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Queen of Warlocks

By Danath (https://danath.sofurry.com/)

Commissioned by and characters © Boo3 (https://boo3.sofurry.com/)

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The records of the cathedral's history were lost to time, fire, and flood, though it survived them all with little damage. It had no real historical significance since it had never been occupied, though deemed a landmark by the city council and occasionally improved through safety inspections and restorations of the black marble facades, the last being carried out around ten years prior.

Roland held one hand in his bag, clutching a small book bound in ancient black leather, as he moved through the crowded sidewalks across the street from the cathedral. He slipped between the milling crowds like a ghost, unnoticed and small in the mass of people. Occasionally he stopped to stare at the the cathedral, admiring the broad roof in the front, which sloped backwards towards its center, as though it were scowling. The imposing spires, one in each of the six corners of the structure, loomed in the shadows of the massive office buildings crowding around it. There were no ornaments on the building - no gargoyles or statues, no graffiti or paintings. It merely stood, vacant, inhospitable and domineering, an ancient and undisturbed spot in the center of the downtown.

Roland walked to the front of the massive doors, at the bottom of a steep set of stone steps, staring upwards at the impressive structure. There weren't many people around on the sidewalk, though the other side of the street was jammed with pedestrians, many of them workers in the modern office skyscrapers. For some reason, nobody walked near the cathedral or even glanced towards it. Only Roland seemed to notice its existence at all.

The building set Roland on his quest, when he'd seen it as a child as he passed by on a school bus during a field trip. He'd plastered his face to the window, eyes wide, until the ancient structure passed out of view. The obsession began that day. Investigating the building and its history brought Roland to the word "warlock" in the first place, mentioned in passing as the code name for the structure in the city's emergency planning guide, then again in a book of stories set in the city, then again in other myths and urban legends, until he saw the pattern. At one point, Roland had even tracked down the author of the planning document, now long since retired, and badgered him about the name, which he swore he chose at random by opening a dictionary and pointing to the first word he saw.

Warlock, he knew, was not what people thought, some sort of cathedral for a long-gone religious order. It was something far greater: a castle. And soon, his castle.

Now that he had the book, the key to everything, he was prepared. The years he spent searching for it left him plenty of time to arrange things in advance. He'd stored supplies and set up the required materials for the ritual in anticipation of this moment. Roland was so well-prepared, all he had to do was walk in, light a few candles, and read the spell.

Roland wasn't quite sure what would happen once he finished reading the strange, ancient language written in the book. The handwritten letters were tiny, almost indecipherable, and though Roland knew several languages thanks to his long quest, he struggled to pronounce the words, as though they were trying to stop him by their sheer complexity.

A flickering brazier sat against the far wall, filled with coal and incense, filling the room with plumes of scented smoke. Candles hung in holders in a circle around the room, which sat at the very center of the castle. The ceiling stretched high, almost twenty feet overhead. Solid marble composed all of the architecture. The glossy black surfaces reflected the candlelight as Roland stood in the center of a pentagram drawn on the floor in bone dust.

Nothing happened for a moment after Roland spoke the final word and a tiny doubt appeared in his brain, but the same blast of hot wind that blew out all of the candles in the room also quashed the stray thought that perhaps it wouldn't work.

With the candles out, the room plunged into darkness. Roland felt the hot wind rip at his body, bashing him back and forth, side to side, buffeting him hard enough send him stumbling back and forth between the edges of the pentagram, each time feeling as though he'd hit an invisible wall. The dust on the floor didn't shift despite the whirlwind of energy above. The wind tore at his clothes, though left his skin curiously undamaged, though he could feel the intense heat and pressure. How he was even alive in the center of such a powerful maelstrom could only be due to the magical incantation. Had he pronounced even a single syllable wrong... but the thought of failure vanished as fast as his clothes.

The candles burst alight, their flames rising high into the air, intensely white and hot. The streams of fire reached almost halfway to the ceiling, instantly heating the room to a swelter and blinding Roland.

He felt something warm on his foot and looked down, past his nude body, to see the floor inside the pentagram swirling with some sort of black liquid. It moved and rippled, lurching side to side against the walls of the pentagram as though alive.

Within moments, the shiny black substance covered his knees. Where it touched him, it clung to his skin and rolled upwards. Roland's body leaned away instinctively, but the liquid rose higher and higher. He could feel the currents, the rhythmic surge and ebb. His skin tingled and he let out a cry when he felt the liquid rise higher yet, up to his chest. He held his hands over his head as the liquid encased him, hardening around his body to hold him in place. He closed his eyes as the tide rose over his face and shook his head to try to keep it loose, though he felt his neck stiffen despite his efforts. Roland couldn't even move his eyelids. The liquid hardened around him, though he could feel the pressure of the rest of mass still in the pentagram, constrained by the walls, though he couldn't see it.

