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Pain. Throbbing in the back of his skull. Settling into his sides and back and knees. Burning in the joints of his hips and shoulders. That was what greeted Roadhog as he groaned and huffed and clawed his way from the depths of unconsciousness to awareness.

He'd been having a pretty good day, all-in-all; at least until that scrambled message from Junkrat had come through. The static-y message had cut in and out, blanking out quite a bit of the smaller man's frenzied message and only allowing Roadhog to get the basics. The Nexus. Beings from other worlds battling in an eternal tournament. Mentions of a few names he knew well--Genji and Hanzo and Tracer—along with many that he didn't; Azmodan and Garrosh and the Raven Lord.

Roadhog had known one thing for sure: like hell was he gonna let Junkrat have all the fun. And if they were taking the fight to other worlds, then all the better. So he'd deciphered the coordinates at the end of the transmission, and then had set out to find his employer-slash-partner-in-crime; and whatever else the 'Nexus' held in store for a pair of baddies looking to blow shit up for fun and profit.

Then it all went black; and so Roadhog found himself in his current position. Tied with rough ropes at the wrists and ankles; bound and bent over on his knees and strung up by a rusty, rattling chain attached to the ceiling far above. Naked, stripped of his weapons and clothes and dignity; at least whoever had tied him up had let him keep the now-familiar comfort of his mask. And by the sound of things, he wasn't alone; chattering voices surrounded him, from at least ten or so of whoever'd been able to catch him. He grunted, huffed out a breath, and began trying to pull at his bonds and free himself.

“Piggy is awake?"

Roadhog tried to snarl at the owner of that scratchy, guttural voice, but his entire face felt stiff and somehow wrong. He finally opened his eyes, trying to take stock of things and see just who had got him; whatever remnants of the Omnics were scattered around the Outback, or maybe one of the freaks trying to get at what Junkrat had found in the ruined bowels of the Omnium. What the man wasn't expecting to see was a demon straight out of Dante's Fuckin' Inferno looming over him with a sneer on its flat, almost goat-like face. It wasn't very tall—maybe about a meter or so—but looked absolutely jacked; not that Roadhog was staring or anything, but it was hard not to notice the thing's bulging musculature and wide hips when it was wearing a necklace of bones, a loincloth wrapped around its waist, and nothing else. And although it was small and hunched over, the backswept horns and bat-like ears crowning the demon's head and its burning yellow eyes helped the thing look at least a little intimidating.

It laughed like a truck backfiring, and Roadhog heard what had to be its compatriots tittering as they moved in to surround the bound human. It then reached out with a long, simian arm and black-clawed hand to cup his cheek, and Roadhog flinched when he felt the warm red skin of its palm on the leather covering his face; no, it felt more like the leathery hide was his face. And when he tried to open his mouth—to roar at the thing to untie him so he could knock the teeth right out of its smug grin—he felt the tug of stitching, as if the sewn-up lips of his mask were his own. He grunted and tossed his head, trying to find the straps that held his mask in place; and while he could still feel them, they too seemed more like part of his body than a piece of apparel. His distress caused more tittering and chuckling from his captors, and their apparent leader gave him a cheeky tug on what were now embedded growths jutting from his jaw. “Piggy is confused? Fallen made you better plaything. Gave piggy face to the little Piggy-toy."

He couldn't believe his ears. They really had turned his mask into his actual face; some kind of demon magic fuckery, no doubt. And then they'd strung him up so they could make him into their plaything. Roadhog grunted again, his squirming and struggling growing more frantic.

“Ah ah. Good Piggy stay still for Fallen." The thing looked to the side—to its cohorts who were still standing on the sidelines—and Roadhog felt more of the things crowding around him. Touching him; grabbing onto his shoulders and chest and gut, and running their clawed hands all over his bare skin. Groping him; letting their fingers play down into the crooks of his thighs and over his rump. The human jerked and shuddered and groaned as the demon-things murmured and crooned to him. This couldn't be happening. How had this happened? How could he have been captured by these little freaks?

