by Jay Aury
“Mind if I take the front?”
You look up, your glassy eyes momentarily clearing as a dim spark of recognition flickers in your mind. The studious looking demoness with the spectacles looks down at you, her severe clothes cut sharply like someone that would be called ‘Headmistress.’
“L-Loria…” you say.
“Feel free,” the wrath demon says.
“Much obliged,” Loria says, moving forward, grabbing your head, and burying you against her muff.
The name fades, along with any thoughts it might have entailed. Any memories. Any hope. Your mind is again swallowed by the endless grind of pleasure. As the wrath demon plunges his fat cock into you, slamming you against the stocks, his hips spanking your cushiony ass, your tongue begins to lap at Loria’s pussy, your eyes growing lidded as you grow drunk once more on your shameless lust.
“A fine… hrrr… bitch,” the wrath demon grunts.
“Her tongue is good,” Loria admits.
Pride glows in your chest at their praise. You wriggle and moan, thrusting back against the cock reaming you as you taste and pleasure the demoness before you.
“Hrrrrr!” the wrath demon groans, burying his cock within you, crying out as he cums, pumping what feels like gallons of his hot seed into your willing depths. The feeling pushes you over the edge, and with a muffled moan you cum with him, legs quaking as all feeling seems to flee them from the force of your fucking.
The wrath demon grunts, unsheathing himself from you, seed pouring out of you as he does so. He chuckles, gives you a spank that makes you jump and core flutter with delight.
“Not bad. Might have to come by again just to have another taste.”
“It’s why I do,” Loria observes. “A little higher, slut.”
You smile dumbly with their praise, obeying Loria’s command.
After all, a good slut always obeys.
Bad End
Index Start Over
Blast Him
You moan as the guard manhandles you. “Ohhhh,” you groan. “You’re so strong.”
“Damn right,” the lizardman hisses.
“So powerful!”
“Mhmm.”
“So dead.”
“Huh?”
You press your hand to his chest. He looks down in surprise as blue light surges from your palm, the bone chilling cold of your magic crackling through him. He lifts his eyes to yours, and you smile.
The blast of magic hurls him across the corridor, slamming him into the far wall, freezing him to the bronze in a flash of freezing cold.
You exhale, feeling the throb of unholy desire fade as you face the frozen figure, frost covering him like grains of silver sand, holding him in a pose of anguish. “Asshole,” you tell his frozen rictus, flicking your hair back over your shoulder, the silk strip swishing between your legs as you turn your back on him and glare down the golden halls of the Vault. You tap a finger to your chin, glaring at the glittering passages. Which way…
As you consider, you feel a tug in your core. An ache from your womb as if being drawn to one of the lynchpins of your curse. You glance down at yourself, both vaguely relieved it still works, but also annoyed that the source of the problem is part of a solution.
“Alright then,” you murmur, starting down the narrow passage.
The pulsing in your womb proves unerring in your journey through the winding halls. You ignore room that overflow with treasure, gold coins shoved into them like dust swept out of sight. Jewels and fortunes glitter and spill into the halls as you walk. Twice you have to duck into such treasure chambers as reptilian guards march through, the click of their steps in perfect timing, often escorting one of the more snake-like accountants that you met outside. With every one that passes you tense, holding your breath, wondering if your ‘lover’ was found and the alarm sounded. But given the sheer breadth of the Vault, it might take days before anyone wanders down that corridor, and to your relief no alarms sound or haste quickens the step of the guards.
The Vault seems endless as you walk down it. Soon enough, the vast wealth that bulges on all sides begins to lose its awesome power, and merely becomes another piece of the background. Despite yourself, you’re glad your aching womb guides you. You’d have been easily lost among the sheer number of bends and twists that characterize Avarick’s lair. Intentional, obviously.
But in time, you reach your destination. A pair of large gold doors confront you, a subtle heat radiating from them, making you swallow hard. The throbbing of your womb leaves no mistake. You’re here, before the lair of the Dragon of Greed.
Steeling yourself, you push open the doors, and stride inside.
Avarick
Avarick
The doors grind open and reveal a long, plush carpet running down a room of burnished gold. Pillars made of golden statues of men bent beneath the weight of the ceiling line the way. Huge displays filled with invaluable artifacts and gold encrusted items are held behind glass walls. You walk slowly forward, your heart beating faster as you near the end of the room, where a raised level holds a vast desk, behind which can only be the Lord of Greed.
Avarick sits among a desk littered with scales and abacuses and gold. A draconic demon nearly two heads taller than you. Three if you count his curling horns. His scales are a shimmering carpet of gold inlaid with precious jewels, his eyes burning blue and a cigar chomped between his teeth. A thick fur coat drapes him like a cape, and in his claws he grips with surprising delicateness a sheaf of reports he’s in the midst of reading.
“And who,” Avarick suddenly says without looking up, “are you?”
You swallow hard, fighting back your nervousness, and the throbbing of your cursed mark. “I… I am Lillian, Princess of Pride, daughter of the Overlord.”
“Ex.”
“Huh?”
