She was immediately aware of his attention, perceiving his will and intellect bent upon her form.

“You…” she said weakly, shamefully gazing up into the haughty countenance of the incubus. A shiver racked her form, but her mind was too weak to follow through on the disgust. She only stared at him dolefully, pathetically, a cringing and defeated thing that resisted now only in her refusal to become like them. She twisted and shifted her body, an agony of anticipation crawling through every inch of her. “…W-Won’t you please fuck my pussy?”

He smiled airily.

“Is that what you want, Esperiel?” Her name sounded loathsome coming from his lips, yet at the same time hearing him say it gave her a thrill. She couldn’t begin to guess what she felt, and he saw her fear and uncertainty. His smile became more honest, more condescending and contemptuous. “Tell me, slut. Do you want me to fuck you?”

Esperiel whimpered. She understood the position he was putting her in, but she didn’t have the willpower or ingenuity left to seek a way out of the verbal snare. Wearily, forlornly, she treaded knowingly on the trap, letting it bind her and drag her down a little closer to his level.

“I want you to fuck me. Please,” she breathed. This was true, and yet there were meanings to be inferred quite apart from what she wished to intend. She was aware of it, but she was, again, too tired to try and sidestep it. “Please, fuck my pussy. I just want this to end.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely…”

Zaasteroth picked her up with his tentacles, hoisting Esperiel into the air. The writhing mass of tendrils that slithered around her and rubbed against her made the Archon shudder in a dread without motive power, trembling in a fear one step removed from surrender, and she looked bleakly into Zaasteroth’s eyes, feeling the compulsion of his gaze. Her mind was degraded, the Archon so battered by this ravishing that she could think only in mortal terms, so thoroughly imbued with the ideas of sex and sexuality by this orgiastic onslaught that she could almost only comprehend the demons around her through this lens.

She saw cocks and understood them only as cocks, cocks and cocks and cocks and cocks, and she perceived herself barely as an Archon, the feminine aspect so enflamed and engorged by its sole and extended use that it became nearly the whole sum of her identity. She was a woman—no, maybe something far lower than that. She was a collection of mounds, appendages, and orifices meant for use and intrusion by the male, a thing so diminished that she was close to utterly incapable of comprehending herself except when in union with the masculine, willing or not. They had overwritten so much of her, degrading and debauching her soul until she could understand only the base, material, sexual aspects of existence. She almost couldn’t remember what it was like to be an Archon. She was just… just a piece of meat.

This was what Esperiel thought as she stared into Zaasteroth’s eyes. It was the idea he implanted within her, the suggestion of his glance presenting this as a revelation of the truth. Some infinitesimal part of Esperiel wanted to push back against it, but the rest of her but passively received the suggestion, lowering her head and looking down Zaasteroth’s body. She felt the tentacles snaking up her legs and down her arms, engulfing her limbs and creeping toward her more coveted regions. The tip of an especially girthsome tentacle pressed itself to the slit of her womanhood, and Esperiel did not react. More tentacles coiled around the globes of her breast, gripping and deforming her simply indecent mammaries, perverting the nurturing maternal quality into a thing of which the only purpose was sexual use and release, tweaking her nipples and milking her of whatever love and compassion could still be found within this husk of a creature. Zaasteroth watched the droplets of milk dribble down, falling from Esperiel’s teat and streaking her breasts. He worked her tits harder, massaging them with his tentacles to coax out every last ounce of fluid.

Esperiel said nothing in reply to his use of her bosom, and she barely stirred when he slipped more tentacles between her buttocks. Silently she stared into his eyes, watching him with a blank expression, drained of the last dregs of care and reduced to a cold, passionless state of being like a mere lifeless shade. But her body was soft and supple, warm with its intrinsic vitality, and her flesh gave way before him, her entrances opening wide as he ventured forth. He plunged his biggest, fattest tentacle into Esperiel’s cunt, stiffening the member with an eager resolve as he penetrated the Archon, intersecting their bodies on the deepest level. She gave way to his every touch, yielding with as little reaction as a doll, receiving his attentions in a state of perfect passivity, almost mindless, almost lifeless—or so she seemed. But there was still something inside those eyes, however beaten down and eroded by the perpetual torment he had contrived for her, and it flickered dimly like the light of a guttering candle, the glow of a dying star in some cold, decrepit cosmos ready to collapse into nothingness, and Zaasteroth smiled as he captured this light with his eye.

