Bigger Fish
#1 of Chernobog
The hotel room must have cost more than Oliver made in a year. Dark wood and chrome, open floor plan, flat-screen TV. Attached kitchen and bath. Swanky LED lights built-in. King size bed.
And one king-sized asshole. But Oliver needed the money.
Oliver laid on that king-size bed with its charcoal-colored sheets and higher thread-count than his john's IQ. The stag was slender, well-built, a track-and-field star in high school. Now he was in college and whoring himself out to rich douchebags to make ends meet. It was not how he imagined things. The nicest thing this john had done so far was pay for his drink downstairs.
"Alright, meat, I got a flight to catch at 6am, so don't expect foreplay," the douchebag was saying as he took off his tie. The lion was a businessman or something, Oliver didn't know. All he knew was he stank of expensive cologne and cigars, and was flashing his cash all over the hotel bar where Oliver cruised. He was a big man, bigger than Oliver, older too. There was gray in his mane and beard. He dropped his tie on the floor, kicked off his impeccably shined dress shoes. He had probably spent more time bossing someone about shining those than he was about to spend warming up the whore he was paying to get his rocks off. Oliver watched him strip off his jacket and shirt. The jacket was dark, the shirt was light; the lion was not a trendsetter. He left his wife-beater on, tawny, silver flecked chest fur poking out of its collar. The smell of sweat added itself to the stink of cigar and cologne clinging to the feline.
The stag watched the slacks drop around the lion's ankles. He had the look of a man who might once have played football but had long-ago gone to seed. Beefy arms and legs, a broad chest, but a wide gut that stretched his wife-beater around its girth. He was wearing black silk boxers. His dick was already hard, jutting through his fly as he climbed onto the bed. Oliver assumed the position. He was already lubed. The lion spent a moment massaging the stag's strong, muscular ass with clawed paws, before he roughly spread them and shoved his thick, uncut cock up the stag's ass. Oliver grunted and buried his face in the pillows. His cock was hard too; on some level he enjoyed being used like this or he wouldn't have gotten into the business. Still, his pride was always slightly wounded when he was seen as just a hole for a needy cock that could afford to pay him for it. However, that only made it hotter.
The lion's rutting was fast and hard. He jackhammered Oliver's hole with short, powerful thrusts that had the lion's silk-covered balls smacking against Oliver's own dangling pair. He didn't talk other than to grunt and to growl. He was done in less than fifteen minutes, roaring loud enough to vibrate Oliver's rib-cage while he pumped the stag's perky ass full of feline spunk. Oliver could feel it gushing into his guts, and the stag blushed. He knew better than to stain those expensive sheets with his own cum, though he desperately wished he could be cumming while the douchebag lion was filling his backside.
The businessman pulled out, and used his cock to push the seed that dribbled out of Oliver's stretched ring back inside him. "Don't drip on the bed, and be gone when I get out of the shower. The money is on the dresser. Don't take anything else or you'll fucking regret it, meat." the lion growled, wiping his cock on Oliver's left ass cheek. He climbed off the bed, stiff, slick dick bouncing, and disappeared into the bathroom. Oliver heard the shower start. The stag laid there on the bed for a minute, his ass tilted up so that he didn't dribble. He pulled idly on his prick, remembering the fast, emotionless rutting the lion had just given him. He stared into the darkness of the open closet across from the bed, wishing he'd have been able to see the lion's eyes while they fucked. Most of his johns wanted it doggy style, or through a glory-hole. While Oliver liked the anonymous impersonality of his hookups, they started to make him feel like an object. Worthless. Seeing a lover's eyes would have been--
Eyes. Oliver _did_see eyes, three of them--in the closet.
Oliver realized that he had been staring into two huge amber colored eyes. They floated in the darkness of the closet and the stag couldn't remember when they had appeared. Did the lion drug him? Put something in his drink? He blinked, but the eyes remained, blinking back. He opened his mouth to shout, but the eyes pulsed with a reddish light and the scream died on Oliver's lips. He felt his fear ebbing away as he stared into those eyes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he should have been. He should have screamed. He should have run. But he couldn't, nor did he desire to.
As the stag lay there, staring into those huge, fire-colored eyes, the shadows in the closet started to condense. Like a snowball forming before his eyes, the darkness pulled around those eyes, lightening the interior of the closet. It hadn't occurred to Oliver that it was darker in there than it should have been until the darkness was climbing out of the closet. Impassively, he lay there, his cock forgotten in his hand. Something emerged from the closet and began to gain corporeal form.
