe the smile from Satan's face. He must best his father once and for all. Perhaps trying to conquer heaven had been too much, he mused. Just being free of Hell would drive his father mad, and that thought brought a smile to his lips. He would disappear, lay low and neither Satan nor his Ghost Rider would have the ability to find him. Blackheart found new strength building in himself as he began planning what would have to be done to cover all possible bases.

The young prince slipped quietly from his room, walking in a fashion that provided no sound yet did not make it appear as though he were sneaking. If he was seen, there was no reason to make anyone suspicious. He had thought out everything, there was no way that he would be caught; only he had to reach and pass the gate without Satan becoming wary of his intentions. Not a demon nor ghoul saw him as he approached the writhing portal, and Blackheart glanced around nervously, as he had before. It was now or never. Blackheart leapt into the void, his heart hammering in his chest... and then he was on Earth.

Blackheart stood there stupidly for a moment. He almost could not believe that he had made it out. He looked furtively in every direction, and spying no pursuers, he sprinted as fast as he could, not even sure where he was or where he was going, only knowing that he needed to get as far away as he could. He had passed the door; to be caught meant punishment, and he already knew that was something he could and would not bear.

Days passed incredibly slowly for Blackheart, as he sweated it out on the small farm he had found himself. He had chosen Wyoming. The Devil had visited every place in the past, but Wyoming was a land he had never invested much in. So there would be few if any demons here, and Blackheart stayed away from the cities, knowing that among the mortals is where Satan's minions would reside. He had simply hid himself in the barn for the first day before the irrational fear that the Devil's Ghost Rider would find him even here.

Blackheart walked out to the farm house, murdering the family that had lived there and absorbing their souls greedily. It had been far too long since he had fed his demonic need; soul food for the soulless. The fact that he could not go into town without risk to consume more ran icy tendrils of hate and dread through him. The angry prince tore through the small home, destroying everything in his path both to relish the strength his stolen power gave him and to release his pent up aggression.

Months passed and Blackheart took small steps at first in exploring his freedom. Before he had left Hell he had created a Homunculus; a Blood Golem, from his own precious life's blood. This creature was not horribly intelligent, but was more than capable of pretending to be Blackheart, since it shared his looks and traits. The more time passed the more Blackheart felt he might have at last evaded Satan's clutches. He changed his face to resemble the farmer he had murdered and began to wander into the outlying country, finding wanderers to feed his lust for the souls of man.

As he ventured out Blackheart became more bold, eventually approaching and then entering the nearby town. He reveled in the ease of feeding even as he stayed ever on edge, afraid of being noticed despite his disguise. With time Blackheart could not resist and traveled into a city, fornicating with prostitutes before laying them bare to true terror and drinking himself into a stupor, as if the spirits would aid him in escaping what haunted him. It was during one of these drunken bouts of revelry that he spotted another demon, smelling the faint odor of brimstone even before he even laid eyes on the beast lurking about in the body of a beautiful woman, tempting men into their eternal damnation.

Blackheart scrambled for the door, scrabbling madly at the grungy portal and nearly ripping it from its hinges as he lurched drunkenly into the street beyond. He gasped in raw panicked breaths as he fled down the road, never looking behind him as he weaved around every corner he could find in as random a pattern as he could muster. He did not stop until his legs burned and his lungs felt as if they must burst, then he collapsed upon the dirt and looked around him with wild eyes. No one seemed to have followed him. After waiting for some time in the dark stillness, he launched to his feet and took off again into the night, this time not stopping until he reached his farm.

If time passed slowly before, it crawled now, every moment like a lifetime of agonizing wait, as if the clock ticked his doom more slowly for the sheer joy of it's maniacal hatred of him. Blackheart looked at the clock on the mantle above the fire place. He had long since destroyed it, perhaps that had been a mistake; perchance by some edict of fate he had somehow slowed time in the act, making his suffering worse for it. Blackheart shook his head of the madness there. No, he had no power over time, his woes were rooted in his heart, amplified by his own weakness.

He should be free. He had been wearing a disguise, the most that other demon should have been able to detect was that he was also a demon. No surprise there, demons met each other in cities without knowing each other all the time. But he had fled, run like he was pursued by Hell Hounds, and if the other was not suspicious, she would be now. Maybe she would report her sighting to Satan, who might send his Ghost Rider, his blood hound, after the escaped prince. Blackheart clenched his fists until the nails of his fingers dug into his palms painfully. He had to get control of himself. He could not let simple fear of discipline scare him into doing what his father wanted.

