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Reflecting Pond Scum Written by Leo_Todrius Commissioned by Anonymous

----EXTREME FETISH WARNING--- ---Proceed at your own risk---

A steady ocean of chatter washed through the vast central corridor of the mall, surging and swirling with a mélange of recorded advertisements and a central loop of top 100 pop songs. The air was its typical exotic mix of baking pretzel, cinnamon and waxy wrapping paper. In many ways the mall never seemed to change, although a few shops would close while others opened. Quentin's parents said the malls were a dying breed, that online shopping had shifted teens away from their all-American hang out... but Quentin never really came to the mall to hang out. He had other reasons.

The lanky teenager leaned against the rose wood guard rail on the second level, peering down to the lower level with his caramel colored eyes, reaching up every so often to brush his dark brown bangs out of his face. Quentin felt as though he was rather non-descript in most senses. He had average hair, an average height, boring hair. He wore a faded royal blue sweatshirt from his high school and baggy black cargo shorts. Even Quentin's shoes were generic store knock offs, not Nikes but still well cared for.

Quentin didn't come to the mall to hang out, he came to the mall to watch people. Some of the artistic students at the school claimed to do the same, but to Quentin he still felt like a bit of a freak... but his shame wasn't enough to stop. He came to the mall to look at people, to see the variations and the edges of society. The mall was his gallery, offering him up serving after serving of visual spectacle. Of course he had developed personal tastes regarding those that came to the mall, but he tried to appreciate the whole gamut.

"Ugh, more flannel... Still better than camouflage." Quentin murmured under his breath, watching more people arriving. His school day had been alright, just like the rest. He was smart enough that he didn't have to try all that hard. Mere observation was enough to get by in most classes, and an hour of homework at most was all the rest required. The only danger was when he got distracted, though at his school most of the students fell into the typical jock category; mildly pleasing to the eye, but painfully generic. What Quentin craved to see was something more unique.

Hipsters seemed to be the alternative culture flavor of the week, but there were still a few rogues around town. Quentin usually set up shop on the promenade above Hot Topic, hoping to catch a goth or emo or punk... Those certainly were his favorite flavor. Quentin blushed just thinking about it, almost afraid the customers wandering by could read his perverted mind. After all, he hadn't told anyone he was gay... But at the Mall, high above the crowds he could watch boys, gaze at men, fantasize that he was free.

Almost as if an answer to his prayers, Quentin's eyes darted down as he noticed a change in the foot traffic of the patrons on the first floor. Intuitive or not, Quentin had started to understand on a subconscious level how predictable humans were when undisturbed; they took relatively straight lines, usually veering lazily toward the center. They turned too wide or too shallow when coming to a new hallway. They lingered five feet away from the kiosks and the television, and they never approached the narrow, undecorated alcoves between the stores that served no purchase... but now, now they were scattering.

Quentin started moving down the length of the guard rail, trying to peer toward the entrance to figure out what was going on. The moment Quentinlaid eyes on the source of the disturbance, he gasped gently. The air was cold against his teeth as it siphoned into his mouth, but nothing broke the spell that had swept over Quentin.

Another teenager had all but stumbled into the seating area between the coat factory and Foot Locker, standing in the midst of it, an almost crazed grin spread across his lips. He was most unusual for a youth in the area. The teen had spiked blondish-green hair, thick fiber optic green spiral earrings, a black vest with sharp silver spikes across the shoulders... and a black kilt. His legs were exposed and rather hairy for his age, and his black shoes seemed so well worn they were likely to fall apart.

Quentin bit his lower lip as he felt his erection pressing against the metal bar of the guard rail. This boy was perfect, his perfect crush, the perfect people to watch. The teenager on the bottom floor looked up for a moment, meeting eyes with Quentin. Quentin froze in place, his fingers digging into the wood before him, but as soon as their gaze was shared, it was broken again. The teen punk looked both ways before he ran deeper into the mall. Quentin panicked, leaving his post, stumbling over his own feet as he moved along the upper level.

It was hard to keep track of his quarry directly, but he was leaving a trail of displaced customers. Some moved to the far walls, others turned around and went back the way they came. It was so peculiar. Quentinwondered if it was because this teen was so unlike any other boy in town. What attracted him had to repel the normals. Quentin considered it all the better for him. Perhaps that otherness would make him easier to approach... even if it would just end in awkward, shy gazes and nothing else.

Quentin all but sprinted down the upstairs, blushing brightly, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. He knew he had shattered his anonymity, that people would now be looking at him rather than the vice versa, but this was worth it. This was the people watching of his dreams. He'd catch fleeting glimpses down below, but they were running out of mall - at least mall space they could take advantage of. Quentin bit his lip and jogged over to the escalator, grabbing hold of the black rubber grips, riding the rattling steps down.

As he descended, Quentin looked up ahead at the barrier at the end of the corridor. The west end of the mall had been under reconstruction for almost two months. It was taped off with plastic, tape, barricades and warning signs... but it seemed to be right where the punk was heading. Quentin felt more nervous than ever at being caught by his prey, but at the same time there were barely any other shoppers at this end of the mall. Without stores, there was no reason.

Quentin stepped off the escalator, moved around the derelict photo booth and got closer. The punk seemed to be poking and prodding at the edges of the plastic, trying to peek at what was beyond with furtive, nervous peeks. Quentin felt a surprising surge of confidence rising up from the pit of his stomach, a rare instance of perfect timing combining with his rare expertise on the subject at hand. It all came together, spilling across his tongue.

"There's no construction until Monday... The workers go home at one on Fridays." Quentin said, feeling almost alienated by hearing his own voice. The punk turned around and took a few steps toward Quentin, a grin on his yellowed teeth. As he approached, Quentin became instantly aware of why the other shoppers had acted so strangely, why they had dodged and avoided the punk. Even feet away he smelled more than anyone Quentinhad ever smelled before.

The punk carried with him the aroma of sweat, of piss, of shit, of cum, of weed, and god knew what else. He was so rank that Quentin's eyes started to water and it took every ounce of his strength not to pull back... but as hard as he was to smell, he was still a beautiful specimen. It seemed even the punk's eyes were as rare as he, with one blue and one brown.

