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The tug starts out small, a gentle pull on the carnal desires inside of you. Nothing carnal stays gentle with you for long, though. Soon your id is on fire, eclipsing reason and thought, just the way it’s supposed to be. Someone out there is wishing for you, wanting you. Summoning you.
Best to go check it out…
A figure makes its way through the trees by a lone candle in dimming twilight. The meager light from the flame can just about illuminate the impending grassy clearing which is undoubtedly their destination. The figure is clad in a black robe that sways in the breeze created by their gait. You can glimpse peeks of their bare body underneath as the fabric moves with them. A long moonstone pendant hangs between their breasts, the only thing decorating their skin besides the loose robe. They pause at the edge of the clearing to look out at the field. The evening is nothing short of blissful, quiet, cool. Their face seems so serene. Innocent. Naive. Perfect. A fleeting expression crosses their face and is quickly suppressed, but you know this game well. Something in their gut wrenches against itself, a tantalizing cocktail of anxiety and eagerness. You can practically hear them thinking, “Finally, the full moon is here.”
In the center of the field, they get to work, setting down a small black bag which must not hold anything more than what they need for this ritual. They remove a handful of candles and carefully place them in a loose circle, lighting them as they go. They then lay various items within the circle: a phial of water, a selection of stones, a bundle of herbs, a smattering of seeds, a small but deceptively heavy egg. Slowly and meticulously building a sigil, they finish their work with plush red roses accentuating the spots where the sigil meets the circle.
They take a steadying breath and come to their knees, removing the final candle from their bag. A large red candle sitting in an open seashell, they set it in the center of the sigil. For a moment, it seems like the world has stopped to listen. Not a single whisper from the forest. They look to the sky and see the moon and stars frozen in time.
They light the candle.
As soon as the flame comes to life, an unease sets in their stomach, cementing their feeling there is no going back. Not that there would have been anyway, walking into the open field nude save for their robe and necklace, far away from humanity and on the edge of darkness as the sun continues lazily down the horizon. No, they passed the point of no return hours ago. Now they’ve brought themself to you; now they’re bringing you to them, caught in the event horizon of their inescapable call.
Ever the exemplar of bad habits, you like to play with your food, and so… A light breeze picks up from under them, as if from the grass itself, rustling the cloth and accentuating the curves of the pendant against their skin. You can almost will yourself to feel what they feel, the unmistakable energy from the circle twisting their consciousness. The taste of their confusion and fear mixed with desire and determination is exhilarating.
The sun seems to grow farther away as the moon dominates the sky, temperature dropping as the evening progresses. Candles flicker in every direction, defying what little breeze there is. As the sun finally dips completely down the horizon, their waiting in anticipation finally bears the first fruit. “What is it you desire?” they hear from the darkness. “Speak.”
A small yelp escapes them. You can hear their heart beating heavily, quickly, blood whooshing past their ears as they quiet their body’s fight or flight reactions with a slow, deep breath. This is the part where they remind themself that they know what they are here for, they know what they seek. That they chose this, sought it out. They begin, “I-I, I come to you…” The words tangle as something in their gut roils with the sensation that maybe something isn’t right. It seems they were unprepared for actively speaking as part of this ritual. This is the part they didn’t choose. “I seek…I desire…a blessing of fertility.” The words are meek and their eyes dart nervously from grass to trees to stars and back, looking for the source of the voice. For an age, there is no answer but the ripple of arbitrarily flickering candle flames.
You find buried in their mind, in their heart, in their gut what it is they truly desire. A hundred images parade through their mind in the span of a few seconds, showing all manner of otherworldly species - and how they might breed your target, in what positions, with what organs, how roughly or gently…“Pick your poison,” your voice purrs into them, a voice they can’t hear but can understand nonetheless. They feel it in their core, but also in their chest, their ears. Before they can place it, the sensation whips away. Their mind floats in the sea of images: Flushed flesh under sharp claws, pointed teeth against a gasping neck, spread thighs, breasts mingling and sliding against each other, a rock hard phallus penetrating a glistening, blossoming flower, a long tongue licking skin. Something is definitely not going as they intended, but the pooling warmth in their hips and groin melts so deliciously.