A sighing breath passed over Esperiel’s lips, and her head lolled to one side as Zaasteroth’s many malleable manhoods made their way into her. Ass cheeks clapped together as a womanly body rocked, impaled by dozens of tendrils that ferreted themselves into her every orifice, and lolled to and fro with the piston motion of his thrusting, caught in the sinuous embrace of his members like a boa constrictor’s coils, wrapping her up and stuffing her full of his cock, his cock, his cock. It was everywhere, a thing that intersected her on every angle, touching her at this point and that point, penetrating her in every possible way and at every possible speed simultaneously. The infinite conceivable variations of intercourse were afflicted upon her limp and unresisting form, Zaasteroth fucking her in every way possible and impossible at once. His tentacles slithered inside her ass, and his member scooped and scraped her cunt, everything about her that was womanly subjected to the imposition of his irresistible and inescapable manhood. He fucked her and fucked her and fucked her until the sheer movements of his tentacles were enough to stir her body back into the semblance of reactive motion, fucking her and fucking her and fucking her so that she tossed and swayed in the myriad embrace of his members.

Esperiel turned her head dismally, averting her gaze from Zaasteroth. But he saw this and understood it, and he laughed and held her tighter, fucking her deeper and harder in reply. He caressed her with scores of tentacles, tracing every inch of her figure, committing the minutest contours of her body to memory while he gangbanged her. He barely attended to the worshipful cooing of his succubus concubines, hearing them somewhere in the back of his mind but not being interested in them at the moment. Esperiel absorbed his full attention, and he committed the full capacity of his body to using her and breaking her in. Every tentacle that he had, he directed toward Esperiel, and when she was crammed too full for him to possibly fit in any more, he simply dragged the tendrils over her body in a thousand different ways, squeezing and rubbing and petting the woman so that her sighing breaths gained the barest hint of a new quality. He chafed her body with his tentacles, his cocks, heating her up until a new spark began to kindle inside the Archon, unwanted and unwelcomed but also unresisted. He fucked her, and he fucked her, and he fucked her until she was starting to remember sensation and emotion and desires, fucking a new life and essence into this hollowed out husk of a thing. She rose and fell and rose and fell amid his pumping phalluses, and her eyes began to stir with something small, something different, a new concept taking root in the vacated wellspring of the Archon’s soul.

Hope had left her, and it would not return. But something else was being kneaded into her in its place, and Esperiel could, on some level, realize what Zaasteroth was doing. But there wasn’t enough of the old Archon of Hope left to care. She just let him do it, suffering patiently and passively through his touch as he taught her new pleasures and new ways of thinking, instructing her through example in how she could continue in the future. He overwrote her inclinations, kindling her with a new fire, reigniting that determination to escape but at the same time perverting it, warping her perspective and ensnaring her with devilish spells. Resistance would bring her pain. Passivity would drag it out. But by active participation, she might hasten it. He would not let anyone else use her pussy, but he was not so selfish that he would refuse all the others equal opportunity to fuck Esperiel everywhere else — or that was how he presented it, slyly smirking as he watched the new change take over. Even as he raped her with his tentacles, Esperiel started to buck and grind, moving herself in time with his thrusts. She rode him, taking him with something that might have been… no, perhaps not enjoyment. It was pleasurable, and she could not ignore this fact, but the way in which she did it was simply and purely desperate, striving to hasten this laborious, maddening cycle.

Zaasteroth smiled, and carefully deliberate, he allowed himself to come, flooding Esperiel’s insides and coating her with his emissions. Then he pulled out and let go of her. Instead of slumping uselessly, Esperiel rose with a mad light in her eye and flung herself at the nearest demon.

“Fuck me!” she cried out, not in desire for the sex itself but for the end and freedom waiting at the end. Pain drove her on, a pain that would now blossom blindingly and cripplingly in her soul whenever she conceived of herself as in any way unwilling, a burning goad implanted in her psyche that would slowly condition her into thinking automatically of sex as good and necessary, of resisting sex or delaying or refraining from it as bad and harmful to her. “Please, FUCK ME!”

Her body twisted, and she buried her face in the nearest demon’s lap, swallowing his cock frantically while lifting up her ass and shaking it madly, imploring someone, ANYONE to grab her and fuck it. Only a moment passed before a demon obliged, ramming his cock into Esperiel’s anus, which gripped him with a kamikaze zealotry.

She had to restrain herself from screaming aloud—whether from pain or from something else, even she hardly knew.

But there was still a long, long way to go, and she wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.

Anything was better than prolonging this hell.


Thousands of years passed for her like that, and she found herself one again staked down in the pit.