The monster was huge. The curving, back-swept black horns atop his head almost scraped the high ceiling of the hotel room. His face was some mixture of bear and big cat, a broad, boxy snout, huge saber-like teeth on both his top jaw and the bottom. His nose was pierced with a gold ring through his septum and he had a gold stud in the top of either nostril. A thick, twisted plait of black beard hung from his chin, woven with gold bands. Those three amber eyes stared at Oliver, a single smaller one on his brow between the two traditionally spaced larger ones. Around his neck and between his horns, a mane of black hair interspersed with silver quills like a porcupine's hung down across his shoulders. His body was fur-less, but covered instead with wiry black hair. His skin was dusky black, lighter on his stomach and chest in broad ash-colored patches. He had two sets of arms, a larger 'primary' set and a slightly smaller secondary set of arms that sprouted from his huge rib-cage. Hislegs were bowed like a goat's haunches, ending in enormous paws tipped with silver claws. Between his huge, hairy thighs, a fat monstrous sheath hung heavily over two enormous balls.
The monster was hairy and naked, but he wore golden jewelry on his arms, his fingers, around his neck, and around his maleness. Twisted golden torques, bangles studded with huge red jewels, and piercings in his nipples and sheath. Oliver stared at this beast, like something out of a nightmare, with nothing but a tiny smile on his lips. The monster's hypnotic gaze was still rolling him, keeping him under the monster's sway. The stag couldn't tear his eyes away from that stare. The beast's mouth didn't move except to lick his chops with a long, forked black tongue, but Oliver heard his voice in his mind.
"You are still young, be grateful for that," the beast's voice echoed around inside Oliver's skull like a fly trapped in a light-fixture."Turn over."
Oliver's body moved without his direction, his mind still overcome by those huge, amber eyes. He didn't notice the lion's cum escape his backside to leave a sticky, white splotch on the dark sheets. His cock jutted up between his legs, stiff as a roofing nail. The beast prowled across the room toward him. Oliver laid quietly, happily, as the beast climbed onto the bed, his huge bulk taking up the majority of the king-size mattress.He loomed over the young stag, straddling him, his huge paws on either side of Oliver's head. He was staring down into Oliver's eyes, and to the stag, all he could see were those huge, amber orbs. He never felt any fear, and with the beast near him, his cock started to throb harder and harder. Raw, unfiltered lust raged through Oliver like a wildfire.
"You are better than this," the beast's voice rumbled through Oliver's mind. "You don't need to be a whore."
Oliver's back arched, his thighs trembling. As the beast spoke to him, his body contracted in delicious orgasm. His cock pulsed and fired out several thick white ropes of stag cum. It splatted heavily along his trim abs, sticking to his soft, reddish-brown fur. "You are better than this," the monster growled again. "You don't need to be a whore."
Once more Oliver's body arched and he gasped. His mind was lost in hypnotic pleasure, the words hooking into his brain on waves of bliss. His cock pumped again, gushing hotly as his nuts rolled in his sack. Oliver was lost in the pleasure, his mind awash in red light. Every sexual fantasy he'd ever had played over and over again behind his eyes, and through it all the monster's voice echoed.
"You have the confidence and the intelligence to solve your problems without degrading yourself for money," the beast's words changed, but the effect was the same. Orgasm throbbed through Oliver's trim form. The stag moaned, and he distantly felt himself nodding as his tool spurted yet another fresh load of seed. The beast's maw dipped, and that long, prehensile black tongue began slurping the spunk off of Oliver's belly. It curled around his cock, hot and slick as fresh motor oil, and stripped it clean. It cradled his balls, tugging them, pulling the stag's musk and cum from them. With a soft slurp, it slid lower, and cleaned the lion's mess from his hole.
Oliver was squirming, his hands reflexively grabbing the beast's arms beside his flanks. His legs kicked, the pleasure enormous, but without the affirming words, he didn't quite blow another wad. When he had finished cleaning the stag, the beast withdrew his tongue. "Go now. Begone from this place and heed my words well."
Oliver felt a sense of relief and happiness wash over him. In an almost sleep-walking state, he got up and dressed himself. He went to the dresser without noticing where his body was moving, his hands automatically taking his money and pocketing it.
"Take everything in his wallet," the beast's voice commanded inside Oliver's mind, and the stag couldn't even think to argue. He picked up the lion's alligator skin wallet, opened it, and pulled the wad of cash out from inside it. "You took a side job performing labor work for an extremely generous patron."
Oliver nodded dreamily and tucked the money into his pocket. Just as the shower in the bathroom turned off, Oliver left the hotel room. The beast, however, didn't. He climbed onto the ceiling of the hotel room as though he weighed no more than the shadows he seemed to command. He waited until the lion emerged, wet and naked, from his shower.
