The following tale of sexual depravity contains adult material. If you are under the legal age for your area (generally 18 or 21), or object to explicit sex, stop reading NOW. Otherwise, if erotic situations and taboo acts turn you on, then please enjoy yourself. The characters and situations are, of course, completely fictitious.
Feel free to post or archive, as long as the story remains intact and unmodified, and my contact information remains attached.
Otherwise, this work should be considered copyright 2010 Heathyr Diamond.
Demon Whorehouse Transformation By Heathyr Diamond
An icy November breeze whipped through the near-barren trees. Small brown leaves, already curled in upon themselves from the sudden cold snap, broke away to fall awkwardly to the ground. Shrouded in thin sheets of frost, they fell hard and fast, crunching softly upon the cracked and worn sidewalk. It was the sound of autumn crumbling away. The winter that the weather had been warning of for so many weeks had finally arrived.
Oblivious to everything else around him, Chris slowed his pace. Without being too obvious about it, he fell back an extra step behind the stunning little blonde. He smiled to himself as he watched her raise one black heel in the air and hop across the sewer grate onto the curb. For one brief, tantalizing instant, the rise of her short blue skirt revealed the trim of white cotton panties before falling back into place.
Damn. There was one fantasy crushed. The Kim of his fantasies was a sexually aggressive little bitch with a fetish for black satin. More than once, he'd day-dreamed of being smothered by the slick, damp satin of her crotch while she swallowed his cock. Back at the office, with his eyes closed and his feet up on the desk, he could almost feel the material against his tongue. Not once had it ever tasted as plain as cotton.
Maybe it was time for a change of fantasy. If it wasn't all an act, and she really was as sweet and innocent as she seemed, then maybe it was time for him to be the aggressor. Yes, as soon as they got back from lunch, he'd have to daydream about teaching the new girl a lesson in office politics.
"So . . . this is it, huh?"
He watched her take another sip of the same bland coffee he'd polished off a few blocks back. When she was done, she tilted her head to the side and favoured him with one of those innocent little smiles that drove him nuts. Perfect white teeth teased from behind full, red lips, suggesting pleasures that likely would never consciously occur to her to offer. As naturally sensuous as she was, Chris was forced to accept the possibility that the young woman might be honestly oblivious to how she affected the men around her.
"Yup." He grinned right back.
Another sip of coffee. Another smile. "Where's the nearest bookstore around here?"
Chris groaned inwardly. God, how he wanted to experience those lips, to find out just how talented they might be. Maybe she didn't have much practice in the sexual arts, but he just knew she'd be a natural.
"It doesn't have to be anything grand." He watched as she looked up and down the street. If those quick, furtive glances were an attempt to hide her curiosity, it wasn't working. She acted like a kid at a carnival, completely overwhelmed by her surroundings. Of course, it didn't help matters that she barely topped 5 feet in heels, with a waist as big around as his neck. "Even a little used bookstore will do."
He cleared his throat. "You have gotta get your mind out of the big city, little Kim."
Her cheeks blushed red, almost as bright as the tip of her wind-chilled nose.
Chris laughed. Coming from a 6'3" frame that weighed nearly 300 pounds, his laughter sounded loud and guttural – almost obscene. "Closest thing to a bookstore you're gonna find around here is the paperback rack at Sauer's Drug."
She stared blankly.
"Over on Main."
Her lips, full and dark underneath just a touch of gloss, pursed slightly.
Damn he wanted her! If he didn't have to return to work with her, he'd be tempted to take her right there on the street. He could feel the panties ripping in his hands, the shocking warmth of her sex, and the virginal tightness of her pussy as she violated her, right there, on the street, in full view of anybody walking by. Hell, if she was even half as good as he dreamed, it might be worth the sexual harassment complaint she'd slap him with.
Of course, there was always after work.
"Tell ya what. Why don't I walk you home tonight?" He dazzled her with his best smile. "I'll show you around. Make sure you find what you need." Yeah, he thought, and then some!
Kim sighed. The light seemed to fade from her eyes. "Thanks anyway, but I've got too much work to do. Steve wants the proposal on his desk in the morning, and I'm nowhere near done."
Steve. He might be the boss, but at least he was no competition. Nope, Kimberly Strauss was one thing the bald little gnome wasn't going to be taking away from him.
"No problem. We'll just do it another night."
"Sure." Suddenly, she was all smiles again. "Who needs a map when I've got you?"
"Well, the suburbs can be a bit of an adjustment." Chris tossed his empty coffee cup in the nearest trashcan. He smiled back at her. "Guess that's what the internet is for, eh?" The edges of his mouth stretched the smile from pleasant to lecherous.
Together, they strolled in silence to the end of the block. "What street is this one again? I swear I can't tell the difference between it, and the last ten."
Chris watched her breasts sway gently beneath the faux-fur jacket as she shook her head. Full and round, with nipples impossible to hide, they wouldn't have looked at all out of place on a woman twice her size. On her petite little frame, the effect was almost hypnotically sexual.
"Ah, don't worry, little Kim." Suddenly, he couldn't help himself. He threw an arm about her shoulders and squeezed. She let out a yelp of surprise before he released her. "You'll get used to it sooner than you think."
"I guess so." A visible shiver coursed down her spine as she brushed a strawberry blonde lock of hair from her eyes. Once again, the light seemed to fade from her eyes. Something in her body language told him she was suddenly eager to conclude their little tour. Chris mentally kicked himself for not holding back, and then kicked himself again for not taking full advantage of the moment.
It would have been so easy to `accidentally' brush his hand against those amazing breasts. So easy to discover the answer to the questions that every man in the office – and more than a few women – wanted to know. Were they soft or firm? Did they yield to the touch, or bounce right back? Were those nipples as hard as they looked? Most importantly, were the damn things real?
But, then, he knew they were. She was far too naive about her beauty to have resorted to surgery.
"Shouldn't we be getting back?" Kim's strained voice drew him back to the present. "We have less than twenty minutes left on our lunch."
He smiled again, not about to let his disappointment show. If he couldn't cop a quick feel now, then he'd just have to play the gentleman and bide his time. "As you wish, milady." With an exaggerated bow, Chris turned down the street to their left. He put a few houses behind him before shortening his stride to let her keep pace.
"Hey! I thought you were in a hurry?"
"Ah, yeah . . . yeah, I was." Kim crouched down and placed her coffee on the sidewalk. They couldn't have been more than five minutes away from the office, but she just had to stop here. "Wow." She did a quick check of traffic – not that there was any in this neighbourhood – then jogged across the street. In the absence of traffic, her heels clicked loudly across the black asphalt. "What is this?"
She stopped before a filthy, crumbling stone wall, not quite close enough to let it stain her coat. An erratic line of withered apple trees ran the length of the fence, having given up on hiding the immense, dilapidated mansion they surrounded. Three full stories, with what looked to be a half-attic above and a cellar below, it must have been something magnificent at one time. Sadly, it had clearly seen better days. Those windows that weren't broken were boarded over. Most of the blue-grey paint had peeled away to reveal the rotted, crumbling boards beneath.
Kim wandered further down the street. Even with her untrained eye, she could see that the entire building seemed to be sinking on the right side. The master balcony had long ago crashed down upon the front porch, destroying the elegant railing in the process.
"I mean . . . what was it?"
Chris paused just long enough to hand over her coffee. "It's nothing, little Kim. Let's go." He started walking back across the street. "It's just some dusty old relic that nobody's ever gotten around to cleaning up. Forget about it."
She paused a moment before hurrying to catch up, then couldn't resist looking back over her shoulder once more. "Well, if nobody wants to restore it, why don't they at least demolish it and develop the property?" She was almost walking backwards, reluctant to let the mystery pass out of sight. "There has to be room for three houses, maybe even five if you follow those long-and-narrow designs you showed me back on Arthur Street." When the burly programmer didn't immediately respond, she asked, "What? Is it some kind of historical landmark or something?"
