by Jay Aury
“Mnnnn!” you moan, eagerly submitting to his touch. Already your arousal drips eagerly free, forming a puddle that you kneel in. Pride has long since been forgotten in the imp’s service. All that matters is his pleasure. His joy. And nothing brings him more than seeing you humiliating yourself for his approval.
“Master!” you moan, hips twitching, rubbing yourself against his claw, whimpering in slavish delight as he pleasures you. Drinks from you. Uses you as his own, personal whore. “Oh gods… Oh gods! Master! Please! I’m… mmmm! I’m gonna cum. Gonna cum for you. Master… oh gods… Masterrrr!”
You wail with your peak, shuddering as your hips ride his stroking finger, pushed beyond the brink and to a thunderous orgasm. Your milk sprays into his mouth as you cum, squirting your juices all over the floor before the throne that was once yours, lost to the treachery of an imp that is now your master.
Givril pulls his lips from your breast and finger from your pussy. He sucks the juices from the latter, grinning down at your whimpering, defeated form. “Mmm. Delicious. Slaves always taste the best.”
You glow with delight. “Th-thank you, master,” you breathe.
“You’re welcome, slut. Now, get up here. Time I enjoyed that breeder cunt of yours.”
Tugged forward by the chains, led by your pierced breasts, you mount the throne anew, crouching atop the imp’s lap. You’re so much bigger than him. He’s fairly buried beneath your ample tits. You smile adoringly down at your wicked master, your legs gently easing you down, and once more onto his cock.
“Ooooooh!” you moan as his shaft fills you. You begin to bounce atop him, riding your master on his throne as he buries his head within your milky breasts. As your pregnant stomach pushes him back against the throne.
This is your life now. Your journey to become the Overlord ended before it even began. But a long life awaits you as the imp’s breeding slave and milk tank.
And you’ll enjoy every second.
Bad End
Index Start Over
The Vault
It burns you from head to toe to wear the clothes Boriga gave you, especially since it’s hard to even think of them as clothes. The frilly silks that drape you only cover your breasts, wrapping around your shoulders in a V shape before attaching to your girdle, whose long silk strip whisks between your legs. But even that would almost be tolerable if the damn things weren’t utterly transparent.
“Can’t I wear my cloak?” you’d protested.
Boriga had merely chortled. “Hmm. What slave would wear such a thing when being offered to Avarick? No, you wear the same as all slaves. It’s the only way to allay suspicion.”
You’d fumed, but he was right. If you wear too much, they’d think you were hiding something. And that’s the last thing you need. Especially with the slathering of makeup hiding your curse mark.
The size of the golden palace doesn’t really sink in until you’re beneath its shadows. The walls are immense, sheer and fairly glowing in the light of the magma rivers that course along it. You get a close look as you ride the wagons that bear Boriga’s offerings to the demon lord of greed, sitting among gold and jewels. You didn’t think Boriga was that wealthy, but the fortune beneath you implies he does very well for himself. Especially considering that you’re meant to supplement his taxes.
Loria drives the wagon, the succubus austere in her glasses and gown, looking every bit the accountant, despite her clinging dress and figure. “The halls within are well guarded, mistress,” she says as she snaps the reins. “You will have to infiltrate them first and avoid the guardians. Of what kind I can’t say. Obviously, Avarick doesn’t advertise the protections of the Vault.”
“Obviously,” you say as you try and adjust the strips so they cover your breasts more. “Dammit! This cloth is useless.”
“On the contrary, mistress. I think it should prove useful if you want to seduce the guards.”
“Oh, will it? Remember what happens if one of them manages to cum in me!”
“I didn’t forget, mistress. But you may have to take some risk with them, or try and slip away. At any rate, once you are in the palace, your curse mark will help guide you to Avarick’s lair.”
“How do you mean?” you say.
