#ᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ - 𝕮𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖊 𝕯𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖈𝖞 🦌🥛

[arcanepactguile]

ᴀ ᴘʟᴏᴛᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴏʀ @justiceiswrath

The farmstead had been too quiet for too long.

Left alone to hold the fort, for lack of a better phrase, the loneliness had spiralled into something unfathomable.

Satan had taken the breeding stock, his horses, away over the weekend for an extended visit to a neighbouring farm. Or a competitor's business, to brag and boast, or whatever it was that rivalry between stud farms looked like. The Radio Demon had been careful to show emotionless disinterest on these subjects, which his Master Satan had taken with a grain of salt, fully understanding his pet's apathy when it came to conversation or involvement with his horses.

Tolerated indifference was a win-win for the pair, and the horses couldn't care less about what the cervine Overlord thought about them. He wasn't the one in charge of their care or feeding them.

Feeding was what had been occupying the Radio Demon's mind — Satan's prolonged absence had subsequently led to a shameful ordeal that Alastor was struggling to comprehend, on his lonesome.

Usually, there was their mutual routine... every morning, at dawn, or earlier if the mood had been particularly feisty, the dragon would have been nursing on the buck's roused udders. Sex was always important, but it wasn't vital. Getting mounted by his greedy Master at daybreak was a major component of letting his milk come in, yet not necessary.

Three days without getting serviced by his owner had left Alastor's body screaming for relief; the build up of milk hadn't been deterred by the lack of nursing or milking, the yield relentless even though the buck had been doing whatever he could by controlling the natural transition from being flaccid to engorgement.

The Radio Demon's mistake was having stolen one of his Master's leather jackets a day earlier, with the mindset that Satan was coming home shortly to deal with him. That was a full night ago — curled up around the jacket to sleep with it, nuzzling and licking it, breathing in the dragon's musk deeply, it had all resulted in stimulating his milk. The original intention behind the theft was innocent, he had simply missed the warmth and smells of his Sire.

Now having isolated himself in one of the empty barns, Alastor had spent the better part of the third morning trying to relieve himself.

Bent double on his knees, stripped naked, a knocked over milking pail rolling on it's side nearby, the Radio Demon was panting breathlessly, his back arched and face turned upside down to watch himself attempt to express milk.

One hand curled around a fattened teat, his fingers slick with spent milk, his awkward pumping was pulling nothing, white liquid dripping from the curves of his heavy udders bulging between his thighs. The other neglected teat was blushing pink, bolts of pain inside the bloated bag sending violent shudders through his tensed body. Tail tucked in, shoulders braced, Alastor's exhales were often interrupted by a racking sob: his fingers would slip and he'd have to readjust his grip, the strewn straw under his forearm and bent torso wet not with the unspent milk, but the tears he had no trouble shedding.

The distressed buck wasn't certain if he'd get in trouble for stealing, or working himself up into this dangerous state, risking his organ to damage itself. Memories of the dragon's hot maw suckling his milk bag was an unparalleled experience, the ecstasy an addiction.

[arcanepactguile]

Holding Satan's gaze, Alastor was at a loss for words that conveyed the same depth, the same intensity. Angling his hips forward, the better to enjoy the dragon's claws slipping down as if he were influencing their trajectory downwards, Alastor had second thoughts — halfway into the lean, he'd changed his mind and instead leaned into the affectionate kiss.

"That's ludicrous... I can't be the best partner you've had. Living for a millennia, you truly think I'm.. your favourite...?"

Studying the Sin's serious expression hadn't uncovered any new clues. Raising his arms to encircle his lover's waist, drumming his claws, the Radio Demon regarded the Sin carefully, troubled. Holding his breath to steele himself, he finally revealed what had been occupying his thoughts whenever Satan was feeling melancholy like this.

"Were you planning on leaving me? Would that mean it takes the pain away?"

@arcanepactguile from this ask

He rolled his claws into those hips giving a small squeeze against his body even rolling down to his thighs slightly to give them a grip. He smiled at Alastor. Softly placing a kiss against his neck. It wasn't sexual it was... Sensual in a way. Loving almost. "Indeed I think I have lost something. I think I have lost my heart to you. I cannot think of a life that you are not in. I think my heart and heart has begun to beat again simply because you are within my reach." he spoke those words as if they were the softest thing in the world.

[arcanepactguile]

𝑭𝒊𝒄 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒏𝒐𝒏 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏.

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 — 𝙁𝙞𝙘 𝙍𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩 + 𝘿𝙖𝙮 1 𝘽𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙤𝙢 𝘼𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧 𝙒𝙚𝙚𝙠 2.0—

𝐖𝐂: 12.5k

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋. 𝘈𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳 (🦌🥛), 𝘓𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒: 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘈𝘯𝘰𝘯 + 𝘋𝘢𝘺 1 - 𝘏𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬

𝐀𝐎𝟑 𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫

𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘰 𝘋𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 — 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘌𝘹𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘞𝘢𝘳, 𝘘𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘓𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩'𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘖𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦.

𝐂𝐖 / 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: 𝘔𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘺 𝘒1𝘯𝘬, 𝘗𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘦𝘹 𝘵𝘰𝘺𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘯-𝘤𝘰𝘯, 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘱𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘋𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳/𝘗𝘦𝘵, 𝓂𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘈𝘤𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘝𝘰𝘺𝘦𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘮, 𝘗𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘳, 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘐𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘮, 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘮, 𝘋𝘰𝘮/𝘴𝘶𝘣, 𝘙𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘌𝘵𝘤 + 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦

Skulking wasn't the first choice when in Queen Lilith's company… If you could call it a debate; it was the only choice. It was either comply with your Queen's elitist, draconian protocols, the private affairs settled outside of the Royal Court — or you were delegated to seeking whatever favours you were hunting for, elsewhere. With her infinite power, wisdom, and connections so seductive, who else would the great Radio Demon turn to, at the height of his needs…?

The Hazbin Hotel was undergoing either another debacle surrounding its renovation following the cataclysmic Extermination War, or it's staff had not surprisingly fostered another dangerous meddlesome business, thus risking more than its reputation. Anybody could guess that the tenants and management alike had their hands full, restoring business on top of their dodgy reputation.

The Hotel's manager had no idea what they were up to — for Alastor had quit, terminated his contract. It had never been an honest deal between him and Charlie Morningstar the entrepreneur; therein lay the easy exit to void the superficial legal mumbo jumbo, and beat a hasty retreat. The Radio Demon hadn't given any consideration to breaking truces or intimate friendships; every kind he was loath to recall as something more than a passing fancy. In hindsight, Alastor's allyship was what had saved his life — the early days after the War were treacherous.

The Radio Demon had never faced being this injured before. The grievous wound, a deep gash slicing diagonally across his chest, required specialist care from an older soul who clearly knew what they were doing, and could be trusted with the secret.

That was why, after handing in his resignation to Charlie, Alastor had sought answers through the almighty Queen of Hell.

Morally cast down in the fallout, unable to quench his thirst in his usual interests, taking a temporary hiatus from his daily radio program — Alastor's constant presence had been bothering Queen Lilith, his new confidante and mentor. It was a position thrust upon her once the former hotelier had used that silver tongue of his to weasel his way into her ‘good’ books.

Taken in under her wing, with her estranged husband Lucifer living at Alastor's former business, it had surprisingly taken a few days longer than expected for the Radio Demon's miserable attitude to chip away at his Queen's thinning patience. What with the lonely buck’s petulant airs, subdued moping, random flashes of anger, aggravating the Queen's steeled countenance, it should have held significance to the deer demon when he had made the fateful decision to try anotherpass at wheedling consoling affections from his beleaguered Mistress.

It wasn't like she had an entire Kingdom to manage, not anymore. Regarding the Queen's protracted help as something endless, infinite, Alastor's final gesture of artificial self-reproach swiftly blossomed into a delirious chain of events — reliving the cruelty his Mistress's hand and spoken word could effortlessly deliver, without once drawing the Radio Demon's attention to the cues her resentful behaviour was broadcasting in the early days.

As a master of the spoken word, of theatrics, he of all demons should have recognised the warning signs.

Making a point to ensure he’d shut the door to Lilith's antechamber hard enough so she'd get his message through how loud the heavy ornate door was shut, Alastor had invited himself into her Royal chambers. It wasn't like he hadn't been here before: in any state of undress, was a calculated risk. Alastor's chosen wardrobe was carefully picked: shirtless, no lounge slippers, simply just a pair of black and red argyle-print pajama bottoms, and nothing else. 

After closing the door, arms returned to fold across his chest, crossing the room Alastor had wanted his Queen's attention to fall upon his bared chest — the swathe of clean gauze strips bound around his chest, no faint traces of old blood wicking into the flimsy material. The edges of the ugly, broad Angelic steel scar zigzagging, the green magic stitches binding the edges closer together to hasten the healing wound wasn't for show. The bandages were.

In playing up his disconsolate, moody demeanour, Alastor's insistence that he was still hurting, still wallowing in dejected misery as if his Queen hadn't already taken care of him despite the Overlord overextending his hiatus in her home… He hoped this plucking of his caretaker’s heartstrings would see him enjoying fresh pampering.

Standing motionless in the center of the chamber, ears swivelling around, the Radio Demon's wariness at the aggrieved sigh that had come from behind the massive set of dark purple and gold curtains shielding an adjoining chamber, was dismissed. It wasn't like Lilith to betray her cool, professional demeanour — in deliberately ignoring the way Alastor had tried to make a grand entrance, substituting his swagger for a despondent approach, she… was not herself. This had never happened to him before.

A second heavy sigh behind the curtain had piqued Alastor's curiosity. Taking a step forward, cautious, Alastor deigned to raise his voice, tuning his face to watch those opulent velvet drapes shift subtly.

“ Your Grace…? I am sorry to disturb you, but… I have serious concerns. I need to discuss it with you. Preferably, post haste. It's a matter of the utmost urgency, you see.”

Taken aback by his Mistress's choice to persist on ignoring him, feigning indifference, it felt like a harsh blow to the Radio Demon's ego. Even when mortally wounded, and resigned to licking his pains out of sight and out of mind, nothing hurt the grand Overlord’s pride like being FORGOTTEN ever did. The crew at the Hotel weren't the right audience he had wanted; his Mistress was the prime target for spoiling a dejected Overlord.

The indignant buck's heart beginning to beat fast, ire growing at the Queen's apathy like he was some — some lowlife, some NOBODY, a paltry subject of her Royal Court, Alastor couldn't fathom whyhis silent Mistress was acting so callous towards him all of a sudden.

Mulling over the other multitude of stories he could sell her, lay it on real thick that her special ward wasn't out of the woods just yet — playing up his misery, crossing over to the billowing curtains had taken only a moment of silence from him before he had pushed his incensed features into the heavy velvet.

The curtains split, allowing the Radio Demon to wait half-shrouded in the opulent dressing, the Overlord's ashen expression were all that the Queen Hell could see. After a beat, once she had made a grand show of turning her head halfway to face him.

The smaller chamber was as grandiose as her other private quarters — the Queen of Hell's special sanctuary, a luxurious privilege only granted to the cream of the crop.

Polished black marble flooring, bedecked in rivers of gold, the ornate room had a different menacing quality to it. Upon first impressions, the Radio Demon was perplexed as to why his Mistress was lounging on a posh-looking, curved chaise that was mimicking a throne. The seat was curved sinuously, its golden base sculpted with a variety of hellish dragons and wyrms, the feet clawed and the flames-sculpted legs raising the lounger to about mid-thigh height, or thereabout. The wave-like plush cushioned top was molded to copy the frame’s slender shape, one armrest set in a further out off-set formation to allow extra elbow-room. It was obviously a one-seater, except the way his Mistress was resplendent, draped over it's attractive curves in a decidedly salacious way considering any visitor such as he would be directly facing her upon admittance.

The Queen of Hell, lightly holding a crystal chalice in one hand by it's spiralled stem… in spite of his introduction, the hollowed clatter his cloven hooves reverberated on her precious stone floor, Lilith hadn't��acknowledged him until a stretched length of suspense had passed.

Silent, Lilith pretending not to know him, let alone answer, eventually responded.

Tilting her austere features, trained on the Overlord's quizzical look, Lilith's reply was curt. Critical, he might argue. For the strength in her voice, the pleasing feminine lilt was overshadowed by the hint of something forbidding. Her expression grim, however impassive the rest of her body remained, Lilith's answer was strangely playful in her choice of words. Not at all did it match the hollow of her strained tone.

“Alastor. A pleasure to see you again, at this late hour~! So soon, after all, we had only crossed paths but an hour ago.”

Deliberately taking an overlong sip from her raised glass, the Queen's levelled stare was just shy of admonishment. There was a menacing intonation to the way she addressed her obstinate guest; a glint of fire lit up her eyes for the briefest of moments. The incredulity in his Mistress's odd behaviour served to rile up Alastor's burgeoning ire: taking a full step past the curtains, Alastor regarded her aloof poise with some distrust evident on his solemn expression.

The feigned cheer in her tone, a contrast against her stiffened body, was briefly studied as another coy tease — Alastor's bleak thoughts brightening, suffice to say his own appearance was also relatively circumspect.

The chamber wasn't an ordinary games room. Not those kinds of games. The Queen of Hell had never played a hand of cards here.

The furnished, ebony-wood panelled walls were cloaked with more heavy purple drapes, the solid cabinets lining the walls showcasing various toys, or implements of torture, for whatever mood the Queen was in. Things made of black leather, wood, silicone, glass, precious gemstones for decoration; gold and silver gilt bottles lined up, mirrors covering every naked inch of wall not concealed behind curtains or scattered objects. An array of softly glowing lit candles set in various wall sconces, overhead there was no chandelier — only a strange, unrecognisable blackened steel track, partially sunk into the lowered ceiling.

“I understand it IS indeed late… Forgive me, Your Excellency, but… well, I understand you ARE busy, important plans tomorrow…”

Pausing to reflect on his chosen path, taking another step nearer, Alastor's scepticism was disappearing the longer he spent taking in her glamorous attire. Dressed in nothing but a silken negligee, the gown sported slits up the thighs, loose sleeves, a plunging neckline, and what appeared to be no knickers.

Remembering to call up a bogus grimace: hugging his chest tighter, playing with the loosened end of his bandages, tugging at the silky material to flaunt the gaping cleavage revealing his naked scarred chest — Alastor's ersatz excuse for disturbing his Mistress in the dead of night was as phony as the useless gauze he insisted on wearing around her palace.

The buck had never, not once, faked the pain, the random bursts of grief the Angelic wound would instil — it was the subsequent, veiled whining, the constant need for attention, that the Overlord was unwilling to stop playing pretend at.

Letting the drapes fall shut behind him as he fully entered the room, Alastor was not discreet in his determination to manipulate his superior. Meeting her cold gaze, evasively redirecting the topic, Alastor's earnest admission was frustrating, barring none. Gesturing to his Queen's alcoholic nightcap, the corners of his smile lifting in jest, the Radio Demon broached the subject that he knew was going to stir up trouble. He just hadn't anticipated the form it would take.

“You would not begrudge an ally's request — nay, a wish, to… Dare I say… sleep in your bed tonight? For this blasted scar hurts so, and I think you’d do me kindness by generously offering to share your bed.

After all, a good night's rest works wonders for the morning after… I suspect you wouldn't appreciate cancelling your plans because you had to take care of me, after a bad night? What do you think?”

A pregnant pause. Silence fell.

One could hear a pin drop… or the beat of wings, as the allegorical last caged resolve Lilith had in reserve, finally made a bid for freedom.

Looking back at him, her upper lip curling up in the beginnings of an irritated sneer, before Lilith had turned it into a knowing smirk, the placid Queen reconsidered his shady offering of a youth’s bid to sleep in their parents’ bed after a bad nightmare. The wish to indulge a childish fantasy of warding off troubled sleep or disturbing night terrors (or sleep paralysis) was a fixation the Radio Demon was attached to. Sleeping alongside his beautiful Queen in her own bed, beggared belief — nobody else, that he had heard of, had ever won that right before. It was not even an inherently sexual act — getting doted on, fussed over by a motherly figurehead, the stag Overlord was essentially married to the secret they shared because of the affections alone. The sexual connotations were regarded openly as a secondary benefit; much to Lilith's chagrin, Alastor's recent behaviour had grown much more voracious. The Radio Demon's greed for his Mistress's persuaded affections was becoming a nuisance, more so due to his claims that his chest wound was an ever-present nagging pain.

Locking their gazes together, a glimmer of hope — and ardour — flickering in the Overlord's expectant mood, it was crystal clear the two villains perfectly recognised the nature of his underhanded scheme to be fawned over, like a mother's undying love for her precious offspring. 

Coming closer to the mock-throne, intrigued by his Mistress's quintessential response, his tactic to act fretful, taken right out of the box like always — that juvenile strategy was a success in the days passed, so why not try again? History always repeated itself, you never tried something new if the old strategy worked fine.

Brows knitted, the deer demon's knowing smile quirking into an endearing sullen expression, his defiant pitch may have been the stick that broke the donkey's back — he had pushed his luck one too many times. The Radio Demon's sulky mood crossing the borders of normalcy, becoming possessive and wolfish, the Queen of Hell had seen this night coming from the fateful day she had assented to taking him in as her unofficial steward, and clandestine lover. The pair both fed off their enigmatic relationship, revelling in the sordid affair and taking great pas to keep it under wraps. The naughtiness their parental-like guardianship entailed was escalating; the debauched outcome of a pedestrian affair concluding with a complicated rewrite of their once business-like rendezvous.

As the Radio Demon reached out a hand to lightly trace the tip of her expensive high-heeled shoes ( whatever happened to lounge slippers?), tentatively ghosting his claws around the toes of the fancy stilettos, the flattering gesture strongly reminiscent of a child asking his mother for permission to climb into her bed. Stooped, Alastor's pleading eyes pinned to her pitiless stare, Lilith's mind was made up then and there.

The former hotelier had brought his free hand up to meaningfully tweak the gauze wrapping his chest, the deliberated motion lingering in order to bring attention to the exaggerated pains of his wound flaring up.

Sighing heavily again through her nose, twirling her champagne crystal between her fingers, Lilith dropped her gaze to ponder without her ward’s piercing eyes spoiling her concentration. 

It is what it is. 

They shared the same depraved itch that necessitated a good scratch: after all the trouble he had caused, did he truly deserve help? 

Did he deserve the toxic love that he was eager to overcome the mental barriers she had built, striving to narrow the gap in their day-to-day errands?

Lifting her eyes, pensive, Lilith especially wanted to convey that she was no longer up to dealing with her forbidden lover's antics.

Sitting up, drawing her thighs closed to slide to one side of the comfortable chaise, Lilith motioned for her anxious ward to come closer. Beckoning him with a bent finger, she slid her hidden hand up to grace her thigh — the skirt of her negligee slipping to bare her leg, revealing her naked porcelain skin; inside her curled fingers was a leather riding crop. 

“We know what you want, Alastor… but do you really want IT?

I don't think so, because you and I have different ideas on what that is. You wish to share my bed, like a good boy… ”

Bending at the waist, moving her glass to one side, eyes narrowed, lips pursed in licentious desire, Lilith paused halfway as Alastor did as she had commanded; close enough to rest his outstretched hand upon her folded legs, curiosity creasing his worried features as he stooped lower to be level with his Mistress's earnest face — the sudden crook of her extended finger off the crystal had summoned a domino effect of disproportionate disciplines.

Putting the Radio Demon in his place was an ordeal he had inwardly hungered for his Domme to exercise her rights to…  In spite of the rash, brutal methods his Queen had rightfully executed as his doting keeper. The range of conflicting emotions spilling over in the pit of his stomach, Alastor's startled gasp barely made an impact on Lilith's icy mood. 

As soon as he had touched her leg, chasing his earlier dodged ploy to exploit her motherly inclinations again, the swift curl of his Mistress's finger had manifested a pair of identical serpentine tendrils from the floor, the solid forms encircling around the unwary buck's ankles tightly, and pitching him forward, spreading his digitigrade cervine legs apart, locking stiffly at the straightened knees. A length of luminous gold metal chains winding themselves around his forearms, pulling them away to cross behind his back, these second restraints were tightened to clink together. The chains rattled noisily as he thrashed, finding his breath after the initial explosive huff from his chest when the trip had tipped him on his hooves’ pointed toes to land heavily onto the end of the chaise, his chest was smarting from the heavy blow. 

Studying him in silence, taking another idle sip from her glass, Lilith’s blank expression morphed slowly into a delighted smirk. In similar fashion, Alastor's smile had fallen, the corners of his mouth downturned in disbelief, in horror.

Fearful, brows lifting, Alastor ventured for his superior to explain herself, although the heat rising in his blushing cheeks were betraying that of course he knew what she was doing. And he was turned on by the mere thought of it. Not knowing the full extent of her nefarious plans, but he had a strong inkling of what was going to happen.

His plan to win her over and spend another night basking in her endless love had been an absurd endeavour. 

Alastor flinched as his Mistress brought her hand up to tap him condescendingly, on the end of his nose with the tip of her riding crop, her smiling visage blurred behind the looming fist. Trailing the crop’s rigid end down Alastor's lips, chin, to press under his jaw, forcing him to look up as she angled it firmly — Lilith's sultry voice alone commanded his undivided attention. The Overlord was controlled by fear of his Mistress's heartless punishments; in spite of the heat pooling in his belly, the Radio Demon's stirring member warming with his stirring udders.

The Queen of Hell's tone was cloyingly sweet, threaded with an arrested lilt of brewing anger. Eyes narrowed further, pushing the crop in deeper to prod at the spellbound buck’s adam's apple as it bobbed, the pupils of his eyes shrinking in petrified comprehension as he listened to his inexorable sentencing.

“The melodrama. The theatrics. 

How very unbecoming of you, Alastor. This was a ruse — your wound is healed. My suspicions are correct, aren't they? 

Your chest isn't hurting now, is it?” 

A pause, then the flustered Radio Demon had shook his head, the action a particularly grave response, a vehement shake back and forth in castigated embarrassment. In return Lilith clicked her tongue in exasperation, extravagantly loud in the intimidating silence.

Deer ears perked forward, restless, the distinctive shadow of incoming begging darkening the stricken buck’s paling face might as well have been tried on his Mistress in a pitch black room. 

“No, please,” Alastor's tongue-tied high tone entreated, desperate for her mercy…

“Oh, yes. By all means, tell me your apology — LATER, “ Countering her disobedient buck’s muted answer with a telling smile, her eyes alert and cunning, the Queen slid the crop back over the line of his jaw to tenderly tap him between the eyes— reclining back, Lilith flicking her wrist to roll on with the delectable show. 

Materialising out of thin air above Alastor, a pair of bright purple feminine ethereal hands shone, wisps of pink smoke trailing after their translucent forms to pin the Radio Demon's tensed shoulders firmly into the throne where he was pressed, their sharp nails pinching his skin. The conjured forms were echoes of Lilith's very own hands, identical down to the manicured nails — even the weight of those long fingers just like the original, a suppressed shiver contracted the demon's hunched shoulders, ears lying lower in disgrace. 

His muscles coiling up even tighter like a spring, the shudder rolling through Alastor's braced body was a reaction he’d intentionally let go, drawing in a deeper breath with the intention to steele himself — except the abrupt change behind him broke his sedating inhale to cry out in a choked gasp. 

The phantom hands’ assigned responsibility to holding him down finished, had triggered the secondphase of his Mistress's unannounced scheme — the trajectory of his punishment taking a different route than he had anticipated. After shooting another plaintive expression of abject fear up at her, Lilith's only reaction was to dismiss her servant’s wordless appeal with another stroke of his cheek with the crop. 

Her tone crisp, Lilith's fury was on the verge of cracking her eerily calm poise. 

“Naughty boys who disrespect their Moms need to be punished. 

Be a good boy for Mommy, and she’ll reward you.”

Another flick of that wrist, and a final tentacle manifested — arcing high, it's tip shot forward to hook into the back of the Radio Demon's waistband — yanking it down to stretch around his jutted hips and expose his pale buttocks, the unrelenting pressure biting into his flesh around his front. Tilting forward on the very tip of his hooves, his weight hanging in the balance distributed over his straightened legs and his chest pinned down onto the thone, the phantom hands dug their heels into his shoulders to step up the severity of what's to come.

Incapable of moving, Alastor's pinned posture wasn’t adding weight to his lower belly; out of reach of the lounger’s steeply sloped legrest, the Overlord's groin was steadily growing warmer in anticipation, the doe udders filling up to push his length into the crotch of his damp underwear and pajamas.

Two individual, mechanical arms unfolding down from the mechanism buried in the ceiling, they lengthened to easily assume their calibrated roles. In contempt of relying on magick to mold, harm, or appease her subjects, the Morningstar matriarch sometimes resorted to imp-made mechanisms to enact pleasure or pain. The esteemed Overlord here as her next target was not exempt from her gratifications.

The thinner, segmented steel arm snagging the middle of Alastor's fluffy tail, the long fur bristling in fright as the ring clamped around his tail to squeeze and pull upwards — the second arm had swung down opposite it, unfurling the heavy, wooden paddle fixed to it's jointed wrist — swinging on it's balljoints, the solid board fell to smackthe restrained buck's raised rear in a flurry of blows, the wide paddle encompassing the Overlord's ass in it's broadness. 

Jostled, rocking on his toes, Alastor's shrill squealat the first spank had thoroughly pleased his Mistress — looking down on him from her higher perch, she had a great view of the machine relentlessly landing solid thudding smacks on his exposed ass. The solid wood ( no leather lining, no superfluous holes ) compressing her deer’s reddening buttocks to flatten on impact, the aroused cheeks gradually beginning to take on the markings of the paddle’s straight edges as faint lines.

Stiffened ears bouncing about on the savage spanking’s recoil, jaw slackened to gasp wetly, Alastor's fruitless squirming had just intensified the pain of the wallops. The deepening throbbing engulfing his naked backside spreading, the intensive pain overlapping the blossoming heat in his gut, the shame of the degradation overpowered his enjoyment of the spanking. Alastor's tail standing up ramrod straight from every leaden smack, the tri-coloured fur bristling as if electrified before relaxing in tandem with the spanking.

The muscles of his butt hardening, the rebounds of his gorgeous cheeks swelling with inflammation, the stinging pain was rapidly transforming into blinding pain — the smacks eliciting a darker shade of bruised red from rosy pink, the deer's skin turning shiny as the swift blows went on unabated. Alastor's grunts disintegrating into anguished cries. Alastor's high-pitched, pitiful whimpers were the best indication that the selfish Overlord had reached the threshold for the severe pain. The Radio Demon's ass burning hot now, the paddle’s noisy slaps pulling more plaintive gasps, his tongue lolling out in relief, at the height of the degrading discipline the demon’s arousal was impossible to hide. 

Threaded with rasped moans as his arousal was flourishing in the course of his bad-boy punishment, he dared to look up to search his Mistress's face for any signs she had herfill of watching him take his discipline. In spite of the hot tears brimming her strong buck’s reddened lids, his humiliation was spliced with the heightened arousal, a knot twisting in his belly as the machine didn't stop landing blows. 

What he saw had fit tonight's description of predatory lust.

Watching his Queen actually pleasure herself as he was getting punished, spanked ruthlessly until he had given up the begging; he had difficulties focusing on her hand busy between her thighs.

In awe over the sounds and sight of her lover getting positively nailed to her throne by a machine at her feet, the paddle’s pace set to stop whenever she felt like it, a full count of two spanks per second, she had the time to put to good use. At reaching the vague count of thirteen minutes passing, the Queen had surreptitiously glided two fingers of her unoccupied hand over her stomach — sliding the fingertips under her negligee, pushing into her damp folds she had been rubbing her aroused clit into slickness, eyes hooded with want. 

Panting softly, casting her dazed eyes down to check up on her darling buck; she drew in a sharp breath over her teeth, clenching her jaw in surprise. In pleasuring herself, lost in her secret fantasies whilst watching Alastor's ass practically glow with the redness, she hadn't been aware her lover was watching her, too.