Chris chuckled softly at the suggestion. There was nothing obscene about his laugh now. "Yeah," he muttered, "you've got it dead-on with the 'or something' part."
Although it was several blocks out of her way – and she wasn't even sure she'd be able to find her way home afterward – Kim couldn't resist passing by the old mansion again after work. She'd spent a good part of the afternoon trying to drag some details out of the few people she'd gotten to know at the office, but nobody seemed to want to talk about it. Either they claimed to have never really paid any attention' to it, or they just assured her it wasn't worth wasting her time' on. Despite their excuses, though, they all had one thing in common – a brief, nervous twitch that said far more than words.
"So . . . just what – exactly – is your secret?" She stood beneath a flickering streetlight, hands tucked into her pockets, and let her gaze wander across the scene before her. It consumed her . . . called to her . . . demanded that she notice it, and she didn't understand why.
The crumbling stone wall that surrounded the property stood roughly waist-high, and was maybe twelve inches thick. Although she couldn't tell what kind of stone it was in the darkness, there was a distinct blue-grey coloring visible beneath the dirt and the mould. At one time, there must have been a wrought iron trim along the top to match the gate, but all that remained were rusty holes in the stone where the posts had once been. As for the gate, it was an elaborate piece of early twentieth century craftsmanship that, in defiance of the ruin it protected, remained solid – if not clean – and securely fastened.
She abandoned the weak circle of yellow light and strolled over to peek inside the gate. The yard beyond the apple trees was nothing more than dirt and weeds, with what looked liked dead rosebushes scattered randomly about. A narrow, meandering path of cracked and broken paving stones led up to the building itself, with a few interesting branches to either side. Off to the right, the path circled its way around a deep oval ditch, where a fountain, or perhaps a garden pond, must have sat at one time. Off to the left, one path ended at the remains of an old gazebo, while a second disappeared around the side of the house.
"You must have been something special," she mused, "so what happened? Doesn't look like a fire, or any kind of sudden disaster. It just looks like . . . well, as if you were left to rot." The petite beauty shook her head softly, wondering what could have befallen such a gorgeous building.
More than that, though, she wondered what it was about the place that had everyone so spooked.
And what made her so insanely, inexplicably curious.
"Oh well." It was dark, cold, and she was tired from a long day at work. For now, she'd leave the issue alone, but she planned to come back for a closer look on the weekend. With one last, curious glance, she turned around and headed for home.
At least, she hoped it was the right direction for home.
Despite the obsession gnawing at her subconscious, Kim waited until Sunday morning before deciding to risk a closer inspection of her mystery mansion. The house that Froud Enterprises had found her was situated in a mature neighbourhood, full of good, old-fashioned, churchgoing souls. Not all of her neighbours fit the stereotype, of course, but enough did that she felt a little more comfortable with fewer prying eyes to watch my daylight trespassing.
"Good morning, Kimberly."
She frowned. `Kimberly.' Even her mother didn't call her that anymore. "Good morning, Mrs. Henderson."
Not long after she'd moved in, the kindly old woman next door had `just popped by for a cup of tea,' as she put it. That cup of tea had lasted two hours, and the woman had still been talking as Kim walked her out the door. For a moment, she thought about pretending she'd forgotten something in the house, but then paused.
If anybody could tell her more about the old mansion, it'd be Mrs. Henderson.
Kim resumed her usual cheery smile and happily skipped over the flowerbed that separated their yards. "How are you, this morning?" She stood there, racking her brains for something – anything – the old woman might have told her before. "Is . . . um, is that orange tomcat still digging up your flowers?"
"Oh, gracious, no. Sprinkle a little cayenne pepper around the garden every day, and the cats, they only dig up once." She waggled her wrinkled index finger in Kim's direction. "After that, their burning little noses keep them away."
The young woman laughed, honestly amused by the idea of neighbourhood strays having met their match in this sweet, little old lady. "You've lived around her most of your life, haven't you?"
Mrs. Henderson nodded. "Yes, my Phillip and me, we were the third tenants of this building. It was during the war, you see, and houses were much too expensive for a pair of newlyweds to afford."
"So, you must remember that old mansion over on the corner of Edgar and . . ."
Both cataract-clouded eyes lit up at that, which meant there was indeed a story to tell. "Now, what would a nice young woman like yourself be doing in such a sordid place?" The little old lady cocked her head to the side and looked up with her one good eye. "I think you'll find that most folks around here, they like to stay away from there."
Kim shrugged. "When you come from the land of glass and steel, a little bit of history tends to catch the eye."
"Well, if you'd really like to know the story . . ." The old woman smiled. "I could use a little help with my groceries, don't you know."
"Sure. I'd be glad to."
"A burlesque house?" Kim leaned into the shopping cart and smiled. "Are we just talking about off-color jokes and petticoat stripteases, or . . ."
Mrs. Henderson winked, apparently not scandalized in the least to be having such a discussion in the cereal aisle. "Oh my, it was much more than that. Folks nowadays would call it a whorehouse, but people back then, they liked to sugar-coat their vices." As they turned down the next aisle, she continued. "It was a very high-class place, mind you, but what they did was still sordid and dirty."
"Really?" Kim felt herself blush at the thought.
The old woman favoured her with a gentle shake of her head. "My lord, the things some girls will do to earn a living!"
"Must have been a few scandals within those walls."
"Oh, no – at least, not at first. Kept things very quiet and very discreet, they did." Mrs. Henderson dropped a bag of oatmeal into the cart. "Would you be a dear and grab me the little fruit rings up there? Phillip, he just loves them."
They continued onto the next aisle. "You know, they had a lot of very good years there. Mind you, the Great Depression marked lean times for us all, but they'd made enough during Prohibition to see things through and even to offer some folks a little charity."
"Then, what happened? From what you're saying, it sounds like it was almost a respectable business. What eventually brought it down, and why are people so unwilling to discuss it?"
This time, the old woman took a good look up and down the aisle before motioning Kim close. "Not here," she whispered. "I'll tell you the rest on our way home . . ."
It was two painful hours later before Kim was finally able to get away and explore the old place. Mrs. Henderson had really dragged out the final, incredible details, but she hadn't done anything to dull the young woman's interest. If anything, she was even more obsessed with the old place now than ever before.
Apparently, the brothel's fortunes had taken a turn for the worse in the early fifties. World War II was over, the boys had come home, and – as far as most people were concerned – things were to be back to normal. Of course, people's private lives were a lot more private back then, so it took quite some time before the strange patterns of bedroom behaviour came to be noticed.
At first, it was just little things – a little more energy after dark, a little more aggression in bed, and a little more curiosity beneath the sheets. It seemed the sweet, demure women the boys had left behind . . . well, weren't quite so innocent anymore. In fact, some of them were downright aggressive, demanding to be pleased and pleased right now!
Before long, everyone and everything became suspect, but nobody could have guessed the bizarre truth. These young, lonely women who'd gone so long without their husbands had indeed sought out the affections of others. They had indeed found themselves warm beds and willing partners – but not with the men who'd stayed behind. Instead, it was the women of the brothel that consoled them, and it was they who kept the brothel in business!
The sordid, Sapphic scandal had very nearly caused the brothel to close its doors right then and there, but the Madame's resignation and consequent sale of her mansion pacified most. Unfortunately, an era had come to an end, and things were never quite the same after that. People were no longer willing to turn a blind eye to the brothel's activities, and many of its most prominent clients eventually decided it would be safer to find their pleasures elsewhere. As a result, the new Madame was forced to supplement her brothel's income with other . . . perversions.
