FSE

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Hangovers were the unwanted companion of an adventuring lifestyle. It stood to reason that after a long day, sometimes a long week or months, of killing monsters, saving people, descending dungeons for lost treasures, or failing in these, someone would want to spend whatever they earned to help relax their muscles and maybe forget about the horrors they’d witnessed. Some, most in Zara’s experience, drank so much that the hangovers the morning after caused them to reel in agony and claim that they will never again sully their lips with alcohol. Often this was a lie. Zara knew this because she was the one lying. Along with Leh. Ayla took to her drink much better.

One would think an orc like Zara had a tolerance for the throbbing head pain. After all, she was big, strong, and had a fat ass to store so much energy. The truth of the matter was that Zara was a light drinker. Ayla assumed it was a curse because it never made much sense otherwise, but just a few drinks could knock Zara out and leave her wrangling with a headache. First, she’d feel it echoing like a fish behind tapped glass, then she’d grab her skull to try to squeeze the pain.

Something rattled underneath her. It sounded metal, and linked together. A chain. She pulled but leather had been wrapped tight around her wrist and refused to break under her strain. ‘What in the hells?” She muttered quietly, grunting with exertion at every pull. She couldn’t see what was holding her down. She couldn’t see at all. The pressure on her face made the blindfold obvious in hindsight.

Zara then realized she wasn’t in a bed. For starters, her chest was pressed against a leather pad of some kind and her big butt had been raised. Almost like she was lying flat on a horse. Her arms were bound underneath her and her legs were bound by the sides. She was naked, which was a concern because she didn’t sleep naked. “Where am I?”

“Someone’s awake,” said Leh. Zara turned to where she heard the voice but the blindfold made it pointless. She sounded close. Zara tried rattling her confines but it refused to budge. “Pretty sure whatever we’re on is bolted down, boss. You’re not gonna shake yourself free.”

“Best to conserve your energy,” said Ayla, sounding off to the left of Zara whereas Leh sounded to the right. Even in the worst of times the elf had a distant feeling about her tone, like emotions were beneath her. Exceptions were with wine, which she drank plenty of last night. The elven constitution was strange. “We’ve no idea where we are and Leh’s been trying to slip out for the last few minutes. We can’t have you being tired when we get free.”

That sounded reasonable. Zara was, by most accounts, the leader but Ayla was the strategist. Leh was the more practical of the three, finding the best way to execute a plan of action in the moment. Their dynamic didn’t center on barking orders, but trusting each other and, if that didn’t work, having Zara push them through to the end.

“About that,” Leh said sheepishly. Zara arced her head in concern. “I can’t slip out of these cuffs. They morph to my hand whenever I try to slip it through. Don’t see a lock either, not that it’d help without a lockpick.”

“You told me you keep a spare under your tongue,” Zara said.

She felt Leh staring her way condescendingly. “Not all the time. Besides, I can’t even reach my mouth right now.”

“Does anyone remember what happened?” Ayla asked, sounding just as pained from a hangover as the rest of them.

Zara delved into her most recent memories and found nothing but darkness. So she dug deeper until something took shape. Their last job in SummerFall fell through on account of Leh’s fat cheeks making stealth a bad option. Apparently, paranoia led to sensitive ears for certain nobles. They’d been hired to steal a relic from the mayor on request of another noble, and while they had succeeded in getting the artifact, it had not gone as quietly as they’d have hoped. Zara had to wipe her axe clean with the curtains. He was corrupt so it didn’t lose her any sleep.

Their employer however lost plenty. Knowing that the trio could share who hired them, and knowing just what Zara, Ayla, and Leh could do if betrayed, the noble took the third option and ousted them from the city on the condition that they’ll have more contacts after in Snowhaven. Given that anyone could have seen this was a trap, the three bottom-heavy adventurers pretended to take the deal and headed west to Golden Hills for work. Better to avoid all the drama entirely.

The problem was that Golden Hills was a far trek even by horse, which none of them had. So they walked, taking off-beaten paths and surviving off the land as much as possible. It wasn’t too difficult given they all had some experience in basic survival before adventuring. Zara’s nomadic tribe, Ayla’s wood elf village, and even Leh scrounging city streets. But, and this was something Zara realized when she first entered a city, living off of the land isn’t all it's cracked up to be.

It’s what made the Pear Drop Inn so appealing.

Road-side inns in the middle of nowhere between destinations weren’t uncommon. Some merchants Zara traveled with as a bodyguard talked about making it a business. A ‘chain’ of establishments all under the same name. Crazy talk that’d never take off. Each inn had a unique charm to it that could only be made possible by the individuals running it. You can’t make five of the same inn.

They noticed the Pear Drop Inn by its interesting sign. Actually, they first noticed it as an inn because it was an inn in the middle of a grove, but Zara noticed the sign was odd. It was definitely in the shape of a pear, but a…a sexy pear. Zara didn’t like having to explain the curves or the crack in it, as Leh would tease her about wanting to get fucked by a fruit. Zara would have kicked the rogue’s ass if not for the smell.

The entire inn reeked of sex. It was pungent, powerful, and strangely, it didn’t turn Zara and the others away. It smelled like walking into an orgy halfway through and yet instead of making her want to puke it was inviting. Like flies to nectar.

Like with smoke to fire, sex should involve people. The trio found none upon entering the tavern, or at least no people involved in sex themselves. There were patrons but they were spaced apart and caught in their own conversations with bottom heavy barmaids in skimpy outfits. There was a place and time for skimpy outfits, usually in the cities where those who worked in taverns didn’t live in them. In hindsight, there was nothing more suspicious than skimpy outfits in the middle of nowhere. At that moment, Zara was too tired and hungry to care.

Big butts seemed to be a theme in the tavern. From the bottom-heavy wenches, to the paintings and small sculptures decorated around, to even the furniture with carvings indicating women of shapely backsides. Leh commented that it almost made her feel comfortable seeing a place with taste, given how normally people viewed her, all of the trio’s posteriors really, with befuddled eyes. If the tavern was a little subtler then Zara might have found it roomy too.