Blackheart stood, knowing what needed to be done. This was just a bump on the road, a small hiccup in his plans. He waved a hand down over his face, his features contorting into those of the farmer's son. He needed peace of mind, so he needed to make sure the Blood Golem did it's job of hiding his escape, then he would change his hideout upon his return, just to be safe. Blackheart made himself smile. He was Blackheart, prince of Hell, and that old man had lost his final battle; Blackheart was going to put his mind at ease, and once he returned to Earth and was well hidden, he would dismiss the Blood Golem, just to incense his father in return for his own vexation.

Blackheart stalked into Hell, once again doing his best to look inconspicuous. He felt he was still a ways off from his Homunculus, and his greatest fear lie in someone who had seen or spoken to his double running into him again in the dark halls and recognizing him, so he made haste to close the distance. The longer he was here the greater the risk that he was discovered, and Blackheart felt sweat bead on his brow despite his earlier boldness in coming here, despite his resolve to no longer be shaken.

When he drew close enough to feel the location of his other self strongly Blackheart realized with relief that his double was within his room, and rushed there as fast as he could without being too overt. Once he closed his door behind him he sighed that he had succeeded, and turned to allow his eyes to adjust to seeing in the dark. Blackheart frowned when he saw the bed was empty, and his heart thudded wildly in his chest when he beheld a form upon the floor, bound and gagged. The Blood Golem lay there, his pants pulled about his ankles, writhing upon the floor and sobbing miserably. The creature's ass was covered in red welts and practically glowed with bruises and streaks of obvious punishment.

Blackheart stood there for long minutes, frozen in terror, before he even thought to examine the room around him. His father sat in a chair in the far corner, watching him with cold, laughing eyes that glinted in the low light. The prince turned, slamming into the door as it failed to open, then pushing into it in futile effort before turning again to face the Devil, panting as his hands splayed across the portal behind him. Satan had risen when he had turned to run, and stood only a few hand spans away now, Lucifer's unearthly chill caressing Blackheart's trembling skin. The Devil leaned close, smiling that sinister smile that he rarely discarded as if a thin sheet veiling a dangerous sword. "Running? Really?"

Blackheart felt a lump rise in his throat that made speech difficult, and he pushed past it, only to regret the croak his voice made as too much of his unrefined horror seeped through. Menilis scared him now as he had never thought another demon would, but Satan had always held a special place in making the prince's heart quiver in fear. "Father, I see you have found my little experiment."

Satan blinked solid black eyes at him, bringing a long finger up to rest on his trembling lips. "Sshhh. Your thinking of telling me that you left just to show me a flaw in my plan, or to try to prove that you are good at making Blood Golems, or some such nonsense. Or perhaps you will tell me that despite your little test you had intended to return here after a small period of time had passed, and try to use the fact that you are here now as justification of how loyal you actually are. Once again, son..." Lucifer rested his splayed hand on his own chest, "...I am the Father of the Lie."

Blackheart's horror doubled as he felt tears pushing at his eyes, unable to fight the rising tide of helplessness that grew within him, "Father..."

Satan's mirth disappeared as he snatched Blackheart by the throat, lifting him bodily from the floor as his son sputtered and choked. The Devil's face twisted into something more akin its true demonic nature as he hissed, "Don't you 'father' me!" The Dark Lord carried Blackheart across the room, seating himself once more upon the chair that protested being sat upon almost as loudly as Blackheart protested the Devil's steely grip. Lucifer threw his son across his knee and exulted in hearing Blackheart squeal in terror at being put in that dreaded position. Menilis had done good work. "I don't care if God asks you to, you will never disobey me again!"

Blackheart's eyes were wide and he felt his blood hammering in his veins as he watched his father tear the clothing over his seat off so that his cheeks were exposed to the warm hellish air. He cringed as he watched the Devil raise his hand to swat him and his feet kicked immediately up as his hands shot back to defend himself, even though he already knew that he stood no hope of anything more than a delay of the inevitable. Satan only grunted his annoyance and swept a hand around Blackheart's waist and grabbing the offending hand by the wrist, pinning his son's legs with a sinewy tentacle that grew from Lucifer's side. "No, father! You are not giving me a chance to explain!"

"Explain this!" Satan roared as he brought his powerful hand down on Blackheart's ass, his son writhing in his grip immediately in reaction to the swats. "I have tolerated enough of your ways. In Hell there is only one rule for you; obey your father, and yet still you defy me! I shall teach you the price of insolence personally since even Menilis seems to have been incapable."

Blackheart wanted to scream out that he wished for the punishment to be delivered in some other way, something less humiliating, but he knew that letting on his already obvious shame would only solidify Lucifer's resolve to spank him in such a fashion. So instead he scratched at Satan's arms and clutched at the chair, even scratching and kicking at the floor in his desperation, but nothing he did could free him from the certainty of his position.