"Thanks man, that's good intel. You been on the other side before?" The punk asked. Quentin blushed a bit more before he shook his head.

"N-No, I just... noticed when they come and go I guess." Quentin said. The punk grinned, putting a fingerless gloved hand on Quentin's shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

"Must spend a lot of time here. That's cool. No gang though? No crew?" The punk asked, looking Quentin over top to bottom. Quentin blushed more, feeling like this fellow teen would instantly notice his erection.

"Nah, never... found anyone I really fit in with before." Quentin said. His eyes were still watering a bit, but in that strange capacity that all humans had, he was slowly adjusting to even the inordinate stink of the punk. He couldn't resist his unique charm... The earrings, the faint blond fuzz on his round, almost angelic chin...

"Fuck, man, you already got the deets on this place. You just need someone that knows how to use it. So, no construction workers back there... Any security?" The punk asked. Quentin blushed more.

"Well, I mean they have probably got cameras or something." Quentin said. The punk moved over to the edge of the plastic and peeled it back, peering to the other side before he waved Quentin over. Quentin looked stunned at that but he followed the beckoning wave and leaned against the wall, peering behind the plastic sheeting. On the other side the empty store fronts were dark, the new lighting had not yet been installed. Only the white translucent skylights let sunlight in, shining down across brand new tile and an impressive reflecting pond built as the centerpiece to the new wing.

"What do you see?" The punk asked softly, his voice almost melodic.

"No electricity, so no cameras..." Quentin said.

"Exactly... It'll be perfect for us." The punk replied. Again Quentin froze.

"For... us?" Quentin asked. The punk grinned wide, betraying his yellowed teeth.

"Yeah, a place for us to be ourselves, to get away from prying eyes, to just let loose. You have to be the master of your own destiny, right master?" The punk asked. The ideas were bubbling and broiling in Quentin's head, images and fantasies and reality pooling together in a thick soup, so thick that the last phrase sunk in unnoticed into Quentin's mind. His erection only seemed to throb harder, protesting against the cargo shorts.

"But I don't even know your name..." Quentin whispered. The punk grinned even more deviously at that, bowing his spiked head.

"My apologies... My name is Marek, though almost everyone calls me Marsh." The punk replied, looking deep into Quentin's eyes. Quentin was so clean, so innocent, but he wasn't boring. There was some fertility there for what was to come.

"Marsh?" Quentin asked. Marsh grinned and nodded.

"You know, like the swamp... Moist, rotten." Marsh grinned.

"Well, if that's what you want me to call you." Quentin replied with a smile.

"You can call me whatever you like, master." Marsh replied, not breaking his gaze with Quentin. Again Quentin's erection swelled thicker, but this times his nipples hardened as well. Once more the last word had seemingly gone unheard by his conscious mind, even if the rest of him was slowly adopting it.

"Marsh it is." Quentin replied. Marsh grinned, squeezing and almost petting Quentin's shoulder before he grinned more.

"Well, shall we go in? Our kingdom awaits." Marsh said. Quentin turned and glanced back over his shoulder nervously, but not a single other patron seemed to be looking their way. They'd skirted to the edge of awareness, back into Quentin's comfort zone... but for the first time in his life, he was sharing that comfort zone with someone else. Quentingrinned and looked back.

"Our kingdom awaits." He repeated back. Marsh grinned wide and held the plastic open for Quentin. Quentin squeezed through the gap and moved into the untouched, unspoiled wing. Marsh watched him enter, grinning softly. For a split second his human guise flickered, revealing pointier ears, a gleaming green pentagram tattoo on the nape of his neck, and the rather clear visage of horns before the disguise settled back into place. Marsh followed after Quentin, letting the plastic slide shut behind them.

---

The other side of the plastic sheeting was almost like another world to Quentin. Sure, the general flow of the rest of the mall had been maintained with the useless alcoves and the split level, but this was virgin territory untouched by customers. There was new tile work, new shop spaces, planter boxes set into the floor for trees, and a relatively large reflecting pond situated in the middle.

Quentin moved forward slowly, his pounding heart full of excitement and dread. He wandered up to one shop under construction, looking at the raised counters along the window edges, figuring it was likely to be a jewelry store or maybe some sort of vape shop. He spun around and looked in the other direction, knowing the wide floor plan of another was destined to be some sort of restaurant... but needless to say, the mall developments were the least of his concern. Marsh seemed to be taking it all in as well, though his pace was more leisurely than Quentin's. He seemed quite keen on the unfinished store front at the far end and how it looked almost like a cave, though he slowed to a stop and ran a finger down the front of his kilt.

"Man, I didn't realize how much I gotta piss." Marsh murmured. Quentin's eyes nearly flashed with the possibility of helping his new friend.

"I'll check the bathrooms over there, see if they're done." Quentin grinned before he moved off almost at a run, finding it hard to suppress his excitement. He rounded the corner and walked down the hallway, but in its unfinished state it was pitch black. Near the end he had to resort to running his hand along the wall until he found the door and opened it. The smell of plaster and concrete was nearly overpowering and it was clear that they weren't anywhere near ready. While some pipes stuck out from the walls, there wasn't a toilet or urinal in sight. Quentin's heart sank as he stepped back into the pitch black hall.

"Sorry dude, I guess we have to go back... They aren't anywhere near done yet." Quentin called back, fumbling through the dark.

"That's alright, I figured out an alternative." Marsh replied calmly. Quentin was a bit surprised at first until he heard the sound of water hitting water. It was only then that he remembered the reflecting pond in the middle of the open space.

"Whoa, did you figure out how to turn that fountain on?" Quentin asked, walking back toward the light coming through the mall skylights. As he walked back, he saw Marsh up on the edge of the fountain, letting loose with an insane volume of almost neon green piss. Quentin's jaw dropped.

"Dude, what are you-" Quentin's question was interrupted as he nearly gagged, walking into a cloud of noxious odor. The smell was of aged cum in copious amounts, trapped and held at near body temperature. It was savory and sweet in an almost rotten way that made the teenager's stomach turn and his nipples quiver. Quentin backed up, trying to catch his breath but it seemed the primal scent was pervasive and it wouldn't be that easy to get away from it.