An elf served them at the tavern. Like her staff she was bottom heavy, but her smile went from one of service to one of delight upon seeing the three of them. “Oh, hello,” she said, her voice both restrained and on the edge of climax. “To what pleasure do I have to be graced by three goddesses in mortal form?”

Leh snorted a laugh. “Goddesses?” She nudged Zara, which given their height difference meant her elbow hit the orc’s waist. “She thinks we’re goddesses. Yeah, right.”

“Why’s that so odd?” The taverness said, turning to Ayla, “Surely someone as well versed as you knows about old fertility gods.”

Ayla, ever one of occult knowledge, had blushed with the question. She curled a finger through her blonde hair when explaining that ancient fertility gods were much more voluptuous than present day. “It was a sign of good health to eat so often. It’s not as common anymore.”

“Which is a shame, really,” The taverness said, leaning over the tavern just enough to reveal her own fat ass. “Nowadays people think pleasure should be thin. If there’s no fat then what can you hold onto? Bones? I think not. No, give me a fat ass to bury my face into any day of the week. Or three,” she winked, “The name’s Vyleth by the way. Can I get you three to stay for the week?”

“Just a single night will do,” Zara said. Something about the whole place screamed bad news and, judging by her current bondage, she was right. “We’ll take a dinner and a breakfast. We don’t want to be delaying ourselves too long.”

“A pity,” Vyleth pouted. She pocketed the money behind her apron. Looking back, Zara didn’t realize that was all the elf was wearing. Actually, was she really an elf? Elves were mystical but Vyleth seemed to be on another level. It was as if she was there but she wasn’t as she appeared.

They were given a black iron key and sent to their room, told that supper would be ready when they were. There were more rooms than there should have been. Something about the hallways when they entered them seemed to stretch to an eternity out of notice. Like trying to notice a fly in one’s peripheral vision. Being seasoned adventurers, the trio all spotted the concern and asked Ayla her thoughts.

“It could be a spacial expansion spell,” Ayla explained, not sure of it herself by her tone. “Though you’d more likely see such a thing in a wizard’s tower. Not a tavern.”

“Like that abandoned tower in Golg?” Leh asked.

“Exactly that,” Ayla said with a snap of her fingers.

“So why not have that be in a tavern?” Zara asked, “Seems like a great way to get more guests.”

“Because, in my professional opinion, any wizard that wants more guests wouldn’t set up shop in the middle of nowhere. Casting a spell of this magnitude would require a powerful wizard, and powerful wizards of this caliber either work in royal courts, teach at universities, or are mad isolationists. The barkeep didn’t seem like any of that.”

“Can’t she be a…I don’t know, magical creation? A clone?” Magic was not Zara’s strong suit. She assumed it required imagination, but whenever she tried to imagine what it could do, Ayla sat her down and explained why it couldn’t do that. If it used imagination, it was strict about it.

“A construct, maybe,” Ayla pondered, “It was hard to look at her. Almost like a glamor of sorts.”

“Like that fey prince I decked in the nuts?” Leh asked. Zara laughed. That was a good day.

“Maybe,” Ayla said, taking a moment to massage her head, “Sorry. It’s hard to focus.”

Zara didn’t notice that until Ayla mentioned it. It felt as though a cloud had seeped in through the hallway to weigh down their thoughts. The more Zara tried to focus on this feeling, this heavy pressure on her skull, the more her senses buzzed with the sounds of sex. The smell, the taste, all of it came muffled in the doors they passed. A couple enjoying themselves in a tavern was one thing, but every room being filled with bad creaking sex? That was something else entirely.

It faded into background noise when she stopped thinking about it. “Let’s just get our rest and head out next morning,” she muttered, slipping the key, which looked strangely phallic in her hands, into a lock that mirrored the curvature of a pair. The lock grunted when she twisted, but she told herself that was just someone enjoying themselves in another room. It had to be.

The three took one look into the ass shaped candle holders in the room and collectively decided they were too sober to stay in it. They dumped their bags, went back to the front room, and ordered the best mead, wine, or whatever alcoholic beverage they had on hand.

After that things got fuzzy. Zara definitely got drunk, but the exact amount of drinks got away from her. And she ate. What exactly remained a mystery. Somewhere in her memories she remembered being tongue deep in Leh’s asshole, but when she recalled this aloud Ayla told her to shut up with a frantic tone.

“Sounds like we had a good night,” Leh said, laughing. “Cause I remember Ayla joining in after a few drinks.”

“I did no such thing!” The elf shouted. Zara imagined her mage’s long ears wilting in embarrassment. If it was happening, then it was true since Ayla was the horniest drunk out of all of them.

“Oh, sweetie, you did,” said a new but familiar voice, “The whole bar danced to the clap of your cheeks.”

Magic ripped Zara’s blindfold off. She blinked to adjust to the light. Ayla and Leh were facing her at an angle, making a triangle with her as the three of them were bound on wooden triangular furniture with padding. Behind each was some sort of strange machine with thick rubber rods she’d seen in only the most brazen of cities, each sticking out ready to plunge into their assholes.

The rest of their surroundings were made of cobblestone and iron. A dungeon like any other but with its walls adorned with tools of pleasure and pain. A soft clapping echoed from above. The trio looked up to see Vyleth looking down from a doorway atop a staircase, her skin shifting to a crimson red and horns flickering into existence as she stepped down. Leather straps fit over her body like a second skin. Small bat wings unfit for flying lifted her through the air before she reached the final step, landing her between the three. A thin devil’s tail slipped free of her fat ass.

“S-Succubus.” Ayla said what they were all thinking.

“Ding, ding, ding, the elf is right,” Vyleth said with a smirk. “A bit too late, but better late than never I suppose. How are we all enjoying the comforts of my hospitality?”

“You demonic bitch!” Zara roared. Her body lurched forward with all her might. The bindings proved mightier.

