PART-TIME DEMON HUNTER CH-1 (Patreon)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(You guys might be asking, "Wowowowowowowow! What the heck is dis!? Story format?? Had you gone insane, Mofo?? WHERE ARE THE TIDDIES!!??" 

I understand your confusion, however, this is something that I was thinking for a long time when it comes to making comic stories with an actual plot to follow, and not just having some TF eye candy in order to get off after reading it. In order to make an actual Comic, you sort of need first a Script, or story to follow, otherwise... you would be throwing things to the wall in order to see what sticks.

So! I decided to hire the services of an insane writter, known as Entreri, to help me out in order to better fleshout the events of The Ritual, and also what comes after it! So, as a first writting, we focused on doing a Retaliing of the events that happened in the comic, been this the Chapter 1 of everything. We will see how we can keep working on delivering the next upcoming chapters in writting format, before doing the full comic thing. So for the time being, enjoy the reading!

Also, a fair warning, the things depicted in this story are wild, super horny, borderline insane, not fit for people under 18 or with a weak none horny mind, Entreri... h-he is insane, he is a wild animal! This contains alot of sex and sex juices! So be warned from what you are about to witness -w-;)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Synopsis:

Meet Claire Henderson: part-time temp worker who never seems to stay in one line ofwork for long. She’s just never really found anything that she’s particularly great at, no task that particularly feels like a calling to her, no career that particularly fills her with passion. But when a lunatic sex cult tries to unleash the sealed archdemon of unfathomable lust and hedonistic debauchery upon the unsuspecting world using her body as the vessel to contain this abyssal fiend, she has to come to terms with the fact that her career is about to take a turn in a very strange direction.

Chapter 1: A Ritual, Interrupted

Red candles, a couple dozen of them. The wax dripped onto large, flat stones each the size of a car tire. She supposed that, if they weren’t currently covered in wax, this spot would make for a good picnic, with the stones serving as kind of natural seats as people relaxed in a ring in this clearing. But maybe not at this particular time of night. Not with so many black trees, looming shadows, and empty patches of darkness. The ground was compacted dirt; no grass grew in this little glade that she was in now. She could feel the dirt beneath her sneakers during her walk here, occasionally kicking an errant bit of gravel. She was on a large, flat stone, much bigger than the tire-sized ones that lined the area. This one was more like a slab. She could feel the roughly hewn surface of it digging into her shoulders where the straps of her tank top failed to cover her. Her arms were stretched out to either side, wrists bound with chains. Ankles tied, too.

Her tongue tasted sour. They’d drugged her. Her mouth was dry. She licked her lips. Her head was dull. Distantly, she wondered if her make-up had been smudged. She hoped it hadn’t. It had taken ages to put on, and she had finally found the perfect mascara to make her boring light brown eyes smolder brilliantly, not to mention the effort it took to style her chestnut hair, which bordered just on the brown side of copper. In other words, the boring side. Her shoes were still on. Pity. They were awful. If there was any part of her she could stand to lose in a kidnapping, it would be her sneakers.

Oh, kidnapping. Right.

She raised her head slightly, gave her surroundings a closer inspection through the hair that hung over her face. On the many flat stones that ringed this slab were weird little occult paraphernalia like this was someone’s idea of a black magic museum. Which was stupid, since magic wasn’t real. Except for that one guy in Vegas who could guess the number in someone’s head. He was pretty cool. But these tacky displays were definitely not cool. There were skulls and teeth and other bones that she told herself were definitely plastic, and when she craned her neck far enough she saw that she was positioned in the exact center of a pentagram that had been drawn in what she told herself was definitely red paint.

“She’s awake,” someone said in the darkness behind her. “Hey, she’s awake. Get the others.”

The sound of feet crunching against the packed dirt, and then a figure appeared in front of her. The figure came forward, out of the darkness and into the candlelight. Dressed in a red and black robe with the hood up.

“What’s your name?” he asked. His voice was gentle. Warm.

“Uh, Claire,” she said.

“Eclair?”

“Claire. Just one syllable.”

“That’s a nice name. Is it French?”

“No, I think you’re still thinking of ‘eclair’.”

Thumbs tapping lightly on a smartphone, and then a woman’s voice. “It is of French origin. It means ‘clear, bright, or light-colored’.”

“Ah. Got it in one.” The man stepped a bit closer. She could see the lower half of his face, his tight jaw and pointed chin. His teeth seemed too small for his mouth. “You’re probably freaking out right now. I get that. I do. You wake up, you’re in a clearing in the middle of the woods on the night of a blood moon lunar eclipse. You see a bunch of demonic stuff all around, and you probably think you’re going to be horribly butchered in some ridiculous human-sacrifice ritual, yeah?” He pulled his hood down and flashed a smile. “Well, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”

The man’s face was crisscrossed with scars, but not from any kind of accident. Instead, each eyebrow had a perfectly vertical scar traveling down and stopping just short of his eyes before resuming on his cheeks, where they connected with two scars carved meticulously into his skin from his ears traveling horizontally before swooping up over the bridge of his nose. There were strange squiggles painted on his face as well, on his forehead, under his eyes, and at the bottom of his chin. Despite his gentle voice, his eyes looked cruel, sadistic, evil. She imagined he had a name like Richter, or Carver, or Hunter, or Jeremiah, or something else that was slightly nefarious sounding.

“Melvin,” snapped the female voice. “Leave the girl alone.”

Claire frowned. Melvin?

Melvin shuffled back into the shadows, and a woman strolled up to the slab. Altar? Claire supposed if this was a sacrifice thing, that kind of made it an altar, didn’t it? She put that thought aside as the woman strode forward, and Claire got her first look at the gender role expectations in this cult thingy.

Where Melvin had worn a black and red hooded robe draped shapelessly over his body, this woman was garbed in what could honestly, conservatively, most graciously be called ‘nothing’. Which was not to say that she wasn’t wearing something; it’s just that the knee-length wine-red loin cloth and the twin veils that were pinned to her necklace draping over her breasts were all so sheer that the fact they covered so little of her body was rendered moot somewhat by the further fact that they obscured absolutely nothing of her body.

Her hips were sensuously curved, and the vertical loin cloth hung like a thin curtain in such a way that each step she took sent one hip swinging nakedly to one side, and then the other hip swinging nakedly to the other side on the next step. Behind the sheer garment, Claire could see the woman’s waxed-smooth vulva and the puffy slit of her pussy, illuminated in the warm glow of the candles. Her breasts hung in hefty, protruding teardrop shapes of natural plumpness that made Claire momentarily jealous on behalf of her own boobs, which were on the lower end of a C-cup size, compared to the cultist’s upper end E-cups. It was no surprise, then, that the motherfucking napkins hanging in front of those milk jugs would only barely reach low enough to cover the actual nipples—the lower half of her areolae and the bottom crescent-moon curve of each fat udder were still prominently exposed.

