Nearly a half-century ago, the Kingdom of the Gods fell into a ruin born of its own decadence as seductive demons claimed the minds and souls of the Royal Family. The demons began waging war upon the scattered knighthoods, wizards’ towers and militias that remained. The native fey, however, often proved a complication—though a welcome one, more often than not.

Fey have no souls to devour, but they’re still lots of fun to play with.

It was the winter of the 156th Year Before (no one was really sure what the calendar was counting down to, but getting into an argument with seers was a fantastic way to waste one’s day) and snow was piling up over the windows of the mountain lair of the Prince of Delights, the succubus lord Marriolkvio.

It was quite toasty inside, naturally.

Marius, as he allowed his future pets to call him before they settled into calling him Master, lounged back in his throne and smiled, savoring the long tongues that lapped and twined around his big, throbbing cock. He stretched and glanced down smugly at his attendants. “Very good, little moths,” he purred, reaching over and stroking the antennae of one tenderly. His hand slipped down to stroke her silvery-lavender hair. “But my Silver, Rose seems to be taking to it a bit more… eagerly.”

Kneeling between the demon lord’s legs, the two dopterines whimpered. ‘Silver,’ with her long, wavy hair, gasping plump purple lips and brilliant, glowing red eyes, was his favorite—especially with how her eyes widened, her long, slippery tongue lolling out as she heard her Master’s mild criticism. She redoubled her efforts, her need to be the best filling the succubus of Pride with amusement.

‘Rose’, of course, glowed with satisfaction. That was even more lovely to Marius—her sense of pride, unearned, was the most delicious treat of all.

And she was still quite good with that tongue of hers. She licked and moaned, her soft burgundy hair spilling down her shoulders, her eyes that same shade of glowing, pulsating red.

Every drop of him was an intoxicating delicacy. Mothgirls were always suckers for, well, sucking, and licking, and suckling—but to Marius’s delight, they were even more susceptible to his demonic essence. Now that they had been fucked molten by his almighty cock, of course.

“Go ahead,” he murmured, licking his lips as they blinked up at him. “Try. Try again, my sweet things.”

He began to let his active controls slip from their minds. They stared up at him, uncomprehending, briefly continuing to lick with the same desperation to please.

Then realization seemed to trickle back to them, and they exchanged looks.

Their antennae twitched, twisted, twined, and beautiful red-and-lavender lights spilled into the air. The lights soared up to swirl around his head, bathing him in a whirlpool of pulsating colors.

Marius lay back and enjoyed the show, his eyelids fluttering half-shut beneath the illusions.

Ah, the hubris of mortals.

“Our… good Master,” whispered Silver, pausing to swirl her tongue around his tip. “I-I mean, Marius. Our good, sweet Marius, s-so… so sleepy…”

He stretched and lay back, giving an exaggerated yawn. He heard her breath catch and concealed his grin.

“Yes, sleepy,” Rose echoed, her own voice quavering, “sleepy, sleepy Marius. Just lie back and… mm…” Her lips slid over the head of his cock.

The glimmering spots above him rippled outward, giving way to pink and purple. Marius watched happily.

“We can… can take care of you,” Silver murmured, her voice taking on some tiny shred of confidence. “Make you… happy.”

Daringly, she licked up his shaft and started kissing up his body, the sweet sounds an accompaniment to Rose’s voice as her fellow sorceress pulled off of his cock again.

“Happy…” he mumbled, as the glowing orbs flashed and spun. Even though he knew exactly what was happening, he had to admit, the lights certainly were… intense.

“Make you so happy,” Rose agreed, planting tiny kisses on his cock head, one after the other. With every kiss, the circles seemed to spiral even faster, splitting into deeper and finer minispirals, expanding to fill his vision. “Aren’t—mwah—we making you—mwah—so very happy, now?”

He tried to answer, but then Silver appeared in his vision, her red glowing eyes glinting with mischief. Their glow had dimmed considerably, and he could almost see the clear hazel eyes underneath his red glaze. She put a finger on his lips. “And don’t you want us,” she cooed, “to make you even happier?”

The lights swirled around her face. She had such a pretty smile, such a lovely smirk. He stared up, gasping, overwhelmed as Rose’s plump, perfect cocksucking lips planted deeper and deeper ‘kisses,’ her lips sliding over his shaft… the lights were swirling, swirling…

Silver beamed and caressed his cheek. “Silly Marius,” she breathed, the red glaze almost faded from her gaze. She was so close to freedom… so close to his enslavement…

And he knew how he must look to her. Marriolkvio was a perfect specimen of masculinity, muscular and yet lean and lithe, like a steel cable. His black hair was almost perfectly coiffed, even in his current state—naked save for a simple vest, lounging back in his throne of animal furs, his brilliant red eyes currently glazed and heavy-lidded as he gazed into hers, his vast, majestic swan wings serving as a comfortable blanket against which to lie, his pronged antlers like a crown of sapphires, his long, barbed tail twining affectionately around Rose’s neck…

Silver bit her lip. She wanted him. She needed him. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and desire, her eyes burning with passion, as she leaned in close…

“Silly Marius,” she gasped, her lips brushing against his own. “So… so…”

“Happy,” he murmured, kissing her. He felt and heard her whimper into the kiss, wriggling against him. Her eyes fluttered shut.

