#Alastor NSFT

[arcanepactguile-scribes]

𝑭𝒊𝒄 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒏𝒐𝒏 𝑻𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒊.

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 — 𝙁𝙞𝙘 𝙍𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩 + 𝘿𝙖𝙮 III 𝘽𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙤𝙢 𝘼𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧 𝙒𝙚𝙚𝙠 II

𝐖𝐂: 21.3k

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋. Sentient Plant Monster.

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒: Private fic request + Day 3 Breeding / Free Use

𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄: Cervine Delicacy.

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 occrured 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 questionable.  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, the other 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 numbing the Radio Demon's senses. Warmth 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, marveling 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 eye sockets. 

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 his favour. 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 good feed. 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 numbing 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, 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’S intentions. 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 the other 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 whole time, 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 and held up as a hood, leaving his body naked from the 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 out loud, 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 traveling 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 veins 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 nectar 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 razor sharp thoughts, transforming the esteemed Overlord into a softly bleating mess, the vortex in the buck's eyes were spiraling 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 clif face; the subsequent high from surpassing the highest peak he had ever known, then the pit of his stomach suddenly falling as his senses plummeted, 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 ever happen 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 centered 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.

Unraveling 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 wielded 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 Hypnosis 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 once before 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 instill 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 ground cover 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 harsher tug 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 out loud, 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 swollen teat 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 marvelous 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 yet milked 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 hotelier 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 the 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 hammering 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 LOVE being 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 himself 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 slicked 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 eye sockets 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 aplomb, 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]

@hellsgreatestsideshow ꜱᴇɴᴛ:

[ DENY ] ; the sender denies the receivers orgasm.

Eyes scewed tight, the curtain of stars that had descended into his vision had left him reeling, thrown off balance.

The astute King definitely knew how to push his buttons.

Panting for breath, a keening whine spilling up out of him reluctantly, the remorseful Radio Demon was almost regretting every single decision he had made that led to his King choosing to torture him. He had promised the excited buck a night of relief. He'd just didn't bother stipulating the when.

“PLEASE, Your Majesty… I can't take it anymore!”

Tendons tightening, bunching up muscles, Alastor prepared to commit the inconceivable act of rebellion — but a warning tap on the long string of anal beads buried inside him immediately stilled his movements, Alastor making a choked noise. His tail simultaneously flaring, fur fanned out, in anticipation of extra reprimands, Alastor sounded reproachful as he ventured to plead with his King for the hundredth time.

"Please... You've made your point, I — I won't misbehave again, " groaning, Alastor's ears flattened, he squealed when Lucifer sunk in the next bead as a warning.

Folded over Lucifer's lap, the unlikely pair were on the end of the short king's bed. Face down, Alastor had relented to his Master's request for mild bondage — hogtied, arms strapped pinioned to his sides with his fists at his hips, his thighs held open exposed his tantalising privates.

Golden lubricant dripping down his aroused flesh, his engorged ballsac drawn in tight to his inner thighs and taint, a string of scarlet and gold anal beads were left dangling from his pulsating hole, the last three beads on the outside of the deer's body.

Measuring four centremetres in diameter, Lucifer hadn't been so callous to force these last beads in. Possessing different surfaces; ridged, nodules, smooth, it was evident the whole string contained varied beads for a surprise. Alastor had wanted to resist the fourth-last bead of this size; at the onset of feeling the thrumming in his teased prostate intensify, he had bucked — inciting Lucifer to press the button on the remote he was holding in his other hand, his grip relaxed over Alastor's heaving back.

The anal toy was activated by the thin cord running from the grip ring at the end, and so immediately every bead buzzed into life — inner walls clamping and recoiling around the merciless beads filling his core. Alastor's strangled sobs were as plaintive as ever.

Lucifer had taken his sweet time pushing the beads inside his sub, gauging the Radio Demon's reactions whenever a bead has a different texture. Enjoying the way the sinner squirmed in his lap, grinding his hardness into his Master's thigh; the slick weeping from his cockhead, the dragged out (or speedy) swallow of a bead fed into his yielding hole. As the sizes increased, Alastor's resistance emerged too, a stifled whimper risen in volume as Lucifer rubbed a larger bead into his reddened hole before sinking it in with a lubed thumb — this bead resembled a canine's knot, bulged in the middle.

The Radio Demon's morose wail when it popped through with a squelch, Lucifer's slender fingers pulling the cord after it experimentally as if to consider pulling it back out so soon. Watching his sub's slicked entrance bear down on the unyielding object was addictive.

Pressing the remote was a game from the start: he hadn't even warned Alastor it was a vibrating toy until he’d depressed the button after inserting the sixth bead. After that, Lucifer had pressed the button randomly, until he established a cruel pattern — active at the cusp of the Overlord's orgasm.

It was an afterthought, Lucifer using his magic to entwine and pinch that Alastor's cock in ropes of golden cord, controlling his arousal through the failsafe.

Pushing his wet face into the mattress by Lucifer's thigh, gasping, Alastor had gone limp again, once the buzzing inside his ass had ceased. At every trigger, a wave of arousal flooded, his imprisoned cock twitching painfully against Lucifer's knee, a throb in his full balls concurrent with his stretched hole spasming. The receding tide was getting mind-numbing. The knot in his groin was pushing the limits of his perseverance to the brink.

Nonstop, the cycle of pain was unbearable. Aching for relief, straining against his Master's thighs, Alastor's stifled gasps reached a higher octave when he felt the fourth-last bead tugged back, stretching his swollen inner ring as Lucifer pulled on the cord in a painstaking pace to pull out the string.

Alastor had begged one too many times to warrant a merciful end.