Her wings were nowhere near as fully as they had been the first she had been forced here. The they tough, and majestic, and might, but they weren’t healing the way they should… nothing about the Archon worked the way it should anymore. They were tattered things, now… missing more feather than they still had. In places they were bare, showing only translucent thin skin beneath that burned at the merest touch no matter how soft… the demons keeping her captive were not known for their soft touches.

She couldn’t bring herself to suck down the cum to keep the level low any longer… not for any pride, but because if she did that, it was time her mouth was spent doing something other than sucking a cock. It meant that the level of the pool was generally right below her nose while she sucked the cum out of a demon’s cock submerged into a pool of the same.

For years, she had only been allowed to keep her nose above the surface when she kept a cock sheathed in her throat like a good slut, being dunked whenever she failed to live up to the demons standards. It took her acting like a slut of her own volition to realize how much of a lie that had been. When they got boring her being good, they just made her life worse and worse to entertain themselves.

Now the cocks were deep enough beneath the surface that she couldn’t suck them and breathe. She would need to suffocate herself for long minutes until she brought the filthy demon off, sucking some some of the cum and piss while she was down there to give her a surface to return to. Otherwise, she wouldn’t make any progress towards the next time Zaasteroth would fuck her.

Esperiel really wished it was a harder choice than it was… but she was coming to realize that even she was no longer sure she believed there was a chance Zaasteroth would keep his promise and release her after she met his terms… what choice did she have?

When she was eventually released to crawl out of the puddle, Leshara was waiting for her. For a few seconds, Esperiel wasn’t being abused as Leshara lay her down on her back and sat down on her tits, squishing the orbs nearly flat as she learned down to brush the cum-soaked hair out of the Archon’s face. “I have a present for you, love,” she whispered huskily.

The words were enough to make Esperiel shudder, even knowing that the succubus would feel her. Her ‘presents’ were always worse than torture.

“Zaasteroth thinks you’re coming along nicely,’ Leshara said, putting one finger to her lower lip and pulling it down idly. “But I’m not so sure. You seem to still think that being raped is a bad thing… and that’s a horrible attitude for a fucktoy like you. It’s a bad habit. Everyone knows it’s impossible to rape a succubus… so you should practice.” She put both of her hands on Esperiel’s temples. “Now this is going to be easy… it will appeal to the tiny bit of you that still thinks you’re an Archon. Just repeat after me… ‘I agreed to be a fucktoy.’ It’s honorable to reaffirm your oath, right?” She smiled sweetly.

Again, Esperiel wished it was a hard choice… had there really been a time she had resisted? If they tried to refuse, they would only hurt her, and humiliate her, and suffocate her, and break her, and in the end she would do what they wanted anyway.

“I agreed to be a fucktoy,” she whispered… and when she said it she felt the a heat grow in her mind, like Leshara had somehow stuck her fingers through her skull and directly into her brain, massaging the tissues and moving bits around where she wanted them. “That’s right, remember that…” she chuckled.

Then she got up.

Was that it? Esperiel looked up, waiting for the torture to begin… and the moment she thought that, it did. Not from without, but from within. Agony erupted inside her skull like an inferno. She screamed… it was like something had lit her very soul on fire.

Eventually, the agony faded… Esperiel found that she had rolled nearly back into the pool of filthy demon cum while she thrashed in anguish… but it was gone now. She slowly pushed herself up to hands and knees, looking up at where Leshara stood smiling.

“That didn’t take very long,” Leshara said with her smirk. “You really are a dumb whore. Tell me, Esperiel… tell me honestly. Do you want to be here in the Darkstone? Do you want to be our plaything?”

Esperiel gasped. She didn’t have to say no. She just had to think it, and the anguished poured into her again, utterly overwhelming. By the time she came back to herself, she was rested on the bottom of the cum pit again, making her claw herself up the edge back to oxygen. Leshara was still there. “I take it that by now, even a dumb whore like you can figure out the rules?” she mocked. “You are a fuck toy. You agreed to be a fuck toy. Any time to think about how you don’t want to be one… you’ll be reminded.”

Esperiel couldn’t help it. Being told what not to think about immediately made her think of it, and anguish swallowed her whole again. As she lay writhing on the ground, demons crawling up to her, she heard Leshara’s disappointed voice. “Let’s see how many more cycles it takes for it to become habit,” she said as she walked away, leaving Esperiel to her fate as the burning agony started in her head again.


“More… Still more…!”