"Ouch!" Kim stumbled through the back door on her third attempt to force it open. The rotted wood had proved stronger than she'd thought, almost as if it were trying to keep her out. It was silly, of course, but her imagination tended to run away with her at times.
Once inside, she found that the small flashlight sticking out of her purse wouldn't be needed right away. The upper floors might be a different story, but here the open door conspired with the broken windows and other various holes to provide adequate illumination. It wasn't perfect – there were still a lot of shadows to be explored – but she had no difficulty discerning the general layout of the dusty, cobwebbed scene before her.
The room in which she stood appeared to be some kind of lounge, well furnished and well decorated, with a large fireplace on either side. While she had no idea what color they might once have been, moth-eaten couches dotted the room, each discreetly turned to provide a measure of privacy from the others. The few she stopped to examine had all been elaborately carved, with the same kind of claw-feet you find on antique bathtubs. In addition, before each couch were tattered patches of fabric that she assumed had once been rugs -- likely more ornamental than functional.
The young woman stooped down to scratch her ankle and frowned. Sneakers may have made for a comfortable walk, but a decent pair of boots might have been more appropriate for exploring. "Hope there are no mice in here." Coming from the big city, burglars, cockroaches, and even rats she could deal with. For some reason, though, mice drove her a dozen different kinds of crazy.
She crossed the room and stepped through the wide archway, which led into a cold, dark hallway. Very little light made its way in here, but she was able to make out a pair of doors. The one on the left was just inside the archway. The one on the right stood much closer to what had to be the front door. Picking the closest one, she turned the handle and nearly fell on her face as the entire door came crashing down.
"Hmm. I guess that's – cough – one way to do it." She blinked away the dust from her eyes. "Maybe I should have knocked first." She laughed to herself and dropped the brass door handle – which had come away in her hand. Carefully, she stepped over what was left of the door. The room here was little more than a closet. There was a small counter just inside where the coat-check girl must have stood, with empty clothes-racks two deep on both sides, and a third at the back. Even if only half of those racks had been filled on any given night, she could clearly see this had been a volume business.
Not finding anything of interest there, Kim backed out into the hall and tried the door on the right. "Come on, come on, come on." She felt the door give a little and kept pushing. The frame must have warped over time, sealing the room shut.
"Hey, need some help there?"
Kim screamed.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" The figure before her stumbled back a step. "It's me, Chris." He held his hands out, as if to keep her away. "I stopped by your place to see if you wanted to grab some lunch, and this weird old lady told me you were heading back to this dump."
"You idiot." She was panting slightly from the fright. "I nearly kicked you back into your mother's womb."
To his credit, Chris looked as if he honestly were sorry. He also looked a little scared, and far more nervous than he should have been, considering he was on the other side of the fright. Kim was about to tell him to go, that she could handle it quite fine herself, thank you, when she heard herself say, "Well, as long as you're here, I could use a strong pair of hands to help with this door."
Where the hell had that come from?
"Sure thing."
One push from Chris, and the door popped open.
A dank, musky odour rushed out, but dissipated almost as soon as Kim noticed it. She withdrew the flashlight and trained its narrow beam across the room. "Well, if you're still game," she said, "let's see what we have here."
Chris stepped back from the open door. "Ladies first."
As she passed through the door, Kim allowed herself a self-satisfied smile. He might be acting all gallant and polite, but she could see from the way his hand shook that she'd have better luck turning him into a gentleman than getting him to go first.
Inside was another, smaller lounge, with a segmented sofa running all the way around. What immediately caught her eye, though, was the elaborate spiral staircase in the centre. To her relief, it was made of the same wrought iron as the front gate. She desperately wanted a look upstairs – where the real action had taken place – but rickety old wooden stairs alone would have put a definite damper on her curiosity.
The petite blonde giggled like a schoolgirl. "I can't believe we're doing this!"
"Neither can I." No giggles from Chris, but those looks back over his shoulder were another nervous sign.
They took their time climbing the stairs, cautiously testing each step before shifting their weight forward. It made for slow going, but it beat the alternative – an all too quick and possibly deadly descent. The higher they climbed, the darker it became, so Kim kept her eyes glued to the small circle of illumination the flashlight cast around her feet.
She was so busy watching for missing stairs that the second floor kind of snuck up on her.
To this point, she hadn't questioned her curiosity for a second. Give her a problem, a query, or scenario and she'd be all over it. Actually, it was finding problems that was in her blood, which was what made her one of the most sought-after software developers in the area. Her original coding might be simple and uninspired, but she had a knack for finding a way around the errors and omissions of others.
This, though, was something else entirely. It was like reading the tabloids or slowing down for a car wreck. It was trespassing, and she had no idea what possessed her to do it. She was normally shy, quiet, and not at all adventurous. Just peeking in a friend's medicine cabinet left her riddled with guilt for days. And when it came to sex . . . well, a good girl just didn't' belong anywhere near a place like this.
Still, something about the house just seemed to call to her.
She looked back to find that Chris has paused a few stairs beneath her. He looked pale, and she was sure it wasn't just the light.
"You've come this far," Kim told him, "so you might as well see what's up here."
A long, dark hallway stretched out before her, carpeted in dust, with doors to either side. Swallowing loudly, she raised the beam of her flashlight and watched it disappear into the darkness. Here was an entirely different world from the first floor – so quiet . . . so dark . . . so stale . . . so closed off from everything else.
She'd laughed when Mrs. Henderson told her the place was haunted, but now she starting to understand why Chris apparently felt so creeped out. Not only had he not made a pass at her yet, but he'd hardly said a word.
According to Mrs. Henderson, the new Madame's perversions had been of a decidedly dark design. Breaking the ice with some relatively tame bondage and role-playing, she'd allowed things to develop into hardcore S&M, later adding some weird occult twist to it all. Ironically, the mysterious occult twist that proved to be such a temporary salvation, turned into their eventual damnation.
Clients came from all over the country to sample this darkest of perversions, and the Madame had extorted a high price for it. For a brief time, profits had eclipsed even the heady days of Prohibition, but it wasn't to last. Just as the brothel's reputation began to spread beyond the shores of North America, the entire operation came crashing down, literally overnight. Without any apparent reason or explanation, the Madame and her staff had fled the mansion in panic one frosty Sunday morning, never to return, and never to speak of what they saw.
Kim slowly made her way down the hall, taking small steps to avoid disturbing the dust any more than was necessary. Not that it helped when Chris was awkwardly, almost reluctantly shuffling and staggering along behind her. The dust he stirred up conspired with the darkness to further shroud what she already could barely see. Fortunately, just as she was beginning to wonder if there was an end to the hall, a telltale glint of metal was revealed in the distance.
She confirmed her suspicions with a nervous glance behind her. The stairs to the third floor were directly ahead. Now that she had her bearings, she felt comfortable enough to start checking out the doors on either side.
"Of course, all that haunting stuff is absolute bunk," she whispered. Chris snorted his disdain behind her, but she ignored him. "It does make a girl wonder. I mean, a grand old building like this, and it stands empty for decades. No homeless people shacking up inside, no teenage gangs hanging out . . ." She paused for a moment, lost in thought. "And no animals claiming it for their own."
"Some critters just know when to leave well enough alone."
It hadn't really registered to her until now, but the place was as clean as it was silent. She would have expected the stench of rat feces, dead squirrels, cat urine, and the like to be nearly overpowering after so many years of abandonment. At the very least, the smell of mould should have been all around her, but all she could smell was dust.
Other than the sounds of their own breathing, there wasn't a sound to be heard. No mice scratching inside the walls. No birds in the rafters. If she held her breath, all she could hear was the laboured breathing of Chris behind her.