“Happy,” he heard Rose whisper, as she took him into her mouth, lips smacking audibly in her hunger, her thirst. “S-So… so…”

“Easy,” he purred between the kisses. Silver whined as his many forked tongues toyed with her own. His tail pulled Rose down, and the dopterine gave an almost relieved sound as she was guided—with little struggle—to slide his great girth all the way into her mouth.

The lights spun around him as he took Silver by the chin and pulled her back, his tongues wrapped around hers, holding it prisoner. He smiled slyly at her. See how happy you make me? he whispered in her mind, and he savored her shivers as she clung to him tighter.

Rose’s head was bouncing and bobbing in his lap. His tail just caressed her cheek, stroked her hair, encouraged her as she sucked with a delightful hunger. She was even more thirsty to brainwash herself than she’d been the last time he’d let them try this.

But of course she was. After the third failed attempt, she knew how good it felt to fail.

It seemed that Silver was coming to the same conclusion, because the red glow in her eyes had returned, and she was rubbing against him, showing off her luscious curves, batting her eyelashes and jutting out her lower lip in a needy pout, like a lust sprite who hadn’t been fucked in months. She was practically humping him.

He smiled, giving a happy sigh as he released her. She kissed his neck needily, clearly still thirsting for the kiss to resume. All it took was a kiss. Or a little suck. So easily were these mortals turned into molten little harlots…

“Enough,” he purred, stroking her hair. The swirling lights faded. “Very good girls. You made an absolutely adorable effort.”

“Yes, Master,” Silver whispered. Rose moaned and sucked and slurped.

He gently guided Rose off of him with his tail. No sense in letting her suck her soul away just yet. These two sorceresses had been fools to challenge him before, and he still needed to be sure they’d learned their lessons.

“Now,” he murmured, guiding Silver back down to join her fellow brainwashed mothgirl, “little would-be rebels, I think it’s time for another licking conte—”

There was a knock at the door.

Marius looked up, an eyebrow raised, to regard the plain oak door. The troll he’d stolen this cozy dugout from had enchanted the door against enemies, but that had been the first thing to go. Marius quite adored it when his enemies came in to try and stop him and his demonic brethren from conquering Lacra.

He cradled the two dopterines, mashing their cheeks together slightly in his hands, caressing them. It was so much fun to put them in their place. Again. And again. They stared up at him, drooling slightly, glazed eyes showing how lost they were to his aura of pure, awestruck desire.

“You may enter,” he called, chuckling.

The door opened, and a gust of cold mountain air struck Marius, as did the roar of the blizzard outside. Three figured entered.

Two were human men, slaves of Marius. They were bundled against the cold, though with Marius’s blessing upon them in the form of the glowing red eyes, they wouldn’t even feel it. One of them seemed to be feeling something else, though.

The third was pressed against him, totally naked save for a red silk loincloth and the minimalistic scarlet top of an erotic dancer. Her brilliant turquoise-green hair bounced behind her head in two pigtails, and that—along with her emerald-green lips and absolutely gloriously curvy, spoon-hipped, unspeakably flexible body—identified her as a nymph.

He could tell she was flexible because she was currently rubbing and gyrating against one of the male servants, giving him a standing lap dance that seemed to be draining the boy of his ability to form cogent sentences as he squeaked out, “Y-Your Grace…”

“Mm…” the nymph wiggled her ass. She had a lovely, curvy ass, Marius couldn’t help but notice, and in spite of the silver collar and chain around her neck, she still seemed to be resisting—at least enough to torment her captor a little.

Fey and demons were natural enemies, or unnatural enemies, really. She seemed proud, confident in the power of her body to control others. Delightful.

“We captured her in the forest,” the other man said, swallowing, averting his eyes from his Prince. “We lost three others to her first. But I was able to collar her.”

“I-It was me,” the slave currently being teased whined. “I collared her, Master!”

The nymph giggled, looking almost bashful. She stepped away from the hapless human and gave a low curtsy. She moved with impressive grace, even by fey standards. She smiled up at Marius.

Marius returned her smile. He released the two dopterines, who fell back among each other, kissing and moaning. “You may go,” he said to the two humans. “You have done well. Go indulge with the lust sprites.”

