#ᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ - 𝕮𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖊 𝕯𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖈𝖞 🦌🥛

[arcanepactguile]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐕

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐒

ᴀɴᴏɴʏᴍᴏᴜꜱ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇᴅ ᴏʀɢᴀꜱᴍꜱ (ᴄᴏᴄᴋ)

AO3 CHAPTER 5

The rhythmic smacks went on for a full count of nothing more than twelve — towards the end of the count, Alastor's thoughts whirling into a pitiful state, his apologetic cries sharpening in pitch, the tentacles’ spanks fell the hardest. Although to the Radio Demon the impromptu spanking felt like it was endured for a lifetime, mentally and physically, the tentacles hadn't given any indication they were planning to quit before they had actually stopped at the dozenth spank, the volley of swats falling uninterrupted and never once losing their steady pace, no pauses given to judge any overwhelmed headspace or abraded skin. The pair of smaller tendrils previously massaging his drooped ears were happily restraining his major movements, entwined around his waist to bend him forward, lazily tracing patterns around the dips and rises of his prominent bones.

The guard tentacles formerly overwatching his rear reorganised themselves securing his ankles throughout the spanking, spreading his legs further apart than shoulder width. The lengths of the tentacles appeared limitless, the bulk of each singular limb reaching all the way back to the mysterious gloom underneath the bed in the next room over — where all the fun had begun, the intervals involving unanticipated and unwanted discipline permitted.

The rumpled bedsheets hanging over the edge of the bed frame stirring, the darkness lurking where the sheets met the floor swayed, pushed to one side as the mass where the tentacles’ thickest girth clustered together slowly dispered, expanding to cover more ground, leaving the darkest patch of shadows in the middle.

Movement rippling through the limbs holding him fast, Alastor's attention focusing on the twin tentacles’ flurry of smacks rocking him on straightened legs, the unhurried tightening of tendrils higher up his trembling legs went unnoticed. The cowbell’s aphrodisiac belling overrode the snatches of warning flitting amongst his spiralling thoughts, euphoria radiating out progressively down his chest and abdomen to fester in the pit of his stomach.

The toughened skin of the udders blushed a pretty cerise pink, the last remnants of milk had ceased squirting out from the heavy impacts, the buck's fear inciting the dwindling yield, his teats dried up and withholding the milk. The reddened skin of his earlier spanked buttocks and thighs still glossy, the heat had now spread to include his punished udders, the strength mounting together. Left over milk making a tacky film coating the teats and underside was adapted to the tentacles’ advantage, the wet skin provided the ultimate punishment factor regarding a spanking; the slickness added a sharp, stinging edge, the hits’ boosted akin to a wet razor strop’s belting.

The tentacles in the end came to a full stop, making the final decision to edge in an extension of the corrective training when they replaced the rigorous smacks with a protracted number of firm strokes and groping; each tentacle strenuously gliding back and forth to rub it's claimed patch of udder, painstakingly massaging feeling back into the throbbing organ. Sweeping up to curl around a quad, tracing the swollen outlines of each spank they could find individually, rubbing the lightest whenever the Radio Demon's body suddenly tensed whenever a tendril had fondled a particularly sore area, the groundwork for his chastisement finalised.

The collective of tentacles altogether pulling at once, brought the Radio Demon down heavily to his knees; the stag landing hard on all fours next, the slippery tiles wet from soapy water and milk sliding his hooves and hands out helplessly — a stern tug pulled the deer completely down, face forward and ass a little higher up, before they hungrily dragged him back to the confines of it's lair below the bed.

Tugged over the threshold onto carpet from smooth tile had Alastor yelping, automatically bracing his body to rise up off the floor on his flung out elbows, the underside of his spent udders and throbbing cock skimming the ground painfully, less so than if the monster hadn't taken over and assisted by lifting him a smidgen higher to dodge the carpet burn. Four of the tentacles wrapped around his legs and midsection, the smaller twins weaving in his outstretched arms to ensnare and hold them rigid, supporting his pointed chin and hunched shoulders together.

The nearer the monster dragged him to it's hidden lair, the wider it spread the bedding keeping it concealed in it's darkness. Turning his head to crane over his shoulder, Alastor's flushed face blanching at the sight that befell him — a mass of predatory slits shone in the abyss, glistening wetness the single other highlight in the pit. Flipping the bedsheets back, the last stretch of distance helped along with a sudden violent yank — and Alastor was pinned to the floor, half under the bed. 

Panting breathlessly, Alastor writhed, powerless to stop it, clovenhooves kicking at empty air and a solid wall of muscle randomly, the slippery tentacles unfolding around the buck's lauded body to entangle in thick and thin tentacles, new attributes heightening both eroticism and fear in kind. New, delicate-looking yet just as strong tentacles whipped out, coiling themselves over Alastor's quivering thighs, hips, ass, waist, and loins. One side of each tendril was flat, several lines of suckers puckering the lengths of each limb - each one latched onto Alastor's sweaty skin, pinching the flesh for a firm grip, the sphincters��fangless and wholly reliant on suction alone. Whenever the suckers lost their grip and reattached, the older placement revealed a reddened imprint of the sucker, bruising his taut skin. Coiled heaviest around his thighs and hips, the tentacles spread his cheeks wider apart; a translucent web of moist purplish-skin between the tendrils swallowing the prime area of Alastor's ass; the sweet-spot, cleft, and inner thighs. Adhering its maw flush to Alastor, the monster's tongue sliding out of his unseen throat inside the web skirted the buck's udders on one side, swatheing the twin sacs in mucuous and drool, coiling the end around the front and firmly tugging the udders back and up to stubbornly hold it like that enviously, savoring the taste of sweet milk squirted out under the unyielding pressure, warming up in the strong embrace.

Undulating in waves, the rows of suckers kneadedAlastor's body, pulsating evenly, suckling the hardest closest to his inflamed hole. A sticky cluster of finer tendrils lapping at the residual milk curving back under the squeezed slopes of his udders, oblivious to the different ways Alastor protested; the Radio Demongasping, jerking erratically, bucking his hips, the spanked flesh tingling in overstimulation, cringing back. Inching the wearied demon in closer, finding resistance once Alastor had tiredly half-rolled onto his side, one digitigrade leg half bent at the knee and his thigh pushing against the end of the bed, the monster accepted the compromised position and instead moved around him, winding it's tentacles around his spread legs, slithering under his flicking tail and curling back under his thighs to hook it's favourite mate tightly. 

The inky mass of rippling muscles engulfed the Radio Demon's lower half from the hips down, leaving his softened cock exposed, the blend of pale flesh merging into the flushed pink of his udders disappeared underneath the flattened web. The edges of the flexible skin followed the contours of Alastor's thin body, flushed against his slender hips and pulled tight over his tender buttocks, the buck's flared tail jerking upwards nervously, the pulsating flaps of skin stretching far to better clutch Alastor's thighs, the bulk at it's center shifting inwards to firmly press it's circular maw to the sensitive rosebud it had been playing with, prolapsing it's own inner flesh of it's alien mouth to probe the spasming hole, drawing an embarrassed gasp from it’s pet, spreading Alastor's resistant ring open to pass through his trembling walls a slimy feeler, it's tip coming to a standstill not long after it had wriggled through. Filling the Overlord's ass on it's own without doing anything… yet, the moist maw latched onto his stretched ring began to nurse, gently suckling the reddened hole ardently, a rumbling purr vibrating throughout the slurping maw, the feeler-tendril relaxing inside his core, and the shiny web stretched over his ass and groin. The smaller suckers scattered all over the gripping tentacles sucked his skin in unison, the fluctuating wave quelling the Radio Demon'sapprehension, Alastor leaning back onto the floor, allowing the monster to enjoy it's engrossed mission to overlay his lingering pain and shame with ecstasy.