As the brown haired youth let his lungs recover, his eyes drifted back up, taking in the sight before him. There Marsh was, letting loose with more piss than Quentin had ever seen. The kilt had proven quite accommodating, proving little resistance to his act of rebellion. Quentin was impressed by the fact that Marsh had no fears letting his cock out in public, and with him taking so long to void his bladder, there was nothing stopping Quentin from getting an eye full.

Marsh's meat was shockingly long and impressively thick. The one hand wrapped around the mid section left enough meat unattended for at least a second hand. Wily greenish blond hairs hugged the base of the shaft, caressing the guiding fist holding the pillar of meat. His plump cock head was nestled in overly ample foreskin that oozed past the tip, parted only by the stream of rancid piss arcing out through the air before splattering into the pond, sending ripples off in every direction.

"Like what you see, master?" Marsh asked, grinning to Quentin. Once more the word he didn't fully register wrapped him up like a blanket, making him feel safe and confident. While Quentin's brain only registered the first four words, he stumbled forward.

"W... What if I said yes?" Quentin asked. Marsh all but purred.

"Well that would make me happy. I've been hoping to find a gay friend, someone I can open up to." Marsh said. Quentin's jaw dropped.

"You're really gay? No fooling?" Quentin asked. Marsh bit his bottom lip and nodded before he let go of his cock and stretched, flexing the muscles in his shaft. The long pillar of meat bobbed up and down, sending helixes of piss through the air before the stream at last started to lose its pressure. The arc shrank down more and more before the last few pints of piss splashed down all over Marsh's shoes and the edge of the pond. Quentin tried not to look squeamish at what he had just seen, though the sound of urine splattering on the tile work made him realize just how much he had to go to the bathroom as well. It was like sticking a hand in warm water, it just made him have to go.

"It's your turn." Marsh said. Quentin's eyes widened in shock.

"No, I, I can't..." Quentin said. Marsh moaned.

"Oh come on, master, we have to mark our territory." he pleaded. Quentin was taken aback at that.

"What, like dogs?" He asked. Marsh nodded eagerly.

"Yeah, leave our scent, stake our claim. This will be our place. We're the first ones here, we can do whatever we want..." Marsh said, offering Quentin his hand. Quentin hesitated, holding back. Every part of his upbringing said this was wrong, that he shouldn't proceed... But every part of his body was egging him on. Quentin took a step, then another. Marsh's hand remained aloft, hanging in the air. Quentin reached up and took it. With that firm grip in place, Marsh tugged his new friend up onto the edge of the reflecting pond.

Quentin glanced at the pond, realizing just how much it had been discolored. The entire pond seemed to have a mossy green tinge to it, and the surface was dominated by an oily sheen as well. While looking mildly disgusting, the sheen only enhanced the reflective properties of the pond. Quentin gazed down into the water, looking back at himself, realizing just how plain and ordinary he was... but standing right next to him was Marsh, the green haired wild boy that could do whatever he wanted. There wasn't anything he wanted more than to be like the punk.

Trembling fingers reached down and found the zipper to the baggy black cargo shorts. The zipper resisted at first, having been worn few times, but as it gave way and the teeth separated, a half hard erection slipped out. It was an average size and clean. Even Quentin's bush had been washed with conditioner, leaving it soft and faintly floral in scent. Quentin was blushing so much that his arms seemed mottled by the red circulation. Marsh leaned in closer until the two were almost hip to hip.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of... Stuff like that happens to boys. It's nature, especially for gay boys like us." Marsh said. His words gave Quentin a little comfort, although he still had a bit of bladder shyness. It took some bearing down and pressure on the muscles before anything started moving, and then a few more moments before the yellow piss erupted from the teen's stiffy. An incredible stinging sensation filled his shaft as he peed through an erection, making him regret his decision at once, but there was no going back.

Once more the empty mall space filled with the sound of liquid spilling into the fountain. Somehow it still didn't seem as cool as he had hoped, and Quentin was all too pleased to return his cock to his shorts and zip back up when he was done. He looked back into the water, seeing the same boring reflection gazing back up at him... but at least his reflection stood next to Marsh. He would have given anything to be more outgoing and exotic like the punk boy. Looking into the water as well, Marsh tilted his head.

"Whatcha thinkin' about, Q?" Marsh asked. Quentin looked up in surprise at the nickname before he brushed his bangs out of his face.

"I know it'll sound stupid, but... I spend a lot of time just thinking about how boring I am. I'm like background noise, everyone just glosses over me." Quentin said. Marsh reached up and rested a gloved hand on Quentin's shoulder.

"You aren't boring, you just need to find your true place... You won't be able to do that just doing the same old stuff though, you need to try new things." Marsh said. Quentin smirked.

"Like sneaking into a construction sight and pissing in a public place?" he asked. Marsh chuckled louder.

"Exactly like that." Marsh grinned, giving Quentin an excited side hug. He was sure they were going to be perfect friends.

---

Saturday morning... For Quentin, it hadn't been a particularly joyous time since he was young enough to watch the cartoons. For the better part of two years he spent it trying to avoid the day, sleeping in as much as possible - but that had been before meeting Marsh. Their afternoon together had filled Quentin with such optimism that he'd barely slept at all that night, and he'd been awake bright and early. More than that, he'd returned to the mall and broken his tradition of watching from afar. The teen sat in the food court, his head propped up on his hands, gazing down the promenade to watch people meandering up close and personal.

A shadow fell across Quentin just before something came down over his head, sliding down over his clean hair, hugging his skull. Whatever it was came with the accompanying aroma of sweat and wet dust. The teenager reached up and felt the new item on his head, realizing it was a moist beanie. His hand caressed the woven material before it came to a stop just above his temples, finding something metal stuck into the hat. It was a inch and a half metal spike. There was another one on the other side, just like metal horns. Quentin spun around and saw Marsh standing behind him with a wide grin, awkwardly holding a pair of milkshakes in one hand.

"Do you like it?" he asked hopefully. Quentin beamed.