She wore a pair of strange shoulder pieces that reminded Claire of the carapaces of certain beetles, followed by a neck guard that kept her head elevated in a position of constant regality, and a strange mask that only covered her eyes and forehead in a completely blinding ornament. From this eyeless mask sprouted two curving horns that jutted out from where the eyes should be, arcing out to the sides and up before almost touching above her head, in a shape that evoked the corona ring around an eclipse. Her straight black hair cascaded down to her shoulders, so shiny that the candlelight sent shimmers of light dancing along the dark curtains of hair.

“Was Melvin lying about butchering me?” Claire asked the woman standing before her. “Melvin sounds like the name of someone who would lie about butchering people. I’ve never met a Melvin I trusted.”

The other woman tilted her head slightly. The neck guard creaked as she fought its rigid structure. “You will be sacrificed, yes, to serve as a Vessel for our Mistress, the great and powerful Nevas!”

Claire blinked. The way she said the name—with such commanding power and flair and drama—made her think something would happen. Nothing did. Her eyes roamed around.

“Is the Nevas in the room with us now?” she asked gently. “Room, clearing, forest, whatever.”

“We should kill her now,” Melvin said, annoyance pinching his words. “It’s almost midnight anyway. And I don’t like hearing her speak.” But he waited for the woman to give her approval before he moved. When she didn’t, he just sat there, sulking petulantly. Apparently the naked woman dressed like a roleplaying priestess at a brothel was the leader here.

She stepped closer to Claire, brushing her brown hair back off her face. “You are a pretty one,” she said. “Not enough to stop traffic, perhaps, but definitely in possession of natural attractiveness. Nevas will be pleased with her new Vessel. You see, she is a Demon of pure lust, the embodiment of undiluted carnal pleasure and sinful debauchery, sealed away by miserable cretins who believed it was their crusade to punish any form of sexual gratification that does not align with their narrow-minded scope of reproduction. Once she is released from the abyss, she will have so much lost time to make up for, and I look forward to leading the charge.”

Claire wiggled in her restraints. “Well, if you look forward to it so much, let’s swapplaces.”

The woman smirked. “Only a being untainted by pleasure can release her, girl.”

Untainted? Claire blushed. “I’m… not a virgin.”

This caused a few chuckles around the altar, as several of the men reached hands into their robes, making gestures that seemed like they were pleasuring themselves. But the woman only cocked a thick hip. “A virgin is not necessary, only someone who has never had a climax. And I can tell that this…,” she gestured with a hand over Claire’s sneakers, her orange socks, her jean shorts, and her white tank top, “…has never known that great ecstasy.”

That wasn’t true; she had tons of experience with sex! Mostly the first part. The very first part. The foreplay part. And ‘tons’ might be exaggerating things a bit, but if she counted that one blowjob she gave in college, with each lick of her tongue counting as intercourse, then she’d had sex a grand total of… how many licks were in ten minutes?

“That’s… none of your concern. And I’ve had loads of… loads of the… the thing you just said.” She glanced furtively to the men, then back to the cult leader, her voice lowering to a nervous whisper. “The… orgasms.” She said that last word so quietly that she basically just silently mouthed it. “I have those all the time. Yeah, I could have one whenever I wanted.”

The woman unbuttoned Claire’s pants and pulled the zipper down.

Claire spastically squirmed as much as the restraints would permit. “Wait, I didn’t mean right now!”

But the woman didn’t pull her pants off, merely exposed the lower part of Claire’s abdomen and the gentle curve of her upper pelvis. She lifted a finger and began reciting an incantation, tracing out a heart over Claire’s pelvic plate as she did so. Blood seemed to drip from her fingernail, touching Claire’s skin and sticking like paint. “When Nevas is brought forth, I regret to inform you that you will be utterly destroyed, Claire. Your soul will be devoured, eviscerated, reduced to nothing. There won’t even be an afterlife for you, just deletion from all of existence. It is the price that must be paid; Nevas must fully occupy your body, and she can’t do that if you’re still wasting it.”

“Wait, you can’t!” Claire tried to break free. The other cultists lifted some of the occult paraphernalia that she had seen earlier. One of them held a long-necked candelabrum with six black candles. Another carried a long box of polished oak. A third cultist, Melvin, opened the box, and took out a long, curved dagger. The corners of his mouth lifted when he looked at Claire. “You can’t just kill me! Who will feed my cat?!”

“Light the ceremonial candles,” the cult leader said. Over a dozen more robed figures began to file in to the clearing and take up positions around the altar.

The first cultist hurried over to her, digging through his robes. He produced a silver zippo lighter. He flicked it open and ran the flint-wheel along his thigh. It sparked to a flame, and he put the flame to the six black candles. He held the candelabrum aloft.

“The candles,” he said, “are lit.”

“The dagger,” Melvin intoned, “is sharp.”

“The time,” the leader said, her covered eyes pointed at Claire, “is now.”

Melvin grinned and raised the dagger and then the six black candles went out.

“Oh,” said the man holding the candelabrum. “Sorry.”

Melvin glared. “Relight them.”

The man flicked the zippo open again, ran it across his leg again, and lit the candles again. Sheepishly, he held it aloft once more. “The candles are lit.” Then they went out again.

“For fuck sake,” Melvin muttered.

“Are you standing in a draught or something?” the woman asked. “Move over there, and don’t hold them up so high this time. Come on, we’re running out of time. Relight them.”

The man flicked open the zippo.

“I swear,” said Melvin, “if you run that up your leg one more time, I am stabbing you instead of the girl. Do you understand? Just light the damn candles.”

The man with the zippo lifted his head to peer out at him from under his hood. His eyes were narrowed. “You don’t have to be a—”

“Light the candles, Reyes!” said Melvin and the masked woman at the same time.

The man who had been holding the oak box had not commented on anything so far, and he quietly stepped back away from them. Claire watched as the candles were relit again, and before they could go out yet another time, the cult leader quickly proceeded with the ritual.

As the earth eclipsed the moon from the sun, Claire saw the normally white, glowing sphere darken to a orangish red. She had always thought the phrase ‘blood moon’ was a little dramatic for a lunar eclipse, but as she eyed the dagger in Melvin’s hand, it suddenly seemed quite apt. And as the red crescent slowly slid across the white moon, the cult leader began to chant her strange incantations. There were no words that Claire could understand, but she had a feeling the words weren’t for her. Rather, the words seemed to be for… reality, as strange as that sounded. She watched the air around her distort and pop like fat on a hot skillet, bending in ways that seemed to acquiesce to the cult leader’s intonations. The fires from the candelabrum grew longer and taller, and taller, and taller, rising far overhead like six fingers stretching skyward.

“Nevas, hear our calling!” she cried, pulling at the air, plucking the fires like strings of thread and tugging them toward Claire’s shackled body. “We have brought you a Vessel, untainted by any worldly pleasure, one who has never known the gratification of sexual awakening, whose genitals have grown cold and withered due to inactivity!”

Claire cleared her throat. “None of that is what happened,” she pointed out, but nobody seemed to care about listening to the bound girl with a perfectly reasonable, single-digit body count.