The suckers kneading his inflamed udders felt especially soothing, thin trails of slime buzzing the worst of the spanked welts affectionately, the throbbing injuries healing very slowly by the tentacles’ doting care. Riding the flooding pleasure, the tranquillity, in low tones softened grunts spotlighting the relief the buck was so grateful to finally receive, Alastor's affectionate murmurs abruptly rose in pitch as he stiffened —  a few slim tendrils had unwound to knot themselves around his spent cock, encircling the slicked shaft to start rubbing themselves up and down all sides in hastened pumps, a ridged solitary tendril arcing up to press and explore Alastor's clammy skin in the meanwhile — the aforementioned placid stag sucking in a distressed cry when the tendril’s pointed tip had attempted nuzzling the deer demon’s damp navel, discovering it was not the right entrance it sought, gliding back in calming circular strokes down Alastor's clenched belly to loop around his leaking cockhead. The tendril lightly touching the weeping slit had drawn a fiercer objection from the Radio Demon, prompting the tendril to plunge it's split tip into the hole — thrusting in and out rapidly, the tendril massaged the inner channel, coaxing thicker fluid out, sweeping the sticky cvm around the hardening head in concentric circles to focus on milking out more excess.

Rocking his hips forward, the motion jerking his stiffening member harder inside the wrapped tentacles-sleeve, nearly finding the friction he so desired, Alastor's rapt attention however was interrupted — thicker tentacles lashed out, encircling the buck’s inclined neck and shoulders together to thump him back onto the floor, the tips circling lower down to bind his arms behind his bowed back, tail wagging dejectedly, caught hands laced as well with more willowy tendrils.

The suckling maw pressed to his fluttering hole hastily quickened it's leisurely suctioning, energetically strengthening it's palpitating kisses. 

Crying out in a hoarse voice, Alastor's whimpers melting into sporadic moans, the feeler rapidly grew in girth — inflating to spread Alastor's inner entrance, the suddenly heavy limb shuddered violently — arcing forward, the feeler pumped thick ropes of it's sterile spawn, the viscous sap inundating the deer's core and ebbing back to find an exit, except the feeler had plugged his hole well. The prolapsed mouth withdrew, slowing the suckling to rather wait for the primary job’s completion. The Radio Demon was whimpering the whole time at the onset of the intensified overstimulation, arching his back as the first waves of guttural cramps jarred his body, the writhing tentacle spasming inside his core, pumping out slews of gossamer seed to stuff his ass to leak. Rocking the deer's body as it repeatedly injected it's loads deep into his stuffed ass, forming periodic bulges at the root of his milked member as the feeler plunged relentlessly; the overflow squirted out in a rush, upon the spent feeler squirming roughly it's way back out in a loud POP — Alastor's reddened hole contracting to hold in the monster's cum, stray rivulets of seed dribbling down his thighs to vanish into the monster's saliva.

The rows of suckers lining the other tentacles never released their grip, the main tentacle squeezing the buck's udders tighter against his groin, it's slicked tongue resuming to lap at the seam, dexterousy rubbing it's extended length between the quads to perhaps instill a fresh round of milking instincts. The shrunken teats, well and truly dry at this point after the extended rounds of forced milking, shuddered, Alastor's groin flinching back in dread at the simplistic notion of renewed nursing so soon. The gaping sphincters leaked the last remnants of milk, the blushed tips throbbed harder whenever the tongue tested their sensitivity by curling around a teat to pinch at it's base.

All this went on in darkness behind the web of skin, the Radio Demon still registering every second of the probing and stripping in spite of the multiple orgasms the sleeve-tentacles had squeezed out of the fatigued stag — his cock forced to retain it's erection and held up, the tentacles rhythmically pumping his bruised shaft to ease out another shot of seed; the first five had come involuntarily, Alastor's back snapping rigid as a board before slumping back lopsided, one rosy-cheek shoved into the carpet, his red-rimmed watering eyes glassy in extended arousal, his anguished panting replacing coherent pleading. The demon's ears remained motionless, his tousled hair sticking up every which way, face flushed in mingled humiliation and lust.

Stroking the Overlord's tilted ass admiringly, the web of skin carefully peeled itself away, folded back to expose to the torture chamber once again the entirety of the naked buck. It's tentacles remained holding him tightly, angled sideways with one limp leg still draped over the bed, thighs spread and groin bared. Sweat cooling on his blushed skin highlighted the scattershot of dimpled sucker-imprints where each sucker had failed to clutch his sweat-bathed skin, although the welts and bruised flesh of his udders had healed for the most part from the spanking, the sucker-stamps unleashing a new pattern of marks that needed extensive aftercare to recover without a trace or very little evidence left behind.

Tremors breaking up his ragged exhales, the stag demon's inhales drawn in smoother, his tail had ceased wagging willingly, the appendage clad in monster spunk, floppy against one ruddy cheek. The Overlord's antlers had honestly branched out after the last strongest climax — grown from the normal two tines to an intimidating branch of six tines arcing up on both left and right antler, the demon's pupils shrivelled to pinpoints of light, the sheer sight of the once imposing Overlord sprawled on a dungeon's floor, abused and used, took away the looming threat his appearance normally inspired. Alastor's seed was roped across his upper abdomen abd chest, strings of the drying cream snarled alongside his heaving udders and knee, beads of milk and cum dripping off a teat to feed the growing puddle.

[arcanepactguile]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐕𝐈

𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄

ᴀɴᴏɴʏᴍᴏᴜꜱ ᴠᴏᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀᴄᴀʀᴇ

AO3 CHAPTER 6

Out of breath, Alastor continued to lay there on the floor, his exhausted body still propped up and held in a tight embrace by the monster. Drool stickiness gluing his flushed cheek to the floor, lids rested half-mast, in the sleepy haze post-repeated overstimulation Alastor's unwillingness for more events went uncelebrated, the following surprising aftercare a compulsory step irregardless how the bred Radio Demon protested if he had had the willpower to voice it. As it played out, the little hitches and strangled whines keening out embellished the demon’s well-being, the bliss delirium adulterated with the monster's underhanded ravishment as it sought to take care of him as well as satify it's undisclosed lust.

The monster's largely unseen bulk shifting nearer, the team of slender tentacles coiled in and around Alastor's upper torso carefully turning him over to flop onto his back, unwinding his folded arms from behind his back, sorting them to drape loosely together behind his head — the obsidian mass of writhing limbs bunching together to cradle the buck’s lower half, gently dragging him up to crest the mattress’s edge, bending with the sharply jutting edge — the tentacles’  hesitation lasting for a spli second’s decision before hurriedly finishing jerking him onto the top, ignoring his abrupt yelp and shudder when the mattress’s hard edge had bumped into the burning flesh of his spanked buttocks and thighs. Incapable of relaxing flat on his back, nor his front any easier, the tentacles supported the new position; their thicker base braced the deer demon's lower back to bend upwards, errant tendrils curling over his bony hips to pin him there on top of the original (albeit damp) lap pillow at the beginnin. Reddened ass lifted clear of the bed to avoid reignited pain, the reddened mounds throbbing incessantly, the narrow lines of sucker-imprints tattooing the buck’s swollen skin. The stripes of punished flesh shone dully, a starker contast down the curves of his asscheeks than the halfway healed smacks blushing his udders.

Suppressing the urge to complain, leery of the monster's suspicious turn in behaviour, the Radio Demon utilised the remnants of his energy to settle what he was allowed; arms left alone, Alastor stretched them and folded them loosely over his face, perspiration slicking his hair/fur to his skin. The horrid golden cowbell still worn around his neck chimed when his covert movements jostled it — it's deceitful aphrodisiac spell casting a wave of blossoming submission coursing through his consumed body.

The thickest tentacles raising the buck's sagged legs up to cradle just like it had done so with his back, taking all of the dead weight through the bent junction of his thighs and knees — the monster sliding outside it's restricted lair incompletely, it never raised itself higher than the bed itself. It had no need to. It's reach was daunting; like it's display in the bathroom, it could keep the majority of it's bulk hidden below the furniture without impeding it's ministrations. The elongated damp tongue had released Alastor's burned out udders, affectionately gliding it's length down the middle seam before it thereupon commenced licking Alastor clean — the overdrawn tongue-bath made possible as it's tongue had simultaneously flared wide open from it’s column-like corded muscle, to resemble a conventional tongue, the flat of the hot appendage pressing long, firm stripes into the buck’s pulsating mammary sacs. The restorative mucus coating it's silken touch clung to the deeper, darker coloured welts streaking both udders, crowded the heaviest towards the middle of the rear where the tendrils’ smacks in the bathroom had fallen the sharpest. The suckers’ bumped welts were more stubbornly taking to the healing sap’s properties, Alastor drawing in a pained hiss through clenched teeth every time the tongue zealously lapped at the worst of the injuries. 

