Eliot ignored all that Sam was saying, hellish propaganda, he knew how it worked. It meant nothing to him, he wasn't in hell to take a vacation after all. Normally, he would fold, live to fight another day, but that didn't work in hell when there was no other day. And what they wanted was for him to work for evil, plain and simple, and Eliot had honestly tried it before, was great at it, and knew he wanted nothing to do with it again. Anyway, Eliot Spencer didn't give up easy.

The slight brush of his fingertips against the heated inner thigh of the demon gave Eliot a split second of hope before he found himself pushed forward.

With his hands locked behind him, Eliot had nothing to catch himself with as he fell. His fighter's instincts had him try to take the landing with his shoulder but that tugged so horribly on his cock that he cried out, and ended up falling flat on his face. Pain exploded in his groin, the chain having pulled taut during the fall and his arms going out of position to minimize the damage. He gasped, hands flexing helplessly as he tried to spread his legs and get his hands down to minimize the damage. He barely noticed that his nose was on fire or that the salt he tasted on his lips was blood from his nose.

Even the dildo, that blunt, cold thing suddenly hitting home, although it couldn't be ignored, it's pain was still inferior to the fire that spread from his cock. It was hard biting back his groan when all he wanted to do was to curl up over his hurt privates. It took several quick deep breaths before Eliot trusted his voice to say anything. "Yeah?" he wheezed, "I think this hurts me more than you."