A shard of memory in his racing mind. A storm, raging harder and wilder than any he'd experienced before, in the place Junkrat's coordinates had led him. Being blown this way and that as he tried to weather it, and then stumbling into someplace not unlike the blasted wastelands he'd set out from; rocky crags and spires surrounding him as they rose up to an ash-engulfed sky. Sudden sounds of shrieking and yelling as little creatures—the 'Fallen', he surmised, now that they had introduced themselves—ambushed him from tunnels in the rocky mountainside and knocked him unconscious.

His shame at being caught off-guard deepened and grew tinged with fury when long, clawed fingers began to tease against his tackle. Hefting his balls. Wrapping around and squeezing his shaft. Pushing into the folds of his foreskin before rolling it back and off the sweaty head. He groaned again, trying for a third time to shake his captors off without any luck.

“Mmm, big." The leader was speaking to him again, something that Roadhog didn't like the look of at all glinting in the demon-thing's eyes. “So big, like Lord Azmodan." That name tickled something at the back of the human's mind; hadn't Junkrat mentioned an 'Azmodan' in his transmission? Roadhog's train of thought crashed and burned when a pair of hands from behind grabbed fistfuls of his asscheeks to spread him wide open. “Lord Azmodan loves using Fallen as his playthings. Now Fallen have little Piggy plaything of their own."

Snorting and snuffling and sniffing behind him as the freaks pushed their flat faces into his asscrack one by one. A few flicks of something slick and wet against his hole; were the demon-things licking him? The rustling of leathery fabric all around as his captors undressed. The underlings, like their leader, were only wearing a loincloth wrapped around their waists, and so it was easy for them to bare themselves to their unwilling captive.

Roadhog didn't want to look. He squirmed and grunted and tried to free himself, but it was no use. The leader grinned down to him, placed a hand atop his head, and forced the human's face downward as it pushed its crotch closer for the captive's inspection. In any other situation, Roadhog might've been impressed, at least; the demon was, in addition to being jacked, really fucking hung. The human was proud of the twenty centimeter shower hanging between his thighs, of course, but it was nothing in comparison to the fat twenty-fiver dangling from the leader's hairless groin. And as he watched, eyes locked onto that red-skinned shaft in horror, it began to twitch and grow even longer.

“Piggy like Fallen dick?"

“Mmmngh. Mmmngh!" He shook his head, and let out a groan of disgust when he felt that length brush along his jawline. It stank, sweat and musk and smut clinging to the shaft and wafting like a miasma of masculine stench from the thing's groin; familiar from his time in the blasted Outback, but no less embarrassing or more pleasant for it. And when it touched the sewn-up lips of his mask—what was now his own sewn-up lips—the raunchy taste of it leaked into his mouth and made the human gag.

Laughter, raucous and mocking around him. The demon-things pressed in closer still, and he could feel them grinding their entire bodies—their cocks and chests and faces—all over his own. The leader cupped Roadhog's cheeks and craned the captive's face upward to meet the burning yellow eyes perched above its razor-sharp grin. “Piggy will learn to love it." And with a glance to its underlings and a grunted, hissing order, the demon leader cut the rest of the Fallen loose to do as they pleased with their new Piggy-toy.

Roadhog grunted and shook himself, fighting against his captors even as they began to hump him in earnest. Between his thighs and against his gut. Into his armpits and over his shoulders. He jumped when he felt a thick, firm erection slide into the cleft of his ass, and tried to scream as it prodded his hole before jamming itself inside. It hurt. Waves of pain shot up his spine as his asshole was stretched open around the demonic cock. But his agonized, muffled yelling—he wasn't squealing, dammit, even if a few of the tittering bastards called it that in their lustful murmurings to one another—just spurred the thing behind him to push deeper and deeper until its heavy ballsack was pressed snug against his rump.