[rainyday-deer]

Angel's party trick 🎉

My partner and I had an interesting conversation and thats how this got made. I'm so sorry. lmao

[arcanepactguile]

The deer demon's wanton grunts were getting louder with every breath he took, the whole event giving the buck the impression that they were both imprisoned inside a perpetual time loop — Alastor's pained cries never seemed loud or desperate enough, the carnality of their feral courting leaving Alastor strangely unsatisfied in spite of the savage fucking he had just been subjected to outside Satan's bedroom.

The Radio Demon's long tongue lolled out as he panted raggedly, strings of drool swinging with every violent thrust rocking him, the sudden warm palm encircling his throat to tip his jaw up had put a brief pause on the Radio Demon's erratic thoughts. The adjustment in his posture had driven the new thrusts into a different angle, the blossoming pain filling Alastor's throbbing walls to hug his Master's cock all the more harder.

Eyes rimmed in white, newly shec teare brimming to spill, the lewd squelches of his Master's old seed escaping his fluttering ring in varying degrees of volume, the Radio Demon was speechless for a time. All he could voice were those frantic cries, his scrawny frame jostled to rhythmically rock. The heat of his Master's larger body arched over his own possessively, the small doe was resisting the urge to snap back, happy to be used as breeding stock that didn't make conversation.

It was incredibly hot, though.

Wincing as the thickened cock stuffing his ass was twitching over his pounded bud of nerves, Alastor's stammered reply was piteous, his wretched expression bloodless with fear and arousal mingled.

"Fuck, I—I feel—like we don't fit—I'm too small—can't—keep your seed inside—!"

Alastor's tight passage milking Satan's cock in near seamless pulls, the buck's pulse in his throat was hammering into Satan's fingers. Alastor swallowing before he went on to rebuke his Master, looking away in defiance through his gaze alone, drawing his ears back to flatten in resignation. His erection was coming close to shooting his own load, the pulsating length jammed in between his abdomen and the bedding, the friction incessant as his Master was pumping hard inside his slicked backside into the bed.

"I'm—not built for... fuck, your cock's... ripping me—!"

He was unsure why this doe caused his blood to boil so much but God was it going to become addicting real quick. The way he lifted his rump when he was called a little slut and the wiggling of his tail. It was almost too much for even Satan to abide by. He found himself instinctually growling at the doe being like this. He began to increase the pace of his thrusting wanting nothing more than to keep the pace going and violate this doe. He grown when he felt his ass tied up. 

Satan found himself curling a hand around Alastor's throat. He leaned over him more and pulled his head upward so now they were looking at each other as he fucked him. He smirked. "I want you to look at me when I nut." he said that right into his face as he kept pumping him. He's manhood was already pulsing and twitching inside of him. The doe was simply too tight even after the first round the tightness had not eased up. He was almost impressed. 

"Come now. Say more. Tell me how you really feel?" He said in a cocky town as he kissed him deeply on the mouth giving him a few seconds of breathless air before releasing him. He wanted him to speak he wanted him to talk as Satan kept up his brutal assault with his bottom not letting out for a moment wanting nothing more than to cum in his ass yet again. 

[arcanepactguile]

The commotion at the end of the bed was news to Alastor, presently engaged with his half of his tentacle monster intent on fucking him until walking straight would have been comparable to a world-class drunkard — the creaking of the bedsprings, and the Radio Demon’s frantic gasps, were added to the loud THUD somewhere in front of him. The mundane sound of a heavy body hitting the ground had reached Alastor, that a feat in of itself was successful, but the recognition of the dreaded sound was delayed by the myriad of conflicting emotions swamping his mind, primed for senseless arousal in place of intelligent thought.

The scene on Alastor's bedroom floor might as well have been an abstract sculpture — the wriggling mass of tentacles swarming over Angel's toppled body appeared to be extensions of the arachnid's own anatomy, the black tendrils sliding under and over the demon's startled body to accomplish it's mission — send the spider off on his own journey of lewd enlightenment.

The original tentacles were still swept up in pleasuring their cervine Master, leaving the new tentacles to explore Angel Dust, independently of their first agenda with the deer demon.

Pinned to the bed, eyes squeezed tightly, Alastor's heart was beating louder inside his own private darkness — his pinched flesh where the tentacles were drawn in firmly around his waist and shoulders holding him down, the sense of light vertigo was rushing headlong as his arousal was rising.

The rhythmic rocking of his backside was forcing the squeaks of protest from the mattress springs, Alastor's strained BLEATS overlapping the mechanical grinding of the worn bed. Heat pooled in his abdomen, Alastor's hard cock was pressed into the encircling tendrils, streaks of pre-cvm looped over the bustling forms ignored as they were focused on keeping the Radio Demon's hips held in one place. Squirming didn't do much to help any, Alastor's grunts and plaintive moans the most he could achieve in the unyielding grip of his personal playmate, his wagging tail fluffed out in heightened arousal.

The Overseer tentacle was pumping tirelessly, it's smooth penetration gliding in shallow thrusts as Alastor's walls were convulsing; the suckers lining the limb’s buried length were gradually changing the plunges. To an almost but not quite stationary rhythm of deeper thrusts, remaining inside his stretched core, the suckers had latched onto his inner flesh again.

The gripping nodules were pulling and dragging Alastor's walls in shortened bursts, invariably sustaining a constant motion of intense friction, greatly emphasising the fullness of his stretched passage. A multiple-ringed sucker was attached to the trembling deer's throbbing prostate, massaging the gland firmly as the skin of the tentacle sweeped over it in a quickening rate of fervour — eliciting a new noise from the restrained buck.