"I love it, I never thought I'd be cool enough for a hat like this. Thank you so much!" Quentin said. Marsh grinned even more, setting the milkshakes down on the table. It had taken quite a feat of skill to maneuver them without spilling, especially considering their lids and straws were conspicuously absent.

"You just have to find your true self, I know it'll feel right when you do." Marsh said. Quentin blushed at that and smiled even more.

"I think you're on to something. This all feels more right than anything has... and breakfast too, you really are amazing." Quentin said. Marsh smiled at that.

"I really hope you like it, master." Marsh said softly. Quentin smiled more at that, lifting the cup toward his lips, bringing the edge in before he tipped it up. The frothy brown semi-solid spilled over the edge and filled his mouth. To Quentin's surprise, it was more bitter and nutty than he had been expecting, but it still tasted so rich. Quentin took a sip, then a bigger sip before he took a big gulp. Without a lid, some of the brown dribbled across his lips and he got a thick chocolate mustache across his upper lip.

Quentin giggled a bit, setting the cup back down on the table. His tongue popped out from his mouth to clean the milkshake off, but Marsh grabbed both of Quentin's cheeks and leaned in for a kiss. When their lips touched it was like electricity, like fire, like lightning. Quentin was frozen in place, but soon his eyes fluttered shut. Marsh tilted his head and leaned in more before his tongue popped into Quentin's mouth, sliding back and forth before it emerged again, lingering just above the frothy mustache.

The nutty, bitter coating had been resting on Quentin's upper lip for little more than twenty seconds, but that had been enough time to fertilize the flesh beneath. Tiny, wispy, barely visible hairs started to emerge across the surface from side to side in a downy layer. Having given it enough time to work, Marsh slowly licked the lip clean before he gave Quentin another quick kiss and pulled back. Quentin remained frozen in place for a long moment before his eyes finally opened. He looked at Marsh with awe, respect, love, and lust.

"Did you like that?" Marsh whispered, gazing into Quentin's eyes. Quentin nodded numbly, grinning like he was partially drunk.

"I loved that..." Quentin replied. Marsh nearly squeaked.

"I am so glad... I want to make you happy, I want to make you horny. I want to be yours, I want you to be my master." Marsh said eagerly. For the first time, Quentin's ears locked into the word. He looked almost surprised.

"Your... your master? Not just boyfriend?" Quentin asked. Marsh grinned, reaching over to lay his fingerless gloved hand on Quentin's lap beneath the table.

"I want you to be my master, to let me help you find your true place and make you so happy..." Marsh said. Quentin was a bit amazed by the declaration. It seemed so far out of left field, so far out of this world, but at the same time there was something primal and deep about owning another man, of having that dominion. It wasn't just finding someone that could put up with him, it was finding someone that wanted to be with him, to be controlled, to be owned. It was a lot more responsibility than having a pet, that was for certain, but there was something intoxicating about the idea.

"Nothing would make me happier than being... your master." Quentin said. Marsh closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before he leaned in and kissed Quentin again. Quentin reached up and began rubbing the soft blond fuzz on Marsh's chin. Almost in response to his master's affections, the fuzz seemed to get thicker and more pronounced. The clear wispy hairs took on more of a greenish hue just like the hair on the punk's spike covered head. As the two embraced, the milkshakes remained on the table. Neither seemed to melt, hanging on to its natural shape, bordering on the edge of being warmer than room temperature. A few of the other patrons were complaining about an off smell, but none of them had any idea who had wandered into their midst.

---

The plastic crackled as the two boys stumbled into the construction zone, their lips locked and their hands moving all over one another. Quentin couldn't control himself. It was as if a lifetime of pressure building up had finally been uncorked. There was someone that wanted him, appreciated him, longed for him... and he was right there, pressed against him. Sure, it was a little strange how moist his clothing was. Sure, he had an unusual scent, but somehow that seemed almost endearing now. He wasn't sure he wanted to be without Marsh's stench. It would mean the most interesting and important part of his life was gone.

Marsh cooed and murmured as they made out, his tongue pumping back and forth inside Quentin's mouth. With each passing moment he could feel his master's saliva thickening, becoming more like slime. He pushed his plaque into the teenager's mouth, feeling it anchor to his formerly clean teeth. He felt Quentin's tongue grow rougher and longer against his. It was exhilarating for the punk to awaken the true master inside the perfect boy he had found.

The two nearly fell over as they backed into the fountain, but Quentin dropped down onto his ass on the retaining wall and Marsh quickly moved to straddle his boyfriend, hiking up his kilt. Quentin inhaled sharply as they came groin to groin, gasping for breath. All he got was the peaty, musky, saturated scent of the punk on his lap... and he loved it. Slowly and with great skill, Marsh started to grind his crotch against Quentin's, using small circles of friction before bearing down. Quentin's back arched as he pushed back up. It was exhilarating to think that it wasn't even two layers of pants separating their cocks, but merely Marsh's underwear up against his jeans.

The two humped with earnestness at first before the quiet desperation started to break out. Quentin buried his face in Marsh's neck, nuzzling and kissing, rubbing his soft downy mustache against the flesh before he got more daring and parted his lips. Quentin's blunt teeth began to graze the flesh before he bit down. Marsh let out a delighted squeak before a strange stimulus started to spread across the two boys.

A great heat had been built by friction from their eager dry humping, but a new form of heat, a wet heat, was spreading downwards. In seconds Marsh's yellowed, moist underwear were completely saturated with piss and the acrid, greenish yellow liquid soaked down into Quentin's pants. He gasped again as he felt it coat his cock, his bush, his balls and his thighs. It was running down between his legs, across the retaining wall and into the pool. Quentin looked at Marsh and Marsh blushed.

"I'm sorry master, I couldn't control myself." he whispered. Quentin slowly smiled and kissed Marsh's fuzzy chin.

"It's alright... Just marking your territory, right?" Quentin asked. Marsh grinned at that, sliding a hand down to their wet groins, collecting some of the moisture before he slid it up Quentin's shirt, rubbing his nipple with piss soaked fingers.