It was so liberating… Planting the heel of one shoe rigidly into his shoulder, now forcing him to watch, Lilith continued burying her fingers deeper inside herself — pumping her slicked digits in and out, riding herself, the scents of her sweet perfume and strengthening arousal wafting into Alastor's upturned face as she went on pleasuring herself, excited by the titillating impulsion of massaging her wet clit inches away from her sub’s watchful face. Rubbing her slender knuckles harder into her moist folds, breathing heavily through parted lips, she peeled back her dripping lips to rub furiously at her throbbing clit. 

Hearing a frustrated, predatory growl rumbling out of her disobedient stag’s chest, the primal fear of being found and so close to getting taken ferally entering her hazy mind’s eye, the Queen folded her fingers to warm up her needy bud even rougher.

It was a shame that was only a montage of fleeting images inside her addled brain; caught unawares.

Their eyes frozen together, Alastor breathless as the machine continued to rhythmically rock him on his toes on every heavy spank, whilst she herself was preoccupied drowning in her lewd daydreaming. Alastor’s face blushed beet-red and streaked with shedding tears still, without thinking she had raised her slicked hand holding the leather crop, and impulsively slapped him across one cheek — the Radio Demon giving a distressed bleat, drawing back in fright.

Thinking quickly, her own face flushed with lust, caught in the act, Lilith snapped her trembling fingers shut to call an immediate halt to the wayward scene driven off course.

Muttering sweet-nothings under his breath, sagging forward as the machine's paddle swung it's proposed last smack, the blush covering his throbbing ass flamed prettily. It had been roughly thirty-seven hits. The spanking was likely to have continued, if it weren't for Lilith's lapse in concentration leading to her inadvertently looking down and witnessing her lover an unwitting spectator of her solo masturbation. 

Breathing hard, Lilith sought to compose herself; taking the riding crop to tap a melody against the boneless Radio Demon's antler, savouring the dishevelled appearance of the powerful Overlord so disarmed. 

Limp, panting noisily, drool streaking his sharp jawline, his upturned eyes were glassy with tears… Yet the guiltremained, the regret visible in his eyes. Feeling sorry for himself over teasing and pestering his Mistress for attention these last few weeks, Alastor’s dignity was eroding.

Fully aware how much his spanking must be hurting, the deadened flesh drawn in tight and pulsing. Lilith's wrath still wasn't satiated. 

Casually letting go of the unfinished champagne, the crystal not falling to shatter on the floor but gracefully float away to sit on a cabinet, Lilith regarded her overstimulated sub with blatant belligerence. 

Speaking softly, yet sternly, the Queen was eager to put her promised retribution into action. The rancor in her tone was almost wistful too; trailing the riding crop along Alastor's shoulder and then back to caressing his nose, her tempered mood was suspect.

Wearily closing his eyes shut, swallowing slowly, Alastor remained quiet, more focused on the pain in his backside than his lover's wry words.

“Bad boys never learn, do they? Did Mommy give you permission to cum?”

The subsequent feel of his Mistress's stiletto’s toe pushing into his stomach curiously, jolting him awake; the pointed heel was grinding into the bulge of his cock and pulsating udders.

Holding his breath, Lilith's reproachful riposte had sent his pulse racing, adrenaline speeding through his veins.

The Queen had swung a leg around his relaxed body, gliding her lower leg in the gap between the demon’s crotch and the chaise to tease his hardening erection. Her ‘fears’ confirmed, feeling the unyielding bulge resist the sole of her shoe, Lilith's amused chuckle wasn't wholly forced once her frustrated servant rolled his pelvis to hump gingerly into the shoe. 

Ashamed, debating inwardly with himself for his lack of self control: relishing the sensation of his Mistress's bootheel grinding into his crotch, the toe tickling his bared stomach, the gauze rustled as he sucked in a sharp breath. Lilith's heel had dug in harder, once — pulling an embarrassed groan, the sound of spent fluids dripping onto the marble floor brought another wave of blushed guilt into his already reddened cheeks.

At a loss, he could not answer her accusation. Moody, staring at the slicked seat in front of him, he could still smell traces of her wet cunt, which wasn’t helping him. Alastor was capable of understanding that refusing to answer the allegation wouldn’t have altered the subsequent discipline; if he had said something, the ending was going to be the same one anyway. It was pretty obvious the Radio Demon was on the edge of shooting a full load. There was no way to address his wrongs, except perhaps upset her even more. Sometimes silence was the best defence. 

He could NOT meet her gaze, no matter what. He knew it was a trap, it had been all along, his Queen playing along with his practised guise of fake hurts. Keeping his eyes downcast, staring fixedly into the mock-throne’s cushioning, Alastor refused to move as he felt Lilith swing her legs aside to the floor and rise.

Ears drooped, renewed adrenaline washing over him in a flood, Alastor was absorbed by the quickened beat of his racing pulse, and his Domme’s soft movements around the small chamber. Let her cool down, the Radio Demon was thinking in his solitude, seeking refuge from Lilith's austere gaze by directly facing the lounger’s vacant seat straight ahead. 

“Open wide.”

Obediently, the morose buck did as he was told, without question. Without protest, Alastor stretched his jaw agape, rolling his tongue out in anticipation of some kind of treat or other — this was hardly the time for his Mistress to scrub at his tongue with soap, another deeply degrading component of their relationship when he'd said the wrong thing, or seeked oral pleasure from another partner.

That wasn't the case. Instead, cringing back in alarm, Alastor had the rubber nipple of a baby-blue pacifier shoved onto his tongue. By habit, automatically closing his jaw and sealing his lips around the offensive soother, Alastor's eyes darted up to analyse his Mistress's features, waiting fairly close to him. 

His suspicions were right on target — the Queen of Hell was proudly wearing a shit-eating grin, the inexplicable smugness she wore sending a bolt of resentment into his hammering heart. 

Of course it was a pacifier. The infantile insult was a low blow. If given the option, Alastor would have gladly, empathically, gone for washing his mouth out with soap, over… THIS.

“If you're going to act like a child, you'll be treated like one, sweetie.”

Alastor's eyes brimming with tears all over again, come from a new instigation of injured pride and debased humiliation, the buck’s reproachful glare just made his Mistress chuckle again — she clearly thought this was the best thing to happen to him. Maybe, she was in all likelihood thinking, the former greatest Overlord of Hell will think twice before taking advantage of his Queen. 

Seething quietly, working his tongue around the intruding pliant nipple, jaw tightening, paying scant attention to Lillth earned him a light swat on his nose from the crop. 

They were both lucky the Radio Demon hadn't accidentally bitten down on the pacifier, biting it in two — and then what would happen next?

Soft, wet sounds arising from the deer demon's reluctant suckling on the pacifier, Lilith rubbing the tender spot between his antlers with her soft fingerpads (Alastor’s lids fluttering shut before he'd realised he was about to give in, and promptly stopped the instinctive relapse). The intoxicating blend of steepening lust, consensual degradation, the overwhelming pampering — Alastor fuming in absolute silence, save for the dutiful suckling, Lilith winding her way down the length of his bent slender body had the Overlord withdrawing from his thoughts. 

Keen to calm down, to wait out the incredible pain in his buttocks before making any attempt to stand as soon as he was allowed… Staying observant of his Domme’s curious movements had a solid grip on his consciousness.

Lightly trailing her fingertips down the slope of his raised ass, pulling an apprehensive flex of his hips, Lilith paused directly behind her beloved stag. 

Ignoring the slickness harbored between her own thighs, the Queen of Hell bending at the waist with a hand steadying Alastor's bony hip, her lips thinning into a line, she’d made a quick assessment of the recalcitrant Overlord's ass before she had coaxed an indignant BLEATout of his full mouth. 

Following the outlines of the paddle's spanks, tracing the leather crop's tip up, down, across, the dark lines of the wood’s edges left asimprints. The swollen flesh of his buttocks were nice and red, seemingly too painful to touch right now. Alastor's stifled squirming, the pained gasps whenever she’d tenderly caressed the hot skin harder, repeating strokes over and over, Lilith admiring her handiwork was admittedly procrastination. She had more work ahead of her. The Radio Demon had insulted her intelligence. She wasn't about to let him off lightly like this.

“Don’t you want to be good for Mommy?"

Committed to behaving, however much pain he was in, the subdued Overlord nodded. “Yes, Mo-.... I’ll be good. ” 

His mind was moving much too fast to really comprehd just what she was planning to do, but he agreed all the same. Whereas Lilith had command of the Radio Demon's willpower after such an exhausting ordeal, even though she was sitting quietly the whole time and simply watching — it didn't mean Alastor had learnt his lesson, had apologised. Pathetic sobs were all good and well, regret too, but the man hadn't actually apologised. The remorse expressed over the duration of the spanking hadn't convinced her: Lilith's faith in her captivated sub might be confirmed if only the shrewd sinner understood completely, the extent to which her aggression reached.

Performing tricks for his Mistress like a lapdog wasn't something really to be proud of. Or taken at face value.

Straightening upright, Lilith musing aloud, a little of it for the benefit of the disgruntled deer demon, her promise was flat — stoic. No hint of even bemusement in her tone, almost dripping with derision.

The tip of the riding crop nuzzling into Alastor's tight hole, watching it clench as he abruptly bucked at the sudden probe — Lilith finished explaining herself, circling the tight rosebud to torment her sub.

“If you truly mean it, you can begin by listening.

I am going to BREED you. 

You have to reap what you sow, Alastor, and what you've planted is a seed of doubt and disrespect. 

I don't think you appreciate the severity of the harm you've done me, pretending to be hurt, worrying at your wound like an ill-behaved pet.

I’m now leaving this room, so you can prepare yourself for what you owe me. I OWN you, Alastor, and I want you to remember that,”

Lilith added after a moment, trailing the crop all the while in circular gyrations against the Radio Demon's blushed ass, holding back another laugh whenever the poor deer pulled at the tentacles binding his ankles to the floor. The Overlord had stopped sucking on the pacifier, a guttural moan escaping around the slicked toy as he arched his back in want, the phantom hands firmly holding him down harder in return.

Turning away, Lilith took her leave, trailing her fingertips through the fluffy underside of her lover's tail as she crossed the room to enter her bedchamber through the narrow alcove connecting the two rooms. She had things to prepare, ready herself for an intensive night of vices.

In the fog inside his head, Alastor struggled to overcome the battled emotions; lust, cowardly fear, disgrace, and uncertainty. It was a terrible fight, trying to balance playing by the rules and doing whatever the Hell he wanted, greatly enjoying whatever disciplines or rewards she dished out.

Left alone with his Mistress's conjured hands, the Radio Demon was aiming to do everything in his power to acquit himself. Lilith did not respond well to broken promises.

Light fingertips of one hand alighting on his left hip, the fingers pushing firmly down Alastor's skin to hold the selected area; inclining his head he couldn't see just what the ghostly hand was doing, the questing touch odd.

The other hand firmly dragging a damp square cloth to swab the patch of skin, Alastor's misgivings were held up by the unfamiliar touches — the swab vanished, along with Alastor's creative imagination to explain the lively movements.

A row of fingers pressing into the reddened flesh of his inner asscheeks, Alastor recoiled violently in his restraints as the cold end of a metal probe was pushed into his anus — icy gel dripping from the implement onto his twinging taint, the hand buried the probe to the depth of his spasming passage, without the intention of entering his bowels. 

The Radio Demon's back instantantly jerking up, a yelp muffled around the pacifier, he bucked in his restraints — thinking it was noneother than a humiliating rectal thermometer, another cruel joke of his Mistress's humour based on her infantilising him. 

A faint electronic hum, and suddenly Alastor's spine stiffened straight, his body sprawling into the throne. Electric pulses radiating into his nerves, paralysing his legs and backside, the livestock immobiliser was indeed working. 

Alastor felt the burn as the second hand expertly pressed the hot metal of an electric branding iron into his swabbed flesh, below his left hip and high on the buttock. The fleeting kiss of the scorching wire sending smoke spiralling, Alastor’s muscles struggling to react to the painful burn. The probe’s pulses were ensuring the buck wouldn't injure himself by kicking or thrashing; even if smearing the brand was the least of his worries. He didn't want one at ALL. 

Lilith did say she owned him… 

Face flushed, plastered in a cold sweat, Alastor breathed hard through flared nostrils, holding the pacifier firmly between his tongue and the roof of his mouth in shock. Grimacing as the hands slowly removed the immobiliser, sweeping a thumb up to push some lubricant back into his twitching hole, the other was strenuously rubbing his hip around Lilith's new brand. 

Quiet, the Radio Demon was forming a plan as he recovered from the indignity of the branding, spasmodic twitches rippling his left hip and buttock in decreasing frequencies.

After she’d tricked him with the baby thermometer joke, he’d get back at her right away while his cowardice was weakened.

Lilith's guess was accurate — as she had left the room to allow her spectral hands extended privacy with him, the chamber had fallen strangely quiet — the skeptical Domme paused outside the drapes inside the alcove, straining to hear.

After a protracted silence, the cunning Queen had called back to Alastor, her voice underscored with an ominous threat. 

“If you spit that pacifier out, until Mommy says so, there’ll be Hell to pay, Alastor, mark my words.”

Lilith had accurately predicted in time what her rebellious stag was in the middle of doing — drawing in a deep breath through his nose, puffing his cheeks out, the Radio Demon had been interrupted on the onset of spitting the damned soother out.

Blowing out a depressed huff instead, maintaining the suction on the pacifier, the ethereal hands giving him a reassuring pat atop his head, stroking his pinned ears fondly, the hands drifted over his slumped body to attend to him.

Arching his back, keening in his throat, Alastor fought to stay still, hips jerking as the hands busied themselves without turning it into a big ceremony. Their ministrations mechanical, inattentive to the Radio Demon's ragged gasps, the pair were as methodical as if Lilith herself was standing in their place.

Squeezing a good-sized dollop of lube into one translucent palm, the other scooped the freezing cold gel to finger the Radio Demon's hole open, rubbing his rim to work the muscle.

Sinking two fingers inside, pushing the lube deeper, the digits rubbed at the buck's inner walls — massaging the gel into every inch, the buck's walls clenching down hard on the investigative fingers, the singular hand sustained the rhythmic massage until it could no longer gauge what wasn't left vulnerable to his Mistress's new toy in the next room.

Reapplying the lubricant a few times, squirting more gel onto it's fingerpads before pushing back inside his hole up to the last knuckle, Alastor had lost count of the repeated strokes and scrubbing. Back bowed, fitfully trying his damnedest NOT to ride the plunging fingers, the pacifier was at least held tightly between his lips, his pleading moans stuttering on the outset, the quivers in his voice betraying how much he was enjoying this degradation. The steel arm clamping his tail prevented him from rutting much, the unyielding stretch stopped him from thrusting forward, but rewarded with slack if he lifted his ass higher for the hands — the tentacles remained anchoring his ankles without offering more freedoms. 

Instinctively bunching up his muscles at the firm touch of the ghostly fingers, now wiped clean, settling on his thighs; the buck suppressed an agonised grunt as the hands reaching around in front, tugged the waistband over his hardened cock and swelled udders, lowering his pajama bottoms and damp underwear down to hobble his ankles pressed closer together. 

The machine disengaging his tail-lock to release him, the magick chains binding his arms behind his back left as they were, the phantom hands held Alastor firmly by the shoulders to turn him around. Finding it uncomfortable, Alastor didn't object as he was pulled back to stand, albeit hunched in disgrace. The turn had unfortunately revealed the aftermath of his Mistress's teasing; grinding her toe into his bulge, coaxing a thicker string of seed out to seep through his underwear. White spunk smeared over his roused udders, his length softening,

it was impossible to be isolated with his thoughts as the hands thoroughly cleaned him off — wiping Alastor's seed away with tissues. The Overlord wincing when those cooled fingers were heeding Lilith's strict rule of no cum allowed by exceeding the necessary attention required to wipe off ejaculate. 

After finishing cleaning him, out of nowhere interrupting the job to glide a hand underneath his milk bag; pressing two fingers into his fluttering hole, Alastor managed to stave off  another wad of cum, holding his breath as the devious fingers returned to discarding the soiled tissues.

It was a huge change, one step closer to suffering the ultimate punishment in tbe bedroom next door, but Alastor was left feeling neglected by the vague connotations of Lilith's absence, until her conjured hands had reintroduced the dazed buck with an old friend.

Of sorts.

The ceaseless throbbing in his rump a painful reminder of Lilith's wrath, standing a pace away from his sore buttocks grazing the throne’s seat; looking into the empty pail brought to him by the hands, in other circumstances the deer was apt to reject it.

It was an order, not a request, and so the sullen buck resigned himself to being milked dry by the apparitions in advance of the vowed breeding. 

“Uh..! “

The Radio Demon's plaintive whimper wasn't hushed right away in the beginning; the aluminium milk pail wedged between his trembling ankles, the cold sides gripped partially by his calves, tilted forward it's lip was jutted to catch the streams. The buck's cock leaking at a faster pace than the blushed teats, the bottom of the bucket was ringing noisily from the spilling drops.

Encircling thumbs and forefingers around a teat each, the hands pulling on the pulsing appendages were met with squirts of milk, the jetted streams ricocheting off the pail’s base to splash the inner walls in froth.

The persistent pressure in his heated groin was finally lessening — tipping his head back to moan in relief, the damp fingers repeatedly pumping his full organ to drain, soon the hollow squirts of milk were taken over by the iconic sounds of the pail filling up. The oxytocin hormones flooding his system was a craving he could only indulge when a partner was involved; the simulated act of nursing another was vital for the exchange of dizzying feel-good hormones. The pressure in his groin was unbearable at the height of his arousal on any day; tonight, subjected to the relief of the hands rhythmically stripping his swollen organ was almost worththe cruelty of the spanking. The mound of his throbbing milk bag sinking back a little into his loins, the heavy organ inconveniently taking longer than assumed to let down milk, the bucket was definitely growing heavier after every few simultaneous pulls on the teats.

Flexing his claws behind his back, hunching his shoulders absentmindedly, Alastor had lost track of the time. Eyes glassy and distant, the Overlord hadn't been paying attention to the progress in the pail, too focused on his throbbing udders and ass to think clearly.

Even though it had only been approximately a quarter of an hour ever since his Mistress had apparently left to see to her own errands, Alastor's drifting thoughts became his undoing.

Flexing his stomach, a suppressed aroused shudder rolling through, the adrenaline exacerbated by the measured flow of the relaxant oxytocin flooding his slim physique — the pacifier was forgotten.

Held loosely behind his teeth, strings of drool glossy down his jaw, the spontaneous feathery touch of the milk-slicked fingers closing around the base of his pulsing cock, burying his sensitive tip into it's cupped palm for a twisting friction, the startled Overlord’s spine went rigid, his wretched BLEAT preceding the pacifier coughed out, falling into the milk pail to sink to the bottom in a splash of finality.

Aghast at what he’d done, jaw snapped shut as if the pacifier was still on the cusp of being ejected, the ripples in the frothed milk between his legs was the last glimpse of the nauseating toy. 

It was no matter how he had rejected it; for his Domme had promised him retribution if he ever spat it out without her explicit permission. Appealing to her kinder side poorly this time was an innocent mistake in hindsight, it was definitely worth the aggravation.

The colour draining from his twisted features, more than crestfallen, dipping his head, the Radio Demon was speechless. The random pump on his cock was the culprit: yet it was the hands that had made him lose the baby toy, it wasn’t a conscious decision. It remained to be seen if that was the same conclusion Lilith would arrive at.

Thinking frantically, casting shifty glances in the direction of his Mistress's departure, thinking about how to resolve this fiasco, the hands in the meantime in a flash had shot forward, and wrenched one of Alastor’s ears down — partly to keep the perpetrator in his place, the deer demon letting out a shrill bleat. 

Not by design, yet it made perfect sense; in the recoil, Alastor had by bad luck toppled the pail over, spilling his expressed milk all in one fluid action. The loud clatter of his hooves and the emptied pail banging on the polished marble reverberated in the chamber. The simple mistake had cost him precious time and a lighter sentence than whatever judgement his Mistress would carry out. 

It wasn't long before the Queen of Hell had returned unannounced.

The confidence in the way she presented herself, holding the curtains aside with a delicate touch, the Queen did not finish her buoyant saunter. She was dressed the same, spending some time on other unknown tasks; wielded in a hand was a long wooden spoon, not quite a proper ladle.

Looking into the pleasure chamber, she was shocked by what had greeted her. The enormity or the disaster sinking in quickly, the mess her lover had made in the minutes she had been gone, was unfathomable. She understood well enough how one man alone could make trouble, but THIS…  

The scene was… not wholly unexpected, but what was evidently clear, bode ill for Alastor. 

There he was, standing — albeit without the blue soother gripped between his teeth. All over the floor, his milk had been spilled, the pool of white liquid fed by the remnants in the overturned milk pail, the edge of the mess slowly inching to cover more ground.

The Overlord's chest heaving, he was distraught and looking even more haggard. After spending the past two months, living in the Queen of Hell's palace as a recluse (with the convenient energy to pine for her affections) time confined indoors had lent a paler glow, losing some of his shine in his usually vibrant personality, his scarlet eyes deeper set in darkened hollows.

Peering back at her, unable to regulate his quickened panting, Alastor was the first one to speak up.

Sounding harried, absolutely repentant, guilt-ridden the Overlord's fumbled apologies were weakened by the sheer panic reflected in the imploring expression he gave her, desperate.

“ I’M-SORRY-THAT’S-NOT-WHAT — PLEASE, PLEASE-GIVE-ME —— A CHANCE —— ”

The sharp slap across a cheek efficiently compelled him to stop stumbling over his suppliant begs, cringing down to instinctively avoid another painful slap, the ethereal hand still clutching an ear in rebuke.

The backhanded strike had cowed the Radio Demon; looking up at his Mistress beseechingly, shoulders hunched, feeling incalculably more vulnerable than ever before, the drop in Alastor's height wasn't going to have a lasting effect on his Domme.

Her expression drawn in and heat rising up in her cheeks, the angry flush spreading over the bridge of her nose. Walking into the slopped milk hadn't slowed her down — the damage to her private sanctuary can be cleaned up. Her shoes getting soiled hadn't even crossed her mind. Trusting her ward to not spoil everything should've raised a red flag, the Radio Demon rarely got along well with enforced rules dictating what he can and can't do. 

Just give me ONE day, Satan…  

Pointing the bowl of the spoon at the mess, anger etched in her expression, “A shame, I was planning to tastethat,” Lilith intoned displeasure, looking back from the milk to her embarrassed stag.

Her infuriated scowl darkening, cynicism unmistakably pronounced, Lilith snapped a wrist out to grab the other of the buck’s cervine ears — giving it a good twist by the lobe, pulling the skin of his scalp in profound disapproval. Ignoring his resistance, Alastor inclining his neck to follow the curve of her pinching fingers, Lilith aggressively hauled her sub around to pivot, she standing directly between him — and the chaise.

Taking a seat on her gilded throne, Lilith pulling Alastor down a split second after with his body draped across her spread thighs face down, the ethereal hands assisting by roughly hauling his pants down to his knees. His pulsating udders and cock pressed into her lap, residual fluids seeping into his Mistress's skirts, but she didn't seem to care.

The effect was instantaneous. The swollen flesh of his spanked buttocks and upper thighs flaring without a second’s notice, the stretched skin pulled taut over the deeper inflammation had the buck wriggling impulsively to try sliding off, arcing his body to heave himself free.

All his weight pushing down on his throbbing groin in his Mistress's lap sending intense deluges of pain blossoming fiercer, Alastor's hysteric sobs, incoherent pleads, were in cold blood ignored. 

Panting loudly, Alastor’s rapid intakes of air grew sharpened as the phantom hands premeditatively grabbed ahold of his squirming legs — whereas the sinner had supposed he was due for a brutal spanking over Lilith's knee by her bare hand alone, his Queen had another plan in mind for this extraordinarily special occasion. The sentence had to fit the crime. 

Alastor clumsy in her lap, Lilith undeterred by their size difference: the rigid spectral fingers dug into the buck's flesh as they purposely spread his thighs for his Mistress. 

Slitted pupils shrinking in utter terror, shaking his head violently again had no effect on Lilith.

Relocating her clenched fist squeezing his numbed ear to glide up his bared throat, closing her fingers to firmly hold him under his jaw; the pulse beating hard below her thumb as he envisaged the descent of her other hand. 

The one left holding the spoon. 

Swinging her arm back quickly, Lilith rained short bursts of resilient smacks to Alastor's backside, occasionally swatting the peeking rear of his udders, her brows knitted in concentration as she spanked his extremely tender ass in increments of one, two, three, swats. The final counts were three spanks per selected patch of flesh, a swift one-two-three, before moving onto the area opposite, always keeping her tortured buck guessing where the next group landed. She never set a pattern, clockwise or anticlockwise, or in a cross formation.

The Radio Demon's chest and back were heaving, racked with shuddering sobs broken down by shrill wails — his pulsating udders growing flushed in painful swelling and arousal combined, the pink skin colouring to a warmed shade of lipstick. Avoiding the tail, she wasn't that cruel — Lilith relished having Alastor in her lap, squirming and submissive, his pained wails augmenting the compulsive punishment. 

Spurts of residual milk splattering her legs, his quivering thighs and the streaked floor, the Queen Hell’s arm was beginning to get tired, her swings made slower, applying the stronger spanks to the underside of the udders, making the buck bounce on her thighs as he yelped. 

Slowing the delayed swats (in total seven groups of three smacks each) to carefully rub him, weaving the spoon’s back along the hardest hit oval imprints left by the spoon, Alastor's protests had dissolved into a sombre mood, the whimpers and fawn-bawls returned to reserved huffs and gasps, nostrils flaring. 

Putting the spoon down beside her, Lilith tucked her hand into the valley between his warmed asscheeks, rubbing his pulsing taint while pressing the pad of her thumb into his hole to feel it flutter. Noting with reignited interest how his slender body was sheathed in perspiration — Lilith whispered softly above his drooped ears, sliding her hand down from squeezing his throat to rub soothing circles into his chest to calm her sub. The other hand was kept busy between Alastor's thighs: massaging his sore udders, cradling the aroused organ, sweeping her thumbpad over his entrance.

“See what happens to good boys who've turned naughty. There's no need to fret, Bambino, because Mommy’s not quite done with you yet. I can fix you with a good breeding — Mommy knows best. Come on… “

Allowing Alastor to rest on her lap for a while, firmly rubbing his chest, then slipping her thumb past his twitching lips, crooning into his ear. Soon enough the buck was morosely suckling her thumb. Her other hand sinking further up to massage his hole, eliciting a startled moan into her questing digit inside his moist mouth — Lilith smiling, feeling the thuds of his heart through his torso pressed against her thighs and spread knees, the rise and falls of his slicked stomach. 

The fresh brand above his hip had escaped the punishment. Circling the singed flesh with a finger. Alastor flinching, Lilith rubbed affectionately his protruding vertebrae at the base of his wilted tail to reassure her sub she wasn't about to risk infection by playing with it. 

“Come on, now, that's enough crying over —” Giving a nod toward the puddle on the floor, unperturbed by the way Alastor's back tensed up after he’d followed her pointed look, Lilith had enough of him finding new ways to delay the inevitable. Fate was a funny thing. It was like karma. The spectral hands were tugging down his clothes to pull them off his limp legs, placing the sodden clothes down aside for cleanup the next morning. 

Helped by the ethereal hands to stand, Alastor nearly buckled on the first try, wincing, Lilith and the disembodied limbs supported the tamed Radio Demon to enter the adjoining chamber — Lilith's bedroom. The golden chains binding his arms were released in a puff of smoke, his tingling arms slowly brought round to his front, circulation returning in increments.

Bringing a hand up to tightly squeeze the scruff of Alastor’s neck on the way, forcing him to lean forward, there was venom in her reprimand the Queen had snapped as they bypassed the puddles of wasted milk, “Be glad I’m not rubbing your nose in it, you stupid boy~!” she had spat through gritted teeth. 

Once a familiar sight that often filled the Radio Demon's stomach with butterflies, peaked lust, comforts the strongest sensation of all — at this very moment conversely, Alastor was filled with foreboding, disreputable humiliation. 