The distraught buck's keening wail hit a new pitch of overstimulation, the rippling Overseer limb had bunched up into his rolling backside between his spread thighs. In it's hardened concentration to fulfil it's selfish reasons, the monster had already split half it's energy onto the invited second party, who it had suspected was the dessert for this late night's foray into the new.

Meanwhile…

Angel Dust had his own troubles.

The three larger tentacles were slithering over Angel’s shoulders, weaving over his shoulder blades to squirm under his clothes and wrap around his midsection, pinning his two pairs of arms to his sides. Two more sinuous tentacles were entwined around his legs, binding them in closer to press flushed together, three tentacles more were burrowed under the addict's pants legs, their slender tips snaking through the tight gaps to seek moistness.

The constant motion of the vibrating limbs were occasionally lifting Angel's frame off the floor in parts; such as his groin, his upper torso, or one hip. The hollow thuds weren't as loud as the initial thwump of pulling Angel down, yet the carpeted floor wasn't doing much good to stifle the noise.

The limbs weren't hesitant, behaving very confidently — their tapered noses finding their targets in spite of the addict's bold attempts to dislodge them, should he had tried.

Two tentacles hadn't split Angel's pants yet: they should've, seeing as one was nuzzling the arachnid's puckered entrance with it’s ribbed tip after pushing aside his underwear, teasing it; the other sleeker tentacle slipped between Angel's pressed thighs, rubbing it's girth through the material into the tight slit concealing the spider demon's cock.

The zipper or buttons must have been the first parts to break and disappear, the combined limbs’ bulk pushing Angel's pants to the limits. The tailor would have been impressed.

Why the fuck was he even still talking? More importantly - why the fuck was he even still here? The minute that Alastor had told him to come in, he should have immediately turned around and ran out that door. Headed back to his room, to never think about this moment ever again. Instead, he had been pulled in. He could blame curiosity. Or maybe the fear that the tentacles wouldn't have liked Angel leaving, throwing out their shadows to force his stay.

So many questions were spiraling through his brain at this. Did Alastor actually have sex, or was this the only intimacy he partook in? Bodies were bodies, and bodies had needs, and even those that appeared sex-repulsed could enjoy time to themselves, surely. But then Angel was thinking - did Alastor have any control over his tentacles? It certainly didn't seem like he did, but he had always thought the Overlord could control them, just like he did his shadow.

Then came the question which truly mattered the least, and yet which stood out loudest in his brain - did this make Alastor a bottom!? He certainly seemed to be taking it like one, eyes only flashing to peek every so often. Part of him wanted to throw his hands over his eyes, but he wasn't a fucking prude. As slightly unsettling as this was, he had seen worse in the porn studio. It was more so the subject of who was on the other end that made the discomfort.

Noting that he had already told Alastor that he would keep this a secret, he felt there was nothing more to be said. So he had gone to turn and leave, only to find - "What th'..." His eyes shot down, noticing the tentacles that had wrapped around his lower legs, almost holding him in place. "Alastor, th' fuck - " He growled out, especially as the tentacles started moving up his pant leg. It wasn't like he wasn't used to unwanted advances in the bars and clubs, but to say this was something else would be an understatement.

He couldn't say it was entirely unwelcome, Angel was actually kind of into it. But it didn't stop him from trying to brush the intruders away, shoving at them a bit the more they traveled upwards. Especially because as far as he knew they were a part of Alastor, who didn't really seem in his right mind to consent right then. "Listen, ah'm flattered but - hey!"

He had felt himself get tugged down rather harshly by the tentacles, almost falling on his face, thankfully catching himself with both sets of arms. He didn't know why they had been so persistent with him, but now he found himself making eye contact with Alastor's floor rather than the pornographic content that seemed to be happening right above him on the bed.

[arcanepactguile-scribes]

@tastefulfinery ᴀꜱᴋᴇᴅ [ ꜱᴜʀᴘʀɪꜱᴇ ] ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛᴇɴᴛᴀᴄʟᴇᴛᴏʙᴇʀ

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 — Tentacletober

𝐖𝐂: 1.6k

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋. Alastor, Tentacle Monster, Alastor's Shadow, Rosie mention.

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒: Non-Con Corporal Punishment (spanking)

𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄: Debt to Nature.

𝑨𝑶3 𝑴𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓

A challenge submitted by @tastefulfinery , I was given: surprise tentacles, from the Tentacletober Prompts.

After a day discreetly engaged with anal training, following the not-so-subtle interest Lady Rosie had shown, the unsuspecting Radio Demon had found himself learning a very harsh lesson behind the (unlocked) door of the bathroom.

Seeking to end the day's training with the glass butt plug, Alastor's Shadow and Tentacles had other ideas...

𝐂�� / 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒:

Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Spanking, Tentacles, Marking, Non-Consensual Groping, Wash With Soap, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Anal Play, Butt Plugs, Impact Play, Bondage and Discipline, Domestic Discipline, Overstimulation, Sounds Correction, Soap Gags, Forced Infantilism, Mommy Kink, pegging implications

Rapidly blinking away the tears that blurred his vision, was fruitless. As soon as they cleared, a fresh surge replaced them. Stinging hot, the bitter tang of soap filled his flared nostrils — whatever misstep throughout the journey to this predicament, Alastor had reached a flimsy conclusion: the answer wasn't so convoluted as originally suspected. 

Suspended in mid-air in the middle of Lady Rosie's luxurious en suite, which shamed ordinary master bathrooms — Alastor had found himself suffering a prolonged hiding.

All because he had thought dabbling in anal training for his excited Mistress was going to be a walk in the park.

Evidently, his Shadow and the Shadow Realm’s tentacles hadn't agreed. The Radio Demon had surmised they were convinced their Master was cheating on Rosie.