Esperiel was writhing, twisting her body this way and that. Her great, pillowy breasts heaved ponderously, rolling to and fro in the torture of her bucking, shuddering frame. A meaty ass smote the navel of a demon below her, and it dug its claws into her waist as its cock was swallowed up by her asshole. Esperiel’s bulging eyes were nearly blinded by distraction, and she threw her head in a frenzy as she was railed from behind.

Her hands were working up and down the cocks of demons who loomed over her, leering down at the Archon’s disgraced form. They sniggered and muttered among themselves, eyes glinting darkly and mouths crookedly twisting. Their hips bucked, thrusting their lengths through the Archon’s grasping fingers, fucking her hands while she jerked them off, watching her countenance distort in shameful obscenities. This debased creature writhed among the demons, conceiving herself as willing by the goad of Leshara’s diabolism, her mind forced to degrade itself by compulsions of pain.

Esperiel did not enjoy this, but she could not help but do it willingly and even enthusiastically. She threw herself into it with a furious abandon, ignoring the shadows of a discarded pride and an utterly sullied honor. She either consented or suffered: participation brought her reward, while resistance brought her punishment. Hence, there was only one logical choice, and she clung to this thought as justification as she debased herself among the demons, opening herself like the petals of a flower and tossing herself hither and thither with wild pleas and vulgar invitations. She presented like a baseborn whore, and she rode them like the most salacious succubus ever spawned, taking it and taking it and taking it as fast and hard and frequently as she could.

The demon fucking her ass came. The demons she was jerking off sprayed her with their emissions, spattering her face with the unfruitful seed of the demons. Esperiel breathed heavily, panting and moaning, and as soon as the demons pulled out of her, she had rolled over and begun crawling over to the next nearest ones. Her face was pitiful, and she was chewing her lip as she looked up hopefully at the erect male aspects of the onlooking devils. Esperiel’s breath hitched in her throat, the Archon feeling only something that was like a dark and twisted parody of Hope, running on fumes and desperation as she hauled herself among them.

“Rape me!” she exclaimed, hoisting her loins into the air, spreading her legs wide so that her cunt was splayed. She had fully conformed to this conception of herself, and she leaned as hard as she could on her analogical resemblance to a human woman. Her tits dangled pendulous, and her ass cheeks jumped as she tossed up her hips, her sex spasming and spurting—her sex, yes, not her virtue or her purity, but just the dirty, slatternly sex of a debauched and lowly harlot. She was aching and throbbing and burning up, and she gaped and dripped and whimpered as she pleadingly, imploringly presented her cunt. “Please, rape me more! More! Pleeeaase!”

She was shaking, and too impatient for them to make their move, she lunged and gulped, opening wide to swallow the closest accessible cock. She plunged her mouth down on a girthsome rod, taking the formidable length as far down her throat as it would go. In the madness of her need, she willingly gagged herself on the phallus, robbing herself of breath and cutting off her source so that she was adrift and powerless in the hands of the demons, an easy prize and a tempting target. She tossed her hips violently, indecently up and down, shaking her ass and pathetically fingering her cunt. Her head bobbed, and her lips wetly smacked, and she gulped and gurgled as she polished a demonic dick and showered it with her slavish, seraphic smooches. Her tits swung lewdly, and her cheeks puffed and sank in alternation, mouth stretching as she dragged it over the phallus.

A thrill of hope went through Esperiel when she felt one of the other demons place his hands on her hips. She shook her ass harder and spread her legs until she was nearly doing splits, exposing herself with a flexibility impossible for creatures of flesh and bone. The gaping void of her sex begged for fulfillment, the greedy gulf of a destroyed and defiled chastity offering itself up to whoever would take it. ‘Please!’ she thought with every fiber of her being, willing these pleas to reach her rapists. ‘Please, fuck me and end it!’ But she was too familiar with the patterns of this cycle to really believe the demon would do that—over all the thousands of times so far that they had repeated these torturous sessions of unending rape, it had always gone the same way. Zaasteroth was the only one who ever fucked her pussy, and deep down she understood why this was. But still, she would beg her rapists to have mercy on her and do it, and she would always hope, in the moment before penetration, that THIS time at least, they would finally do something different.

