by Jay Aury
“I… I am Lillian! Daughter of the Overlord of the Demon Realm, Lorrick the Black! And I have… I have come to demand your fealty!”
“Is that right?” he says, puffing on his cigar, but his eyes are amused, wandering down to your mons. He smirks. “Looks like that’s not all.”
You flush, glancing down to see that the cursed mark has burned through the makeup you wore, throbbing with a glow, desperate to taste this monster’s cock. Already you can feel its insidious work upon you, urging you to offer yourself to this demon. This monster. To bend over, raise your ass like a bitch in heat and beg for his cock within you.
“I… I…”
Avarick smirks wider, revealing his fangs. He rises, arm clasped behind his back. His other plucks the cigar from between his fangs, tapping out some ash.
“Well,” he notes, rounding his desk, stepping leisurely before you. His shadow falling over you. The heat of his body radiating from his burnished scales. “You’ve come this far. Far indeed. So I’ll hear you out. What do you have to offer?”
Your head is throbbing so hard it takes you a moment to register his words. “H-huh?”
“It’s real simple, girl. What have I got to gain from backing you? Why should I support you to rule the nether realms? Oh yes. I know why you’re here. I’ve been expecting it. But that doesn’t mean I’ll do anything for you. Your father conquered all the realm of hell in his own name. He led us into the mortal world, which,” he adds with bemusement, “admittedly, didn’t go so well for him. But an accomplishment all the same. That’s why I followed him.
“So why,” he says, leaning forward, the cloying smoke of his cigar twisting around his horns, your face reflected in his golden eyes. “Why, by all the seven realms, should I agree to serve you?”
For Peace
For Profit
For Pleasure
Collar
Your fingers stroke the bejeweled collar thoughtfully, then you shrug, lift it, and put it on.
Which was a very big mistake.
“Gnnnnn!” you moan, arching, quaking as your nipples throb. Your core simmers. Your skin tingles with newly awakened sensitivity. You shudder, your legs buckling, sending you to your knees, panting as your pussy drools your arousal onto the floor. From the collar spreads a sweet heat that overwhelms you. Your hands at once delve between your thighs, a whimper of delight as your fingers stroke your empty, empty pussy.
“Oh. Oh g-gods,” you moan, bucking as you furiously rub yourself, fingers strumming your cunny, shocks of pleasure making your ass clench and pussy sucking at your hand.
“Fuck. Fuck! Yes! Yesssss!” you moan, desperately rubbing your buzzing pussy, teasing the bead of your clit with shameless desperation. So close. So close! Oh gods… oh gods you’re… you’re…
“C-Cumming!” you moan, hips bucking, ass twitching as your mind goes white with the most powerful orgasm you’ve ever known, cumming with absolutely shameless abandon all over the gleaming silver floor.
You sag where you kneel, panting, head tilted back and heart pounding.
Who… who are you?
The question tingles in your awareness. Your lips fall as you try and remember, but only draw a blank. As if your orgasm swept aside any memory of who you are.
Then, something pops into your head.
Slave.
You brighten. Of course! You’re slave. How dumb of you! How could you forget. You’re just a silly fuck slave. Only silly fuck slaves wear such pretty collars. Oh, but, slaves have masters, don’t they?
But that’s an easy fix, you think, brightening considerably. After all, you’re such a lovely slave. Anyone would love to be your master and stuff your slutty breeder pussy with cock. You giggle at the doubt you’d felt. How silly! And there’s bound to be masters somewhere in here. You’ve just gotta find them!
This certainty tingling in your mind, you pull yourself unsteadily to your feet and hobble back the way you came, your mission forgotten in the all-consuming need for cock. Masters are waiting for you. Doesn’t matter who. Slave will serve anyone. Slave is slave.
And you’re a good slave.
Public Use
For Peace
“For peace,” you say.
Avarick pauses. He peers down at you. “Peace?” he repeats.
“Yes,” you say.
“In the demon realm?”
“Yeah.”