The succubus waggled her finger like she was chastising a child. “Now, now, there’s no need to mislabel someone. I’m barely a fiend, let alone a demon. Succubi like myself don’t fall under the normal moniker of demons and devils. Though I guess you wouldn’t know that. So many ‘demonologists’ seem to claim us as them since they think that just because we live in the same plane we’re the same thing. It’d be like me saying all orcs and goblins are the same.”

“A lecture from a demon, great,” Leh rolled her eyes, “How about you stop pretending you have the high ground and we’ll promise not to send you back to the hells when we break out?”

“When?” Vyleth’s smile carried a hint of sadism, “Oh, dear sweet goblin, you can’t break out of these. Not after the energy the little rager you three threw last night gave me. I haven’t been so well fed in years, not since ancient societies threw orgies in my name.”

“Don’t act so high and mighty,” Ayla snapped. She went red in the face at the succubus. Given the history of elves and demons, Zara couldn’t blame her. “You’re nothing but a monster. You’re not some fertility goddess.”

“Oh, but I once was.” Vyleth materialized a ballgag with a snap of her fingers. With ease she slipped it past Ayla’s mouth and clamped it behind her teeth. It spread the elf’s jaw wide enough to make any words, especially incantations, impossible.

“Don’t remember what I asked when you arrived?” She asked, “Have you seen how old gods were depicted? Fertility goddesses always had meat to them, a symbol of not just good eating but bountiful energy inside them. Nowadays they’re all twigs. Skinny bitches who can’t bother eating a fig without worrying about their thighs. They can’t appreciate the old clap of cheeks. You’re right in that I am a succubus, but I was once something much more. A goddess before the new gods came. I had my own cult of worship that slipped into the highest peaks of society and the lowest lows. All were equal in their worship to me.” She slapped Ayla’s ass, eliciting a giggle with the elf’s gagged scream. “Well, some were more equal,” she said, slightly mesmerized by the ripple of the elf’s cheeks.

“But then the new gods came. Some were puritans acting as saviors, while others were more open-minded so long as it gave them followers. Many of my…well, siblings feels too close when we were all rivals in a way. In any case, many of the old gods died. My cult lasted a long time, but even then it was rooted out. Followers assimilated into other orders, draining my power out of their prayers. I had just one avenue left for power, and thus the succubi were born.”

Zara realized this might not be an ordinary succubus, “You’re…you’re their mother.”

Vyleth laughed, “Hardly, dear. There are many other succubi like me. Of course, I wasn’t your typical fertility goddess. It is true that my blessings could make things grow, but people came to me for flimsy rods over weak crops. And my price was, shall we say, unique. My chosen devotees had to abstain from vaginal penetration for years, with some going as far to see the act as heretical. Those were my favorite worshippers, they understood me. They knew that true pleasure came from denying one hole in favor of the other, and the moment someone came from their ass alone. By me, they could not go back. This niche interest of mine made me smart enough to better pick my targets. Like you three.”

“What makes us so special?” Zara asked. Her eyes drifted to the succubi’s shapely ass as Vyleth rocked it from side to side when she walked around Ayla. With an impish grin, Vyleth slathered the dildo tipped rod behind the elf with her saliva. It looked more gooey than Zara expected, like lube.

“Well, succubi gain power from passion. But do you know how hard it is to get intimate passion from travelers? I have to use my power to make harlots for them to use, and I’m losing as much as I am gaining. Not to mention that I never find my type. Until you three came in. I think even you can tell what my preference is.”

She laid out the lubed toy against Ayla’s ass. The elf tried to shuffle away, but Vyleth let it sink in just enough that she couldn’t slip it out. Then she pulled Ayla back by her hair and dragged a long slimy tongue across her face. The saliva seeped into mist, washing over Ayla’s nostrils. The elf’s cheeks flushed and her breathing grew heavy, as if aroused. Then, with a snap of Vyleth’s fingers, Ayla’s ass began to expand. Despite being big bottomed she’d been the smallest of the three of them, but now her fat cheeks rivaled Leh in size and width. The expansion looked almost euphoric to her.

It hit Zara like a brick. The door sign, the decorations, the key, it all had one thing in common. One thing that she, Leh, and Ayla shared that drew attention to anyone they passed. Vyleth grinned and nodded when she noticed the realization droop over the orc’s face. If Leh figured it out the gag suddenly shoved into her mouth prevented her from spouting it.

“No biting now.” The succubus chastised the goblin with a wag of her finger. Leh, who never liked being compared to her wild cousins, went feral in her attempts to get free. Vyleth simply watched the goblin tire herself out before she started preparing the dildo behind her.

“What do you plan to do with us?” Zara asked.

The succubus stopped. She looked over the orc with confusion. “I’d say that’s rather obvious, isn’t it? I’m already doing my plan.”

“But what is it?” Knowing didn’t give Zara much comfort. Not knowing made it worse.

Vyleth sighed as she sank the dildo between Leh’s fat cheeks and past her rim, just as deep as Ayla’s. With another snap the goblin’s green cheeks grew so wide that Leh would be dragging it across the ground if she tried walking. “In layman’s terms, I’m making you all my larder. Each of you will generate enough energy to not only sustain myself, but in turn sustain you all. If I’m right in my measurements, it’ll be a perpetual motion machine of lust to keep me going even in the worst times. Or when I need to travel. I’d love to travel. It’s been centuries since I left this spot in the mortal plane.”

“That’s…that’s not possible.” Zara wasn’t the most well-educated but she knew the idea of a perpetual motion machine wasn’t fruitful. “Even slaves need rest and food. We’ll escape.”

“Oh, dear, you won’t need rest,” Vyleth’s fingers gripped Zara’s hair with the kind of strength that said Zara would lose in a straight fight. She truly was no ordinary succubi. “See, I’ve got it all worked out. Did you ever notice a warm sensation on your wombs? I left a little mark there that prevents you from, well, finishing until I say. Of course, I won’t say until you submit, but it will keep you denied as a sort of damn for lustful energy. All I need to do is keep filling it. That’s where these tools come in. These machines that, even when I’m not present, will keep you on edge and slowly drive you insane. And when you’re broken, pleading, and begging for relief, I’ll take your submission and find a use for you. Well, a use between this.