Made to follow his Mistress, the translucent hands supporting his back sternly on the off chance the Overlord changed his mind about obeying, in step with her sharp heels, the deer's hooves snagged a little on the loose fibres of the luxurious carpet and rug surrounding the regal bed.

Bent low, cringing, the bolts of pain pulsating in the swollen flesh decorating his overstimulated body, the bed’s appearance had brought a sinking feel in the pit of his gut at the unusual change in his Queen's route to her bed. 

Usually, she'd have her cooperative pet joining her, either falling onto the mattress as a tangle of limbs, or ordered to help her undress. The undressing ritual was obviously very erotic. Although his Mistress often instructed her sub to be included, tonight it seemed she had other duties set out for him.

The silently livid woman had made a sharp turn, instead of making the beeline to the waiting bed, Lilith had turned Alastor to face the prepared toy sitting innocuously on a pedestal a ways back from the bed...

Staring down at it in silence, Alastor contemplated his future, and tried to ignore the thrill shooting up his spine as he studied Lilith's toy, his Mistress standing next to him resolutely.

The large silicone dragon strap-on, a vivid amethyst purple, Lilith's favourite colour of course; it was ten inches in length, it's broad girth almost the equivalent of the smooth bowed head. The shaft was overlaid with grooved dragon scale, a pair of horn-like ridges curled from the base of the head extending down the shaft, and an identical pair curled along the underbelly. The shaft was barely ribbed, the sleeker scales covering the waspish curved form outdone by the blunt edged prominent horn ridges. 

Lilith’s strong fingers were meaningfully squeezing Alastor’s scruff, the implications of additional pain warranted should Alastor even do so much as make an objectionable noise. It was certainly an impressive toy. 

Left alone to assume the position, the Radio Demon pushed to the bed — head down, back straight, both hands splayed flat on the mattress, his bruised backside presented and legs spread. His skin was reddened, encompassing his asscheeks, sit-spots, upper thighs, and the diminished bulge of his tightened udders merged with his puffed taint splitting his inner cheeks. Tail held up soberly, the stark white underbrush contrasting his inflamed blushed ass.

Irritated by the sweat itching his scalp, tousled hair hanging low over his eyes, Alastor knew better than to move his hands an inch out of line. He could hear his lover moving around, to his left and to his right, oftentimes pausing, then carrying on with opening and closing cabinets. 

The sounds of the rummaging was intriguing… 

The significance of the combined punishments were never to fade from his memories. Adhering to her will was of the utmost importance. They were still going to have the time of their lives, at least until dawn was breaking.

Alastor did not know how much more grovelling he’d have to suffer under her boot; sinking into that train of thought, Alastor's wandering mind was violently dragged back to the present — coming up behind him, Lilith had sunk one hand into the hollow of her patient buck's hip, and with the other angled the wide tip of the large strap-on she had slipped on, the buckled harness creasing her skin; the tip sinking slowly into the cleft dividing the buck’s buttocks so he could appreciate every square inch of it's rubbery bulk.

Running her thumb in casual, aimless patterns over his prickling skin, the Queen spoke in a low voice — insistent that her obstinate partner relinquish permission whenever she'd called for it.

“I really should milk you myself, but Mommy can't go back on her promise.

I need to break you in — a breeding — remind you who’s Boss, so you'll never sass me ever AGAIN. Or treat me like a lower form of life. Have I made myself clear?”

Rubbing her fake cock’s tip over Alastor's tight hole, tilting the silicone dildo to glide in between his spread thighs — urging a choked noise out of the tired Overlord as she rolled her pelvis to grind the toy into his spent milk bag. 

Another shudder rippling through his back, the tension in his legs threatening to give out, the Radio Demon grudgingly nodded his assent — then forgetting the number one rule he had purposely been neglecting all day, casting her a grateful look over his hunched shoulder, Alastor finally surrendered.

“Yes, Mommy. Please, I need you to fuck me… I’m all yours… “

Soaking in the bliss of finality, after all this time he’d at last reciprocated his Mistress's craving for the fetish roleplay. Eluding the unconventional moniker Lilith yearned to hear spill from the Radio Demon's lips, hopefully with either his mouth latched onto one of her breasts or her wet cunt, Alastor's admission was compensated.

The exhausted man's been through enough horrors tonight. One more wouldn't kill him.

The phantom hands, waiting conspicuously off to one side, had all of a sudden vanished in another burst of pink smoke and gold shimmering sparks — Alastor had won a reprieve from that third party, at least, as a reward for submission.

Letting out an appreciative sigh, her rumbling purr stirring the dead weight burning in his groin — a deliberate nudge of her strap-on’s tip prompted him to climb onto the bed, making it to the middle before he’d adjusted his position to be claimed in the way she liked.

Rolling over onto his back, lifting his butt, Alastor held onto his calves with his legs stretched out overhead, his own cock nudging his belly. 

The deer's tail was wagging sluggishly, twitching at the firm touch of Lilith's thumb pushing into his tensed hole: resting the heavy strap-on alongside the Overlord's leg.

Stroking the slicked rosebud, unyielding, soon enough she had worked him open: sinking her thumb past the resistance to catch a smear of the prepped lube.

Removing her thumb, wiping the sparse gel onto her dildo, Lilith kneeled in; wrapping a single hand over his own bracing his legs and the other guiding her dragon toy, he’d let go to fold his arms under his head, as was their custom. The buck's freed leg rested atop her shoulder temporarily, Alastor continued their ritual by closing his eyes shut, breathing faster in exhilaration.

The pre-prepared lubricant might not be enough, given the artificial cock’s massive scale — ten inches long, three wide — she showed no signs of concern when she had aligned with her free hand the dildo's head with Alastor's trained hole, and shoved. 

The sudden buck of Lilith's hips had Alastor nearly break his concentration; lids scrunching tight, bared fangs, the Overlord made another strangled sob as his Mistress sunk the dildo deeper, inch by inch. On every other determined push, the Radio Demon was panicking, stuttering, clawing at the mattress.

“ M-Mommy-? please-Mommy, plea -M-M-Mommy, stop, I can’t, please d-don’t — Mommy — !” all in an impatient gush, his voice pitched shriller in pleas the farther she sunk in. Rolling her hips in lengthened increments, once she'd felt sure the head had popped through completely, abruptly the Queen RAMMEDthe cock in to the hilt, lube squirting from the base as she buried herself all the way in one sweep.

Breathless from need, her rage encouraging her to hurt him — Alastor had swivelled his ears to front her, back slammed rigid into the mattress, tears trickling from his reddened eyes. Fisting the bedsheets, then combing his claws through his hair, Alastor quickly slapped his hands to cover his mouth, erratic moans rumbling out through his interlaced claws as he endured his Mistress pumping into him relentlessly. 

Panting in exertion over him, now gripping both of his thighs on the first plunge, she let the demon's legs fold to hang over her bowed back, not at all minding the hard scrape of his dewclaws grazing her naked skin. 

Rocking him steadily, pumping the hard strap-on into his slicked passage was toying with the myriad of feelings filliing her overexcited senses. Watching his different expressions, mostly those of elation and pain, Lilith easily recognised whenever she had realigned her hips to jut her length into his pulsating prostate, the shallower thrusts barely lifting off the bump before returned to slam it again. 

The deer's twitching cock bobbing in the air, strings of precum dribbling onto his navel, the blush in his smacked udders was creeping up again to join seamlessly with the ruddy imprints of the wooden spoon.

The Radio Demon couldn't keep still for long, eventually bucking his own pelvis up to greet his Mistress's repeated plunges to draw down on his throbbing bundle of nerves, the incessant throbs driving him mad. 

Not to have the reins stolen out of her hands so recklessly, Lilith dropped her grip to pry Alastor's claws away from his clenched jaw: crushing them down into the bed, bending in Lilith licked her way up his stomach — lapping at his sweat-bathed skin, fucking his tight ass throughout, she managed to wrangle out of her rebellious stag the same moniker she desperately wanted to hear him squeal. 

Closing her mouth over a nipple, Lilith sucked the bud in, biting down on the pebbled flesh to break him. She had already pounded his ass viciously enough to warrant calling it a feral breeding —  undulating his limp body rhythmically, stretching his snug core in protracted thrusts the more frequent she felt the tell-tale spasms vibrating through the sensitive strap-on. He was coming close to his release.

At piercing the top layer of his skin with her fangs, the nipple stiffened in erupted arousal, Lilith's ears rang with the peal of Alastor's panic-stricken voice calling out — “M-MOMMY~STOP~!!” — the demon’s torso bowing off the bed as he rode out his climax, panting raggedly.

Ribbons of thick seed spurting, arcing into his stomach and chest, the white streams pooling into his navel. Breathing excitedly, his erect length twinging, spurts of Alastor's cream was trickling down his throbbing member in pulses. His heart pounding, Alastor's face had blanched, staring vacantly up at the ceiling. 

The Queen Hell was rapidly approaching her own climax: upon every thrust, the special molded base of the purple strap-on was grinded into her pulsating clit. The engorged nub throbbing, her juices seeping down her inner thighs outside the purple dildo, the strap-on was aiding her into a swift climax coupling with the view of fucking Alastor like a bitch in heat. Spasms twitching her core in conjunction with the dildo's internal base stimulating her tingling bud, Lilith moved her clenched hands to encircle her exhausted sub’s throat — tightening her grip, her sharp nails pricking Alastor's sweat-beaded skin, the overstimulated Overlord let out a gasp, rolling his pelvis up to rock his bruised ass back into her dildo, the hidden feature inside it kneading her leaking slit.

Squeezing Alastor's throat, choking her lover to pull stifled groans from his shivering body, she was nearing the crest of her climax—

Alastor's cock aching, cum oozing from his gaping slit, the Radio Demon's prolonged stifled squeals reached a new timbre of desperation for her to stop — releasing one grip, his Mistress had raised her hand to repetitively slap the nipple she’d been licking and nibbling, his pec blushed pink as circulation surged. 

Dragging both hands down to scratch at his nipples, dislodging the bandages, teasing the bleeding lines she’d raked down his chest; he was rewarded with a stinging slap to either bud whenever he’d bucked his pelvis.

The so-called ‘painful wound’ seemed fine, healed and puckered, the wound closed. Without a doubt the Radio Demon had been making up stories about his chest injury’s recovery.

Lilith could feel Alastor's core fluttering around her toy, the deep amethyst colour slicked with lube and fluids on the reverse strokes. 

Gasping, beads of sweat dotting his paled features, Alastor peered back at her in a silent plea, then breaking his silence to hiss through a slackened jaw when his Domme had grabbed a fistful of his hair to pull, pulling his head to lean to one side, scratching her nails over a bruised nipple.

Her inner walls without further warning abruptly cramping, Lilith's peaked lust exploded to radiate — slick squirting, her aromatic juices pooling between her clenched folds, Lilith's cream was squelching under the strap-on’s base flushed to her crotch. Cumming hard, her hooded eyes shut tight, Lilith's moan was guttural; clutching at her sub's chest, she clawed his bandages and dug her nails in as euphoria washed over her in stronger waves. 

Riding out her orgasm, slowly rocking, Lilith hadn't yet registered the melancholy begging Alastor had spilled; lost in her edging. 

“Mommy, PLEASE, I’ve—I’ve had enough, Mommy, please… ”

Huffing agitatedly, squirming on her knees, the heat in her groin was making the leather ass-harness she wore uncomfortable. The sweat and slick sticking her negligee to her fevered skin, the throb of her engorged cunt was fluctuating — Alastor's complaints an indistinct nagging in the background. It was infringing on her orgasm; brushing the hair out of her eyes, Lilith lowered her hands to fondly brush her thumb over the underside of Alastor's weeping cock to see it spasm before striking it with a brusque slap.

After that, Alastor had definitely clammed up — biting his tongue, blood welling up in one corner of his grimace, the knot of overstimulation buried in his groin was incessant, his Mistress's roaming hands alternatively rubbing and squeezing his swollen udders and cock infuriating. But he wasn't allowed to touch. Her, or himself.

Keening whines was the best he could do, rolling his hips, flinching; induced ropes and bubbles of cum milked out of his pulsating length, Lilith pumping his shaft to coax every last drop out to paint his belly. Stroking the flexing shaft, circling the reddened slit before gliding back to wring the base. She’d casually pressed the heel of her palm into the bulge of his milk-slicked bag, watching him begin to writhe before cutting that short with another slap to his softening cock. 

The shame sinking deeper into his chest, blinking back stinging tears, the remorseful Radio Demon succumbing to his lover's meditation — wincing as she persisted to milk him, even though he was spent, her other hand needlessly kneading his finished udders. The shadows of his scrawny ribcage jutted as he panted breathlessly, drawing deep breaths, too impotent to resist his Queen's pumping fingers.

Overturning his conviction this late into their game was a moot point. 

Eliciting another pained moan from him, pinching a bloated teat, Lilith's tongue dragging up his collarbone to lap at his throat, Lilith's embittered whisper sent a chill through Alastor's body, his visible swallow chased with a random nip to his skin. His inner walls were convulsing around the heavy dragon cock still buried inside him, his trembling core sending the signs to his Mistress that his body was of course overstimulated, his stretched hole clenching the base of the strap-on. Lilith's heavy breathing was gently plushing the toy, the shaft unyielding against his pounded prostate.

“Mommy’s sorry she’s had to hurt you, but your lesson isn't over.  

I’m going to make you pay back the milk you lost. I didwarn you. What do I want to hear?”

“Yes, Mommy,“ the Radio Demon replied, sucking in a groan when both hands descended to knead his organ from square one — starting a new chapter that night, heralded by the distant chimes of a grandfather clock in the palace as it pealed the strokes of midnight. 

[arcanepactguile]

ᴀ ᴘʟᴏᴛᴛᴇᴅ ꜱɪɴᴅᴀʏ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴏʀ @justiceiswrath

It seemed like his heart was trying to burst free, right out of his chest, the frenzied way it has been hammering — no thanks to Satan, the selfish bastard.

Tied up to eliminate any possibility of his untrained doe from seizing control, Alastor's Master had thought of everything but one. That secret power remained a secret, at least.

Bent over Satan's thick forearm, the Radio Demon was mewling plaintively, the cowbell on his brand new collar ringing every moment the edged buck had moved. Desperate for friction, the workable solution was humping Satan's thigh, folded over his arm not by choice; the Sin had draped him there, to play with him.

They'd been at it for hours, the dragon edging the deer to fill his milk bag, then persist with forbading him from any relief.

Alastor's arms were tied behind his back in a box tie, his legs bound at the thighs, knees, and ankles, restricting mobility. The deer's fluffy tail was perked to attention, wagging in a frenzy — the thickest dragon dildo the Radio Demon had tried yet, an upgrade from the previous training size, had been forced into his aching hole, and teased relentlessly.

Gasping for breath, the buck's face was blushed pink, tears streaming. Ears flattened, he tried bucking again to press his belly and groin into his Master's leg, the bloated udders swelling into the dragon's thigh. Milk hadn't stopped leaking, the warm liquid dribbling continuously, the hard throbs filling his full udders a greater pain than the rigid toy buried in his stretched hole. Alastor was reaching a new threshold for getting milked dry, the extra full sacs grown taut and hurting harder than he thought possible. His cock was likewise throbbing too, yet easily found relief from his piteous humping.

"PLEEE—AASSSE, SIRE~! PLEASE! END THIS!"

[arcanepactguile]

𝐔𝐍𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃 / ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴏᴘᴇɴ ⸻ ｢ 🕯️ ｣

@justiceiswrath ꜱᴇɴᴛ ɪɴ:

Something for start of sinday.

Satan has attached a collar to him. A bright ruby collar with a bell on it.

"I do hope you are prepare today." He has trim down his claws and smooth them out and he licked his maw already. <3

Playing with the bell, trying to look down at it but failing, he can still tell what sort it is. The weight, the sound, and the shape.

Staring back up at his Master, Alastor's grin had preceded the moment the Sin had finished bending down to put it on.

"A cow bell? Why, you really do know me inside and out, don't you??

I've been ready, as a matter of fact. I was about to go looking for you."

Formerly lounging on the nest of pillows he'd stolen found? for his own stall in the barn, the buck had been growing desperate for relief. The engorged udders spilling out between his tensed thighs were fairly obvious in need of some action.

Canting his head, self-conscious, the Radio Demon added under his breath — "𝑀𝑜𝑜."

[arcanepactguile]

Now, I want five headcanons about same AU <3

𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐔 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝟓 𝐇𝐂𝐬

Lewd under the cut. 🤝🏻

1. It suits your farm HC well, Alastor feels he can live there undetected as just a live-in servant. With benefits...

2. Becomes a bit of a brat around milking time. It's a morning ritual, not including the other instances where deliberate stimulation has worked him up.

3. Satan's hot, moist maw is the best experience he's ever had.

4. Can we talk about size difference?! Because Alastor sitting on Satan's tongue to hump it, and getting sucked off, his swollen udders tongue-fucked, is the ultimate experience.

5. Alastor's mood can drop more often when Satan's neglecting his duties. He's okay with wearing a plug when Satan's too busy to fuck, but Alastor's not going to tolerate weaponised impotency.

[arcanepactguile]

𝑭𝒊𝒄 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒏𝒐𝒏 𝑻𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒊.

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 — 𝙁𝙞𝙘 𝙍𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩 + 𝘿𝙖𝙮 3 𝘽𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙤𝙢 𝘼𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧 𝙒𝙚𝙚𝙠 2.0—

𝐖𝐂: 21.3k

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋. 𝘈𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳 (🦌🥛), 𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘔𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒: 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘈𝘯𝘰𝘯 + 𝘋𝘢𝘺 3- 𝘉𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘬 / 𝘍𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘜𝘴𝘦

𝐀𝐎𝟑 𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫

𝘜𝘯𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘤 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘏𝘢𝘻𝘣𝘪𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘭, 𝘈𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳'𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘱𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 — 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘦'𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘨𝘦'𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴. 𝘜𝘯𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘰 𝘋𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯'𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘱, 𝘴𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘺 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘧𝘺 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘬.

𝐂𝐖 / 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: 𝘏𝘺𝘱𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘴, 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭, 𝘛𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘭𝘦 𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘔𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴, 𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘶𝘣𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘯-𝘤𝘰𝘯, 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘱𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳/𝘗𝘦𝘵, 𝓂𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘮, 𝘋𝘰𝘮/𝘴𝘶𝘣, 𝘗𝘦𝘵 𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘈𝘱𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘢𝘤𝘴, 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, + 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦

Alastor hadn't ever thought of searching for a reclusive location to isolate himself, whenever he was either no longer able to cope with the frustrating dramas at Charlie's Hotel — or if he simply needed to surrender himself to his own personal thoughts, without the fear of nosey neighbours (chiefly Angel Dust and sometimes, Husker ). Playing the twenty million question game was not just becoming a bore, the constant pseudo interrogations infiltrating the peace when you were trying to relax at the bar or in your own room. Nobody in the Hotel understood one thing about privacy.

That was why currently, Alastor had sought the easy answer through one of the tomes squirrelled away in his collection. There was no point checking Mayor Rosie's connections (and likely trophies) when he had the solution the whole time he's curated his own personal library. The Radio Demon's mirror Shadow only conjured when he was specifically summoned for It, there wasn't any risk of getting interrupted by a third party. 

For what felt like the first time in his Afterlife, Alastor's thoughts were his own; hours ahead of him, excluded in all the ways that mattered to him from social gatherings and occupying the same room with other people who was making it their day's agenda to get under his skin.

The magick portal closing shut as soon as his heel had left the barrier separating Pentagram City from… wherever this new environment was situated. The coordinates in the tome’s instructions seemed not unreliable, but unrecognisable. So long as the secretive region was well isolated, providing the Radio Demon the privacy he’d missed from his time in the bayou of New Orleans, it would serve him well.

If only Alastor had done a thorough query of the tome’s origins, as well as the destination the portal had led him to — maybe he’d have disregarded the cloak and dagger theatrics, stayed home instead with an extra bolt on his door.

Stepping lightly down onto the soft grass, the immediate impression Alastor got was the definitive sense of loneliness. 

There appeared to be no activity from a single living being. Other than the droning and chirping of the usual suspects: insects, there seemed to be virtually no life whatsoever. Considering this as a perk, the less likely to be interrupted or bothered by another soul Sinner or beast,

A few more tentative steps into the wide clearing, then Alastor’s furtive movements turned to a livelier gait. 

It was going to be perfect.

A second beneficial use was as a contingency plan, set aside for the troubles that the stag Overlord's seasonal Rut entailed. A Mate was desperately needed. The actual act of Mating — procreating, that is, wasn't required to satisfy the unstable hormones that flooded Alastor's system and transformed him into a most disagreeable, brooding sex partner. The Radio Demon's bitter attitude and overall hostility towards his Hotel's tenants often left them reeling, collectively agreeing he was far too irritable and prone to outbursts to be tolerated in good company. 

Not that Alastor really minded whatsoever his supposed allies thought of him, but he couldn't stand to hear “Smiles, you need to get yourself LAID, it'll cure what ails ya ” from the condemned spider porn star one more time. 

Stooping a little to pass through the hollowed trunk of a massive dead tree, or UNdead — it's roots and branches were showing subtle signs of life, it's peeling bark shifted by itself as Alastor carefully crossed through to the other side. This side of the tree was less appealing; the thick cobwebs filling the other half of the exit, the lack of cocooned meals in the weaved strings were hardly considered as anything more than a pathetic effort by the resident arachnids. It had never occured to the hotelier that the significance of the undisturbed webs meant no taller animal or Hell’s population had ever treaded this fine line separating civilisation from the banished wilds. 

Thinking of Angel Dust automatically straight away after that fleeting train of thought, Alastor was let down by his apparently poor control in curating inside his head the relevant and interesting subjects that did not revolve around his bothersome tenants. 

Shaking his ears to loosen up the stray cobwebs sticking to his fur and antlers, the deer demon had almost immediately arrived at what he wanted to refer to as the Rendezvous, 

This detached part of the heavily wooded forest was briefly mentioned in the tome. For what purposes it existed for, he did not know. All that mattered was that the lore book had identified it as a ‘ great wellspring for dark hearts’, If the author was meant to have inferred danger, that lackadaisical way to address the enigmatic cave was not it. 

Crossing the threshold from the lush green of the forest into the dark, dry confines of the cave, was almost like crossing the boundary segregating the swamp attached to his personal quarters at the Hotel. The sudden drop in temperature from a slight rise of humidity and heavy forest to a dry, cool claustrophobic change of scenery had amounted to what was nearly perfection, Incredibly isolated, difficult to find, liable to remain undisclosed in other grimoires and maps, the hidden cave had easily drawn the Radio Demon's attention. The winding path leading through the cave’s narrow tunnel had nearly convinced Alastor to turn back, seek somewhere else to let off steam — but for the sudden opening of the next tunnel mouth yawned wide to reveal an enclosed grotto within it's cold walls. 

The dimly glowing sigils burned into the walls of the rock inside were a clear indication that their presence both confirmed the book’s trustworthy status, and the sure warning that the sigils were there for a reason. The symbols bearing strong resemblance to known confinement spells trapping a lifeforce within the boundaries, as a self-taught practioner of the occult, Alastor should have reconsidered the wisdom of exploring a cave that was supposed to remain undiscovered and ostracized for the being that inhabited it. 

The stone cold to the touch, remarkably clean for a cave system, Alastor had surmised after he had finished studying the chamber from his place at the tunnel’s entrance, his eyes roving over the cave from top to bottom carefully. The clean sweep of the unimpressive cave led to nothing questionablt.  While it was a little dark, and the Overlord's cervine eyes adapted for nocturnal ventures, a wide sinkhole had split open a cavity in the ceiling. Shafts of sunlight beaming down to the sandy floor, the light softened a little by the thick foliage growing in to fill gaps in the natural skylight, the rays had dissipated the damp inside the chamber, making it much more pleasant than the entrance’s tunnel, there seemed to be no dead ends branching off from this chamber.

As he had noticed earlier, there was missing the standard IDs of a cave — bones from dead animals, mold, a water source, cavern wildlife, past signs of occupation like carvings or symbols added to smoother patches of wall other than the binding sigils lining the natural tunnel.

The only two things of recognition, nevertheless interesting, were a mass of plants and roots filling out one corner of the chamber, and an absurd sight in his direct path.

Situated in the center of the cave was a tokenistic tree stump that would have looked more at home in a child’s picture book. Completely overgrown with climbing ivy, flowering blooms, and the iconic fungi Fly Agaric. Or more accurately, Hell’s idea of the fairy tale toadstool.

The scene looked ridiculous. An actual, true tree, once alive and growing inside the murky gloom of a cavern formed within a mountainside. The picture just looked so peaceful, what with the psychedelic colours of the flowering plant life and the toadstools, the ground resembling something like quicksilver ground up and sifted through a fine sieve to become a dense carpet of stunning grains of sand. It looked too good to be true,  the attractive sight.

Approaching the tree stump, smiling wryly, looking down into it's curiously scooped out top; he had half expected it to have on offer three bowls of porridge. 

On behalf of all critics condemning impulsive pilgrims and travellers, abandoned orphans or whatever else the cliched origin story was their excuse for stealing enchanted food from villains, Alastor hadn’t realised how strongly a simple temptation such as this innocent looking sap would be so alluring. The Radio Demon was captivated by the spring of what looked to be pure honey. Or something else very much like it — the perimeter of the hollowed bowl cut into the stump was filled with a semi-translucent sap, the liquid clear of impurities usually associated with natural honey or tree sap. No dirt, husks, twigs, seeds, insects, or fibres. 

Four or five vines had tapped into the edge opposite the deer demon, their tapered tips mistaken to belong to the other plants swarming the base of the dead tree, yet upon any closer scrutiny you would have noticed that none of the other plants and mushrooms were anywhere close to touching the innocent looking sap.

Finding the ‘miracle’ too charming for his tastes, Alastor had sidled past the attractive spectacle, and returned to the original path he had wanted to entertain in his new private exclusion.

Friends with benefits wasn't a foreign phenomenon to the stag Overlord. Moreover, it was becoming a burden ; solace through his pet Husk, a romp with Angel Dust, or something naturally depraved with either Lady Rosie or the Queen of Hell herself, Alastor was finding it difficult to keep his disorganised mind in order, too many strings attached to trip over, a lot of risk. There was always something preying on the Radio Demon's overwhelmed brain.

Too stressed to fuck, too stressed to find relief elsewhere, the black magic practioner had been too glad to find an answer inside a book.

No attachments, no other souls involved. Just him and his regular shadow, not the supernatural conjuration of his Mirror double.

The strain of being unable to find relief in both the usual and unusual avenues had become too much, too oppressive, and it had driven the sullen buck to this outrageous instant-fix solution of a simple, private sanctuary.

Stripped from the waist down, the deer demon had arranged his clothes and shoes aside on top of a stone, a superstitious feeling encouraging him to put them further away from the suspicious tree stump.

Crouched, kneeling on one knee, Alastor had rucked up the hem of his coat and shirt to bunch higher above his waist, the coattails flipped back to drape over his back and shoulders. It didn't matter that his aim was a little too enthusiastic, enough momentum for the skirts to wind up as a crude hood. Snagged on the tines of his miniature antlers, at least it served an unexpected support by holding the coat out of harm’s way. 

Bent double, resting his forehead against his raised knee, Alastor had his eyes squeezed shut as he worked hard at sustaining his erection. One hand was busy trying to pump his cock; fingers curled around the base, the deer demon was stroking himself, sweeping his thumb over the top of the shaft, his claw tips tickling and trailing up the underside. Sliding his palm up in more frequent strokes, squeezing at the tip and simultaneously rubbing the tingling tip, repeating this pattern hadn't taken long for a steady pulse to start, his breath quickening. 

His upper groin and belly cramping, shivers of delight budding in the pit of his abdomen, the buck's doe udders were beginning to take shape — the bane of his existence when sexual intimacy was the order of the day.

The swell of pink mounds were slowly growing; a milk bag comprised of twin sacs throbbing as they filled with milk, the supple flesh inflating around the base of his hardening cock to nudge it's underbelly. Moving his hand further along to his aching cockhead to adjust for his udders grazing the heel, the puffy organ was eventually distracting his concentration away from pumping his length.