The tiny beads of blood that erupted from the most severe couple of abrased flesh had robbed the Radio Demon's an uninterrupted bath; slowing the licks, two slim tentacles surreptitiously sliding up between Alastor's spread thighs — irrevocably restarting the tremors in his legs and lower belly when the smooth tips split open, arcing down to nose at the reddened gaped teats, gently enveloping the leaking tips in their splayed petals to latch on delicately, all to distract the buck from the incoming stress. Jerking his hips up weakly, wincing,?the Radio Demon let his eyes close fully, tipping his head back to loll — the rudimentary shock of the pair of warm, wet heat pinching the puffy teats evaporating as the stag Overlord's thoughts drifted, unparalleled exhaustion dragging him willingly into the vestiges of a deep sleep.

Milked dry, there still remained the scarcest of residual milk, the traces of it spurted out during the prior massage while he was being fucked mindlessly. Droplets had welled up in the tips as the tongue had compassionately cleaned him up before the onset of the mild bleeding elsewhere the suckers had gripped his skin too hard on broken skin, and so it wanted to use the remaining pleasure to distract Alastor from the last of the wound care, even though the enervated Overlord had sunk into a fitful slumber the longer the tentacles suckled him barren of free nourishment. The twin tentacles sprang into action first; suckling the overmilked teats tenderly, at a fraction of the cost of the historical episodes of forced milking and stimulation, the tentacles set about suctioning out the very last of Alastor's milk. Regular, fastidious pulls on each teat in rhythmic sucks, discreetly timed alongside each studious lap at an oozing site, the tongue pressing a firm kiss into the imprint to blot the scarlet seepage with concentrated sap, superimposing the unanticipated milking’s euphoria over the stinging pain brought on by the determined tongue. It was beneficial for both — the pain diversion, subsequent relief of full udders, the monster stealing one last drink of it’s pet deer’s sweet milk, and healing the bruised flesh. Therapeutic in spite of the buck oblivious to the monster's diligence to help, an occasional unintelligible murmur or groan leaving Alastor's parted lips; bucking his hips whenever the twin tendrils expressed milk harsher, pinching the teats’ base in line with a fiercer farewell suck, before their tips eventually released, thirst quenched despite the deer's udders properly drained for real this time, the bulging udders flagging to shrink to their lessened state; the two quadrants merging flatter, the nipples not as prominent. The Overlord's softened cock lay atop the spent udders, likewise empty, the slit leaking. This the tentacles could do nothing to coax another round; fnished licking the hindmost taste of wasted honeyed milk from Alastor's flushed udders, the tongue gliding over Alastor's belly to resume bathing him. Sweeping up the old bodily fluids, precvm and seed, taking it's time to savour the alkaline taste of the buck’s body. Scooping up the last of the cvm hadn't taken as long as tending to his sacs, the slicked tongue sliding repeatedly over the creases of skin it may have neglected initially, enjoying the lingering sweat oiling the deer's heated skin. Winding around the shaft of Alastor's member, it was a fleeting embrace, giving the member a once-over to gather the left over spunk before the tongue left it alone, wary of resetting Alastor's arousal too fast when he was not up for more torture.

Stirring throughout the affectionate wipe down and attentiveness, the Radio Demon's gut retained the unremitting cramps assailing his rear; the monster's seed often oozed from the buck's reddened hole, the thick liquid stuffed to the brim, the pungent scent of the recently bred stag heavy in the air.

The Radio Demon's tail flicked back in warning — the tongue had dipped down to cautiously push into the deer's taint, lapping up the sticky film to focus on his entrance. Innately disposed to firmer strokes, the tongue applied softer flicks across the swollen ring; idly pressing the breadth of it's form onto the raw flesh, feeling the hole flutter and clench, more monster's seed spurting out under the intimate examination. The Radio Demon'sanxiety-riddled gasp broke his doze, the buck flinching away timidly, his abused hole tightening reflexively when the tip of the tongue tested his resistance by forcing itself through the puckered ring to briefly stretch, the penetration startling Alastor out of his sleep — the tip caressing the inner ring thrice before tugging itself back out with a loud squelch, a heavier gush of seed racing out to soak his inner asscheeks.

Predisposed to keep the Radio Demon's ass full to burst, bred to Hell and then some, the tongue returned to lick firm lashes up Alastor's spread crack, pushing the trickling spunk back inside his throbbing rump assiduously, feigning deafness to the Radio Demon's plaintive whimpers every time the hot tongue rubbed his inflamed hole, the internal cramps from being filled to rupture from either end making Alastor's nausea worsen over time as the massive load of monster seed struggled to persist plugging the buck's pulsating ass, at risk of either escaping through his quivering entrance or flooding into his upper guts, his stomach. The tongue knowingly went on kneading the buck's sore flesh, relishing the feel of it's stuffed to overflow mate, the soothing licks sending tingling electricity radiating out from his vulnerable hole, warmth pooling. Every lick had Alastor shiver or twitch, rolling his hips away to widen the gap between the stroking tongue and his throbbing hole.

The unnecessary breeding-supervision aside, the twin tentacles having abandoned the dry udders, switched their attention to massaging the Radio Demon's spanked ass — kneading the bruised muscles and tissues in tight circles, gingerly avoiding the spots that pulled an agonised bleat from it's cervine pet, gliding around the hardest hit spots to rub healing circulation into the warmed up buttocks and thighs. The tentacles holding his twitching legs aloft squeezed harder, lifting higher to prolong the diaper position, the massaging tendrils sliding under to circle Alastor's damp tail, pulling on the tired appendage to draw out a resigned grunt from the Radio Demon just because it could, teasing the tightened flesh by probing with the nose of the tendril. Toying this way with the hitherto fluffy tail with one tentacle, the other limb rubbing the taut flesh underneath the tail’s stem to rouse another reluctant moan, milking his stretched furry taint approvingly — lowering his backside down again, the twin tendrils recommenced rubbing the buck's crimsoned buttocks, habitually pressing the mounds together routinely whenever the tireless tongue scooped up it's own spunk to rub over Alastor's spasming hole, in due time at irregular intervals becoming more impatient and delivering a warning, minute slap to the burning ring — which only elicited another gasp from Alastor, the demon cringing in budding arousal, feeling the cramps knotting the pit of his belly over again.

That's where the flirting ended, the tongue continuing to just lovingly lick at it's pet's taint, wanting the aftercare to last as long as possible before the respectful  need to leave the stressed deer alone, with it's seed still inside him. The tentacles weaved around his legs slowly lowering, the limbs jerky, they gently rolled him over to drape over the same plush pillow he had been bent over at the beginning of the saga, nestled under his lower back moments ago, the dry-side up. Ass lifted over the hump, the tongue reduced it's affections to depart from it's exceeded tongue-bathing to slip back inside the monster's maw, the creature clawing at the bedspread to gain a better grip when it heaved it's bulk out further, turning to face the recumbent stag. The edge of the bed dipped under the added weight displacement, the thicker tentacles flung over Alastor's prone body to hook his shoulders and back, coiling around his heaving chest to half hug, half pin him down flat — pushing the buck's rear up, head down.

Monster saliva and slick glistening Alastor's cheeks, thighs, and crack, the blushed pink of his udders barely had enough mass to peek out, the pillow pushed up to spread him. The solid friction under his groin provided the best opportunity for humping it again, to rut into it, yet Alastor had no inclination to do so — lethargy darkening the edges of his vision again, sleep closing in, Alastor was reluctant to fall asleep in the monster's watchful presence — finally letting himself go, burying his face halfheartedly into his crossed arms, he felt a few more svelte tentacles begin kneading his ass once more to stimulate the healing blood flow deserved after all the spanks… 

The monster's rumbling appreciative purr rolling out, it's many eyes fixated on the glowing redness accentuating his smacked ass, It tempted to explore those slopes and curves during Alastor's restful sleep, it extended thinner tentacles to gently nudge the underside of the deer's limp tail over to expose the stag's leaking entrance, content to watch him sleep for a time.

[arcanepactguile]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 - 𝐈𝐕

𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

ᴀɴᴏɴʏᴍᴏᴜꜱ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ᴜᴅᴅᴇʀꜱ ᴏᴠᴇʀꜱᴛɪᴍᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

AO3 CHAPTER 4

Swallowing some saliva to remoisten his hoarse throat, a blurry black shape uncurled in front of his face, much too close to get a good look at it properly. Leaning back to increase the distance, absently wondering where his monocle hac disappeared to, the butt plug shifted inside him to apply firmer pressure on the top wall of his entrance — quickly freezing, instead he tilted his head back to squint at the… thing, that the patient tentacle, was eager to show him. As the vague image came into focus, the tentacle gave it a jaunty shake. A hollow bell rang out, and finally did the message hit home.