She had noticed something off on her womb. It felt like a small thing to consider with everything else, and there was a chance Vyleth was lying. Demons lie. But Zara knew she wasn’t, because the truth was more terrifying. Ready to beg, Zara was silenced by a thick tongue that wrestled hers into submission, slipped down her throat, and expanded until she choked. Thick and goopy saliva came out in hacking coughs when Vyleth pulled away. A thick gag stopped any attempts at protest.

“I hope you break first,” Vyleth whispered, “I love big beefy ones like you. I might make you my personal chair.”

The succubus’s kiss and the saliva that came with it coursed through Zara’s body like a poison. Her heart pounded, heat swelled under her skin. Lust. A growing lust she tried desperately to push down with fury. She almost succeeded until Vyleth spread her cheeks and kissed the rim of her green asshole, sliding her tongue in with more dexterity than any lover.

Her ass grew in size. The weight buckled down on her cunt, pressing it hard enough against the bondage horse to feel it grind against it but never enough to finish it. Every inch more felt like a surge of electricity and she grew addictively curious.

She wanted it. Zara’s moans cracked her voice like no lover before her. A desperate plea for more seeped through her gagged lips when Vyleth withdrew her tongue. “Oh, come now, don’t break yet,” she teased, lining the dildo on a pole up against her spread rim. “I want a little more fight before I feel that tongue inside my ass.”

With a whir the machines came to life. It penetrated Ayla first, deliberately slow enough to make the elf wince and huff behind her gag. Leh’s went once Ayla’s rod started to withdraw itself, and Zara’s entered when Leh’s started to retreat. It was slow but deep, spreading Zara out to where her ass could take it and burying deeper than she’d experienced beyond Vyleth's tongue. The machines continued in this rhythm with only a change in speed, kicking into faster gears every three rotations until Zara couldn’t feel any strength in her legs. Soon the room was filled with the sounds of wet holes being propped, muffled moans, rattling chains, and the mechanical pistoning of Vyleth’s torture devices.

The urge to climax came and stayed. Every time she thought it’d pass with explosive results her tattoo kicked her like an upstairs tenant hammering the floor to signal how angry they were at the noise. Vyleth watched with a smile, levitating on an invisible chair with her legs spread and fingers going to town with her drenched cunt.

She seemed almost as dismayed when a ring caught her attention. “Drat,” she muttered, presenting herself back to her elven form with the snap of her fingers, “Well, customers await. Enjoy yourselves, my little batteries. I’ll be sure to come back and enjoy your progress.”

She vanished in a puff of smoke. Zara watched Ayla and Leh stare out with faces lost in the pleasure and knew immediately she shared the same expression. Unending torment, unending pleasure. Unending edge.

***

Vyleth liked to occasionally peer at the gem she wore around her neck when customers arrived. Only the most magically inclined could notice what was inside it, and it’d take more than a glance to realize the energy emanating from it. Just as well, her view of the three batteries was for her only.

As expected, the energy they generated gave her what she needed. Now at the drop of a hat Vyleth could pick up her establishment and travel the world again. Deciding to enjoy this newfound freedom, Vyleth traveled to see what had changed. Some parts had become less puritanical, and others more so. Those she found were her favorite spots to set up shop. The more repressed a place was, the more explosive their desires became. From nobles to peasants to the scum of the streets, none were turned away from her. They tasted all the same. Bland, but filling.

And filling was what she needed to take out her little batteries for fun. She smiled as a new customer entered, knowing that the glamor she cast made the leather bound orc who’s neck was craned to be face deep in Vyleth’s ass as her personal chair and rim kisser would be seen as none other than a regular chair for whomever came to her counter.

“Welcome to the Pear Drop Inn,” she said with all the seductive grace of someone on the edge of climax, “How may I be of service?”

Zara no longer remembered her name. She knew she once had one, but she’d gone without it far longer than she’d had it now. Or maybe less. Time in her mistress’s domain, deep in one of the many hells of the multiverse, didn’t flow correctly. Things grew, candles melted, and people could age. All of it was at the whims of her mistress. Zara wondered if this feeling of memory was just another whim, or her last gasp of her ego.

She remembers being a warrior. Feats of strength, heroic fights, long nights of adventure and glory. Only, she remembers them as if reading a book, like little factoids she knew of but did not understand. Names, places, people, they were all a blur. A void of knowledge pushed aside for things the orc’s mistress found more suiting.

Pleasure. Unending pleasure with infinite denial. Her mistress, Vyleth, was a succubus that once rivaled a god in times ancient when the orc met her. And while she described the fruits of worship as filling, it lacked the sweetness a succubus craved. In the long hours of Zara’s training, when the succubus had eyes for only her most resistant pet, she would tell the tale of her fall. About how it was an epiphany, a wake up call. How she’d grown lazy with basic worship and needed more tantalizing sources. It was why she enjoyed the orc so much, beyond just the big booty she’d helped grow over the centuries in her torment. For Zara, back when she could remember her name, was so defiant. So eager to fight back against the onslaught of pleasure that’d break lesser mortals three times over.

But even the greatest dams will break under constant pressure and without upkeep. Zara broke after a dozen lifetimes under the succubus’s heel. Her reward for submission was not the relief of ecstasy, but the continued denial. Because what better reward was there than to be a constant power source for her benevolent mistress? Enchanted piercings sealed her cunt so all attention could be focused on her posterior, which had been expanded to clap with every step. Her tits ballooned, and what muscle she had either waned where it was not needed, or strengthened to support her new form. The fierce warrior’s body that was once protected by iron and steel had become a wet dream on legs exposed in leather straps. Her arms were bound behind her at all times, there only because Vyleth found the image appealing. The orc was always gagged and blindfolded, each item, like the rest of her bondage, sealed in such a way only her mistress could remove them when she desired. Lastly her ass, where between her thick cheeks showed the base of a thick toy stuffed inside the orc at all times, unless her mistress desired to fill it with her own divine meat.