The tears trickling still, Alastor was presently arranged in a most embarrassing position, half-naked and with no end in sight. Half an hour had already passed, the hot water faucets in the free-standing claw-foot ceramic bathtub next to him on full blast. The streaming water’s jets echoed loudly in the room, not at all helping in covering up the startled shriek when in the midst of preparing his evening bath, a mass of tentacles had manifested without permission.

The en suite's door shut, the reverberated yelp probably should have been noticed by Rosie — who knew not to disturb her lover when he wanted some personal, quiet time — although she should have suspected something was amiss, judging by the assortment of pathetic and degrading noises the Radio Demon was making, combined by the constant stream of hot water splashing down the drain when it should have been turned off a long time ago.

What Alastor desperately wanted Rosie NOT to do was now come to his rescue. The door had not been locked. For emergencies, or a simple change of mind regarding solo-play… Alastor's Shadow, after the initial shove in the back to stumble his Master off balance, thrown forward over the tub, the mischievous Shadow had only escalated the ensuing drama by handing the tentacle Rosie's favourite wooden hairbrush.

Two large tentacles were secured tightly wrapped around Alastor’s middle, pinning his arms straight to his sides, hands splayed open to spasm systematically as the Overseer tentacle walloped the poor Radio Demon’s red-hot backside with the flat hairbrush. The wet hairbrush.

Rewind the scene.

The three tentacles’ black silken flesh shining under the lights overhead, steam from the running bathwater broken by their bulk supported through the magick portal shimmering directly above the unmatched pair. Likewise, the deer demon's hair and fur was plastered to his scalp, ears dripping wet as they bounced with every savage spank bruising his raised ass. 

Still mostly dressed, upon stumbling forward and catching himself winded on the edge of the tub’s cold rim, the two tentacles had abruptly hoisted him high up to relieve his legs to dangle helplessly — the position took away from him the relief dealt by the impacts of the rough spanks absorbed through the floor via his hooves. Suspended, weightless, the tentacles had guaranteed he would feel every iota of smacked flesh. The tails of his coat were flung over his shoulders, his slacks pulled down just enough to expose the line separating his sit-spots from his thighs.

Thoughts fragmented, the miserable Overlord had surrendered at long last, hanging limply in the tentacle’ squeezing embrace. Face flushed pink in absolute shame, sniffling forlornly, Alastor had to wait out his punishment to the bitter end. Fighting back had only made this predicament worse.

After the tentacles had strung up the surprised deer, arms locked snug and bent forward head-down-ass-up, he had sensed the pair of hands (of course belonging to his treasonous Shadow) reach around his front to hastily unbuckle and slip the straps of his belt, before undoing the fly and dragging his slacks and underwear down to above the knee. Once that job was complete, Alastor hadn't seen any sign of his trenchant mirror — most likely keeping Rosie busy, the fiend.

Now alone, the Overseer Tentacle had set to work. No warm up. No prep. Punishment fit for an absurdly naughty boy, Alastor refused to accept this was a natural state of affairs, a justified overreaction.

At first, the tentacle had calmly examined him — taking it's time, the slick tip winding it's way up and around the slopes of Alastor's exposed rear, experimentally squeezing his unshaven furry sac; prompting another strangled shriek from the struggling demon. It had swiftly put an end to it's prisoner signalling Rosie for assistance — grabbing a washcloth resting on the tub’s rack, it had shoved the soapy rag into Alastor's resistant jaws, forcing the disgusting cloth in to stifle his cries.

Gagging on the suds, acutely aware of the marvelous familiar domestic design of his impending punishment, modeled after Rosie's penchant for the traditional ways, Alastor froze the instant he had felt the Overseer resume it's ministrations.

The tentacle had discovered the source of this evening’s problem.

The glass butt plug Alastor had been wearing all day, as part of the training for Rosie's pegging playtime.

Heart racing, the petrified Overlord senselessly bucked in a vain effort displaying his indignation, clearly unable of going anywhere. Ears rigid and turned back, eager to detect any audible warning to aid his dissolving self-control, there was nothing to suggest the Overseer's movements. Cycling his legs needlessly aloft, the wild kicking at best emphasized to the Overseer that he knew he was in deep trouble, Alastor's hopeless tactic to curl his bent body in the fetal position offered the excruciating implement a better aim.

Nudging the base of the plug elicited a panic-stricken whimper. Attempts to lift it in any direction drew muffled squeals, the deer trying to kick out, arching his back — quickly stiffening once the Overseer had grabbed the base deftly, pulling it back to almost pop the buried knot past his two inner stretched rings, before releasing the plug to slide it back inside, filling him up again. Groaning wretchedly, the Overlord fought to stay still, unflinching, to present a boring demonstration of the toy's effect. Unsuccessful, for the deer's stressed hole fluttered around the walls of the plug's neck, the stimulation stirring a knot of unwanted arousal in the pit of his belly.

Taking aim, the wooden hairbrush whisked through the air to land squarely on the butt plug.

The Radio Demon's shrill scream cut through the expanse of Rosie's bedroom and antechamber.

Muffled by the soapy washcloth, the scream was impressive.

The Overseer continued without a care, uncompromising and indifferent to the boundaries of safety and sanity.

The tentacle rhythmically spanked Alastor over the butt plug, each heavy blow sending a jolt of overstimulated pleasure rippling through his stretched hole. Each smack was fierce, swung perfectly and unyielding, no pauses to allow a brief respite, until soon enough it had determined the Radio Demon required crueler punishment. Alastor's cheeks had turned a lovely shade of bright red — circular domes patching his exposed skin like a piebald, the skin burning hot and tingling with electricity. Persistent, the stalwart smacks had worked up Alastor's seat and sweet spot to the brink of abrasion.