A chorus of giggles came from the other room as the men practically bolted for the sprite chamber, where they would be kept happy and content until Marius next needed them.

Marius watched the nymph through heavy-lidded eyes, then raised a hand.

He snapped his fingers. The collar clicked open and fell away, clinking and clattering to the hardwood floor.

The nymph blinked at him. She swayed slightly, as her free will came trickling back. Slowly, of course—binding silver took a while for a fey to fully shake off, and Silver and Rose had crafted those collars well. “What… what did…”

He beckoned. “You don’t need that, silly thing.” His voice was a soft purr, and he enjoyed the way she shivered. “I’m sure you will be a good plaything for me, won’t you?”

She stared at him. Gently, he let a little wave of lust and pride pour out. The dopterines’ moans signaled it hitting them, and the flushing of the nymph’s cheeks told him he had found his mark.

“Of… of course,” she murmured, unable to conceal a small smirk. She sauntered closer, following his beckoning finger. Marius grinned at her confidence. “Oh, my Prince, you are everything I’d imagined. May I… may I…” She stood before him, blinking wide eyes, as the dopterines rolled away to continue their edging and lovemaking. Her eyes were slightly glazed as she stared at his immense cock.

He sighed happily, admiring her form—and that lovely expression. “What is your name, lovely thing?”

She blinked rapidly. “Um. I am called, um. Elle.” She bit her lip. “I mean, it is… it is short for Chanterelle.”

“What a pretty name!”

She blushed.

“So, tell me, Chanterelle…” He lazily reached down and gave his cock a little stroke as he blatantly ogled his newest wife. “… do you feel worthy of this?”

Her pupils visibly dilated as a droplet of precum dripped out. He let another subtle little wave of lust and pride flow out and savored her shudder.

But to his surprise, she nodded. “Yes, Master,” she said sweetly. “Oh, yes!”

He raised an eyebrow. That was new, and not the begging self-effacement he had come to expect from his pets. “Really? And what’s so special about you?”

“Oh, Master,” she breathed, and she leaned in slightly. She smelled of exotic spices—a sweet, smoke perfume that was heady to inhale, especially in the heat of this home. “Master, you happen to be speaking to the greatest dancer in the world.”

He almost shuddered himself at the pride in her voice. Oh, such arrogance. He hadn’t even had to bait her into it.

And yet… he swallowed. Could it be? If it was even close to true—and she was nimble, he had to admit, as she hung over him, her massive breasts forming a delightful canyon before his greedy gaze—it would be a wonderful addition to his harem. The greatest dancer in the world… and she was his.

And regardless, if she thought she was the greatest dancer, that was enough.

He reached up and caressed her cheek with the hand he wasn’t using to slowly edge himself . “And why haven’t I heard of you?”

To his delight, her smirk faltered slightly at this. She bit her lip. “I—I do not lie, demon!” Her defiant tone was undercut by the way her eyes followed his hand as he slowly pumped his cock, built his own arousal. She was barely a foot or so away from having her lips around him, and the aura he bore had to be unbearable, intoxicating. Marius was surprised she wasn’t already a whimpering wreck.

“How would I know?” Marius purred, stroking her hair. He was tempted to undo her pigtails, as he liked his wives to have long, flowing hair, but he decided to leave them for now. “Perhaps you should… show me. What kind of dancer are you, pet?”

She stared at his cock and gave a tiny whimper. She seemed desperate to speak, but she also seemed desperate to dive down, take his prick into her mouth, and suck until her mind was dribbling out her ears. Her compromise was to bite her lip and say nothing.

“Perhaps… lap dancer?” he cooed, patting her cheek. His eyelids half-closed with pleasure as he nearly hit his orgasm, but he kept slowly pumping, holding it off by sheer force of will. He could edge himself like this for hours if he needed to. With every stroke, the waves of pride and lust would pour out. Many succubi lacked the will to deny themselves so long, but Marius almost never came—it was the ultimate gift to a mortal to fuck them with his cock until their soul melted into his hands, and it was the ultimate sign of strength to do so without ever coming in them.

“B-Belly dancer,” she whispered, her eyes the size of saucers. Her hips swung from side to side slightly, and she managed to tear her gaze from his engorged cock to smile at him. Her vision remained clouded, but she was fighting well, to his delight. “Ooh, Master, please allow me to show you. Let me show I’m… worthy.” She licked her lips, her cheeks going bright red.

Marius smiled.

xxxxx

Elle swallowed, desperately trying to gaze anywhere but at her new Master’s massive, wonderful cock. There was lust radiating off of him like a smothering lead-lined curtain. He was mocking her. Toying with her.