And then a wet, leaking cocktip brushed against his navel, and Roadhog jerked and let out a yelp of surprise.

“Ohh, is Piggy belly sensitive?" The leader kneeled down, looking right into the captive's flushed face. While one of its clawed hands continued stroking its erection—fuck, that thing had to be forty or so centimeters hard, and the prospect of having that monstrous shaft shoved into his backside as well made Roadhog shudder—while the other gestured for the imp humping the human's belly to move aside. The underling hissed in petulant anger at the leader, and was sent reeling back by a swat across the head for its trouble. “Hmmm… piggy-hole is full, yes? Don't worry, Fallen will make more, so Piggy can be full of Fallen cock. Completely full."

Roadhog didn't have to wait in anxious anticipation to find out what the Fallen leader meant for long; it swiped a finger over the head of its erection, gathering up a globule of thick precum, and began to smear the slick liquid over and around the puffy bulge of Roadhog's belly button. And when it pushed into his navel, the Fallen leader began to whisper low, hissing, sibilant words that the human couldn't understand. Warmth bloomed in his skin, flushing and tingling wherever the thing's precum touched.

And then the demon's finger sank deeper into the human's navel. Deeper. All the way to the knuckle, swirling around within the stretched passage and making Roadhog flinch and groan at the intense sensations which spread through his flesh. The Fallen leader worked its digit in and out, as easy as fingering a pussy or asshole; the thought only caused more muffled snarling to rumble in the human's throat. “See? Nice little piggy-hole for Fallen to fuck." As if to demonstrate, the leader gestured for the imp who'd been humping Roadhog's stomach forward once more. With more sibilant hissing, it grabbed its underling's throbbing erection and guided it forward to grind on the captive's puffy belly button. To smear more precum over and into it. To slide forward, sinking into Roadhog's new piggy-hole.

Roadhog choked on another desperate groan. It hurt. It felt weird. He hated it. His naval was being stretched out around the imp's cock, just like his asshole was; and the feeling of both erections working into him from either side crashed through him and sent sparks up his spine into his reeling brain. But even so, thrust after thrust started to milk out some precum of the human's own from his limp shaft; like hell he'd get hard from being used by the fucking freaks.

A hand on his cheek. A flick of a long, sinuous, slick tongue across his jawline. Hot, humid breath on the side of his new, leathery face. Once more, Roadhog's train of thought came to an abrupt, crashing halt at a snigger from the fallen leader right in his ear. “Not done yet. Many, many fallen who need their cocks serviced. So Piggy needs many, many holes to be proper plaything." The demon's tongue flicked against him again. And again, swirling around the shell of his ear. It huffed out a low croon of arousal that made the human shudder in disgust. Then Roadhog flinched, gasped, and tried not to scream—to squeal—in pain as the wriggling appendage sunk into his head.

Like his naval, the passage of his ear canal burned and tingled and itched as the demon's tongue pushed into it. Deep. Deeper. Into his skull. Into his brain. Into his mind, tracing out foreign words that sparked fire within him. He hated it. It hurt so fucking bad. But underneath the pain, another sensation began to worm its way into him; pleasure. A gathering wave of it that washed through his thoughts. Roiled in his gut. Throbbed in his crotch.

Humiliation punched him in the stomach when the damned demon's clawed hand reached down to give his erection a squeeze, and began to pump it in time with the delving of its tongue into his ear. But the Fallen's saliva-coated appendage caressed that humiliation, forcing even that to feel good; so good. “Yes, good Piggy." Roadhog flinched as the Fallen leader drew away from the side of his head and stood; and then groaned, long and deep, as he felt its cocktip press against the shell of his ear. “So good. So slutty. Loves being good Piggy-toy for Fallen."