“Come to us, Nevas! Fill this Vessel with all of your lust, your incalculable perversions and unholy deviancies, and let her be a fitting sacrifice for the Dark Lord!”

“Voldemort?” Claire asked, frowning.

Whatever else she was about to say was drowned out then when the sky opened up and a figure, vaguely humanoid, stretched and contorted itself. It swooped down, attaching itself to her face. She tried to turn her head, but its little claws were tearing at her scalp. She gasped, and it pried her mouth open, streaming into her mouth and down her throat, bulging the skin of her neck as she flailed, wide-eyed, but there was nothing she could do to stop the flow.

Black veins started to rise beneath her skin. She felt her body change, breasts growing larger and heavier on her chest, ass filling out and lifting her off the slab, hair growing fuller and lighter, teeth growing sharper, small protrusions forming on her forehead and growing larger as horns sprouted out. Her groin was surging with electric pleasure, and although she couldn’t see it, something felt heavier down there too, and she felt external stimulation that she had never felt with a vagina.

But more than any of that, she felt herself drifting away, being separated from her body as her soul was being cut away, the tethers sewing her into this skin suit being snipped one thread at a time. She had a feeling of weightlessness, of panic and hopelessness. She was going to die.

And then the cultist from earlier, the one with the oak box who had said nothing, turned to one of the sigil-inscribed stones and lifted it up onto its side. And Claire, who had thought earlier to compare them to car tires, found the comparison very apt as he rolled that stone away down the hill.

The seal around the altar blew apart in a scattering of violet sparks and motes of light. She had very little time to understand what that was or what it had done. But she felt the entity inside her falter in its attempt to remove her from her body. With the seal of stones broken, Claire hastily threw herself to the side as hard as she could, and was incredibly surprised when that worked. Chains snapped and fell away as she hit the ground and rolled, still awkward with the new breasts and ass that threw her off balance. There was surprise from the entity inside her, this Nevas asshole. Surprise and shock. As soon as she escaped the seal, something solidified inside her, and the lust demon or dark lord or whatever it was called was no longer some ethereal shadow. Instead, her body’s proportions became the walls of a prison cell, and Claire had a single moment of unexpected humor when she realized that her five-foot-tall frame would make for a very short prison cell indeed.

She pushed herself off the ground, vaguely aware of the strength filling her spindly little limbs. Something slapped against her knees, and she felt a distant pang of pleasure, but before she could examine it, the cult leader cried out.

“Don’t let her escape!” She pushed two of the cultists toward her, and they withdrew clubs and wickedly curving knives from their robes. Melvin joined them, the three of them advancing on her.

Melvin reached her first. “Say goodbye, girl!” He brandished the sacrificial blade and plunged it for her chest. But Claire grabbed his hand in one of hers and somehow stopped his attack. Her other hand grabbed the bottom of his chin and she tried to push him away from her with all of her strength, desperate to create distance from this psychopath. She was a little girl, and the best she could hope for was to momentarily push him back.

His head bent backward until the top of his scalp hit his upper back, and he dropped lifelessly, his neck snapped.

“Goodbye, Melvin.”

The words escaped with a strange little burble of glee that didn’t feel like her own. None of it felt like her own. Not the strength or the pang of pleasure between her legs or the sudden rush of exhilaration from ending the life of a troublesome asshole or her hands.

My hands? What the hell? She turned them over, saw the long nails and the thick wrists and the muscle-banded forearms and the bulging biceps and the—

Another cultist charged at her and she flailed one of those arms to swat at him. But instead of an ineffectual little swing, her arm connected with his chest and she felt bones pop. Spit and blood whooshed out of his mouth along with all of his breath, and she launched him twenty feet through the air like he had been kicked by a horse.

Another tried to jump her, and another, and now she began to feel the weight of their bodies dragging her down. If she fell over, she knew all of them would descend on her with those knives. Whatever was coursing through her body that gave her this strength, she didn’t particularly feel like her skin was stabproof, and here was not the carefully controlled environment to find out. Give them what you have, and maybe you’ll escape with a beating, she told herself. It was how she’d always dealt with bullies before.

She twisted, feeling herself being brought down not by weight, but by the awkward balance of their bodies and the way they tripped up her legs. She reached out an arm for something to hold onto. Grabbed the candelabrum. Dropped it on her foot. With a yell that was way more confident than she felt, Claire lifted her arms along with the two men that were hanging off her arms, but it was too late. She tripped, went down.

The problem with them hanging off her arms was that when she went down, she threw her arms down to catch herself. Instead, the full weight of her body got supported by her hands, and her hands got supported by their chest cavities… for about a second. Then there was a crunch from one of them and a breathy wheeze as she fell in his direction. The other one tried to scramble away, his long robe dragging over the candelabrum.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the hem of his robe ignited. He patted at it with one long-sleeved hand, and it too caught fire. He lifted his hand with a yell, and his hair caught fire. His beard ignited. His face. His yells pitched to tortured screams. Claire jumped to her feet, tried to stamp out his flames to help him, but one single stamp of her foot was enough to silence him forever.

“Golly,” she said, genuinely distressed. That was probably the first time in recordedhistory that anybody had ever said something that docile in response to something thisviolent. But her brain was processing a lot of strangeness at the moment. “Shucks.”

In the yellowing light of the eclipsed moon, the whole world looked sickly around her, unnatural, even though it was the same world she’d known her whole life. She felt that surreal otherness now, locked in a death battle with insane cultists, when all she’d originally seen herself doing tonight was picking up some eggs and milk from the store and shampooing the carpet where her cat had horked up a hairball. But instead of that little slice of normalcy, she was here, and when more of them tried to stop her, Claire barely had to push for them to soar away, barely had to pull to rip an arm out of its socket, barely had to squeeze to crush bone, barely had to brush them to rend flesh. In the moments between dispatching each cultist, she caught glimpses of her body; she was no longer the spindly, five-foot-tall girl that she once was. Now, she felt like everyone had gotten so much smaller. But no, it was her. She’d gotten taller, at least a foot taller, and her lanky frame bulged with muscles.

Claire was so removed from the fighting—really, it was more like wrestling with kittens— that she only noticed the end when no one else tried to attack her. Hadn’t there been, like, a dozen of them? She ran her tongue along her teeth, perplexed. Her teeth felt sharp. And, now that she thought about it, her tongue felt longer than normal. And her ears felt more keen to the tiny nuances of noise. Which was probably why she instantly detected the snap of a twig and the short intake of breath from somewhere behind her.

She turned, and found the head cultist was trying to beat a hasty retreat. Having a covering over her eyes didn’t do anything to slow down her escape, but the cult leader’s bare foot paused, foot arched upward as she turned her head between the broken twig and Claire’s new form.

Claire slammed into her. She didn’t even remember moving, and they were at least thirty feet away from each other. There was some unspoken instinct inside her that told her grab this woman, to close distance on her, to throw her on the ground, to spread her legs and—

Wait, what? Where did that come from?