Suddenly, it was as if a spell had been broken. Kim shivered with the November cold that she hadn't been feeling. It came on so quickly, she dropped her flashlight as her arms snapped up to warm her painfully erect nipples.
"Hey!" Chris screamed like a little girl and reached out to grab her arm.
Clouds of breath that she couldn't recall seeing a few seconds ago were hovering before her face now. Even her toes were beginning to feel numb.
"There is definitely something fucking wrong with this place."
Kim agreed. Her curiosity was completely gone. Whatever had come over her had broken, and all she wanted to do now was get out.
"Come on." Chris' meaty paw tugged at her coat. "Let's just go back the way we came."
Kim turned awkwardly, fighting his grip, not sure she remembered where to safely step without the flashlight.
"Hold on. Let me grab the flashlight."
Chris continued to tug. "No time. We have to go. Now."
"Relax. You're starting to freak me out." Having Chris to focus on was helping to keep her own fear at bay. "Besides, I never asked you to come."
"Oh, fuck this." Chris let go. "I'm gone."
Suddenly overbalanced, Kim stumbled back. "Chris," she called out, "take it slow. Be care—"
CCcccrrraaAAcccKKKkkkCRASH!
"Nnnnnnnnnnnoooooooooooo. . ."
"Chris!"
BANG! WHAM!
" . . . Oooooooooohhhhhhhhhh . . . "
"Chris! Please be okay!"
CcccrreeeaaaakkkkkCccrreeeaaaakkkkCRASH!
Chris was able to shake himself back to consciousness by the time the dust and debris settled. Tears blurred his eyes as he stared up through the gaping, jagged hole he'd left in the two floors above. One second he'd been retreating from the freakish cold, and the next he was crashing helplessly through the rotted floor. One of the old couches in the first floor lounge had broken his fall – knocking the wind out of him in the process – but their combined weight sent him plummeting again, this time into the basement.
At least, he hoped this was the basement, because he didn't think he could handle another landing like the last one.
Chris gasped desperately for breath. He was coughing up more dust than anything else. Panicked, he knew he had to sit up if he was to catch his breath, but he couldn't seem to summon the strength necessary to move. Instead, he waited until he could at least manage a regular rasping, and then began taking stock of the situation. First, he tried wiggling his fingers and toes to see if anything was broken – and blanched when they refused to respond.
"Hello? Chris?" The voice was faint and far away. It had to be coming from above. "Are you okay down there?"
The panic began to well inside him again. "Paralysed. I'm paralysed. I can't move!"
He heard her scrambling away, then nothing at all for a few long minutes. Just as he was becoming convinced that she had abandoned him, her voice called out again.
"Chris, you're going to have to hold tight. I'm going to go get help. There's no way I can get around the hole and make it back to the stairs, but I think I can escape out a window and make my way down from there."
He wanted to cry out, to beg her to stay, but he knew he needed help. "Okay, but be quick." He licked his lips. "Please, Kim? Please be quick."
The sound of scrambling came again from above, and then more silence. Chris closed his eyes and tried to force his body to relax, to remain still, and to allow the healing process to work its magic. The thought of being permanently paralyzed was more than he could cope with. It scared him, but it also depressed him.
He felt so lost, so doomed, that the concept of putting forth any effort at all to rescue himself was alien to him.
{This . . . is good.}
A strange, inhuman voice reverberated off the walls.
{Very good . . . those who struggle . . . die . . . you . . . you I can use.}
Chris catapulted from panic to absolute terror in the space of a heartbeat. His head snapped left and right in a vain attempt to place it, but the voice seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"Who?" He had to swallow past the lump of fear in his throat. "Who's out there?"
Silence was the only response.
A cold sweat was trickling down his face, but that was the only physical sensation in his suddenly claustrophobic corner of the world. The darkness was pressing in upon him with suffocating intensity, and he had no idea who – or what – was out there. For all he knew, there could be some homeless, homicidal maniac crouched at his feet, just waiting for his moment. For all he knew, some inhuman monster could be sitting on his legs, already gnawing upon his flesh!
"Who's out there? Where are you?" He tried to keep his mind from slipping into madness. Where was Kim? It had only been a few minutes, but he wished she was there with him. He was clearly delirious, hallucinating, and he desperately needed somebody to keep him grounded in reality.
The silent darkness continued to mock him. Startling even himself, he suddenly screamed out, "What do you want?"
{Entertainment . . . amusement . . . diversion . . . perversion.}
Strangely, that chilling admission actually quelled some of his fears. He may have been trapped, completely at the mercy of his as-yet-unseen captor, but perhaps he could bargain his way to safety. High-pressure sales was his job, after all. He'd bargained with the best, negotiated deals he had no business even contemplating, and he was damned good at what he did. Besides, with his body already broken and useless, there was little he wouldn't be willing to do for his freedom. He honestly didn't care what price he had to pay, just so long as he got to see the sun again.
"Look," he promised, "whatever you want, I'll do it." Desperate for a glimpse of his fate, he gazed into the endless darkness, but it was no use. Try as he might, there was just no way his eyes were going to adjust. Down here there were no streetlights, no stars, no passing headlights, not even the faint illumination of a digital clock. This darkness was absolute.
Suddenly, something or someone lifted him up off the floor, severing the last of his physical sensations. As long as he'd been able to feel that cold, stone floor beneath his head, he knew he was alive. Now, though, it was like he'd been suspended in some kind of sensory deprivation tank. There was nothing to see, nothing to hear, and nothing to feel. Only the fact that blood wasn't rushing to his head told him he was being held upright.
For all he knew, he might as well have been skewered upon some kind of giant meat hook.
{You are broken . . . but I will mend your inside . . . your outside . . . you . . . will become . . . mine.}
He cried out in despair as the hole above him slowly slid out of sight. He was being dragged deeper into the basement, away from the single, solitary, residual tie to his sanity. He remained little more than a head dripping sweat into the darkness for the longest time. Judging by his thirst, he must have passed in and out of consciousness several times, although there was nothing against which to judge the passage of time. It might easily have been several days before anything changed. Then again, maybe it was just a few minutes – there was no way to know.
Chris wanted – needed - to thrash around, to kick something, to hit something, but there was no outlet for his aggression. He'd never before felt quite so helpless. He didn't even know if he was still moving, much less where he was.
His first indication that something had changed was a very slight, almost imperceptible tingling in his arms. Under any other circumstances, it would have gone unnoticed, but after the terror of complete paralysis, it was impossible to ignore. Assuming he wasn't just imagining it, that tingling was the first indication he'd had that he might survive this ordeal intact.
Before long, the slight tingling became something more. He still couldn't see a thing, but it felt as if something had been wrapped tightly around his arms. Perhaps that's what was holding him up – he couldn't yet feel enough to be sure – but the phantom sensation was growing warmer and stronger the more he concentrated upon it. At the same time, he was beginning to notice a far different sensation down below. There was a warm, insistent, tightly focused pressure between his legs, almost as if he was sitting on a damp bicycle seat.
{You begin . . . to feel . . . to respond . . . this . . . is good.}
Something was definitely happening, of that he was certain. As to whether or not it was a good thing . . . well, time would tell.
His arms were beginning to throb – almost painfully – and now his legs seemed to be responding to the same kind of stimulation. As for the pressure between his legs, it hadn't changed, but he felt like he wanted to squirm away from it. The physical need was there, but that kind of movement was still beyond his control.
{You feel . . . but you do not . . . see.}
Long after the words themselves should have faded into silence, they continued to echo like laughter inside his head.
{Let . . . there be . . . light.}
The entire room exploded with a white-hot illumination. It was just as blinding and absolute as the earlier darkness, but the void of his prison was now white instead of black. After a few moments, his eyes did begin to adjust, but it was a slow, painful process. He paid for every new, blurry detail with wave after wave of agony, until he began to wonder if it was even worth it.