Pulling a disgusted face, flattening his ears in disgruntlement, Alastor snapped back hotly, insulted at the monster’s carefree inventive thinking. Yes, fine, treat him like a cow, but not AS on—

“Oh, you're sorely mistaken, there is NO WAY I am weari— AH!”

The Radio Demon's answer broke off, the guard–tentacles milling around his ankles moving as a team to twist his tail up ramrod-straight, stretching his asscheeks higher, and dispensed a series of very hard smacks to his swollen bottom, his skin growing harder as the muscles rose in inflammation, stinging like an iron brand sizzling his skin. The whiplike tendrils covered less mass yet struck very painfully, his ass reddening to match the sheer heat rising off him.

Still holding onto his tail, the tentacles paused, waiting while the Overseer tentacle went ahead and fastened the dark brown leather cow’s collar around Alastor's neck. Sniffling, exhaling slowly, Alastor allowed this, the bell’s melody striking new anxiety in his chest. Heart racing, his pulse filling his mixed senses, the sweet cloying fragrance of fresh milk invaded his flared nostrils. Regular Earth farners, he understood, conditioned their dairy herd to let down their milk with sight, sound, visual, food, and routine. Suspecting this was the case down here in Hell, Alastor guessed that the monster knew more than he did.

It was getting more difficult to predict what they were planning to do; the spongebath was a given, cleaning his otherwise pristine body for better pleasure and role-play, that far he had reached.

Holding his breath, still uncertain of the tentacles lurking inches from his smarted ass, the lead tentacle drifted down his lithe torso to settle at his groin - now joined by it's partner.

The two smaller tentacles above continued to rub comforting circles into his ears, holding his chin up so he couldn't see anymore than before. Eyes fixated on the ceiling, watching the rope that hooked his buttplug rotate slightly with his weight, the Radio Demon slowly closed his eyes to drink in the absolutely exhilarating sensory play occurring downstairs. Unbeknownst to him, every ring of the cow bell rested on his collar bone instilled a reignited wave of aphrodisiac ecstasy over him: each touch, breath, texture, was amplified to extraordinary proportions.

A low murmur of gratitude purred out shamelessly when both milker tentacles gently patted his udders affectionately, one on each quad to reevaluate his tenacity for stimulation. A shudder rippled his skin, the skin pebbling in hunger for intimate touch, no matter how crude or boisterous. Sweeping into the fold between inner thigh and an udder, the tentacles cradled the heavy sac, pushing the two halves together to define the middle seam more clearly. The upright heave and subsequent squish had Alastor breathing hard, rolling his pelvis up to push his udders harder into the scooped tentacles.

His ambitious action was rewarded — letting go, udders dropping back to observably quake under it's own weight. Earth's deers could have udders that weighed up to ridiculous ratios, sixty pounds. Neither a deer nor a bigman, the Radio Demon's full udders were probably closer to three pounds. Not including the milk that just kept building up in the cisterns, the teats bloated and springier. Alastor needed relief. It was possible for an unmilked cow’s udders to burst; panicked, the pair hadn't done anything more to excite him; he nudged a tentacle with one thigh, gasping pitifully.

The monster did what it liked, regardless what it's pet had convinced himself; it just so happened on coincidence that this initial introduction to milking pleased them both. The cruelty came later.

Exhaling deeply, Alastor's lids fluttered as the tentacles began rubbing his twin udders firmly up and down, kneading the fatty tissue in short strokes, working up heat to blush the attractive solid pink skin. Encouraging the milk flow by massaging the heaving mounds, about five minutes of this cycle cut abruptly when each tendril unceremoniously grabbed a teat and started stripping the leaking member down in vigorous, punishing squeezes. The sphincters at the tips gaped often, spurts of milk flushed out. Hyperventilating, Alastor writhed in his restraints; arching, moaning, he made a definitive strangled sob in his throat when unexpectedly… the stripping tentacles released, their tips splitting wide into a star formation not unlike the original small tendril trying to nurse his pec nipple in the bed — these oversized giants in comparison darted in and latched onto a teat each, like a starving fawn.

Head thrown back, the cowbell dipping and ringing it's cursed aphrodisiac, the Radio Demon gave a throaty whimper, eyes clenched shut in the purest bliss. The oxytocin SURGED, drowning the buck's warm buzzing euphoria, the suction on his teats fortifying his carnal delirium.

It wasn't that the relief of a full udder was dissolving, no — it was the additional intensified erotic joy imbued by the plain act. The immense pressure inside the organ, consequently pushing hard on his bladder and prostate gland, merged together to heighten the arousal concentrated in his aching teats.

Thighs spasming, the tentacles folded it's split petals over the teats, sealing tightly to ensure both airtight vacuum and sensory play. The maw cavity inside the root resembled an ordinary mouth, wet and very warm. The warmth Alastor recalled most of all. Following that was the stripping itself; the tentacles started suckling roughly, bobbing their noses forward and back to billow Alastor's full udders, randomly thrusting in harder to wring out a thicker stream of creamy milk. These unpredictable pumps pushing the organ too hard into his pelvis were becoming more frequent, and assuredly more ravenous.

Alastor hadn't noticed the sudden drop in the rhythmic suckling until the beginnings of overstimulation caused his udders to twitch and grow numb inside the suckers — jostled awake from his afterglow doze to bleat out a tormented yawp, sucking in his gut. 

Squirming in place, the Radio Demon was powerless; sure, the nursing suckers had indeed siphoned more than plenty of the throbbing pain, but this was going overboard. His teats had grown swollen, furiously stripped down without pause to draw out the internal friction the steady squeezes invoked. There was milk left, due to the aphrodisiac vesicula fusion, but the manner in which the tentacles insisted on not so much gulping down his precious milk but the action itself. Pumping his udders carelessly, one tentacle began to gather it's teat in a grip to push and pull in a circular stirring motion, like how a farmer applied the milking cup, shoving the teat back into it's quad to bulge out the surrounding mass. A heavy flow wasn't expected, the milker only interested on overstimulating that specific teat. The flesh had turned red, streaks of milk squirting out as weakened sprays, spent. The other tentacle was belligerently sucking it's own teat fiercely like it was never going to have a shot at it again — tugging the raw tip inside it's maw deeper yet, it's petals curled around the undercarriage of that udder, kneading the organ from behind and underneath to quicken it's implausible goal.

"F-F-FUCK, no, STOP — "

Thrashing miserably, fur and hair bristling in mingled lust and fear, his frantic wriggles called for extra discipline. If he was going to act like a brat, the tentacles were only too ready to break him down again. 

The gold cow bell was doubtless going to be associated with smacks.

The Radio Demon's mind started to reel when both tentacles instantaneously stopped their arduous campaign of milking dry teats; the frigid air of the bathroom raising the overmilked dugs to a stiffer condition, residual milk inertly dripping to puddle the slippery floor. Uncoiling and releasing Alastor's udders with a loud pop, these and the waiting guards brought him back to the old drawing board.

Quickly unlocking his wrists from the crosbar, the hook plug withdrawn for better posture;, the tentacles enveloped themselves around the deer's waist to force him face down, the bell ringing noisily and bumping his chin — thrusted forward to scrabble his hands grabbing anything for a support — the Radio Demon had just managed to claw at the washing up basin with both hands to stop crashing into it when the first volley of aggravated smacks fell not on his buttocks or the esteemed sweet spot: the leaden swats were diminished just in size, not ferocity. 

Each swat fell directly on the bulge of his erect udders clenched between his thighs, the wet slaps raising new blooming redness to the heavy sac. The tentacles spanked him differently this time, unlike the precautionary spank against the end of the bed. Alignment of the the strokes vertically to curl down the rear seam, under the curve and licking up the front seam. The majority of the blows’ weight was centrifuged to spank the undercarriage, forcing the udders to bounce up and fill out, recurrent splashes of milk induced out from the heavy swats. The surplus milk increased the pulsating pain, the wet udders’ hurt honed razor sharp.