In her moment of confused hesitation, the cult leader reached out with a hand and flung something at her. Purple lightning jumped from her fingers and surged into Claire. She staggered to a halt, feeling the energy crashing through her. Pain lashed through her… for about a second. Then, instead of pain, it dulled to a mild ache somewhere in the back of her brain. Claire wrapped it up in her mind, like broken glass covered in bubble wrap, and tossed it away, sending it back through the lightning connecting them.

Only this time, when it hit the cult leader, instead of a moment of pain followed by a mild ache, the woman was blasted so hard into the ground that her clothes disintegrated and she carved out a furrow in the dirt where she landed on her back.

Claire approached the naked woman, staring in wonder as the shoulder plates of her armor dissolved, and then her neck guard, and then her mask, leaving behind a strikingly attractive woman with jet black hair and dark eyes, whose face seemed to be permanently fixed in an expression of sexual need and smoldering intensity. The expression had a profound effect on Claire, sending a strange and powerful jolt of pleasure twitching down between her legs.

For the first time, she looked down. It was hard to do, because her breasts were so much bigger than usual, so they obstructed her view of most of her lower body. But even their impressively full, round, protruding size couldn’t fully hide the freakishly long, thick, vein-choked, slab of fuckbeef that jutted out ahead of her.

She had a cock. A giant, monstrous, pelvis-breaking, hole-destroying engine of rape and defilement. A weapon of impalement. A tool of execution. And God, it felt amazing! With every hot throb of arousal, her ass muscles clenched, and when they did, she felt something else twitching. Another muscle that she’d never had before. She reached behind her, sliding a hand over one firm, taut glute, and brushed against a leathery- textured tail that coiled and whipped like a garden snake.

With the cult leader still lying on the ground, Claire stalked toward her, heart thundering so loud she couldn’t think. The woman was rolled over onto her back, one leg extended out and down, the other pulled in toward her. Her dazed eyes took in Claire’s hungry, salivating expression, and her eyes drifted to that monstercock stretching out between them.

“You did this to me,” Claire gasped breathlessly as another pang of arousal shot through her. Her hand reached down and took hold of this enormous prong, mesmerized by the gnarled veins that twisted and bulged beneath the skin. It looked human, but so swollen with power that it barely resembled a human penis anymore.

“This is not how this was supposed to go,” the cult leader said, shaking her head. Her dark hair spilled over one eye, and her puffy, juicy lips parted to kiss each syllable that left her mouth. “You will not stop Nevas!” She lifted an arm, and Claire panicked.

Claire lunged for her to grab her, to stop her, but when the bloated, fist-sized knob of her leaking fuckpipe stabbed against the molten hot folds of the woman’s naked, waxed-smooth vulva, Claire’s legs jerked her hips forward like an arrow released from a pulled bow. Every signal in her brain melted with eye-watering bliss, and her cock slid upward, over her pelvic bone and along her stomach, reaching halfway up the woman’s belly before Claire fell atop her, pinning that steely flesh spike between them. Her breasts mashed against the cult leader’s, four large boulders of bulging adipose tissue compressing together, their shapes shifting like overinflated water balloons.

She clamped a hand over the woman’s mouth to stop any more of those incantations of hers, and another throb rocked her aching cock as she watched this high-ranking, powerful woman helplessly squirm under Claire’s newly strengthened body. “No more bizarre spells! You’re not using that mouth for anything except what I want.” She snarled, the words feeling strange in a mouth that had a much longer tongue. She reached her other hand up and readied a slap—slapping bitches was just about the only form of self defense that Claire knew. But, before delivering that smack to the girl’s face, she recalled the ease with which she had broken bones and tore through the other cultists. Making a conscious effort to pull her punches as much as she dared, she lightly slapped the woman across the face.

What would have been a playful little slap was instead a full force bitchslap that sent the woman’s head reeling to the side. She screamed hotly into Claire’s hand as her eyes went unfocused for a moment, dazed by a blow she’d never seen coming.

As she worked the cult leader into a pin, she shuddered with waves of unbridled pleasure as her twitching girlcock sawed between their soft bellies, squeezed into the tight crevice between their supple skin. Her tail coiled up, whipping side to side every time a shudder ran down her spine. She gasped, and a hot bolt of something goopy surged up her dick and painted their underboobs with a slimy liquid. The other woman let out a sultry moan against her will, and her pelvis rose upward, mashing against Claire’s own leaking vagina. The velvety softness of labia sliding against labia almost made Claire cum, but she pulled away, pulled back, dragging that incredible fucktrunk backward down the woman’s belly until the drooling head twitched against her seething cunt.

A tiny voice inside Claire’s mind tried futilely to wield the voice of reason, but it was drowned out by a tempest of roaring lust. Her dick spasmed again, jumping upward and chopping back down onto the woman’s steaming twat with an audible THWACK! noise. Droplets of wetness scattered where that heavy meat hammer slammed down, and the cult leader hitched her pelvis upward in response, groaning raggedly as Claire’s cock forced the noise out of her. And then, with a twitch of her hips, the bulbous, swollen crown of her cock was suckled to the bulging lips of the woman’s cunt. Claire’s hands gripped her shoulders, fingers digging into her flesh, knees digging furrows in the packed dirt. She was aware of every sensation that assaulted her body.

She was aware of driving forward.

There was an indescribably pressure of wet meat squeezing her on all sides, a channel of gulping muscles, pulling her in and milking her mighty prong. The savage log was too thick to go easy, and she stretched the cultist’s walls to such an extreme extent that she thought she was about to kill her. But her dick knew only pleasure, with pulsing hot jets of prejizz belching out of her dickhole and painting the woman’s pussy walls. It lubricated things, made them easier, but she still felt her veins scraping and abrading along the passage.

“Your… pussy!” Claire choked, barely able to find the words. “Mmm… so good!”

The pleasure bubbled up inside her, taking charge of her hips as she plunged deeper in. The woman’s pussy was like a swollen sleeve of meat, covered in fleshy bumps that sucked and rubbed and massaged her monstrous prick tube. When she pulled back, a completely different pleasure assaulted her, as different nerves experienced different stimulation. And then she pushed in again, burrowing deeper and feeling that flesh yield to her gargantuan fuckspike. She panted, drooling from her open mouth, fingers grabbing those large, ripe fuck-jugs and squeezing them. The woman yelped, tried to close her legs, but Claire was so strong that she just held her legs open with her waist, rolling it left to right and really stirring her up inside.

Whatever resistance the woman was trying to muster suddenly disappeared as Claire stirred her up with that little move. Her legs opened wider and her toes curled, and the woman’s eyes began to slowly creep upward. “You… can’t… beat usssss,” she hissed through clenched teeth as her pussy constricted around that brutish limb. “You’re just… a stupid girl… without experience… you don’t even know… how to use that thing!”