Of course, they did not. This time was not any more special than any other, and when the cock of the demon was rammed home inside her, it was not into her quim that the brute lodged his erection, but into her raw, abused asshole. Esperiel moaned wretchedly into the cock on which she willfully gagged herself as the demon behind her began a rough, savage sodomy. Her tits swung with the movements of her body, and plucked and soiled wings were folded meekly over her back, twitching now and then in the spasms of Esperiel’s frame as she tried in vain to ignore and suppress the sensations of pleasure that forced themselves into her perceptual universe with all the rudeness of the most salacious of these demons plunging itself into her booty. Her back arched, and she made a muffled moaning noise as she serviced the cock in her mouth, sucking forcefully, frantically, gulping and gurgling and audibly choking. Her insides were tortured, and her mind was blanking it to protect itself from the indignities of her situation, but she threw herself into this with all the forced enthusiasm of a woman who had been taught to be a slut.

Esperiel had no idea of how diluted the time was… that merely a few human lifetimes had passed outside of her prison. She was trapped her for an eternity. She hated it, and yet she was learning to love it. She loved it, and yet she hated it with every ounce of her imperishable soul. Her mind felt cracked and broken… she couldn’t hold a coherent thought for long anymore. She was torn between these feelings, tormented by this eternal hell of ravishing, by these world-ages of rape she had been forced to endure. They had done this more times than even she was able to count anymore, and she had lost track of how many loads she had taken in her cunt now… for all she knew, she had already finished, and Zaasteroth was just playing with her. She had to hold on to some tiny shred of Hope that that wasn’t the case. Her torment had lasted a length of time over which whole clades of life would evolve then go extinct, a span most succinctly measured in geologic epochs. Maybe a hundred million years? Whole worlds may have flowered with life and then withered into a desert barrenness like wombs of dust, and stars may even have been born and died. As far as she knew, ruinous eons may have passed in the universe outside this pocket dimension, such yawning enormities of time that the world outside might be as alien to her now as her own mind would have been to the Archon she had been when she started. And while all that occurred, she was in here with this legion of demons, being raped constantly, repeatedly, ferociously.

Over a length of time greater perhaps than that from the first appearance of single-celled organisms on earth all the way through the great dynasties of life into a final all-smothering age of extinction as the sun swelled to engulf it in nuclear hellfire, Esperiel had engaged in this perverse, unholy pact, exchanging her purity and pride for the vaguest, remotest possibility of freedom. It was time enough to change even the immutable stars — such vast eons as could change even an Archon.

She bucked and ground, pitching and rolling her body amid the thrusting, pawing, slobbering demons. She felt unclean mouths and ungentle hands work all over her form, and she felt horrible, ungodly erections plunge in and out of her every distended orifice. But she endured it—more, maybe, even than merely enduring it. Perhaps deep down, so deep down that even she did not yet notice it, Esperiel was already enjoying this, had already finally succumbed to the inevitable fall and corruption.

Yes, maybe she was loving this. Maybe she was already irreparably broken. Hell, maybe she had ALWAYS secretly been such a slut.

The demons came. She hardly knew which ones, scarcely keeping track. It was all a blur, a hazy jumble of pain and unwelcome pleasure as she threw herself upon her captors and relinquished herself to their vengeful, spiteful, hateful ravishes. But the demons came, filling her ass and her mouth, and more sprayed upon her body, dirtying her as if there was anything still clean left for them to hope to soil in all the substance of her degraded, degenerate being.

She was ruined, as disgusting as a grimed and crusted jizz rag, as filthy as a free-use whore left lying in the gutter. Her very existence was a twisted joke, a cruel and meaningless mockery. The despair which clawed now and again at the edges of a sapped and weathered psyche rose anew like a great black wave of horror blotting out all light, endless leagues of freezing ocean falling upon her in a deluge, driving her down into depths of unfathomable nothingness. Regret so keen and bitter that she wished she could die momentarily gripped Esperiel’s heart, and she closed her eyes and shuddered. For a second, even the burning goad of Leshara’s black magic was not enough to stir her into rising and seeking her next round of partners, and she felt the last vestiges of her former power waver.

But something still held on. Something inside her clung… not to Hope, no, but to a stubborn negation opposing despair, that mere, dwindling reactionary obstinacy which now and then resurfaced when all else seemed ready to fail. But even this was weak, thin and tepid, that once immovable core of bitter defiance now just a bleak, bloody-minded clinging. How many had been done by now? A few tens of thousands of rounds? And how many were still left to go? Hundreds of millions? She couldn’t keep count, but she could do the math. At the rate it had been going thus far, the heat death of the universe would well predate this Faustian bargain’s fulfillment — by the time this was over, there would be nothing for her to return to. Already, so much must surely have changed…

Esperiel shivered, feeling a weakness take hold of her. A swooping sensation upturned her insides, and had she the requisite organs, she would have retched and vomited.