Swollen and glossy, the first lull in the vigorous, scandalously loud whacks without pause had lured Alastor into a false sense of safety. The tentacle had pulled the cloth gently from his strained jaws, and dipped the cloth into the hot bathwater.

Gasping for breath, wheezing, legs jerking spasmodically, Alastor hadn't the time to scrutinize his supposed preconceived lesson (had the Shadow and tentacles been waiting all day?) when out of the blue that Overseer had rinsed the washcloth in the hot water, soaking it well before it began soaping up his trembling backside.

Pushing the drenched fabric up between his twitching cheeks, roughly nudging the embedded plug deeper to tease, the tentacle methodically wiped his throbbing rump up and down, ignoring it's prisoner's injured bleats of pain — that was the point. Finding all the crevices and valleys, soaping up his previously fluffy tail to stick up like it was made of paper-mâché, sweeping in under his sac to moisten the fur in front into ruffled spikes as well, encircling the bulge inside his pants in a parting caress, the soap bubbles dotting his swollen cheeks — finally satisfied, it then shoved the offending cloth back between Alastor's clenched jaws, and resumed the spanking ten-fold.

The smacks rained down faster and heavier than he had known, the hot water bringing a brand new element of intensified pain to the volleys of smacks. Whenever it had sensed his inflamed skin was drying out, the Overseer had kept up the strict routine — Alastor obediently relaxing his jaw for the tentacle to remove the washcloth, rinse-and-soak it in the basin, rub a new coat of the soapy lubricant all over his pulsating ass, then reinsert the cloth back inside his waiting mouth.

Rejecting the insulting prop only yielded a stern warning — the tentacle paused it's swings, tapping the middle of the glass plug to tease out another dejected yelp from his hitched throat, before picking up the slack wasted in that momentary lapse of concentration.

This continued for how long, Alastor hadn't given it any thought after he had lost count past the half-hour mark. Dazed, hanging dejectedly, eyes half-lidded and unfocused, the subdued Overlord submitted to the seemingly never-ending punishment. Pitiful sobs choked out on every merciless smack, his tongue around the bunched cloth pushing back to gain relief, saliva drooled out as sticky webs.

The persistent wet smacks didn't slow down, nor ease their rhythm. Caught in the middle, pain and pleasure, the Radio Demon's awareness had been dulled to an inattentive recognition how his buttocks was continuously pounded by the wooden brush despite his compliance, persuaded that yes... he was in the wrong for deceiving Rosie without a transparent talk first — his flesh reddened to a purplish hue.

Surprise tentacles were the worst.

[arcanepactguile]

The courageous boop on his pointed nose was a new thing, yet another example of playful banter from his — dare he actually say it — lover. Significant other. Angel Dust kept proving, over and over again, just what Alastor had been missing out on for all the times he'd joined another warm body.

Going by the heat flaring up in his chest, making its way up to darken his sharp cheekbones, the bedsheets he had come to know in his Life and Afterlife may as well have been as cold as a meatlocker. The profoundest love he had ever known, was standing right here, in front of him.

Not yet between his legs, no, but the prospects of sharing their truest emotions had shaken up the Radio Demon's core. What did it matter anymore, if they never actually made it past heavy petting, tonight? The saucy swagger of the spider demon as he thought he had settled their harmless banter for good, certainly riled up his cervine mate's resolve to get inside him — once and for all, map out every flavour the arachnid was endowed with.

Speaking of endowments — the buck's hardness aching for release, the glide of the youth's fluffy fur brushing against his hot groin as they had moved in closer before parting, Alastor's desires were lofty.

Maybe... he was pushing too hard. Too fast. Maybe it was the booxrze that guided his meandering thoughts, his sexual appetites crossbred with idealistic romance.

Back off? This late? Foil the chance at — as sappy as it sounded, even in private — true, honest love?

Wrinkling his nose, lifting a hand to rub the spider's energetic touch away, Alastor's return was a little bitter — whereas his good humour had strangely slunk away into some unknown recess, Alastor's enthusiasm and lust hadn't wilted.

"You'll be sorry, you know. We'll have to tip the staff for not calling the police before dawn, supposing I don't break you first. "

Stepping out of his clothes, leaving his pants to puddle in the sodden heap, the sounds of Angel running the bath was filtered by the downpour outside. Weaker flashes of lightning illuminating the hotel room briefly, Alastor's chagrin towards himself was momentarily concealed in the lengthening periods of darkness provided by the changing rainstorm.

The glare of the light from the en suite's open doorway casting a strong halo that fell across the floor, barely reaching up to his knees, crossing the threshold from bedroom to bath was a thoughtful trip.

Bathed in it's vibrance, Alastor's ashen skin appeared more sickly, the disappearing blush in his face the last true remnant of colour. The shadowed hollows of his malnourished frame marked under the light, Angel didn't have long to consider his lover's nakedness — the buck joining him in the tub, Alastor had held onto the spider's shoulders for balance as he cautiously settled in behind him, pulling the youth back to sit in his lap, back to chest.

"First of all, I want you prepped. I'd love to claim you, after I've already exhausted you. I want to feel you squirm, hear you squeal for mercy—"

The Radio Demon's hot erection pushed up into the youth's back, the silken flesh warmer than the bathwater, Angel's own length was commended with a loving squeeze. Reaching around Angel, Alastor had wrapped his long fingers around his lover's dick, holding it firmly; the other hand gliding up to encircle his throat, thumbing the hickey he had made.