The first thing to come into focus was the dusty, crumbling stone wall ahead of him. It was hard to tell through all the mould and rust, but the stones seemed to be the same blue-grey as the wall that surrounded the yard outside. Something about them seemed almost ancient, as if they predated the brothel itself, but it was nothing he could put his finger on. Fortunately, they were a softly soothing colour to look at, and staring seemed to help with his headache.
As he allowed his gaze to slide across the wall he discovered the source of the blinding illumination that had so suddenly filled the room. There were antique iron braziers paced every ten to twelve feet along the wall, reminding him of some kind of medieval dungeon. They all appeared to be sporting the same white-hot flame, but there was something odd about them. He cautiously squinted at them out of the corner of his eye and realised that the braziers contained no torches to account for the flames.
"What the fuck?" He briefly considered the possibility of natural gas being piped through the walls, but he couldn't smell anything. Besides that, if there were still live gas lines here, the place likely would have gone up in flames long, long ago.
{You look . . . but you still . . . do not . . . see . . . look . . . closer.}
Suddenly his body was being jerked in all directions at once, manipulated like a puppet on a string. Although he was experiencing it, he barely felt it. It was like watching from inside a costume as it happened to somebody else. Whatever it was that had hold of his arms and legs yanked them all forward, while something else pulled him back by the waist. Fortunately, most of his body was still senseless from the crippling fall. Otherwise, being folded in half like that would have had him screaming in agony.
Seconds later, he was screaming in horror instead.
"Oh shit . . . this can't fucking be real." Wrapped tightly around each of his ankles was a dismembered black, ashen, sharply taloned claw. He could see them grasping and squeezing his naked, sweaty flesh. "No . . . fucking . . . way is this real." As for his arms, they were victims of the same grotesque bondage, only these claws were red and limned by faint traces of fire. "Son of a bitch. I . . . I want to fucking wake up right fucking now."
As a mental picture began to form inside his head, he realised he really didn't want to know what was causing the warm, damp, pressure between his legs. As long as he didn't look, he didn't have to believe it was real. His captor seemed to have different ideas. Two more demonic hands, one black and one red, wrapped around his neck. Alternately hot and cold, they applied just enough pressure to manipulate him, without choking him to death, and forced him to look.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" A pair of disembodied claws held the cheeks of his ass wide while a shiny black talon began working its way in and out of his ass. It seemed to be thrusting more aggressively as he watched, and was steadily working its way farther and farther inside. As if it hadn't been bad enough before, the urge to squirm and struggle was unbearable now that he knew what was happening. Every instinct he had was screaming for release, but there was nothing he could do.
{Ah . . . the screams. I remember them . . . well. Allow me to . . . savour them.}
Suddenly, his body was jerked straight again as more than a dozen more blood-red and ash-black claws began appearing around him. One by one they wrapped themselves around a phantom void that only revealed itself to be a monstrously long, grotesquely swollen, devil's cock as the final claw took hold.
It took thirteen large hands to encompass the length of the red member. As he gazed in horror, Chris could see veins of fire pulsating weakly between each razor sharp talon. The demonic hands pointed the grotesquely swollen cockhead his way as they jerked backwards and forwards, masturbating it in perfect synchronization. Each stroke seemed designed to challenge his fragile mind to understand what was happening. The truth of what they were up to was sickeningly obvious, but he couldn't bring himself to accept it.
"No. No. No." He wanted to shake his head, but the talons wrapped around his throat wouldn't allow it. "There is no fucking way I am believing this." He couldn't even close his eyes, because each time he tried, the claws squeezed a little tighter until he opened them again. "It cannot be . . . it just . . . just can't be what it looks like."
"Kim! Where the fuck are you?"
Kim was seething in anger. There was dirt on her hands and a cut on her leg. Her jeans were ripped. The sky above had become overcast, and the stone beneath her ass was cold. This was unacceptable. Somebody would have to pay.
She was startled out of her angry musings by a scream she felt more than heard. She spun around to face the house. Something about it made her so angry that she balled her hands into fits and pierced the flesh of her palms with her nails. As she mentally forced the twin fists to reopen, the tang of hot blood assaulted her senses. Kim's anger was only slightly appeased as she watched the blood pool around each crescent shaped wound before running down her hand. The blood dripped steadily until it was almost a steady stream of crimson.
As she followed the bloodstream down, Kim started in surprise. How she'd gotten there she had no idea, but she was perched atop an immense stone gargoyle that seemed to be soaking up the blood like a sponge. Confused and disoriented, she looked around, but couldn't remember seeing the gargoyle there before. Considering the fact that it was sitting right in the middle of the stone path that circled the house she couldn't see how she'd missed it, but here it was.
Here she was.
Come to think of it, she wasn't quite sure what she had been doing in such an old, abandoned place in the first place. Idly, one bloody hand began rubbing at the damp crotch of her jeans, while the other stroked a hard nipple through a shirt that suddenly seemed two sizes too small. She felt . . . passionate. That's the word she was searching for. She felt passionate . . . full of pure, unadulterated, angry lust. She hadn't a care in the world outside her anger, and not a thought for anything beyond her sexual fury of the moment.
Somewhere, deep in the back of her mind, a tiny little voice was crying out about saving somebody . . . finding help . . . bringing someone back . . . and coming to somebody's rescue. She didn't like that voice very much, so she told it to shut the fuck up. It was interfering with her not caring, distracting her from her anger.
Oblivious to everything else around her, Kim ripped open her blouse and began pinching and twisting her nipples until she cried out with pain. She was riding her other hand now, rubbing her pussy with the blood-soaked palm, even as she ground the back of her hand to an equally blood mess against the stone of the gargoyle. It hurt, but it felt good. It made her angry, angrier than she'd ever been before, but it also made her feel satisfied.
When her orgasm came, it came hard and fast, crashing through her body with all the subtlety of a train wreck. She raised her head and screamed aloud to the heavens, cursing the clouds even as she cried out her sexual euphoria. Suddenly spent, she leaned forward, placed her head between her knees, and let her forehead rest against the cold stone. A jolt of electricity ran up through her head, down her back, and into her toes.
[Yes. Feed your anger. Hunger for it.]
A strange voice whispered to her through the breeze. It made her bear her teeth in a fierce grimace of a smile. It made her angry, but she liked that.
[Blood and stone. Stone and blood. Use me and be used.]
With a snarl of rage, Kim ripped the blouse from her chest. She tore off her shoes and hurled them into the encroaching darkness. Surprised by her own strength, yet not expecting any less of herself at the very moment, she reached down and began tearing her jeans in half. The denim dug into her skin, bit into her flesh, and drew fresh blood where it scraped and rubbed, but she luxuriated in the pain. With a final explosion of fury, she ripped half the jeans down one leg and cast them to the ground, then did the same with the other.
The stone of the gargoyle was beginning to warm beneath her. She should have been light-headed and woozy with blood loss, but she'd never felt more alive in her life. Frantic, she looked around for something with which to soothe her sex. "Mine!" She snapped off the gargoyle's left horn with less effort than she'd use to break a pencil, then jammed it deep into her pussy.
[Yes. Vent your rage. Express your anger. Use it to feed your desire.]
Kim was muttering like a madwoman as she ground herself against the gargoyle. She reached down, wiped her hand in the pussy juices that were now dripping from her like a sexual faucet, and then licked it clean. She tasted of blood and cum and old stone. She liked it, but she was craving more.
[More. Give it to me. Take it from me.]
"Shut up." She growled to drown out the voice, sounding more like a rabid dog than the innocent young woman she'd been less than an hour ago. That's when she noticed that her blood and cum were no longer being absorbed by the gargoyle. Instead, they were defying gravity by running up and over its head, before dripping down its face.