Roland's nerves burst into flames. The sudden, excruciating shock caused him to spasm against the skin-tight restraint. Warm, thick liquid poured into his mouth and forced its way down his throat, spreading not only the tingling, but an incredible taste. It wasn't bad, more unexpected. Roland felt more pressure on his throat as the goo entered him, filling his belly. The fire in his skin transferred to his chest and stomach. More and more of the black liquid forced its way down his throat, gallons of the stuff. He burned inside as the goo displaced his body, replacing him one cell at a time.

From outside the pentagram, it appeared as though a mummy were left alone in the center of a pentagram. It stood lifeless, motionless, hard and glossy, almost like a crude sculpture of a human chiseled from obsidian. The winds faded, though from inside the shell, Roland couldn't tell one way or another, and was too distracted to even think about it.

He could see nothing. But he could hear whispers. They grew in his brain as the fire inside him intensified.

"Submit and serve," he felt them say. "Submit..."

Roland's heart pounded. He could feel the whispers in his brain, poking and prodding at his memories, looking for his weaknesses.

"You've looked so long, and now you will have your reward," a voice hissed inside of him. "Submit!"

The insistence grew and Roland's heart raced even faster. Adrenaline surged through his body. Were it not for the obsidian casing holding him in place, his legs would not have supported him. He read about the call of service in the book's pages, but hadn't realized it was a call for him to serve once he'd started the spell.

Roland wracked his brain, trying to think despite the loud, insistent whispers in his mind, ordering him to submit, to obey, to become the vessel of power he was destined to become. To serve. Roland's chest palpitated. He would... he would...

He would not serve. The voices grew in volume to angry shouts, demands, exhortations, but Roland resisted. He would not serve. He would be served. He would take this power and use it for his own ends. The shouting grew, but Roland knew it was too late. The voices opened a two-way stream of information. As it picked through his mind, trying to find ways to convert him, he'd absorbed new knowledge of his own. Through sheer willpower and determination, he knew he'd have to resist for a long time. Time to grow stronger, stronger than the voices, strong enough to control them. Even as he realized it, he realized too that he'd already made it longer than anyone before. Ritual after ritual, through the ages, the millenia, time after time they'd come to find this power. Their memories rose up through Roland's consciousness, how they'd fallen and become low servants of the dark magic, their lives snatched and controlled by the malevolent raging magic.

But not him. He would not be controlled. He's spent too many years, too long a time, to give in now, when he was so close to true power.

The obsidian surrounding Roland splintered into shards and exploded outwards, thrown by a blast of energy from the center of the pentagram. Roland's body glowed white, hot white, as he threw his head back, spread eagle in mid-air. His skin drooped, melting, fissioning away as the brightness intensified. When he opened his mouth to scream, oozing black liquid poured from his mouth and down his body like tar.

When a drop of the black sizzled against his cheek, the intense heat surrounding him burst into white flames, scorching the walls and ceilings. Obscured by fire, Roland could see and hear nothing, though he felt his body change as the whispers told him secrets, filled his brain with ancient knowledge, forbidden rituals, the secrets long since forgotten. He remembered every word, indelibly burned into his memories as though they were his own. His skeletal features grinned as he subdued the magical energies through sheer force of will, refusing to succumb to the intense pain and heat.

Yes, he would take this power. And he would master it, not the other way around.

What remained of Roland's body stretched in all directions as his corporeal form disintegrated. Flames licked along his molten skin, consuming him and replacing him as it flickered down to his fingertips, changing his smooth skin to densely furred hide. His neck stretched as his chest expanded. Smooth black fur flocked his chest as breasts swelled outwards, ripe and fertile. His nose lengthened, stretched, jaw protruding until the bridge of his nose flattened. His ears slid to the top of his head, round on the sides and pointed at the tip.

The fire bathed him as he squirmed, moaning, writhing within the pentagram. The whispers grew louder, though their demands were fewer, signalling their defeat.

Roland's new mouth opened wide as horns protruded from the back of his skull, outwardly curving but returning to point tips at each other above his ears.

Or rather, her ears. She was no longer male, no longer female, but both. And she was no longer Roland. She was now something much greater than he had ever imagined: Queen of the Warlocks, able to call upon the power of the other realms, knower of mysteries, possessor of forbidden knowledge. Castle Warlock Castle served as her home, situated on a confluence of ancient ley lines, delivering her the forbidden powers that consumed so many before.