"Do you want to claim some more territory, master? You can have my ass right now..." Marsh whispered slowly, gazing into his boyfriend's eyes. Quentin looked stunned, his bravado faltering for a moment.

"I, I mean... I never... What if I do it wrong?" Quentin asked. Marsh grinned softly and slowly got part way up off his lover's lap, reaching down to unbutton his master's pants, drawing the fly down.

"It isn't difficult, master... I'll do the work. All you have to do is enjoy it." Marsh said as his hand plunged into Quentin's piss soaked underwear and split the fly open. Quentin's shaft sprung out, hard from the excitement. Marsh wrapped his fingers around it and began to stroke up and down, feeling how much give was in the meat while his other hand slipped up into his kilt. With a little work a very wet, very skid marked pair of underwear fell to the mall floor with an audible plop.

Quentin tried to speak, but he was moaning deeply from the hand job he was getting. Marsh grinned, enjoying the pleasure vicariously from his master. He moved forward again and began to descend, knowing this was the moment that would change everything for them both. Quentin's heart raced like a hummingbird as he felt flesh touch the tip of his shaft. A quivering, oddly plump pucker began to spread around the head of his shaft.

Marsh's ring of muscle spread out over until it popped down on the underside of Quentin's head, and then with a good grip, the muscles inside started to undulate with an amazing, inhuman force, pulling and tugging on the intruding cock. Quentin gasped again as Marsh came down, dropping inch after inch.

Without a condom and without any sort of prep, the punk's ass was still quite unclean. Quentin's cock was lubricated by a fine layer of shit clinging to the intestine walls, and as he got deeper his prick hit an obstacle. The waiting shit was no match for such a solid object and yielded to the hard meat, coating it over, covering every centimeter, even pressing into the urethra. Marsh continued to descend until his pert bubble butt was resting on his boyfriend's balls.

Soft gasps escaped Quentin's lips as even buried to the hilt, it felt like Marsh's ass wanted more, like it was sucking, tugging, pulling... It was insatiable. Marsh started to lift up and slide back down, starting slow at first before he built up speed. While neither boy could see Quentin's cock hidden under the shield of the punk's hilt, Marsh knew that it was coated in brown now. He rode Quentin's shaft, letting his own balls slap against his master's taint, a supreme look of bliss spreading across his face. Quentin's hands slipped to the punk's waist, taking hold, guiding him up and down.

Having never had sex before, Quentin wasn't sure what to expect. It was a bit as he imagined, though the tactile pleasures were far greater, but he had never expected there to be such a pressure inside of his partner. His cock felt like it was getting vacuum sucked inside that ass. Every time he thrust up, it just kept going, trying to get him deeper and deeper. His moans grew louder at the strain.

Marsh closed his eyes, focusing on their act of intimacy, trying to harness his own innate power. He slammed his ass down and held it there for a moment, his hungry ass tugging and stretching Quentin's meat. He had been a rather satisfying six inches to start, but that wasn't enough, not for Marsh. He needed his master to have the most powerful scepter in all the realm and he had the power to make it happen. His demonic ass pulled and pulled, extending Quentin's cock to eight inches, then ten. Unlike taffy, as it was stretched longer it got thicker as well, growing broader and thicker, veins emerging along its engorged extension.

Quentin moaned and groaned like a beast in heat, bucking up into the hungry ass, hearing the messy sloshing of a shit covered cock in a wet ass. It was so horribly naughty it was the most alluring thing he had ever experienced. He thrust up wildly as Marsh came down, letting their junk clatter in a clumsy dance of carnal lust. With each collision, Quentin's cock was growing inside Marsh, taking up more of the punk's body, filling him ever fuller.

Marsh reached down under his kilt and took a hold of his own cock, pulling back the rancid foreskin. What was hidden beneath was not quite pink or even red, but covered in a thick yellowish white gel. It was smegma, head cheese, the bountiful crop of disgusting left overs. Marsh ran a finger through it, gleaning almost a marble's worth of the slime before he brought it up to Quentin's lips.

Even with eyes shut, the smell hit Quentin hard enough to know something was coming before it got there. He opened his eyes and saw the offering just before Marsh smeared it across his lips. The smell was intense, earthy, perhaps the most pleasant smell the punk had. It was like an expensive cheese, so pungent and bad that it was good again. It was silky, buttery, and it was glorious. Quentin began to lick it up, but as his tongue hit the tainted smegma, ripples of pleasure rolled through his body.

The immature mustache on his upper lip thickened and darkened, creeping down the sides of his lips. A new patch of stubble began to form on the point of his chin, growing out soft and short at first. The exertion from their love making had already started to make Quentin sweat, but now the moisture was coming ever easier, soaking his greasy hair beneath the musky baseball hat. Even Quentin's pits were getting stained with sweat as the hair beneath grew thicker and softer.

The punk watched with glee as his growing master sucked his fingers clean. He was getting so handsome, so masculine, and so big. Marsh moaned, feeling his stomach distending a bit with the side of the cock in his guts. Quentin had to be over sixteen inches long now. It was enough that his master would need him and only him, that they would be bound forever. Marsh came down and kissed Quentin deeply, savoring the last remnants of the smegma flavor on his boyfriend's lips, purring in great delight.

While Quentin wanted the moment to last forever, basking in the hot, wet, dirty joy of his first love making, it was simply too much. Before his mind even had a chance to react, his seed was already racing from his prostate, through his balls, and up his immense shaft. The eruption of hot, thick seed deep into Marsh's ass brought with it an explosion of light in Quentin's mind, a pleasure washing over him in entirety.

"Oh MASTER!" Marsh called out almost loud enough for his voice to echo as his hungry ass drew the human seed deep into his body to nourish him, pumping that huge cock for all it was worth.

"Fuck..." Quentin moaned, feeling light headed from the physical exertion, but as Marsh leaned into him and hugged him, Quentin knew he would have all the strength he needed to keep his boyfriend comfortable.