But Claire was a quick study. Besides, this felt way less awkward than any of her past ‘sexual’ encounters, and she was able to easily follow the rhythm of their violent coupling with the rocking motions of her hips, digging into her, coring her out, plunging deeper and pulling farther out, chasing that building pleasure that directed her every thrust. She grabbed the back of the woman’s knees and folded her legs up against her chest, then lifted herself up above her as though she meant to crush her. A sudden surge of raw, perverse delight washed through her in this position as she imagined herself staking the woman to the ground with each brutal drop of her muscular body.

The woman screamed and howled, but her hands weren’t trying to push Claire away. Instead, she grabbed Claire’s ass to pull her farther in, or slid her arms behind the dickgirl to rake her nails down her back. Sometimes, she reached down to push at the growing bulge that distended her stomach, trying to press it back down as if she could make her body go back to being its normal shape.

Claire laughed, and her long tongue unrolled from her open mouth. She leaned over her and ran her tongue up the cultist’s neck, along her jawline to her ear. She clenched around Claire’s cock. “Is this… what your ‘experience’ is, bitch?” She dropped her hips. Lifted. Dropped. Lifted. Dropped. “I thought you were some kind of prodigy of perversion, the dilettante of dick-taking, the super saiyan of sluts? But you’re just lying there and taking it like a drunk college girl!”

The other woman stiffened. First a snarl crossed her lips, and then, incredibly, a smirk. Her body relaxed, seeming to melt under Claire’s thrusts. Claire cried out as almost six additional inches of cock sank into her sloshing cunny, as if new space had opened up in preparation for even more brutal, rough, nasty fucking.

“Do you think Nevas just gave you muscles and a fucked-up tongue, Claire?” She sneered the name, as if its monosyllabic simplicity carried an unpleasant smell. “You think you’re the force to be reckoned with here? The archdemon of unbridled rutting fury is tearing through you. Everyone she touches is remade for the singular purpose of fucking. Most of us get just a touch from her, but you have her entire essence swirling inside you. You can already feel it, can’t you? The growing urge to crush my womb into paste and hammer out my guts? You think you beat her, you think you’re still in charge? Ha! Fucking look at what you’ve already done!

Her intent was clearly to make Claire fear for her rapidly changing body, mind, and maybe even her soul. But Claire latched onto a specific piece of information in that stream of dialogue. “Everyone she touches is remade for the singular purpose of fucking, huh?” Claire grinned, saliva dripping from her tongue. The woman’s confidence wavered, expecting the dickgirl to shrink away. Instead, she grabbed the cultist’s breasts in both hands. “And all her essence is in me now, right?”

“What are you doing? Let go of me!” “You have amazing tits.” Claire fondled them, feeling the way they bulged fatly between her fingers, and her cock fattened in response. “But I think you’d be a better fuck if they were bigger. Much bigger.”

She forced some of that strange power—was this magic?—through her hands and into the woman’s body, feeding some of her own intent into it. She wanted this woman to be cowed into submission, to be enslaved by the excessiveness of her own sexual assets. All those things that she had prided herself on earlier—the big tits and fat ass, the full lips and shapely hips, the sexual skills—Claire wanted to turn all of that against her. As she fucked the woman, she watched as her breasts, which had already been pornographically large, swelled like the teats on a sow, until they spilled out in all directions and completely dominated her upper body.

She needed more, though. She wanted to really put this bitch in her place. All around her, she felt the swirling vortex of dark energies still rising off the dead bodies that surrounded them. She pulled from them, sucking it all into her body, feeding it into her partner. The woman groaned, then moaned, long and ragged, voice becoming shaky and husky, her pupils growing huge and her eyes glassy. Claire’s cock hardened like a steel bar, still spewing constant streams of precum. She bit down on her lip, trying to control the pleasure that washed over her as she shaped this woman, this thinking, feeling human being, into a fuck-sow good for nothing but breeding with her enormous, cum-drooling cuntsplitter.

The power sluicing through her—the power to remake a person into the object of her most perverted fantasies—was more erotic than anything she had ever known, and it stirred her to fuck the woman harder and harder. The lewd noises of flesh slapping flesh, of meat churning other meat, of juices sloshing and spraying out of her tight, wet hole… Claire was like a blind woman overwhelmed with sight for the first time, gorging herself on all the sensations that she had never felt before. It was more than just the pleasure of a penis; she had the archdemon of lust imprisoned inside her, and every movement of her hips brought paroxysms of ecstasy that no mortal could comprehend.

“Now you’re finally doing it,” the woman seethed at her, gurgling the words as drool bubbled up her throat. And they both felt it: the magic pouring into Claire’s body was changing both of them. Her cock began to grow beyond its already ludicrous size, almost half again as thick and surging forward into a monstrous length that defied sanity. It crushed its way through the cultist’s womb first, and then rapidly grew fatter, dilating the cervix of her battered baby sack like someone was shoving an entire leg into her uterus. Precum seeped into her cunt, into her membranous tissues, saturating her in Claire’s seed. She was soaked in sweat that made every striation of her slick body stand out and her massive tits glisten like honey-dripped melons. Claire’s body had to peel off her after every body-colliding thrust. “You’re surrendering to Nevas! Yes! Fuck me harder! Wrap your hands around my neck, put my legs behind my head and fuck me up with that monster dick!”

The horns on Claire’s head grew longer, more prominent. Her tongue grew even longer; she couldn’t even close her mouth anymore for how much of that slithering, sinewy muscle hung out, down almost to her own cleavage. New strength filled her limbs, and every part of her body swelled larger with power. Her legs and arms knotted with cords of muscles. Her back broadened, shoulder blades becoming like paving slabs. The remnants of her clothing, already torn by the first transformation, were shredded completely by her new brutish size. Her flimsy tank top split apart like tissue paper. Her shoes and socks ripped open as her feet grew larger. Even the thick denim of her jean shorts was torn asunder by the growing hips and ass that adorned her. The woman beneath her looked tiny compared to Claire as she continued to grow, inch by inch, as if he normal dimensions of her body could not hope to contain so much power. But the greatest growth of all was internal.

There was a shifting in her pussy, a sense of pressure and pleasure straining to get out. Then, with a wet, meaty churning, two large testicles the size of baseballs were birthed out of her vagina, dropping down in a smooth, fleshy sack. Almost instantly, they too began to grow, swelling larger, becoming heavier and hotter and more violently pulsating as her perversions fed the sludge-filled breeding factories within.

Claire wrapped her hands around the woman’s throat. She hated what this was doing to her. Hated, and loved it. “I’ll make you so cock-crazy that you forget how to speak except to beg for this dick!” She tightened her grip and the cult leader moaned weakly through her grasp. Claire roughly lifted her and she stood, easily carrying the woman, feet twitching at least twenty inches off the ground. Claire’s arms reached under each leg and up along her back, settling the back of the woman’s knees over Claire’s muscled forearms and as she grabbed her shoulders from behind. Locking her in place like that, she started swinging her up and down in a curving arc, slicing her cock up into her guts.