As you continue your voyage through their mind, the barrage of images begins to rotate through a choice few, lingering on each one to play out a few seconds of a scene. Your quarry doesn't need to talk this time - you have wormed your way into their mind pretty well, after all. Their cheeks burn in lust and shame and you bask in the maelstrom of feelings they emanate.
You sense their surprise at the intimate feeling of soft warmth spreading around their womb, contrasting the coldness of the night air, the solid pendant on their chest. Another chilled breeze teases inside their robe, passing without regard for physics ever so lightly over their skin, under the fabric. The contrast of the cool sensation on their skin and the warmth at their womb makes them wobble slightly, a little dizzied by their current situation. It all makes them very aware of the oppressive, chafing fabric of their robe. Even though it’s all they’re wearing, it’s still too much - you’ve made sure of that. They want to rip the robe off, throw it back among the trees, let it catch on the branches and shred so they never have to endure the touch of fabric on their skin again.
A last ounce of fear catches in their throat. What or who have they called upon? What have they done? Nervously, they slam their eyes shut and try to steady their heart. You can read everything on their face as they try to rationalize: What do they do? Will this strange entity bless them? DId they really just have to ask? You tease them with more images: back arching, tongues mingling, claws digging into soft skin.
“You’re playing with forces beyond your comprehension,” your not-voice murmurs, sending vibrations through their chest. A brief moment to let the statement sink in before you continue, “I love getting the naive ones.” A rippling sensation engulfs their body as the ground seems to sway, the trees blur, the air becomes thick. “It’s always so fun showing them exactly what we are capable of.” It’s time to really play now.
There is stirring from among the line of trees bordering the clearing. As their eyes start to adjust to the darkness, they can see the outline of a figure strolling towards them. Your figure. Your figure, this time, chosen specifically for this. “This is what you think you want,” your not-voice asserts confidently as you approach them with your body coalescing into its curated form. You could pass for a human if you wanted - but right now you very much do not want to. Completely nude, a demon has no sense of shame or modesty, only lust and desire. As you advance they can make out more details, like the curves of your breasts and your long fingers lightly playing with your nipples. Your tail snaked around your hip, wrapped around your hard cock, stroking slowly and gently. What really catches their eye, though, is how the tip of that tail strokes and squeezes at your ample scrotum in a display suggesting that fertility they seek.
Nearly on top of them now, you slowly and deliberately unfurl your wings, making sure to catch their attention as you do so. Your wings blot out the light from the moon and stars in their vision, and they are left with your inhuman and unholy visage filling their view. You can see them struggling to make sense of what’s happening. This ritual wasn’t…it was supposed to be… they thought they were going to be greeted by a divine presence, given a blessing to take with them, something that would eventually fill them with what they desire, not something…someone…like…
They find it impossible to draw themself from looking at every inch of you, drinking in the sight of your flesh, your tail stroking and grabbing at yourself, your breasts rising and falling with speech and breath. They have summoned you, and you have captivated them. The vibration of the air around them, the warm sensation pushing outward from their core into their thighs and stomach, drives their mind and body solely to you. Drawn by your stature, your commanding presence, they find themself frozen, unsure how to proceed. Do they bare themself to you? Fear flushes their skin, and you can plainly see it. Their heart runs wild below their breast, and you can feel it.
You watch in amusement as they decide that following the ritual further might be the best move. Perhaps it’s the only option they can conceive of right now, stunned as they are, unable to form new thoughts, only to continue following the path that led them here. They don’t remove their robe, but they part the opening enough to reveal more of their breasts. As they try to slow their breathing, from the knelt position they’re in, they slightly spread their legs. They take the red candle from its shell resting place and hold it, tilted, over their bare chest. Red wax trickles onto their body, splashing between their breasts and onto their stomach. They arch their back in a way suggesting offering themself to you, readiness to take all and any that you will give.
You stand at the edge of their circle, admiring their dedication, and pass a forked tongue over your lips. The wax dribbling down their chest gives the illusion of blood, warm and crimson in the moonlight. It stirs a hunger in you that can only come from the second circle of Hell. Smiling slightly and deliberately you show off petite fangs, top and bottom both, to your mark. Your cock visibly throbs and grows even as you have tapered off from stroking, entranced as you are by their performance. Gathering yourself, you remember why you are here. Knowing that they have summoned you, performed this ritual of their own accord, you test the bounds of their circle with a small step forward. As no harm befalls you, you continue in. You stand above them, cock throbbing over them. They are so incredibly small, incredibly vulnerable. Incredibly delicious.