Throughout all this humiliation, Alastor remained folded in two — tail still yanked up, exposing his trained hole to flutter in arousal on every corrective whip, his mangled sobs and hiccups crowding his overstimulated thoughts.

Alastor definitely had no energy left to dare test the monster again.

[arcanepactguile]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 - 𝐈𝐈𝐈

𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒

ᴀɴᴏɴʏᴍᴏᴜꜱ ꜱᴜɢɢᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ — ɢʀᴏᴏᴍɪɴɢ/ꜱʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ʀɪᴛᴇꜱ.

AO3 CHAPTER 3

It was time for a bath.

It was going to be awkward. It was going to be unconditionally uncomfortable. And the hypnotised Radio Demon had no will power left to put up a good fight — punishment when punishment’s due, the tentacle monster hadn't forgotten how it's prisoner had made attempts to fight, the powerful Overlord's magick repertoire confounded by dungeon’s unorthodox branch of magic.

The occult spellbook was left open, on the edge of the bed. Circumspectly trying to roll at the very least, his upper torso in order to crane his neck back and snatch a glimpse of what the open book’s pages were — whilst he had been lost in the haze of bubbling arousal, the tentacles circling his legs had begun professionally undressing him without warning.

Alastor's attempt to steal a preview of the incoming spell swiftly earned him a stinging slap across his engorged udders.

The fwip slicing through the air, the slim tendril's body whipped along the full udders diagonally in his state of partial undress —one tentacle holding the looped belt of his trousers’ waistband high, tugged midway past one asscheek, the other tentacle paused it's descent on the opposite hip to deliver that sobering slap. Bucking up, Alastor’s shriek rang out in the gloom. A stark red line swelled up on the deceptively strong skin, the welt scarlet compared to the dusky pink of the expansive twin-organ. The downy fur covering the full udders now lay invisible on his skin, slick with cold sweat, an unforeseen development. Progress towards the bath to clean him up was going slow.

If only the clever Radio Demon had thought things through, rather than insist on trying to escape this cryptic imprisonment.

Severely in debt, the penalties had to be paid. The outstanding dues were decided to come together enacted as a conglomerate of degradation, correction, and despairingly — adulteration. Alastor was not going to (perhaps in time) gain any clemency over the next hour.

The tentacles don't care about compassion.

Sucking in deep lungfuls of air, drawing in as much oxygen he could steal in an effort to rid the pounding headache dulling his thoughts, the tentacles started the laborious task of prepping him for the bath.

The guard-tentacles coiling tighter, their sinuous forms pinned Alastor's wrists to the bed, in unison with the larger pair at his legs slipping up to snag the loops of his waistband, shimmying the pants off in a few rough, jerky motions to clear his hooves without further unnecessary delay. The team worked very quickly, in haste to prolong the Overlord's suffering — no time to study their frantic, excited movements. The rest of his attire shed similarly, discarded over the bed, the tentacles drifted over the anchor points to relay the first disciplinary lesson he had acquired in his desperation to escape.

Four tentacles nimbly yanked Alastor down to the edge of the bed frame, hurriedly flipping him over onto his stomach without a care for the crushing weight his pelvis pushed into his throbbing udders squashed onto hard mattress. Ignoring the demon's shrill bleat of pain, flinging out his hands to claw at the bedding to pull himself up, the thespian’s body wriggling to redistribute the weight off his crushed cock and tackle and subsequently his bladder and prostate — the four tentacles held him face down firmly, a fifth tentacle manifested from under the bed’s skirt. 

This limb resembled a cat ‘o nine tails; and it put it to good use, in the meantime a second tentacle monster had been equipping the adjacent antechamber for the ritual.

This distinctive tentacle at the bed took aim for a mere split second, pelted the Radio Demon's exposed rear with relentless, heavy licks of it's multiple-dissected tip. Each sharp lash had Alastor heaving out great gasps, his ass recoiling upwards and shuddering from the loud smacks. The flogger took no notice of the buck’s doe anatomy; whenever the tendrils struck the pink flesh of the bloated udder peeking squeezed between his clenched thighs, the spongy balloon jiggled, stripes of reddened lines crisscrossed his overstimulated organ. Alastor's ballsac had been part of the magick, reabsorbed into his taint to present a generous area to play with and stimulate.

After thirteen minutes exactly, the flogger suddenly stopped; Alastor's sit-spots and upper cheeks were by now glowing with heat, reddened and tighter. His udders fared better; although the oxycotin flooding his quickened pulse, coupled with the constant pressure pushing his udders into his stomach and the bed had squirted some milk into the sheets. A puddle of bluish milk trickled down one leg, the translucent fluid joining the sweat pebbling his skin everywhere.

Breathing raggedly, tears blurring, Alastor did not struggle once the team had finished examining his listless body for any open cuts or haemorrhaging. The two ankle-tendrils affectionately releasing his legs, slithering up to explore the heavy sac that throbbed between his thighs. One tip curiously squirmed under the left quad bulge, wriggling in to nose about and eventually latch onto a teat. Giving it a tug, Alastor’s back bowed, crying out weakly when a spurt of milk was stroked out, the intense pressure inside the hardened appendage was relieved if only momentarily. Stroking the wet patch, the other tentacle meanwhile weaved itself around the Radio Demon's waist, lifting him up to slump forward amongst the other tentacles. In this carry, the monster hauled his empathic form to the stall waiting for him, all prepared.

Whilst the flogger had been spanking Alastor as a lesson against rebellion, the second monster had finished the stall.

Tiled, a round chamber, the centre of the en suite sported a tie-up system — ankle spreaders, wrist cuffs, a basin at groin height, various implements, gear, and a drain.

It was finally beginning.

Tentacles expertly strung up Alastor's wrists to cuffs suspended from the celiing crossbar, each ankle shacklef inside separate cuffs at shoulder-width apart — all on the toe of his hooves, the stag demon stretched up and held perfectly in place while an extra tentacle, the thinnest, crept up the inside of one leg to pluck at his tight hole; finding still resistance, the silky tentacle balled up it's tip to rub at the rosebud, massaging the nerves hidden there to spread Alastor's hole open. Jerking forward in a spasm, tongue lolling out in pleasure, a twin tentacle deceitfully forced the knotted plug of an anal hook deep into his relaxed hole. Letting go, the hook pulled Alastor's ass higher, tilting his pelvis down and lower back curved in.

Eyes waterin, blinking hard to clear his vision better, the Radio Demon was incapable of looking down to watch the ritual — leaving his arms bound high, the two tentacles there coiled around his throat to tip his jaw up, the other rubbing soothing circular motions in one limp ear respectively. The chokehold tendril raisef it's tip to lovingly thumb tears from Alastor's eye, gently kneading his cheek, to repair his hurt pride as the team down below set to work.

The Radio Demon wasn't technically dirty or unhygienic — far from it. The stag was fastidious. However, tonight's misadventure had spoiled his body. It needed to be remedied.

Before the prep, the remaining pair inspected Alastor's groin, studying the differences without a sac. A pair of doe's udders hung in front on his groin, the bulging flesh a darker pink and covered with milky white fuzz. Thicker veins pulsed at this point, the hardened teats at the front of each quadrant thrust out, the tips blushed cerise. The skin felt clammy to the touch, perspiration beaded here and there in pockets of taut flesh. Nestled in the junction between the left and right quadrants rested his hardening cock; bobbing as he breathed heavily, awaiting the relief-cum-embarassment of a spongebath, the member was seen to by simply getting picked up and held defiantly against his own stomach. Precvm welling up in the slit, the last free tentacle saw to cleaning him by itself.

Desperate to stand completely still, trying to not bury the thick plug in deeper nor knead his own hole, Alastor's low moans of pleasure echoed in the small stall. A glob of cleansing oil had just been squirted on to a very warm cloth, and this the tentacle good-naturedly massaged it onto his full udders. Rubbing faster in concentric circles, the tentacle rubbing firmly with rapt attention — sliding under the heavy skin holding the organ to the cleft in his ass, gliding up and down to lather the oil into the warming up flesh.

Opening up the pores to encourage better success at shaving the organ naked; moving on from the thorough kneading, pulling the skin outwards to sweep the rag over every section; it decided a random reward for the Overlor being such a good boy. Rolling a teat inside a fresh slab of flexible sponge as a wrap, the tentacle sneakily gave his teats a wicked tug one by one — squeezing the base of the cistern to furiously strip the teat down in three rough pumps, Alastor's yelp coincided with his knees buckling in pure arousal. The warmth moistness of the sponge's texture imitated the soft heat of a suckling mouth; this triggered the aphrodisiac seeds that the monster had forcibly impregnated his udders to quicken the build up of milk, droplets blooming on the teats' gaping sphincters, longing to be nursed.