When she looked down and saw where the stream ended, she smiled.
Chris was in mid-scream, with his mouth open wide, when all thirteen claws froze in mid-stroke and the grotesquely-swollen, horse-sized cock opened up with an absolute torrent of cum.
Even in his weakened, paralysed state, it was impossible for Chris NOT to feel the gallons of hot, viscous cum splattering all over him. Each drop burned like acid. It felt as if it were eating away at his very soul. Within seconds, he was a steaming, stinking mess of white – and the still-erupting head was being pushed closer! Of course, his first instinct was to scream, but the terror of accidentally tasting that any more of that inhuman seed was far worse than the horror of feeling it coating his flesh.
{What . . . no screams . . . no cries for mercy? Well . . . soon enough.}
To his surprise, instead of intensifying their perverted attack, the thirteen talons released their hold and the demonic cock disappeared before his very eyes. He sensed they were waiting for something, toying with him perhaps, but the feel of all that sperm running down his body made it hard to concentrate on anything else. It was a creepy, aching, sickeningly ticklish sensation. Hot, white goo slid across his quivering flesh. The worst part was, only the thickest, heaviest globs were actually falling to the floor, leaving him with a viscous white coating.
With a violent shudder, he reached up to wipe away the seal of semen plastered across his lips – and froze.
"I . . . I can move." Amazed, he wiggled his fingers before his face and actually laughed. As bizarre as it seemed, the torrent of burning, inhuman cum seemed to have some kind of healing property to it.
That glimmer of false hope was precisely what his unseen captor was waiting for. The disembodied claws holding his right arm tightened their grip again, and then tore his hand away from his face. While he was still reeling from the pain, the one around his neck began pressing against the back of his head, forcing his chin into his chest.
He was staring down at a sickening mess of white when the thirteen hands closed ranks once again and the same red, fire-veined cock appeared between his legs.
"Argggghhhhhhhh!" A pained scream was torn from his throat as that cock was quickly, brutally pressed into his ass. "Aaaaiiiiieeeeeeee!" Another scream exploded from his lips as he literally felt himself being impaled on the demonic monstrosity. It felt as if it were pressing its way past his bowels and into stomach. Even as he began sobbing uncontrollably, he fully expected to feel it creeping up his throat to emerge from his mouth.
{Yes . . . the screams. They . . . are what . . . he . . . savour.}
This time, when the cock exploded, it was buried deep inside him. His entire body shuddered and pulsed with each spurt. If it hadn't been for the talons that still had hold of his arms, legs, and throat, he would have been flailing around in mid-air, thrashing and bouncing against a torrent of demonic semen that his body should not have been able to contain.
What was, perhaps, most disturbing to Chris, though, was the calming sensation that seemed to be emanating from the deepest part of himself . . . from the point within him where the cock had first begun erupting.
Once again, when the claws let go, the cock disappeared. When it did, a gallon of cum poured out ass. Chris could hear the sickening `slop' of it drooling and dripping out to splash upon the rough stone floor.
While he was still suffering the shame of his unnatural ejaculation enema, twelve of the thirteen claws paired off, to wrap themselves around six new, equally evil looking cocks. Although not as large as the first one – they were only (only?) nine inches long – they were still as hard and as thick. Two of them were pressed towards his chest, where their piss-slits latched onto his cold, hardened nipples.
At the same time, two more were pressed against his shrivelled balls, while one pressed against the head of his cock. As he watched, the piss-slit of the demonic cock between his legs opened wide and gorged itself on his limp member. It literally began devouring him, swallowing his manhood, in weird, jerky thrusts.
"Unnnngggghhhhh!"
The last horse-sized cock was pressed against his lips. Chris knew what was coming next, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. To be entirely honest, and he did not like how confused he was about this, he wasn't sure he wanted to stop it. Suddenly, it was in his mouth and halfway down his throat before he could even glimpse the blood-red blur of its movement. He didn't remember opening his mouth, but here it was inside him.
Chris immediately began gagging and choking on the huge invader. Within seconds, he felt a sickening quiver across his tongue as it immediately began spewing its seed directly down his throat. He tried to grab a hold and yank it out, but the claws wrapped around his arms would allow no such thing.
{Drink up. There's plenty more . . . to come.}
The fiery torrent of cum continued burning its way down his throat, filling his stomach until it began swelling beyond belief. He was starting to look like a pregnant bitch in heat, but suddenly that seemed to be the least of his worries. The unholy fire was spreading throughout his entire body, fed by the rest of his demonic rapists. The two that had seized upon his nipples were literally spewing their seed into his chest, pumping him with hot cum until his flesh swelled into a pair of ridiculously ample breasts.
As for the cocks down below, the two that had been kissing his balls were now firing creamy white jets against them, forcing his testicles to retreat back into his body, as if puberty were being reversed. The worst part, though, had to be the blood-red sheath now almost entirely wrapped around his cock.
How he was able to distinguish one moist, fiery internal explosion from another he had no idea. All he knew is that the attack on his manhood had biological sirens screaming inside his head, drawing his attention to its impossible invasion. Even though it was wrapped around his manhood, the blood-red cock was cumming hard. Chris could feel the searing semen exploding against the head of his cock, gradually forcing it back into his body with every spurt.
"Ahhh . . . ohhhh . . . ahhhhhhh . . ."
He cried out around his mouthful of ebony flesh. His senses were in complete overload, bombarding his brain with impossible sensations. While he should have been insane with terror, Chris began to suspect he was suffering from another kind of insanity altogether.
He wasn't beginning to enjoy it, but he was beginning to crave it.
Eyes wide, he began moaning as he squirmed against his bonds, but the talons weren't about to let him go now. His stomach was still expanding; his chest continued to swell to pornographic proportions; and the cocks that weren't inside him were bathing him with their seed. He could sense the moment of absolute violation almost upon him.
"UNNNNNGGH . . . AAHHHHHH . . . AAAAIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
As he felt the horse-size cock between his legs plunge its blood-red, cum-spewing head into the fleshy hole where his cock had once been, he snapped. What was left of the old Chris retreated into a private little corner of his brain and cowered in the darkness. Far too much had happened to him, far too quickly, and there was no way anybody could be expected to cope with such extreme humiliation and remain sane. He knew it was wrong, was certain of his status as victim, so how could he crave it so much?
{Yes . . . good . . . more emptiness for him . . . to fill.}
Although not technically a virgin – Billy Scott had taken her all the way once, although he'd been unable to finish – Kim had never been a sexual person. Shy and timid as she was, the depths of her passion had always scared her. She wasn't easily aroused, but that was entirely a mental limitation. Physically, her body had always been quick to give into stimulation, and equally quick to reach climax. The loss of control that came over her with each climax had always terrified her, though, which is why she resisted it.
Until now.
She had never before hungered for anything like she hungered for the gorgeous stone cock of the gargoyle below. It was easily as long and as thick as her forearm, with a slight curve. It looked hard, cold, and rough, the stone flesh marked by years of exposure. The way it was pitted and cracked in places promised an equally rough fuck, but she had to have it.
"I want it."
Naked and covered in goose bumps from the cold, Kim somersaulted backwards over the gargoyle's head and dropped to her knees. She began worshipping the cock with her hands, stroking it to life, and feeding it with her blood and her cum. The stone was already warming to her touch, responding to her life-giving essences, but she forced herself to wait.
It was hard. The need deep inside her ached so much, but she denied it. She had to make herself angry before she could allow herself to enjoy it.
[Yes. Let your anger build. Let it give you strength.]
Kim let her hands freeze upon the cock. "What do you want from me?"
[Continue.]
