In Over My Head

So, I start stories on a nearly constant basis, but the trick is that I rarely if ever finish them. I'll get a short ways into it, then suddenly feel compelled to start another idea. This is one of the rare stories that somehow has kept my attention, at least to some degree.

Later installments will follow, though no telling just when - my creative writing muse is fickle at best in her attentions.

Fair warning, my writing tends to the verbose. It's not the shortest of chapters. Were it not for the first half of it containing zero sex, I'd have partitioned it into two chapters.

Ideally the payout towards the end of the chapter is worth the wait.

Oh yes, and this is told in a sort of diary-entry fashion. If first-person writing bothers you... sorry.

Contains: Tentacles, Futa, Elementals, Demons, Reluctance, Smart-assery.

My name is Amber Lonsdale, and I’m in hell.

I don’t mean figuratively, I mean physically in the demonic underworld. I’m sure you’re wondering exactly how I managed that trick, but I’ll get to that another day and in another entry. Amy told me to cover my first day in hell for the first entry.

After being escorted by a cackling midget of a demon to a collection of orange-hued buildings I would soon learn served as an apartment complex of sorts, I was left standing in a sparsely appointed room. Against one wall stood an oversized wrought-iron framed bed piled high with loud yellow and green plaid sheets. The used car salesman color scheme was jarring – I had expected something more gothic, I suppose – and thoroughly unpleasant. “Hell, Amber,” I reminded myself quietly.

“You got that much right, sister,” chirped a voice off to my left. Looking around for the source of the voice and seeing nobody, I wandered over towards a low wooden desk. It was painted a horrendous shade of pink.

“Who said that?”

“You have your hand on me,” said the voice in an amused lilting tone. I was lightly touching the top of the desk.

“My desk talks?”

“Not my first choice of body either, sweetcheeks, but you live with what you get down here. Now, are you going to do anything more interesting than resting your fingers on me?”

“Um… no.” Jerking my fingers off the desktop as though burned, I took a small step back and looked up at the octagonal skylight, a bit disconcerted by the sight of rock where the sky should be, though light still filtered into the room from some unseen source.

Slowly pacing my quarters, I found a curtained off toilet and