There was a time, not long after Zara broke, that she felt shame in the bindings. That she believed they were a punishment for once daring to wish harm upon her glorious mistress. That if she were loyal enough, loving enough, her mistress would free her restraints so she may better be of service. Such a naive thought she cursed now in moments of lucidity. She now knew that if there were better ways of service to her mistress then Vyleth would have already done so to her favorite pet. She was as useful as she could be whilst constantly at her mistress’s side. Either as a guardian, a chair, or a hole.

And what a mistress Vyleth was. Her form shifted with her whimsy. She could be as tall as she wished or shorter than Zara, even going as far to make the orc as short as a goblin on occasions. Her hair could be any color, to none at all, to a clear outline of it, and her skin was soft to the touch whenever the orc was blessed to taste it against her tongue. Yet despite these changes she kept some things stable. Not out of need, of course, but because she had her preferences. For starters, and most importantly, her ass. It was massive, a near weapon in its own right. The two cheeks could act as pillows for Zara if the orc ever needed to sleep, though she’d lost that need millennia ago. The succubus’s bust rivaled her ass in size but always lost by design. They were heavy, inviting, but never meant to overshadow her true asset. Then there was her cock, a vital instrument she let come and go depending on her mood and outfit. The orc had known dick before and after her forced servitude, yet none compared to the majesty of her mistress’s member. It helped that she could change it at will, leaving the orc always guessing and begging. Once, in the early days of her service, she’d spent an entire mortal year penetrated on the shaft. She’d been paraded like a piece of clothing, earning the mockery and praise of all who stood before her Mistress’s presence. Her ass itched with the memory, but she knew it better than to ask her mistress for favors. She was there to serve the succubus’s needs, not the other way around.

So what better reward was there than being her mistress’s constant hanger-on? Be it with infernal balls, summons, or the occasional stroll to the mortal world, the orc was always by her mistress’s side. Bound, gagged, and blindfolded until either was unneeded. It earned her a reputation that Vyleth loved to tease the orc for. About how the mighty adventurer the orc once was had become little more than an eager loyal hole for her mistress. Some gatherings had Vyleth put Zara on a pedestal as an example for all the would-be temptresses to use for their own captives. Sometimes she was commanded to assist in the temptation of their captives. She heard begging, pleading, appeals to her morality, but they fell on deaf ears. The orc belonged to her mistress, and she would happily bring others into the fold upon command. No reward necessary, save for what Vyleth would have done anyway.

It was during one of these gatherings where her mistress was rudely interrupted with a summons. Mortals have this misunderstanding that those they summon are not busy with their own activities. While Vyleth did not need to bathe or eat, she could still derive pleasure from the act and did so, often with Zara acting as her chair or, in the case of bathing, a tool for something far more intimate.

The actual process of being summoned was quick. A surprise the first time it happens but eventually one grows into a habit. Vyleth swiftly pulled her favored pet by her leash, yanking the orc into her proper position as a chair for her fat backside to rest upon as the two hurtled through the space between dimensions. Her mistress’s weight pressed against her once they reached the mortal world, enveloping her with the infernal heat of the succubus’s divine form as they appeared in a summoning circle.

Centuries of her torment had indirectly trained the orc’s senses. She could see without seeing, knowing things beyond what her eyes told her. This was another gift of her mistress, one she claimed was unintended but enjoyable nonetheless. This was how Zara knew of the salt binding the summoning circle, of the special wax used in the eight-pointed star underneath them, and of the dusty old tomes beyond. Old wood, dust, dried ink, all the telltale signs of a wizard's secret dungeon. A place of secrets, of desperate power.

“How droll,” Vyleth said, leaning back into her seat’s craned neck, “Who dares summon me amongst the shadows and dust? Who dares think that this is a fitting welcome for Vyleth, high Succubus of the 12th circle?”

“I would be careful with that tone, fiend,” said a voice. It was soft, almost like a musical note. Zara caught the faint smell of an elf in the air. It wasn’t aged with wisdom, meaning whoever summoned her mistress was inexperienced but haughty. A half-elf wizard perhaps? It did not matter, but Zara could not help but be curious. It helped paint a picture of whom she should be furious at.

Her mistress hid her displeasure with a soft chuckle. “Ah, the mortal thinks highly of herself. Fascinating. What is your name, mortal?”

“You may call me Fife, Vyleth.”

Zara’s blood went cold. This mortal knew her mistress’s name. The wizard continued with an air of confidence at the succubus’s silence. “Ah, you understand what that means. I know your name, I have you in this circle. You are my prisoner, Vyleth. So unless you wish to stay in this circle for all of eternity, you will do as I say.”

“Eternity? You think your carvings will not fade in the next hundred years? I appreciate your knowledge, mortal, but do not think that I am bothered by time like you are.”

“Boredom can make even a demon go mad.”

“True, it would be a shame to waste my time in this dungeon when I have much better things to do. Speak of your demands, wizard, and I may yet see them fulfilled for my freedom.”

Zara knew the wizard was smiling when she spoke, “Your freedom is irrelevant, Vyleth. For I wish to bind you under my power. Serve me, Fife, and I shall overshadow my current master. With your power I will rule this city, and the land above, proving my peers that I, as a highborn, belong far above their petty squabbles."

“Of course you are,” Vyleth said with enough disdain that Zara knew her mistress rolled her eyes. “That is why you have summoned me here, in secret, in this dank and dusty little dungeon, no doubt miles underground. You must think you are clever, powerful even, to have the knowledge to summon and bind me in this circle. If I have to give you any praise, it’s that your penmanship is beautiful. I’m halfway tempted to keep you as a scribe once the terms of our deal is done. Given your posterior, I’m willing to make it a pleasant experience.”

“The terms?” Fife seemed appalled by the implication. The orc sensed the elf reached for her own ass in contemplation, realizing it was rather large. For now. Her mistress would no doubt expand it in her training. Make her a perfect butt-slut, like she’d done with the orc. Even now, the orc knew she’d feel empty if her backside was left unfilled. Either by her mistress’s cock, or the wide plug acting as a placeholder, “There will be no terms, fiend. You will be my servant until I release you.”

“Oh, it’s one of those?” Vyleth leaned closer, putting strain on Zara’s capable neck, “My dear, what do you think happens to those who bind fiends to them? Do you think they stay bonded after their master passes? No. There are exceptions to the rule, such as being bound to bloodlines, or their masters find ways to extend their life. I’m sure you, with your elven nature, will have plenty of time to find such an answer, if I even allow it. But most bound fiends will come to collect. I am good friends with one who treats a once powerful wizard as a little dog. I believe in life his name was…Forgul? Foguth?”

“Forguban the Immolator?” Fife said with fear in her voice.

Vyleth snapped her fingers, “That’s the one.”

“He…he was one of the most powerful warlocks in history. A binder of a thousand fiends.”

“And it was quite the bidding war for his soul. I even tried to claim him, using old pacts and favors to get a seat. Obviously, I lost the bid, but his new master, Frelgar the pyre, has taught him many tricks. He’s excellent at fetch.”

“Cease your lies, fiend!” Fife roared with authority, her voice cracking with fear. Zara knew her mistress wasn’t lying, both because she rarely needed to and because Zara had met Frelgar’s dog before. Whoever the dog once was had gone so mad that he tried to sniff the orc’s bum like she was an optional mate. “I will not be demoralized by your attempts to intimate me into mercy. We will make a pact, you will grant me power, and as insolence for your distractions, I will have you worship my feet and call me by my proper title. Else you will not rot here, but in the bindings of the Holy Order when I leak this place’s location.”

“The holy order?” Vyleth said with mock concern, “Wait, which one? I’ve been around for a long time. There have been many holy orders.”

“The Holy Order,” Fife said as though that was enough.

“Oh,” Vyleth said, “So some upstarts who think they are powerful. Ignoring the obvious flaws in your plan, I think I should go and greet them. Why don’t you be a dear, break the bindings, and I’ll only enslave you for…five hundred years. A bargain for bothering me.”

The wizard laughed. Not the kind of laugh where she found it funny, more the awkward terrified laughter of someone cautiously backing away. “This…this was a mistake. Enjoy your suffering, fiend. I’ll find a new method.”

“I think not,” Vyleth stood up, giving Zara a moment of reprieve. “Chair, subdue the wizard.”

Zara leapt from her position, leaving the circle in a single bound. Despite her blindfold the orc could sense what she needed, like the soul of the wizard suddenly shrieking and screaming questions of how the orc could escape. The fool never considered that a fiend, especially her glorious mistress who was summoned often, would have workarounds for such bindings. Such as bringing a non-fiend to break a seal, which Zara did with a swift kick into the stonework, shattering the edge of the binding ritual.

She was far stronger now in service.

Vyleth did not leave the broken circle. Why should she when her favored seat’s task was still not complete? The orc’s thick cheeks clapped with every quick step racing towards the wizard, its weight helping her dodge bolts of arcane lightning and avoid frozen waves to lock her in place. An old companion of hers, whose name was lost in service to their shared mistress, had similar techniques. Apparently, magic was slow to evolve.

If her mission was to simply kill the wizard she could have done so with one mighty smack of her thick ass. To subdue meant to prevent her from casting spells. So, with the momentum she carried, the orc launched forward and twisted around, catching the elf’s head between her thick cheeks and bringing her to the ground. Having always been the chair, it was nice for the moment to be the sitter for once, even as the wizard struggled under the orc’s fat and muscular cheeks.

Her mistress’s soft clap of approval was musical. “Lovely work as always, my pet. Once again you’ve proven my favoritism is not unfounded.” The orc bowed her head at the praise, her body tingling with the gentle pat of her head. “Now, get up. I wish to have words with my newest acquisition.”

Fife gasped once free of the orc’s cheeks. She tried to scramble away or utter some kind of incantation, but Vyleth’s power was too great in her presence. With but a flick of the succubi’s wrist the wizard was standing, powerless in position. “P-Please,” she muttered, “I’ll give you anything you want. I can give you my teacher. She’ll–”

“Shush, Fife,” Vyleth said, gently planting the spade end of her long tail against the wizard’s lips. “I already know what I want. You. But fear not, I am not a cruel mistress. I want to know what you love and give it to you. Now, open up.”

Vyleth leaned in for a kiss. Her tongue, its length whatever she desired, slithered past the quivering wizard’s lips, pulling her in for the embrace of their lips. Zara could not help but be envious. It had been centuries since she’d last felt her mistress’s kiss, felt the succubi scour through her mind for every want and desire she’d hidden away. That was the power of succubi, to learn what others truly desired and to make it happen.

“Well, well, well,” Vyleth said as she broke away, her voice breathy and lustful. “It appears the power hungry is hungry for humiliation. Quite the list of desires I’ve gleaned from you, my new pet.”

The orc bowed her head, envious of the honor Fife was experiencing. The elf-blooded wizard, despite her words of defiance, smelled of desire. The orc knew that struggle was clear as day, even if she’d not seen a real sunrise in over a thousand years. The fight against what was right and what they wanted, what they felt was good. The fleeting morals of a mortal being locked in a society with overwhelming pressure. The orc had felt it as a wandering adventurer, she could not imagine how suffocating it must have been in the top.

“W-Wait,” Fife muttered, “W–”

“Shh,” Vyleth’s magic materialized a gag to keep the wizard compliant. Clothes were torn, magical shackles were linked, and muffled cries were ignored in favor of open thinking from her mistress. “Hmm…pet, do you think gold or silver? Hood or no?” Zara, being gagged, could not answer. She didn’t try to because she knew Vyleth used her as a sounding board. One did not bother a chair for its opinion.

Fife was bound similarly to the orc once Vyleth was satisfied. Her bindings were more metallic by their scent, and a leather hood no doubt masked her face, but her arms were immobilized and her legs were shackled more to force a walk whilst Zara’s bindings let her run if needed.

Vyleth’s scent changed. It became subtler, more mundane, the key traits of disguise she cloaked herself in. “And now we just need a few charms,” she said with quick snaps of her fingers. Magic flowed over Zara and Fife, magic both were familiar with either through experience or research. “Good. We wouldn’t want anyone coming up to stop us with actual effort now, would we?” By taut chain leashes the succubus led her newest slave alongside her favorite chair, up to the streets above.

“Oh, one last thing,” Vyleth said, twisting around at the last second. She snapped her fingers. Fife grew panicked. Zara sensed something expand, taking note of the wizard’s lower backside growing outward. Not enough to rival the orc’s own expanded cheeks, which needed time and training to walk with, but enough that the elf had a new center of gravity to work with. “Perfect. Let’s get going.”

Shame was an old emotion to the orc. She knew it existed, remembered it was something she used to have, but hadn’t considered it until Fife felt the brunt of it. Through her blindfold the orc could see the souls of the littered streets, reading their bemused attention and hidden lusts at the sight of two women walking so brazenly out in the open, bound and gagged. Vyleth’s training had ingrained the orc’s walk cycle to clap her fat cheeks with every step. Somehow this was louder to the orc now in a crowd than the echoing halls of her mistress’s castle.

Since Fife’s chain was latched to Zara’s the orc felt her struggle against the onlookers of watchers. With both their arms bound there was nothing but a hunch to cover herself, and Zara was much taller than the elf. She stood straight, as trained, to prevent the elf from hiding, leaving her exposed to people who may have known her. Perhaps the hood hid enough. Perhaps it wasn’t enough. Either way, it attracted the attention of the guards.

“Halt!” one such guard shouted. From their conviction they sounded like a higher ranking one, not a city commander but someone with experience. Vyleth stopped with her two playthings not out of authority but curiosity, letting what Zara counted as five souls approach. The orc smelled their fear, their confusion, their conviction, and, most of all, their lust at the sight of the two bound bodies walking beside Vyleth’s glamoured form. Her tongue pushed fruitlessly against her gag for want of a taste. Centuries under the succubus’s heel hadn’t made her one, but its corruption was influencing. Fife seemed to beg behind her gag, but it was ignored.

“Hello, officer,” Vyleth said, her charming words laced with aphrodisiacs, “What seems to be the problem?”

The speaking officer baulked. “A-Are you blind? What’s all this then?”

“Can’t a woman take her new pet and favorite chair on a walk of the town? Are my leashes too lax for the leash law?” The leashes shortened immediately, pulling Zara and Fife so close their cheeks touched.

“Too short? This is public indecency at best! At worst it’s…it’s…I’m not sure what to call it, but you degenerates are under arrest.”

“I’m afraid the only bondage I allow is what I apply, officer. But I don’t think you should bother, not when it’s clear you want to fuck them.” She sniffed the air, “In fact, the air is so potent with arousal I can smell your most immediate desires. Did you know your constable is fucking your wife? Did you know they’re thinking of you when doing it? Specifically you taking them from behind while they fill her insides?”

“W-What?” The officer backed away, turning to their immediate right. “Is this true?”

Vyleth snapped her fingers and whispered another spell, pushing a bubble of truth amongst the immediate group. The lower ranked officer spoke what must have sounded like a convincing lie in his head, only for the truth to come through like a bursting dam. “Every Tuesday, when you’re at the club. I’ve been using a plug when fucking her recently, to make me feel like you’re there with me.”

The fear in his soul was almost as delicious as his lust. Almost.

What followed was one of the more sinister applications of her mistress’s power. All succubi could strengthen base desires, making them better manipulators to all but the strongest of wills. This was limited to a single person, most often their targets of temptation. But Vyleth was once worshipped as a god and rivaled many fiends. She was the queen of succubi. It took her restraint to not tempt mortals in her presence. The orc, for the countless years under her, had grown a resistance that was made fruitless by her unfaltering loyalty. Fife, a trained wizard, was struggling to fight against it. But the guards, who were trained on little more than catching petty thieves and throwing their weight around, had no training against the temptation of a succubi.

Their lips smacked against one another. The sudden ferocity their tongues danced with surprised their fellows, who shouted in confusion at what was taking place. But no sooner after they witnessed it did the men and women following their captain began to see one another with the same desires. They tore themselves from their clothes, some still dressed as others fell upon them.

In her blindfold Zara could only see the souls mingling against themselves, slamming and humping in a manner unfitting for public decency. From Fife’s heightened breaths it must have been a spectacle. Especially as, all around them, the desire spread like the most virulent plague. Someone even threw their soaked undergarments Zara’s way whilst streaming past her.

“My, my,” Vyleth pondered aloud, loosening the chains of her pet’s leashes to let them walk without too much issue. “I had a feeling there would be some repression, but it seems to be quite the little powder keg. That’s the problem with Holy Orders. They preach abstinence as if that would stem the flood. The best dams make use of the water sealed away, they do not simply let it lie. Emotions are quite similar. If one does not find an outlet for them, find a way to indulge, then the emotion will build until it finds a way for them. You’re lucky that I prefer to be more personable with my pets, Fife, or else I might have decided to take this entire city into my fold. No, I think just some simple humiliation would suffice.”

She kicked at a couple fornicating on the ground. “Where might I find the Holy Order?”

***

Souls drenched in divine energy were a beacon to her senses. She suspected the steps they walked up were marble white with golden edges, something to paint the purity to those blind to souls. Her mistress left sizzling footprints with each step. Vyleth laughed them off as tingly.

If paladins and priests were like well-trained swimmers against the tides of fiends, then her mistress was a flood. Nothing stood long in her path, drowning in hidden desires when she unleashed her form inside the temple walls. Great holy words were formed and left unfinished as touchless orgasms shivered the casters. Holy knights tore from their plate mail to furiously finger or pump their genitalia. What few that required Vyleth’s attention needed little more than the wave of her hand.

“Enjoy yourself, Fife,” Vyleth said, allowing the elf to be swallowed in the whirlpool of an orgy. The wizard’s panic turned to joy, as though she’d slipped out of her body and fell into a dream. “She’s got quite the heretical fantasies,” Zara’s mistress said whilst taking a seat in a holy man’s golden throne. “Apparently she’s always found paladins rather fetching. And two seem to have enjoyed her on both sides. Isn’t it wonderful to bring people together?”

The orc nodded, though she could not hide the concern on her face. Vyleth’s emotions seeped into the aether around them, expressing confusion then sudden realization. “Oh, yes. Worry not, my chair, this throne is just to better watch the show. And I have other ways I wish to enjoy you. Kneel.”

To hear the command was to be showered in grace. Zara braced her knees against the hardstone floor of the golden throne. She felt the heat emanate from her mistress’s open thighs, smelled her arousal, and heard her cock form before her. The warm blood flowing in, the stench of her divinity, the ambrosia of her precum already leaking. The orc’s salvia pooled from behind her gag, flooding down her face when it vanished with a snap of her mistress’s fingers.

“This takes me back,” her mistress mused, directing her pet with her fingers tight in the orc’s hair. “It had been a year, maybe two, when I first brought you out of that little battery I made. You wanted to kill me, but the constant arousal made your face flush red when you saw my true form. Crimson when you saw my cock. I remember seeing that defiance twist with welcomed pleasure when I fucked you that day. I think we even had a crowd. Was it with a bunch of other orcs? Former clan members of yours? I can’t quite remember.”

Neither did Zara. Much like her name, the orc forgot much outside service to her mistress. She knew of that night, of the crowd her mistress had gathered, but who they were and what they’d meant to the orc had vanished like vapor. The orc did not care to try and remember, not as her tongue lapped along the fat phallus of her mistress.

The succubus’s sigh of relief urged Zara to take the tool between her lips. She’d mastered her mistress’s tool, whether as an active participant or a placid hole to be thrust into. She knew the weakspots, the techniques, and applied them slowly as per her mistress’s mood to sit back and watch the debaucherous performance unfold before her. It was hardly the first time. Whether it be in an orgy, during a play in the hells, or even a boring meeting between fellow high fiends, her mistress would find a use for her favorite chair. Either as a chair, or a cock holster.

“You are quite special to me, pet. Not just as my favorite chair, though it justifies bringing you wherever I go. No, it is for a more personal reason.” Vyleth eased the orc off her cock and urged her upward. Zara tried to twist around to better line her fat cheeks against the rod, but her mistress stopped her. “No, my pet, you don’t get to run from my gaze.”

“N-Never, Mistress,” the orc meant every word. She was simply beneath her mistress’s direct attention. Yet her mistress ignored such protocol, raising her favored object above her cock and spreading the orc’s cheeks. Slowly she let the green beauty impale herself down it, holding her steady to keep the orc focused on pleasure rather than balance.

“A most gracious reward for subduing my newest acquisition, don’t you agree?” Vyleth said softly as the orc reached the base. Zara’s mouth hung agape for want of words. She was trained to take the shaft, but each time she did it felt as though she’d not done enough. No doubt Vyleth liked to alter her chair to make the orc a little tighter whenever they started.

The orc tried to bounce along the shaft, stopping only as her mistress began to shift into her. She threw her head up to face the fiend, her blindfold blocking all but her emotional sight, of which she noticed the sense of pride form along her Mistress’s face.

“Do you know why you are special to me, my pet?” Vyleth asked. Her delicate fingers stroked the orc’s head as Zara shook her head. After all, how could the orc know? It was above her place to consider her mistress’s deeper thoughts. She only needed to serve, to provide pleasure.

Vyleth pulled her in close. Her voice was but a whisper, as if to hide under the debaucherious cacophony before them. “Ten thousand years ago I was at my weakest. I had gone from a goddess amongst mortals to little more than an ambush predator lying in wait. You can imagine how humiliating that was. It was a quiet life, a desperate one in the middle of nowhere where I had nothing but foolish merchants to feed upon. But then you, along with your heavy bottomed companions, walked through my door. I was, dare I say, awestruck by my fortune at such sirens entering my domain. I knew I had to have you. But I could not have expected the source of power you three became.

“The other two were useful. But you, my dear, you were such a fighter,” Vyleth said, rhythmically bucking her hips in a way different from what Zara remembered. Normally the succubus would take her pleasure and be done with it, rapidly ramming into the orc for hours. But this movement was slow, meant to accommodate the orc. She was fucking for her pet’s pleasure. Tears of joy for her mistress’s generosity at one so unworthy seeped from her blindfold. The succubus’s long tongue slathered over her face, cleaning it of such distractions.

“All the fighting you did was powered by lust. You hated how much you enjoyed me, and that enjoyment strengthened your hatred. I asked for a simple hearth and you alone became a bonfire. I would have retained my power with the three of you eventually, but you alone made it happen so quickly. This orgy, this little fulfilled fantasy for my newest pet, would not be possible without you, pet. For that, you have earned something I do not give lightly. My devotion, my loyalty. For wherever I go, I shall have you by my side. You will never die, you will never ascend to my ranks of fiends. You will be by my side, forever.”

Zara’s cry of joy was silenced by the slithering tongue of her mistress exploring her trained throat. That, combined with the steady thrusts filling her backside, would have brought anyone else over the edge. But not the orc, whose training and magical bindings sealed off her relief. She would always be aroused, never satisfied. But that was fine, for nothing beat the satisfaction of service to her mistress.