Whatever energy was responsible for these changes, this ‘Nevas’ individual seemed to be amenable to Claire’s plan to fuck the cultist into catatonic brain damage. “Turn my slutty womb into the shape of your fucking demon cock,” she seethed at her, craning her neck and licking at Claire’s lips. “Make me your fucking dick sleeve. Your personal cum dump!” She clawed desperately at Claire and groaned, embracing her around the neck as the twenty-four inches of bicep-thick meat destroyed her slack, sagging cunt- pit. And still there were more inches left undevoured. Claire slammed her down onto that mighty fuckspike, seeking to impale her on the ghastly column of breedmeat, trying to crush those last few inches inside after shoving aside every bit of meat and tissue, sinew and tendons stretching around Claire’s titanic pole. She held the woman aloft, both of them breathing hard, a fine mist of harshly exhaled saliva lingering in the air between them.

Claire’s muscled crotch hammered against the woman’s pelvis, granite-hewn hardness impacting supple softness, and as she opened her mouth to howl deliriously, Claire shoved her tongue in, sharing a deep, animalistic kiss as her cock slid through meat and carved out a wet sleeve, mashing her womb up into her guts and then forcing itself inside until the sacred, life-giving place was stretched around her size like a used condom, the shape of her penis obvious beneath the skin. It bulged out so high in her chest that the cultist’s own tits sandwiched that cockbulge. Twenty-eight freakish inches demolished her entire torso, turning it into one long cocksock. But instead of agony, the woman moaned into Claire’s mouth, spit bubbles foaming up her throat as her eyes rolled back in her head. The woman’s body seemed to become more elastic with each thrust, but while the added elasticity shielded her from the physical damage, it did nothing to diminish the sanity-splintering sensations of being stretched far, far past the point of breaking. Her flimsy human mind was overwhelmed by the raw ecstasy that scoured her nerve endings as her body was practically hollowed out and jackhammered by Claire’s godlike pillar of cockmeat. And with each thrust, those heavy gonads gurgled audibly and filled with an ever-increasing volume of her slopping, chugging nut sewage. they grew fatter, from baseballs to grapefruits, to cantaloupes, and still they showed no sign of stopping. She needed to empty them… needed to empty them now!

“Yessss… do it…,” the cult leader said, her black hair matted with sweat. Her breasts were monstrous, bigger than her own head, together almost as big as her whole torso. Her ass was spilling over Claire’s hands, twin hemispheres of wobbling, jiggling meat that never stopped undulating and rippling, never stopped bouncing hypnotically in time with those thrusts. A sudden realization struck Claire that this woman would never be able to take a dick doggystyle ever again, not unless she found someone pushing at least twelve inches; those big, round ass mounds were just too large and protruded too far out behind her now for any normal sized penis to ever reach deep enough into her ass crack to achieve penetration.

“Dooo it,” she said again. “Deep as you want… as long as you want… I need… to be your bitch… your big-titted cock bitch… your fucking dick sleeve. Nevas! Consume me! I want to exist only to service that monster!”

“And you’ll get all that and more!” Claire roared, stunned by the way her voice vibrated, harmonizing with itself as if a second, third, and fourth Claire were saying the same words microseconds after her. She felt the weight of her tail hanging off her lower back start to grow heavier, thickening, curling around one leg, sliding up her calf, moving with a mind of its own like a fat python searching for food. How much more would she change? She had a cock, a tail, horns, and now she even had balls that strained the limits of her scrotum with their sperm-bloated size, the sheer bulk of those monstrous orbs hiding the petite vagina that still lingered between her legs. But it, too, had changed; her pussy was molten, leaking copious fluids as waves of arousal burned through her cunt, unimaginably intense. The lips were engorged and rubbed against each other, lubricated by her nectar, stimulating her even as the juices ran down the back of her scrotum and dripped off her low-hanging nuts.

This cult leader, this prodigy of perversion, melted around Claire’s twitching girlcock, all of her years of top-tier mortal degeneracy barely even moving the needle compared to the centuries of pent-up demonic lust that boiled off of Claire’s girthy abomination. Tendons were permanently warped out of shape, flesh was altered beyond hope of recovery, muscles were extended to the point that she could no longer squeeze down on anything. Claire understood in that moment that this woman was overdosing on demon dick! She would never feel pleasure again from anything… except for Claire’s enormous fuckhose. If she ever wanted to have another orgasm in her life, she would have to come to her, have to beg and grovel for this monster bitchbreaker to blow out her bucket-cunt. She was like an addict now, having tasted the demonic euphoria that Claire’s meaty monolith could give her. Four or five inches of wet, pink meat was being dragged out of her ragged hole on each backthrust—the inner lips of her pussy prolapsing as they fought to cling to this godlike obelisk. Her cervix was distended freakishly wide, but the ring of muscle tried to wrap her shaft like a pair of lips sucking a dick, milking the fat pipe of its thick nut that pissed into her baby sack at a continuous pace, unable to contain the immense volume that struggled for release.

Claire let go, giving in to the hedonistic pleasures that pervaded her flesh. She rammed into the woman in every position she could think of. Every position she could think of, and with a demon of lust sharing her brain, she could think of all of them. Each new position shifted or reoriented the way that sloppy pussy slurped on her dick, the places where she was squeezed, the zones where she was stimulated. She would lift her, move her, turn her over, spread her legs, pull her hair, squeeze her throat, slap her tits, rub all that feminine flesh against the sweat-glistening surfaces of her muscles. It was like wherever their skin touched, the dark-haired cultist orgasmed again, as if the mere contact in this final form was enough to overwhelm a human nervous system. But she never let up, sliding the woman onto her cock in a single, twenty-eight-inch thrust, finding those meaty walls slosh and stretch as she skewered through her, and then pulverizing the back wall of her womb with the next dozen incapacitating, pussy-wrecking strokes.

Sweat and spit and precum and squirt were flung off their crashing bodies in dancing droplets, and Claire made a symphony out of the moans, and groans, and wails, and airy-wet belches, and gurgles, and slops, and the semen-thick slurps, and fleshy plap- plap-plaps, and meaty clop-clop-clops, and sinewy churning noises. Her balls felt like watermelons, spreading her thighs into a bowlegged stance as those twin wrecking balls swung ponderously forward and back, stretching her scrotal skin to the limit with gallons of backed-up ball sludge. A single ejaculation would destroy a woman, but that didn’t matter here. This woman was already destroyed. She was already going to have her pussy permanently branded by the pummeling strokes of Claire’s throbbing, vein-riddled, monster-sized cunt-grinder. The shaft was thicker than the woman’s calf muscle, and the vaginal membranes fluttered as her oversexed twat squirted again and again all over Claire’s dick.

Her balls began the tremble, then tighten. Electric pleasure radiated up and down the length of her immense fucklog. The vascular veins of her shaft scraped and abraded at those juice-sluicing pussy walls. Claire felt every inch of the cum-thirsty cunt-pit slurping at her prong as she took control of the woman’s hips and mashed her pussy to pulp, churning up her guts. A roar began low in her throat and rose higher, louder, as her thrusts became crazier and rougher. Brutal, soul-rending climaxes shredded the cult leader’s mind and rumbled through her body as she made sounds that wouldn’t qualify as human, crying out as Claire’s cock fattened, the twitching gyre of her pisshole opening wide as her cocknose flattened against the woman’s egg tubes.