An outsized gust from a single beat of your demonic wings blows out all the candles, save for the one they are holding. Lifting their face towards you with a wingtip, you let out an entertained sigh. “Oh, you poor thing,” you begin, clearly not sympathetic at all. “Did you think this would be gentle?”
They rise as you lift their face, standing below you in obedient silence. Their voice gets wedged in their throat, any thoughts caught up in one tiny noise that barely makes it out. Their gaze trails upward from your legs, your hard cock, across the skin of your stomach, slowly over your breasts, to your face. You watch as it truly sets in that you may not be the presence they were intending to make contact with out here. What have they done, what have they done, what have they done. Such delightful distress. They begin rationalizing again, determining that the ritual must be followed as they know it to be. Perhaps this is a test.
Despite everything, you notice a small swell of pride in their expression as they watch your cock grow before them in the candlelight, their fear dampening to a whisper rather than a scream. Their cunt has begun to ache mercilessly, in a way they have never experienced. They look into your face, your lips and eyes softly illuminated in the moonlight. Carefully, not looking away, they place the candle at their feet. Taking a steadying breath, they slip the robe from their body. They wear nothing but the pendant at their breast. Their nipples flush pink and harden in the evening air and their skin prickles, small hairs from shoulders to ankles all standing on end.
An overwhelming lust pulses through you at the sight of their bare body, all skin and wax and moonlight. Pure innocence waiting, begging to be corrupted. Before their robe even hits the ground, your hand envelops their shoulder and you spin them around with the ease of manipulating a doll. One shove and they’re down on the ground on all fours. One second and you are on top of them, inside them, around them, fangs nipping at their neck, cock thrusting into their cunt, hands kneading at their breasts. No ceremony, no foreplay. Only pure desire.
They gasp as they twirl and fly to the ground, the smell of cool, damp earth flooding their senses as their face nearly collides with the grass. You wrench them back into reality when your cock presses deeper inside them than anything has ever been.
You feel them becoming acutely aware of every sensation, every pinprick of a nail, every thrust, bite, pinch, and it feeds your own awareness. Their cunt betrays any sense of fear; they are soaking wet and aching, albeit tight, around your cock. They gasp for air for a while before beginning to whimper and moan. At first, it’s almost pathetic - so like a small trapped animal, but then slowly, with every pump of your hips and whip of your tail, becomes something new, something more aroused, more lustful. You relish in the way they were not prepared for this; in the way they kept going anyway; in the way their body betrays their desire. You have, after all, looked deep into the hidden corners of their mind, those they keep secret even from themself, and found the form that will best please them. Wings obscure their vision, occasionally colliding with their face as you continue brutally fucking their pussy. With your tail, you tease at their ass, whipping at their cheeks or pushing at their hole, threatening to enter. Every part of your body finds a way to tease them in ways they have never experienced before. Your mouth finds ways of eliciting deeper moans. Their nipples are hard buds in your fingers. Their backside is a poem, each strike another word fleetingly stamped on their skin. Every part of their body is flushed, sweat glistening in the moonlight.
You pound hard into them, meeting their eager womb as you pump your hips, knowing how the sensation blurs all boundaries between pain and pleasure. Somewhere within, they find their lost voice, just enough of it to say, “Y-yes, oh yes” and cry out as you tilt yourself right into their g-spot and press hard into it as you grind inside them. You hear the wetness of their cunt. You taste sweat on their neck as you linger there with your mouth. You see that they’re gripping fistfuls of grass, bracing themself as you fuck them. What you don’t see is that tears begin to stream down their face, but you know it’s happening as they wail and moan into the empty field. The naive ones always cry.