Roadhog squealed—in pain, pleasure, fuck he couldn't even describe what the demon was doing to him—as the Fallen leader thrust forward. Into the captive's head. Into his brain. Into his mind, setting up a steady rhythm that drove its length into him to the hilt. Drool began to leak through the stitches holding Roadhog's lips shut as his eyes rolled back and his vision went blurry. Even the feeling of yet another pair of imps humping into his burning ass and tingling navel faded away. All he could feel was that cock—thick and smut-coated and wafting its stench over him in a cloying fog which washed away his thoughts—pushing into and grinding against something deep inside that even he couldn't describe.

Pain. Pleasure. Dick and cum. Sweaty balls grinding on his cheeks and nose and body. Getting fucked in any hole that would please his captors. Being filled by their thick, copious seed again and again until it was pouring out of him; as it already was from his gaping hole and stretched navel, dribbling down his front and backside to coat his own cock and ballsack and taint. Marking him inside and out.

And then the Fallen leader hissed and groaned and roared out its orgasm while hilting against the side of his head, and his mind—his soul—was drowned in a flood of demonic cum. It was too much. He couldn't take it. Roadhog blacked out.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he came back to himself, groaning and choking on the bitter-salty-spicy flavor clinging to his tongue and throat. It couldn't have been too long; the imps were still going at him with enthusiasm. Rutting his ass. Pounding into his navel. Fucking each of his nostrils and grinding their musky crotches into his nose and sewn-up lips with every thrust.

He jerked and choked again, shocked into full awareness by this new depravity.

“Good Piggy. Take Fallen dick." There were a pair of imps standing before him side-by-side, rocking into his broad, flat nose in an alternating rhythm. He knew that it should have hurt—much like the first penetration of each of his other holes had—but all he could feel was a perverted thrill roiling in his—cum-filled and musk-stained—brain. It made his cock pulse and throb between his thighs. It made his back passage tighten around the demonic erection thrusting into him. And when one of the imps looked down to him with burning, lust-filled eyes and a wide, toothy grin, it made his gut flutter. The Fallen pushed forward until its balls were pressed to his lips and its cock was hilted in his nose, pressing in close against both the captive and its companion. “Sniff, Piggy. Snort like good Piggy-toy."

What could he do? He pressed himself into the pair's crotches, sniffing and snorting and snuffling. Breathing in both their cocks and their rich, spicy cockstink; cloying and unclean and so fucking good. And when the vibrations and clamping of his overfilled nasal passages sent the two demons over the edge of orgasm, he felt their thick cum spurting out to fill his gullet and mouth; and he swallowed it all—gulping the delicious imp seed as it leaked through his stitched lips and down from his nostrils—like a good Piggy.

That was right. He wasn't—didn't have to be—Roadhog anymore. He wasn't even Mako Rutledge, hero of the ALF and one-man apocalypse who'd scourged the Outback into a blasted wasteland. He was Piggy; a cockloving, cum-guzzling, slutty Piggy-toy for his captors.

“Mmm, good Piggy." As the spent demon imp pair tugged their flagging erections out of his nose, leaving his nostrils gaping and sputtering out their ample cum, the Fallen leader moved forward to stand before the Piggy-toy again. “Want more?"

He snorted. He squealed. He grunted out, muffled by the sticky semen clinging to the inside of his mouth and the stitches holding his leaking lips shut, something close to, “More."

All around him, imps—both resting from their orgasms and pushing forward for yet another round with the new toy—sniggered and crowed with delight. A pair—he couldn't tell whether it was the ones who'd just finished in his nose, or the demons who'd first taken his ass or his navel earlier, or what—began to lap at his leaking earholes, delving their tongues into him. Licking at his cum-filled mind until their tongues twisted together in a perverted parody of a kiss in his head. Groaning and panting and murmuring burning words of lust right into his thoughts. Another moved down to push its own tongue into his gaping navel to make out with the hog tattoo on his gut. A clawed hand grasped his erection, stroking with almost-tender affection, and he lifted his gaze up once more to meet the ringleader's eyes. “Piggy will get more. Piggy will get everything Fallen have to offer."