Claire’s roar shook the trees and rattled the earth beneath her feet. She let herself go, deep in that churning box, blasting thick plumes of splattery semen that made her head swim and her vision blur. As her voluminous ejaculate launched out of her dick, so too did the rest of her body experience a release of its own. All of that building energy—demonic aura, dark magic, whatever it was—blew upward like a laser shot into space. It pierced the night sky and raced higher, a bar of blinding light against the blackness, growing smaller and smaller as the distance grew more extreme. She thought it might split the sky in half, thought it might blind nocturnal airplanes overhead, she even thought it might blow a hole through the blood moon, which now stood in the night sky fully darkened as the eclipse was complete. It did not obliterate moon, thankfully, but it did flash the lunar surface a strange yellow as the beam momentarily shone like a massive ray of sunlight, illuminating the moon at the moment when no even the sun could not reach it. And her load being fired into the cult leader’s womb was just as jaw-dropping. The woman’s pussy was soaked and sloppy with her creampie, and it erupted out of her hole in pearly ropes and geysers, slopping out across the ground like a quagmire, a tar pit, a swampy lagoon of demon semen. Claire was holding on for dear life as this gruesome cuntsplitter that she was attached to fired like an oversized cannon into the writhing, convulsing cultist, and Claire’s feet were skating in puddles of sperm as she braced herself, trying to stop the force pushing her backward along the ground. The discharge was so intense that her nutslop scoured Claire’s urethra on the way out; even with the cumtube wide enough to permit two fingers, the pressurized volume was simply too great for that channel.

Claire knew nothing but raw, lung-emptying ecstasy, and the cult leader knew nothing but mindbreaking, demonically-empowered, human-shredding, delirium-induced madness. But, while they were both preoccupied with her release of semen, there were others who witnessed the vertical column of light released into the night. All through the countryside, for hundreds of miles, that beam was visible, and there were creatures and abominations, demon-filled vessels, humans who had entered into pacts similar to Claire’s own, giving themselves over to foul denizens of the abyss, monsters who walked a plane of existence where their kind should not be allowed to exist, and it was those vile beasts who turned toward that ray of light, pupilless eyes narrowing, cracked lips peeling back over jagged, spit-soaked teeth, claws scraping and digging furrows into the earth.

They saw that beam. And they hissed.

But Claire knew only ecstasy during that minutes-long orgasm. She climaxed continuously until her body couldn’t stop shaking. She lost count of how many thick, belching volleys of slimy, steaming wad she emptied into the cult leader’s pussy. She let the woman fall out of her arms, still held aloft on the rigidity of her monster dick. As her weight forced the mighty fuckspike to droop, the woman’s bodily angle moved from mostly vertical and closer to horizontal, but still supported by that merciless girder of cockmeat that skewered her cunt. Her stomach bulged upward under the size of Claire’s prick and the massive creampies unloaded inside her. Her hands reached up weakly to rub her bloated midsection, pressing lightly against the fat fuck-girth that filled her. Slowly, her angle deepened into a downward slant, and her body slid off the cock in incremental movements of slurping, cum-queefing withdrawal. Finally, she hit the ground on her back and remained there, eyes empty of all thought.

But Claire was still going. Her cock fired sperm copiously and endlessly, with such force that she tore gouges out of the dirt like a firehose on full blast. She hunched her shoulders, tail writhing crazily, eyes unfocused, skin hot. Each bucking geyser actually physically pushed against her, and if Claire had been her previous self, the blowback from that erupting fuckpipe would have blown her on her ass. Her vision went white, and when lucidity began to trickle back into her brain and the flow of dopamine began to subside, there was an oasis of semen all around her and the savage force of her ejaculatory spray had carved out trenches in the earth.

Claire stood at the epicenter of a small pond of bubbling ballspew, her and the woman, whose belly was so hugely inflated that she looked staggeringly, degradingly pregnant. Her lewd sperm gut was like a protruding mountaintop curving upward from where she laid, comatose and defeated. Her legs were splayed far apart, unable to close around the swollen mound of cunt meat that steamed with molten heat, fucked well and truly to complete obliteration.

Random pulses of pleasure continued to ebb and flow throughout Claire’s body, and her hands found themselves exploring her new bombastic curves and striated musculature. Her eyelids fluttered as her hands ran up slowly over her new, humongous breasts, savoring the feeling of her own skin. Her pussy clenched, and her dick jumped with the movement. Her hands moved higher, up along her neck, through her hair. It was no longer that boring brown, but instead a dirty golden blonde, like an angel’s tarnished halo. She shuddered as her fingers touched her horns, swearing under her breath. Again, her voice had a weird chorus of harmonizing others that reverberated through it, and she almost instinctively looked around her to find the other speakers.

Moving her hands back down her body, she started toward the most depraved addition to her body: her penis. Her tongue uncoiled and hung low, and a single drop of saliva broke free from its tip, falling to brush wetly against her nipple for a moment, making her breath catch in her throat.

Still moving slowly, deliberately, she slid her hands to that huge, flopping fuckhose, choked with veins and bloated with sinful need despite her recent ejaculation. It felt already willing to go again. She wondered if it would always feel ready to go again. This was an archdemon of lust, wasn’t it? Did they even have recovery periods, or was it just endless orgies forever? A wild spark of lasciviousness took hold. She grinned, licking her lips. A little sway of her hips set those heavy cum orbs to jostling gently between her legs. Fuck, she could feel the semen stirring inside.

Her hands did what they could to encompass one large gonad apiece. She rolled those meaty nuts around in her palms, and a playful shudder passed through her at how responsive they were. She pushed them left, then released them. Watched them swing. Felt the way they stretched the skin. Pushed them right. Watched them swing back. Her heavy cock hung like a dead anaconda, banging against those cum-sloshing breeding factories. Lifted them. Let them drop. What a pair of jizz vats. Cum tanks. The leathery, hairless skin moved and stretched, her nuts tossing and turning as sweltering heat radiated off of them in waves.

She heard a stirring behind her and checked again on the cult leader. Her cock twinged with muted interest, but didn’t harden. It wasn’t that Claire didn’t want more sex; it was just that every particle of this new body was unfamiliar, and she was excited to see what the rest of it could do. But before she left, she took one final delight: slowly jerking that huge, flopping penis over the woman’s face, wringing out the last of her ejaculation that still remained clogging up her pipe. What would have been a few errant drops for most men was instead almost a full pint of disgustingly thick, chunky fuck sauce, which dropped heavily onto the woman’s nose, over her eyes and forehead, and slid into her slack-jawed mouth. It piled up on itself in layers of congealing cocksnot, maintaining individual curdy ropes for several long seconds like she was emptying a bowl of pudding directly onto the woman’s upturned face.