Sinking his upper canines into his bottom lip, a low groan escaping him, Alastor abandoned his leaking member to cradle his pulsing udders with a hand, theother left to idly stroking his neglected length. Grown attentive to how his unnatural anatomy required routine to manage it's needs even out of his season, the deer demon's frustration therein lay with the difficulties bolstered by servicing himself solo. The end results were not just more rewarding — the entire journey was the deal maker. Milking himself was becoming more of a chore than a joyful experience to look forward to. However it was hard to express milk on his own, the sheer embarrassment associated with a partner trusted to keep his secret was a moodkiller more often than not.

Stroking his soft flesh, periodically kneading and palpating the  swelling mound, using thumbs and forefingers to tweak the teats — the first drops of milk welling up in their tender tips were visible. The steady throb in his loins spreading, the weight of the burgeoning milk was an encouraging sign. Biting his lip harder, ears swivelling forward, Alastor grunted, tilting his hips forward and frantically pumping a singular throbbing teat — at once, a jet of milk squirting, the short stream arcing to splash onto the fringes of the leaves and vines pooled on the sandy floor, fat droplets spattering the wizened larger roots and fronds dipping under the weight.

A loud gasp, his body frozen solid for a beat: then the buck resumed stripping both teats at the same time. Dropping his raised knee to kneel, thighs spread, the deer kept his fingers idly stroking the undercarriage of his warmed udders, continuing to pump both spongy teats to express milk in rhythmic kneading. Inconsistent yields of milk were the results of the impatient milking, random bursts of milk expressed to repeatedly splash onto the awakening plants.

Totally unaware the touch of his fresh milk had revived a camouflaged beast dozing in amongst the leaves and vines, the roots and fronds that had been inadvertently soaked in the aimless sprays of milk absorbed the frothed liquid. 

Seeing stars behind his pitch black lids, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, the Radio Demon was unable to witness the skulking tentacles slithering towards him through the silvery sand. Bumps and lines of sand were boring towards the unwitting deer demon, the maze of crisscrossed tentacles burrowed below the surface resembled an electrical conduit — the nearer the hidden tendrils came to touching Alastor's knees and hooves, several lines spreading to sweep behind the preoccupied Overlord, the thicker the tentacles’ bulk became. The thicker they became, the more sand trickling off their sleek bodies were risking a premature reveal of the creature.

Panting softly, Alastor's fingers soon slicked with more froth as his body was slowly yielding his rich milk, the flow of oxytocin was dumbing the Radio Demon's senses. Warnth radiating out through the demon's entire slim frame, forks of tingling fire and electricity clawing at the centre of his brain, pounding heart, and in his gut, the strengthening arousal merging with the feel-good hormones was dulling his reaction to a firm touch caressing his thighs.

Eyes snapped open, peering down at the odd sensation, the sedated buck was startled to see the petals of a yellow and black striped flower swaying back and forth — beads of nectar seeping, petite droplets landing on Alastor's knee, the flower was the head of a slender vine, it's length arched upwards like a disturbed snake, bands of black striping it's streamlined body. 

The colours of a wasp, signalling danger, yet the Radio Demon was unable to help himself — stilling his jerking motions, the Overlord slowly reached out a hand to caress a petal, marvelling at how such a beautiful thing could live in a dismal climate such as this cave.

Suddenly, the delicate flower shuddering, the petals furling to fold in on itself; the compressed bud rippling open wide, stretching it's lips back, it threw itself forward to spray golden pollen pointblank into the Radio Demon's pensive face. 

Reeling back in shock, throwing a hand back to land heavily on his ass and palm, twisting his wrist, the side affects of the pollen weren't in effect until after Alastor had sneezed — unknowingly drawing in more of the potent toxin into his body, absorbed straight into his lungs and lingering in his throat. The pollen had been ejected with the nectar pooling in the bud’s hidden maw, effectively sticking the dust to Alastor's face and airways.

They were inducing a tingling sensation, crawling up from his chest and nose to cover his pecs, and face in full. Blinking hard to dislodge some stuck pollen, utter disbelief visible, Alastor didn't see the myriad of tentacles swarming around his inert body, essentially cutting him off from the rest of the cave; piling atop of each other in a circle, like a castle moat. 

Whilst a castle’s invading force sometimes came from the rear, a premeditated offensive to catch the garrison inside off guard, a front assault was preferred. Approaching a potential ally this way had much better success in forging a give-and-take relationship than by pure deception. 

Sitting up, propped by his hands sunk into the sand, thighs and shoulders spread, in lifting his gaze Alastor was met face-to-face with something he wasn't expecting to see. 

Where there used to be a huddled mass of ambiguous plant life, in the center a large mass had manifested — risen out of the ground, grains of sand still rolling off it until a shake of it's leaves rid itself of the fine sediment, the thick vine was coiled into a circle, half it's bulk buried in the ground. Uncoiling, at the tip of the vine was suspended a pulsating membrane encasing a bulging sac supported in the middle of the limb’s tip, throbbing gently. A soft glow of diffused blue light alluded to distorting the shape of the sac as the Radio Demon continued to stare at it dangling inches away from his face, he found he couldn't move. Webs of veins pulsing all over the Lantern’s translucent membrane, the light source within was a blinding radiance. 

The softened glow was growing stronger, the sac's vague outlines growing fuzzier and less distinct as the webbed bulb began to pulsate, tiny shafts of lightning-blue light racing up the web-strings connecting it to the vine, Alastor was transfixed, hyperventilating. Rendered immobile by the unnatural light’s power, the deer demon's vulnerabilities included his natural aversion and weakness to artificial light, but particularly the strongest light of any origin. It was an embarrassing, primitive trait carried over by Earth's cervine vulnerabilities. 

The buck’s jaw hanging agape, drawing in a steady flow of air in rapid heaving gasps, Alastor's pupils were in the process of dilating when the lantern-bulb abruptly shone a dazzling light directly into it's prey's eyesockets. 

The neon blue emittance rippling in the air like the marbled lightshow on water’s surface, casting light and shadow shimmering over the Radio Demon's paralysed expression, stunned by the unrelenting performance. An extremely strong wave of tranquillity was enveloping the Overlord; the droop of his ears flagging, his face grown impassive, the sag in his shoulders, the tension leaving his body in pulsating waves of submission beginning from his ears down to his hooves. Even in the end, his tail had stopped twitching, the tremors from his frozen panic attack subsiding to a subdued state.

In Alastor's eyes, a psychedelic vortex matching the black and yellow bands of the toxic flower were swirling. The monster's Hypnosis had tranquilised the Radio Demon, his secret vulnerability to vivid lights an accidental advantage for the plant. Lulled into a completely passive state, the conditions of which remained to be seen, and any problems corrected.

The light in the web softening back to it's inert state, the Overlord remained where he sat, immobile and patient. His abandoned masturbation had left his swollen milk bag throbbing with want, his softened cock seeping fluid. The bloated teats were leaking bubbles of milk on every deep inhale Alastor took, the buck’s conquered mind incapacitated to do nothing but obey the predator's instructions, his new Master, 

Lamenting the last time it had sustained a reliable source of sustenance to keep itself alive, imprisoned in it's cave, the monster sought to reach a compromise of forging a symbiotic alliance with the deer demon — taking nourishment for itself, and in exchange rewarding the oblivious sinner. The Hypnosis was a delicate art; different triggers were likely to disable it's hold on the buck's brain, and there was also the dangers of it's new pet’s mental strength in rebelling.

To the creature, that was already water under the bridge. It was easy enough to resubmit the Radio Demon to it's will.

The buried tentacles rising into full view, no longer camouflaged, the tentacles whipped forward and coiled themselves around Alastor's limbs and body without haste. Staring ahead into nothingness, Alastor's eyes were vacant, the vortex of colours steadily spiralling in his eyes. He could feel the sleek bodies twining around his limbs, their nudges and tightened grips. A pair of tentacles had wrapped around his shoulders to pitch him forward, pushing his lax body unceremoniously to the ground. His coattails falling over his head, shrouding him in complete darkness, in time this was going to be in hisfavour. Arms flung out, the upper half of his body fallen into the bed of roots and flowers, the sharp thorns sliding away to avoid pricking Alastor's precious skin. Slim vines were gliding up his limp arms to explore his slender frame, propelling themselves along with gentle kisses from rows of suckers lining the vines. Leaving no mark behind as they curled around whatever obstacle they found; shoulders, throat, ears, antlers, focusing heavier on probing his sensitive nipples and navel. Whilst they were teasing his prickling flesh, coaxing muffled moans and squeaks from under his hooded head, the other tentacles hadn't even stopped their own agenda. 

Arcing up to coil around the joints of Alastor's hips, these tentacles hoisted his rear skywards to rest his weight onto folded knees. With no clothing below the waist to wrangle, the vines holding his pelvis in position, two extra tentacles swooped between the buck's spread thighs from behind to take care of the rudimentary reason why it had overpowered the Radio Demon. 

It had been years ever since the monster had a last goodfeed. Overwhelmed by the richness of the Overlord's unusual milk, getting it's first taste from the stray squirts as Alastor pleasured himself, it was longing to taste him again, 

It was absolutely pivotal it looked after it's new Pet, and over time diligently work on him to remain a permanent source of sustenance whenever it bade him to heed it's commands.

Waiting impatiently below the Radio Demon's belly, droplets of escaped milk sometimes landing on a quivering tendril, the last trio of tentacles were converging on the buck's offered rear.

A tentacle loosely draping over Alastor's buttocks to play with his limp tail, nosing through the underbrush to fluff it up, prompting a shiver down Alastor's spine, the two others slithered up the Overlord's taint to nuzzle and palpate the tender flesh.

The abrupt kneading between his inner asscheeks prompting Alastor to rock forward, gasping urgently, at the same time his udders had heaved from the much needed stimulation. Heat rising off his inflated taint, the bulge filling out between his inner thighs to encompass his heaving udders, the tentacles did not let up studiously rubbing his pinked flesh in a downwards motion to induce the yield of milk. 

Under his belly, the organ filling up with the nourishment his Master was sorely craving, the impatient twin tentacles finally had their cue to feed. 

Shooting upwards, the slender tendrils whipping around the bloated teats, ravenously began yanking on the fevered flesh, initially tugging to express milk without having much luck. The rough pulls and twists were frightening Alastor, even still in his meditative Trance, the Radio Demon cringing with a frantic bleat of pain. His stomach cramping, the jostled udders full, drew up to retreat, pulling the latched tentacles with the instinctive reflex. Heaving again, the buck crying out softly, the stubborn tendrils did not let go — tightening their grip, they renewed their hurried tugs, but now fallen into a steady pace of pumping from the base without gliding down to the tips.

Doggedly clenching the base of each teat in unison, to eject milk upon each painful stretch of the sacs to be nearer the ground. The unyielding stretches weren't suitable for the buck's anatomy; shortly, the deer's swollen milk bag, full of milk, were blushed a pinkish-red surrounding the nipples. Each quadrant was visibly throbbing, veins protruding, Alastor's arousal blossomed with the relentless oxytocin dumbing his entranced senses even further.

Rhythmically tugged, each quadrant out of sync against it's twin, the creamy jets of milk were not utilised to their full potential. The stronger streams were saturating the sandy ground almost as heavily they fed the multitude of new tentacles and roots weaving below him, coiling and slithering together as they drank in the sprays of fresh milk. Sheeted in the freshest of nourishment, it was some time before the flow was distinctly thinning. 

The blue-tinged milk was not yielding as heavy a load as the onset of stripping had achieved. The cramps jarring the shrinking udders were becoming more frequent, the supple flesh flinching harder when a tendril was stretching it to force more yield. The recoil of Alastor's stomach heaving for the final time, his overmilked organ blushing rouge, the stir of the Radio Demon's back and shoulders were a warning sign pointing to the Overlord's Hypnosis waning.

In time to feel the acute burning, outstanding throbs in his nether regions; the pulses of deepest pain congregated below his navel, his leaking member twinging, all at once Alastor had bolted upright — however groggily, nearly losing his balance. Rocking back onto his haunches sluggishly, bent double as his brain was spinning r, Alastor struggled to piece his mind back together.

A curious, persistent pulling sensation on his pounding organ had him look down, and resisting the bile rising up in the back of his strained throat as he stared in dismay at the chilling spectacle at his groin. 

A wriggling mass of vines were trying to drink the spilled milk slicking his painful udders; a few younger tendrils feeding off the slick of precum and milk off the velveteen flesh, their rows of suckers undulating the blushed sacs as they slurped. Drinking directly from the source, three larger tentacles were attempting to suckle one swollen teat. The single largest tentacle had a nipple for itself: curled around it, it had penetrated the gaping sphincter to nurse greedily, it's tapered nose swelling as it gulped hungrily.

The shock of being used as a milking cow when he had blacked out, the Radio Demon's memory foggy, was wearing off as he studied the nursing, surprised how his second impression of the horror hadn't hit home until that largest limb had let go, racing up the buck's gaunt stomach to try again for milk by plunging it's nose into his navel. 

Eyes trained on the erratic tentacle, Alastor's laboured breathing shot up a few decibels as his panicked squeal barely conveyed his fear. A hand shot out to grab the wriggling limb, Alastor yanked it away, his movements manic at first but weakened by the forced exertions on his drained body. Panting, watching the tendril squirm, Alastor was uncertain. 

What to do? 

The other tentacles were hellbent on suckling his spent organ, the rhythmic sucks on his overmilked teats were nonetheless alleviating the unbearable pressure inside. Milk dripping onto his sweaty palm from the squirming limb thrashing about in his hand, Alastor's sleepy thoughts were drifting again. Shaking his head, rubbing the heel of his free hand into his eyes, the buck couldn't quite comprehend the unusual merger of total relaxation and a growing sense of unease. Looking back to his captured tentacle, thinking back to how all of this had even taken place, the Radio Demon couldn't come up with a satisfying answer. 

Despite all the precautions he had taken, trouble seemed to sprout wherever he went, whatever he did.

Another large vine snaking it's way over to him, the shifty movements catching the Radio Demon's eye as fronds moved suddenly, at first he had presumed the limb wae heading to take the prior one's place. It seemed as if all the limbs belonged to one creature — they definitely moved independently, but neighbouring tentacles would occasionally react in advance to another’s actions, long before Alastor had guessed their intentions. IT’Sintentions. The creature's activity was synchronised, orchestrated. These vines weren't individual minds, but one. These newcomers were slowing their progress, cautiously curling up between the Overlord's spread thighs to wait. 

Lost in his sleepy musing, biting back the urge to simplylay down, the enthusiastic tentacle eventually slid itself free from his weakening grip. Slipping down to reclaim it's pride of place, the hungry creature recommenced suckling on the flushed teat; enveloping it with it's petals, inside it's maw a wisp of a tongue lashed out to penetrate the star-shaped sphincter, enthusiastically pulling on the bag to induce more milk. 

That was the last straw. Briefly indulging in the depravity of letting himself go to be drank dry from a harmless plant, really no different to cutting your finger and watching the blood drip into a flytrap, the ebb and flow of blissful pleasure being milked an addiction — allowing the creature to claim him was the dividing line.

The final vestiges of hypnotised dozing thrown off, the excited suckling on his overstimulated organ compelled him to act. Rashly, and sealing his fate. 

Snarling, the Radio Demon he grabbed for the distracted vine between his legs and held it down with both hands into the ground, scattering theother tendrils that were listless until this new provocation. It was a clumsy move, but the deer didn't want to damage himself, lest the plant fight back by biting, If it even had teeth. 

The tentacle’s earnest nursing was interrupted, the lips tugged free, saliva moistening Alastor's swollen organ, but the creature had already composed itself for the counter attack. Resistance was inevitable. But with care and consideration, it was determined to keep the Radio Demon for it's own. 

Crushed under the buck's weight forced down into it, the other end of the tentacle wiggling like mad, the thing's mouth convulsing, spat out a thinned spray of regurgitated milk, the demon's weight pinching off it's extended throat inside the vine.

The Radio Demon's reprieve was fractured by his heedless compulsion to resist the gift of unparalleled pleasure before the monster had even tried to ‘convince’ him properly. 

The raucous commotion that followed Alastor's single act of disobedience was calibrated accordingly, the vulnerabilities of his body frailer than the creature's, wielded against the thawing of the demon's body and mind.

Distracted by his efforts to stop the thrashing tentacle still drooling milk under his hands, feeling the icy fingers of fear shadowing the sharp jolts of adrenaline carving into his woozy brain, he was taken by surprise in an instant. 

The creature had been studying his behaviour the wholetime, anticipating some form of rebellion. Acting swiftly to correct it's new Pet's insubordination, it had whipped tentacles over to seize Alastor's wrists, the serpentine appendages climbing up to engulf both of Alastor's forearms together from wrists to elbow in a cruelly tight sleeve. Alastor immediately letting go, the crushed tendril yanking itself free backwards from his splayed hands, Alastor's sharp cry was broken with a grunt — more vines had erupted from the silver sand from behind and were coiling around his thighs to pull together, bulging his throbbing udders to press into his stomach and the rear exposed between his asscheeks. 

The Radio Demon's limbs locked together in a tight embrace of vines, forced onto his hands and knees, the first punishing smack fell across his exposed buttocks, eliciting a pained BLEAT from the deer. The slim tentacle had whipped his naked backside, the sharp sting of the first lick quickly blossoming with the next three spanks, faint red lines emerging on his pert buttocks. Rocked forward with every spank, Alastor had cried out, hot salty tears stinging harsher than the impromptu spanking did. The humiliation. The creature evidently was intelligent. No dumb creature ever had the capabilities to anticipate, plan ahead, punish, or train, like man did.

Because that's what it was doing. Training him.

Breathless, Alastor squirmed, leaning forward to stretch his back, to dodge the stinging smacks, his coat still snagged on his antlers xnd held up as a hood, leaving his body naked from tve waist down.

The Overlord’s struggles was in vain: ever observant, the creature lifted his bound arms higher above his head in a dizzying shift of positioning, two of the tendrils waiting at his knees darted forward to encircle Alastor's waist; seizing his bristling tail to haul upwards in a stretch, the spanking tentacle let forth a shorter frenzy of four more licks, before stopping altogether. 

The blush on Alastor's cheeks cherry red in the middle, encompassing the cleft splitting his buttocks pressed in together by the restraining tentacles, the circle of disciplined flesh was beginning to fade. Fire burning where the slim tentacle had smacked him, the horizontal lines fading too but lingering longer than the surrounding blush. Spanked from the left and from the right in alternating hits, flexing his buttocks only rekindled the warmth filling his ass.

Blinking back salty tears, gasping, Alastor tried to think clearly again. He tried, But it was a fight, harder than the physical confrontation that had just occured. Flinching on the outside as the disciplinary tendril tenderly caressed his throbbing rump, inwardly Alastor's pronounced fear was losing the fight against his nightmarish ordeal. The epicenter of his suffering was of his abused udders; the creature, having had a taste, and then some, was invariably addicted to the sweet richness of his fresh milk. It appeared that every time he haa fought back, resisted, the creature had retaliated — actually punished him. 

But what happened during his black out, riddled with amnesia…?  

Was nursing all that had happened? The silence inside his own head was simply too loud — the strengthening pain in his pulsating udders, begging to be relieved of his new milk coming in, the overstimulation warring against Alastor's fear of reprisal and the unknown, what happened while he was out, the affectionate nuzzling at his tender teats brought the Radio Demon back to the world of the living. 

The two largest of the nursing tentacles had returned; arced up to nuzzle at his aching milk bag. Their tapered noses nudging the warm teats, wisp tongues flicking out to lap at the new beads of milk bubbling from the gaped sphincters. 

No matter how much he was milked, past the point of pain and unbearable arousal, the surge of oxytocin flooding dousing his fevered, frantic thoughts were a cure-all. Lids sliding to half-mast, the Radio Demon's shoulders listing, a distinctly fiercer nudging at his filling organ had stirred the sinner awake to buck in alarm, or at least try to. Arching his back, tail and ears bristling in fear, Alastor clenched his stomach and leaned away to break off the connection, but straightened up as the disciplinary tentacle swung back to deliver another round of four quick smacks to his burning ass, pulling another bleat of pain from the deer. 

This happened again, but a volley of eight further spanks at the first sign of resistance — the Radio Demon pulling back, squirming, cursing outloud, bucking his hips to deter the tentacles every time they had descended to nurse, they only making it as far to lick the sore flesh, or curl a tongue around the teats.

Feeling like he was destined to be perpetually abused if he continued to disobey, at long last the Radio Demon relented. 

Never showing any hints of fear, the two tentacles moved forward to begin over again the nursing. Taking a teat each, the tentacles peeled back their petals to swallow the swollen nipples, down to the base. The wisp tongues inside gliding into the gaping sphincters, tickling along the internal channel, proceeded to suckle Alastor. Studiously pulling on the udders to emphasise the natural stimulation for an uninterrupted milk yield, the subsequent familiar wet suckling sounds of the fervent drinking had pushed the Radio Demon into a drunken stupor.

Thoughts hazy, dazed again, Alastor's eyes were closing in the overwhelming bliss. The strict attention to looking after his painful sacs were unrivalled; having somebody (or something) feeding on him had NEVER felt like this before. Never. 

Wagging his tail sleepily, a frantic beat whenever a greedy tentacle had yanked harder on it's prize, Alastor was only dimly aware of new sensations. More tentacles had joined them, however they were rising to settle themselves up along the Radio Demon's trembling body. Ignoring the tremors quivering his scrawny frame, these sinuous vines unfurling an array of whiskered feelers, felt along his sweat-slicked skin to probe and palpate his body. Stomach, nipples, navel, collar bone, his cock — they all tenderly stroking in sync with each other as a singular mind — rubbing his prickled flesh to calm him, as the milkers persisted drawing down milk, sucking harder now as the buck's udders swelled.

The creature and the demon were approaching an unspoken negotiation — milking in return for unbelievable pleasures. 

Bypassing the Radio Demon's dubious thoughts, the level-headed thoughts, by harnessing his body's primal desires for milking the creature was satisfied the demon was under complete control. Using pleasure against conscious thought, Alastor's will was being stripped down to an empty shell of the sinner he was before opening that spellbook. As he was doing now, the deer trying to process the waves of pleasure pulsating in his loins apart from the bubbling feeling of mistrust, as if in slow motion Alastor's eyes were travelling up the swaying length of a strangely familiar tentacle emerging from the dense matt of foliage in front of him. 

Looking up, the same thick vine from the start — the Lantern Controller, was weaving to and fro, pulling Alastor into watching it's tranquil movements. The emergence of this vine felt like he had seen it before… it's colouring, and the bulb at it's muscled tip, were intriguing. Captivated by the strange limb, his weakening jaw sagging open, the wrinkled web of veinr on the sac suddenly peeled back, revealing once again it's Hypnotic eye. 

A beam of light firing straight into the Radio Demon's retinas without warning, as it had done so earlier, the light sent the Overlord into a second Trance. Hypnotised, the yellow and black vortex of circles radiating from his pupils shrunken to slits; at a firm nudge to his bottom lip — the deer demon stretched his jaw open, permitted the pass of a more sinuous tentacle into his waiting mouth and over his tongue. 

Settling it's length onto the buck's tongue, it rippled twice, and started slowly pumping a sweet necter straight down into the demon's throat. 

Closing his jaw, sealing his parched lips, the placid Overlord began sucking on the warm tendril, eagerly swallowing each mouthful of the honeyed sap. The fluid went down quickly, bringing with it a warmth spreading to his core as he sucked on the muscle hungrily. It was as if had been dying of thirst and starvation for days. The harder he sucked, pushing his tongue along the pulsating length to coax a faster flow, the warmth budding inside his gut was rolling out to swathe him in a suffocating embrace of unrefuted arousal. 

The intoxication was uncompromising — regardless how energetically the tentacles nursed, the Aphrodisiac siphon pumping him full of undying want; it didn't seem enough, never felt he had even crested the uphill climb to gratification.

Alastor's mind was emptied of anixties, worries, straying thoughts, clear-headed concerns. The Hypnosis spell lulling blunting his razorsharp thoughts, transforming the esteemed Overlord into a softly bleating mess, the vortex in the buck's eyes were spiralling into tighter circles as the Hypnosis Lantern slunk back into the depths of the plants, various tentacles and bobbing flower blooms beckoning the deer demon to submit. 

The limb throbbing inside his mouth done, it withdrew with a slurp, trailing broken strings of nectar and saliva as it disappeared with the Controller vine.

Swallowing hard, lazily swiping his tongue over his dripping lips, Alastor did as he was told. 

The lengths encircling his limbs carefully releasing his body, obediently Alastor arched his back, stretching himself to ease the tension leaving his joints locked and aching, when casually the mass of tentacles rushed him in a deluge of overcrowding limbs and bodies. 

The suckling tentacles barely fast enough to remove themselves from the fray, slithering out of the way, several tentacles dived to ensnare the Radio Demon's limp body. Wrapped around his waist, chest, pinning his arms to his sides, more of them had his head and neck in a stranglehold; their sleek scales caressing his cheeks and thrumming neck, pressing in on his beating pulse. Forcing him to be readjusted onto his shoulders upside down, more tendrils supporting the bow of his back when his pelvis dipped forward. Making a strangled noise, half rumbling purr-half groan as they hugged him tight, the free vines pulling his thighs to tug his legs forward to hang limply over his upturned face. Placed on his upper back, shoulders wrapped inside coils of vines and roots, the Radio Demon's thighs were spread, the pink valley of bulging udders filling out his taint stretched taut from the unyielding strength of the creature. His tail dangling behind, the snowy underbrush explored momentarily by a curious tendril, before it rejoined the group surrounding his puckered entrance. 

Heartbeat quickening, Alastor's plaintive bleats were heartening, the endless spirals in his hooded eyes turning faster. A new tentacle shifting forward, nuzzling at the deer's abandoned milk bag, as a group of four or five others probed the deer's resilient hole — plucking at the puckered flesh, lapping wet tongues, rubbing the twitching flesh in tighter circles, Alastor was too desperate to be mounted to withstand waiting any longer. Twisting his body, the demon bucked wildly, startling some vines away, spurring the few left to plunge into his tight hole without hesitance — and without objection from Alastor. 

Tipping over onto his side, the vines coiled around his neck drawing in tighter in forewarning, Alastor didn't care, didn't notice the gesture. Lowing like a cow in heat, repeatedly, the deer kicked one leg at the ground, pawing the loose sand frantically with a hoof, sending a shower of silver into the air. His other leg was cocked, spasming, folding in tight as his tendons and muscles contracted. Held aloft on by own will power, lusting for a mating, it invited a couple of new tentacles crossing over to snake over his hip, across the juncture joining his inner thigh to the heavy milk bag, and up that leg’s buttock to hold his cocked leg up, steadied if not for the rhythmic bounce of his leg as four tentacles wrestled each other to push into Alastor's spasming ass as a singular entity.

The Radio Demon's entrance was being stretched to new limits, his ring whitened as the wriggling vines pushing together burrowed inside it's Pet’s warm cavity. Undulating, more agitated, each individual tentacle more or less filled Alastor's rear with the same length as another, stretching his core in spite of the spasms clenching down on their slippery scales. A final push had their thickening girth popped past the buck's fluttering hole, wrenched a keening wail from Alastor. 

Even so, the intense pain strengthening inside his throbbing backside, bearing down on the squirminu intrusions: Alastor was madly wagging his tail in overjoyed delight, Rolling his tongue out lewdly, salivating profusely, Alastor panted hard as the four tentacles propelled themselves to passionately thrust into him, rocking his surrendered body at a erratic pace. 

A solitary limb pumping wildly in and out, out of turn amidst the other vines similarly pumping randomly, violent penetration was inflaming the buck's arousal, feeding the flames to lick at his hardened cock, his full udders. Of which the blushed organ was leaking heavily, froth trickling from the bloated teats as he was fucked hard.

Savoring the fullness of his stuffed ass, the vines buried inside him pumping tirelessly, the Radio Demon's arousal was constantly stirred by his roiling stomach: the gulped aphrodisiac bubbling, supplementing his enervated body with nutrients to prolong the deer's milk coming in, and sustaining his lust for the fuck. 