Sliding under between his thighs again to sluice more oil into the folds, the tentacle eventually replaced the sodden rag with the ultimate tool: the razor.

The Radio Demon's startled BLEAT invited the first warning tap to the hook that stuffed his ass; after nudging the base to tease his sensitive ring, the tentacle resumed very carefully, in slow and scrutinised strokes, shaving the downy fur covering his groin. Cradling the pounding sac had the buck bite his bottom lip in wretched uneasiness, shallow breaths indicating his spiked anxiety. Ears pinned back, the touch of a fresh warm cloth to his bursting udder elicited another strangled sob; in jerking away from the cloth rubbing down the residual oil before the final rinse, the butt plug had tweaked and in return spurred Alastor rolling his hips forward, the watchful tentacle at his rear smacked the sweet-spot reproachfully, the demon's reddened skin blushing darker red. The extra spank stung, his cheeks flexing uncontrollably, thus the cycle renewed pleasuring his own stretched hole around the knotted plug bearing a good deal of his weight.

Shaved white fur clinging, both tentacles took it in turns rinsing Alastor's groin and legs clean of fur and lotion. The udders had undergone a dramatic transition furless; now they were wholly naked, a vivid lipstick pink, and... even more so tender.

Soft towelling rubbing and patting him dry, the Radio Demon's only choice was to continue dangling half-suspended, licking his lips in trepidation as he tried not to give the monsters any new ideas.

[arcanepactguile]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 - 𝐈𝐈

𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐀𝐂 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

ᴀɴᴏɴ ᴀꜱᴋᴇᴅ: ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪɴ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ: ʀᴏᴜɴᴅ 2 — ᴀᴘʜʀᴏᴅɪꜱɪᴀᴄ ꜱᴛɪᴍᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

AO3 CHAPTER 2

The head of Alastor's cock bobbed up, responding to the mostly concealed tentacle, the slender body winding itself up along the entire shaft, enveloping the head with a paddle-like hood of skin. Stroking the tip gently, the slit flushed a darker colour, blood pooling at the base to slowly warm up his wakening member. Shadows highlighting the budding veins lifting higher under the silken skin, the tentacle gathered the slippery precvm to slick the shaft and head, softly rubbing the fluid over the protruding veins to lubricate it's affectionate strokes.

Pleasure roiling, formerly simmering cinders, it wasn't enough to satisfy the tentacle monster’s thirst — it had merely whetted it.

Rutting his hips into the damp pillow for longed friction, humping the prop was abruptly interrupted — the thick tentacle base between his thighs cautioned the supine stag, pulling his hips firmly back to clear the enticing plushness. A needy whine bubbled forth, this second act of rebellion swiftly curtailed when the tentacle suddenly dragged it’s length down to the base of Alastor’s cock and encircling the base in a tension pinch, halting the bloodflow. 

Alastor's indignant protests, exemplified through muttered curses and a futile attempt to slide a wrist out from the guard-tentacle’s stout grip, ceased immediately when all of a sudden the mass had flipped him over. Flat on his back, the pillow had slid underneath his ass, lifting it higher — the perfect posture for the monster’s designs on those marvellous udders that now had tantalisinglyswayed with the brisk roll over, the internal spring for his milk had been tapped. The stimulation on the outside unluckily was not the sole way to encourage lactation.

The twin tendrils continued to stroke and massage Alastor's resilient udders, the naked flesh blushing a deeper hue of pale flesh.

Left to their own entertainment; Alastor's hips rocking languidly as he tried to rut the stubborn tentacle still latched onto his edged member, more tendrils gathered around the other end of his body.

Head thrown back, jaw dropped open, the Radio Demon uttered a strangled whimper as a slim tentacle took the opportunity to slide past his relaxed lips — reaching the back of his throat, the spade-tapered tip pushed in deeper past his airways' opening to begin pumping a honeyed nectar straight down into his gullet.

The liquid was vastly different to the poisonous green sap that continued to soak his sensitive nipple, the flower unwaveringly rolling the hardened peak to induce another frantic groan from his sluggish smile. The sustenance that he had no choice but to guzzle hungrily, bubbles of gold brimming over the corners of his mouth, tasted strangely like… rye.

Shortly thereafter, the stag could feel a wave of indescribable pleasure roll over him, spreading out from a concentrated spot somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach. Obliged to finish suckling the agreeable siphon, Alastor's newfound affinity for the enigmatic nectar stopped short of gorging. The tentacle eased itself out of his strained throat, the dazed Overlord letting his head fall back, heaving out a serene sigh. Placid, the dangerous nectar had one objective — domesticate the buck.

Two new tentacles, mirroring the size of the two pinning his arms back, materialised and quickly entwined his legs; curling around his calves and thighs, the tentacles held them aloft, supporting his weight easily with his rear still planted on the pillow.

The preoccupied tendrils at his udders quieted, releasing the taut teats to tamper with the Radio Demon's weird biology.

One at a time… A tendril, hovering over the first aroused nipple, slyly captured the stiffened nub in an overpowering vice grip — latched on, a growing, electric sensation buzzed at the tip of the teat… unseen through it's skin, a wisp of a tiny tendril whipped out from the tentacle’s internal maw to wriggle it's way through the teat’s canal via the star-shaped orifice at it’s tip.

The sudden shock of the squirming tendril struck Alastor out of his stupor, arching back in open-mouthed horror, co-mingled with a disturbing sense of who-cares-what’s-happening? drifting into his distorted thoughts. The sweet liquored nectar had successfully sapped the fight out of the stag, leaving in his normally combative nature a fountainhead of wanton arousal.

The svelte wisp wriggling deeper, following the curves of the teat’s pulsating channel, it quickly reached it's destination — latching onto a multitude of milk ducts, it began the infusion.

Outside the udder, the silhouette of the feeding tendril transformed. A string of nodules, or pods, erupted under the black skin — coursing down, each separated bead ambitiously pumped the aphrodisiac vesicula into Alastor's teat without hesitation. The tissue undulated, stretching over each membranous sac and swallowing it down as they were injected one at a time. 

In the foreground, the Radio Demon's incensed, husky moans carried on — a sporadic grunt whenever the tendrils injected a particularly tougher sac into the teats’ canals. Both udders were undergoing the same luxurious treatment; the white skin blushed into a coral pink glow.

The vesicula, sinking into the nearest milk ducts, fused to the exterior wall and melted to become one with the deer’s natural glands. The ducts blossomed under the pods’ influence, overcrowding the limited cavities to engorge Alastor's udders with literal titillation.

The minute vesicula strengthened in sheer volume, the invading wisp slurped out of the swollen tit wetly. A rivulet of blue-rich milk leaked out with it's evacuation, Alastor's udders swelled to their biggest proportions tonight. Normally flush and essentially invisible at other times, influenced by his forced arousal inflicted by the unique properties of the intimate synthesis internally, the nursing glands had bloated to the equivalent of a B or C cup, on the lower end of the scale. Keep in mind these aren't regular human breasts, but a doe’s udders. Pushing up against his straining cock snugly, the fatty mounds had taken over the main tentacle’s cramped space.

It had been edging him up until now; carefully relaxing it's grip, the slick limb slid higher to restart teasing his throbbing member.

Circulation returning to the bruised spongy tissue, Alastor's cock hardened, new ejaculate oozing from the slit as the tentacle toyed with it; rubbing circular motions around the flushed glans. Precvm compelled to ooze thicker, the base of the tentacle grinded it's fluted stem into the contours of Alastor's throbbing sac, the stag eagerly rolling his pelvis up to greet the counteraction with upward strokes of his furred taint, in the most heartfelt gratitude he could muster in his lustful haze.

The stag's tail wagged happily, a telltale sign his aphrodisiac trance was in full effect.