The lion looked around in satisfaction, seeing the stag had obeyed him. Until his eyes fell on the mess that Oliver had left on the sleek bed. His shots had been so wild and strong, that several of them had left broken white strings on the sheets. The lion opened his mouth to curse, but the words never made it out of his maw. A blob of liquid shadow, like writhing ink, dripped onto his snout and swiftly spread across his mouth. It was weightless, but the feline's jaws were snapped closed by it as it formed a sticky, shiny black muzzle around his face. He could breathe, but his shouts of anger-turned-dismay were silenced.
The lion clawed at his muzzle, trying to dislodge the inky substance, but his fingers only scratched his own flesh. No matter how he tried, he couldn't seem to touch the stuff. It was like trying to scrub away smoke. As the lion frantically tried to scrape the shadows off of his muzzle, he didn't notice the long, slobbery black tongue extending from the ceiling behind him. Like a sinuous dark rope, the tongue shot forward and wrapped around the lion's neck like a noose. He couldn't shout, he only gurgled wetly as the tongue stole his breath as it lifted him from the floor as though his fat, muscular bulk weighed nothing. As the tongue started to lift him, the lion's head was pulled up and back, and he finally saw the eyes. As Oliver's had, the lion's struggles ceased. Unlike Oliver, however, he found his body unresponsive but his mind was untouched. He was fully aware of the monster that was reeling him in toward his gaping, drooling maw like a frog catching a spider. His eyes locked on the beast's huge fangs, his sabers and that jutting, tusk-like underbite. The mouth was impossibly huge, more than capable of fitting the gone-to-seed businessman's bulk into it.
"What misfortune you have, rich man, to have met I, Chernobog." The beast's voice echoed inside the lion's head, as those three red eyes glowed and swirled. The lion's arms hung slack at his side, his face impassive, belying the horror in his head as the tongue drew him closer and closer to that slobbering maw. The inside of it was purplish black, lined with teeth and those saber-fangs. The throat was deep, a drooling abyss that reeked of meat and cum. The lion felt his loins stirring against his will, some product of the beast's enthralling gaze. His fat, uncut cock was rock hard; his fat balls tight against the root of it with the tantalizing nearness of orgasm. Precum drooled from his cockhead, strings of it flicking free as the tongue reeled the helpless lion in. The closer the lion got to the monster's maw, the closer his orgasm came.
"I hear you begging," the monster was saying, "I hear your pleas, your terror. You are far too delicious a meal to abandon,meat. You are as much a predator as I, rich man, using the stag for your own gain without a thought to his well-being. So unfortunate that you did not realize, little lion, that there is _always_a bigger fish."
The lion's head disappeared between the monster's jaws. He was screaming silently, unable to struggle, unable to beg except impotently in his own mind. Only his cock moved, throbbing up and down with an orgasm so close he could taste it. The lion smelled the beast's rank breath, he could feel the hot, slimy slobber hitting his freshly-cleaned fur. The tongue uncurled from his neck, squirmed around him, and began pushing his body into the gaping, dark hole of the monster's gullet. The lion felt his head and shoulders push against the hot, living walls of Chernobog's throat. And still that orgasm was so close, yet so far away.
"I am Chernobog, he who lurks and brings misfortune. For all your money and power, rich man, you are nothing more to me than dinner."
Chernobog swallowed, a wet, meaty gulp. The lion's head and shoulders bulged his long throat. He gulped again, and his torso slid in deeper, his desperate, denied cock grinding against hot, slick flesh that gave him no relief. Chernobog gulped a third time, and the lion's big feet stuck out of his jaws, the rest of him buried in the monster's throat. Chernobog's throat bulged around a lion shaped morsel. The lion was trapped in darkness, hot, humid, wet, stinking darkness and he couldn't scream. He felt the throat undulate, felt his body slide fully into that darkness. Down, and down he slid, his feet encased now. He was swallowed. He was eaten.
Chernobog released himself from the ceiling. He landed silently, his great belly bulging around his meal like a freshly fed python. Oh how satisfying the darkness in mortal's souls was to eat. Far more satisfying than the blandness of 'pure, innocent souls' that his brethren so loved to consume. Chernobog felt his cock stirring in his sheath as the lion, now back in control of his body, started to squirm. He grinned, licking the last vestiges of the lion's taste from his fangs. He sprawled upon the massive bed, his clawed paws rubbing at his hairy sheath as thick, red cock, barbed and ridged, grew from it.
How fortunate for him the lion had placed a 'do no disturb' sign on the door. It was not fortunate, however, for the cleaning crew who unlocked the door the next morning. Chernobog was long gone, the room empty, except for a ruined bed and the reeking stink of a monster clinging to the sheets.