The creature was likewise engrossed in not breeding, but fucking the deer demon until his udders were full to burst, brimming with the milk it was hooked on. Stalling it's next feed was necessary, if it wanted to  succeed at manipulating the hypnotised demon to do it's bidding without protest. Good behaviour needed to be rewarded, conditioning the demon to do as he was told, but also instigate the encounters. 

The Radio Demon's cock leaking fluids, a sticky trail smeared along his belly, the member stiffened without any direct stimulation. Whining, Alastor rutted his hips, keening for some friction — even a little was going to be appreciated over his new Master continuing to ignore it. Squirming in place, licking his lips, Alastor heaved a heavy sigh as finally a lonesomr tendril reached out to wind around his pulsating length, tightening around the root and tickling the flushed head with feelers. The creature was enjoying the alkaline taste of the buck's thickened precum; squeezing it's hold, it slid up and down to milk it's Tranced Pet’s cock just as it had milked his bloated sacs.

His arousal spinning out of control, the excited pumps on his erection in step with the four vines embedded inside his rear was getting too much for him to process, unlike the time before. 

Filtering the excitements that was rendering him inconsolable was to no avail — spasmodic jerking fallen to complete submission, the vines’ bodies picking up the pace in fucking it's Pet savagely, Alastor's passage was convulsing around their mingled bulk. The Overlord was panting loudly, features contorted as he let the creature's limbs embrace him tighter in a definitive clutch of feral lust, the knot in his groin expanding to pass the unsatisfied palpitations into his throbbing sacs.

One tendril sinking further to anchor itself to Alastor's pelvic floor, the other two limbs rotating their determined pumps cooperatively, the fourth limb was furiously rubbing the bulge of the demon's overly sensitive gland — the concentrated rubs in concert with the rhythmic rocking inexplicably drove the demon's arousal over the edge.

It had felt like the buck had bolted headlong over a steep clifface; the subsequent high from surpassing the highest peak he had ever known, then the pit of his stomach suddenly falling as his senses plummetted, the Radio Demon's cervine bawling was drawn out, as his body abruptly contracted. Violent shudders quaking his sweat-bathed body, his hot passage fluttering and hugging the quadruple of slicked limbs, the creature rode out Alastor's denied climax in good humour. 

Teasing his throbbing prostate by grinding a tentacle into it, pulling another involuntary contraction or two, Alastor's cock was spilling ropes of cum into the sand, the creamy seed splattering over his trembling abdomen and the arrangements of feelers and suckers caressing and suckling his damp skin. The buck's nipples grown hard and peaked from the heavy overstimulation, pectoral muscles clenched, the hard lines of the demon's throat were strained as he gasps sped up, harrowed moans trailing to periods of silence as he was milked arduously.

Gliding through the buck’s sweat plastered hair and fur framing his twitching ears, a matched pair of bulbs curled into his warm ear canals to sink in warily — their deflated tips pushing past the bends of the snug channel to press against his eardrums. The quiet rustling of tiny leaves and wisps branching off this pair of insidious vines were trembling, their feathery touch against Alastor's scalp inconspicuous amongst the excitement of the chaotic breeding.

The other vine hadn't given up on his twitching length; milking it for all he’s worth, squeezing out diluted ropes of seed, then sparse spurts, then in the end his seed dwindled down to bubbles of pearly fluid oozing from the gaped slit.

Breathing fast, the spirals throbbing in chorus with the steady throb rooted in his groin, Alastor's low moans followed the creature's insistence on weaving it's buried limbs together to plug Alastor's full ass; stiffened, the unfathomable pain was reworked as intense waves of pleasure, the Hypnosis transforming the painful twinges of Alastor's stretched hole into bursts of unmatched rapture. 

Flicking his ears, exhausted, Alastor stiffened briefly as the undulation spreading his core was taken over by a fresh flurry of activity at his groin. 

Oxytocin flaring yet again, Alastor's milk had been complying with his overstimulated body’s susceptibility to nursing. Producing new milk as he was forced into arousal, the persistent nuzzling and suckling tricking instincts to let his milk down. It was as exactly as the creature wanted — sending wizened tentacles to latch onto his swollen teats, Alastor involuntarily pulling in his stomach, starting, before breathing out to offer his full organ, bleating quietly. The fresh pair latched on, they were ravenous, tugging on the blushed pulsing bag to express his delicious milk in hastened pumps.

The frantic sucks were a carthasis, lulling the buck into his dazed trance. Riveted to the euphoric sensations of being drank from, the ceaseless pulls on his full organ, the wet lips kneading, the tongues rubbing the sphincters to let forth more nourishment. It remained instrumental that as long as the deer demon was capable of yielding milk, conditioned to do it without reluctance, the plant monster was glad. The milk flow was irresistible; residual white froth in rivulets coating the buck's billowing udders, the reddened blush was irrevocably spreading. 

The diminishing udders were due to be depleted at sometime during this encounter. The yield dwindling to thinned, then absolutely nothing; the inflamed flesh no longer supple but waxen and taut, cringing, Alastor's ever increasing winces and grunts had finally erupted as a wild thrash. Bucking, sending the insatiable tentacles loose, their milk-veiled forms hesitant, then darted forward to pass an attempt at nuzzling him again — rubbing the seam and swells of the overstimulated udders, Alastor's voice cracked as he resisted, kicking his bound leg in anguish, feeling the pain of being overmilked come rushing back in a torrent to break the Hypnosis, 

“No, STOP — YOU DARED TO —”

The bi-coloured vortex in his eyes spinning faster to vanish completely, as fearful comprehension sunk into the Radio Demon's embattered brain, upon looking down and back at the source of the intensified hurts, his quickened assessment of the scene was quickly dealt with. 

In a panic, incensed that he’d been taken advantage of, the Radio Demon bucked harder, his inner walls bearing down on the rigid vines stretching his throbbing ass. Giving great heaving gasps, arching his body, at long last the four tentacles buried pulled out wetly, looping over themselves on the ground. 

Awkwardly, in trying to stand up, his legs feeling like they were wholly made of rubber, he pitched straight onto his front because he’d even made it up onto his elbows. Although clarity was returning to his focused eyes, pupils shrinking in anger and upset, he hadn't been aware that more vines were entwined around his arms pinned straight to his sides, fists free to scratch or clutch at nothing but either the empty air or his own thighs. Tail rigid, a flashing white flag of danger, Alastor tried again to hoist himself up onto his haunches, wrenching his tight shoulders left and right to shake free the tightening embrace. 

The creature had been quietly tracking it's Pet’s movements, analysing his body language. It had come to the conclusion that it's still-in-training slave was new at obedience, and needed another push onto the right course if he wanted to live, alb it brainwashed into believing it was through his own unconditioned choices.

Emboldened by the loud silence in the wake of his resistance — having found the reserved strength within himself to at least roll onto his painful stomach and then back onto his knees, however bent low, fighting for breath. The overlong drain on his body's faculties had taken quite a lot out of his energy. Forced to let down more milk than he was ever accustomed to, his pulsating udders pounding with both want and yearning for a reprieve, trickles of milk were dribbling from the swelled organ to puddle into the sand and spent seed. 

Wrinkling his nose at the stink of his cum and enriched milk, Alastor was venturing to explain why this can't everhappen again, a touch of hysteria in his voice as a suspicious second voice inside his head tried to convince him with —

“Why not?” 

The Radio Demon got as far as opening his mouth when one of the overlapping vines slapped a fat tip over his lips to silence him with a wet slap — his thoughts weren't allowed to linger, the suspicious voice proposing to the confused demon:

"You loved it. 

You want to ask for more. 

You are not happy unless you are being milked. 

You are not calm unless you are being bred. 

You crave both or you will never know peace again.” 

Blinking away tears, striving to make any sense of it all, the fog hovering over his delirious thoughts still, the Radio Demon felt the true electrifying sensation of fear when the strange voice repeated it's mantra, not in a droning timbre but a pleasant lilt.

“But — “

“NO," the unseen Voice instilled with a flat warning, echoing that very same mantra again, Alastor cocking his ears to decipher whomst the voice belonged to, the tendrils knotted inside his ears a forgotten presence —

“If you are not being milked, you will be PUNISHED. 

Disobey me, and your punishment will HURT. 

You do not want to disobey. 

You do not want to be punished. 

You will feed me what you owe, or you will be punished.  

Here, you can find out right now.

You had disobeyed, so you have earned your punishment. You will learn that punishment is bad. 

You want to be GOOD.” 

Apt to resist in ordinary circumstances, even if he were muzzled with a plant monster's tentacle like the present, Alastor wanted to profess that he couldn't offer milk if his body was replete of food, of bed rest — but the monster was already on the move. 

Whereas the mysterious Voice was deliverance, infusing the rattled Radio Demon's stricken consciousness with an overwhelming sense of ( manipulated ) reason and wisdom, Alastor's forgotten judgement had failed to convince him this was out of his control. He had been trained to believe this rendezvous with his newest confidante was the salvation he’d been hunting for. 

Whilst the deer demon felt that the Voice had a firm grasp on what was right for him, the demon's shuttered imagination had never pictured what sort of punishment it was going to be.

Even so, Alastor wasn't about to surrender; half of his mind was fixated on the searing pain in his belly, the deep hunger for his own intake of food, and an intermission from feeding a plant. Rolling his hips, the buck growled, in a forceful effort to disturb the vines’ hold on his pulsing teats. It wasn't the right answer to the persuasive voice inside his head. 

The waiting tentacles behind Alastor rising, they seized the distracted buck around each clenched thigh — propping him to be held face down, ass up, on his bruised knees and his thighs spread to expose his gaping hole, tail listless.

Drops of milk darkening patches in the sand, the third vine formerly dedicated to massaging his prostate, drew back sharply before swinging to smack the deer demon's bared entrance, the ring of muscle fluttering as the stinging swats slapped the tender flesh. Red lines briefly glowing down the swollen bulge of his pinked taint merging with his wearied udders as he cringed in reflex upon each  spank.

Alastor's miserable wails were crisp and reaching several octaves higher as the spanking carried on. Wincing violently on every humiliating wet smack, the recoil vibrating throughout his enervated udders to jostle his softened cock, spurts of milk splattered his belly as a tendril lost it’s grip. Heat was pooling in his gut, the heavy spanks sending bolts of pain centred on his spasming ring, the limbs’ swift pace stopped at a count of thirteen rapid swats.

Breathing raggedly, the Radio Demon urgently trying to pull his scattered thoughts together, he’d cried out as another whiplike smack bounced his ass as he had instinctively pulled away from the displaced sucker reaching out to latch again, the flagging pain in the teat spiking as the vine licked the dilated sphincter to coax out more milk. 

Defeated, or more realistically, trained well, Alastor sunk forward to lay on his chest, wanting to let sleep take charge if he was going to submit to the feeding. In spite of the buck’s tiredness, the creature couldn't drink with the demon flat on his stomach, or be forced to stand. In the time spent once they were to part ways, it was going to have to resolve that problem for the future.

A gentle tug on the buck's tail, and Alastor obediently lifted his ass, sliding back to prop himself on his knees again, yet without the support or imprisonment of the disciplinary tentacles. The pounding aches in his groin and belly hadn't subsided, not yet, occasional contractions of Alastor's barren milk bag even convincing his new Master that he had no more to give, he was truly and utterly spent for real this time. The demon's stomach was rumbling frequently now, needing food of his own, it’d been so long without a proper meal over the duration of the forced milking. Stimulated lactation was an easy feat; sustaining it without the right precautions and fuel made it impossible if not unbearable.

Unravelling it's limbs around Alastor to set him free, momentarily — nudging him to roll over onto his back of his ‘own volition’ with a firm push into his side, shortly Alastor was engulfed by a mass of swarming vines. As the various feelers, suckers, and plain tendrils sloughed off the remnants of the bodily fluids leaving his flushed skin tacky in place of the original mess, Alastor's mind was ablaze. 

Tomorrow.

Soon. 

He had to come back, visit again. Supposing the monster wasn't pleased to see him, after his disrespect? Alastor thought he was thinking clearly, patient while the plant removed traces of their coupling from his body; wincing as it's sinuous limbs caressed his tender body, tweaking a particularly sore spot where his spent cock was flaccid against his empty bag. Already he was feeling an insatiable loss, and he hadn't even left yet.

The thrill of seeing the creature again was coursing through his fatigued body, sitting up with a pained groan to accept the offered bundle of clothes he had folded away neatly before embarking on his “solo’ masturbation agenda.

Of course the Radio Demon hadn't recognised that the plan to return for servicing was of the monster's own invention: the implanted pollen infused inside Alastor's body was maintaining a solid connection with the plant, even with the substantial distance taken into consideration. 

The creature was, meanwhile, tracking it's Pet’s eye movements, his body, assessing the effectiveness of it's Hypnosis. It knew it's Aphrodisiac nectar was a sure thing, and combined with the influence it wieldec through it's binding Light, it was confident it's Pet was planning on returning at the same time the next day. 

In the middle of cleansing the buck's body, it's feelers still embedded inside his cocked ears were whispering direct commands to the malleable demon. Establishing the necessary Hypnosir anchors, bolstering the connection between pleasure and pain — affectionately caressing a bruised teat, vacillating from circling his clenched entrance to cursory plucks at his hardened nipples, the final caress was focused on his worn-out length. Imbuing the Radio Demon's mind with poisonous thoughts — he WANTED to come back, if he ever wanted to anything enjoy anything again, strictly from being milking here — it elaborated on it's grand scheme by slyly letting go a portion of itself to crawl inside the distracted Overlord’s coat pocket. 

The vines and tentacles withdrawn, sliding back into the depths of the foliage covering the cave’s gloomy corner, getting to his feet Alastor had no inclination that the instructions bestowed upon him were anything but his own. 

The silence inside his muddied thoughts was thoroughly authoritative. Loathe to leave, however late it was, some hours had passed — extending a hand to conjure a portal back to his private sanctuary, looking back on the imperturbable plant lurking torpidliy in it’s corner, Alastor felt indebted to his Master acting as his saviour.

Safeguarding their big secret was a daunting task. In the early hours of the next morning, adding an extra gift to the original command was an afterthought, Alastor's idealistic plan was thought to be welcomed by the creature.

After purchasing the original instructed ‘gifts’ he felt was appropriate ( another deception, an implanted suggestion ) was likelier if he were to make his sojourn into the city a private affair, avoiding questions by the Hotel crew. 

It was none of their business what the hotelier was up to in his spare time. 

DAY II

His eyes on the gifts he’d brought — one he had brought along with good intentions, the two other gifts that were in actuality a direct order. Indirectly proffered, the whispers in the Radio Demon's ears were gleaned as his own voice. Succinct as the Voice was, the Hypnotised Overlord had welcomed it. 

Crossing the threshold from the portal inside his Hotel room opened up directly into the mysterious cave, Alastor had felt his gifts would assuredly be welcomed. Only a night had passed, although the hours after dawn broke were fleeting, to the demon it certainly felt like an age already. Time was being wasted — precious time put to better use submitting under the enigmatic creature's firm touch, the buck eager to relive that rapture all over again.

The demon's thoughts were electric this time, as he entered the cave, the portal melding shut behind him. Everything was happening too fast, too much to process, to proceed with a clear head. 

After he had fetched the items he had promised himself to introduce today, Alastor had spent less than an hour at the Hotel's bar in the lobby before he felt the strings beginning to tug, a persistent nagging background noise that may have had something to do with the fact of the matter that he was categorically tipsy. Not pickled, not like his bartender the perpetually soused gambler, nor the spider demon who dabbled in every vice at least oncebefore it was bedtime.

The Radio Demon was sipping from a glass of deserved rye when he'd felt the call.

Pushing away from the bar, taking his drink with him, prompting a quizzical look from Husk and an amused smirk from Angel Dust, the hotelier returned to his room — only to find nothing amiss. Nothing was out of place. There wasn't even the presence of magicks in the air, at least nothing that the Overlord could discern, sober or out.

Setting his now empty shot glass down on the vanity table, Alastor reaching down into the nondescript brown paper bag left on his chair, he took out the first purchased gift to trial it.

Straightening in front of the three mirrors atop the antique vanity, Alastor reached behind his neck to slip on and fasten the buckle of the black leather collar he had bought. The silver tongue wasn't quite so easy to buckle himself, unseen but navigating by touch behind his neck as he watched his reflection in the mirrors. Not even his Shadow doppelganger had been invited to the secretive meeting, nor told about it. Upon his return from the cave yesterday, Alastor was fairly strict in the clean up and eradication of proof that the sinner had been anywhere exciting or controversial.

Lifting his gaze to study his reflection, trailing clawtips over the conditioned leather, following down the curves of the accessory to the D ring resting over the hollow of his throat — snapping the clip of the matching chain leash onto the ring, a smooth voice was without warning filling Alastor's engaged thoughts with the first instructions of the morning. 

Left hanging over the back of the chair in front of him, the Radio Demon's coat was folded in half; a lump shifting inside an inner pocket as the creature's drone-tendril continued to speak. It had made sure first, scanning the room with it's own private magick, to confirm the buck's private sanctuary remained private with nobody else sharing their company.

The lump moving, pulling itself to reposition it's discreet body closer to Alastor's to enjoy the faint heat rising off the demon's body, it's Voice was intoned with enthusiasm — chiefly, entrancement, It wanted to talk of the ecstasy the deer demon was exager to revisit, the new secrets awaiting him, how he would do anything to ensure the second rendezvous was going to even surpass expectations over the first. 

Mind cluttered with everything the creature had given him, recalling not the trauma buried beneath the carefully concealed suppressed memories but the paradise that cave had bestowed, Alastor's attention was gravitating toward the respite the new safe haven lent him. In spite of the unknown thing living in his coat pocket interjecting his concentration on his reflection, suggesting why not drop in now, nobody would be missing him for daylight hours at the most, the clock was ticking… Groggy for reasons unknown to him, his brain fogged up beyond comprehension, Alastor had last night wearily climbed into his welcoming bed as soon as he had returned from the other place that he’d now come to regard as sacred. It's sanctity was to be closely guarded.

Sleeping off the hours of forced milking and orgasm control, the Hypnosis and Aphrodisiacs had taken a heavy toll on the Radio Demon's body. Not used to that much intimate activity acted out on a dime, the deep exhaustion he’d succumbed to the instant he’d gathered himself on the still-made bed, the thing waiting quietly in his coat’s pocket had briefly left the confines of it's chosen prison to explore once it had felt satisfied the Overlord’s deepened breathing verified his slumber.

Comprised of a single tentacle, the piece of the creature had ventured forth to explore the Radio Demon's naked body on it's own, in the dark. 

Completely blind without eyes, it didn't need those primitive organs to see — touch and the power of knowledge was enough.

Slithering, it had determined the edges of the warm body ahead, and determined it's entry point. After so many years exiled to the cave, it needed to sustain itself in the time spent apart from it's main body. Otherwise, it feared it may die out here, too far away from it's body to reunite for refreshment.

Wriggling into the sliver of a gap between rumpled bedding and the buck’s motionless body, the lone tentacle squeezed it's way under it's pet's sleeping form to find a teat. The spent organ shrunken back to it's regular state, the warm organ was however flattened between the weight of his pelvis and the unyielding mattress. Latching onto the first teat the tendril had found was a feat in it's own right; leery of waking up the deer demon, the tendril’s placid suckling was circumspect. Some milk was coming in — the undulation of it's svelte length pressed into Alastor's bony hip and inert udder were unnoticed, nothing of importance to stir the exhausted Overlord's slumber. Breathing deeply, sleeping on his stomach with his arms hugging a pillow to bury his face into it, his sleep wasn't restless. The buck's tail motionless as well, only the slightest indication of his back rising and falling gave away that the Radio Demon wasn't actually dead.

After unable to quench it's desires out of greed rather than truthful hunger, the tendril had sought out the other teat after shortly exhausting the supply in the first quadrant, a sleepy murmur from Alastor had the tendril wriggling back to retreat back to his coat’s pocket.

Upon waking at early dawn, then feeling the beginnings of restlessness, Alastor had noticed the faint throb in his groin, and had leaked a little milk in the night. Embarrassed as this was most definitely not the first time it had happened, after bundling up the soiled sheet for laundry, Alastor had spent time in the shower before getting ready and embarking on the quick excursion into the city for the three gifts. 

The thing in the pocket had accompanied him all the way, and slyly manipulated Alastor's perusal of the BDSM accessories by discreetly touching him through his coat. Either a caress of a hip, or below his navel, recognising the erogenous zones as convenient triggers to work up the Radio Demon's anchored instructions to return to his Master for his rewards. 

A short layover was squeezed into Alastor's shortened time left, purchasing the third gift. The shop and the gift itself, the thing did not understand, but it let him splurge because it made the Pet happy, and keening the Pet happy was paramount to guaranteeing the prized nutrients rich nourishment for itself. The milk it had stolen last night as enough to live on, for the course of a morning, but no longer than that. Maintaining the Radio Demon's simmering arousal was a task better suited for it's main body, in private.

It hadn't any suspicions when Alastor had left his coat behind when he decided to mingle with the other Hotel tenants, a decision the creature was happy to oblige. Left alone to think, it had nothing to do but wait for the deer demon's return so it could instil on him the time had come to recall his promise.

That was why the creature had called the Radio Demon back sooner than it had anticipated, panicked by the fading familiarity of the Overlord's drunken condition. 

Now, reassured that all was well, it wanted to guide the sinner's thoughts back to it's selfish agenda. 

Giving the chain leash a tentative tug, feeling the change in it's weight as he straightened it hard enough to exert pressure on the back of his neck, the hidden thing spoke aloud for the last time, the briefest flicker of remembrance sparking in the buck’s blank eyes. 

“Caged like veal.”

The old-world phrase was all it took for the Radio Demon's pulse to beat hard, sweat prickling the nape of his neck, the leather collar wicking. 

Hurriedly shrugging his coat on, still oblivious to the piece of the creature hiding within it, Alastor picked up the heavy paper bag and summoned the portal that bridged his personal quarters to the safe haven. 

Threatening his first visit back to the cave through a stumble after stepping down from the shimmering portal, quick on the recovery, the Radio Demon's scrutiny of the dim cave was pointless — as soon as the portal evaporated, a strong pair of arms had pulled the Radio Demon into a fond embrace from behind.

The muscular limbs had crossed over the unsuspecting sinner's chest, gliding one large hand down Alastor's stomach, stopping to fondle his crotch shamelessly: the other hand brought up to caress his chest, fingers extended to delicately pick up the chain leash Alastor had left draped over his shoulder. Tracing the lines of the individual links one by one, as if counting them, the figure looming behind Alastor hadn't yet properly introduced itself — but it needn’t have. In the seconds that followed, a pair of tentacles had slunk from the creature's manifested humanoid facade to writhe through the thick fur framing the deer demon's fluffy ears, slithering inside to pick up on communicating with it's Pet — and imbibe him with further demands. 

Clutching the paper bag, Alastor was distracted from presenting the gifts inside it, tipping his head back as the creature's fingers roamed all over his body, fingertips lingering over his chest and belly, the growing bulge in his crotch.

Inside his head, the Voice spoke, acting as if on behalf of the waking desires coming to the surface of Alastor's buzzing mind, his burgeoning arousal stirred by the creature's humanoid form tantalisingly toying with Alastor's hardness.

“You haven't been milked for hours. 

You are desperate for the reprieve. 

It is inconceivable you have waited this long. 

You will never wait this long again. 

You WILL submit to milking, for without it you will suffer unimaginable loss. 

You will not know happiness unless you are being milked. 

Strip.” 

Tilting his pelvis, giving a soft moan, the Radio Demon pushed his groin into the creature's splayed fingers, eager to relieve the pressure that hadn't even yet begun in his rousing sacs. Shifting the paper bag to one hand, pushing his monster's hand out of the way to get to his belt, the Radio Demon fumbling in his hurry to unbuckle his pants one-handed. Hooking his thumb under the belt and waistbands of his pants and briefs, managing to drag them down halfway off one hip, Alastor postponed undressing to unveil the last of the gifts, including the impulsively bought surprise.

Unrolling the folded top and reaching inside, the amused buck had just brought out the new bottle of whiskey sat inside the aluminium  wine ice-pail, the glass still cold — as the two of them were busy enjoying each other, the bipedal monster had started moving the sinner toward the corner where it's real form lay waiting, vines and tentacles gliding out to make furrows in the silvered sand, stopping at the toes of Alastor's hooves.

Previously exhilarated by the unfaltering tremors in it's Pet's thin frame, playing it's fingers over the exposed skin of the buck's midriff as he pulled his shirt free of his pants and belt, an excited shiver rippling through the deer demon's body, the monster hesitated.

It's face canted alongside Alastor's, it's impassive shadowed features twisting into a look of concern, of suspicion… The scent of alcohol wa  acrid on the Overlord’s exhales, the repulsive aroma bringing with it a burst of ajger into the creature’s incensed expression. Seizing Alastor's wrist with it’s own hands, it had by accident made him drop the liquor bottle, the whisky falling from Alastor's grasp to the ground and shatter in two as the fragile glass struck one of the sharp rocks fringing the plant’s groundcover amassed in the corner.

Whilst most of the whisky was immediately soaked into the ground, the sand darkening as the liquid disappeared into the earth. More than a fair amount had splashed, spraying as either droplets onto the leaves and flowers, or nearer to the aroused couple’s crowded feet as heavier splashes. 

As soon as the whisky landed, a haze of smoke steamed up from the sizzling plant, it's skin burning under the spilled whiskey, vines and roots hurriedly drawing back in mingled alarm and searing pain — blooms closing up tight, tentacles coiling into a ball, the monster's humanoid form pulling back on Alastor to retreat a pace from it's injured real self pulling itself back into a dark cavity crack behind a curtain of vines.

At it’s unspoken behest, a team of sinuous leafed vines from the quivering mass of plants huddled in the corner whipped forward to anchor the deer's ankles in place, at first Alastor was too shocked by the rush of events to properly understand just what had happened. In his excitement to please the monster, unaware at the time it had possessed the ability to transform a part of itself, the Radio Demon had wanted to toast the success of their new partnership, in the traditional way. The bucket belonged to the original instructions, but the whisky was his idea. A stupid one.

Eyes sweeping over the plant’s defensive posture, the flowers now invisible, the leaves furled tight, the Overlord was evaluating the distress his last gift had invoked, purely by accident, when a sharp yank on his leash had brought him to stand up on his toes, his pointed hooves sinking a little into the dense sand. His wrists growing numbed and tingling where the monster gripped his arms, it's free hand was finishing the job of stripping Alastor — tugging his briefs further down to cinch around his spread thighs, unzipping the fly, the bulge of his roused udders spilling out partially, his cock softened on the middle seam, the thing in his coat pocket was leaving it's safe space to enforce the Rules. 

Further yanks and bold wriggling under his clothes were torlRn at  he stitching, the seams flapping back to fall at his braced hooves, the vines dragging his ruined coat away to clear the ground.

The Radio Demon shuddered, recognising the incoming discipline, however his panic-stricken thoughts were focused on the conventional method of spanking.

Elongating as it wriggled, then shrinking back, then all over again, the piece of the creature creeping over the loosened strap of Alastor's belt onto his hip, then making it's way south. Disregarding the rise of the udders when he sucked ina deep breath, the thing continued downwards to follow the seam of the organ, resolute.

Shifting uncomfortably in the creature's grasp, the feedback of the detached tendril squirming under his tightened milk bag to slip between his thighs was almost too much. Jerking, a swift swat from the creature’s hand jiggling an udder, Alastor crying out, to close that door on the invasive thoughts filling up his distressed mind it was too late. Squirming in place, panting loudly as he rolled his tongue out to drool, it was impossible to ignore the lone tentacle probing at his clenched painful hole, Alastor whimpering as the probing worked at his throbbing  entrance still hurting and raw from yesterday’s brutal  multiple penetration; an over-excited nuzzling at his rosebud until the Voice hushed into his ears — “ALLOW ME” — so the Radio Demon meekly obeyed, relaxing his body to permit the tentacle entry.