Down on one knee, she stroked until it had all been milked out of her cock and then she let it hang again, drooping almost to the ground in her kneeling position. She moved to stand, but her knee slipped on the semen that formed a pungent lagoon around her. She threw down a hand and caught herself on the giant curving mound of the woman’s enormous cum gut.

The cult leader moaned at that, as Claire’s fingers slightly indented into the taut, swollen cum sack, drawing a wickedly perverse idea from the depths of the dickgirl’s mind. With a cheeky grin, she pushed harder on the woman’s belly, watching with rapt attention as her well-fucked cervix, barely able to close after the reshaping cunt-pounding that Claire had given her, swelled outward through the lips of her pussy and dilated. The cultist’s eyes rolled back and she groaned as her belly rumbled and she unloaded a long, degrading cum geyser as an arc of lumpy spew blew out of her twat and added to the lake that surrounded her.

“Ah! I’m… nnnnggghhh… so full!” she wailed, her toes curling and fingers digging into the dirt. But Claire showed no mercy, especially after the original plan had been to fucking murder her to birth this stupid Nevas character. So instead, she pushed all of her weight down on that cum gut, and an almost orgiastic smile spread across her face as she relished the woman’s ragged moan. The pressure on her womb was too much—she needed release. Her cervix opened wider from the outflow, like a firehose’s collapsed tube inflating with the volume of water passing through it, and a forceful eruption of unspeakably thick, steaming ball gravy blasted out of her hole, driving her to one final humiliating orgasm. Claire was mesmerized by her own ability to break this woman’s psyche to such an irreversible level. What should have been pain registered on her face instead as the highest plateaus of delirious, tear-streaking bliss, as though the demon she worshipped had come to personally enthrall her with this deluge. Which, in a way, Claire supposed she had.

As the messy waterfall of nutslop blasted out of the woman’s snatch, it was occasionally interrupted with a procession of loose, degrading semen queefs as pockets of air were belched out of her twat as well. As the ocean of sperm around her grew, her belly shrank, until it was approaching something that was close to its original smooth and inviting shape, until at last Claire’s outstretched fingers and palm were pressed flat against the cult leader’s abdomen.

“So… you worship this Nevas freak, huh?” Claire huffed. Whatever the woman tried to say was completely muffled underneath a congealing mound of raw semen that buried her face in the potent, pungent, chunky, hot goo of Claire’s oatmeal-thick sperm. She stood, testing the strength of her legs. “Well, Nevas is inside me now, so I guess that means that you…,” she let her low-hanging cock-knob descend to where she guessed the woman’s mouth to be, “…worship this now. See ya around. Maybe next time I’ll bother getting your name.”

Claire strode away from the clearing, secretly pleased with the strength in her legs that churned her body into motion. She didn’t have a destination in mind—rather, she was just cutting a circuit to feel the flexing tension in her musculature. She found herself at the bottom of a large hill and, taking a deep breath, began to hike up it. There was no burn in her muscles as she powered up the incline; in fact, it felt exhilarating. She moved faster, jogging, then running, then sprinting, taking huge strides so far and so fast that her feet barely touched the ground.

When she reached the top, she was above much of the forest’s canopy, and she stared out across that expanse of trees, eyes trailing upward to the moon, returning to something approaching normal as the eclipse waned, as all eclipses inevitably did. Just a temporary phenomenon in the night. But her body… her body’s transformation did not seem nearly as temporary of a phenomenon. There was a… thing… inside her, a forbidden cup of liquor so potent that to drink it to the dregs would surely be lethal. Lethal in more ways than just one—her body, her mind, her soul, all of it would die if she drained that demonic chalice.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t… sip… from that unholy vessel. A little sip from that cup of wicked pleasure every now and then couldn’t be too bad, right? Moderation, and all that. Besides, the decadent pleasure of the liquor swirling within was so intoxicating…

Her cock twitched.

Yes, there were many sublime pieces of ass out there, just waiting to give themselves over to hedonistic excess. So she was destined to be the vessel for Nevas? Well, there were bimbos and sluts out there destined to be the vessels for her freakishly gigantic fuckpole, destined to be the vessels for the raw, sloppy nut sludge that was percolating inside her heavy bull balls. And she could tell from the way her gonads were already straining the scrotal tissues with their weight… she would need many such vessels.

She hopped down from the hill. At least, it felt like a hop. In actuality, her powerful legs bent at the knees, and she shoved off, crunching the ground underfoot into a ten-foot- wide crater as she leaped fifty feet out horizontally. The hill was a sharp enough incline that fifty feet horizontally translated to a two-hundred-foot descent, and she had a momentary gasp of panic as she had that singular worry that every person had the moment after a jump: this is gonna hurt. But instead, she landed from this bone-pulverizing drop like she had missed the last six-inch step on a stairwell: a slightstumble and a quick recovery. And then she was off again, running, relishing the vitalitythat pumped through her.

She laughed, leaping up onto a sturdy tree branch, then leaping to another, then back to the ground.

She was invincible!

She was unstoppable!

And then her foot stepped in a slight depression—a hole in the ground. The top of her foot hit the rim of that hole, and she faceplanted in the dirt.

She was a klutz!

Sheepishly, she lifted her head, spit out a mouthful of dirt, and then pushed up off the ground. Or tried to anyway. She barely got more than a few inches before chains burst out of the ground and wrapped around each thick wrist. Then more chains wrapped her ankles. Then her waist. Then her neck. They crisscrossed over her chest, they wrapped around her upper arms and upper legs, and a powerful jolt of electricity sizzled through her body.

She thrashed, breaking one chain and then another. And another. The electric discharge doubled and tripled and quadrupled, smashing her thoughts into atoms, jumbling her senses. Her huge muscles refused to obey her, but she could still flail them. Another chain snapped. She grabbed the chain around her neck in both hands and pulled it apart with twitching fingers. When it shattered, she wheeled her head around, snarling as a figure emerged from the trees, wearing one of the cultist’s robes.

The silent one from earlier, the one who had moved one of the stones and broken the seal. He had saved her.

Except now, he seemed to have different intentions. She was almost out of the last chain when the electricity surged like a lightning blast straight to her brain stem, and Claire cried out. The air was choked with the smell of smoke and singed flesh when she finally slumped back down into the dirt at the man’s feet.

Except, they were not a man’s feet, she realized dully, which she could see now from how short the robe was. Short, as if the wearer had not had the luxury of choice, as if the robe was stolen in a hurry as part of a disguise. And that was the last thought she had before blacking out, her awareness being chased down into unconsciousness by a woman’s bemused voice.

“You really kicked a hornet’s nest tonight, and you don’t even know it. Fuck, you’re gonna be starting trouble, I can tell. Fortunately for you, Claire, I’m starting a little trouble of my own.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(And that's the end of the first chapter!

... I am kind of tired because the stupid copy option didn't worked as it should so I had to fix alot of errors, oh well, small issues here and there, I hope you guys enjoy the reading, and there's going to be more coming! I... Just to figure out how this freaking story is going to end...)