Loria tilts back her head, eying the great walls of the Vault as your wagon draws nearer. “Avarick’s magic is part of what binds the curse to you. You will be able to sense his power when you get close. At least, enough to guide you to him through the maze.”
“Well,” you mutter. “Thank the gods for small mercies.”
“Quite, mistress. Now, prepare yourself. We have arrived.”
You peek out of the curtain of the wagon. Ahead, the great doors of the Vault have opened, their magnificence dwarfed only by their size. You rarely feel small, but you’re feeling uncomfortably so as your wagon joins what seems like hundreds of others rattling through a long, dark corridor into the palace. The warmth of the Vault is heavy, and you feel your heart fluttering as you and the various other wagons bearing the treasures of Avarick’s tribute wind into a massive chamber. A glass dome hangs overhead, and within is a courtyard of hard brick before a number of doors.
Infernal guards await at the steps to the doors. Huge, hulking lizardmen with bronzed scales. No need for armor, the guard’s bodies are embossed and polished to a shine, showcasing barrel chests and corded, muscled limbs that sends a throb through you. The sight of such virile males does not help your attempts to resist your curse mark, nor do the whips and swords sheathed at their sides. With them are scholarly demons in long, flowing robes embroidered with red and gold cloth, hoods pulled up and glittering with richness as they form up, each with two guards before the tribute wagons. Loria hops down and faces hers, who wears a jeweller’s glass like a monocle, his bent form contrasting sharply with his shining guard.
“Well,” the reptilian accountant says, head bobbing, tongue flicking, darting. “What is this that…” He checks his notes. “…Boriga sends? Eh?”
“The manifest,” Loria says, handing over her own paperwork. “Thirteen hundred gold coins of Mammon stamp. Seven pounds of rubies. Three of sapphires. And one slave.”
“Hmmm…” the tax collector says, eying you through his glass. “A slave? Tricky. Tricky. Boriga still owes eight hundred gold coins worth in tribute…”
“Eight hundred!” Loria says, aghast. “You joke! Look at this slut. She is worth far more than eight hundred coins.”
“Ssss… I’m not so sure…”
“Look at these firm, supple breasts!” Loria says, her riding crop snapping out, tapping your tits and making you gasp. “You could nestle your head for hours on them. Why, the cream of them, if properly milked, would be of the highest quality! And observe to firmness of the ass,” she adds, snapping the riding crop against your rear, making you jump and yelp. “Firm! Yet not hard. The perfect instance of a bubble butt. And look at the beauty of the face! The high brows. The delicate nose. Those soft, pouty lips. And of such youth! Excellent breeding went into such a stock of female.”
“Ssss,” the lizardman says, stroking his chin with more thought than before. “Perhaps…”
“Look at your escort,” Loria says, directing her crop towards the hulking guard. “He is fairly quivering with the need to bend this lovely slave over and ream her firm little bottom. At the drop of a hat he would surrender two month’s wages to fuck this slut like his own personal glory hole.”
You really wish she hadn’t mentioned that. Your eyes uneasily go to the hulking lizardman. He looks down at you, his scales clicking with arousal, his chest heaving, his eyes glowing while Loria expounds your assets. You can’t help but notice a number of the other guards are looking your way too.
“Hmm…” the tax demon says. “You have a point.”
“Of course I do,” Loria says, sniffing. “If anything, Boriga is overpaying his tribute this year! Such a fine slut would be worth triple what she is being offered for, if sold to the rackets.
”
“Sssss! Alright. Alright!” the tax demon cries, throwing up his arms. “You’ve made your point. Now, if you would sign here.”
“And you here,” Loria says.
You watch as the pair bend over their ledgers, signing in triplicate the various paperwork necessary to promise you to the infernal vault of the demon lord of greed. At last, with a final nod and last flick of pens, you are shoved by Loria into the hands of the waiting guard.