Closing his eyes, blissfully unaware of the next group of tentacles waiting at the edge of the bed, waiting for their turn…

[arcanepactguile]

𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒

ᴛᴏᴘ-ꜱʜᴇʟꜰ-ᴛᴇɴᴅᴇʀ ᴀꜱᴋᴇᴅ - "ʜᴇᴀʀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇɴᴛ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴀɴ…ᴜᴅᴅᴇʀʟʏ ʀɪᴅɪᴄᴜʟᴏᴜꜱ ᴍᴇᴛᴀᴍᴏʀᴘʜᴏꜱɪꜱ,” ꜱʜᴇʟᴠᴇᴅ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴅ.

𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐄

“Shut your trap,” came the scathing retort, incredulous that one of his closest confidantes not only had heard about the abrupt transformation, but he was actually making fun of him. The gambler usually held back his sarcastic wit in the likelihood he would get more than a simple chastisement; Alastor couldn't fathom why the cat decided making light of the mortifying transition during his Rut was worth another one of his nine lives.

After secluding himself in his personal quarters, the Radio Demon had habitually forgotten to lock the bathroom door. Husk had just waltzed right on in his Master trying his best not to make a spectacle of himself.

Alastor certainly sounded breathless. Light thrown from the open doorway, the shadow of the demon's hunched form sitting on the edge of the bathtub cast on the floor. It changed as Alastor reached forward to quietly push it further open before gingerly sitting back down on the tub’s rim. It wasn't the most comfortable of perches, but as it was a more modern 1940s in-floor tub with a flat wall skirting the basin for seating, Alastor made do.

The deer demon's face was flushed pink in embarrassment, his eyes rimmed red. Yes, he had been crying. Out of frustration, most likely, as well as shame. Levelling his hard stare at his amused lover, Alastor gestured to the subject of investigation spilling out of his unbuckled pants with a wry, nervous smile.

Pointing out the spongy bag of coral pink flesh engorged in his lap, the twin udders shone wet under the ceiling fixture’s single light. The two teats were noticeably full, his thumb and forefinger curled around the right bloated nipple in a failed attempt to express milk himself. Nothing had happened besides working himself further into a right state. The other teat jutted out, weeping a dollop of heavy cream, milk soaked into the crotch and left pants leg of his trousers — presently dragged halfway down his mid-thighs. His belt lay open, underwear halfheartedly shoved down to ease the tension it had previously been squeezing his new udders.

The Radio Demon's cock at full mast, it didn't take a genius to reach the conclusion that this was erotic for him.

Alastor had been dreading approaching his curious pet’s assistance for this seasonal malediction.

Speaking grimly, his tone dripping with resignation — Alastor popped the question. Absently, Alastor had a frantic thought that Husk might have thought the Overlord had been trying to suck himself off. Ridiculous but it was of course titillating. Husker had a filthy mind, hanging around the spider too much.

“Would you mind lending a hand, Husker? It… it doesn't work if I do it.”

𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑

Hearing about Alastor’s predicament had been one thing, but witnessing the altered state of his genitalia was another matter entirely. What had sounded absolutely comical in passing conversation had Husk choking on his laughter in seconds. How in the seven rings could Alastor make the exchange of testicles for udders so goddamn sexy?

The bartender considered excusing himself, both to alleviate Alastor’s embarrassment as well as calm the reaction in his own trousers. However, there was something so irresistible about the proud and powerful Radio Demon admitting to requiring help. To needing Husk. Even if the scene hadn’t been so alluring, there was no way the feline could leave his keeper there, wanting and desperate for relief. With a sigh, Husk entered the bathroom, shutting and locking the door to ensure further disruption was avoided.

“Lemme take a look,” he soothed, kneeling on the floor behind Alastor and wrapping his arms around his waist. The smell of the buck’s arousal had been potent from the doorway, but fuck, up close, it was almost as intoxicating as booze he was forced to serve for patrons. Mixed with the sweet aroma cream leaking from the pair of udders, Husk was left practically drooling from secondhand lust. A forced shake of his head redirected his priorities. He was here to help Alastor, not fall prey to the call of rut.

“I’m gonna touch ‘em, ‘kay?” Husk offered fair warning, rubbing his paws comfortingly along his lover’s inner thighs. When he was certain Alastor had steeled himself for the intimate action, the cat’s claws slid down to grope the slippery teats. Husk had to clamp his jaw to keep from making any sort of noise to indicate how pleasant they were to fondle. His paws were soaked with milk in seconds as he began to massage to aching bulges.

“Just relax for me. We’ve gotta release that pressure…” After a moment of testing their weight, Husk pinched at each nipple, and pressed his forehead to Alastor’s back. Even out of sight, the feel of the lactating protrusions alone was stirring Husk’s own arousal. If he aided his keeper quickly enough, the bartender would be able to slip away to his own room in order to deal with his own need…

𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐄

Quiet, Alastor didn't reply to the affirmation. The lead up to requiring assistance had compounded the distraught overlord's swirling emotions, uncertain if Husk was taking this seriously, seeing it was a… a situation that put the buck in dire straits.

Licking his lips nervously, putting a little more effort into suppressing another barbed comeback, Alastor's body acknowledged the pair of warm arms encircling his malnourished waist, recognising out of past sensual encounters the covertly dominant streak he could feel radiate from his pet’s control. A hushed inhale made Alastor's ribs pronounced as he suddenly gasped, his back straightened to dislodge his boyfriend's muzzle from shock — the rub down sent a wave of sparks tickling his taut skin, gooseflesh arcing under Husk’s soft strokes, yet the blind groping stirred something else much more erotic…

Twin splurts of milk ejected instantaneously, the hot liquid soaking the cat’s paws. The soft fur was an entirely new experience — everything was, obviously, yet he hadn't anticipated how the combined textures soft cat’s fur, the supple pawpads, and the pricking of those semi-sheathed claws awakened Alastor's oxytocin. The hormones rushed through his system, filling his belly and head all at once the full strength of feel-good endorphins, the thrumming alcoholic buzz behind his eyes instilling the most saturated concentration of tranquillity the Radio Demon's EVER had the fortune to enjoy… he hadn't known a second person was needed to let his milk down; expressing it himself all afternoon had only just rubbed his swollen teats raw, the milk trapped behind the sphincters but refusing to eject.

He'd have corralled Husk’s expert farmhands sooner.

“HUSKER—!”

Alastor's startled outburst surprised even himself — folding forward at the waist, spreading his thighs on instinct, Alastor's bloated udders throbbing against Husk’s wrists, the teats abruptly spasmed — the springy tubes reacted to the hard pinch, inflating momentarily to pump a thick stream of milk, the pressure finally kickstarted.

Moaning low, his nauseous shudders undulating his thighs and heavy organ taking the brunt of the aroused shiver direct to Husk.

Alastor had the strange impulse to see this dilemma through, and then some. It wasn't like him to submit to a Top so readily, especially in the eleventh hour... Chewing the inside of his cheek, unaware it was suspiciously similarly to a livestock’s hormonal and digestion habit, Alastor squirmed uncomfortably in Husker's embrace; his udders still remained full.

The feeling he had to go bone dry was nibbling at the fraying thoughts threatening to prompt the Radio Demon to do something stupid like injure himself after sending Husk on his way, their intimacy now a state secret.

Groaning in resignation, Alastor more or less harshly shrugged Husk’s hands away, wincing when the leaking teats rekindled the oppressive throbs without the cat’s authoritative support. Husk would have felt the burning teats move post-pinch — the thick appendages inflating and narrowing to express the first gush. The milk had travelled far, splattering the opposite wall of the tub. Desperate times called for… the Radio Demon couldn't even sit still anymore, his breathing quickened to shallow huffs, his Rutaccelerating.

Pivoting on his ass, the buck pushed off Husk to scoot back into the bathtub itself — digitigrade legs hanging over the front, his shoeheels loose against the tub’s front wall, knees hooked ontop. Speedily rucking his waistband higher up his thighs and calves, the pulsing udders swelled to fit snugly between his clenched thighs, the teats beading more cream. Bent double in the diaper position, his exposed lap and ass pushed forward to plant firmly on the tub’s edge where he had been sitting, the buck’s arousal heightened.

Ears pinned, his expression plaintive, Alastor stretched his arms awkwardly on the back wall supporting him, reinforced by his desperate idea to relieve the full organ; fresh milk in the meanwhile had welled up from his crude position, white froth bubbling forth.

“PLEASE… Take it all. Drink. Squeeze. Suck. Just get it done..."

𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑

Alastor’s every whimpering wriggle had Husk fully invested in the task at hand. He wouldn’t dare confess it, lest these privileges be revoked, but the bartender was addicted to every aspect of his keeper’s transformation: the supple, breast-like udders, Alastor’s heightened sensitivity, and the tantalizing sense of power this experience afforded him. The Radio Demon wasn’t one to succumb to just anyone’sauthority - Husk had earned the right to reduce the other man to his desperate submissive.

The sensation of warm milk soaking his kneading paws was one that unlocked some deep, primal urge in Husk. His own body gave a tremble, instinctively drawing Alastor closer while the stag cried his name and wailed in pleasure. When his lover put distance between them, Husk was momentarily concerned he’d breached a boundary. It wasn’t until Alastor was lying unceremoniously in the tub with his legs spread wide that the bartender gathered the extent of the deer’s need.

“Al…” the feline breathed, pupils expanding in unison with the milk-logged udders. There was a split second of lucidity where Husk questioned the repercussions of pushing his assistance further, but it was short lived. Alastor’s desperate command flipped a switch in his partner that Husk wasn’t even aware of until that moment. Without a second thought, the bartender dove between Alastor’s legs to emphatically grope and suck at the dribbling sacks of tender flesh.

Warm, delicious milk slid down Husk’s throat, coaxed by an erotic hunger. He wanted to taste every last drop so that no one else could - to drive his hormonal lover to a state of bliss so profound that Alastor would have no choice but to need his touch for relief. With his face nestled in the swollen groin, Husk could smell the arousal twitching between teats he was attending to. The combination of Alastor’s musk and milk had the cat groaning, trousers straining from his own need. For now, all that mattered to Husk was alleviating the deer’s discomfort.

𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐄

The magma, wet heat of Husk’s mouth enveloping his engorged teats had Alastor's lids fluttering shut in ecstasy, a low moan rolling out in unleashed lust.

Pushing his pelvis forward clumsily, his buttocks pressed hard into the bathtub’s edge, the velvety texture of his energetic lover’s mouth pressing in all around his full udders surpassed all expectations. This was the very first time the Radio Demon had undergone the Rut’s new transformation, the body horror slipping into a sensual exploitative routine, going by the relentless painful tension oppressive in his gut seeking relief through a partner's help.

The damp environment of the feline's mouth triggering, the pull on his teats randomly switching between the various motions of fondling, kneading, suction, let down the luscious milk simultaneously. Streams of milk surged the bartender's maw, a shrill bleat interjected with self-conscious whimpers elicited from the pacified deer, the warmth emanating from the buck's swollen udders throbbing fiercer as the bartender guzzled everything he had to give.

Alastor's cock leaking precvm, twitching, the excess fluid trickling down the seam of his bloated sacs to join the flow of milk — the salty liquid not necessarily altering the sweetened, fatty taste of his built up milk.

Each and every drag of the cat’s torturous, rough tongue firmly lapping up his expressed milk drew renewed shudders from the humiliated Radio Demon, relaxing his stiffened body to cross his arms over his face, pushing his folded forearms hard into his closed eyes, unable to muffle a pathetic cry as the enthralling performance burned out his endurance. Tongue lolled out in exultation, chest rising and falling as the buck panted wantonly, Alastor's unchained gratification for Husker's support treaded uncharted territory.

How frequent was this practise supposed to occur?

Milk continuing to spurt out as the cat suckled, bubbles of froth piling up whenever a twitching teat was abandoned in favor of the other, the chosen sucked teat pumping in fervent need to be drained. The blushed tips warming up, quickened sensitivity tested the limits of Alastor's stamina, his virginal experience possessing this new organ opening up new forms of pain. The unyielding sucks and gropes gave profound relief in the heavy sacs, the oxytocin flooding his senses to sedation, however it also introduced the problematic exacerbated tenderness of the organ.

The stubborn pressure inside on his bladder and prostate eased over the course of Husk feeding off him, the Radio Demon squirming in place, he felt obliged to nudge a knee into the engrossed gambler's shoulder in unfettered warning, sending off confusing signals as to whether or not he wished Husk to keep doing this — tail wagging, albeit crushed in his uncomfortable position, the Overlord pushing his other leg closer to brush Husk's cheek, the deer flinching when he startled himself as the cat's whiskers tickled his inner thigh and udder.

Disoriented, refusing to look down at the marvellous sight of his old friend’a face buried in his groin, Alastor managed to croak out a rasped, pleading request — fevered skin clammy with want, ears sagged and jerking with every lingering suck on a drying up teat.

“W-what — how — h-how do I… r-repay… Husker..? Oh, g-gods..!!”

The Radio Demon's erection hardened, the base and shaft throbbing blood rushing to fill his member, thicker cream seeped from the gaping slit, the cockhead grazing his abdomen as the deer groaned, rutting his hips into Husk's soft face, eager for further friction in spite of his milk flow weakened the longer tha gambler drank.

[arcanepactguile]

⚔ : Does your muse have any specific kinks?

𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄

It varies only a little by verse, due to differences in physiology and giving/receiving affected by that difference.

Impact Play, chiefly Spanking (in contrast, Alastor doesn't enjoy flagellation or whippings) is a major kink. It drives the Power Play role reversal. Punishment, not Funishment. The Discipline ritual has a strong connection to his needs for correction, praise, and rewards. It strengthens the bond he shares with his Dom or lover.

It isn't necessarily sexual, it's intimacy, especially considering his parent issues and other complications with relationships. Humiliation is a second element, separate from Degradation. He's getting taught that he's not all-powerful, the discipline is reshaping his self-worth and not immune to repercussions.

Impact Play involving implements like the classic wooden hairbrush or a leather crop is less likely to arouse the Overlord, because those tools mean serious business. The prep and chance for jo warm up is pacifying in itself.

A bare hand is much more impulsive, and likelier to be shorter, less smacks; easier introduction to sex afterwards, and/or less intensive subspace. The additional component or getting smacked over his clothes, or pants stripped to his thighs, adds another depth of intimacy and significance.

On another note, regarding ᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ - 𝕮𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖊 𝕯𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖈𝖞 🦌🥛, spanking involving his udders is a major source of degradation over humiliation. It's strictly not a turn on. It's a very sensitive organ, like cock & ball torture. Essentially the same thing for him, Alastor facing this method of discipline is more often than not a true non-consensual event, instead of consensual non-consent. To the point that it's a trigger, a real fear.

The second specific kink is Lactation. Giving as ᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ - 𝕾𝖎𝖑𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖚𝖊𝖉, even if it's only pretend due to the realities of body outside of magic interference. Alastor's very much a tit man. Female or Male. Both are good.

Receiving as ᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ - 𝕮𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖊 𝕯𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖈𝖞 🦌🥛is another rat's nest. To overwhelm the Radio Demon and go headlong into overstimulation, reduce him into a drooling timid mess, either nurse directly on his udders, or milk him by hand or implement.

It's one of Alastor's biggest turn ons, not feeding his lover, but getting used by them. This is the only real form of Objectification he'll not just tolerate but hunger for. The doe's appendage doesn't make much sense to him, but neither does his Rut or antlers. The strength of the oxytocin brought on exclusively by letting his milk down through stimulation or seasonal Rut is the best soothing routine. Overmilking is another story.

A third specific kink is Feral. And all the sub types within! Size Difference, Breeding, Marking, Biting, Rough, Forced, Overstimulation, Bareback, Rut, Pollen/Pheromones, the lot. Both partners can get freaky and without due care. Just Do It. Take control of size or dominance, utilise advantage of anatomy or lust, no holds barred.

The perfect avenue for pure, unrivalled de-stressing. And the best Aftercare.

The last specific kink is Tentacles, and how.

Alastor's only recently entertained the use of his monster's tentacles for his own masturbation, and consented dubiously to getting taken during sleep, finding it sometimes a releasing pleasure during his vulnerable state. Other times it poses a trigger, recalling trauma when he was Alive and his predilections to dating strangers at barsc

Sharing a Hive Mind, sometimes things don't always go to plan. As @angie-long-legs and @poisonedspider can attest to that. Alastor's hidden fantasies can randomly, without permission, become a reality, or be miscontrued and enacted the wrong way. It's not a fun experience.

When it's consented, using his monsters' tentacles are an entertaining kink. 9/10 it's exclusively indulged for masturbation. When he's with a partner, he's far more likely to use his own tentacles, so he can control AND feel what his extra limbs are doing in all definitions of the word.