"No." She didn't like feeling used. She never had. It was one of the few things in life that could bring her to anger. "Why did you bring me here? What is the price of this lust?"
The voice didn't respond with words. Instead, it bombarded her mind with images. She watched Chris being violated by the demon cocks and became furious. She watched his transformation into Chrissie and became furiously aroused. She watched him give birth to a fiery demon monstrosity, and her fury mounted. She watched the demon use Chrissie to breed more, and she began to feel nervous. She watched the world descend into chaos and began to tremble with fear.
"Stop," she cursed. "That's your fear, not mine." Kim grabbed onto the gargoyle's wings and used them to lift herself into position. She lowered herself down, until the top of the stone cock was just kissing the lips of her pussy, and she stopped. "I don't like feeling afraid. Give me back my anger."
Her mind was bombarded with new images. She saw herself straddling Chrissie, forcing the demon-spawning bitch to suck on her tits, and she felt the fear fade. She saw her own breast milk leaking out of the sides of Chrissie's mouth, and she became furious at the waste. She saw the demon kicking and trashing inside Chrissie's womb, and she became furiously aroused.
"Fuck me." Kim let go of the gargoyle's wings and impaled herself on the stone cock. She instantly exploded with a soul-rending cry of both agony and ecstasy. It hurt, but it felt good. The scrape of cold stone against the hot flesh of her pussy walls was driving her insane. She wanted it to stop, but she also wanted more. It was the worst kind of violation, but it was also the best kind. Panting with lust, she began fucking herself on the cock, riding it hard and fast.
With a thunderous crack and a cloud of dust, the stone wings of the gargoyle came around to envelop her in their cold, coarse embrace. The felt rough and hard against her back, and she could feel the dampness of blood where they rubbed and scraped against her flesh. The pain pushed her to new heights of lust, even as it washed away the last remnants of fear.
As she continued to fuck its cock, the stone claws of the gargoyle came around to play with her clit. They pinched and pulled, twisted and tugged, until it began to grow beneath their touch. Cocooned in the darkness of the wings, there was little Kim could see, but she sensed what was happening.
The next wave of images erased any doubt. She watched herself hurling Chrissie onto a cold, stone floor and felt her arousal grow. She watched the look of confusion on the bitch's face, flitting between hunger and terror, and felt her own lust envelop them both. She watched herself kneel between Chrissie's legs and penetrate her with the cock currently being fashioned between her legs, and she cried out in ecstasy. She watched Chrissie's womb deflate, the demon inside fucked back into the nether regions of hell, and she lost all control.
She came around the gargoyle's cock. Orgasm after orgasm wracked her body, filling her with previously unknown sensations of pure pleasure. Blinded by the darkness, but driven by her newfound need, Kim wrapped her hands around the gargoyle's and felt her cock continue to grow and to swell. She wanted to cum, to feel the explosion of stone-bred semen against her tits and her face, but knew she would have to wait.
[Fuck him. Impale her. Please yourself. Preserve the world.]
Kim laughed. She would fuck the bitch within an inch of his life . . . and then some.
"Hi!"
Mentally, Chris spun around, suddenly aware that there was someone else inside his head. For a brief moment, it was like looking into some kind of psychic mirror, but then the other began to change. Just as his body continued to be transformed by geysers of inhuman cum, he saw his mirrored essence being twisted and warped into something new and disturbing. He almost recognized himself in her. Sure, where he had been crude and masculine, she was vapid and feminine, but he could see exactly how and where his suffering had led to her birth. She was him. He was her.
She smiled with a mindless grin and advanced on him where he cowered in the corner of his mind. He tried to hide, to flee, to get away from her lewd embrace, but it was inevitable.
She wanted it.
She needed it.
He was left with no choice.
If this was what he had to deal with . . . if this was what he was to become . . . then Chris figured it just might be better to live his new life as a happily empty-headed sex-doll than as a tortured, tormented, guilt-ridden man.
She laughed.
He screamed.
She fell upon him . . . into him . . . through him.
Suddenly, they were one . . . one demonically bred bimbo transsexual whore who was taking a horribly perverse, impossibly obscene, pleasure in it all.
{Awake . . . arise. Become . . . my child . . . my spawn.}
Apparently pleased with what it had created, his inhuman captor released him from the binding claws. The razor-sharp talons were now gently caressing his cum-drenched flesh, awakening his new body from its paralysed slumber. At the same time, the demonic cock that had so effectively prompted the rape of his mouth had released him as well, and now was directing wave after wave of hot cum into his hair.
It was a taste of freedom, a narrow margin of escape, but the new Chris had no interest in taking advantage of it. Memories of his previous life were already fading, leaving him a blank slate. Instead of wanting to flee, he found himself succumbing to the overpowering lust of what was being done to him.
"Yummy, yummy cummy!" He sounded like a helium-infused cheerleader as he sang, blowing bubbles in the cum around his lips. "Yummy, yummy cummy," he reached out to grab the cock above him an pulled his to his mouth. "Chrissie wants more yummy cummy in her tummy!"
With a squeal of glee, he – now she – began madly jerking it off, trying to coax even more cum into his – now her – stomach. She wrapped her swollen, puffy, porn star lips around the swollen, spongy head and began to suck. As the cum continued to flow, flooding her mouth until it erupted from her nose, she continued to swallow.
{Yes . . . feed me . . . feed us . . . rebirth me so that we . . . can . . . rule . . . the world}
Chrissie reached down to pat her semen coated, impossibly swollen, inhumanly pregnant belly. She caressed it like the mother-to-be that she suddenly was, saddened that she would be giving birth so soon, but deliriously happy to be bringing her Mistress back into the mortal world. She truly was young, dumb, and full of cum, but her transformation had left her with three unshakable facts forever lodged deep inside her head.
She belonged to her Mistress.
She lived to please her Mistress.
She would be sustained by her Mistress.
Suddenly, she let loose a scream that shattered the stones and extinguished the unholy illumination around her. The talons and claws evaporated into smoke, releasing her to come crashing down into the pool of cum beneath her. Unseen by Chris, the cum dripping off his body had eaten into the stone floor, carving out the small pool in which Chrissie now floated. Thicker and heavier than water, the demonic cum kept her suspended, even as if flowed around her and enveloped her with its warmth.
"Mmmmm . . . yummy . . ." she closed her eyes and let her head sink into the pool of thick, viscous sperm, completely submerging herself. Her hands continued to stroke and caress her belly, inside which reborn her Mistress floated in the pool of cum that had not leaked out of her. Chrissie cooed and gurgled from within her warm, welcoming, nurturing world of cum, even as she felt her Mistress doing the same.
{Good . . . girl}
Chrissie cooed and giggled with delight. She slurped and swallowed cum, forcing more and more of it into herself, filling her to the point of bursting. She took one hand from her belly and slipped it inside her pussy, shoving the entire hand inside the gooey, slippery mess. If felt so good, so right, but now was not the time for play. Instead, she opened her fist, spread herself wide, and began beckoning with her index finger.
{YES . . . It . . . is . . . TIME}
"My, my, my. What do we have here?"
Chrissie let her hand slide out of her pussy and looked up in surprise. The woman entering the dungeon, invading her territory, interfering with her duties, looked familiar. She'd seen her somewhere before, maybe in a previous life, and remembered wanting her. What she didn't remember was the cock between her legs, but she wanted it too.
"Oh, I do like what they've done to you, Chris." The petite beauty swaggered with confidence as she walked, her every movement designed to accentuate and celebrate her sexuality. "You were a pathetic waste of misogynistic flesh, Chris."
Chrissie flinched at the name. "Un-uh, silly." She licked globs of demon cum from her hand and smiled. "I'm Chrissie," she beamed, proudly.