Dimly, she was aware of the mewling, tittering succubi. She felt their sinful lips and their blasphemous tongues, their dark and perilous seduction almost snaring her in this moment of weakness as they swept in to start licking her off. She shivered again, this time at the touch of their sighing breath, but she shivered still more profoundly in comprehension of what these ministrations foreboded.

By now she knew exactly what this was going to lead to, and when she raised her eyes from a blasted plane, she saw Zaasteroth drawing nigh with a coldly enchanting smile, with darkly smoldering eyes and a perversely pleasing form.

Esperiel whimpered when Zaasteroth cupped her chin. She wished she had the strength of heart to glare. She wished she had still the dignity and integrity to daunt him with unflinching eyes like swords of flame in the cherub’s hand. But she did not. She had fallen too far, been laid too low, and she could not but look away after a moment, her insides twisting into labyrinthine contortions and her essence spreading out subtly, making her more pliable and permeable in reflexive anticipation of the infinite penetrations of Zaasteroth’s Lovecraftian tentacle rape.

Everything about her demeanor was meek — not praiseworthily temperate and reserved, but pathetically feeble and submissive. There was nothing of steel left in those celestial sinews, only a weak and yielding softness. Her legs spread, her bosom heaved, and her countenance flamed with a heat not of wrath but for the smallest vestige, a heat and a redness born of something far more disgraceful and effeminate. And Zaasteroth beheld this all with a look of satisfaction, and once his succubus concubines finished licking Esperiel clean for this umpteen-thousandth time, he gestured them aside then took the Archon up in his hands.

“This is so much fun for you, isn’t it?”

“It—” Esperiel wanted to say that it wasn’t, but the searing pain of Leshara’s curse sprang up inside her, and she clenched her teeth, tensing in Zaasteroth’s hands. Her mind recoiled from the thoughts which so agonized her, and like a dog conditioned by repeated punishment, she retreated into the safe zone. A twisted, hollow, miserable smile wove its way across her mouth. “—It is.”

He grinned airily, leering at the degraded creature.

“What a good, naughty thing you are,” he purred. “We’ve trained you so well. I’m pretty sure poor Resh didn’t last as long as you have. You’re doing great.”

His taunt was enough to break through her fog at least momentary. Resh? Reshael? Fresh tears slid down Esperiel’s cheek as she realized how her friend must have died, having gone through the torment she had first. Would she have had the courage to oppose Zaasteroth if she had known that? If she had known what it might cost her?

“By this point, there really wasn’t a lot left of her… even less than there is of you. Honor wasn’t going to make, I’m afraid,” Zaasteroth mocked as he slithered his tentacles around her. “I never have shown much Honor… but I showed her some mercy when I took care of her afterward. You’ve already held up longer… I hope you keep doing it… so try your best, ok? It stops being fuck once you’re just a doll.” Esperiel shivered as his tentacles wound their way for the umpteen-thousandth time around her wrists and ankles, taking her up and hoisting her into the air. She did not resist, but swung her hips imploringly, knowing that HE at least would fuck her pussy, that he at least would add one more to the tally.

“F-Fuck me,” she gasped. “Please!”

Zaasteroth stroked her chin as his innumerable tendrils worked their way inward, wrapping about Esperiel and probing at her so very familiar orifices. He smiled haughtily, glancing down her sumptuous bosom, which his tentacles grabbed and groped and fucked, thrusting through her cleavage and twisting around and rubbing her nipples, using every inch of her to please him and get him off. He looked at her wide, perfectly womanly hips, a feminine aspect to rival the loveliest of his succubus pets, and he watched and enjoyed both the view and the sensations as his tentacles wrapped around her plump, yielding thighs and thrust themselves into her twitching, spasming sex.

Esperiel hissed as Zaasteroth thrust into her pussy. He filled her up in an instant, and in that instant, she felt gratitude and far more. Emotions twisted by the mere fact of their so very inappropriate object welled up in her heart, and these were almost more treacherous than all the shadows of incipient despair to have troubled her in the long course of this hell. Almost, but not quite. But it was close.

Esperiel’s eyes rolled up into her sockets, and she clenched her teeth and bucked her hips, riding Zaasteroth’s tentacles with an enthusiasm she could never own in a sober state, a zealous and lascivious relish that nearly overpowered her wits and all her senses. She was going mad, and she didn’t know if she could stand it.

But, really, maybe she was mad already.

Maybe it was already over, and she just hadn’t admitted it.

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