Pressing his forehead against the nape of the taller's neck, breathing in his fur deep, the buck savoring the scent of his confident lover, Alastor had chosen this position in secret. This way, Angel wasn't capable of noticing the tears brimming in his mate's eyes, the poignant expression he wore, buried in the spider's dense fur. The warm water lapping at their combined bodies stirred faster as Alastor shifted a little, the steam gradually collecting would slick down the buck's fur, his ears pinned back in earnest.

His voice hoarse, Alastor gave Angel a gentle warning nip to his neck — pricking the skin, his hands copied, applying extra pressure in encouragement.

"Do as I say.

Pick up the soap, and lather your cock for me. Do NOT move my hand.

Fail, and I'll bite off more than you'd ever dare me to."

Rolling his hips once, the Radio Demon rutted his throbbing erection into Angel's lower back for friction, sweeping a path down to the spider's skin as Angel's submerged fur obeyed the rules of engagement, the wispy fur eliciting a groan from the buck.

"Don't make me wait — no more warnings."

「🕸️ Something he discovered when arriving in Hell was the debauchery. Various beings indulged in their wildest fantasies with those of the opposite and even same sex. It was scandalous, practically forbidden above the ground. Despite the tsks from his grandfather when the don witnessed those, so called, taboo acts among the same sex, Angel felt like actually had a chance to explore himself.

As a human he had snuck off to speakeasy’s to feel like his actual, genuine self, but never had participated in anything truly kinky until death.He indulged when he could, despite the harsh retorts from his grandfather. His mother and brother merely stayed silent. And even though he was sent with the objective to acquire information, pursuing the Radio Demon sexually was his own choice. Because that’s what this was , right? Merely a carnal encounter? It had to be, given most of the men he met didn’t here only wanted to get him beneath the sheets. 

He was drawn from his thoughts when a shiver ran along his spine, forcing him to slightly tremble from an unexpected sensation. Fuck, this guy had caught him off guard. And even though he softly huffed, he tilted his head a little to give more room. This was hardly his first hickey, yet something felt more personal about this one. He couldn’t fathom why. Cause it was an overlord? Someone highly attractive? Or something dwelling silently, incomplete in his chest?

Best to disregard that train of thought and focus. The soft whimper, assuming rejection as the cradling hand slipped cruelly away was an indicator the demon had his attention. And, fuck, he wanted more of it. But he couldn’t help observing as he stripped the remaining articles to expose what lay beneath. He wasn’t as fluffy as he expected, though that hardly mattered. He had enough fluff for the both of them. Even though his eyes noticed the scarring, he was too distracted by another detail: the cock itself. Did the guy realize how difficult it was not to immediately pounce?

❝ Yuh ‘no, it ain’t fair how hot ya are. ❞ Angel considers himself hot, sexy and adorable. He adores his white fur, the pink stripes along his arms. His chest was his personal favorite with the heart dead center to really adorn his chest fluff. And the end of the heart had a line leading directly to the engorged length exposed between his legs. He bit his lip, shamelessly staring. But his cheeks flushed red as their bodies connected. This contact felt nice despite being so simplistic.

But his eyes widened as the guy became to speak, vulgar words so easily flowing outward as if they were rehearsed dozens of times. A tramp? He had heard that one before but it was different being spouted from those lips. It didn’t feel derogatory in an undesirable way. Everything he says only helped fuel the heat growing between his legs, forcing the sensitive flesh to twitch with further, impatient anticipation.

❝ Fuck yuh, I ‘no I can handle it. Prove ya ain’t all talk. I ain’t gonna be happy if I ain’t walkin’ funny tamorrow, Smiles. If yer lucky, I’ll show ya why all the daddies love this mouth~ ❞ But not here. His index finger playfully bopped the demon’s nose before he created distance between them. He made sure to wiggle what was he had whilst strutting to the bathroom. Once inside, the water was turned on past the middle, but not yet on scalding. Without waiting, he got into the tub and moved so he could place his fingers on the very edge towards the door.

❝ Ya comin’? ❞ 」

[velvet-games]

had a smut idea I'm not brave enough to write

[aislinceivun]

Valastor week Day 6 - Polyamory @valastorweekofficial

Based on this thread I wrote earlier in the week with the premise that Alastor starts dating Valentino and Velvette months before letting Vox join their polycule. Vox sufferz greatly😆 I've got an nsft bonus doodle & textpost on my twt / bsky!

[am-i-interrupting]

Hey there! Can I get some headcanons for Alastor and Rosie with a female Best friend/ s/o respectively (cause y'know, Al's an 'Ace in the hole' lol) who's a singer and does covers of modern music in old-timey styles like postmodern jukebox?

Rosie and Alastor frequent different speakeasies and clubs often together.

Soon after Alastor’s return they restarted the tradition and that’s where they met you.

You were performing a cover of a song neither had ever heard before.

You were good. You were amazing. Fantastically.

Rosie was immediately smitten.

You walked down off the stage, placing a delicate hand in a demon’s outstretched one to help you down the stairs.

You practically floated around the floor and even convinced several people to dance with you.

“They’re rather good.” “Yes, indeed.”

When you approached their tables, dragged your hand along the back of both their seats and placed an outstretched hand between the two of them.

Alastor declined it, noticing Rosie’s specific brand of infatuation. In fact, the bastard baited you both and reached for your hand only to grab Rosie’s and place it there.

He can be a wing man if he wants to be.

The three of you met after that initial performance and were often found together.

Often Alastor would be on the end of Rosie’s thoughtless rambles about you as she flitted around. She called your voice angelic a lot.

Rosie would attend every single one of your performances. Alastor would attend them when he could or particularly wanted to. He wouldn’t rearrange his plans to see them unlike Rosie.

 When the Hotel was rebuilt and the welcoming party was being planned, Alastor immediately suggested you be a performer for the night.