As much as her mind changed, so too did her body. Broad cloven hooves dangled above the stone floor and a dark green scaled tail flicked beneath. The pointed tip left sparked as the fire leapt from it into the air. Three pairs of black-furred, clawed hands reached for her swelling chest, groping at her sensitive new bust, as two additional sets of engorged breasts grew in below, with the lowest pair dangling above her flaccid member. Her shaft swelled, growing fast, like her chest. It pushed free of a sheath as the sac beneath drooped, heavy and swollen, until each nut draped past her thighs. Her face was that of a black-furred goat, with sharp white teeth hidden behind plump black-skinned lips. Golden eyes flared as she opened them, wide and knowing, deep as the ocean, and able to see into the very core of any mere mortal.

The invisible mysteries she absorbed informed her of what her purpose would have been, had she succumbed: mere breeding stock, a mindless automaton devoted to endless lust and servitude, writhing in endless agony and pleasure on an altar deep in the heart of the castle, many stories below where she currently floated. Even now, she knew at least three former acolytes remained chained in bondage in the depths, endlessly used for their sexual energies. The castle itself kept their existence a secret, but nothing was secret from the Queen.

And now, she knew, they would serve her desires. She could feel their energies joining with her, supporting her evolution, her transformation into their new queen. Their thoughts reached out for her, begging for her touch and more. They would be fine servants, she knew, though mostly mindless, empty of will without her to supply it. They would be her vassals, her servants in the castle, serving at her pleasure.

The Queen let out a moan of pleasure as two hearts raced in her chest, pumping blood throughout her system. Her fur rippled and her body quivered as a second and then a third erection pushed from her sheath, each coated in the flickering white flames still surrounding her. The three enormous members stretched outwards, rising up and up, splotched white and pink in color, with fat medial rings halfway up each. Fleshy nubs protruded from the throbbing skin of each shaft under the crown of each flared tip, angled down towards the base of her shafts to help lock her into whoever she decided to bless with her arousal. The serpent tail draping behind her shapely rump flashed from side to side, twitching and coiling, as powerful as any other part of her muscular new form.

The dragon-tailed goat cried out as she felt another change begin. Her head trembled as she leaned it to the side, feeling an unusual bulge beneath the skin of her shoulder. The heat inside her body flared higher as horns pierced the surface, followed by a black skull. Skin and fur grew in over the wildly grinning protrusion, forming, within moments, an entirely new head. She could blink, in unison, and knew instinctively she could control either or both at her will, just as she could with her new pairs of arms. The second brain provided the power necessary to control the vast quantity of information she'd ingested, allowing her fuller control to the wild magics still changing her body and minds.

The former human's hips surged as she flexed, arms stretching outwards. The fire intensified, sealing her changes permanently as the whispers faded, their work done, satisfied that the new Queen of Warlock was suitable, strong of will, no mere weakling like those in the depths below. The voices would not return, the Queen knew. The voices were now hers, to speak in her name and influence who she chose.

A sharp gust of supernatural wind scattered the blackened remains of the pentagram and an unseen force gently lowered the demonic goat to the floor. As her hooves pressed to the stone, the fire pulled upwards, up her legs over her massive erections, along her heavy sets of breasts, over her neck and face, and into her horns. As the last drops of the fire condensed between the two pairs of horns, they flashed into bright rings of constant fire, slowly circling above the inward-pointing tips. The left-side head's halo of white fire featured two points in the center reaching upwards; the other head's halo featured the same, but pointing down.

The Queen's eyes closed for a few long moments, both heads lowered slightly as her chest rose and fell, hearts pounding. Thick tendrils of clear pre-cum oozed from the flared tips of all three of her erections, filling the air with musk. When she lifted her heads, both pairs of eyes opened. Her pupils flashed and she blinked as a pentagram burned into the center of each of her foreheads. When she opened her eyes once more, a third eye on each head blinked from the center of the cryptic, tattoo-like design. The third eye, a potent symbol that she recognized all too well from her mythological studies as a human, and now her portal to the other realms, to see what should not be seen.

Both heads smiled, revealing pearly white teeth and sharp canines. She lifted all six of her arms, arranging her fingers into the sacred shapes, and closed her eyes briefly. A murmur from her deep-voiced muzzles elicited yet another change that she now fancied for herself: black feathered wings unfurled from her shoulders, glossy and ethereal, summoned with ease through her newfound knowledge. They beat once, scattering the remnants of ash below, and lifted her a foot into the air, half-flying and half-floating.