Did he know? Did he know what she had planned? The nymph tried to suppress her fear. No. No, of course he didn’t. Even if he was clearly brilliant, and insightful, and handsome, and hard, and could fuck her into next week until she was a squealing, obedient wife who wanted nothing more than to be degraded, to be bred…

“That sounds lovely,” he purred, stroking her cheek. She trembled at his touch. Another wave of desire flowed through her, and she barely held in a whimper, barely kept her eyes in his… in his eyes instead of his cock. Those eyes, such a pretty red, pulsing, throbbing, so big and… and…

“Well?” the demon lord whispered, and she gave a start. She whimpered and tore her gaze from his member, then backed away.

She felt better as she did so. She watched as the prince beckoned, and the two dopterines rose back up and started licking him, their moans of pure pleasure an unbearable sonata to dance to—and a reminder of how delicious the stakes were.

She swung her hips to the side and struck a pose, readying herself.

Showtime.

xxxxx

She truly was gorgeous.

Marius watched her prepare to dance, and smiled as his dopterines started licking him. With every lick, they built him higher, made him hornier and hornier—and made it that much more unbearable for both them and their soon-to-be fellow wife.

Elle was breathtaking. Even if she couldn’t dance, Marius knew she was going to be one of his favorite toys—especially since she, unlike his mothgirls, had no soul he’d eventually need to steal. With her luscious spoon hips, he could have her bounce and jiggle in his lap, making her scream as he fucked her to orgasm after orgasm, groping her just as she was currently groping herself, running her hands over her body, moaning softly.

She smiled up at him, and he admired her lovely smile, her pretty foggy green eyes with such thick lashes, such heavy lids. He mirrored her expression, licking his lips as he felt those slow, eager tongues lap over his shaft.

He let another wave of lust rush out as she began her dance. To her credit, she did not stumble.

The nymph began to swing her hips, turning away but craning her neck to watch him over her shoulder. Her hips swayed with a gentle rhythm that somehow perfectly matched the pace of the mothgirls’ licking.

“I must please my Master,” she purred, spinning and twirling, shaking her hips, gyrating her body. “Does this please you, Master?”

“It’s alright,” he said softly, watching her sway. He lay back and started petting the mothgirls, encouraging them to slow down a little.

As they slowed down, so did Elle. Her moans, and the dopterine’s licks, formed the soundtrack. She writhed and caressed her body, continuing to swing her hips, and his eyes followed her ass with delight. The way she moaned, she could almost be getting off on it—and it was so easy to imagine that she was, or that she was in his lap, getting off on him.

He bucked slightly, never taking his eyes off of her ass—and her ass never left his view as she danced and swayed like a cobra, circling around him.

“So strong,” she whispered, her eyes on his cock. “Oh, Master, you torment me.”

He smirked, letting another wave of arousal rush out even as his own pleasure rose slightly. He had to be careful to hold it back down. He almost spoke, but it felt like more effort than it was worth—and besides, he didn’t want to interrupt the ‘music.’

She returned his smile, gyrating and stroking over her midriff. She kept swinging that magnificent ass, though. Back and forth. Back and forth. So impossibly soft… and round…

“And paying attention so well, too,” she cooed. Back and forth. “Few can so easily keep track of me, but your eyes are just… glued, aren’t they?”

“Mm.” He nodded drowsily. He could easily track her, really. It wasn’t any great feat. Something in her tone sounded a bit smug, though, so he let another burst of arousal hit her.

“Oh.” She nearly stumbled, this time, but managed to maintain the rhythm. Her fingers danced and tickled along the small of her back. Gods, she was so lithe and flexible… never breaking pace, even though he could smell the effect he was having on the fey harlot from here. “Oh, Master, you’re just… s-so powerful! I can’t resist you! No one can!”

“No one,” echoed Silver in a whine.

“Can’t resist,” whispered Rose, her tongue slurring her words as she lapped over his dripping cock head. His breath caught, and he had to ease them down to the base of his cock, where he was less sensitive, so he could recover a little. He couldn’t actually make them stop, though. That would be to admit that he was close to losing control and coming, and he simply refused to do that!

To distract himself from the licking, he tried to focus on what he did control: the adorably desperate fey who was now right in front of him, her face bright red as her ass swayed an endless rhythm. It jiggled slightly with every shake. He wanted to reach out and grope it—hell, he could see the juices dripping down her inner thigh, and longed to pull her onto him and just fuck her molten—but no, no, he wasn’t done yet.

Besides, if he tried to fuck her right now, he might… might…

“Never have I seen someone so effortlessly defeat a fey,” Elle whispered. “Just… you just put me right in my place, my Prince. I-I can’t… can’t…” Back and forth. Side to side. “And so clever. So cruel and wicked.”

He smiled slyly. His lust grew with every lick, with every sway, every word of praise. He bathed in it as she stared down at him, her smile wide, her eyes shining with admiration.