Alastor may or may not have sent his shadows to place a note and a specific outfit he’d noticed Rosie really liked on your bed the day of.

One would imagine Rosie would have dressed for the occasion as well. I’m imagining this fanart because I’m in love with them both.

Alastor, of course, welcomed you with a specific brand of hostility.

He made sure you were comfortable, had everything you needed, any instrument you required would appear with a shadow playing it, and he did make sure to compliment you.

You didn’t see Rosie until you were onstage about to preform on stage.

She was sitting beside Alastor, so beautiful.

You felt almost scandalized seeing her in something that revealed her arms, much less her back and legs.

You immediately went flushed and walked off stage, put a hand in Husk’s shoulder where he was sitting at the bar nearby and took his drink from him (not registering that it was not one he was drinking but instead using to mix a drink for Angel so. . . good luck) and basically started chugging.

You patted his shoulder, gave him his bottle back (he just stared at it and looked at Angel who burst out laughing), then went back to the stage.

You started singing. Song after song, all on stage which was odd for you.

Then you caught Rosie’s eye at the end of a song and Alastor’s shadows started playing a different rhythm.

Feeling the effects of Husks’s drink take hold, you got off the stage.

You went to Rosie and held out your hand specifically to her. Still, Alastor pulled the same move of puppeting her hand, just for old time’s sake.

You moved so you were behind her and pulled her close to you, feeling her warmth and skin against yours and maybe you were in Hell but it was heaven.

You led her in a tango and then she led you and then you were— you both led each other.

At one point, body moving before you mind could process, you kissed her exposed shoulder.

She flushed a bright red.

Charlie went to Alastor and asked if you two were dating. Surprised to hear no.

Everyone watched on anyway because not often did people see Rosie dance and with you two so in sync it was mesmerizing.

You ended the dance with spinning which led to a dip.

Rosie actually, spurred on by the feeling of your hands on her back and the adrenaline of a dance, hooked her leg over yours and used her arm around your shoulders to pull you into a kiss.

Angel absolutely whistled.

You both pulled away flustered.

Maybe you ran off, maybe you didn’t.

Either way, Rosie turned to Alastor who gave her a thumbs up as she sat down. A smile on her lips as her hand traveled to it.

To Alastor, though, that wasn’t the most shocking part of the night.

For him, it was when he heard Charlie saying she was going see if she could commission you to do cover some of her favorite songs and compile them into a playlist.

And upon questioning her, he was informed you covered modern songs.

[arcanepactguile]

The storm that followed them once they had the nagging feeling that it wasn't such a good idea, trying out a new venue where nobody recognised anybody (it was such an appealing feature), it seemed like the best excuse to retire... to explore other avenues of interest that was blooming inside the club.

As it had turned out, rubbing elbows with the drunks and the stoned clientele wasn't to their liking. Alastor normally wouldn't be caught dead in a shady nightclub like this one, inexperienced owners or not, but it was an easy fix to run into the youth that was fixated on following him everywhere — at a distance, mind you. The Radio Demon did not need visual confirmation that his stalker was there. It was a feeling he'd grown tuned into.

So as he they had chosen a dingy looking hotel that actually was impressive on the inside, the Radio Demon couldn't help not studying the way his friend carried his body, flourishing it almost. A total show off. The cold rainwater was constantly dripping off them both, leaving puddles in the lobby and then the elevator after they had moved on from paying for a single night. Their clothes glued to their bodies, the wet boots copping it the most, the Overlord was eager to strip the second they had locked their room securely.

The combination of the freezing cold and the one too many shots the deer demon had skulled tonight might have been the reason to blame for him to concede to his mischievous drinking buddy's advice: Alastor's initial assessment marking the younger man as a spoilsport when he had to be dragged into the damn lobby, disappeared when Angel had thrown that bold attempt at flirting.

Flicking his ears, a spray of fat droplets hitting Angel Dust straight in his downturned face. Alastor was trying to shed his own stuck clothing — always overdressed. Two-toned plum jacket and waistcoat, black slim trousers, leather dress shoes (high heeled to accomodate and disguise his hooves' dew claws), tie and overcoat. The overcoat and jacket had been lazily dropped onto the rug, the buck's outstretched arm missing the chair he had been aiming for.

Alastor's tipsy state meant sleazy, horrendous pick-up lines were a direct challenge. Blinking back at him, quizzical for a beat, Alastor's frown merged into an amused smirk, his plastered hair/fur pushed out of his eyes with a shaky hand.

"That's —" thinking long and hard on the difficult question, swaying a little where he stood inside Angel's personal space, the alcohol he had consumed over their night striking home, the buck waited another beat before confirming Angel's hopes — a shudder stiffening his drenched shoulders as the other demon was caressing his chest.

"— that's a fair trade. I can certainly do that. You need to make the bath hot — with this weather, I want it to last. Can you fix that for me.. Here, let me..."

A slight slur affecting his speech, spoken with confidence, the Radio Demon had abruptly leaned into the line of the arachnid's body, resting his chin atop his admirer's shoulder: reaching around his taller waist to search for the offending skirt. The stretch was definitely tight — pulled across the spider's butt and shrunken with rainwater to hug his curves, Alastor spread one hand over a single butt cheek to cup it, pushing the swell up to jut as he brazenly checked his would-be lover's ass. The other hand was lost, gripping Angel's other hip to thumb the wet fur peeking out over the belt.