Their whimpering, crying, dripping, moaning, all of it sets off a primal urge deep within your core, rising from your hips through your chest and to your head. Overtaken with a need for domination, to control every minute movement, you take one of their wrists in your hand, extending your fingers over theirs, keeping their hand pinned to the ground and their arm immobile. The soft and grassy earth may not make the best surface for such things, but you effortlessly overpower them in their current state. Again on the other side as you continue to rut into them, cock far in, maybe too far, head punching at their cervix. Satisfied with their predicament, engulfed in a trance-like all-consuming lust which only grows stronger the longer your bodies intertwine, you glide your tongue along their back, greedy for the salty tang of their slick sweat. The feeling lights a fiery trail along their spine, causing them to scream out between sobs. Moving upward, the tips of your tongue find one of their ears, then the other, dancing along every spot on either side. Finally the bifurcated appendage curls around to the front of their face and you are met with the taste of their tears. They whimper as you lick away the drops. An incredibly inhuman noise - demonic, of course - of desire escapes your throat and they can feel the phallus inside them grow still larger and harder. You feel how much this sound you make, this guttural demonic roar that seems to be both inside their womb and throughout the entire forest, terrifies and arouses them all at once.
You begin moving your hips in a circular motion, exploring all the folds and walls within them, trying to elicit as much noise and reaction from them as possible. Pushing against every last inch of their cunt, you can feel them struggling around you and trying to acclimate. The pressure of you against their body as you rut hard into them makes their breath come in short huffs, struggling to keep up with your sheer power, size, and dominant hold you have on them. As your cock grows inside them, their breath briefly halts. The length and thickness of you pushes outward, in all directions inside of them, sending a painful stretch through their walls. You find every sensitive spot and slam against it. They arch their back and fall forward under you, leaving their cunt and ass up in the air as you pound ruthlessly inside. They wail exquisitely pathetically into the earth, their hands still held down hard by yours. Pressing their hands into the damp ground, you curl needle-sharp claws into the ground between their fingers. The sweet smell of cut grass and upturned soil tears through your awareness, perhaps theirs too, accented by the crispness of the chill night air. How alone and exposed you both are…the slick sound of your cock sliding in and out of their cunt growing louder as their pussy gets wetter and your cock bigger…your body nearly enveloping theirs, wings beating in time with your strokes, sending ripples through the grass around you.
You want to touch all of them at once. They feel more hands grasping roughly at their breasts, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh, accompanied by moaning layered atop your guttural noises. The tip of your tail swiftly penetrates their ass, thrusting rhythmically with your cock and wings. Something similar snakes around to their front, gliding through the combination of slick and precum and sweat, and teases their clit. So many hands, so many claws. All for them in this moment.
You lift one hand off theirs and grab a fistful of their hair, right at the scalp, so you can pull their head back and point their gaze at the witnessing moon. With this motion, everything intensifies. Every part of them is being fucked in some way, pounded or groped or licked or controlled. Faster and faster, louder and harder, until it all builds to a nearly unbearable crescendo. As you pull them upward toward the moon, the head of your monstrous cock bangs directly into their g-spot and swiftly knocks at their cervix again. The sound they make as you paw and grab and force their body against yours in complete submission fills the night, a moan that becomes a loud, yearning wail. Between the two of you something begins to shift, to ascend. You can feel them coming closer, yourself coming closer all very fast. For a moment you are both lost in wanting to feel this feeling forever.
Your entire body convulses around theirs in time with your orgasm. Your seed spills into them in pulses, the hot cum filling an impossible space inside them. One…two…three…too many pulses to keep track of as you drain your balls into their womb in the way only a supernatural creature could. Your moans echo off the trees, completing the sense of your being everywhere around them. When you come inside them, their orgasm crashes down around you. Their pussy convulses, twitching as your semen fills them. Their breathing is hard and ragged, tears streaming down their face. Cum begins to trickle down their thighs.
The night closes in, the moon watches on. Grunting and growling and moaning and screaming give way to panting and whimpering. An obscene noise fills the night as you slide your softening cock out of them, followed by a loud crack as the tip of your tail connects with their bruised and abused cheeks one more time. You release your dominating grip, letting gravity have its way with their body and freeing their hands to do what they will.
The sound of footsteps receding. The feeling of being completely exposed. The smell of earth and wax and cum, the taste of tears and sweat. For tonight, you are sated.
They find themself alone in the clearing, the only evidence of what just happened dripping out of them, marking the ground below.