---

Sunlight filtered through the cheap venetian blinds, falling in uneven ribbons across a varied and chaotic layer of detritus across the bedroom floor. The room had once been well cared for, maintained with regular schedule, but for the last two weeks it had become nothing more for Quentin than a place to sleep and lounge. His closet had been empty for several days, the teenager having cycled through all his laundry. The articles had fallen to the floor in piles, slipping across dirty dishes that hadn't been returned to the kitchen. When the teen needed something else to wear, he just sampled from the pile around his bed. The only thing he hadn't changed out of in all that time still clung to his hips.

Quentin ran a finger along the stretched elastic waistband of his underwear, warm and moist. He felt, in a strange way, that they were his lucky charm. he'd broken his stint of being ignored. He had a boyfriend that worshipped him. He'd lost his virginity and he'd learned just how horny of a beast he really was. While his right hand played with his waistband, his left stroked the huge phallus resting across his abdomen, the plump head nuzzled between his nipples.

The smell his meat put off was intoxicating. The constant sex and masturbation had stretched the skin of his shaft, allowing it to hide the base of his head and culture new batches of smegma. Every so often Quentin would tug the foreskin down and release the potent odor. It was amazing, it was rich, but it was also for Marsh. Quentin liked the idea of making it for his lover, of keeping it fresh for him. Quentin's back started to arch as his idle stroking became something more, developing into a full on jerk off.

Quentin's mind was obsessed with his lover, with their pleasures, with their corner of the mall. The construction workers had come back to work, only to find several facets of their efforts had been corrupted. Some blamed a chemical leak or reaction to the materials, but Quentin and marsh knew better from their hiding spots... but alas, the wonderful weekend had come to an end and after faking sick two days, Quentin wasn't going to get out of school any longer. he had to go back, as much as it hurt to be away from his slave. Quentin murmured at that thought, feeling such power picturing himself as marsh's master. he waned to do right by him, to make him proud. Quentin moaned even louder, his hand moving faster and faster along his enormous shaft until finally he called out. volleys of semen launched from the enormous shaft, arching through the air before it splattered across his face and his hat, smearing across his already stained pillow case.

The semen clung to his mustache and goatee in pearly beads, giving the brown almost honey colored hairs. In just a few days Quentin had already changed so much, gaining muscle and hair - not to mention quite an aroma. The teenager scooped up some of his cream on his hand before sucking each finger clean, loving the salty, nutty taste. He was lost in a world of sex and glory and nothing was going to change that now.

---

The doors to the school swung open as Quentin moved in with a grin on his lips and a bulge in his pants. As the teenager moved in, the throng of fellow students seemed to part ahead of him. There were murmurs about the smell, countless eyes on Quentin and how much he had changed. Few recalled exactly what he had looked like before, but now they all knew... His stinky knit cap with the metal horns rested on a head of long, greasy, oily dark brown hair. Quentin's mustache came down around the sides of his lip, and his goatee was two inches long now. His sweatshirt was stained and moist, smelling of sweat and earth, and his black jeans were so crusted over they looked gray and cracked.

"Dude, did you catch Quentin? Looks like he fell off the deep end." One jock murmured.

"Yeah, right into the deep end of the garbage dump." Another chortled.

"I can't believe he was able to hang on to a boyfriend like that." The first commented. Quentin stopped where he was, an eyebrow arching at that. How did anyone at school know about that? How was word already-

"Master!" Marsh's voice cut through the hallway as he ran toward his mate. The confusion, the doubt, the excitement all took a back seat as Quentin saw Marsh. In moments the blond punk had closed the distance and leapt into the air, wrapping his legs around Quentin's waist and wrapping his arms around his master's shoulder. Their lips came together like magnets.

There were moans and murmurs, soft smacking sounds coming as their lips wrestled. Marsh started to hump and grind lewdly against the unseemly bulge in Quentin's pants, his kilt providing no extra barrier. Marsh shuddered, cumming just a bit, his hot jism soaking into Quentin's already nasty pants. At long last, and with regret, Marsh broke the kiss.

"I missed you master." Marsh whispered. Quentin grinned.

"I missed you too, my pet." Quentin replied.

"Master, I know you have class soon, but I'm so thirsty... I'm dying of thirst. Please, help me master." Marsh whispered, nuzzling Quentin's neck. Quentin looked around, seeing that most of the jocks were disgusted by the public displays of affection, though some of the girls were doting on how 'cute' the two boys were together. Quentin smirked to himself and looked back at Marsh.

"Are you thirsty for my cum, my slut?" Quentin asked. Marsh shook his head.

"No, master, I need your piss... I'm so thirsty." Marsh moaned. Quentin was taken a bit aback.

"My piss, really? Isn't it like, bad for you or something?" he asked. Marsh let out a soft hiss, shaking his head.

"Oh no, master, I need it like I need water. Please?" Marsh asked, resting a clawed hand on Quentin's stomach. A deep, dark power sunk in through the hair on his stomach, through the abdominal muscles, searching ever deeper until the magic found his bladder. The sack began to expand, growing larger and thicker, enhancing its capacity. At the same time, his kidneys started to flush out excess fluids from his blood and tissues, providing the expanded pouch with the ripe piss the punk craved. Quentin murmured softly, feeling as if he really had to go to the bathroom, but also like he could hold a lot more if he needed to.

"Well, if that's what my slut wants, that's what he gets." Quentin replied, carrying his boyfriend down the hallway, kicking the door into the bathroom as the bell rung. Students dispersed at once, heading to their classrooms, leaving the two in some modest degree of privacy. As the door swung shut, Quentin set Marsh down. Marsh let out a soft yawn and stretched before he dropped down onto all fours, wagging his ass back and forth as if he had an imaginary tail.

"Oh master, I love you so much." Marsh whispered. Quentin grinned at that, unzipping his pants. His jeans felt chalky, almost clay like to the touch from the layers of dried semen on them. As he drew down the metal barrier, an inhumanly long, thick cock emerged from its hiding place. Marsh had already enhanced the tool quite a bit, but now it was capable of so much more.

"I love you too, my pet." Quentin said before he released the muscles around his bladder. There was a hesitation, a build up of pressure, and then everything started flowing. A yellow stream of acrid, alkaline piss arched out and hit Marsh in the face, catching him off guard before his jaw snapped open wide and he moved into place.