You burn with humiliation and annoyance at your servant. When you get out of this, you’re going to paddle her ass so hard she won’t be able to sit for a week! Which… might actually be what she was going for. You eye Loria suspiciously as the demoness returns to her cart, the last of the gold and treasures being unloaded from her carriage, but then the guards are pushing you towards a crowd of other lovely women, all in much the same garb as you.
“You wait here,” the guard growls, his claws tightening on your shoulder hungrily before he releases you.
You bristle, but with effort swallow your anger. There’ll be time enough for that later, you remind yourself. For now, you just have to endure it. No matter how satisfying it would be to encase that fucker in a block of ice and use pieces of it to cool your drinks.
You look at the other women crowded about. Even you have to admit they are attractive. Each are surely worth the weight in gold Avarick would have received in lieu of them, and their revealing silks showcase those bodies to the utmost, and prevent any from hiding weapons. Some hold themselves with pride, others meekly, and some others with empty eyed resignation typical of such slaves. Some were doubtless sorceresses or students from the mortal realm who thought they could trick or wrest power from demons they summoned. Others were perhaps captured during your father’s war on the world above. Poor fools.
A whip snaps above your head. You jump and look back as the guard lumbers forward, his maw snarling. “Move you sluts! Come on!”
Again his whip cracks through the air, and you hasten along with the other girls through the great doors leading deeper into the Vault. As you pass over the threshold, your heart quails, and you steal a glance back the way you came.
Loria stands by the cart, watching you go, the succubus giving you a small, encouraging nod. You shiver, but firm yourself, facing forward again and marching into the Vault. You’re the Princess of Pride. You can do this.
You hope.
As a loose group you’re herded into the dark passage, the guards loping after, their movements smooth despite their heavy appearance. You quickly notice the lazy ease with which the guards guide your group down brass halls lit by curling lamps like dragon’s heads. Some are joking, others leering at the shapely forms of the slaves, but few are really paying much attention. Which isn’t surprising, actually. After all, if any of the girls broke away, where would they go? They were trapped in the Vault, a place so fabulously difficult to enter, who would even conceive of escaping?
But then, you aren’t looking to escape, are you?
As you walk you feel a subtle pulse in your core, making you gasp. A throb of longing heat that makes your pussy twitch and quiver with desire. It pulls you forward, and as you march along with the rest, you see ahead a sudden branch of the passages. The one the guards are guiding you down is clearly the middle one, where the halls of brass go on seemingly into eternity. But to the right is a hall whose hue is more golden than the other, and to the left is a passage seemingly etched of silver, the soft, luminous corridor like ice in the molten depths of the Vault.
You shoot a quick glance to the guards, but they’re busy ogling one of the girls ahead of you. It’s now or never.
Follow the Group
Passage of Gold
Passage of Silver
Passage of Gold
You make your choice. As the group draws nearer and nearer the central path you hang back until you’re at the rear of the line. As the guards and their captives pass towards the middle hall, you suddenly break from the group, dashing down the side passage before anyone is any the wiser.
The slap of your feet is all you hear. No bellows of alarm. No howls of fury from your monstrous guards. You slow, looking back, but no one pursues. You made it.
Now, let’s just hope you made it somewhere helpful.
Ahead of you stretches golden halls lit with lamps that burn a burnished red light. Even for the demon realm it’s unusually hot, and though you loathe the revealing nature of your clothes, you’re quietly glad you aren’t dressed in more layers. Even with your magic you can barely beat the heat, and sweat soon beads your brow and makes the already filmy garments cling to your curves.
“Damn,” you mutter as you hurry down the halls. “Where is he…”
It’s a good question. The mark emblazoned on your mons pulses with power, drawing you ever deeper into the bronze halls and towards Avarick himself. Soon enough, you make out a doorway in the distance, and the sight of it makes you slow significantly until you’re creeping down the hallway. No door defies entrance, and you peek through, only for your jaw to drop.