He sent another wave of lust out and watched her knees bend slightly—but not buckle.

“And,” Elle gasped, barely maintaining her rhythm, “I… I can’t… can’t resist your cock, Master! I can’t!”

“Mmno,” slurred Silver.

“Never,” mumbled Rose.

He was practically drooling as she danced for him. For him. She was right before him, offering herself to him for the taking, like the ripest, juiciest peach on the branch to be plucked. Worshiping his cock with her words.

“Of course you can’t,” he murmured, his breath coming in heavy. She smelled so good. “Can’t… resist it.”

“No, no, no,” she whispered. “You’re so… so…”

Slowly, the mothgirls started to rise back up toward the head of his cock, lavishing their love over it. His cock bobbed up and down.

And he smiled smugly as the nymph’s eyes followed that motion.

Not that he was really looking at her eyes.

But he could hear her voice growing softer, weaker, more kittenish as her ass swayed in time with his cock’s bobbing, in time with the mothgirls’ licking, their moans and slurps and kisses and sweet sucking. He could hear that catch in her voice.

He let another little flow of lust energy—just a trickle—out into the room, making her stumble over her words.

“… s-so big,” she finally finished, as her ass swung its sensual arc, back and forth. Closer and closer. “Oh, my Prince, how m-mighty you are. Your… and your…”

He grinned, knowing how desperately she was trying to think of praise and flattery that didn’t involve his irresistible bull cock. This was what he savored. The nymph who claimed to be the best dancer in the world—and gods, but she was certainly good at holding a rhythm, holding his attention—was now practically drooling to take him inside her. Perhaps even to breed her, as only a demon could breed a High Fey like her. Nymphs were beyond fertility for the mortal races, but for their archenemies the fiends, there was no more perfect vessel.

And she was so close to submitting to that. Done in by her foolish pride. He sighed happily, bucking upwards towards her as her swinging, jiggling ass came nearer. Not that he would breed her—such crude indulgence was fit for a petty demonic strumpet, a succubus of Gluttony or some whimpering flitter fiends of Lust.

Marius knew that true power came from total self-control. To breed this luscious nymph, to fill her with his seed until she was little more than a brainlessly horny vessel for the Gates of Hell themselves, would be exquisite—but it would lessen his might, his mastery.

It was being on the edge, holding himself in perpetual lust and denying himself even a moment’s loss of control, that made him the Prince of Delights. He beamed at her pathetic state, nodding encouragingly even as the mothgirls lavished their long, wet tongues over his engorged, sensitive, dripping cock.

And so no matter how sweetly she squealed and begged, he would have to deny her. And that would be all the sweeter.

“And s-so mighty,” she was whimpering, and she was such a lovely thing when she was staring over her shoulder at his cock in such helpless need, “to have… have conquered me, my Prince… my… my Master…”

Her ass swayed with every few words, a wordless mating song. Back and forth. Around and round. Though she was faced away from him, her ass was pointed right at his cock as it jiggled and swung to and fro in almost playful arcs. It was even lovelier when it was bathed in flattering pretty pink light. Pretty purple light.

The dopterines moaned and lapped at his dribbling, drooling shaft. His eyelids grew heavier as he lost himself to pleasure. More pleasure meant she would submit faster, overwhelmed by his rising lust. And he wanted her to be his. Not later, not soon, but now.

Enough games.

He patted his knee limply, still watching her dance. He tried to speak—to gently tease her, to invite her to be ‘conquered’ more fully—but the lights flashed around him in perfect, incessant throbbing rhythm. Words were too hard. Words weren’t needed, anyway.

So instead, his tail snaked up and played along her thighs, tickling her, eliciting a startled squeak. His tail thrummed slightly, drawing her closer… closer…

She slid into his lap with a whimper, her back to him. He admired the beautiful lines of her back and shoulder, the way her pretty green pigtails bounced against her shoulder blades.

At first she seemed content to just rest upon his knee, but his tail kept pulling her, and she slowly sliding upwards—her juices dripping over his leg—until her curvy hips pinned his erect cock to his belly. “I… I…”

She kept wriggling, in time with her own rhythm, as the dopterines fell to kissing his sides, kissing his arms, licking every inch of available skin, drinking in his intoxicating pheromones.

“Good girl,” he slurred, caressing her soft, smooth body, groping her ass possessively. “You’ll be… my good girl, mm?”

“Mm.” She gave a squeak as his fingers slipped between her legs, continuing to wriggle and bounce lightly. Gods, she was so… so warm, and soft, and gorgeous… “M-Master…”

“Do you like my cock?” He kissed her neck, teasingly, as his fingers delicately tickled her clit. Though she was facing away from him, he felt her shiver, hard her breath slipping out of parted lips. “Have you…” He thrust slightly with his fingers, eliciting a throaty gasp. “… ever needed one so desperately, sweet Elle?”