The piss splashed and splattered across Marsh's tongue as he let it build up, letting it rise around his teeth and spill over his lips, dribbling down his chin. He savored his master's flavor for several moments before he gulped it down and opened wide for more.

Quentin moaned as he pissed, surprised at how long it was lasting. The stream poured out of him with such force and intensity, but it didn't diminish or stop. As the pressure grew, it felt almost as good as an orgasm. Quentin moaned louder, his mind reeling back to the mall, to marking his territory. Marsh was his, his slut, his boyfriend, his mate. Quentin took his huge cock with a guiding hand and aimed it higher.

The stream of piss left Marsh's expectant mouth, splashing across his greenish blond hair. As it hit, the spikes started to melt away into waves, the hairstyle saturated with urine. If anything, it seemed to change far more than Quentin expected. It remained long down the center, maybe even longer than it seemed before, but as the sides were washed in the golden shower they seemed to shorten and fade, leaving the punk with almost a green mohawk.

Greedy for his nectar, Marsh surged forward and wrapped his lips around the pissing cock, gulping at inch after inch until he stuffed himself down with it. Quentin reached down and pet his slut's hair, admiring how amazing he looked. His brain didn't quite process how Marsh was shifting and changing right before his eyes, gaining rounder hips and a thicker ass, his waist tapering and his fingernails growing into sharp points. Even the shadow on the floor of the bathroom betrayed features not visible to any mortal eyes, like the waving of a spaded tail and the presence of thick horns on the sides of the young man's head. Marsh gazed up at his master as he guzzled down the piss, knowing that it was almost time for his master's final change... and then they truly would be together for eternity.

---

Crickets chirped, punctuating the otherwise silent mall parking lot. It was eleven at night, long after even the janitors went home. The property was left to alarms, detectors, and a few lone guard patrols that had to manage more than just the one property. It still seemed daunting to Quentin, though. He stood, shrouded in shadows, shifting his body weight from foot to foot as he peered around to see if anyone was coming.

"We gotta hurry up." Quentin said. Marsh bit his bottom lip where he crouched at one of the panels.

"I'm working as fast as I can." Marsh murmured before he brought a claw up to his mouth, collected some incredibly thick spit, and drizzled it down the card swipper slot. There was a sudden hissing, a burst of smoke, and a flash of light. As it caught in Marsh's irises, they glinted a metallic green.

The mohawked punk reached up and tugged on the door. With a slight pop, it opened.

"Fuck, you did it!" Quentin grinned. Marsh stood up and opened the door for his master, granting the two teens admittance. Once they were inside, he nudged the door shut and caught up to his master, looping his arm with the taller boy's. Quentin strutted forward, looking around with glee. No longer were they trapped to just the construction zone, they had their run of the entire mall... But as exciting as that was, for Quentin their own little corner felt far more like home. He maneuvered Marsh until the two headed back toward their own domain. Still, there was some sort of triumph in their efforts. Quentin used his free hand to reach down and open the fly of his pants, allowing his mammoth of a cock to emerge. Marsh started drooling at once.

"Oh Master, I wish you'd let me ride you at school, just once..." Marsh grinned.

"We already have... In the bathrooms, in the locker room, even the janitor's closet once." Quentin said.

"I know, but I want to ride you in class." Marsh grinned. Quentin rolled his eyes.

"You are such a slut, and I love it." Quentin said, reaching up to rub Marsh's fuzzy chin. As the two pushed through the plastic into the construction site, Quentin hesitated. The place had changed... quite significantly. The pond was covered in a thick green gel like film and a mossy mold like substance was creeping outward, filling the grout between the tiles. Patches were spotting on the walls and there were speckles across almost every surface. The air itself seemed not only dusty, but almost foggy with a musky aura to it. It smelled like an arm pit tinged with piss. Quentin was shocked, but to his surprise his stomach started to growl with the oddest hunger. Marsh slowly unhooked his arm and turned, facing Quentin.

"Do you like it, master? It's almost our perfect home." Marsh said. Quentin looked around and then back at Marsh.

"You did this?" Quentin asked in surprise. Marsh grinned wider.

"No master, we did this... Our piss, our cum, our sweat and spit.... Water is an amazing medium to foster filth, and all our pond needs is one last ingredient before it can bring new life to this whole city." Marsh said. Quentin backed up a little.

"I don't.... I don't understand." Quentin whispered. Marsh looked almost hurt, stepping toward his master.

"Yes you do, you feel it... Every time we break a human ethic, we cross that moral boundary, you become more free... You become more like me." Marsh said. Quentin looked at Marsh, but his vision was hazy for a split second. The shadows seemed to play tricks on him, making it look like Marsh had rams horns made of ashen gray, his hair a lime green color, his skin a much darker gray like concrete. His yellowed fangs were a disgusting contrast, and his tail was nicked and scarred from abuse. A long, demonic gray cock hung out from the kilt, always in view, always hard... just like Quentin's. The after image faded back to Marsh's human guise, cheerful despite his anti-social punk aesthetic. He had a cute boyish face, the hips that any girl would kill for, and a bubble butt perfect for fucking. He was the perfect slut, the perfect gay boy, and he... in all his forms... belonged to Quentin. Quentin shuddered softly.

"I don't want to lose you, I don't want to lose any of this." Quentin whispered, "I was nothing before, I was a ghost." Marsh moved forward, reaching up to rest a claw on Quentin's lips.

"You will never be nothing. You are my master, my boyfriend, my mate... You will be my demon king. We can do whatever we want, and we have all eternity to do it." Marsh whispered. Quentin wrapped an arm around Marsh, pulling him closer.

"What do we have to do?" Quentin asked. Marsh nearly squeaked in delight.

"You only have to feast on the last taboo substance, and we will both be reawakened." Marsh said. Quentin's mind processed before he looked down at Marsh's kilt.

"I have to eat your shit?" Quentin asked. Marsh snickered a bit.

"I wish it would work letting me eat yours, but I can do that after your transformation... You'll produce so much master, you'll be the best shitter in the state." Marsh said proudly. Quentin looked into Marsh's eyes.