He starts chuckling. Then chortling. He then moves into full blown laughter, pounding a fist on his desk until the wood cracks under the force of the blows. He roars with amusement. “Peace!” he barks, baring his fangs. “Peace in hell? Oh dear. That’s almost as rich as me! You do know there’s a realm of Wrath, right?”
“I know,” you say. “But hell needs a Pax Overlord, like my father’s. I don’t think I’ll be able to stop the endless jockeying for power or skirmishes, but as Overlord, I can keep the lords of sin from each other’s throat. And you need peace for trade.”
Avarick’s grin lessens. His blue eyes narrow, shrewd. “Explain,” he demands.
You take a deep breath. It’s getting harder to organize your thoughts. The pulsing of your cursed mark in the presence of such a male is almost overwhelming. Coiling tentacles of molten lust surge through you, urging you to give in to your baser urges. A need to surrender. To bend over.
To breed.
You fight it back as best you can. You are the Princess of Pride! No curse will undo you!
“I… If there is… is no Overlord, then the nether realm will be in chaos. Wars will rampage. Trade will be disrupted all over the r-realms.”
“Some might say I would benefit from that,” Avarick notes. “All wars need weapons.”
“But… But you don’t make them. You’re the middleman. You can sell them, but a total war isn’t in your interest. Because… because you’ll be invaded too. Your borders raided. The other demon lords would see your riches and want them for their own purposes. Merchants would be wary of moving goods. If there is no Overlord, the seven realms go back to the way it was before my father took over.”
That gives Avarick pause. His blue eyes grow dim with memories, his talons drumming on the dented surface of his desk.
“Yesssss,” he hisses, his claws digging into the wood, scraping gouges in its surface. “Trade has… flourished under the dominion of the old bastard.”
“Exactly,” you say, fairly panting. “And… and it hasn’t started yet, but all the other lords will inevitably start warring again. Civil war might benefit you, but not when your realm is being dragged in. The only way to maintain e-equilibrium between the lords of sin is to h-have one standing over them. And… and uh… I am… I am the one who can since… since…”
Your words get jumbled around a tongue that can’t stop panting. Your pussy is slicker than the sea. Your head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton and your breasts throb, nipples jutting out with invitation to be tweaked and toyed with. Used and abused.
Avarick looks down at your thoughtfully. Ohhhhh, why does he have to just look? Why can’t he hurry up and bend you over the desk and fuck your stupid brains out?
“It is true,” the lord of greed muses, “that the others covet my vault. You think I’m greedy? Ha! You should see them when they think they’ve got a chance to get a piece of my gold. And merchants, even in hell, need some certainty about profits. And your father’s reign was profitable for me.”
“Th-then… then…” you pant.
Avarick shrugs, his fur trimmed coat whispering against his scales. “Hm. I suppose the prospect of your success outweighs the chance of your failure. If you succeed, the nether realm is once more under the orderly reign of an Overlord. If you fail, then really, it cost me nothing.”
Your breath catches as the dragon leans towards you. His presence awakens your cursed mark, causing it to burn through the paint that hid it, baring the six signs circling your womb. Avarick raises a hand, and touches a claw to one.
“Ah!” you gasp, e
lectricity jolting up from your mark. The sign Avarick touched sizzles, shifting to a different one as you moan, legs quaking as you struggle to stay upright. Avarick nods in satisfaction, moving back. “There we are.”
You look at the mark on your mons. The infernal lust that threatened to overwhelm you has receded, letting your normal coolness take charge once more. You take a deep breath, let it out, sagging where you stand.
“Th-thank you, Avarick,” you gasp. “You won’t regret this.”
The Dragon of Greed grins down at you. “Hm. We’ll see, won’t we? But either way, I suppose I’ve hitched my wagon to yours. Besides, being the first will have to account for something, when all the coins’ve been counted. Hm?”
“It will,” you assure him, touching the runes written onto your mons, shivering at the sensation that thrums through it. The curse has weakened, but it’s hold on you is no less secure. You grimace.
“One down,” you murmur.