You’ve seen your share of treasure, but this defies even your imagination. Literal hills of gold coins rise through the room, resting against huge pillars that reach up into a ceiling so high it’s lost in shadows. Strange, golden statues of demons and idols dot the space, looming over overflowing chests while rubies gleam like crystal fire and sapphires blink like frozen seas. Fantastic golden weapons are scattered among the fortunes in gold and silver. Riches unlike anything even you’ve dreamed.
Without quite realizing it, you’ve walked past the door and into the room. You pause, but the pull of the curse tugs you deeper into the room.
“Right,” you murmur, glancing furtively through the hall of riches. As you get over your initial awe, you recall Loria’s warnings of guardians within the Vault, and your steps grow more careful as you make your way through. It’s like wandering through a desert of shining gold, where the idols and weapons rise from the depths like artifacts of a lost civilization of extremely gaudy people.
Yet as you walk, the nature of the statues change. There’s more of them, for one. For another, they’re all more… life-like. Beautiful women, their faces and bodies captured in the throes of loveliest ecstasy, their bodies arching in bliss. And all are made of solid gold.
“Okay. Somewhat creepy,” you murmur to yourself, clutching your hands close as your eyes wander suspiciously about the statues. Gods there’s a lot of them. They rear from the piles of gold, but others are piled atop, posed to the best angle.
Your fascination in them fades as you hear the soft susurration of spilling coins. You whirl as a shape humps out of the piles. Golden scales gleam, coins pouring down the hills as a form rises from their depths. A serpent’s lower body, a woman’s upper half, her skin bronzed and breasts large and firm. Bangles drape her arms and serpents of articulated metal with ruby eyes hiss from her head. A gorgon of gold, her features sculpted beauty, but her eyes are death.
“Well well!” she croons, smirking, revealing her wicked fangs, the serpents of her hair hissing and snapping for you. “Who is this who comes into the lair of Hassas, the Golden!”
You hastily avert your eyes before her gaze can capture you. In doing so, you find yourself looking down, and into the golden face of a statue revealed by the spilling coins. Realization hits you like a punch in the gut. Every statue here is a victim of the gorgon, and you’re next.
“Oh shit,” you whisper over the hiss of gold and scales.
Wait
Parlay
Attack
Magic
Seduce
Follow the Group
There’s too much at risk to break off from the rest. Meekly, you follow the others onwards, deeper into the depths of the Vault. Soon, the glittering halls make way for cruel, uncaring stone, the floors grow hot beneath your feet as you’re guided down the passages, so many twists and turns your head is soon spinning.
At last, you rea
ch your destination, which is a large room filled with cruel looking cages that dangle from the ceiling by long chains.
“In you go,” the reptilian guard hisses, snapping his whip against the ground. “A cage for each of you! Go on!”
The other girls jump, yelp, or hurry to the cages where they climb in meekly. You balk before your own, your instincts screaming for you not to enter the swinging cell.
“Hurry up, you!” the guard barks, suddenly looming behind you. You glance back quickly, your eyes drawn up his form to his ruby red eyes, glittering among his smooth, copper scales as he admires you. The same guard who had been eying you when Loria ‘demonstrated’ your assets. The lust of the demon awakens anew your cursed mark, and you feel your womb throb with lusts, and perhaps an opportunity to avoid the cage…
Seduce the Guard
Enter the Cage
Demand to Speak to his Manager
Enter the Cage
You could try and seduce this brute, but will you succeed only to be bred by him? Best not to risk it, for now, and meekly wait for Avarick to come and see his prizes. Then you’ll speak to him. You turn your back on him and climb into the swinging cage. The guard barks with amusement and slams the door behind you, the metallic bang making you wince as the lock clicks shut.
“There. Don’t worry! We won’t keep you waiting long.”
His laughter bites deep into you, stinging with the humiliation of your situation as the guard turns and struts off, leaving you and the others in the swinging cages suspended over the ground. You bite your anger off, trembling with rage until your cage fairly rattles with it.
“Will you stop that? The sound is giving me a headache.”