No longer was she Roland. Her former name meant nothing to her now. She remembered the foolish dreams and desires of the human-self only faintly at this point. She was now the Queen of Warlocks alone, ruler of this world. Her large fingers dug into her heavy breasts, six paws groping at six full teats, eliciting a surge of pleasure and a splatter of pre-cum from the massive stalks stretching out and up from her hips. The pleasure intensified as she closed her eyes, mentally surveying her new castle. Hidden doors and passages, closed rooms full of scrolls and spells and charms long since abandoned by the non-magical realm, all were hers for the taking. The three vassals below she could now feel and shuddered as their lust surged along with hers. They could feel her desires, her will, and reacted to the new queen with an increase in libido that fed into the Queen's ever-growing desire.

"Patience, my sweets," she purred, her twin voices rich and husky and dark. "Patience... your Queen will attend to you soon."

The twin goat heads smiled as she planned what would happen next. Wielding such power, she would re-establish her cult. Acolytes. Neophytes. Priestesses. Her nostrils twitched as memories of debauched harems, fantastic orgies, magic transformations... her lengths shuddered with desire, splattering the floor with cups of clear pre-cum. She snorted both pairs of nostrils, eyes closing, floating higher, towards the ceiling of the cathedral. In the center, she leaned back, arms stretching to the sides, feet pointing towards the floor thirty feet below.

Her hips bucked, thrusting into the air. The demon-goat's chest wobbled and jiggled before her arms returned. One hand on each erection, guiding them as her hips pumped, the remaining caressing her sensitive, engorged nipples, each touch sending waves of sensation down her spine.

Her orgasm built up inside her, from her swollen testicles to the tips of her elongated muzzles. The fires burning in the center of each pair of horns on top of her two heads flamed brighter, pulsing as the heat inside her body grew. Her arms pistoned up and down as she tipped back, legs spreading, the pressure building and intensifying until she couldn't hold back anymore.

Her ragged moans rang through the cathedral as she struggled to maintain her speed and pace, humping her hips into her smooth hands, hugging the three massive lengths against her chest. Her tail swept up between her legs, rubbing across the three soaking pussies positioned between her thighs and under her tail.

That was all it took for her to erupt, howling with lust as she shot geysers of ebony seed from each of her three throbbing stalks. The warm black seed splattered the walls as a wave of magical power rippled away from her floating body. The thick cream melted into the stone of the building itself, recoloring the tiles and minerals. A low hum echoed through the magnificent hall as she writhed with pleasure above it all, sending cascading sheets of seed rolling down her body to drip into the structure below. The magical energies flowed into the building, restoring it, awakening it. She could feel it now, sense it's true purpose as her temple, perfect and unbreakable, from where she would extend her rule across the city and beyond.

The thought of even more power sent the shivering black-furred goat into another paroxysm of pleasure. Her triple-stalks flexed, surging larger, harder, heavier, as her massive balls nearly doubled in size. The tips disappeared into her overwhelming cleavage despite their size as thick black cum pumped steadily through the gaps in her breasts, to drain down her sides and onto the floor far below.

By the time her endowments retreated somewhat, shrinking back to their normal, though still greatly exaggerated sizes, she floated down to the floor of the castle, grunting as she felt the weight of her erections droop forward, curved slightly down towards the floor, still dripping obscene amounts of cum. The building nearly throbbed with energy, absorbing and reacting to her presence, completely subject to her desires. It acted as a receptacle for her energy and amplifier all in one, allowing her to project her power far and wide as she chose - not as the dark magic would twist her into doing. The fires hovering in the center of the twin pairs of horns atop her heads intensified now that her initial carnal lusts were sated for the moment.

The demonic goat's six eyes closed as she savored the moment, then remained shut as she brought her arms up in front of her, forming intricate patterns in the air with her fingers, forming sacred shapes and summoning her new powers, bending the dark magics to her will, allowing the power to sparkle and crack from every pore of her new body.

Now began the reign of Baphomet, the Queen of Warlock, Possessor of Secrets and Souls, Empress of the Dark Arts.

She knew such titles meant little unless followers worshipped her name. The three in the darkness of the underworld beneath the castle would do for a start, but those mindless drones she regarded as little more than playthings. They'd do for now, but soon she would recruit new followers, new cultists to bring her even more power and glory. And in return...

The demon-goat's fingers slid across her sensitive nipples, encouraging dribbles of sizzling hot milk from the plush black-skinned buds. They would receive a reward, of course, for their service. She smiled doubly and purred with excitement, her triple shafts stiffening as she opened herself to the tortured lust of the three vassals below.