Burying it's nose in, the thing propelled itself inside, making sure that half it's length was left outside Alastor's fluttering ring, anchoring it's tail to the slope of the buck's taint.

There, it began to rub furiously at the Radio Demon's prostate, feeling it immediately respond to the abrupt stimulation inside and out.

The Radio Demon had instantaneously bore down on the wriggling intrusion, gasping, rolling his hips forward until another smack to both udders elicited a pained groan. Breathless again, Alastor’s lucid thoughts were ablaze, his untrained hole shuddering, arousal radiating from the rubbed prostate into his lower gut — the swell of his udders tightening, heat rising, the deer demon couldn't do anything but allow the tentacle to abuse his prostate, massaging it in order to expedite the production of milk. It was by far the fastest way to encourage it; regular nursing was second, but the most natural, A deep blush reddening his cheeks, salty tears burning, Alastor's limp ears shook as the subtle rocking of his pelvis grew from a succinct tremor to a rhythmic and feral pace.

This was all about punishing the Radio Demon, for jeopardising a collection of his milk. Tainted with alcohol that clearly hurt the plant, overstimulating the buck to force a yield out of him before the proper harvest could commence, was a great opportunity to better train the demon about the simple rules guarding their tradeoff. Refusing to let the deer enjoy the crude milking, the tentacle barreled past Alastor's threshold for it by insisting on rubbing that knot even after the Radio Demon had came on his own belly. Ribbons of seed splattering his stomach and heavy udders, the relentless undulation inside his spasming hole was fraying Alastor's endurance.

Frantic moans trailing off, Alastor's chest and bely heaving, finally the separate tentacle had ceased it's ministrations. Absolutely still inside the deer demon's rear, Alastor's arousal past it's peak, it's intensity leaving him disorientated and limp, the stuffed feeling from having the thing plugging him like an ordinary butt-plug was building up the impression that he was truly owned, claimed exclusively. 

Breathing hard, his pulse slowing down, the Voice in his ears answered the unspoken questions that the creature had predicted the  sinner was going to say. The vines rustling amongst his thick fur, gently rubbing in circular motions the tensed muscles pinning his ears back, it's tone betrayed by the hard edge of flint as it whispered it's next commands. 

“You know you've been a GOOD BOY. You had only made one mistake.  

You will pay for what you owe. Again.  

Every time you waste milking, you will be Punished. 

You will visit me if you want to be milked. You will not know happiness until you do.  

Now, you will pay your dues. 

Obey.“ 

Whining plaintively, Alastor knew the discipline was deserved, he had to endure. But that knowledge didn't lessen the pain it caused him, the unwavering implications that by trying to do right by his master, that he'd made things worse.

Made to lean forward, the monster's hands guiding the demon's to brace against the close cave wall, claws splayed and his legs tugged further to stand shoulder-width apart by the vines securing his ankles to the ground firmly without any slack. Then, those adept fingers reaching around the Radio Demon's hips to yank his pants and underwear firmly down to pool around his knees, locking his posture to stiffen as he faced the wall — his skin prickling with anxiety as he felt the monster's wet tongue flick at the juncture of his neck, the vines cradling his head growing still as the monster made a series of deliberated movements behind him. 

Bent forward slightly, Alastor kept his eyes locked onto a random spot on the wall; pulse racing faster, fear rising, Alastor did not object when the monster lifted his tail to expose his buttocks, the authoritative handling sparking a violent shiver up his spine. Chewing on his bottom lip in apprehension, the Radio Demon tasted the metallic tang of blood when he'd suddenly bitten it as a slender tentacle was gliding down between his asscheeks, moving into the cleft separating his inner thighs and arcing up in front to cradle his full udders, it's tip nosing his navel absently. 

In the same movement as if it were an individual limb, the monster had dropped one hand to fondle the Radio Demon's right udder, thumbing the fat teat to tease out a dollop of cream. The other hand supporting the buck’s upper half with a solid hold on his leash bringing his head back, Alastor hadn't any idea what was going to happen, but therein was the strength of the new Pet’s resolve that regardless whatever his master did to him, it was deserved, And Alastor had made a promise, as he closed his eyes tight, readying himself for the incoming pain, that he would never cross the creature ever again.

“I know you won’t,“ that Voice intoned with a higher level of smugness, as the creature brought back the tentacle splitting his buttocks to press it's smooth skin into Alastor's taint, Alastor's dread spiking — “ You will learn the hard way to understand good manners.” 

Without another ounce of warning, the monster suddenly drove the single tentacle back to sweep between Alastor's legs, effortlessly grinding it's sinuous muscle back and forth rapidly to floss the incredibly tender curves of the buck's throbbing organ and cleft, the vigorous pumping prompting Alastor to rise up higher on his toes — except he had only succeeded in pitching forward by a fraction of what he wanted to do, his keening whines bursting into wretched BLEATS, miserable gasps interjected as the creature's fingers encircled a bloated teat to painfully milk it directly over the aroused tip. Pinching the twitching sphincter shut in recurrent motions, timing the forced extraction with the frenzied but evenly paced thrusts of the tentacle dividing his inner thighs and asscheeks.

The rough thrusts were rocking the Radio Demon on his hooves kept firmly planted, more vines creeping up to ensnare more of the buck's trembling calves. The incessant friction was chafing the deer demon's sensitive flesh, the soft skin rubbed raw and throbbing with combined want and pain altogether stupefying the humiliated demon. 

Each pump unified with the strong fingers and thumb periodically squeezing the teat, fresh — but liquor-tainted — milk was streaming out in spurts, painting the cave wall white with the foamy milk. Alastor couldn't help watching himself be forced to let his milk down, watch how his precious fluid was being wasted all because the Overlord had no sense of self control. It was supposed to be reserved for feeding the creature — not mindlessly thrown away.

The puddles of milk was starting to spread, the squirts of the new feeding the mess to inch outwards along where the rocks were breaking up the foot of the wall. 

The Radio Demon's organ becoming warmer, the pinched teat blushing a darker pink as the digits stubbornly continued to pull on the irritated flesh. The sore organ divided by unspent lust and forced milking, Alastor was squirming, arching his back in order to gain a reprieve from the punishment. 

The monster refused to give into It's Pet's pleas, intent on chasing up the inexcusable discretion bringing an alcoholic beverage to ‘share’, or drink it alone. The alcoholic content was more than inappropriate for plant-life — It had to make sure that the wilful Radio Demon nevermade a mistake like that again.

As the punishment went on, each forward thrust of the tentacle compressing the buck's udders to express milk with a hard pinch, only one of the two teats were seen to. The pain was intensifying for him, as was the visuals of spilling so much, yet the creature was unemotional and expressionless. 

Smelling the odour of booze on It's Pet's breath was due to trigger another round of discipline, most likely repeat the milking on the other full teat — but the monster had considered Alastor had by now repented for his crime, strove to fix his outstanding flaws. 

The Radio Demon was panting feverishly long after the monster had ceased the discipline; slipping the tentacle to embrace the pulsating udders, curling it's tip to rub consoling caresses into the abused flesh. Broken out in a cold sweat, Alastor winced, straining to hear the next bit of advice from the strange Voice.

None came.

A tickling feeling creeping up, Alastor hadn't bothered to tear his gaze away from the shock of the milk plastered over the well. He knew the touch well. 

It belonged to a cluster of tentacles making their way up his body, twining around his trembling legs and hips, darting to possessively cradle his drained organ, sweeping over his leaking cock and lovingly stroking his lethargic body. Ignoring the sheet of milk glazing his resilient flesh, kneading gently the sore areas where the rough thrusts had bruised his skin, Alastor was too tired to reconsider the brazen moans of gratitude, the appreciation for teaching him better manners — rolling his hips, softly grinding into the fondling tendrils, a swift smack stinging where his thighs met his buttocks quickly stopped that — a new touch tracing his dry lips had the deer demon loyally part his lips obediently to admit the ribbed siphon.

Pushing past over his tongue, settling over the rising swell at the back of throat, a stiffened jolt of the siphon-vine and it was shortly after pumping a constant stream of it's potent Aphrodisiac.

Gulping down the sweetened, warmed nectar like it was going out of fashion; lips pursed around the thick shaft, leaning more forward earnestly, kneading his claws into the solid rock, Alastor's long tail was wagging excitedly, his ears pinned back and quivering with the shivers tingling his whole malnourished frame. The lewd gulps were loud, unabashed; Alastor drinking the esteemed reward with abandon,  lids half-lowered in ecstasy as he drank.

The tendrils affectionately caressing his shrunken bag were lively, the opposite of the Radio Demon's drowsiness. The progressive rubs were easing the buck's tension, encouraging the feel-good hormones through the stirring of new milk production, and feeding the impoverished buck with a one of a kind nectar that would break his addiction to liquor. As the demon continued to suckle, rivulets of the golden nectar winding down his jaw line, attentive tendrils sweetly stroking his undulating throat with knuckled tips to assist with the hastened swallows like the Overlord didn't know how to quench his thirst. 

Another knuckled set gently nudging an awakened teat to test his resilience — the heat pooling in his gut was filling, the surplus Aphrodisiac strengthening the demon's arousal as efficiently as it satisfied his hunger for a feed. 

An Indignant growl when the siphon eventually withdrew, one of the tendrils curled inside an ear moving fast to pinch, Alastor relented. 

Feeling nausea sweep over him briefly, licking his lips nervously, Alastor turned his head to follow the first instruction since the retribution’s scolding had ended; the vines securing his ankles loosening to free his legs.

Indisposed to move, a firm tug on the leash had the trained Radio Demon moving there and then. No hushed commands were given, no prompt directions to guide the way — only the unyielding tug on his chain had the Overlord moving of his ‘own’ volition.

Following the taut chain was the only guide he needed; walking steadily, albeit slower than presumed because of the rough punishment, the wet clothes sticking to his skin in perspiration and spent milk.

A stop was made on the way back to the monster's den — the leash grew slack once they had reached the tree stump in the center of the cave, and a second harshertug on the chain bade Alastor to hold his shins tightly, bending over to present his faintly blushed backside to the stump.

It wasn't the stump itself that moved — it was only a dead tree — the monster Itself taking a pace back behind Alastor, dipping a free hand into the bowl of nectar, it brought up a palm of the amber fluid to slick the buck's painful rear, and deeper between his spread thighs.

The cold sap oozing, it slid into every crevice, cooling the inflamed skin where the tentacle flossing had rubbed raw. Grimacing, Alastor's strangled gasps were hoarse, accepted as simple reactions to his seared flesh slicked with the curative sap, arching his back as the monster slid two fingers into his anus to rub more inside. The greased fingers working at his inner ring, occasionally spreading him, Alastor had to suppress the urge to ride those questing digits, the temptation lost partially because he understood it’d turn out to be a savage spanking, and partially because the fingers exited to tease his taint, rubbed hard into his responsive body. The sap sticky, only a handful of the Aphrodisiac dripping off his warmed udders and inner thighs, the monster finished mitigating the worst of the pain with a few more lingering rubs before a tap above his tailbone together with a hearty yank on the least prompted the Radio Demon to stumble forward to follow.

There was no hesitation even as the chain, the monster at the other end of it, pulled him across the thick bed of vines and roots, the plants moving out of the way where necessary to permit the Radio Demon's sharp hooves bared clearance to step.

At the back of the cave’s corner was a darker space, previously disregarded as shadows from a crack in the rockface.. This was not so. Concealed behind the heavy layer of greenery and climbing roots, revealed a dark tunnel. The cavity was just slim enough to admit a single body through, one at a time; the monster went first, leading Alastor by the leash. Navigating the darkness within was effortless due to the sinner's nocturnal eyesight, his lens flashing green as he looked up from the bare terrain of the smooth ground to meet his Master's — the creature blank, internally conscientious of any alarming signs the Radio Demon may not have disguised in the fallout of hid impromptu punishment.

The deer demon's own expression was undeniably anxious, but it belied an eagerness to please. Looking forward to a reward after the brutal punishment, the distinctive absence of the Voice was in light of the heartening developments from hereon then was overlooked as meaningless, It surely meant he had done everything right. 

The nectar massaged inside him a distant ache as he moved, his steps grown more critical, stooping lower to enter the narrowed tunnel, at times turning halfway to pass a sharp outcrop, the demon and the monster emerged into an open space not as tail as the main lair’s cave, but more open with no jutting rock formations or dead trees, except for a newly formed addition to the monster's home at the other end. 

Not exactly in the middle of the claustrophobic room, but it had space all round the sides, so the new structure was recognised as none other but a milking stall.

The stanchion was raised off the ground by less than a foot, a slope at the open mouth of the stall free of debris. Smooth ground, hardpacked soil instead of the glistening sand, the stall in particular bore a substrate of softened moss-covered turf, possibly something better described as peat than solid dirt. Stray roots arcing over the gnarled wooden slats making up the two side boards; these flanked Alastor as another stern tug on the chain motivated him to enter the stall, going down onto his knees, then reaching the other end on his hands jointly. The end of the stall was open save for two thickened boards adjacent to the buck's encroaching antlers, as soon as his head was past the gap both plankr at once slotted sideways parallel to the trapped Radio Demon’s upturned neck, acting as a yoke to keep him pinned in place.

Surprised, pulling back with a start, a panicked bleat escaping his still-Aphrodisiac moistened lips, the subsequent dropping of the Hypnosis Lantern had materialised out of the darkness, casting it's strong light directly into the Overlord's stricken face.

Pulling back again, rattling the stuck-fast boards with his shoulders, it was a fleeting moment of despair before Alastor fell straight back into the Trance, the stiffness leaving his clenched fingers and limbs, his paled features smoothing out into a docile expression, his incensed shock dissolved into submission.

The Lantern held it's position, mere inches from the enamored Radio Demon's face, lighting up his face and body through the gaps in the stall’s frame. The chain leash clinked as the monster drew it higher to loop under and over the tie-railing above, the loose length dangling to Alastor's left out of reach outside the enclosure.

Inevitably, the same yellow and black swirling vortex returned to Alastor's transfixed eyes, the lids widened as if he had without warning absorbed some incomprehensible morsel of knowledge that the creature had gifted, knowledge that was indispensable. 

The spirals swirling, no begging or an end, the Radio Demon's vacant stare did not move from the fixed target dawdling so close to his face. The colour returning to his cheeks, the stripped emotions welling up inside, Alastor hadn't even noticed when additional tentacles had slipped down and up his pants’ legs, severing the fabric at the seams to drop away at his knees, other vines manifested to yank his waistband lower to bunch as far as they could go, stretched around his bent knees. The nectar had turned his skin glossy, the reddened blush of his rear and the slope of his udders disappearing between his thighs quickly covered by the growing mass of vines enveloping the buck's body — eliciting a startled noise from the deer demon as a pair of thin feelers were gliding over his back to arc under his ribcage, his back stiffened as the pair sought out his chest, closing in on the two nipples.

Corkscrewing tightly around the soft buds, the feelers calmly squeezing, then increasing the tempo to swallow the stiffening peaks inside their peeled maws; the damp warmth suckling, the unyielding suction was sensational, Alastor's breath hitching for the dozenth time that morning, an unexpected shrill cry escaping his clenched jaw as another group of vines belted themselves around his lower back and stomach, sending more feelers creeping over his skin to knead and suck, kiss across his twitching navel and stomach, the longest vine curling around the root of his stirring member to pick it up in a firm hold. Twisting around the shaft, the flexible tip coiled flushed against his cockhead, the vine’s ribbed shaft and soft leaves were soft and hard together, the shaft rubbing up and down Alastor's length, the coiled end anchored over his leaking slit rubbing the aroused head.

Alastor's surprised cry a one-off, the wave of piteous moans coming out of him were prolonged, the vines hugging his slim frame tighter under it's coils granting him some friction as the vine stroked his cock to thicken, his shaft throbbing with need.

The Lantern steadfast, it’s projected light glowing brighter, the beam narrowing to a single shaft illuminating Alastor's eyes at the same time as one, the leafy buds burrowed inside his head fidgeting, unfurled it's leaves to wrap around the sagging list of the buck's ears, in small doses massaging the muscles making up his ears, progressing to in indulgent yet tenderhearted squeezes as it spoke firmly inside his spinning brain, it's Voice strict and cajoling, more than a tinge of overprotective greed in it's controlled temper. 

Staring blankly back into the blinding light, taking a deep breath through flared nostrils, the vines’ leaves rustling as his earplugs swelled, Alastor's voice matched the Voice’s instructions outloud, feeling an empty hollow begin to ache in the pit of his groin, in spite of the fact that he had quaffed an impressive amount of the plant’s nectar mere minutes ago. 

Even then, the heavy feeling spreading to engulf his udders, acutely aware of a heavy presence materialising right behind his backside;  neither struck fear in him, Alastor's eyes rolling back into his head — gritting his teeth, the monster's skilled fingers reaching below his belly to grope, the Radio Demon's stutter didn't impact his repeating his Master's instructions. 

“REPEAT. You will obey.” 

“I will obey.”

“You love being milked.”

“I love being milked.”

“You will give your all.” 

“I will give my all.”

“You cannot stop unless I will it.” 

“I will not stop unless you will it.”

“You love being milked. You will be milked, until I am satisfied. You will only produce the finest milk. Your worth is your milk. 

You will ONLY come to me for milking. You love it. You will do as I say…”

During this, the creature's fingers were in the first instance skimming the deer demon's hips, roaming lower, thereafter fondling the udders — pointed fingertips sinking into the pulsating bag, in a short time palpating the throbbing organ to encourage milk coming in. 

Alastor's eyes were fluttering erratically, the piercing light stubbornly keeping the Overlord's sight fixated on it's radiant beam: the ruthless kneading at his groin sending an intense surge of oxytocin to swamp his sound understanding of the bizarre circumstances. The Radio Demon had never had roleplay deveop this much, a milking stall and everything, although getting serviced on his hands and knees was not an innovative experience. His breathing coming faster, more ragged, the unprecedented level of the radiating hormones flooding his drained body was more than intoxicating. The hands at the start delicately fondling his pulsating udders, moving onto vigorous strokes coming closer to the stirring teats — the Radio Demon's gasps split into a drawn out, desirous stag’s bawl, both thumbs and forefingers forcing the first stream of milk out in a bold pump of the organ, stripping the teats down and bellying the heavy organ on the return pinch.

The first spray of fresh milk had splattered Alastor's forearms and chest, the tilt of the swollenteat misfired in the creature's fervent jerks, his udders filling up under the duress of the forced stimulation, the fingers clutching the pair coming to a sudden stop, the trapped milk increasing the pressure inside the swelling nipples. 

Grinding his backside into the monster's belly, or whatever was pressed close to his rump, Alastor's gasps remained shrill, digging his claws deeper into the ground in frustration, arching his back in an exaggerated display of willingness to mate, his fluffy tail straining backwards in an offering of his attractive ass.

The creature hadn't in fact forgotten about the vital detail; Alastor had to be bred to induce milk, and this wasn't a fact it loathed at all. Fucking the buck's tight ass was a marvellous gamble, exploring the demon's insides and fulfilling his carnal delights to guarantee the prized milk his unusual body produced — the trade off was mutually rewarding,

It however was not the time yet to breed; pulling the wriggly buck closer to It's large body, keeping one set of fingers and thumb pinching a teat, the other hand busied lustily massaging the other half of the bloated organ, often interjecting the firm rubs with a sprightly succession of swats to the ends of the nipples, pulling an anguished bawl again from the desperate buck. The Voice's instructions resonating in his head, Alastor didn't want to understand why the creature wasn't yet fucking him stuffed to burst — he was desperate to have the milking happen before his full organs relieved of the annoying weight, the exhilarating thrill of being milked unrealised.

Moaning, the sinner rutting his pelvis blatantly into the kneading hands, not minding the stinging coming from his chest as the suckers there speeded up their ardent suckling, Alastor's brazen push for his promised reward was met with a sharp slap to his throbbing cock, the vine holding it stilling it's subtle pumps to cinch tightest around the base. The Radio Demon's overreaching arousal unsatisfied, inching his trembling thighs further apart as he did his best to lift his ass higher, his shoulders pinned into the boards flanking his neck, the buck's final appeal for the glorified reward was addressed — the scrape of the metal pail slid haphazardly in front of his knees, the satisfaction that came with the first squirts of milk jetting into the dry tin was music. 

The wispy feelers nuzzling his stomach, tracing the hard hollows and curves of his thin frame with gentle kisses, licks moistening his sweat-bathed skin, the Radio Demon couldn't return the affections, tethered the way he was. Although the temptation was there, showing his appreciation for the never ending praise was out of his reach — the commanding Light was all powerful, drawing him into a world of bliss, the buck's guttural groans the bare minimum effort be was allowed to do. Curling his claws into the soil, keening, he pushed his rear back again, seeking the warmth usually associated with a living body. There was a body, that of the creature's summoned form, yet without the warmth. The plant monster had the bearings of a living, organic creature; the similarities ended with the lack of a beating pulse. 

Hissing past clenched teeth, Alastor raised his ass still higher, dipping his shoulders the lowest he could achieve, accomplishing the best depiction of an animal in heat, lusting to be taken raw — the yellow and black vortex swirling steadily, the Radio Demon's rumbled purr was cut short with a cruel yank on his flashing tail — one hand disappeared from fondling his heaving organ to stretch the tail painfully back, the second hand never straying from cradling the swollen udders.

Hefting the weight, teasing a teat with a thumb, the creature's body was actually melting — transforming. The humanoid shape was changing, sinking down to grow new vines, roots climbing over the stall’s boards and the flattened ground, the creature's hands turning over into vines free of irritating fronds and thorns. 

The center mass of the creature's body, where it's alternate form’s abdomen used to be, was pressing into Alastor’s offered ass, a group of different sized vines clinging to his sweaty skin and hooked over his hips, his quivering thighs. The suckers undisturbed by the rapid transfiguration had sustained suckling the hotelier’s sore nipples, casting more feelers out to futilely seek more protrusions to suck, skirting his belly button and settling for the glob of fluids dripping from his weeping cock.

The vine withholding Alastor's climax from him with another squeeze on the root, tapping the engorged slit, exciting the new feelers to stroke his throbbing shaft and the reddened crown, Alastor had all of a sudden dropped in height, pushing his shoulders and collarbone painfully into the rough hewn boards — a multitude of varigated vines had been probing at his tight hole, an ongoing torture without penetration, when out of his Hypnotised dreams and into real life had those four vines without warning RAMMED deep inside his yearning body.

The four broad girths of vines were studiously pumping into his spasming entrance, stretching his core to the brink of fissures tearing, pulling an anguished yet satisfied bugle of arousal out of the Radio Demon.

The coordinated plunge had vanquished the rising emptiness numbing his core; the subsequent rhythmic rocking sending wave after wave of pleasure, temporarily lifting Alastor’s limp knees and shins off the ground on the onset of every thrust inside,  Alastor’s bruised ring stretched wide around the group of thick limbs. 

Twisting as they fucked him hard, their entwined lengths were dragging and gliding over his inflamed prostate in frequent bursts of  quickened pumps, the buck's ragged grunts wet with arousal, strings of drool swaying from Alastor's slackened lips. The vortex contained within his eyes had erupted into a new psychedelic display, zig-zags of green supplementing the circular swirls of obsidian and gold. 

The feral fucking wasn't the main course: full to leak on their own, the Radio Demon's lactating udders were dripping, the breeding instigating the flow of milk in a new volume. The yield of milk was in dire need of release, the fat droplets of escaped nourishment escalated to frequent squirts of milk; altogether too much was left to drain into the soil, or tracking along Alastor's shuddering body to slick his skin. The hand originally holding his tail out of the way, turned into another vine with the others, slunk over his bony hip to catch a swinging teat to pinch the base — the other former hand still clutching it's own half since the beginning of the entrapment, both coiled tightly over and under the tightened milk bag — the Radio Demon's shrill bleat signalling the first explosive yield, the twin sprays of milk splattering the buck's churning abdomen and his sprawled forearms, arcs of spent white froth gathering on the high points of his elbows and prominent ribcage. The second or third squirts were aimed proficiently into the bucket brought into the hidden tunnel — thereafter, the next streams of fresh milk hitting the pail was like a broken record, the repeated sharp noise of fluid on a hard surface’s contact augmenting the hypnotic trance the Radio Demon was lost in. 

Drooling, absolutely and positively drunk on the exhilaration of being milked, despite how unpleasant first then undoubtedly painful overmilking was, the Overlord’s mind was in pieces, perpetually drowning in the aroused delights.

The vines relentlessly pulling and squeezing his throbbing teats, the pulsating udders barely undulating under the forced milking because of the unaccustomed amount of overstimulated milk trapped. The overfull bag was drawn tight to Alastor's loins and belly, the slicked sides chafing the deer demon's inner thighs as the four vines continued to pump into his throbbing ass, gliding over his aching gland in punishing plunges. 

The milking was uncompromising, the rhythmic rocking and squeezing unbroken as Alastor fought for a second release of a different kind — the solitary vine withholding his cock's load was getting past the barrier of the Hypnosis, at first Alastor's irritated whines ignored, the suckers lazily circling the twinging head, lapping at the trickle of translucent fluid.

Tail wagging madly, his bleeding hole fluttering, at long last did the monster notice it's Pet's rising distress.

The Radio Demon was pawing his hooves and knees into the ground, pushing his arms against the base of the boards locking his neck: lowering his upper half, the buck was straining to find friction, an agonised gasp breaking his incessant panting, an accidental bump from one of the vines toying with his udders had provided a brief respite. The veins bulging, the spongy flesh pinched by the vine was changing colour as the sensitivity escalated to new heights — the limb refused to let him climax until it had deemed him worthy, increasing the power of the so-called Reward. 

The pace established, the four vines thrusting, glazed with slick and sap, broken leaves sticking to the Radio Demon's glossy skin, the plant had a few more rules to enforce before the final release.

Sweeping under his belly, a free vine dodging the squirming tendrils working at his bruised nipples, navel, and bloated organ, this last vine’s job was to preserve the purity of the expressed milk.

Nosing it's way, using Alastor's chest and abdomen as a volatile guide, this vine upon reaching the stiffened cock twitched, flicking it's tongue quizzically into the cock’s oozing slit — a frantic buck of his hips had the creature pulling Alastor's tail not rigid over his back, but straightened in the opposite direction, over the pumping vines. The extra leverage lending the four vines better traction, earnestly thrusting shallower to pound the deer's prostate in punishment, Alastor’s high pitched squeal winning him much slower but much harder fucking, his fur bristling in awe of the intensified plunges pounding his spasming inner walls and loosened hole.

The vine assigned to his inflamed cock latching onto the bobbing head ( he squealed again ) slowly swallowed the throbbing seven-inch length by half-inch degrees, the vine’s shaft turning translucent as it's rubbery flesh stretched over the Radio Demon's hard cock like a condom. Once it had sheathed him to the hilt, it's lips sweeping the hot flesh of the udders expanded below, the vine only had to send a ripple down it's own length to encourage Alastor to let go — notwithstanding the fact that it hadn't given him permission to come till now. 

The buck's back stiffening, Alastor's spine then curving outwards, his grating wail accompanied the extra thick loads of cum he shot straight into the guzzling maw, the vine milking his erection just like it had nursed previously on milk, however less greedily. It was slow going, drinking his seed, but in doing so it avoided the dilemma of contaminating the full pail of milk that was dripping over the sides under his rocking torso.

The steady suction on his pulsating length was the pinnacle of his climax, if only for a brief period, the vine drawing on his spasming cock for the alternative feed. The salty seed was an expected necessity of corrupting a new Pet, but seeing as this deer demon had possessed a pair of intoxicating udders, it was something that the creature was happy to overlook. Savouring the memory of the demon's revitalising milk wasn't enough, it HAD to have him, it kept on reminding itself even as it's multiple vines were still impaling him at a furious pace. 

Feeling the demon's walls contract, the creature's rhythmic pumps slowed to a crawl, giving the Radio Demon a reprieve so he could fully appreciate the intensifying blowjob celebrating his flagging member.