“N-No,” she whimpered, starting to bounce slightly. He watched her ass cheeks caress his cock, and he longed for her to undress completely, to rise up and take him inside her. “No, Master! No. N-None so perfect. So big. So b-beautiful. P-perfect for a slutty wife like me.”

He was breathing heavily. He couldn’t fully control the lust waves anymore—it felt too good to just let them gush out of him, to not worry about it, to let her and his mothgirls (who were currently taking his hands away from her, kissing and suckling his fingers so sweetly, their fingers stroking his neck, his cheeks) just get hornier and hornier as they absorbed his rising tide of lust.

The hornier Elle got, the more she needed him. The more she needed him, the more she would praise him, beg for him, be the lust-stupid, slutty wife he needed her to be for him, so he could show her how wonderful it was to be his wife, show her how nice it was to be a trophy, show everyone how beautiful and perfect his wives were… the best, sexiest, most gorgeous dancer in the world, begging for his cock…

“Well, then…” he purred, kissing her neck even more tenderly, “my slutty wife must need a new name. How about… Clover.” He wanted to caress her green hair, but Silver was sucking his thumb so sweetly as her fingers tickled like fine silk threads over his arm, and Rose was licking his hand so adorably as she seemed to hold his arm tighter…

“Oh.” Clover whimpered. “Yes. Oh, yes. Clover.” She twisted to face him with incredible flexibility, her eyes wide as her plump rear continued wriggling slightly against his shaft. “C-Call me Clover, Master, oh, please, yes! I’m just your hot, horny housewife, r-ready to be bred.” She kissed him on the cheek.

He smiled slyly. “Of course you are,” he cooed, as she whined and squirmed. He wouldn’t actually fuck her, of course—at least, he couldn’t breed her, he wasn’t allowed. But to let her think he would… where was the harm in that? It would make her so happy, so grateful. “You’ll be my lovely, lovely prize, won’t you? And you need to be the…”

He was briefly cut off as Clover kissed him, moaning against him, her bright green eyes shining like a field of fresh grass. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, wrestling with his forked tongues. She tasted so good. So sweet. Like buttercups.

It was then, as he moaned into her plump, luscious lips, that he longed to grab her by the ass, to bring her up and impale her, to fuck her silly fey brains out until she was ready to give him everything, until he was ready to give her everything she ever needed… but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t come. He desperately tried to remind himself of that. The edge was what made him better than other, weaker demons, not to mention this hydrangea-haired harlot. His cum was precious, his pleasure endless, his cock a godly might, because he never, ever let himself come. No matter how badly he needed it. No matter how badly… she needed it.

She needed to come so bad, too. He could smell it—could breathe it in, even, as she kissed him so hungrily, so passionately, that he wanted to put her in her place and give her everything she could ever think to ask for and more besides, his pathetic, needy, whimpering, beautiful, dominant, perfect wife. Her juices dripped over his imprisoned cock, making him tingle, making him need to come more than he had in years.

She pulled back from the kiss and giggled, wiggling her hips. “Oh, Master,” she cooed, batting her eyelashes coquettishly, her eyes such a pretty green against the pink-and-violet flashes from all around him, “I need you! Need you… need you to own me.” She kissed him on the cheek.

Marius smirked, even as he felt the dopterines closing in, kissing and licking his neck, their moans, whines and whispers—make her yours, make us yours, such a perfect, powerful, throbbing, needy cock—an almost unbearable siren song immersing him. “Why?” he purred, wishing he could stroke and tease her some more, just finger her until she was a stupid, gasping, squealing mess of a slave, if only his arms weren’t so sluggish and heavy, held fast by, by, um… “Don’t I own you already?”

A mischievous glint appeared in the fey’s eyes.

She turned to face him, spinning in his lap with the skill of a trained dancer, and suddenly he found she was straddling him. She held herself above him with the limberness of a ballet dancer, her gaze smoldering. “Why, Marius,” she purred, “what do you think?”

Marius was briefly speechless. Her hands held his cock just outside her cunt, brushing along the lips, letting him feel just how hot she was, how wet and slick and tight… and her fingers were stroking the head, milking it with tiny little teasing squeezes…

Pink lights flashed and fluttered unbearably around him as his lips parted, almost in a question. The chorus of dopterine whispers grew more insistent. She’s teasing you. Silly slut. Need to put her. In her place. Teach the breeding slut a lesson.

He was barely even registering the whispers as he stared into the shimmering pink-and-violet lights, the green glow…

Need it. Need her. Needs you.

Marius realized he was drooling, and so was his cock, as her fingers slowly, steadily teased him. Stroked him. Milked him.