And then, as Piggy hissed and flinched, the Fallen leader pressed its fat cocktip to his own. Prodding. Pushing. Stretching his urethra open so that the long, thick member could slide into the captive even there.

Again, it should have hurt—should have made Piggy scream in agony as his cock was turned into yet another fuck-hole for his new owners—but all he could feel was arousal at being used. A thrill up and down his arched spine as he watched inch after inch of demon manhood slide into him. The pleasure of being stretched open, and then a surge of sensation that shot up into his overfilled belly when the Fallen leader hilted in his piss hole.

Full. So fucking full. Something deep within him—his prostate—being battered inside and out as the demon began to thrust in a similar rhythm to the imp pounding his sloppy ass. In and out. Again and again. Slamming into him, violating the last little bit of him left untouched by their depravity.

And Piggy loved it.

He loved feeling so full of demon cock and cum; feeling the many loads spilled into his guts filling him to the brim, until they leaked from his hole and navel and sewn-up lips. He loved the perversity of watching his erection being used as a fleshlight; watching his urethra stretch open around the massive demon cock that was sliding in and out of it to the hilt, and pushing deeper into him than should have been possible. And when the Fallen leader hissed and shuddered and came inside him, the crashing realization that he loved being a dirty, filthy, slutty Piggy-toy overtook him in an orgasm of his own.

Pressure inside him. A sting of faint pain through the lustful haze. A whimpering squeal as his backed-up balls were filled even further with seed.

“Mmm, good Piggy. Nice Piggy. Slutty Piggy." The Fallen leader slid his cock free of Piggy's clenching piss hole, a wide smirk spreading on his face as he stared at the captive with an expectant gaze. A few of his underlings began to edge toward their toy, but another hiss—sharp and commanding—made them fall back. All the while, Piggy groaned and tried to press his thighs together; the pressure within him had moved higher, up into his bladder, and the Fallen leader seemed to know exactly what the captive was trying to prevent. “Let it out. Show Fallen what a filthy Piggy you are."

The words slid into his mind, coiling and wriggling, and loosened his tensed muscles. He was a good Piggy, and would obey anything his new owners demanded of him. With a series of quiet snorts, Piggy hung his head and let the pressure in his bladder go; and watched in growing shame and arousal as, instead of dark-yellow urine, thick off-white semen dribbled out of his ruined cock.

“Piggy loves pissing Fallen cum. Loves cumming his owners' seed." A low croon. A clawed hand on his chin, tilting his head back. A flick of a slick tongue across his lips and burning cheeks. The Fallen leader grinned. “Loves being filthy Piggy-toy."

Piggy nodded. What else could he do?

The leader stepped away, nodding and growling and roaring to his underlings, and the imps surged forward once more to play with their Piggy-toy. One by one the demons fucked Piggy's cock, pounding into it until his urethra was as gaped as his ass, navel, and nostrils. They seemed to take delight in watching the impressive shaft grow flattened under the assault of their crashing hips; being transformed into a short, fat mound rising from his crotch, a fleshlight for them to use as they pleased. His balls swelled with every load that was pumped into them, and the demons seemed to delight in watching their seed dribbling from the Piggy's cock in a weak stream whenever he jerked and spasmed and came.

Of course, his cock wasn't the only thing they changed about their new Piggy-toy. Hooks were placed in his nostrils, attached to a chain that wrapped around the back of his head, to keep his nose holes open for their use. As their demonic erections pounded into his prostate—ground into it from the outside when they fucked his ass and filling it up when they took his piss hole—it swelled up until the entire expanse of his taint was puffy and oversensitive; and they grew to love how their Piggy squealed when their ballsacks slapped against it. And of course, his tattoos were altered into something more fitting for a cumdump like him; a flushed, cum-smeared hog's face, surrounded on all sides by leaking red-skinned erections.