The low moans and frequent gasps were being taken over by pained, dubious pleads, hips jerking, the intent vine sucking his erection dry to the final thinned drop — then it hadn't quit, not yet. Milking the seven jerking length had the vibe swallow the member all the way, it's rippling lips steadily squeezing the base of Alastor's shaft to try and coax more fluid out. His slit beginning to burn, the relentless suction forcing him to cry out louder, that vine opposed to an actual proper release of it’s firm grip had just held latched on, yet without the friction or suckling to induce a third climax. The first two had come in rapid succession, the orgasms making Alastor clench down on the vines filling his rear, the feelers roaming over his belly, the suckers taking futile turns at feeding off his nipples, the highs of the climaxes shuddering the Radio Demon's body to a blinded state of fatigue.

Not really blind, but after seeing the new kaleidoscope of brilliant stars, coupled with the Hypnosis Trance dulling his eyesight to everything but the assortment of sexual pleasures surrounding his body's erogenous zones, Alastor couldn't have been happier.

Except for the appalling fact that the creature hadn't yetmilked him to render him depleted, his full organ impotent and lifeless without the required nursing.

As long as his Master was taking It’s full share of the prized sustenance, Alastor wasn't going to know peace, thanks to the strict Trance — the organ was liable to face injury, the likelihood of internal damage from bursting for lack of service was a fate he never wanted. 

Thinking he ought to say something, when the hotelieg had tried this, nothing had come out besides a repetition of the formerly echoed commands, Alastor's strained voice now hoarse and cracked with his needs.

The oxytocin was receding, the lengthening lull in tbe postponed milking taking it's hard toll on the desperate buck. The vines paused under his belly and between his thighs were waiting, trickles of escaped milk splattering their inert bodies as the four largest vines stuffing his core very slowly began picking up it's pace — initially at a snail's pace, a subtle wriggling motion inside his cramping bowels, then the speed was picking up. The hurried undulation of all four vines weren't plunging deeper into the deer demon anymore, but in measured swells squirted shots of it's special nectar straight into his throbbing core. The warmth of the viscous fluid was filling him up rapidly, the four squirts not quite simultaneous with one another, their combined efforts effectively satisfying the buck's body that he had been bred at last, a helpful but not truly required component of the deer's milk production. 

The spurts of the amber fluid welling up in his throbbing entrance, his stretched passage filled to the max with vine and the Aphrodisiac, Alastor's guttural bawl was fading into obscurity — the hotelier sinking down again to wriggle his ass to tempt his imagined Sire for another go.

Relishing the fullness of his painful core and groin wasn't enough to reach maximum satisfaction, no matter how much those vines were intent on hammerinu his swollen prostate; the heavy udders quivering between his sprawled thighs were in dire need of milking. Blinking lethargically, energy drained from the forced orgasms, Alastor made another attempt to speak, “ Please, I LOVEbeing milked, I —”his beseeching tone shortly quelled by a tentative caress of his bloated sacs. The slicked organ heaving, while the buck hunched his back to roll his pelvis forward in longing, he whimpered as a feeble warning that his time was running out. 

It made no difference to the creature, it's vines lugging themselves free of his gaping entrance: the bruised cavity oozing some blood, the reddened void leaking the ejaculatd gold nectar to gush at the first moment of dismounting him.

The afterglow of his multiple climaxes still washing over his sapped body in great rolling shudders and an infrequent bounce of his cock still buried inside the other vine's damp maw, the passion in how the original vines recommenced stripping his swollen teats swiftly before skipping the second half of the preliminary process to latch snugly onto his full bag had pretty much made Alastor delirious with love for the plant.

Two sinuous vines a piece, the tendrils encircling the fat nipples had restored their original tempo of pumping the sacs to jet the treasured milk. The streams of pure white nourishment sprayed directly into the squirming mass of tentacles and vines both gathering to enjoy the luxury it's Pet had ‘volunteered’ to give away, the roiling carpet of serpentine tendrils remaining flat so as not to disturb the Radio Demon's immersion in the unparalleled ecstasy, his pleasure daunting, as the four vines focused on their unflinching tugs. The expressed milk was coming faster than previously, the hot squirts igniting the fervour in the wriggling mass, their undulating slicked forms breaking off into smaller groups of excited tentacles, overcome by the rich sweetness of the buck's milk.

Each spray did not seem enough to placate the creature, it's assortment of limbs having limited options to drink from it's Pet. As talented as the deer demon's anatomy was, the lack of more opportunities to nurse his Master was a grave misfortune for them all. If he had different anatomy better suited for the extended nursing, the cool down period dividing their planned rendezvous might have been shorter, which in the Radio Demon's Hypnotised mind recalled a made-up memory of even greater carnal pleasures. 

Alastor's furtive whines coming higher pitched again, the alternate pulls on his engorged teats bumping his swallowed member in accelerating clashes in demonstration of the creature's hunger, he couldn't take the ‘slow’ pace any longer.

Heart pounding like a drum, the Radio Demon in a valiant effort shoved his weight forward — ramming the boards hard with his shoulders, hairline fractures splitting the wood, these decayed planks were in danger of completely breaking down. Splinters flying when next he’d threw his weight in wrenching himself backwards, the sides of his skull scraping the edges of the wood, carelessly getting his head stuck, almost scalping hmself as his ears snagged on the upcycled wood.

The Lantern suspended in front of his nose had been startled by the gruff display of apparent insubordination, the deeper furrows raked into the damp peat under his fingers filling with the spent milk as he clawed the soil in exasperation, nostrils flaring to huff in anger. The pressure was still building up inside his groin and belly, tucking his tail between his tensed legs in rebellion, the swelled udders flushed in arousal, deprived of the intense milking he felt hadn't been awarded thus far.  

The Vortex spiralling slower, the mixed colours changing direction, the Radio Demon had unwittingly interrupted the Hypnosis, his Trance faltering under the exertions of not a genuine attempt to escape but a petulant call for attention, the misbehaviour demanding an immediate answer NOW,

The deer hadn't stopped his meddling after realisation had dawned on him how his poor impulses had gotten him well and truly stuck; rattling the boards, groaning, some thin trickles of scarlet were making tracks in the hot tears streaming down his flushed cheeks.

It just wasn't FAIR — he had done everything that his Master had bade him to do, besides the bad idea involving the celebratory toast, but what else had he done wrong to justify this delay? The milk wasn't going anywhere. The pressure becoming increasingly more severe as the seconds passed, the sluggish (how he had seen it) milking wasn't satisfying. The extra fuck had stirred his body to produce more nourishment than he could have expressed in time — these frightening thoughts causing Alastor's mind to reel in panic, his choked whimpers and begging coming out as fast as he used the weight of momentum to at long last break the stall’s boards locking his neck, hauling himself back to just stop short of leaving the milking stall with a strangled noise.

The chain leash had pulled taut, the short chain yanking his collar up and biting into the underside of his jaw. The tie-bar holding strong, Alastor braced himself inside the stall, at least managing to get one  leg outstretched beyond the stall’s open entrance/exit, digging the heels of his palms into the peat in outright rejection of the disappointing stall. Putting all the weight he could muster into his hands and knees, trying to break the chain, the creature had crept back it's vines and tentacles to retreat. Temporarily. 

“PLEASE, you PROMISED—!” 

Alastor's overwrought plea was sincere, his ears pinned to his bleeding scalp, the angry tears still shedding, despite blinking rapidly the Vortex swirls remained a sure sign his Trance was in full effect. It was the demon's incensed feelings of defeat that had him fleetingly break a gap in the spell, his immensely strong personality eroding the monster's powerful Hypnosis for an instant. 

The tendrils reassembled to the cramped sides of the narrow stall, uneasy but not that judgemental of the buck’s implications that It had let him down, the creature had a mind to put him through another lesson in discipline. Sensitive to the overwhelming distress coming off the squirming buck in waves, the seemingly endless trickling of milk leaking unbroken from the inflamed teats, the creature had to convince itself to restrain from overstimulating the hot and bothered buck. V

The four vines weren't reallocated back to the milking, their white-streaked bodies whipping out to snare Alastor's wrists together in tight coils, pulling his arms together to straighten and lift his shoulders high. Some pressure was eased off the unyielding pinch of the leather collar, spittle spraying as Alastor gasped loudly, in shock as unexpected pain — the vine bulbs plugging his ear canals had out of the blue inflated sharply, piercing the snug channels with shallow indentations from miniature thorns.

Just as piercing was the austere Voice repeating it's practised mantra of order back to him, it's deafening vehemency drilling into the Radio Demon's disorientated mind as he panted breathlessly between choking out the commands aloud. 

“ɎØɄ ⱠØVɆ ฿Ɇł₦₲ ₥łⱠ₭ɆĐ.” 

“I LOVE BEING — MILKED~”

“ɎØɄ ₩łⱠⱠ ₦ɆVɆⱤ ₣ɆɆⱠ ⱠɆ₮ ĐØ₩₦ ₳₲₳ł₦. ɎØɄ ⱠØVɆ ɆVɆⱤɎ ₴Ɇ₵Ø₦Đ. ɎØɄ ₵₳₦₦Ø₮ ₳₴₭ ₣ØⱤ ฿ⱤɆ₳���₴. ɎØɄ ₩łⱠⱠ ฿Ɇ ₥łⱠ₭ɆĐ Ʉ₦₮łⱠ ł ₴₳Ɏ.”

“I — I WI — I WILL NEVER… I WILL NEVER BE LET DOWN.  I — LOVE — EVERY — SE-SECOND. I CANNOT ASK F-FOR BREAKS. 

I WILL — BE MILKED ~”

Upon his voice breaking, sucking in a sharp intake of cold air to huff  back out immediately, blood seeping from his thudding ears was in tandem with the speeding beat of his pulse shooting through his whole body. 

One of the large vines assigned to pumping his throbbing ass of the Aphrodisiac nectar had arced over the Radio Demon's rigid back to lock it's length under the crook of Alastor's right leg, snaking through the gap between his heaving udders and inner thigh to weave back up splitting his asscheeks, then dropping back down again over his hip again to latch it's salivating maw onto a swollen teat in a crushing pinch. The brash move had Alastor involuntarily buck, the action largely contained to his lower half, the hotness of the slicked maw palpating the yearning teat eliciting a rasping mewling out of Alastor.

Lids lowered in unfeigned bliss, tongue hanging out from one corner of his slackened jaw, the hotelier was unquestionably in his element, his pleased huffs rattled by the new incessant suckling on his seized teat. 

The rejuvenated milk flow was coming at it's fastest rate yet, the moist maw pulling and massaging the swollen flesh to draw as much as it could sustain in every greedy gulp of the downplayed organ. The continuous sucks was bringing back a pink blush of arousal to the Radio Demon's full organ, the undulation of the slickened milk bag pulsating in conjunction with the hungry nursing. As the sac was fit to burst, the abrupt evasion of the trauma was evidently visible in the way Alastor's body was totally at ease, the lines of tension in his back and shoulders loosened, his tousled tail wagging in gratification. 

The noisy nursing was amplified when the other vines ventured to reattach their various feelers and suckers to new and old places. One vine settled to encircle his last teat in a fond embrace, rhythmically pumping the pulsing organ to squirt milk over the other tendrils gathering below in anticipation of another lengthy feed. The milk drunk straight into the gullet of the creature through the Aphrodisiac vine was suctioning a larger yield in contrast, visible bulges of gulped milk evident in each excited swallow of that limb billowing his sac as it pressed it's nose inwards harder into the fattened bag to nuzzle as it suckled.

Conceding to the inebriating milking, Alastor was buzzing with arousal, the Lantern’s light filling his shadowed eyesockets and burning into his fearless gaze. In spit of the rampant overstimulation beinh barely suppresse, behind the curtain of the Hypnosis drawing on his body's instinctive reflexes to whet it's appetite with aplom, Alastor's exhausted body was occasionally flexing — his aggrieved groans splicing with jolts of arousal stiffening his body.

Two suckers reaching up to latch onto his pecs, coiled around the muscles to imitate the nursing on his sore nipples drawing another shiver down Alastor’s twitching ears and tail. The other suckers and tongues trailing lines of mingled saliva and sap along the hollows and dips of the Radio Demon's bony frame in ghosted kisses or caresses, massaging his belly button when it had drawn an indignant bleat out of him after an investigative suck, just two of the three remaining Aphrodisiac vines were content to wait.

The third Aphrodisiac vine, the creature had thought it should be taking care of other matters besides looking after it's Pet's dwindling energy reserves, the expansion and fall of the Radio Demon's ribs and chest as he fought to stay awake to enjoy the long awaited ‘proper’ milking, the afterglow of the combined sex and drain on his body's fluids in excess threatened the livelihood of it's permanent source of food. 

The Voice was speaking for the last time, keeping the mood pleasant and reassuring, impressed by the enduring Overlord’s submission, distracting Alastor from the bold touch of the third Aphrodisiac vine seeking the heat of his gaped entrance — the thickened vine sinking it's tip into his bruised anus, increasing the tender friction to restore the first twinges of renewed arousal into his throbbing prostate — the Voice instilled in it's quenched Pet a parting command on the eve of it falling silent for the duration of forcing another gallon of milk, ultimately pushing the Radio Demon's threshold for overmilking to a new level. 

“Well done. You love this so much you won't want to stop, but you must. 

When I have had enough, once I have taken care of you, you will be set free — free to return tomorrow, and every day after that.  

Tomorrow at midday, you will come back to this place for more. 

You are to bring back a goat’s bell, two more pails, and a stimulating toy of your choice. Do not forget, for you will be punished again.”

[arcanepactguile]

𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐔𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 — Kinkipants

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 —𝘿𝘼𝙔 6 𝙉𝙀𝙒 𝙋𝙀𝙏 / 𝙈𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 —

𝐖𝐂: 4.8k

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋. 𝘈𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳, 𝘈𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳'𝘴 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸, 𝘌𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘯 𝘊𝘶𝘳.

𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐃: 𝘕𝘰𝘯-𝘊𝘰𝘯 (🦌🥛 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦), 𝘌𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘯 𝘊𝘶𝘳, 𝘚𝘵𝘶𝘥 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯

𝐀𝐎𝟑 𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫

𝘋𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘣𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘶𝘱 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘰𝘯 — 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘰 𝘋𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯'𝘴 𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳. 𝘈𝘵𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘣𝘴, 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘈𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳'𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧; 𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘵, 𝘸𝘩𝘰'𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.

𝐂𝐖 / 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: 𝘕𝘰𝘯-𝘊𝘰𝘯, 𝘉𝘋𝘚𝘔, 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳, 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴, 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘯𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘶𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘴

[arcanepactguile]

Satan is softly caressing his cheek and running his other hand down his body. Going over his chest and his stomach. He's heating up his hands so they feel amazing against his skin. But he's staring down deeply into his beloved eyes. He just wants to touch him. He wants him to feel good. He's running his other hand down his neck and shoulders. He's taking any excuse he can to touch him. Even running his hand over his thighs and his legs. Softly up his back.  (Replies will come tomorrow but, urge to send you something)

𝐔𝐍𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃 / ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴏᴘᴇɴ⸻ ｢ 🕯️ ｣

Grinning, Satan's doe is utterly perplexed as to why his Master is all of a sudden so anxious to touch him: hands exploring his body like it's their first time. He doesn't want it to stop, the pleasant sensation is sinking deeper into his body, easing tension.

Tilting his head back to look up, returning the heavy look with an inquisitive one, Alastor's brought both hands up to squeeze the dragon's warmed wrist long enough so he can wait for the time when the other hand has slid down his stomach so he can roll his hips into the questing palm.

"Have you lost something?"

[arcanepactguile]

// Ooh you like that POST GET THIS SOFT THEN.

Satan is interlocking fingers with Alastor. Taking his hand in his own and softly bringing his knuckles up to his face. He gives them the most gentle of kisses. He looks deeply into Alastor's eyes and caresses his cheek with his other hand as he begins to speak. "My precious doe. The true Ruby of my eye. You are worth more than 10,000 hoards I could ever make. I have been enchanted by your beauty and the things I have seen from you. I wish to hold you for a thousand sunsets." He softly that keeps caressing his cheek. 

"I am in love with you and I am not afraid to say it. I have never been good with my emotions but when I see you my heart skips a beat. That Old Flame I thought was once dead reignites when you smile. I have not felt such a carnal  passion for another in eons. You shall be my red star that never let go." 

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄

Frozen in place, the deer demon couldn't even BLINK. Satan's blunt confession was something the buck hadn't been anticipating. Out of the blue. Unprovoked.

The cliched contexts were coming to mind; was either of them dying? Had Satan thought he was sharing an affair with someone else?

Whatever the reason, Alastor was susceptible to being buttered up. Touch-starved, it didn't help any that his Master's voice was so assertive.

Leaning into the caressing hand, eyes hooded, Alastor merely answered with a low rumble; nuzzling into the warmth, ears sagging.

“Have I done something wrong?’

[arcanepactguile]

💋 It's big deep smooch. A smooch with love and care <3

𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒

Grinning into the kiss, Alastor balances himself carefully on the tips of his hooves, stretching up to return the smooch with equal zest. The difference in their heights — understanding that his Master changes his own height on a whim — was never an awkward thing, the Radio Demon’s energy making up for their inappropriate physical match to not see it as an obstacle.

Nipping at Satan's chin once he’d broken the deep kiss, Alastor had the audacity to lean into his Master's hard body, placing his hands on the Sin’s hips for leverage.

“What’s gotten into you, this fine morning? Interested in a new year spent with me?”

[arcanepactguile]

🧠 + You want to woship his cock. Do it. Put your face against it and beg. <3

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒

"..."

"What... "

Confused, seeing how they had only just finished minutes ago, Alastor's hesitation narrowly led to abandoning the impulse.

Pulling himself over, slipping his hand around the base, Alastor dragged his tongue up the underbelly of his Master's cock — stopping at the tip to press his cheek into it.

"Please, Sire, I need your massive cock inside me again."

[arcanepactguile]

Well my little doe. I have already breed you once but, maybe this time I will devour your sweet hole first, then pump you full my seed again. I want to see that face you made again. <3

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐒

Alastor's undoubtedly flustered by the praise, the threat. It's immeasurably gratifying to be spoken to like he's got one use, and that's to be reduced to desire. Above all else, being regarded as valuable has provided Alastor with an infinite source of self-worth.

The Radio Demon's projecting — he considers sex to be the ultimate form of desire, and desire's an end goal he feel he can never reach. Knowing he's left his partner wanting more can be a toxic coping mechanism; Alastor's eager to please no matter the costs.

"Well, what are you waiting for? I'm glad you've chosen me.

Now, get ON with it. Breed me so hard I'll forget what century I'm in."

[arcanepactguile]

🎁” + Gives a beauitful black and red collar with ruby gem stone hanging off it with the symbol of wrath on it.

𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒 𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐒

"My Lord... I don't think I deserve this.

But, coming from you, I realise it must be true. I'll be honoured to wear this forever more."

[arcanepactguile]

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 — 𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘚𝘵𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 lululamb

𝐖𝐂: 7.3k

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋. 𝘈𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳 (🦌🥛), 𝘝𝘰𝘹.

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒: 𝘈 𝘏𝘢𝘻𝘣𝘪𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘭 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 '𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘤𝘬', 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧. 𝘗𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘯 🦌🥛 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦.

𝑨𝑶3 𝑴𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓

𝘊𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘴, 𝘝𝘰𝘹 — 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘖𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘥'𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘰 𝘋𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯'𝘴 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘺. 𝘚𝘵𝘶𝘤𝘬 ��𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘈𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳'𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳 𝘝𝘰𝘹'𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

𝐂𝐖 / 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: 𝘴𝘦𝘹 𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘯𝘰𝘯-𝘤𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘱𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳/𝘗𝘦𝘵, 𝓂𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘮, 𝘋𝘰𝘮/𝘴𝘶𝘣, 𝘗𝘦𝘵 𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘏𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴, 𝘪𝘯𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, + 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦

The familiar sound of a metal zipper, a hollow clink of rattling, a low chuckle, and the subsequent chime of the machine was slowly rousing the Radio Demon from his stupor. The sleep deeper than a fitful doze, still sluggish as his senses were floating to the surface, the Radio Demon hadn't as of yet opened his eyes; drowsy, it felt like he had been beaten underwater, and resuscitated with what felt like half the ocean left residing inside his lungs. The crackling wheezes that came out of his chest were ringed with the heavy effects of sleep, his torpid state hardly the right condition for the C.E. O. of VoxTek Industries to be holding a solid conversation with him — except Vox couldn't really give a single fuck about whether or not his unwilling audience was able to understand one word he was saying, much less care about expecting a coherent answer from the trapped buck.

"Coffee. The nectar of the Gods... Breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinner, and those late night ventures, staying up to work, meeting deadlines and all. It's funny, I never could appreciate the full scale of caffeine,  not until I had this WONDERFUL idea.

Of course, it was a two-man operation, and I have you to congratulate, for acting as my inspiration. Without you, this exclusive invention would never have existed. You're far more valuable alive, so if I were to kill you, what would I do? Coffee won't ever taste the same again. When opportunity knocks, when the inspiration hits you, having your ideas on paper isn't good enough. You need to see it in action.

Not just anybody will do, fuck no — that's where you come in, Alastor. This brilliant idea of mine isn't about making money: it's all about you, and what you owe me. You can settle your debts, right here, until your outstanding balance is settled. Pony up, Al, and the sooner you get out of there, the sooner you can go home to your tatty hotel.

'Genius is ten percent inspiration' — that's me! 'Ninety percent perspiration' — that's you, Alastor. Don't you have anything to say about that? No?"

The purr of the machine coming to life as soon as Vox had moved his hand, lingering over the credit card slot, lowered to punch in one of the neon coloured buttons on the brightly illuminated menu, had stirred a little more awareness out of the dozing Radio Demon. The humming drone of the machine's interface cycling through the first option his captor had selected, the whirrs and clicks of the internal gears were cutting through Alastor's fuzzy memories of the night before, when sudden vibrations reverberated through his restraints jumpstarted his consciousness.

Muffled noises emanating from behind the heavy glass, Vox's smug reflection was mirrored on the flat pane that separated the television cultist from his captured rival Overlord. Vox's voice rang muffled in spite of the glass window, the air vents grilles installed along the span of the pane from the top and the foot of the floor to ceiling viewing windos allowing some of the cultist's voice to be heard clearer than expected. From the other side of the glass, the muffled noises coming out of Alastor were unintelligible, a chorus of choked, panicked whimpers as the vending machine that the imprisoned Radio Demon was stuck in, came to life. The plastic card Vox had fed into the slot was nothing engrossing; it was the menu of buttons that he had been debating over, that dictated whatever torture or humiliation that his rival Overlord sought to execute this morning.

The shot-glass of hot coffee — likely instant, Vox's tastes were cheap — held in one clutched hand, Vox's other returned to stirring the steaming cup with a ballpoint pen, it had briefly filled Alastor's entire vision when he had groggily lolled his head to one side to return his  stare. The routine addition to breakfast had come with a disturbing component of Alastor's life after the abduction; his memories remained a fog, the first sight of that nondescript glassware hadn't warned the deer demon of what was about to happen. This being only the second day of his kidnapping, Alastor had grown acquainted with the nightmare that Vox loved to watch in person, until he left the remainder of the torments to be recorded on multiple cameras for later during his downtime.  As C.E. O, Vox had pressing engagements.

Hours ago, the Radio Demon had woken up, disorientated.

The first sign that something was amiss, was dreadfully wrong, was the first instance when he had tried moving. The awkward position he had awakened to had the heaviest impact on determining his plight; mentally working his way back through the chain of events that had led him here, assessing his ordeal was over and done with in a matter of seconds. Alastor's drugged sleep was delaying his comprehension of the prison he'd found himself in — even though in the beginning there were no easy clues explaining his surroundings, shortly after recognising the glass window to the right of him and solid metal walls making up the remainder of the cubicle, Alastor had determined this was at least some kind of box. Narrowed and claustrophobic like a coffin, even if he had the freedom to move, there wasn't much space to do so.

Alastor had first discovered, ahead of recognising the glass shielding him from the outside world, was the fact that he had been restrained — his limbs locked individually, and his posture forced into an uncomfortably vulnerable position.

Waking propped upright seated on a bondage chair, Alastor's torso was strapped to the padded narrow backrest around his upper chest, a second belt securing his waist to it. His arms were raised above his head and folded inwards with his biceps bound together, his wrists roped behind his head and tied in position. A stiff silicone bar gag was wedged in between his teeth to keep his jaws parted, the gag's leather straps buckled behind his head, the steel O rings connecting the gag to the straps digging into his cheeks. Stuck to his chest, in the appropriate 4th lefg intercostal space a ECG monitor patch was glued to his skin; lights blinking on the LED screen, the wireless holter transmitting the different vital stats of Alastor's body through the silicone-metal polymer sensors back to the machine's display screen. It boasted different data, from his oxygen levels, blood pressure, heart rate, dopamine measurements, arousal, and other valuable numerical figures.

The seat of the chair cradling his backside without hindered access to his exposed rump and groin, his cervine digitigrade legs were spread open and bent down over a twin set of padded cradles securing his thighs, padded ankle cuffs shackling his legs to a pair of rails inset into the grilled floor with two taut cables that allowed some slack if he really desired to thrash, but it otherwise maintained his legs from kicking out or lifting any higher. Alastor's fluffy tail had been tugged out to hang over the edge of the seat, listless until the buck had begun to stir at first, then heave himself up in a blind state of panic once he had recalled where he had spent the past ten hours.

Hips tilted up, his thighs were spread to bare his groin: Vox's prime objective, and the focus of the multiple cameras trained on him to record without any interruption.

Groaning low, his scarlet eyes rolling back, Alastor's sharp fangs sunk into the smooth silicone bit parting his parched lips; dried drool had streaked his jawline and chin, and the excess spittle was a sparse mist all over again as the deer demon bucked vainly within his restraints, the bondage chair's creakings echoed inside the tiny chamber. With ears pinned back in unbridled terror, his rage long since withered away, the Radio Demon's lids stretched wide in fear, pupils shrinking to pinpricks as he couldn't help but watch three points of red light in the metal ceiling blink three times, recognition registered on his blanched face but being unable to do anything about the warning. A chill of fear trickling up his spine, drops of renewed perspiration beading on his flushed skin, Alastor's heedless writhing had out of nowhere stilled entirely, tucking his limp tail up between his buttocks, cringing in anticipation of the following wake-up call.

Shutting his eyes tight barely in time, a short yet strong spray of icy cold water jetted into him: three individual streams overhead, aimed at his head, belly, and groin, came down in three distinctive sheets.

He had been awoken like this last night without warning, although he was back then on his drunken slumber — the freezing water had shocked him fully awake, his sharpened yelps drowned out by the outburst of a piercing BLEAT when the first mechanism of the vending machine had been executed to play with him as soon as the shower had been switched off.

Sometime last night, after when the Radio Demon had woken for the first time by that revolutionary callous way, Vox had introduced him to this latest and greatest of the new toys he had designed, just for him. The preliminary introduction was a over-the-top pre-recorded video playback of what the VoxTek Vending Machine could do — what it made Alastor do, even without his due consent. Afterwards, Vox had set the machine on it's first trial run, which in hindsight wasn't all that successfull, but it was a good experiment to iron out any faults with the machine. Which the Radio Demon had to endure, despite the things actually wrong with it, the recalibrations seen to after Vox had had his fill of the entertainment. The floor of the vending machine's cubicle was channelled, to allow the drainage of any spilled fluids, as well as the cursory shower to wash away impurities like sweat or cum.

Breathless, cold water slicking his hair and fur down, water droplets falling off his la shes and chin, his drooped ears: the Radio Demon's eyes were levelled with the mechanisms that emerged from the darkness of a slot embedded into the wall directly facing him — a singular articulated arm, bearing at it's end the Y-pronged attachment that Vox had explained last night, but at the moment he was silent and happy to watch without his usual narrations. Pressing himself back into the padded chair, his heartbeat hammering in his paralysed mind, Alastor's stricken face moved to track the slight descent of the pronged device as it inched forwards in between his spread thighs — only then did the cringing buck gritted his teeth over the gag, tipping his head back in a long muffled fawn's bawl.