A snap of the fingers was all she needed to open the massive, hidden doors at the far end of the chamber. She walked through slowly. Each brazier mounted on the wall burst alight as she passed, illuminating the black marble corridor. The hallway sloped down, then turned around on itself, spiralling deeper into the earth. She ignored the large wooden doors she passed along the way, instinctively knowing which rooms were which - rooms holding scrolls, libraries of magics, ancient artifacts, weapons magical and otherwise.

She could feel the lustful energies of the vassals as she walked deeper into the castle. The walls throbbed with energy as she passed. By the time she arrived in the deepest part, many stories below the ground level, her erections strained, bobbing in front of her, spurting and spitting every few seconds. Rich milk dripped slowly from her teats, her over-filled breasts near to bursting with pent-up energies. She moaned softly through clenched teeth, shivering with need as she came nearer and nearer to the chamber where the vassals were held.

The most recent acquisition entered the castle over a hundred years ago. She'd managed a few words of the spell before succumbing. The other two were males, arrived together, almost four hundred years ago, a scholar and apprentice, and neither demonstrated the willpower necessary to survive the trial. Now all three were nought but vessels for the unholy magic and lust over which the Queen exerted sole control.

Baphomet smiled as the door to the chamber swung open before her. She strode into the large, dark chamber, and reached the center before torches spit and hissed to life on the circular walls around her, illuminating the captives.

The woman laid out on a black onyx altar in the northeast corner, arms and ankles held fast by ropes. Over the last century, her backside wore grooves into the onyx altar, shaped to her body. Baphomet was pleased to see she was buxom, fertile, full-bodied. The woman lifted her head as the queen entered, black eyes staring, mouth open, ragged moans of arousal rushing past her lips as she viewed her queen. The mere sight of Baphomet sent powerful orgasms ripping through her yet-mortal body, spilling her fluids down the length of the altar.

In the northwest corner of the circular room, the young apprentice hung from his wrists, also naked and engorged. Dried seed coated the floor in front of him for a meter in all directions. His black eyes stared vacantly at the queen as his body twisted in the unyielding ropes, body swinging forward in desperation, the need to serve his queen growing the closer she came to him.

The scholar was in the southwest corner. His body was older, mature, slightly flabby, but the mind he'd possessed... Baphomet smiled as she looked him over. He had been intelligent beyond his time, but also lacked the willpower to pass the trial, though he'd fared better than the other two. Still, his black eyes remained fixated on the queen, no other thoughts but submission in his ageless figure. For centuries he'd been strapped to a rigid wooden post, squirming against the rigid leather straps that cut into his chest and stomach. His erection bobbed as he cried out, desperate for relief to come after so many long years of torment.

"Don't worry, children," Baphomet said, her voice husky and raw. "Your Queen has finally come for you."

The goat-demon snapped one pair of fingers. The apprentice let out a cry as the ropes surrounding him burst into flames, freeing him. He feel to the floor and crawled through his own mess towards the queen, eyes locked onto her figure. She could feel his mind, his lack of will, savaged by long years as a plaything for the dark magic now under her control.

She almost pitied the three of them, but another part of her mind told her not to - they knew the risk when they attempted to seize control of the might that was rightfully hers. And now, after so many years, they'd receive their rewards.

The apprentice gaped upwards at his queen, on his knees, as Baphomet reached down for him with her two lower pairs of arms. The goat's black-furred fingers wrapped around the back of his skull, dragging him towards the tip of one of her aching members. His mouth opened as she shoved herself forward, stretching his mouth and then throat impossibly wide. His gurgling moans echoed in the room, matched by the groans and wails of the other two prisoners who could yet only watch.

Baphomet groaned with lust as her shaft disappeared into the young man's body. The rippling flesh stretched and contorted his throat; the fleshy shards protruding from the length under the fat crown pressed outwards, visible from the other side of his skin. Baphomet's eyes closed as she thrust forward rough and hard, burying her stalk deep, as the other two slid wetly along the sides of the human's face.

Her thick pre-cum filled the room with musk, driving the other two acolytes into a near frenzy in their restraints. The apprentice, for his part, buried his fingers into the queen's heavy sac, groping and clutching as he greedily swallowed her gift. His stomach distended around the tip as she forced herself to the hilt, sighing with pleasure as she buried her stalk, claiming the male for her own.

The apprentice's stretched mouth darkened, turning a rich emerald green. Flat, heavy scales sprouted around his growing nose and forehead as his transformation began, his body altering according to his queen's will. Baphomet smiled as she watched, occasionally thrusting, lazily humping her immense maleness deep into the enthralled human.