“Five to go,” Avarick observes. “You think you’re up for it? I doubt the other lords of sin will be as understanding as me.”
“I have to be,” you say. “My existence depends on it.”
To Be Continued
Index Start Over
Crown
Well, the collar is pretty obviously a nonstarter. The sceptre is suspicious in its own right, but the crown holds a certain appeal to you, and not just because you’re clearly worthy to wear it. With a certain sense of satisfaction, you put on the crown.
And…
And…
Nothing happens.
Your brows furrow and you shift your weight from side to side, expectant.
Still nothing.
“Dammit!” you curse, taking off the crown. But, perhaps you were looking at this the wrong way. You look towards the statue, fingering the crown and approach the silver woman. Rising to your tiptoes, you carefully place the crown on her head.
The sapphire in the center of the crown flashes with magic. The statue’s eyes fly open, blazing with a blue light. The figure gasps, jolting in a sudden animation.
“Shit!” you gasp, falling back as the veins of silver spreading through the walls flare with new power, pulsing into the statue with a sudden rush of light. Your jaw falls slack as the statue moans softly, pushing forward, her body flowing out of the wall like the metal were water, her beautiful figure stepping delicately down onto the floor.
“Oh,” the statue moans, stretching her arms above her head, groaning with pleasure of freedom. “Oh yessss! How long has it been since I was free!”
You say nothing, gaping at the silver figure come to life. Her eyes slide down to you and she smiles, leaning over you. “Thank you, heroine. My name is Salvia, and you have freed me from my prison.”
“Oh, you’re ah… welcome,” you say.
She laughs and picks up the other two items which you’d dropped in your surprise, examining the collar and phallic sceptre with amusement. “To think, they kept all my treasures in the same place.”
“Your treasures,” you say.
“Indeed! I lost a bet with that damned Avarick, and as punishment, he sealed me into the wall as a guardian to one of his treasure chambers. But now I am free. Free! And you, my dear, must be rewarded.”
Your ears perk up at that. “That sounds good,” you say. “I need to enter that room you were guarding.”
“That?” Salvia laughs again. “That is not nearly enough to reward the one who has freed me. Let me think… How about… Ah! I know. A reward worthy of your service. The privilege of being my eternal slave.”
“Your what?” you say.
The statue moves faster than her silver form would suggest. Her hand lashes out, the collar wrapping about your throat with a snap of a latch. You jerk back as you feel the leather hiss, sealing itself about your throat.
“H-hey!” you bark, grabbing the collar, trying to wrench it off. “What the hell are you doing? Get this off of me!”
“Now now! Slaves shouldn’t talk back to their new mistress,” the statue says.
“I am not your nnnnnn!”
Your denial twists itself into a moan as liquid lust flows through you. Your nipples stiffen under the silky cloth, your breasts tingling. A sudden, pleasant aching spreads through your arms and legs, as if your body were half asleep.
“There we are. Hmm. But slaves shouldn’t stand. They should kneel.”
Your legs give way, compelling you to your knees.
“A bit more, my dear.”
Your body moves forward, dropping you to all fours. Your eyes widen as your body moves without your input. A puppet bound to the silver woman’s commands. “Wh-what’s going on! Let me go! Release me right now you-“
“And slaves don’t speak unless commanded.”
Your mouth slams shut. Your arms quiver with furious indignation as you glare up at the smirking woman towering over you. But there’s another sensation now. The acrid coldness of true fear.
“Mmm. Very nice,” Salvia says. You can’t help but notice that as she admires you, she’s also fondling the sceptre. Slowly stroking its length in her hands, her glowing eyes growing hotter as she takes your helpless form. “Very nice indeed. I think my new slave deserves another reward for being such an obedient slut. Yes. Yes, I think that’s only good. Only proper.”
Humiliation burns through you, but on the heels of it is something else. You feel a sinister warmth spreading through you. Tingling in your core and aching through your mons. The thrill of humiliation. The sinful desire of shame. Your cheeks warm, and the throbbing from the cursed mark is not helping matters at all!