“Ex-Overlord,” Avarick notes. “Hard to still be the Overlord when you’re dead.” He grunts and lays down the papers, easing back into his throne and lacing together his claws. His gaze is cool and thoughtful, the smoke pouring from his cigar twisting like snakes in the hot air of the room. You shift beneath his gaze, grimacing as the desire fairly pounds in your veins, your pussy tingling with the need to feel his cock plunge in and out of your sopping depths.
“Nonetheless,” Avarick says. “Gotta admit, I’m impressed you managed t’ get in here. Not sure if you’re brave ‘r stupid, but you’re here. Now, what do you want? And be fast,” he says, glancing at a huge clock ticking away in the corner. “Time is money.”
You swallow hard, straightening under the demon’s eyes. “I… I came for your fealty.”
“Hm?”
“I want you to declare your fealty to me as the new Overlord.”
Avarick throws back his head, his teeth flashing as he laughs. “You’re joking!” he cackles, kicking back his chair, rising with a flutter of his long, fur coat.
You force yourself not to take a step back as the demon of greed strides around his desk, walking up to you. He’s huge up close. Powerful. You can feel the heat radiating from his scales like molten gold. His teeth grind the stub of his cigar as he exhales another cloud of smoke. You cough, blinking past it, though the smoke makes your body heat and flush even more. So close, the cursed mark thrums through your veins like piano wires. You can fairly feel the demon’s lust as his eyes roam over your form.
“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 realm? 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 realm. Which,” he adds with bemusement, “admittedly, didn’t go so well for him. But an accomplishment all the same. That’s why I follo
wed 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
Suck Him Off
You have to resist him.
Maybe.
Probably.
But you body needs him so badly. You can fairly feel the heat of your core, begging you to take his cum. To yield to him. You can’t deny it. Your desire for him is too strong. The cursed mark aches through you at the though of taking his virile seed within you. Such a powerful need makes your head spin and threatens to overwhelm you.
Maybe… maybe just… just sucking his cock would be alright. Maybe that would be enough. Enough to calm you. Soothe you. Sate you long enough to… to do what you have to. After all, what are you supposed to do? Not suck that gloriously slick lizard cock throbbing for attention?
You slowly lower yourself to your knees, whimpering softly as the strip of silk flutters against your cunny. Your hands rise, cupping his cock. You gasp at the heat that radiates from it. “So warm…” you breathe.
“Hmmm. Be warmer in your mouth,” the guard groans.
You have to agree. And your tongue tingles as you lean forward, and envelop his shaft between your soft lips. You moan, lashes fluttering as the taste of him buzzes on your tongue. The spicy taste tantalizing and enthralling. Delicious and musky. You moan, beginning to bob, your tongue stroking the whole of his length as you lavish his cock with the attention it so deserves.
“Yessss,” the guard moans, his forked tongue flicking. “That’s it. Good slut.”
“Mnnnn…” you moan, that word making your hips twitch, cunt clench. Oooh, that word. That name. So demeaning. Yet so thrilling. You start bobbing faster. Faster. More eager to taste him. To take him. To let him pump his seed down your throat and into your stomach. To fill you to bursting with his virile cum.
You moan. A shameless, begging, pleading sound for the guard to use you. To take you. To claim your mouth with his cock. You bob faster. Your whole body sways, rump pushing out and in, your nose tingling at the heat of his root when you reach the base again and again.
It’s so good. So wonderful. So delicious. So depraved.
And somehow, that makes it even better.
You can’t stop your hand from sliding down your thigh, underneath the frail silk that masks your cunny. A moan trembles through your throat and up his cock, your eyes rolling back as you begin to stroke yourself. Your fingers at first shy, then frantically plunging into your sopping pussy as you blow the lizardman.
“Yessss!” the guard pants, his claws gripping your hair as he plunges his cock into your mouth with ever greater urgency. “Yesss! Take my cock. Oh fuck yes. Yes! Damn slut. Oh fuck!”
The pain of his claws draws tears to your eyes, and urges your hand to greater efforts. Your moans and whimpers grow louder. Your efforts more desperate. You have to cum. Got to cum with him. Your cursed mark pulses. Glows. Tingles. Your finger strums the bead of your clit. So close. Oh gods. Oh gods.
“Yes! Yes! Hrnnnnn!”
The guard throws back his head, bottoming out into your mouth. You nearly gag as his cum suddenly pumps in a great gush down your throat. The only thing that stops you from choking is the thought of losing any of that boiling cum. You moan, throat working as you frantically drink down every drop.
As if swallowing his seed defeated some barrier within you, you groan as you cum, your shameful juices spurting onto the floor in a shameful puddle. Your hips buck as you keep cumming, long lashes fluttering as you sag in defeat beneath the reptilian guard.
He exhales deeply, falling back against the wall as his cock slides from your mouth. “Not… ha… bad,” he says.
You smile up at him, but even as you do, you feel the edge from the curse ooze away, as if drained from you with your orgasm. Still smiling, though far more sardonically, you gesture.
“Sleep.”