He wasn't human for long. His body screamed for control, demanded her will be placed into his, accepted the changes with an eagerness that only the truest servants could possess, sharpened by years of sexual torment and brainwashing in preparation for this moment. Though he'd never be more than an empty vessel for her desires, he would be a valuable servant nonetheless.

A large serpent tail pressed down from his backside, growing outwards, thick at the base and tapering towards the end. Black horns grew in around the sides of his head as several pairs of plush breasts swelled from his chest, covered in a lighter, creamier shade of soft green scales. He wriggled and writhed as his maleness swelled, tripling, then quadrupling, then quintupling in length and girth. Liters of pre-cum sprayed from the blunt tip of the lizard-being's length as his - or rather, her - body altered according to Baphomet's whims. She moaned around the stalk invading her mouth and throat, driving herself over it wantonly, eager to feel it plunge inside, shifting her organs, altering her from the inside to the outside.

Baphomet fondled her engorged breasts with all four paws as the lower pairs held firm to the lizard's head. She thrust harder, hips pulling back before slamming in hard, taking what she wanted from her eager acolyte. Her twin heads leaned back, eyes closing, as the flames between her horns illuminated the room with white-hot light.

"Arise, Nikephoros!"

The lizard, now named, tightened incredibly around his queen's maleness. Her body seized with pleasure as her meaning became clear. She writhed desperately, orgasming from her maleness and the twin female sexes between her thick green-scaled thighs. Black seed sizzled as it filled her body, bloating her belly outwards; Baphomet moaned as she came, dragging the lizard's nose into the base of her shaft, forcing her scent deep into the acolyte's flaring nostrils.

Now named, Baphomet knew her servant was hers forever, locked to her will, obeying her every whim. Though little more than a mindless drone, she would be rather exciting in the sleeping chambers.

The queen sighed as she felt her stalk gush inside the gurgling, cum-soaked mess beneath her. The eagerness to serve and please her queen made Baphomet quite happy as she filled the bestial lizard's body. Nikophoros groaned as the heavy shaft flared, locking into her body, continuing to fill her, causing her stomach to grow heavy and round, soon flattening against the stone floor and lifting her upwards. Her breasts grew larger, swollen, as the cream-colored nipples capping the four oversized mounds swelled. Milk gushed from all four, soaking the floor around Baphomet's feet in warmth. The lizard's pussies quivered, cumming constantly, filling the air with the stink of her arousal even further.

It was several more minutes before Baphomet pulled her length free, dragging it out of her squirming and moaning acolyte with little fanfare. The lizard collapsed, moaning hotly, breathing hard, gasping and rubbing at her new body, exploring the sensitive areas between her legs and stroking the hard shaft squeezed between her stomach and the floor.

Satisfied with her initial conquest, the Queen of Warlocks turned to the apprentice's one-time master. The scholar was a wise man in his day, incredibly intelligent and quick, possibly even smarter than Baphomet before she'd transformed.

But now, like his apprentice, centuries of torment and unfulfilled desire left him an empty shell. But no longer, now that she was here to give his existence meaning once again.

Baphomet strode towards the bound human and snapped her fingers. The post to which he was bound with heavy ropes rose into the air, growing several feet taller. His legs kicked uselessly as she approached him and reached out, caressing his thighs. He came at her touch.

The Queen of Warlock smiled from both heads, pleased to see her vassals react so powerfully to her presence. Ignoring the moans and groans of the apprentice still rolling side to side on the floor behind her, the black goat reached out with four arms, stretching the scholar's legs to the sides, exposing his ass.

A simple thrust was all it took to bury half of her second erection deep into his body. The fleshy hooks on her shaft grated at his insides as he howled. Her stalk plunged deeper, visibly outlined against his belly, forcing the ropes holding him to the post to stretch to their limits. His muscles twitched, flexed against his skin, as she pumped hard, deep, thrusting upwards until her shaft twitched deep inside him, somewhere in his chest.

His transformation began rapidly, much like his apprentice's. The Queen focused her energy into him, filling him with her power, the same dark magic which for so many years toyed with him now providing him relief. He submitted easily, eagerly accepting her will in place of his own long-since-abandoned mind.

He tossed his head back, cracking his skull against the wood, but remained unharmed. The wooden post, however, split nearly in two. His skin whitened, turning pearlescent, glimmering. Along his arms, white-feathered plumes erupted, soon coating his chest and belly as well, somewhat hiding the flexing, throbbing bulge of his queen's member.