And it becomes even stronger as the statue moves the sceptre to her mons, and leisurely slides it into her pussy.
“Mnnnn,” Salvia moans as the rod stuffs her, the jeweled treasure sealing itself to her cunt seamlessly. Your eyes widen in shock at the sight of it, the sultry woman leisurely stroking the bumps and creases of the gems, fondling it like the massive, treasure encrusted cock it now resembles. “That’s good. How I missed this. Having a pathetic slut kneeling before me. Begging to taste my beloved fuckstick. Such a foolish bitch. Bark for me, pup.”
“Woof!” you bark, face burning with shame. “Woof!”
She laughs anew. “Wonderful! Such an obedient pup.”
You’ve never felt the sort of pleasure that surges through you at the word obedient. It washes through you in a wave of desperate heat. “Woof! Woof!”
“Good pup. Now, turn around. Let me see what I’ve got to work with.”
Burning with shame and desire, you obey, turning about under the compulsion of the collar and pushing out the heart shape of your ass. You look over your shoulder as Salvia moves up behind you, flicking aside the strip of silk that was your sole defence, the silver herm cupping your pussy, the touch of her cool hand making you shiver and moan.
“Mmm. Very nice. My goodness, you are simply molten, my dear,” the statue says, a silver finger brazenly running along your pussy lips, teasing your sensitive folds and growing slick with your pre. “My my. I wonder if I even needed the collar. Such a wanton slut would likely as not just beg to taste my cock, wouldn’t she?”
“Woof!” you moan, your hips shamelessly rocking, rubbing yourself against that stroking finger.
Salvia trills with mirth. “Look at you! It’s almost too easy. But that’s okay. I like an easy conquest. And you certainly are one.”
You flush in ever deeper humiliation, but you can’t help the sensations that spark up through your cunny. You whimper, mewling with desperate pleasure as Salvia teases you. Gets you wet. Gets you dripping. As the collar around your throat spreads soothing satisfaction. Pleasurable obedience. Lovely surrender.
“That’s it. Show mistress what she’s got to work with.”
Blushing hotly, you can’t help your legs from shifting, baring more of your plump pussy lips.
“There we are,” the statue croons, her fingers sliding just a little harder against you.
Just enough to make you whimper and moan and buck against her hand. “Look at that. So eager! Do you want me to fuck you now, slave? Do you want me to pound that pretty pussy with my golden cock?”
“Woof!” you bark eagerly. “Woof!”
“There’s a good girl. And good girls get rewards.”
You want a reward so bad. Because you know just what it is. As the statue straightens, she shows off the glittering phallus that awaits. Her hands grip your hips, prompting a whimper from you as her glittering cock teases your folds, rubbing the tip against your lower lips until your juices glistens on the jewels.
She pushes forward.
And you are in heaven.
There’s something so utterly depraved about feeling those shining gems rub your inner walls. Your voice rises in a pleading moan as her cock sinks into you. Buried to the root in your depths. “Mnnnnnn!” you moan, shuddering as you take her, as the collar sends out soothing waves of submissive bliss through you. As your curse mark throbs with wonderful obedience.
“Now comes the fun part,” Salvia croons.
Draws back.
And slams forward.
“Oooooooh!” you wail as you take again the thrust of her cock. As she begins the slow beat of fucking you. Pounding her golden cock into your helpless pussy, the bumps of the jewels seemingly designed to make you twitch and gasp and moan like the slut you are.
“Yesssss!” Salvia groans as she claims you, fucking you into the floor. “Is that good, slut? Do you love my glittering cock inside you?”
“Woof!” you moan.
“Speak, slut.”
“Yesssss!” you wail, your voice turning from the canine howl to a human cry midbreath. “Oh fuck yes! Mistress! Love… love your coooooock!”
Salvia trills with mirth as you unabashedly thrust back against her cock, moaning and gasping and panting like the slut you were born to be. “That’s a good slave. Oh yessss! Such a good slut.”