And she was so wet…

“I think,” he mumbled, as his tail rose up to snake around her narrow waist, “you might need a lesson.”

“Mm?” She blinked.

And he marshaled all his pent-up lust, released it in a wave of pure desire, and lifted her up by the waist.

Her eyes widened, and her lower lip trembled. The dopterines were moaning, their whispers giving way to animalistic whines and cries of need.

And with a smirk, he leaned in, kissed her on the lips, and brought her down onto his cock.

As he thrust upward into her, Marius was overwhelmed with pleasure—dangerous, delicious, intoxicating pleasure. He gasped, overcome by how tight she was, how slick her sheathe was, how ready she was—

Clover was crying out softly into the kiss as she wrapped her arms around him, re-positioned slightly, and began to bounce in his lap, rising up and down on his cock with the silken grip only his sweet, perfect Clover could provide. She rolled her hips, milking him, as he moaned and pulled back, panting for breath.

He was immersed in flashing pink and purple lights, immersed in the delicious, intoxicating moans of his faithful mothgirls as they kissed and clutched at him. He stared into the nymph’s clear green eyes as she beamed down at him.

“Master!” she cooed in mock wonder, wiggling playfully, “your cock is so, soooo… sensitive.”

Sensitive, moaned the dopterines in his ears. Neeeeedy.

Oh. He gasped and shook, his face burning, sweaty and breathless—to the dopterine’s delight, judging by their licks. Oh. It felt so—it was too much! He shook his head, struggling to find words. He couldn’t. Couldn’t.

“What’s wrong, Master?” Clover said in a sugary-sweet tone, batting her eyelashes. “Are you… losing control?”

His eyes widened. No. No, never. He shook his head defiantly, forcing a smug smile. He had to show her he still had control. He could never lose control! He was Marius, Prince of… of… Pleasure? No, that wasn’t right. He blinked rapidly.

So much pleasure. Nothing but pleasure. Pleasure. Pleasure for Master. Pleasure.

It was just so hard to think about anything but coming. And he could not let himself come.

He had to make her come first. He seized on that, and though whatever was binding his arms and legs to the chair held fast, the demon lord bucked eagerly desperately, determined. He would fuck her brains out! Fuck his hot little wife senseless, fuck her silly, breed her—no, not breed her—

She squealed in pleasure, and he grinned, feeling sparkles of pride placating his fears. So easy. “Oh, M-Master,” she managed, clinging to him, “n-no one… no one can resist you!”

He smirked, and let his wife bathe him in kisses, along with the whispering dopterines. Good Master. Strong Master. So much control. You have us. Make her yours. Yes. They were under control once again. His.

And it felt so good. He let her kiss him as the lights glittered and spun and bathed him in pink. He bucked upward, but all he really had to do, he realized, was let her fuck him. Let her bounce and wriggle. She would do what he wanted. She was a good wife. The perfect wife.

He barely noticed when she came, except that with her crying ecstasy came more praise, and she got slicker, hotter, tighter. “Good boy!” she moaned, and he moaned back. “M-My good… big, strong… bull.”

He glowed with the praise. Yes. He was in control. He was in control of her. Her bull. Her Master. Her husband.

Her pussy contracted around him, and he barely held the orgasm at bay. He was in control. He smiled dreamily up at her as she giggled and cooed praise, praise that melted into wordless pleasure for him—just like the mothgirls’ endless whispers. His wife would keep him happy.

She was so good at keeping him happy.

Because he was a good, good husband, wasn’t he?

She held him close, riding him, and he beamed as she rode him to a second orgasm, and a third. Her praise and flattery melted him like butter. More. He always needed more.

And as she leaned in to whisper in his ear, he shivered with bliss.

“Come for me,” she whispered, and gave a sharp wriggle that made him whimper. “Come for me. Please, please, Master, you must come.”

“N-o…” he mumbled, but he was drowned out by moans and whispers, praise and licks…

“Yes, Master,” she purred, and he blinked rapidly. “That’s right. You—you want to come for me, don’t you? You want to breed me.” Her voice dropped to a husky sigh. “Breed me stupid.”

Hadn’t he already? Marius felt so confused. His cock pulsed needily inside her, encouraged higher and higher by the pink lights, the whispers, the praise, and her sweet, unbearable scent…

“Give me your cum,” she cried, bouncing faster, faster, “Give me your cum! Make me yours! Breed me, husband! Breed me! Breed me like the almighty stud you are!”

His breath grew shallower, shallower, as his mind grew stupider, needier, his cock throbbed, his breath caught as she leaned in, and she and the mothgirls cooed in unison…

“Be a good Master.”

And he shivered, whimpered, and came.