Pleasure. Throbbing within his cum-filled and musk-stained mind. Settling into every one of his gaping, leaking piggy-holes. Burning through him and leaving nothing of what he had been behind. That was what saw Piggy off into the warm haze and darkness of unconsciousness as the first day of his new life came to an orgasmic end; his new life as a plaything for the Fallen.

---

Time passed, as it always did. Not that Roadhog—not that Piggy—could keep track of it, occupied as he was with his new position. His captors—his masters—made sure to keep him busy. Smearing their dirty, musky cocks on his face and sweat-soaked body. Letting their hands wander—twisting his nipples, massaging his gut, and offering him a few almost-tender pets when he was a good toy for them—all over. Fucking him everywhere; turning his ears, his nostrils, his navel and urethra and asshole into cum-soaked, gaping pits.

In fact, his ass became stretched beyond all usability; too loose to even attempt to clamp down around his masters' erections, even as hung as the demons were. And though even a simple brush of a clawed fingertip around the destroyed rim, or over his swollen and sensitive taint, or against his heat-stricken inner walls would make him squeal in such adorable desperation for them, they began to prefer using their Piggy's tighter fuck-holes instead.

The Fallen's leader—their Shaman, who would sometimes play with his underlings with the same cruel delight they loved to inflict on their Piggytoy—took this development as an opportunity to further degrade their plaything. In between fuck sessions, the Shaman had Piggy pulled upright by his chains into a squatting position. A summoning circle was drawn around the moaning, panting, squirming human, who squealed and grunted at the interruption. However, his voice rose into a muffled chorus of bliss when the crisscrossing lines and scrawled runes under his feet glowed with infernal light, and the monstrous tendrils called into being by the chanting Shaman plunged into him.

Deep. Deeper. Then deeper still, writhing against his inner walls and plumbing the overfull depths of his bowels. Grinding against his inner walls, and giving his prostate the pounding he'd come to miss. It felt good. It felt amazing. It turned the eternal dribble of semen—both his own and that of his masters, pumped into his balls and his prostate and his bladder over the hourdayweeks he'd spent in their care—into a steady stream pouring from his cock.

Of course, the addition of those tentacles was a welcome one to both the Fallen and their Piggytoy. As before, when the imps would use Piggy's piss hole as their communal fleshlight, their shafts pushing into and through his prostate to rape his bladder full of their seed would only add to the roiling sensations in his groin; his pleasure button battered from both within and without, just like he liked it. Or perhaps they'd be fucking his navel—fucking the hungry maw his navel had become—and he'd feel those tendrils move up through him to wrap around and jerk the demons off in his belly. And the same held true when they'd fuck his nostrils; as those girthy lengths pushed through his sinuses and into his throat, gagging him with their size and their flavor, Piggy would groan and squeal as the infernal tentacles slid all the way through his insides to meet them.

Even when he was given the occasional—though rare—moment of peace, Piggy would bounce upon and squeeze his passage around the things. He loved every movement of the thick, wriggling tentacles inside him, and would clamp down to make them squirm all the more frantically; all the more pleasurably for him.

And so time passed, as it always did. Piggy didn't know whether it was day or night, or how long it had been since his capture; all he knew was that he had a pair of imp cocks buried to the hilt in his nostrils, and the rich smell of demonic musk was surrounding him like a fog as he was fucked hard and deep. He ground his lips on the smut-smeared ballsacks pressed to his sewn-up mouth and chin, kissing them as best as he could; if there was one thing he'd change about his predicament, it would be to unseal his lips and put his tongue to work on those fat sacks and shafts without them needing to push up through his throat from his navel.

He groaned and shuddered, memories of the last time one of his masters had deigned to do that for him filling his lustful mind. The imp's cock, as it pushed into him, had grown to its true full erection; fuller than he'd realized they could get. While humping Piggy's belly and lapping at the human's flushed cheeks, the demon had crooned to him that the Shaman didn't want them to break their new toy too fast; but now that he'd been broken in, the Fallen could finally give him the full extent of their malehoods. Forty centimeters. Forty-five. Even longer; especially in the Shaman's case. His masters were hung enough to impale the human from hole to hole on their lengths; and as he'd worshipped that greasy glans which had filled his mouth, Piggy had grunted out his desires to be fucked with everything they could give him.