The device's two prongs were adjusting their proximity to each other and Alastor's groin in real time as they were descending, before a second articulated miniature arm below each singular prong had split from the main body of the machinery to clamp a teat each between crushing pincers — holding at the base, these pincers distended the nipples to allow the glass sheaths of the Y prong to envelop the spongy flesh down a third of the way before the guiding pincers snapped open to release him. Frozen in his seat, the prongs made a series of ticking over mechanical fine-tuning, before the glass sheaths abruptly sucked in each teat down to the root with an audible vacuum of air: Alastor stiffening in his chair as the device accelerated the suction to draw them in fully. The silken skin supple after a rest from last night's experiment, the pink flesh blushing under the suction of the sheaths keeping them trapped inside the transparent receptacle, hot salty tears were welling up in both corners of his reddened eyes as he awaited the ensuing preparation.

Apparently. Vox hadn't known about the proper way to get Alastor to let down his milk. Whereas nursing and generous stimulation stirred his milk to come in, the former was the faster, but Alastor didn't want his arch nemesis to utilise any method, including the crude improvisation he had seemingly decided last night was the best method. That being the case as it was happening again now, Alastor suspected that if he had ever corrected Vox out of desperation to avoid his way of inducing milk, the deer demon seriously doubted the television Overlord would even care.

This method had proved to be entertainment right up his alley. For Alastor, the couldn't think of anything worse, other than body dismemberment or mutilation. On the outside panel detailing Alastor's stats, the numbers for his pulse and oxygen levels were rapidly accelerating — as inside the glass cylinders of the locked-in attachment, two very fine hypodermic needles were sliding out of the shafts.

Following the base of the needles were a syringe's barrel, filled with a pink liquid. The colour didn't mean anything; Vox had just thought it added to the humiliation. The plunger following after, the strangled noise that Alastor made as the sharp tips of the syringes penetrated the sphincters of his teats had brought a widening grin to Vox's screen, the expression reflected back onto the window.

Holding his breath hadn't alleviated the pain as the thin needles were sinking deeper into the teats, their progression coming to a stop once the hub was about to touch the tips. The needles' shafts completely swallowed up by the flesh, the inner walls spread to accomodate the intrusion, the rubber stoppers inside the sheath's barrels were smoothly plunging to inject the coloured substance, the length of the twinging teats inexplicably swelling to cramp as the hormones were forced into his inactive udders.

The Radio Demon had been endeavouring to stay still, the tremors in his thighs and lower belly suggesting that it was a lost cause. The hormones were injected at a vapid pace, the searing heat inside the trapped teats strengthening the more of the substance was pushed inside. When the last millitre of the pink gel disappeared into the hub, the rubber stopper sliding closed against the end of the barrel, the injection had made it into the mound of the buck's udders, the organ tingling on the inside as the substance was spreading. The extraction of the syringes were drawn out at a faster pace than their penetration; the pincers moving back to slot back into the attachment as it withdrew into the concealed door in the wall.

Breathing hard through flared nostrils, the tension in the deer's body growing stronger, it wasn't just the cold of the water dripping off him that was behind the demon's shivering. The stats spiking erratically on the menu panel that he stil couldn't see, but going by the video clips he knew it existed; two other slots in the same wall opposite were silently gliding open, above and below the first slot.

The top slot was the largest of the three, in actuality three times the size of the other openings that resembled a mail letter slot. This widest and tallest of the hidden voids had concealed a pair of articulated arms — literally. Slender and crafted with the purpose of working in such a cramped space, the blue and black metallic arms sported a pair of hands; delicate, blunt tipped fingers and thumbs, the pads and palms constructed with a realistic skin of silicone, concealing further sensors below the margins of the silicone stopping at the boundaries of the palm, heel, and digits. Peering down at it, recalling what had happened last night, still Alastor's objection had been on impulse. As the robotic hands reached out to trace their digits over the velveteen flesh of his throbbing udders, Alastor had bucked hard, now that there wasn't dangerous sharp needles inside him. The soft touch of the fingers resting on the slopes of his cramping organ was broken in Alastor's frantic thrash, the chair grinding as the deer demon struggled to wrench his groin out of reach of the questing hands. The seriousness of Alastor's rebellion was answered in kind with the machine's pre-programmed list of solutions to subduing the buck, never taking into account the added complications of the demon's skin slick with the water and his sweat.

The right hand snapping forward, curling fingers around one quadrant of the demon's milk bag, swept it's thumb over to capture and push in the opposite teat together in a firm grip: increasing the pressure to squeeze both halves of the Radio Demon's udders together in one fist, it ripped an agonised squeal out of Alastor as  it sharply tugged him up. Stretching the milk bag to a peak inside it's closed fist, bulging the sacs lower down between his quivering thighs and inner asscheeks, the pinked curves of his aching udders were distended further as the machine brought it's left hand to rhythmically rub the swollen bag in firm strokes, Alastor's shrill bleats ringing in the background as it sought to stimulate milk production via the hard way. Last night, during the first occurence, the robot had instead given the Radio Demon a sensual massage: firmly massaging the sensitive flesh, rolling and compressing the filling organ even though Alastor was fighting back, flinching and trying to kick. The extra sensors in it's silken skin was capturing specific stats related to the levels, and speed of Alastor's pulse, arousal, heat and spasms it detected.

Because he had reacted violently to the second course of milk stimulation, the dull throbs in his udders quickening as the hands worked at him, the machine had voided the first option of an affectionate massage to skip this option two, the rough treatment. Pinching the warming teats together inside it's palm, pulling the organ back at an angle towards the buck's own face, this pushed the growing bulge of the flesh between his cheeks out to offer more surface to examine and probe. The hand hadn't stopped it's surveying; dipping to rub at his swelling taint, before it gathered the pulsing taint in a pinch to milk it regardless how hard Alastor was trying to resist, ankles straining at the cables and his tail beating a fast tempo.

The sensors recording an uptick in the chart's modules, detecting stronger changes in Alastor's racing pulse, the other stats weren't so lucky to change as much. The buck's arousal and heat were low. According to the past experiment, and partly to satisfy Vox's undying thirsts for new challenges, the new numbers weren't enough to reach the threshold required for milking. The hormones hadn't stopped working; palpating the slowly filling organ had elicited a torrent of squeals from the deer, the rising heat drifting off the blushed skin factors that could have been reactions to the Radio Demon's fear, instead of compelled arousal. The pains inside his milk bag had been escalating in time with the external stimulation; the rough fondling and rubs encouraging his body to begin letting his precious milk come in, yet his overriding fear was stronger than the forced pleasure.

Relaxing it's right handed grip to slacken, warily sinking the deer's udders back to their natural state, the fatty sacs were distinctly fuller — the bag now ghosting the sides of his inner thighs, the twin nipples fat and blushed darker, the middle seam splitting the two quads remained but noticeably thinner.

The next biggest clue that Vox was due to see his prize sooner than later, was the Radio Demon's cock standing half erect, translucent fluid brimming over the slit as it bobbed between his knees, the root pushed back by the bloat of his throbbing udders. This was what Alastor's nemesis wanted to see — the first sign of unquestionable lust.

Vox's temporary paralysis breaking, his eyes darting left to analyse his prisoner's contorted features; Alastor hadn't stopped crying, silent sobs racking his slender frame as the robotic hands slid up as one to cup his heavy udders — rolling the organ inwards to hasten the arousal, thumbing in circular motions on the valley dividing the engorged teats. Tearing his triumphant gaze away from watching the Radio Demon's stifled cries in time to see the hands perform a devious new trick — slowing it's cradling to a full stop, the forefingers and thumbs were pressing the pulsating teats together to grind their tips into each other, compressed as the robotic digits rolled them in the new act of stimulation.

The first drop of white was slowly bubbling up inside the gaping sphincters, a tinge of the pink substance colouring the brand new milk as it was finally let go.

The slam of Vox's tight fist hitting the glass had shook the pane, startling the Radio Demon long enough for the buck to groan louder, out of shame, tilting his face away from the viewing window so he at least didn't have the memory of what ecstasy Vox had found himself in upon seeing his robot toy with his heaving organ.

"Oh, FUCK, I wish that were me," had been uttered under Vox's hoarse breath, the lids of his transfixed eyes widening further as he continued to observe how the machine pinched his rival's teats; stripping them, rhythmic grinds, pushing fingertips into the V lines of Alastor's pelvis, eliciting reluctant moans from the buck as it persisted to coax milking. "I should've installed interactive ports, ditches the idea of a robot doing the job in place of ME," he had murmured in a disgruntled tone to more himself than to his squirming prisoner, splaying his hand flat over the glass, leaning his face and body into it, any other person would have quickly steamed up the glass with the fog of their exhales. Watching in rapt attention, Vox was breathing strangely, losing the ability to maintain his composure in the presence of orchestrating the torture of his rival, Vox had found the strength to lift his hand away to fumble inside his pockets for a metal coin token, and blindly fed it through the coin slot, pushing the next button on the menu at the moment when the machine had proceeded to sink one thumb into the Radio Demon's clenched hole, the thumbad briefly spreading the buck's puckered entrance before the loud melodic DING of the vending machine's next order was announced with the chime.

Panting, Alastor's gasps muffled behind the gag, the leather was chafing his puffed cheeks as he worked at the gag with his tongue and mouth, excess drool trickling down his blushing skin. His drenched fur and hair drying into pointed spikes, the air within the vending machine's interior still frigid, the stray drops of water collecting in the folds of his skin was getting overtaken by a film of sweat in his rising terror. Straining again at the ropes binding his hands behind his head, the joints in his hips numbed from the unyielding bondage, Alastor managed to convey his grief as the second gadget below the second pair had risen into view for a fleeting moment — a large, ten inch knotted silicone equine dildo, the shaft sporting a circumference of seven inches plus two in diameter, the flared head almost equivalent to the breadth of the three inch knot at it's base. The synthetic cock was something like a cross between a stud champion Nightmare's, and something else like a Hellhound. Watching the black and ruby red mutant horse cock appear from the shadows of the lowest door had the Radio Demon pulling at his restraints with renewed vigour; the buck crying out as he wriggled more fiercely, ignoring the steady pulse radiating over his pulsating udders, the robotic hands arcing up to hold him down by the waist, despite the chair's fastenings reliable enough in their functionality already.

Out of the gaping slit in the flared head oozed creamy lubricant, the slippery gel dripping on the floor as the dildo hovered before Alastor's spread legs, the piston holding it levelled with his entrance motionless as Vox adjusted his own position to sidle further to his right, all the better to witness himself the instantaneous moment when that cockhead stretched his enemy's snug hole wide open in the final confirmation of ownership. Face pressed flat against the window, his expression casting a diffused bluish glow over the confined space, his voice sounded distant through the thick window as he automatically called out encouragement to the vending machine as it begun to move, Vox's enthusiasm for his exclusive pay-to-play machinery felt as much through the thuds of his fists on the panel as strongly as the pitch of his crazed voice.

"YES—YES—YES—!! DO IT! FUCK HIM HARD! WRECK HIM ONCE FOR ME~!"

By then, of course Vox had abandoned his neglected coffee cup, the shot-glass falling to the floor and shattering into pieces, the half-drunk remnants of the black coffee spilled over the ground and foot of the vending machine. The pen used as a teaspoon remained gripped tightly in one of the TV man's hands, the plastic cracking under the vice-like squeeze as Vox studied the delicious abuse up close, hardly daring to breathe once the broad tip pressed into Alastor's tight hole. And Alastor had attempted to turn himself to one side, however stupid and instinctive the reflex was in recollection later.

The pressure was relentless, the blossoming pain fiercer — the horse cock was solid, the flared tip sinking first into the hollow of his small entrance, then it was spreading him as it continued to press inside. The rim of his tight hole spasming, by degrees the hard silicone pushing his inner ring wider and the walls beyond rippling to suck the lengthening tip, the Radio Demon's fervent moans were increasing, trailing into pained wails that occasionally ended in a shrill BLEAT whenever the massive dildo inched it's way deeper to at long last POP through the stricken Overlord's fluttering entrance. At the urging of the cultist's thrilled outburst, the piston had instantaneously RAMMED the thick dildo at a steeper angle, pushing Alastor's belly outwards over the course of it's three deepest thrusts, the deer's choked cry followed the rougher plunges bulging his stomach three times before the machine resumed it's regular pumping. 

Vox in the meantime, was pretty much delirious with his excitement, his eyes dilating as he carefully watched with bated breath how the colour of Alastor's puckered entrance transformed from flesh tone to a reddened blush, the skin stretched around the wide shaft pulling in the toy greedily up to the troublesome canine knot.

Licking his lips, leaving a faint smear on the viewing window, Vox was impatient enough to punch in the third menu button — but another side of him wanted to see how much his stuck rival could endure, under the pressure of the thick toy inside his full ass, and his engorged milk bag. The latter was distinctly heavier now, bubbles of milk bursting open to dribble from the slits in the stiffened tips, a rouged blush encompassing the swollen teats and the span of the lactating organ's taut skin filling with milk.

Alastor desperately wanted this to end; the keening animalistic whines dying in his chest on the way to his slackened jaw, his throat visibly clenching as he fought back another plaintive whimper. The Radio Demon couldn't kill the subsequent gasps grunted out once the toy buried to the hilt inside him, began to rock his stuffed backside with an accelerated cycle of thrusts. The lube leaking from the gaping slit had eliminated some of the terrible pain arising from the slow penetration, the scale of the dildo crossing his threshold for borderline size differences in the single plunge it took on the outset of pulling out to his abused ring, then pushing back in all the way in repeated pumps to rock his rump up and down. The squelches of the lube slicking his throbbing passage squirting out in sparse spurts, the thickened knot of the base was bumping into Alastor's bruised hole on the downstrokes, strings of the white gel arcing from the deer demon's bulging taint and limp tail sending Vox's predatory thoughts reeling into new territory.

"YES... YES... Come on, AL — I never took you for a slut, but Val's GOTTA see the tapes... I might let you out of there early, I'm dying to hear what new games Valentino might have, if you're lucky—" Vox reaffirmed the promise that Alastor knew about, in spite of getting fucked by a dildo was a first — during the earlier hours spent alone with Vox, Alastor had to listen to the different plans the other powerful Overlord had in store for him. Valentino wasn't mentioned as a willing participant until this morning. Clearing his throat, tapping two clawed fingers onto the window to get Alastor's attention, Vox went on rambling even though Alastor was preoccupied concentrating on the intensifying pain and arousal flooding through his pinned body. Eyes glazed over with unshed tears as the dildo continued to diligently fuck him faster, harder, his leaking udders jostled by the force of the reocurrent plunges.

"— You don't know, you might like it, for as long as I've known you, you were a tight ass. It's time to lose the starched shirt, open UP. I'm happy to oblige, AFTER you give me what I want," Vox insinuated with a harsh laugh, craning his neck to try and catch a better glilmpse of the buck's ring convulsing on the occasion when the shaft had slammed into his thrumming prostate. The Radio Demon was nearing hie climax; his hardened cock was swaying, nudging his abdomen, strings of thickened fluid webbed over his naked skin. The blush deepened in his cheeks, weeping cockhead, the heat pooling higher into his full udders — Alastor's guttural moan was strewn with static crackling, ribbons of white seed spurting freely from his stiffened length as he rode the orgasm with not a care for the cameras inside the cubicle recording every angle of the torture, only a distant part of his subconscious promising himself to wreck unparalleled destruction to Vox personally once he had found his freedom. The forced orgasm was inevitable, the ceaseless onslaught of pain lessened when Vox was in the right mood to tease a climax out of his enemy, and not spend hours mutilating his body for the sheer thrill of it. So long as the technology wizard never carried out his repeated threat to broadcast the assaults... The Radio Demon didn't have a choice, either way. Riding out a dizzying orgasm versus the agonising torture didn't make a difference. Alastor never wished for death, that meant Vox had won even if that wasn't part of the plan — he promised himself redemption, for Vox to suffer the consequences of this depraved abduction.

Gasping, staring blankly at the inert sprinkler system, riding out the highs of his orgasm had sent shockwaves of spasms stiffening his body; the creaks of the wet leather straps tightening when his body was seized up, his back bowed a little off the chair, his tail bristled at the peak of the climax. Still, the machine was steadily pumping the dildo into him, his slicked hole convulsing on the slippery toy's thick shaft as it's speed unabated spread his core wide. His pounding prostate was getting stroked relentlessly on the dives, the knot more frequently pausing to press into his sore ring, bringing Alastor to arch his body and bleat in pain, the waves of overstimulation underscoring the depth of his exhausted body's resistance dwindling to nothing as he had no energy left for rebellion.

That was why when Vox had surreptitiously slipped his hand away to discreetly press the next menu button, setting the scene up for the penultimate fantasy he had been craving, Alastor's scream wasn't as poignant as it ought to have been, his energy drained to a state of catatonia. The dildo had spontaneously propelled itself to force it's thicker knot past the Radio Demon's convulsing ring, pushing determinedly until it had popped through, it's three inch diameter canine knot (that's a circumference of ten inches) shoving through to plug the demon's outstretched entrance, the piercing notes of his walls eclipsed by the burning pain in his ring stunting the strength in the stag Overlord's voice.

Fresh stinging tears blurring his vision, Alastor had ditched a last effort to plead with Vox opting to remain relatively quiet as the machine pumped the silicone cock in revitalised bursts of energy, keeping the knot buried inside him to concentrate on massaging his g spot. The buck's wilted member had grown rigid over the prolonged stimulation, spurts of new seed trickling down his shaft in pulses, or gathered in coils  along his belly, the last of his cream from the prior load splattered into his chest and throat. The persistent pressure kneading his swollen prostate had a duplicate effect on two of the Radio Demon's erogenous zones — his leaking cock, and notably his full udders.

Thoughts spiralling faster, aimless, without pattern; the toy's thrusts were speeding up, the pounding was interjected when the shaft splitting his bruised core had out of nowhere inflated for less than a fraction of a sharp intake of breath before the dildo shuddered, pumping a thick deluge of creamy lubricant inside him. The gel was been warm, causing the rims of the Radio Demon's eyes to peel back in shock, the ropes of lube filling him easily to the brim. The rippling silicone was stroking his inner walls as the machine pumped him full, the slick squirting only a little through sparse gaps between the base and his tightened ring. Alastor's s stomach had drawn in as the dildo vibrated inside him, cramps creasing his sweat-slicked skin as he instinctively again tried to curl up to accomodate the jolts of pain stabbing his guts, a tremors-wracked moan leaving him.

Readjusting his jacket's lapels, clearing his throat, Vox took a step to the right again, the better to watch the final phase of his new machine for the second time within ten hours. "I think you've suffered long enough, don't you? I have a board meeting to get to shortly, can't afford to be tardy! Let me help you with 'unpacking' your bag, you're going to be here on extended leave, so why shouldn't I a courteous host and offer you an upgrade?

Here... I'll give you the Executive Suite option. It might not be to your tastes, but you can't knock it until you've tried it!"

His smug smile spreading into a grin, teeth bared as his glowing eyes roamed over his captive's body; Alastor hadn't even bothered to look over at his one-man audience, confident that upon his return sometime in the day his rival would have forced him to watch another replay of the debauched footage. Staring pointedly at the sprinklers, a flick of one ear had given away his focused attention as Vox hovered his index finger over another glowing button a few rows past the current choice, lingering there for the melodrama, his reply boastful as he spoke directly to Alastor in defiance of the subdued buck pretending to ignore him.

"Executive Suite it is, free of charge.

If I'm satisfied with your results."

Every time the cervine Overlord's stats had fluctuated, risen or fallen, accompanying it were beeps and buzzes, according to the high or low numbers. Alastor supposed that a second function of recording his body's vitals was to predict in time should his terror turn into something undesirable, like cardiac arrest, or a full blown panic attack. The buckles on the straps weren't indestructible, and suffice to say, the Radio Demon had the potential to wreck his restraints, supposing the vending machine encounter a fault in it's mechanisms or circuits.

His grin stretched wide, the vortex of concentric circles erupting into an intense display of random static lines, electrical interference amplifying, Vox's laughter was drowned out as the vending machine played it's musical chime to herald the final phase when the cultist had pressed his favourite button.

Another chill racing down his spine, Alastor shuddered, pinning his sagged ears back firmly to his skull and closing his eyes wearily to brace himself for a repeat of last night's original trial, albeit Vox's vague words belied an ominous undercurrent to his pledge.

A startled BLEAT torn free from the back of the deer's throat when suddenly the bondage chair had done something different, something NEW — the robotic hands letting him go, the cradles supporting his thghs rolling back to vanish into the floor, this last mechanism's revamped programming was turning out to be the most degrading and invariably, the most painful.

One singular hand dipping down to grab Alastor by the tail, it yanked the appendage to stretch, the dildo piston simultaneously wriggling it's buried toy for a protracted period before it wrenched it free from the buck's squirming ass: Alastor throwing his head back to painfully bang into the chair's headrest with a desperate shriek, his now empty hole shrinking slowly shut after the hurried removal of the large toy.

A gush of lubricant spilling out, chasing that cock, Vox had thought he was going to shoot a load into his trousers then and there. The sight of his enemy's vulnerable backside looking so pert with lust, his reddened entrance oozing lube, the way his tense muscles were clenching onto nothing, the bulge of his addictive udders swelling splitting his slicked buttocks and inner thighs...

Vox murmuring something unclear under his sharp inhale, a flicker of static snow illuminating his screen as he logged another inspired thought away into his private system; his blue claws itching to cancel the meeting so he could spend some quality time with his new toy.

The cables anchoring his ankles to the tracks were moving, loosening their strength to permit the chair itself to change position. The chair's base was located on the  other side of Alastor, it's boom arm set into the opposite wall from the window: it rotated on it's concealed ball joint smoothly, tipping the Overlord's bound body to fleetingly face his rival directly (however horizontal, Vox appearing as if he were standing on a wall and not the ground) before he'd faced the floor. The slackened ankle cables resumed skating to coast up the remainder of the tracks set into the wall bearing the contraptions' doors, folding his legs back in a hog-tie— forcing them to fold and bend into calves the backs of his thighs raised higher than the line of his bony hips, exposing the full scope of his unmilked organ.

Once it was done adjusting, the bondage chair had held him horizontal, to present Vox an unobstructed grand view of the action taking place at his groin. The hand hadn't let go of his tail, hoisting it higher to stand fully upright, the free hand disappearing between his thighs to cup his sacs, eliciting another pained moan from the stag. Rubbing him slowly, caressing the puffed taint merging into the bulge, the heat engulfing Alastor's loins and ass had tipped the numbers in his body's vitals to justify the 'reward' he was inwardly aching for yet horrified over, to get rid of the unbearable pressure inside his leaking sacs.

The shift in gravity didn't impact his body's tightly buckled in positon except for his wet fur and ears to hang down, framing his blushed face, and his hardness sustained it's place along his abdomen, dripping cum.

The familiar cranking grinding back into the small space, the whirrs of the still-new gears ringing loudly inside the cramped chamber, the overstimulated Radio Demon couldn't stop himself from cringing as the first attachment had unloaded from the central slot behind him, dropping down to glide below his trembling thighs, strings of lube seeping from his plugged hole sticking to the segmented arm. The flesh of his full milk bag had turned a darker pink hue, the bloated organ heavy with need for relief, an unbroken thinned trickling of fresh milk escaping the engorged teats — the panicky buck trying to kick again as he felt the brush of the original milker attachment glide past one knee, the hand above twisting his tail sternly to one side as the other rose up from rubbing two fingers over his twitching hole to smack his spread buttocks, turning the pale cheeks a faint blush through five moderately heavy swats whilst the milker recalibrated it's calculations and guided it's glass sheaths to swallow up Alastor's inflamed teats without any of the pomp seen in Vox's ridiculous videotape.

The fat nipples loaded into the transparent sheaths, the thin cups sealing around the base with it's rubber rings clamping firmly to squeeze out excess air — a droning humming preceded the milker's suction starting up swiftly, pulling the reddened lengths deeper into the narrowed glass tubes before the onset of the powerful vacuum.

The strong suction was rhythmically pumping Alastor's udders, pulling the swollen teats to stretch then shrinkinu back to their relaxed state, the ironclade siphoning forcing Alastor's milk out at an unbelievable faster pace than the trial, a rate of three vigorous sucks per second. The load on his full organ wasn't noticed at first, the overfull bag graciously letting his milk flow, the oxytocin hormones flooding his body, yet Alastor was struggling to recomprehend the torment — attempting to just hang there, the throbs in his spanked rump spreading once the hands had finished correcting his unruly behaviour. One hand left to keep squeezing his tail as a constant reminder it was still there, waiting for any sign of disobedience, the other hand had resumed kneading the steadfast arousal in his taint and hole with two fingers.

The oxytocin washing over him, the Radio Demon had nothing available to him but rut his hips impatiently, (which did not earn him a smack), moaning low in his collared throat as he was milked against his will. The tubes running from the glass sheaths hung low, bowed above the floor, then disappearing into a collection tank, a which was surprisingly a traditional stainless steel industry milk bucket used in lieu of a standard cistern; sat visible in a portion of the vending machine bearing the menu. The bucket was marked to hold three gallons of milk. The stats above blinking rapidly as the buck's body was responding to the reluctantly satisfying purgatory, the glowed flesh of the undulating teats squirting thickened jets of froth into the foaming phials monotonously, Vox's grudging departure was entirely missed by Alastor.

Holding disdain for the essential board meeting that was left as a memo in his inbox earlier, the resentment in Vox's tone wasn't directed at Alastor, whom remained oblivious to the television man's irascible mood drop as he bent to retrieve the pen he had dropped, sweeping the broken shards aside with a toe of his shoe. The Radio Demon's wet gasps were incessant, his shrill cries unremitting as the machine milked him.

"I've got to be blunt. I have to go. I don't want to, but you can't make money if you're asleep on the clock.

I'll let you get better acquainted with my new toy, and who knows? I might return for my lunch break to find you a changed man."

Deaf and blind to Vox's annoyed excuse, swept up in the breathtaking suckling of the milker, the Radio Demon had lapsed into panting excitedly, rocking his hips and squeezing his blushed buttocks together in want as he endured the forced milking, his sagged ears swinging in tandem with his shuddering shoulders and legs. The vitals holter stuck to his chest continued to blink it's three lights in quick succession, the menu display on the outside of the vending machine changing without delays the buck's responses to the assortment of punishments and violations.

"Bear in mind this machine won't stop until three gallons trigger the pressure plate beneath.

 Just thought you'd like to know, in case you have to cancel any plans with friends. I'll see you when I see you — my assistant's here if you're planning on causing trouble, so I advise you be on your best behaviour, you're stuck with me. Have a good time, now!"

The 'assistant' loosely translating to Vox appointing the robot as the Overseer, turning on his heels without another word of warning the cultist had left Alastor alone, with a desperate need for a change of clothes after spilling his first cup of coffee for the day justifying his quick exit. The action behind the window hadn't ceased, nor slowed down.

Left on his own to numbly recollect the trauma, strapped fast to the upside down chair, Alastor's eyes were clouded with his catatonic daze as the vending machine went on to milk him for the next couple of hours— the time ticking past slowly for the gutted deer demon, the glass sheaths rhythmically sucking his engorged udders fed by the injected hormones'; urging what felt like an inexhaustible supply of milk for Vox's newfound coffee breaks.

[arcanepactguile]

𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐔𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 — Kinkipants

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 — 𝘿𝘼𝙔 3 𝙏𝙀𝙉𝙏𝘼𝘾𝙇𝙀𝙎 / 𝙀𝙂𝙂𝙎—

𝐖𝐂: 6.4k

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋. 𝘈𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳, 𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘌𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘔𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳

𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐃: 𝘊𝘰𝘯 (🦌🥛 𝘝𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦) + 𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘌𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘔𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳

𝐀𝐎𝟑 𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫

𝘐𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘙𝘶𝘵 𝘤𝘺𝘤𝘭𝘦, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘺𝘤𝘭𝘦'𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 — 𝘈𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳'𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘶𝘦'𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘭, 𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘯𝘥.

𝐂𝐖 / 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: 𝘊𝘰𝘯, 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴, 𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘴, 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘯𝘪𝘱 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘭𝘶𝘣𝘦, 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘢𝘤𝘴, 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘭𝘨𝘦, 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘋/𝘴, 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘉𝘋𝘚𝘔, 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘦, 𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