His arrival was the stickiest, most overwhelming tidal wave of bliss he’d ever felt. The demon lord squealed and screamed, thrashing like a leaf in a hurricane, bucking wildly—though his arms and legs remained pinned down. He had never felt such pleasure, such intoxicating bliss. Never. Never.

And they were pouring in more, praising him. Praising him for being a good stud, a good, horny husband, happy to let his slaves pour pleasure into him endlessly.

And she kept bouncing, gasping, moaning as she came a fourth time—milking every last drop of cum from him as she promised, her voice weak, that she would make him a good boy, the best boy, and hadn’t he always wanted to be the best?

The best lust-stupid, obedient boy-toy in the world.

He stared into her eyes helplessly as she rose, and the dopterines practically poured into his lap, lavishing him with kisses and cooing encouragement as Silver took him inside her and started to rock her hips, as Rose kissed him, silencing his cries, and he heard the nymph whispering in his ear…

“Good boy.”

And with that, he started to come all over again, and pleasure swept the demon lord into a sea of pink bliss.

xxxxx

Chanterelle gave a low, satisfied sigh, watching the foul succubus thrash and moan and squirm helplessly, his hands tied with dopterine silk to the chair, his eyes reflecting the swirling pink and purple lights as the mothgirls began to weave complex illusions around him.

She licked her lips and turned away as she heard the door open. A short, slightly stocky person entered, their skin a dusky gray. Two nubby red horns rose from their head, poking from a mass of curly dark hair. They were dressed in a simple monk’s habit.

“Is it done?” South, the founder of the Cloistered Monastery to the north, asked.

Chanterelle smirked up at the abbess. “It will be. You were right, little cambion—that silly boy was positively begging for it.”

“That is not the wordage I employed.” South blinked.

Elle rolled her eyes with a smile. As one of the fey willing to really get involved in this whole Horny War disaster, she’d found South to be one of the most interesting mortals she’d met, a mock cambion who believed true arcane power lay in asceticism and self-denial. Elle couldn’t deny the results, even if they seemed a lot less fun to her. She hoped this Cloistered Monastery thing wasn’t going to catch on. “Point being, those mothgirls—”

“Dopterines,” South corrected.

“Those what-evers are gonna put him under all the way. Then you can let the others in, and we can start making a proper prison for him.” She licked her fingers clean of some of the demon’s rather dangerously tasty cum. “I suggest you fill his new world with lots of adoring phantoms. Boy’s a real sucker for praise.”

“Thank you for your input, and your help.” South tipped their head slightly.

“So is the rest of the camp dealt with?”

“There is a succubus of Gluttony and a group of low-level fiends giving us trouble.” South beckoned. “If this one is under control, it is imperative that—”

“Yes, yes.” Elle giggled, straightening her top slightly as she skipped over. “Gluttony succubi are easy. I’ll just throw myself at her and beg really sweet.” She winked back at South. “I don’t need to play all femme fatale for some thirsty slut, do I? ‘Cause I need to…” She swung her hips to the side. “… unwind.”

“Subtlety is still, ah, well-advised.” South cleared their throat as they ventured out into the storm, raising their voice to be heard. The war camp was in ruins—most of the void drone servants and corrupted knights had been driven off, it looked like, rather than captured or killed. Pity. They’d go find new masters and mistresses and draw the war out longer. “Your dancing hypnosis is an invaluable—”

“Blah, blah, blah.” The nymph winked, patting the short monk on the head as she danced past—and giving her hips a generous sway with each step. She hoped South was watching that. South played at being all about denial and abstinence, but Elle had never met an ascetic she couldn’t fluster. “You call that subtle?”

She gestured back to the Prince of Delights, who was crying and begging as the dopterines conjured illusory temptress after temptress around him, drowning him in false pleasure. Once he was under control, the dopterines would waste no time in turning this room into a rune-covered prison of hellish ecstasy from which he would never even wish to escape—from which no one could, in fact, for only the mages themselves would know the keys to exit without being caught up and enslaved in endless indulgence and flattery.

A chorus of squealing moans suddenly rose from the door to the side, distinct even over the roar of the wind and the cries of the demon. South craned their neck to peer inside at the door.

“Is there… still someone else in there?” South asked tersely.

Elle blinked. Vague recollections, beyond Marius’s sweet whimpers, drifted back to her. Oops.

“Oh, yeah!” She put a finger to her lips in mock-innocence. “He has, like, a bunch of hypnotized humans in there. Should, um, probably bail them and the lust sprites out before we let them seal the chamber for all eternity.”

She looked at South. South’s expression was a hard deadpan.

“What?” Chanterelle beamed. “I’m a nymph, silly. If you want a hot bimbo who thinks ahead and remembers stuff, you’re on the wrong side.”

South continued to stare, eyes narrowed.

“Um. yeah.” Elle felt her cheeks redden a little. “My bad, though.”

THE END