Satan was a little surprised when he realized that his son had begun to cry. Not simply shed tears of pain as was expected, but to sob and moan in real distress. He slowed the slaps that reddened Blackheart's ass a beat as he felt a strange and unexpected desire to stop causing his son to cry. He clenched sharp teeth in a grimace as he redoubled his efforts, though. The boy needed a lesson in respect, and suddenly the Devil found himself wishing he had taken the matter into his own hands before.

Blackheart felt a break in the steadily increasing pain on his twisting buttocks and wondered is Satan was toying with him to make it hurt more when the spanking really started for earnest. The prince screamed loudly and bucked hard under Lucifer's arm as those slaps peppered his sore globes, and he felt himself clenching his tired cheeks between each swat. He knew that in Hell begging meant an increase in torture, but he could not stop the pleas that escaped his lips, "Please, father! No more! I will do as you wish, I will never leave again... no more!"

Satan was taken aback by how quickly his son had given in to the punishment, and the realization dawned on him that perhaps Menilis had not failed; perhaps the demon had set the stage for such easy control of the brash younger demon. "Damn right, there will be no more!" Lucifer snarled, "You are my git, my son, and you will act it, or I will beat it into you."

Blackheart's back arched under the deluge of slaps that accompanied his father's words, and he shrieked out loudly for each one, drowning out the walls with the noise of his own suffering. "Yes! Yes, father! I will be your Antichrist... I will do whatever you wish, I swear, please!"

The Devil saw the potential in his son's reactions to the sting his hand created, the psychological cultivation of Menilis' good work, and he struck his son's quivering cheeks yet harder, driving Blackheart into a frenzy as the younger demon flailed feebly in his grip. "No mercy from me... there is no mercy in Hell! Think on that the next time you consider treason, boy!"

Blackheart nodded vigorously in his father's grip; he had already known that there was no hope for anything less than a severe punishment here, that was why he had been so afraid. What made him feel incredibly low at this point was that he had ever been stupid enough to think he could escape a force as powerful and eternal as his father forever. His tears were self-pity, but also self-hate, for putting himself in the same place as he had been in before, yet somehow worse.

Satan watched as his son twitched in his grasp, going limp as Blackheart truly gave in to the punishment, no longer even trying to free himself, just burying his face in his father's side and crying in helpless repose. The Devil continued to slap his shuddering frame as he spoke, "You swore vows of fealty to me when I spawned you, you will honor those vows!"

His son looked up with eyes wet with tears and nodded agreement, responding in a rough voice, "Yes."

Lucifer lifted the arm around Blackheart's waist slightly, elevating his ass so that the next few swats found the most tender areas of his son's rear, and was rewarded by his son squalling in a high pitched voice as flesh struck flesh. "You are going to obey my commands, regardless of whether I am there!"

Blackheart screamed out with the fire in his under-side; it felt as if every feeling in his body was tied to his tortured ass. "Yes, father!"

Satan spanked his son for a long time in silence, and Blackheart began to squirm again as he gasped, as if finding a second wind for struggle. Lucifer soon spanked that out of him as well, and his son lie defeated and limp once more before long, the only motion his occasionally kicking feet and the only sound his ragged subdued moans of pain and his quiet pitiful crying. "I will release you now if you are convinced of how easy this shall be compared to what will happen should you cross me again, you little bastard."

Blackheart almost choked on his glee at hearing those foreign words, that rang of punishment ended early; the closest he had ever heard Satan come to compassion. "Yes! I know it will be horrible, gruesome, even! I will surely have the flesh flayed from my backside if I were foolish enough to again betray my Dark Lord!"

Lucifer gave his son one more hearty slap that made Blackheart jump in his lap then dumped him upon the floor. "Get up and compose yourself. I raise no weaklings."

Blackheart stood quickly, doing his best to hide his wince as he felt a sharp sting for the effort. "Yes, father." The young lord wiped his eyes with his shirt and did his best to look angry and menacing.

Satan smiled at his son, feeling a swelling in his chest as he rose. "Stay in your room until I decide whether or not to feed you to the Hell Hounds for sport. If I feel like it, I may invite you to dinner to laugh at you tonight for crying like a baby."

Blackheart nodded, he eyes smoldering at his father's further jabs at his wrecked ego.

The Lord of Lies laughed at his son and left the room, shaking his head. He wasn't sure how much longer he was going to be able to control the monster he had created, but one day perhaps not too long from now, heaven and earth were going to shake when Blackheart broke into them, and Satan was going to be there to proudly look God in the face and say 'I told you so."