"Like I care what the fuck you call yourself." Kim stopped a few feet away from the pool of cum. "Chris or Chrissie, it doesn't matter." She began playing with her tits with one hand while the other began stroking her cock. "What matters is this," she snarled, "and just exactly where in that bimbo body of yours I'm going to put it."
{NO . . . Not yet . . . FINISH ME}
"Ow." She pouted. "Chrissie doesn't like that." The naked, semen-slimed, oversexed bimbo crawled to the edge of the pool. She could feel her Mistress fighting her from the inside, but she was craving this new woman's cock. It'd been several minutes since she'd tasted one, and she was hungry. "I want that." She pointed to the hard cock just inches from her face. "Gimmie."
Kim smiled. This was going to be good. "Come get it, little bitch."
{STOP . . .}
Chrissie felt something tugging at her, urging her to stay in the pool. She liked the pool. She liked feeling all of that hot, wet, thick cum. She couldn't imagine anywhere she'd rather be than surrounded by cum. It was safe and warm and sexy and right. She wanted cock, though, and she didn't like being told she couldn't have it.
The moment she emerged from the pool, Kim grabbed her under the shoulders, lifted her off the floor, and literally threw her into the corner. "You want my cock, don't you?" she asked.
A delighted, childlike smile instantly erased the look of pained surprise from Chrissie's face. "Yes!" She clapped in delight. "Chrissie wants to suck it and fuck it and swallow all its yummy cummy goodness."
Kim crouched over her, rubbing the damp head of her cock against Chrissie's breasts. "And you'll get it," she promised, "as hard and as fast and as deep as I want it." She grabbed Chrissie's head and pulled her to her chest. "First, I want you to suck my tits."
{NONONONONO . . .}
"I'm not listening to you. You're mean." Chrissie shook off the voice and opened her mouth wide. "Chrissie likes boobies!" The moment she closed her mouth around the other woman's breast, milk began to flood into her mouth. It was cold and sweet, as unlike the demons' cum as water was to pudding. It hurt her belly. It made her feel all tired and weak. She didn't want any more, but she didn't have the energy to pull herself away.
"That's it, my bitch." Kim was fucking her face with the tit now, shoving the hard, spurting nipple all the way to the back of her throat. If she hadn't already been weaned in demon cock, Chrissie surely would have been gagging, but instead she began contentedly suckling the mound of flesh, allowing it to flood her belly with icy cold breast milk.
{You . . . stupid . . . cow . . .}
Kim was on the verge of losing control. Playing with her tits was one of the few pleasures she allowed herself, but it had never felt like this. The feeling of Chrissie nursing on her tit was as intensely intimate experience. She'd never thought of herself as a lesbian before, but she couldn't deny her attraction to the bimbo before her. Maybe it had something to do with the gargoyle, or maybe it had something to do with the fact that Chrissie was once Chris. She didn't know, and she didn't really care.
"Yes," she cooed, "drink it all down." She began squeezing her tit, forcing even more milk into Chrissie's welcoming mouth. All the while, she was dry humping her grotesquely swollen belly with her cock, but she noticed that their bodies were slowly becoming closer. A small orgasm shuddered through her body as she looked down to see that the pregnant slut no longer looked ready to pop.
Kim roughly pushed her away, and then laughed at the bimbo's cry of surprise as her head bounced against the wall. "Kiss it," she commanded as she waved the cock in her face. "If you want to get fucked, then prove it."
Chrissie's squeal of girlish glee was so genuinely innocent, it was almost embarrassing. Her tongue flicked out to catch the drop of precum glistening on the tip. "Yummy yummy cummy!" A light exploded behind her eyes. "Chrissie likes it! Chrissie wants it!" She began bouncing up and down. "Fuck Chrissie! Please fuck—"
Their mingled cry of ecstasy as Kim drove her cock into Chrissie's pussy shook the very walls of the dungeon. Dust and cobwebs fluttered down around them, shook loose by the explosion of pleasure. Kim raised herself onto her toes and rested all of her weight on Chrissie's crotch, driving the cock in deeper. Without withdrawing, she began fucking in place, driving it hard into the warmest, deepest depths of Chrissie's cunt. The sight of Chrissie's belly deflating, shrinking with each thrust, sent her over the edge.
"Oh you fucking bitch take it take it feel my cum!" The force of the orgasm was so intense, Kim literally felt as if she had left her body. For a brief moment everything stopped, and she as watched the demon inside her little bimbo slut was fucked back into the nether regions of hell. As if she weren't already lost on an inhuman, impossible power trip, she luxuriated in the knowledge that she'd done this . . . she had killed the demon bitch and saved the world. Perhaps more importantly, she had freed the whore inside herself, and there would be no going back.
There were tears in Chrissie's eyes as she latched onto Kim, sobbing and crying uncontrollably through her own very visible orgasm. Smiling, Kim stared down at her lover's flat, taut, tight little belly. The bimbo looked almost virginal in her unblemished perfection. That is, of course, if you could manage to ignore the slick sheen of cum that still covered most of her body, and the fact that she currently had bigger buried in her pussy that most women had ever dreamed of encountering.
The knowledge that it was her cock sent Kim sailing on another orgasmic wave.
[Well done. The threat is over. You will return to your selves in the morning.]
"Fuck that." Kim snarled back over her shoulder. She couldn't see the gargoyle from down here, but she knew it was out there. "This. Is. Mine." She bit off each angry word. "You will not take this from me."
Her mind was bombarded with a final series of images. She saw herself turning Chrissie over and taking her up the ass. She saw herself dropping down to suck her own cum from that ass. She saw Chrissie turn back over, hunger in her eyes, and open wide to share in the mouthful of cum. She saw their cum-stained kiss and felt the magic set, preserving them in their new bodies, their new roles, forever.
"Hey, bitch." She leaned down and favoured Chrissie with a long, tender, sexually charged kiss. "Give me your ass."
"Okie dokie!" Chrissie giggled and turned over.
A warm, August breeze whipped through the trees, rustling their leaves and sending small squirrels scrambling for cover. Wide, dark green leaves curled slightly, awaiting the rain to come.
"Hey! I thought you were in a hurry?"
"Yeah, I was, but . . . ." Derek tossed his coffee into the gutter and stepped forward to lean on the elaborate stone wall that wrapped its way around the corner. It was hard to see much past the trees on the other side, but he could just make out an immense mansion hidden at the center of the property. It looked inviting, with open windows, blowing curtains, and lots of bright colours scattered around. He could smell a dozen different perfumes in the air, along with an undercurrent of something else that reminded him of sex.
"What is this place?" He turned around to ask Steve, but his co-worker was still standing on the other side of the street. "Hey," he called back, "what gives?"
Steve looked nervous, as if he were afraid to say anything. "Get away, Derek. Back away now." Even from across the street, Derek could see him swallow in fear. "It's nothing, Derek, Let's go." He started walking down the street, challenging him to catch up.
Suddenly, a little old lady popped up from the other side of the wall, dressed for an afternoon of gardening. "Name's Mrs. Henderson," she offered politely, "and this here is Clinique de Kimberly."
Derek's heart began to race. He'd heard rumours about this place, stories of abductions, transformations, and sexual orgies where sexualities and genders became so blurred, no participant ever left unchanged. He'd never allowed himself to believe that such a place could exist, but here it was.
Nervous, he looked back over his shoulder, but Steve was already long gone.
The little old lady winked her cloudy eye at him. "Would you like a tour of the grounds?"
His palms were sweaty. His throat was dry. His cock was hard inside his stolen panties.
Derek nodded.
He passed through the open gate, knowing full well that he'd never pass back through the other way.
At least, not as Derek.
END
darkheathyr@gmail.com http://sissygurlconfessions.blogspot.com/