Magic like dust flutters into his eyes. The guard blinks, but the spell drags down his eyelids. He sighs in a soft sound of peaceful slumber.
Then topples with a crash of armour to the ground.
You wince, but he doesn’t get back up. A quick glance around shows no one saw, and no thundering footsteps betray a sudden interest in what you were doing. Clearing your throat, but failing to rid yourself of the taste of lizardman cum, you hastily rise and smooth out your silks. Thank the gods no one saw that. It wouldn’t do for anyone to observe the future Overlord of hell cumming in the middle of the corridor. Watching you suck off some menial guard like a slave. Bobbing and running your tongue all along his reptilian shaft.
You wince, feeling again the heat of your cunny kindle once more under the cursed mark. Great. Well, so much for taking the edge off it. You briefly entertain waking the guard and maybe getting another quicky, but dismiss the idea. You’re the Princess of Pride, damn it! And you have a Lord of Sin to recruit.
Fortunately, the aching of your womb tugs you with certainty down the passage, and with as much dignity as you can muster, you start off in that direction.
The pulsing in your womb proves unerring in your journey through the winding halls. You ignore room that overflow with treasure, gold coins shoved into them like dust swept out of sight. Jewels and fortunes glitter and spill into the halls as you walk. Twice you have to duck into such treasure chambers as reptilian guards march through, the click of their steps in perfect timing, often escorting one of the more snake-like accountants that you met outside. With every one that passes you tense, holding your breath, wondering if your ‘lover’ was found and the alarm sounded. But given the sheer breadth of the vault, it might take days before anyone wanders down that corridor, and to your relief no alarms sound or haste quickens the step of the guards.
The Vault seems endless as you walk down it. Soon enough, the vast wealth that bulges on all sides begins to lose its awesome power, and merely becomes another piece of the background. Despite yourself, you’re glad your aching womb guides you. You’d have been easily lost among the sheer number of bends and twists that characterize the Vault. Intentional, obviously.
But in time, you reach your destination. A pair of large gold doors confront you, a subtle heat radiating from them, making you swallow hard. The throbbing of your womb leaves no mistake. You’re here, before the lair of the Lord of Greed.
Steeling yourself, you push open the doors, and stride inside.
Avarick
Slave to the Greed Lord
Like pendulums swinging, your and Hyacinth’s hips cock with your every step. The silk ribbons that swish between your thighs glitter with silver and are sheer as mist. Your breasts are bared, nipples pierced with rings studded with rubies, your collars glittering with emeralds, your horns draped in silver thread like a starry night sky.
You didn’t think you’d get along as well as you have with Hyacinth. The bald woman is taller than you, and nearly as proud, but circumstances make strange bedfellows, and to be sure, you have shared her bed often. You’re often paired with her when the Vault hosts greater demons from the neighbour realms. Pride warms you at the knowledge. Of course you’re a favorite. Who wouldn’t adore your beauty? Seek to use you as their personal plaything? You know that many have offered Avarick fortunes in gold for you, but he has held back. You are still too valuable to him. In time, he’ll doubtless sell you, but for now, you can keep raking in the cash.
Of course, your curse mark kicked in not long after being given over to the slave trainers, but your new collar easily overcomes any lingering attachment to the one who first bred you. The collar crackles with latent magic, tingling down your spine with teasing pleasure, making your cunny ache with an emptiness begging to be filled.
And gods know it will be soon.
The gold of the passage you walk down is warm under your bare feet. Braziers burn and crackle a
t intervals, throwing into stark relief marble statues rearing overhead. Sounds of pleasure keen from open doors, at times mingling with screams. You feel nothing for those, save a dread that it might one day be your fate. But not today.
“Do we know anything of who we attend?” you ask.
“A lord from sloth,” Hyacinth says. “A slime creature known as the Pit Lord. A stupid creature, but rich. He has come to bargain with Avarick, and a night with us was part of the deal.”
“We shall not disappoint,” you say with the utter certainty of fact.
“No,” Hycanith agrees with a wry smile. “But I shall be the one to make him cum first.”
You scoff with a smirk. “Please. Wasn’t it I who brought Baron Rash to climax ten times in one night?”
“Ha! Did not Mistress Lustria commend my flexibility?”
You shiver in delight at that name. Lustria. She had come from the realm of lust, obviously, to instruct you and the other slaves on the arts of pleasures. An expensive project, no doubt, but an investment that had paid great dividends. “Perhaps, but recall that she complimented the firmness of my ass? Avarick himself bounced a coin off it.”
Hyacinth laughs, and you can’t help but join her. You love the other woman, in your own way. Many are the nights you’ve shown her that, crawling between her thighs and teasing the sapphire that pierces her clit until she came with a moaning orgasm. And you’ve lost count of the number of times she in turn made you shudder and moan with a cat o’ nine tails. There’s more than mere lust between you and the sultry, tattooed sorceress, and you can only hope when the time comes, Avarick will sell you both together.
As one, you and Hyacinth touch the curtain that shields the room you’ve been assigned, letting it glide open to reveal what awaits you.