The Fallen had been more than eager to give him what he wanted. And so Piggy found himself being pounded, his face buried in a pair of musky crotches—switching from one to the other to get his fill of their raunch—as his gullet convulsed around their shafts and the tendrils fucking his other end met those demonic cocks in his stomach. Every thrust made his sinuses tingle with pleasure, while every swallow around those pillars of pulsing flesh made his partners hiss in delight and thrust all the harder. But still Piggy wanted more. He needed more; he needed to feel those lengths pump load after load of cum into him, to taste the imps' seed in his mouth and working throat, and see the arousal in their burning, beautiful eyes as their semen dribbled from his nostrils and down his chin. And so, he began to snort as those cocks pumped into him, making his nasal passages clamp down around them.

The imps grinding against his face and the tentacles filling his ass both seemed to appreciate the gesture. The pair of demons threw their heads back, hissing and growling and petting his scalp as they slammed into him all the harder, breeding the human like the cum-guzzling slut he was. The infernal tendrils, meanwhile, wrapped around those pistoning shafts to follow them up through his clenching passages. Into his throat. Into his nostrils. Stretching his piggy-holes further while their tips lapped like tongues around the bases of his partners' erections. And as he was filled to the brim with pulsing and writhing and pleasure, Piggy whimpered in bliss. It was good. It was right. It was where he belonged, impaled upon the ever-throbbing malehoods of his demonic masters.

That was how the Shaman found him when the Fallen leader entered his holding chamber. The mere sight of the larger—compared to his underlings, and only just, but still enough so to make all the difference—demon was enough to spur Piggy into another frenzy of anticipation. Where would the master of his masters put that already-turgid erection bouncing between those firm, supple, red-skinned thighs? Into one of his ears, making the passage burn and tingle while the Shaman—quite literally—filled the human's mind with fat, pungent demon cock? Would he push his underlings aside to take over pounding Piggy's face, or maybe the Piggy-toy's belly? Or would the demon move forward, hissing and crooning and lapping at the human's flushed cheeks, and take that almost-intimate position they both had come to love the most; face buried in Piggy's ample chest, arms clutching at his sides, and sliding that gargantuan shaft home into the gaping, ever-dribbling, always-needy fuck-hole his worthless manhood had become.

However, the fuck-session came to an end—with disappointed hisses from his current partners, and a squeal of desperation from Piggy himself—when the Shaman waved the imps away. “Piggy has visitor."

At first, Piggy couldn't even grasp the meaning of the words. His brain was still swimming through an ocean of pleasure—of demon cum, thick and sticky and copious—and struggled to pull itself from the mire. But as he came back to himself, Piggy saw the wide smirk on the Shaman's lips.

“Yes, Piggy. Visitor. Junkrat says he knows you, and wants to see you." A sharp huff. “Had him promise not to tell Lord Azmodan. But he misses his partner." The demon sniggered, his voice filled with implications that the human ignored. Junkrat. Piggy knew that name, all too well in fact. He hadn't heard it in he-didn't-know-how-long, but it sent a vague warmth through him; even as a strange twist—of what might have been the remnants of his shame—knotted his gut.

The demon who stepped up next to the Shaman, lithe and hunched over and—much like the other Fallen—dressed only in a thin loincloth that left almost nothing to the imagination, did indeed remind Piggy of Junkrat somehow; even with the claws and horns and bestial snout. And then came the voice. Familiar. Just as energetic as he remembered it, but now tinged with a husky rasp. Containing that irrepressible excitement his old partner always had at the prospect of explosions, now focused on Piggy's cum-slickened and defiled body.

“Hog?"