Baphomet pulled him down hard, bucking upwards at the same time, watching with glee as he changed at her will. White-feathered breasts grew fat and full, a single massive pair pressing further and further outwards, challenging and then surpassing even Baphomet's in size. The Queen moaned as she leaned forward, flattening her six heavy mounds to the white phoenix's new set. She could feel the heat inside the mythical creature as the human side of him disappeared, leaving in place her next servant.

"Arise, Nekhbet!" the Queen of Warlocks commanded.

The heron-phoenix cried out, her voice a combination of scream and squawk. Powerful white-feathered wings tore through the ropes binding her body as she lifted her legs, wrapping them around her goddess, pulling herself deeper over Baphomet's arousal. She leaned back, massive breasts sloshing up and down as she bounced, carried easily by the Queen's incredible stalk. White flames flickered at the tips of her feathers as her neck extended; a short red beak formed from her mouth, with a high plume of red feathers running from the center of her smooth forehead down the back of her elongated neck, to the base of her spine.

The phoenix-heron's four feminine sexes erupted in unison, coating the Queen with nectar. Baphomet kept two black-furred paws around her acolyte's hips, two more molesting the phoenix's huge breasts, and the last two on her own nipples, squeezing and toying as her arousal grew. The phoenix cried out, her voice high-pitched and clear, her name sizzling into her consciousness. She was to serve Baphomet, to be her vassal, to pleasure her queen and do as she pleased.

She cried out as she came again and again. Her maleness, though impressive, was not even as large as her former apprentice's in size, though it produced enormous quantities of hot white seed that splattered across Baphomet's belly and the underside of her lower breasts. The Queen shuddered as she pumped her hips harder, faster, jostling her vassal, taking her rough and hard, forcing her stalk deep into the phoenix's clenching ass, digging her fingers into the white feathers coating the voluptuous new body.

Baphomet's eyes closed as she tipped her heads back, orgasming yet again. The phoenix-heron's voice rose higher, into a screech of need and desire as the Queen's energies filled her body. Her stomach bulged outwards, round and full, as her enormous breasts grew even more, fueled by the Queen's lust. She held herself tight, grinding down, wanting everything Baphomet could give her, fueling her final growth. Milk erupted from her nipples, constantly lactating, cups and liters and soon gallons as her breasts fattened up, each huge orb half as wide as she was tall.

The Queen of Warlocks locked her knees, her cloven hooves scraping on the stones, as she bucked again and again, until she felt the trembling bird-body wrapped around her hips seize up. Nekhbet's eyes widened as her beak stretched, tongue pressing out. The white flames on the tips of her feathers grew larger, intensifying, heating her insides around her Queen's stalk, her full body engorged and fat with energy and lust.

Panting hard, Baphomet licked her lips and disentangled herself from her acolyte. The heron-phoenix collapsed into a heap on the floor, all fat belly and full breasts, leaking from every hole, especially her aching ass. Nekhbet shuddered and writhed, the intense after-effects causing her to curl up on the floor not far from where Nikophoros still twitched and wriggled.

Baphomet took only the time needed to cross the chamber to the final supplicant, the woman who'd succumbed to the trial over a hundred years ago. Her mind, Baphomet realized, retained some shreds of independence. She was still in there, not yet driven mindless by the constant sexual torment of the dark energies. Though her will belonged to Baphomet, she could operated independently of the Queen - at least a little. That would make her useful in the long run, the goat-demon knew, and merited special treatment.

Two of Baphomet's thick erections drooped, half-hard and spent, but the third remained full and proud, gushing pre-cum, trembling with the need to thrust and buck and fill. The woman on the altar shuddered, pussy quivering, leaking, as she wriggled, helpless and bound on the onyx altar.

Baphomet wasted no time mounting her final prize. The woman's voice rang in her ears as she plunged into the wet sheath, filling the human with overpowering maleness and energy. Baphomet's huge breasts dragged across the female's body, leaving her covered in hot cream, as her stalk flexed deep inside, stretching her stomach and chest.

She moaned as she felt the woman's mouth latch onto one of her nipples, greedily suckling the precious milk from the oversized teat. The lactating goat groaned and pumped her hips harder, rewarding her vassal for taking such initiative. The milk's effects were immediate: though retaining some of herself, her body and mind became sealed, just as the others, to Baphomet's will. Loyalty would never be an issue with these three, she knew.