"s'nice, we should be going out more often," came the next uninvited appraisal, Alastor's voice low, threaded with the thickness of the booze that Angel had kept buying for him. The buck's body trembling into the arachnid's, Alastor was slow in tugging that skirt off, finding the fluffiness of his date's chest fur too warm (when together as they are) and inviting not to fall asleep against. Breathing hard, Alastor's jittery fingers were pinching, half by accident, pulling at the tight skirt to ruck it, his progress slow. "What possessed you to wear this...? "

「 HELP 」

@arcanepactguile asked : 「 HELP 」 : for sender to help receiver undress

𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 … / Accepting

「🕸️The mission was to stalk and observe, not have one of his hands held as the Radio Demon pulled him along. How did this occur again? Felt like seconds ago they had, once again, bumped into each other at some sleazy club. Concerned the guy was growing suspicious of the encounters, he offered to purchase a round of drinks to occupy his mind. He somewhat, recalled, trying to convince Smiles ( his nickname for the demon ) to dance with him. But when you were hanging out in a club that reeked of sweat, had hell's residents not only high off their faces but drowning in booze, and aroused ( the grinding was impossible to miss ), you were bound to have some guy try and step between you both like a fucking moron. He was half certain that one of them only sucker-punched the dick. So, they clearly ditched, but Smiles never indicated where they were venturing to.

He felt a knot in his stomach as they passed a few establishments. Night covered most of their surroundings, and the streets almost appeared bare. Was he frightened? He was aware of the broadcasts and what occurred, but he doubted that same fate awaited him. It's not like he was made, right? He had, mostly, been cautious during his observations. He wore clothes that blended in, and stayed hidden enough ( or so he thought ) that- Wait, what was that? His eyes squinted from the moisture. Rain? now? For fuck's sake! These boots weren't cheap and don't even get him started on the sweater. And it felt like with each step the droplets tripled in number. ❝ Fuckin' for real. ❞ But his eyes drifted to the other. Wasn't he bothered by the droplets? His clothes were starting to get soaked too.

A few irritated mumbles as his hair blurred his vision. Sure the rain was nice when you were all cozy inside, but it was a bitch when you got caught in it. But they were fortunate to stumble upon a hotel. The interior was fancier than the exterior. Like a hidden gem, he guessed. And the room they went into was large in size and holy fuck that tub was huge. Getting out of these wet clothes and into that would be like a dream. And if he was lucky maybe the Radio Demon would join him. The Radio Demon...Right. He turned to face him. Like his own, the guy's clothes were soaked, practically sticking to his frame. Which made him curious. What did he look like beneath it? Did he have any muscle? Any fluff? A nice ass? What size was his dick? Should he really be thinking about his target this way? He just couldn't help himself. The thoughts were put on hold when he shivered.

❝ Fuckin' rain. Guess we oughta get out 'f this shit, Smiles. ❞ Stripping was easy, usually, but the clothes were clinging like an ex. The sweater covered his head and decided to stay in place. For fuck's sake. This was kind of embarrassing. Come on, in front of an overlord of all demons. He wouldn't be surprised if the guy was reconsidering bringing him here. Might as well take him to the broadcast room. ❝ I look fuckin' stupid... ❞ Was that a laugh? Alright, maybe if he just pulled harder. And he would have, but he felt the assistance. A pull that removed the sweater. Oh, that was much better. ❝ Thanks. ❞ But, wait. He didn't know if what he thought next was influenced by their previous drinking or if he just wanted this, but you miss every opportunity you don't take, right?

❝ Heya, Smiles. Ya 'no, that tub in there's big enough fer two. ❞ The spider approached him and reached out to trail his fingers along his covered chest, which he hoped wouldn't remain that way for long. ❝ Ya wanna get out 'f these an' join me? Or yuh could help lil' ole me out an' get this skirt off. It's a bit tight. I don't think I can do it alone. ❞ He asked, his voice seductive. ❝ I think it's stuck ta me, so yuh might 'ave ta squeeze a little~ ❞ He hoped the demon understood what he meant. Was he trying to tempt him with permission to squeeze his ass. Oh, absolutely. ❝ Yuh help me, an' I'll help yuh~ capisce. ❞ 」

[arcanepactguile-scribes]

Fuckin' A! Bottom Alastor Week 3.0

Twitter Promo

BlueSky Promo

Open for requests. Go forth and submit your feral ideas, heathens.

[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]

"I didn't think Sins had so much freedom. No repercussions... I can relate to that," the Radio Demon conceded, returning his Master's smug expression.

He didn't release his wrist: deciding to push the dragon's hand down lower, his shirt loosening over the large hand.

"That's an offer I simply can't refuse. You can work overtime. Nobody will miss us... much."

@arcanepactguile from this ask

He smirked. "First, of off my doe. I am always FRISKY for you. Second off I am law we can always make time." He smirked down at him his tone wasn't that serious.

"BUT..." He smirked even more. "If you are worried about time. Perhaps. I could just tease you and work you up as much as can before we have to leave so....you crave it all day." <3

[misslycoris]

"BILLBOARD BAT"

🚨Mild NSFT(?) Warning🚨

“Pfft, well look at you all, all dolled up. You almost look decent. I wonder why you never told me about, about this.” Alastor's shoulder shakes as he tries to keep his laughter in.

“Oh, fuck you.” Alastor cackles at your response, effectively losing his composure as he pointed towards the billboard that shone brightly, as if to mock you.

“How, how much did George pay you to sit still in that!? AHAHAHAHAHAHA!” He says in between his laughter.

“Not enough apparently.” You could only flip him off, walking away before you get the urge to rip out that billboard and tear it to shreds.

Hi hi! This is a sort of celebration and thank you for your patience for the latest chapter! I know it took a while and I can't thank you enough for being understanding. I saw a few people doing this trend and I figured why not?

Also, this drawing shows a Squeaks that is on the more feminine side as I've been told, but again this doesn't affect how readers should view Squeaks.

Here is the reference used:

Here's other versions of the artwork as well: