Fearful Priest 3
Routine? What is routine midst Demons?
Commission for Lightsun168 (FA)
Fearful Priest 3
Routine? What is routine midst Demons?
Lyam clutched the same mug of beer.
Its taste was disgusting, but much more bearable as he observed the swill before gulping it down. As soon as another mug was presented to him, he looked ahead. Alvor was on his left, telling about his current issues with his new boss.
With little surprise, the former Soldier had managed to bounce back to another industry, this time going to help with the Dwarves in the Dwarven District. They happened to lack working hands to carry metal to and from the Deeprun Tram.
Though Alvor was already ranting about his boss being a ‘small cunt with only iron up that skull’, he did it in an endearing way. He was nitpicking at the job, too, going on about how difficult it was and how it would break his back one day.
Not at how it was handled or how he could come to gripe with the Dwarf. No, which meant that for a few days… Lyam could stop worrying about Alvor.
Though he couldn’t stop worrying… And it would have been better to worry about his own situation.
A situation the Worgen saw as he eyed the swill, then pushed it aside and stood up.
“Are you leaving already?”
“Yeah,” mumbled Lyam, his body stiff and yet sore. But enduring as he patted Alvor. “I have places to be for the day.”
“Come on, that can wait,” said Alvor, smacking Lyam’s legs.
“Sadly, no. But don’t worry, I’ll be back next Sunday.”
“Arh. Fine! But you’ll owe me three beers!”
“As if you’ll let me pay, you idiot!”
Lyam couldn’t stop smiling, even when Alvor gave him the finger. He gave it back, certainly enjoying the man as well as the people around the table. Same for the crowd inside the Inn.
Yet, Lyam could see that the ambience was slightly different. The people were huddling closer to the tables, whispering to themselves or something. Even the laughing fits were more discreet.
A change Lyam even noticed as he stepped outside, feeling the streets were less crowded.
He passed by a wall covered with missing posters and a list of names. He didn’t know them, but they were more than last week.
Perhaps they would be more. And the thought of it made the Worgen gulp more as he stepped aside. Since he didn’t drink as much, he didn’t need to pray for the Light. He walked forward toward the small bookstore near the barracks.
Discreet, perfect for him as he entered, with the bell ringing to announce his presence.
“Hrmph? Aren’t you early?” asked a voice, grumbling from behind the counter, before a dwarf appeared from behind the counter.
Gray beard, green eyes, a hint of fel in his breath. But the Priest smiled shyly, grabbing his purse and opening it to slide the few coins that remained. Just enough for forty silver.
Forty silver coins, the Dwarf counted, biting into the coins before he allowed the Worgen to continue forward.
“You’ve got one hour.”
“Thanks, Verlon,” said Lyam, nodding as he stepped further into the shop.
There were barely any clients inside, even on Sunday. As for those Lyam might have encountered before, they avoided him like he was the plague. They gave him sidelong glances, afraid he might spy on them or whatever they were reading.
Not that it mattered much. Even before, he wouldn’t have judged them. But now? He cared so little as he beelined from the front to the stacked rows at the back of the shop, going for the same corner he’d left off last week.
Though he had to search again, his fingers went over the spines of the books. He read the words hastily, only to stop on a book.
“Goetia listaz,” mouthed the Worgen, finding that old grimoire he pulled out. He skimmed through the pages until he was back to where he left off and then… There was the long read.
It was a long list of names and demons, of creatures that might have been summoned or heard about. Not every Warlock would dare to list their patrons' names, or to whom they’d made compacts with. But others were keen to list them and make life easier for fellow Warlocks.
Something that had changed with the recent crusades and the dangers from the Void itself.
In that regard, Lyam had little to say or judge about.
He had never been the kind to oppose a Warlock. Those days? He relied on their knowledge to find anything about Geruhlon. A true name. A weakness. Perhaps a pact. Anything.
But it meant finding the Demon’s identity somewhere, and he was an elusive one.
No Demons had mentioned this name before, not to a Warlock keen to annotate the name.
No compacts even mentioned Geruhlon, or at least by his direct name. And as for his titles, Lyam knew none.
Still, he’d tried. He’d asked Verlon if he knew about him, to no avail. He’d asked some warlocks, the less afraid, to tell him so long as he was within the shop.
But the result was the same: whoever Geruhlon was to the legion, nobody knew. Nobody could answer Lyam plainly, forcing the Worgen to search in a domain he wasn’t an expert in or had any ties to.
A frustrating situation was made worse by the regular slight tug on his testicles. Like a throb that was to grow while he went over the entire page, finding no mention of the Demon. Hence, he dropped the grimoire back to where he found it and went for another. Another listing. Another attempt to catalogue every member of the Legion.
A stupid attempt. But the only way for the Worgen to know who Geruhlon was, really, or who his fellows were. If he knew their real names, maybe he could banish them or ask for the Warlocks’ help to extract the Archbishop.
But again… Lyam closed another grimoire and went for another, sighing.
His mind was plagued with that worry and-
A cough.
Lyam turned his head, looking at the cloaked figure on his left. That one definitely reeked of Fel, and those fingers, visible despite the cloak, looked like the Fel had devoured them. That one? Oh, they only had a few months left before the power consumed them. Fel-addict.
Nothing the Light could do, even if Lyam wished it.
However, the cloaked figure approached closer, the steps light.
“What’s your price?” asked a croaky voice, with need. With craving.
“My price?”
“For the curse. To remove it. That’s what you want? Come now. I can be generous.”
Lyam closed his eyes, reaching for another grimoire. He could feel that someone was looking at him, and it wasn’t the cloaked figure.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” replied Lyam, plainly.
“Come on. You reek. Fel and Holy magic. You’ve tried the priests, but they’re useless against curses. You’re looking for the one who cursed you?”
Lyam grimaced, his fingers reaching for his purse. His rosary was still inside, hence…
“I am not looking for that. You can leave,” said Lyam.
“Come on. You’re looking for something. I can help you. For twenty gold. You know it ain’t easy to do real magic in this city. No wait. Ten gold! No, five! Five! Right?”
Lyam turned his head, looking at that face. Looking at the green veins underneath the white and atrophied flesh. At those globular eyes. At that tongue licking those dirty teeth.
“Denem! Stop bothering my clients! Damn it!”
Lyam recoiled and turned away, listening to the Dwarf shopkeeper now shouting at the Warlock. Sure enough, the Shopkeeper came and pushed the Warlock away, chasing him while the shell of a man complained about merely doing business, while Lyam tried to make himself look smaller.
His tail between his legs, he tried to focus on the lines, so small and merging before his tired eyes. He couldn’t focus completely. He felt so unfocused, so… Limited when he tried to peer between the lines and get the wisdom of people who’d sacrificed their lives for short-term power and-
“Get out.”
Lyam’s brows lifted, but he turned, looking behind him.
Verlon was there, holding out his hand with the coins inside. Something Lyam eyed before looking at the Dwarf himself.
“What? I did nothing,” mumbled Lyam, hastily closing the grimoire to put it aside.
“Yeah. That’s the problem. You do nothing, but everyone comes sniffing around you. You’re a ticking bomb about to explode, and I don’t want it to explode in my shop.”
“Come on,” replied Lyam, forcing a smile onto his face. “I’m a regular. You know I’m not bothering anyone. I just came to read.”
“You read grimoires about Demons. Nobody is a dupe. Leave, you’d better do that before you do something stupid. You won’t find help or business here.”
“Verlon. I’m paying. Why would I need to leave? I’m doing nothing bad.”
“That’s the problem. Take your money back before someone like Denem forces something on you, or worse. Whatever you’re looking for, you’ll never find it here.”
For a second, Lyam looked at the pile of grimoires. He’d only skimmed the surface. But he had hoped he would have found that line, Geruhlon’s name, before that. Before, his situation was worse. Yet, his fingers closed on the coins, delicately picking them before Verlon pointed to the door and Lyam left.
He didn’t drag his feet like a kid or anything. But his shoulders dropped as he was back outside the shop, the stench of the Old Town welcoming him as much as a sensation of weight at the back of his mind.
“Back from reading?”
“Yes,” mumbled Lyam, hiding his mouth so as not to show he was speaking to himself.
Then, he turned to look at the library. Discreet, with a veil of protection against scrying spells. Not every place had this… And his search would start again from zero.
Sure enough, Verlon’s library was limited and chaotic, but it’d been the best choice from many points.
“I might need to find another library.”
“Suit yourself, Pet.”
The echo seemed more distant, as if someone was leaving the conversation, but Lyam was assured the scrying didn’t stop there. It followed him as he went from the Old Town to the recent Merchant district and then walked towards the Mage Quarter.
The place was evidently much lighter to endure, with the air cleaner and fresher, thanks to the many plants growing on the habitations.
However, Lyam didn’t come to admire the greens as he bee-lined towards a pub inside the district. He’d only heard the name and the direction, never seen it.
But the Slaughtered Lamb could be his second-best option, he figured.
However, the moment he approached, it was ready to step through… Lyam felt akin to a hand clutching his testicles. He felt that vice grip close on his jewels, and he almost yelped before he stepped back, leaning against the wall.
“Where are you going, Pet?”
“I am going to-“
To drink. That was the excuse Lyam wanted to see, but he stopped himself.
He’d already drunk enough, and so, he covered his mouth while he felt the inquisitive eyes closing on him.
“During my read, I found… Someone who wanted to meet me here.”
A terrible alibi, but still plausible. But not enough.
Not enough when the clutching grasp on Lyam’s testicles tensed and his ears dropped again, his tail hiding.
“Are you thinking I am an idiot? Come back home. I’ll have my people punish you.”
Lyam stopped and froze. If it were like last time, it would be a long evening spent being spanked and beaten. He didn’t relish the prospect nor the pain. But as the clutch on his testicles tightened, the Worgen was forced to turn his back to the inn.
Here went his second-best option, because he’d been foolish to think they didn’t know about it or were not suspicious of what he was doing inside.
“Maybe we will talk about your privileges once there… After I’ve fucked your cunt raw,” continued the voice inside Lyam’s mind, like a dirty and perverse promise.
One Lyam knew would happen. His prison bars had certainly been tightened. No more unsupervised outings.
-
“Again meeting with the Archbishop?”
Iruno’s voice echoed heavily through the empty corridors, stopping Lyam in his steps. The Worgen took a breath, then turned his head to face the stiff and grimacing Paladin. The Draenei didn’t wear his typical armor but the robes of the faithful.
Moreover, he wore a necklace representing the Naaru atop them, a striking contrast to most of the priests’ rosaries.
Everything about Iruno stood out, from his blue face to his height as he towered above everyone. And now, he exercised his height over the Worgen, who was hunched, almost making himself look smaller than he truly was.
“I must meet him; this is my prerogative,” replied Lyam, his voice tense.
“And yet, each time you leave, you reek like a whore out of a brothel,” replied the Draenei.
A remark, an insult. A joust with Lyam’s jaw slacking and his eyes going to the nearest passageways, empty. To the sconces. And then back to the Draenei, as implacable as a statue.
“If you have more than defamation to offer, I-“
“Everyone knows it. They have a nose, too,” replied the Paladin, poking at his nostrils. “I tire of this situation.”
“And?” continued Lyam, straightening his back and approaching, all to meet eye to eye. “I didn’t come here to be admonished by you, Iruno. Your veiled insults, your passive-aggressive tone, your constant threats. I do not-“
The hand closed on Lyam’s throat. It closed so tightly that the Worgen’s voice died in a gurgling sound while the Paladin could easily lift him off. Instead, he held him while the Worgen replied by clawing at his arm, by clawing at the robes covering it.
“The Archbishop had strict orders about protecting you. But I detest your presence. You are a flea, a tick,” said Iruno as his fingers closed on the Worgen’s neck, squeezing it, squeezing on the windpipe while the Worgen kicked and pushed against Iruno.
He had gripped the arm, to secure a hold to pull on it in an attempt to free himself.
A not-so-efficient attempt, but one desperate due to Lyam’s expression of utter fear.
“Let…. Me… Go,” wheezed the Priest, giving a powerful kick to Iruno’s chest, sending the Paladin tottering back while his grip relaxed.
And so… Lyam was released, dry-coughing, on the floor, and… Certainly not looking as noble despite the Archbishop’s robes he was again supposed to wear on the occasion.
The situation was striking, more so with Lyam spitting on the floor.
“Wh-… What is wrong? What did I do wrong?” mumbled Lyam, his voice hoarse.
“What you did… Wrong?” asked Iruno, raising an eyebrow and looking at Lyam. “You… Ugh. You’re pathetic.”
But as Iruno spat those words, there was a tinge of surprise. A tinge of… Fear?
Something Lyam picked up only after a few seconds. But clearly not fast enough for the Draenei, who turned his back on him, his tail almost flailing Lyam’s face before the hooves’ stomps resonated further and further from Lyam.
“What is wrong with him?” mumbled Lyam as he closed his eyes, trying to get a grip.
Iruno had always been a stiff bastard.
Ever since the Isolation? He’d been worse and worse. The Demon who replaced it certainly had a desire to humiliate and hit Lyam, despite the Priest’s attempt to ingratiate himself with the Paladin.
Gifts of wine or servants. Even some favors when the Draenei came to ask to be allowed to be exempted for a day. Anything… But Iruno remained… A bastard.
“Such a cunt,” huffed Lyam, straightening his back, spitting some bile again. And then, standing up, wiping his mouth.
He definitely looked shaken and disturbed, and roughed up as he descended into the catacombs. Shaken enough that even Geruhlon noticed it when his fingers danced on Lyam’s neck, stroking it.
“Ouh. Who dared to mess with my favorite partner in crime?” whispered the Doomguard, his claw almost piercing the soft skin underneath the fur. But it was definitely a caress. Or an attempt at one for the Worgen as he gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing so close to those serrated talons.
“Iruno.”
“Iruno?” asked the Doomguard, his voice almost a fluttering whisper against the Worgen’s ears, guiding him back to a different chamber. All of them had been instituted; every little cell had become another playroom for the Demon, who seemed to enjoy the situation.
From some came muffled whispers or distant groans. As well as laughter, joy, and some babbling that seemed to be in Eredun.
Something the Worgen could not pick upon as he closed his eyes, trying not to think about what was ahead.
“Yes. Iruno. And the others. Most Cardinals are making it more difficult for me to… Fulfill my duties.”
“Yet. You are filling them admirably, all for your precious Archbishop. You should be proud. You should be satisfied,” spoke Geruhlon, his voice suave but insulting.
Proud of betraying the Creed?
Of conspiring with the Demon?
Of betraying himself and everyone?
No. But Lyam said nothing while the clawed fingers grabbed the folds of his robes, undid the buttons with dexterity. And then his body was exposed. Claw marks could be seen despite the fur, similar to the bruise on the Worgen’s neck, as well as the hickey all around. Hickeys that spread over his neck, over his chest, around his nipples. Oh. His body was covered in marks, and he could almost see his skin turn an eerie green in some places, like brands.
“I…”
“Think about your next words,” said Geruhlon, leaning forward so the Priest could see those glowing green eyes, the danger they represented. Worse was the grip the Doomguard had on the priest, who held his breath. He almost looked like a fish, his mouth open and his lips unable to close. And…
“I am sorry. I will not speak ill of my situation,” mumbled Lyam, not a lie but an admission of dissatisfaction. Something that elicited a huff from the oversized Doomguard while he patted the Worgen’s head.
“Alas. It is true. But do not worry,” said Geruhlon, his voice calm.
“Wh-Why?”
“Because I’ll handle that Iruno case. He indeed needs to learn not to break my toy before I do.”
Lyam gulped. More so when those strokes on his head were genuine, like a head pat. Like a desire to please or appease the Worgen. And Lyam’s tail almost wagged as a reflex before he controlled it and had it tucked between his legs while he looked around.
This was another Cell for another penitent.
But the walls had been covered with scribbles, and a ritual circle had been drawn on the ground.
The Fel energy it gave off was sickening, suffocating, and stifling for the Priest who had yet to approach, guided by the hand, forcing Lyam to be at the center. He’d seen many a similar scene with a Demon’s exorcism. But here, he was at the center with Geruhlon stepping on the circle’s edge, ignoring the runes he could crush under his hooves while he gripped Lyam’s chin to guide him. To make him look up.
“Now. Pet. You will sit,” said Geruhlon.
Lyam looked down, looked at the circle. But he saw nothing. Nothing, as he closed his eyes and then sat. One leg down, knee on the floor. Then the other. Then, his legs spread while his fuzzy testicles landed on the cold floor.
He was sitting, and… In a way, he was ashamed to say, right in front of the Doomguard’s genitals.
In front of those hefty testicles, charcoal black, that weighed on his muzzle while his breath caught the sulfuric hints. Hints he should have grown sick of, but instead had been starting to experience as a pleasant and almost sensual experience.
An impossible feat for someone whose nose ought to be wronged by the scent.
But it wasn’t. And Lyam caught himself taking a deep breath after the Doomguard chuckled.
“Good pet. Always so eager. A true whore. That’s why you wanted us.”
Lyam’s face burned, his ears dropping while he couldn’t look at Geruhlon in the eyes when he said that. Not when he was almost speaking the truth amidst the lies.
When… The Demon’s presence was suffocating and exciting enough for Lyam to feel a stir in his cockcage.
Cockcage that felt awfully tight as he remained still, with the Demon’s nuts practically smearing his face when… Something happened.
It was faint, but Lyam could feel the shift in the air, the fel magic condensing into a spell. One he couldn’t know. One he couldn’t see. But one, he was certain to happen before something hard, rigid, and cold pressed against his posterior.
Next, his eyes widened while he tried to look down, only for Geruhlon’s hand to hold his chin.
“Shhh. Do not look.”
An order, or a whispered remark.
But Lyam clenched his teeth while he sensed that flare, that organ, press against his posterior. In reaction, his swollen orifice began to squeeze itself shut while the glands inside proceeded to produce lubricant for such an occasion. Soon enough, the Worgen could sense a wetness spreading between his cheeks and inside his asshole.
A wetness culminating with droplets of that clean lubricant dripping on the flat flare while the flare itself was rubbing against the Worgen’s asshole.
Against his pucker that was, once more, taken… Spread. And then stuffed. Not with a real cock, warm and throbbing. But a facsimile in stone that stretched his guts and went deep.
It impaled him, it squashed his guts, it crushed his inner walls.
In doing so, it nudged the Worgen’s swollen prostate. Pleasure. Shameful, disdainful. But pleasure as he gasped and his cockcage dripped on the floor, on the circle that seemed to flare in power. Or at least, there was a shift in its aura. Enough for the Priest to notice it as he looked at Geruhlon, at the mischievous grin he had.
“Good. Among the many I’ve had the pleasure to keep here, you’re one of the purest.”
“The… Many? What do-Gglgl!”
Lyam’s mouth was taken. The fingers closed on the jaws, held that muzzle open, and pried it to the point that the articulation popped. Pain flared through the Worgen’s skull. A pain that was coming right from his jaw as it was to hang without restriction unless put back in place.
However, it was clearly not the Demon’s true design since the moment that jaw dropped, his cock rushed inside, muffling the Worgen’s howl.
Lyam’s eyes watered, his fingers twitched, just like his legs. But he could not oppose such a male.
In fact, the moment Lyam’s fists tightened and his arms were ready to reach for the Doomguard’s legs, stone manacles grabbed his wrists and held him tied down. All imitated by those going around the Worgen’s ankles as he was… Facefucked.
Not gently, not carefully. But the Demon’s grip on his head was intense and powerful, the massive hands on either side of the Worgen’s skull, with the thumb twiddling with the ears, while that enormous, rigid, stiff cock slipped in.
Such an organ, such a mace, such a tool… Each time, it was the same.
Each time, Lyam’s mouth would be popped open by the size, and that cock would be forced down his throat, with his back forced to align with the organ’s length.
An alignment made so that the throbbing organ could slip down the Worgen’s throat, down the esophagus, and deliver a hefty dose of precum right into his stomach.
“It’ll be over soon. I only need to milk you tonight,” said Geruhlon, his voice shaken by chuckles.
His cock, massive, throbbed against Lyam’s upper jaw. And the throbs echoed the Worgen’s own heartbeat, or the flares of pain that hit each side of his skull while his muzzle drew closer and closer to the Demon’s glabrous groin. Almost to have his nostrils and nose hard-pressed against it.
And then? So came the sulfuric scent. So came the flavor against the Worgen’s tongue, sweet and cloyingly so despite what he was to taste from the smell.
And… The weight.
The cock itself was heavy on the tongue, pressing against it and crushing it against the floor of the mouth, against the edge of the throat. And so, in return, the tip of the tongue lolled out as well as the jaw.
Its dislocation was prominent, dangling due to the sinews and muscles holding everything together. But at the same time… With the pain came something else. Pleasure.
Pleasure, first, in the form of that cock pressing inside the Worgen’s throat, turning his breath into a trickle of air.
By the cock, second, artificial, that was forced inside his asshole.
The first was an old reaction he’d recently reacquired. A desire, a lustful need when hands would close on his neck to squeeze it tightly during some rough nights.
The second was from the Demon. A boon and a curse all the same.
Both mingling while his testicles were pulled closer to his abdomen, and said abdomen ached from the tension that was building up inside.
Lyam’s eyes rolled.
Without control, without agency, it was better to give in. Not to resist the yearning, not to draw more ire from the Demon. And then, not to elicit any rash punishment.
But… As his eyes drifted and saw Geruhlon, a part of Lyam knew there was no need for punishment. Geruhlon had already planned it.
The serrated teeth glimmered, and that tongue lolled out. Down… It was less a tongue and more like a tendril or an appendage. A tentacle that slipped down the Doomguard’s chest and then onto the Worgen’s face. It dripped saliva onto the fur, covering the white strands with a greenish liquid while the tongue continued to descend.
Slowly, steadily, Lyam’s brows dropped, and his eyes betrayed his fear. His… Tension while something cold and rigid closed on his testicles, and it wasn’t the cage or a chain. It was closer to a band, tightly pulling on the base of the scrotum… Right on the cords joining Lyam’s jewels to his abdomen.
Anxiety was drawn all over that gaze. And there was nothing the Priest could do, gagged as he was while the Demon’s tongue went over his brows, over his cheekbones… And then, went over his ears.
“You can be afraid.”
The voice rang inside Lyam’s mind as he looked and saw Geruhlon’s eyes flash with power. With the Fel he was wielding, his tongue approached Lyam’s right ear. It circled against it, like a snake. It coiled and rolled around the ear while the tip danced near the ear hole, coating it with saliva. In… other circumstances, it could have been erotic or exciting.
Instead, Lyam only felt shame and horror and… Dread.
“Your fear tastes sweet.”
The tongue approached, coiled closer and…
Lyam cried.
He cried when the band around his testicles yanked them down, yanked them so brutally he feared they were ripped off. But no, the skin and the cords endured while the testicles were squeezed against the cold floor by the stone manacle.
And far from being done with his torment, Geruhlon had now his facsimile of a cock moving, pumping deep inside the Worgen’s ass.
It pumped so deeply that the movements could be seen through the skin, through the bulging abdomen, while Lyam’s expression and attitude shifted. Fear became pain, then pleasure.
All three mixing together as Geruhlon’s tongue stroked his cheeks, like a hand. Like a hand palming his face, a soothing touch.
“But I won’t break you. Breaking toys is a good experience. But so ephemeral.”
Those words were sweet. And yet, so insulting.
So terrible that Lyam would have snarled and desperately desired it. But his jaw couldn’t close, and only his nose could scrunch up with an expression of disdain. Nothing more. Nothing threatening as he felt the cock inside his throat move and so…
Again, the Worgen’s face was fucked.
Again, the dildo inside his asshole moved.
Again, his testicles were squeezed against the floor.
And he didn’t know what the purpose was this time.
Each time they would fuck, Geruhlon was doing it to mess with the Worgen. Bad behaviors meant whipping. Good behavior was ‘rewarded’.
But here, there was no reward or punishment. And milking? It was the first time the Demon had mentioned it. The first time Lyam was in this cell, too.
“You don’t have to worry about what will happen.”
The suave tone was definitely not helping with the mental backlash the Worgen experienced.
Nor with the tremors shaking his body and abdomen, a reflex and a reaction to the fucking he was enduring. To the stone facsimile now pummeling his prostate at the same pace as Geruhlon’s real cock.
The Doomguard was purposefully doing it in synchronicity, his testicles smacking against the Worgen’s jaw right when that stone organ was deep inside the Worgen, past the median ring.
In fact, when those testicles were resting against the Worgen’s tongue, it was when the pressure on the prostate was the worst.
When the temptation to let go was the most powerful for the Worgen, he closed his eyes.
“Go on. You want it.”
The moment the voice was inside, there was definitely something wrong… Making the Worgen think twice about his orgasm. His abdomen was aching, but… Was it a punishment? Would he have his testicles crushed if he came? Would he be strangled? Would he have that tongue digging into his ear and skull?
Cold shudders went down his spine, his tail hard-pressed against the floor in submission while the Demon chuckled, his laugh shaking his body and cock.
“You are so afraid… But it is simpler. Much simpler,” cooed Geruhlon as he grabbed the Worgen’s face and… Yanked his cock out of that mouth.
The cock inside Lyam’s asshole almost pulled out, too, with the flare stopping at the rim.
And almost despondent or stunned, Lyam bowed forward. No longer was the cock in his mouth stopping him, and his head bobbed down while his tired, half-covered eyes followed. They looked at the glowing circle, flaring with power and magic. But he also saw the Demon’s finger pointing at something.
Lyam looked at the finger. Then at the tip. The claw… And finally, through bending and enduring the pain of his sore abdomen, he looked at… His groin.
At his precum that had an eerie white glow. It was still translucent in a way. But that glow inside was intense… Much like the one inside his squeezed testicles, held between the stone and the floor like a metal press.
“H-Hah?” he tried to speak, blinking and spitting at the same time.
“Can’t you see it?” said Geruhlon, licking his fingers while he squatted in front of Lyam, just so as to collect the glowing precum.
A precum he collected between his fingers to show Lyam, the sticky liquid joining the digits. The threads of precum were everywhere and glowing before Lyam’s eyes as he focused on it.
And… Then, the glow changed. It went from white with faint yellow hints to pure white, then to hints of green. A green that was steadily overtaking everything. Before his eyes, that white glow turned into Fel…
Lyam’s eyes widened, his exhaustion and pain chased to listen entirely to Geruhlon’s words.
“You are a battery of power. So ripe. So needy,” said the Demon, bringing his fingers down to poke at Lyam’s swollen testes. “Rare are the ones who are so pure and full of light.”
“Hoh! Hoh!” said Lyam, shaking his head and trying to smack his jaw shut despite the searing pain in his planted gums and his muscles. Right before Geruhlon’s hand, he lifted his jaw, but not enough to realign it, to fix the dislocation.
“Stop? No. Why would I? We need it to power more demons,” said Geruhlon.
Lyam’s eyes focused around. On the glowing runes on the walls, on the floor, and above. All were glowing with so much power, brimming with an energy they didn’t have before.
The energy they gave off, the Fel that permeated the air itself. Lyam was aware of it, and then his eyes locked with Geruhlon, with that chuckling and smug Demon who stood up once more. And presented his cock to the Worgen’s face, pressing it against his throat.
“It won’t hurt. You just need to… Embrace the pleasure,” said the Doomguard.
A pleasure that was born from abuse, obviously.
But a pleasure the Doomguard delivered as he pumped inside the Worgen’s throat once more, fucked that tight mouth once again… And had his fake cock pumping right back inside his asshole. Pushing inside, stretching it, stuffing it until the belly bulged again.
Until the Worgen’s groin was again alight with pleasure and his cock dripping inside the cage.
Dripping so that glowing precum would flow out, all over the metal cage, then onto his testicles, before it landed onto the circle to be absorbed by the floor itself.
A milking. That was a milking, and the Worgen couldn’t refuse it… Not when the fake cock was pumping faster and faster inside his ass, when that flare was rubbing and pulling on his sensitive sphincter.
It almost made him see stars despite choking on such a massive organ.
Making him see a world of ruthless pleasure while his groin was about to explode and then… He felt it.
The throb, the painful penetration, and something wet going down his ear hole, breaking the Worgen’s focus over his body and senses.
Breaking his grip over his own orgasm as he cried and… A white jet came out of his cage.
One potent and lengthy jet, almost reaching the circle’s edge before it was promptly absorbed… As well as the other jets, smaller and less impressive.
“We’ll need a lot more if we want to get done by the next summoning.”
The cock inside his throat was pulled out, allowing the Worgen to breathe and whine loudly, to feel his breathing return to normal while he blinked and looked at the Demon ahead…
“Hah?” he asked, his jaw still dropping, before Geruhlon lifted it with an index finger and, this time, aligned it.
It popped back into place with another flare of pain, enough to make the Worgen wince and tug on his bindings. But once it was over, Lyam blinked and faced the Demon, albeit looking drained and tired.
“Wha…. What summoning? It was never in our compac-AHaaaah!”
Lyam’s voice broke, and his voice climbed higher from the sudden squeeze on his testicles.
The stone band had tightly yanked on them, and now, those orbs looked like they were about to explode inside that scrotum. The gonads themselves, the cords, the epididymides. They formed a swollen stack.
One that was about to break and burst, reduced to paste, as the stone band continued to pull on them. And worse? That was that glow inside them, onto the skin. A glow that seemed to grow the more they were pulled and squeezed, causing the Worgen’s ears to drop.
“Yes. They look like fruits that will explode. Ripe for the juicing.”
“Don’t… Please,” mumbled Lyam.
His voice was whiny and hoarse. But it conveyed well his horror as he could feel the throb of pain inside his testicles, the churning nausea inside his belly. And… The faintest shaking from the spell that had to be maintained with the most minute of control, lest it squashed those orbs.
Geruhlon grinned, satisfied and definitely enjoying this as he had his tongue descending along the Worgen’s neck. It coiled around it, squeezing onto the skin, but not only that. It followed the chest, nestled itself between the fuzzy pectorals that were pointing down… Onto that stuffed belly, still bulging from the stone cock inside.
And then, onto the groin that was stroked, onto the cage… And then to those orbs that were poked.
“You shouldn’t be so afraid of losing them. You never planned to use them again after becoming a priest. Well. Until your nature called you again.”
“I… I never wanted this. I don’t want to lose them.”
“It would be much easier for what’s ahead if you lost them.”
“What? What would be easier if I lost them?”
“Oh. I might have slipped. Sorry.”
“What’s ahead? What do you plan? What will happen, Geruhlon?”
“Oops.”
Lyam’s mouth opened again.
His ears were straight up in an aggressive posture, similar to his puffed-up tail. Same for his chest, with the fur straight onto his pectorals. All to display his ire, his anger, his frustration. And all dropped when something stabbed his jewels.
He felt the pain inside them, the crushing sensation getting worse. And the fire inside them, the fire that crept along his abdomen, up his belly and guts. It was everywhere; it was getting everywhere inside the Worgen, right to his chest.
Right to his lungs that were emptying as he coughed, wheezed, and couldn’t even form a word.
His eyes were wide, but he was crying. His mouth opened and closed, with the lips quivering. But nothing came out except a faint noise while Lyam felt the bands pulling on his testicles tighter and something… Something was stabbing them.
Something was stabbing them so deeply, it was both alien and absurd.
And absurd was the pleasure, the orgasm, the ejaculation as the Worgen felt like the pleasure burst. An impossible, a deviant, and a fake pleasure.
But one that came forth while he ejaculated onto the ground, with his entire body shuddering. With his eyes rolling while another wave of pleasure, of orgasm, came forth.
Those were not the kind of orgasms that’d come from intercourse. No, it was inane and intrusive. It was the kind of high you’d get from drugs, and without any control.
The kind that would sweep over one’s mind and libido, taking their control away… And leave them scrambling, adrift on a sea of unsatisfied needs.
But the result was there… it was obvious as the Worgen’s groin kept pumping more glowing cum out, his semen soon to be absorbed into the floor while the Demon’s tongue had stabbed his testicles.
The dark tips were planted deep in the gonads, which were swelling further, with green veins on them. Green veins that throbbed, glowed, flashed with that poison being pumped inside. With that liquid, right from the Doomguard’s mouth, suffusing them and making them throb and grow.
Grow from ripe fruits to obscene aberrations, to the kind of watermelon you’d only find in contests. And their presence forced the Worgen’s legs to open up further, driven by the sheer volume that was starting to inflate them while he cried, hiccuped, gargled… And came again.