Her seed began transforming the naked, bucking woman immediately. Dark green bumps sprouted along her body. Her thighs and arms thickened considerably, as did her hips. A broad tail, dark green on the outside and pale beige inside, flexed between Baphomet's legs. The tip drove into one of the goat's three aching pussies, making the Queen groan even louder and thrust harder against the bound, changing female underneath her.

Within minutes, the woman's face showed rapid changes. Her mouth elongated, filled with large pointed teeth, and flattened out considerably over the forehead. A row of spikes erupted from the top of her changed skull and quickly grew down her spine and tail as her neck thickened to support the weight. Her whole body muscled up, stronger and more powerful than the other two vassals combined, soon growing as tall as the demon-goat mounting her and then even taller. Her arms stretched, pulling on the ropes holding her down against the onyx altar, as Baphomet's arms clutched at her sides.

The crocodile's chest swelled and a maleness pushed from her crotch, grinding into Baphomet's own malenesses and belly. A second maleness soon followed, each thickening up, dark red in color, pointed at the tip, drooling madly. Between her immense thighs, two more feminine slits burst into being, three in total, arranged, like her Queen's, in a triangle formation.

Baphomet humped hard, fast, flooding her acolyte's growing body, forcing her to change faster, to a greater degree than the other two. The crocodile's chest ballooned, eight fat breasts in all, each a cream color matching the croc's rippling belly, contrasting the dark green skin, hard and thick as armor, around the rest of her.

"Arise, Sobki!" Baphomet cried, waiting until the final moment before her eruption to name the last of the three vassals.

Sobki's green eyes glittered, wide and staring, her long mouth turning into an epic smile as her lips parted, revealing her deep gullet and rows of sharp teeth. The crocodile's muscular body flexed, squeezing hard and tight around her mistress's length, rippling around the barbed flesh invading her. Baphomet's fingers stroked the rough green skin, groped at the plush, smooth breasts, fondling and tickling and teasing, as her hips descended with increasing roughness, using gravity to hilt her shaft each time. Her other two stalks dragged back and forth across the croc's hard belly and Sobki's own twin stalks, which Baphomet soon gripped in her lower set of paws.

Like the other two, Sobki's body bloated with seed as the demon-goat erupted deep inside. Her eight heavy breasts sloshed with milk as they fattened further, each set as large as the other. Her twin stalks sprayed thick cum out into the air as she came at the same time as Baphomet, sending arcs of seed to splatter across her own twitching, jiggling chest and face. Her stomach swelled, though thanks to her larger size not as severely as Nikophoros or Nekhbet. A second pair of arms reached out, grasping Baphomet, urging her hips in harder, deeper through her orgasm, while her upper pair groped at the goat's nipples.

For what seemed like ages, Baphomet poured her energies into the crocodile, claiming her and elevating her all at once, putting her above the other two vassals. Bigger, stronger, and more fertile Nekhbet or Nikophoros, Sobki roared her pleasure and power as she accepted her mistress's gifts. She grew taller, fully ten feet tall, and nearly half that across at the shoulders, the better to support her heavy rows of leaking, lactating teats. Her long tail plunged deep into Baphomet's aching pussies, one then another, triggering a constant series of relentless orgasms in the black-furred goat.

Not until Baphomet was completely sated did she pause, pulling herself free of her acolyte. The beastly, muscular crocodile snapped the ropes around her huge legs and stood, the only one of the three able to do so after receiving Baphomet's gift.

The crocodile moved close to her queen, two arms around the goat's sides, and surveyed Nekhbet and Nikophoros, who by now were starting to come around and recover from the intense pleasure inflicted upon them.

"What are your wishes, Queen of Warlocks?" Sobki asked. Her voice was deep and guttural, echoing up through a cavernous chest and through a long, rounded mouth.

"Clean these two up and see they're ready for tonight," Baphomet said. "We'll use them well tonight. And then tomorrow, my children, we'll recruit new cultists. The age of Warlock is here!"

The Queen of Warlocks smiled, twin heads turning in opposite directions, watching as Sobki moved to follow her directions. She turned and left the chamber, slowly walking up the spiralling hallway, her lust sated for the moment, and a sense of peace and purpose settling upon her.

She had so much to give, so much will to expend, so much magic to control and use to warp the world to her own desires. It began with these three - easy conquests, to be sure, conditioned by years of lust and magical energies. The humans outside the walls of her castle would also be consumed by her magic, though it may take longer to carry out than with the three vassals. She would enjoy every moment.

The flames between her horns brightened the passage as she felt her triple stalks twitch with the afterglow of such powerful procreation.

Soon, she thought. Soon the world would bow to her. And she, in turn, would remake the world in her own image...

The End