"What did you see in me? Why did you come after me?" Quentin asked. Marsh was a bit surprised but he started to smile bashfully.

"Water is water... Whatever you put into it, that's what it is. But a pond? That shape, that character, that unique characteristic is something you can't just alter on a whim. Your attraction to the other, to people, to the ways things could be... I loved it, I still do. It's what will make you a great demon." Marsh said, "And it's what makes you a perfect master."

"I am very fucking lucky to have such a sickeningly sweet slut." Quentin replied. Marsh hissed a bit.

"Sweet, master? I am sour, I am foul, I am rank!" He protested.

"And you're full of shit... Delicious shit, I would imagine." Quentin grinned, taking Marsh's hand, "I assume we go into the fountain?" Quentin asked. Marsh beamed brightly.

"Yes master, to complete the ritual." Marsh said with delight. It had been a make or break moment for the demon. Once he had bound himself to a human soul, he couldn't be free of it. His destiny was tied up with Quentin, but now they were on the same path. Quentin reached the pond and stepped over the wall, dropping his leg down. There was surface tension and resistance, the pond practically gelatinous slime buy this point. His pants sizzled in places, holes eroding through, but his legs seemed fine in the substance. Quentin brought his other leg over into the sludge.

The entire affair seemed almost melodramatic. If it had not been tainted by demonic forces, the pond wouldn't have been deep enough for a toddler to go over his head... But now it was the site of an arcane ritual. Sure enough, just standing in the sludge felt strangely alluring. Even without Marsh, the liquid was holding a vague heat. It was like someone pissing in a pool with the uncomfortable cloud of warmth, but it was suffusing Quentin. He wiggled his toes, knowing they were growing slimy as well. He could feel his toenails thickening and growing and the hair on his toe knuckles was getting wiry and gross. All of it served to make his already proud and displayed erection that much harder.

Looking back at Marsh briefly, Quentin sat down in the pond. The slime lapped up across his groin and the lower half of his torso. It soaked his ass cheeks and his bush and let his balls stew and marinate in the filth. Quentin shivered a bit, his skin tingling. His cock rose out of the slime like a pillar, but it wasn't time for him to give focus to that. He had a ritual to finish. Using some quick thinking, Quentin figured out the way it was most likely to work. Marsh would have to crouch on the retaining wall at the edge of the pond, which meant he had to turn around and lean back.

Marsh watched as Quentin rotated, swinging around before laying back almost all the way. The slime crept up his spine and his dirty, greasy hair dipped down into it. More of the honey streaks etched up into the brown. Marsh cooed in delight, taking it all in. He swept his hands around, his clothes disappearing, leaving his naked body. He hopped up onto the guard rail, claws digging into the cement, cracking it. He swung around, using his demonic tail to balance himself. He closed his eyes, reaching out with his supernatural senses to feel Quentin's presence.

Quentin looked up at the punk boy's sexy bubble butt. It was beautiful, like a real work of art... But his asshole was something else, it was out of this world. It had been stretched around Quentin's huge rod, but it seemed puffier than ever, swollen and ready to extrude its evil filth. Quentin was breathing faster and harder, knowing there was no going back. This one heinous act would forever change him... and he was ready for it. Just like he had told Marsh, he never wanted to go back to what he was. He opened his mouth wide, his tongue lolling out, waiting for the devil's bounty.

Sensing that everything was in place, Marsh finally released. For days he had been saving up, perhaps even for weeks. He had tried to resist it since he came tot eh human realm, only letting his shit fertilize Quentin when he was fucked... But now it was ready; churned and mixed up until the perfect point. The pucker parted and a thick brown paste began to extrude like a nutty soft serve. It arched down gracefully toward Quentin's mouth for only a moment before it did what shit usually did, and dropped.

The brown log hit Quentin's mouth unceremoniously. Unlike ice cream, it left a brown oily stain around the edge of where it touched. Quentin opened his mouth wider, letting gravity draw it in before he closed his teeth. The shit posed little resistance, breaking up on his tongue. It was pungent and earthy with a hint of spice, but all of that was overpowered b y the general foulness of methane and sulfur. It was disgusting, so disgusting that Quentin's clawed toes curled and his cock quivered, growing just a bit taller and a bit thicker.

Getting such a pleasant reward from the act, Quentin began to chew it up even faster, unprepared for the next streak that hit him in the lips and smeared across his mustache and goatee. Some of it clung to the hair, but it also rolled down, leaving streaks across his collar bone and shoulder before it fell into the pond. As it hit the water, the entire pond began to bubble and seethe, glowing with a greenish brown light.

Quentin opened his mouth and his eyes, looking up at Marsh. His human guise had fallen away, the dark skinned demon bearing down with all his might. The volume of shit was increasing in width and thickness, coming down in longer ropes. Quentin licked his lips and as he opened his mouth again, his canine teeth had elongated into fangs. He relaxed his throat as much as he could and let the fecal chain come down. He let it slide past his teeth and across his tongue before he took a gulp, then another and another. Quentin was chugging the shit and to his own surprise he was loving it.

With each gulp he felt the heat, the thick consistency, and the overwhelming power of filth. It slid down his esophagus and plunged into his stomach, filling him up bit by bit. There was so much of it, but Quentin was greedy. He let it fill him more and more until his stomach was firm and tight, packed full, but still he gulped and chewed and savored. All that shit coming in had to find places to go, and the dark energy started to build within the changing teenager.

A greedy hand reached up, grabbing a handful of the waste to smear and spread across his chest like caramel colored war paint. His nipples grew tight and hard beneath it, but soon he was back to snapping it up with his mouth as his fangs grew even longer. Quentin thrashed in the pond, sending out waves of slop and slime that washed over the edges of the pond, pouring down onto the already spoiled tiles.

Marsh moaned hard, bending down, bracing his hands against the retaining wall on either side of his feet. It felt amazing to let loose, but the more he shit, the more emptiness he had inside of him. He'd need to get fucked for a week to feel full again - not that he had any opposition to that idea. He shuddered hard, listening to Quentin moan and groan with a mouth full of shit. It made Marsh's cock start to drip brownish-yellow pre.

Quentin felt fuller than he ever had before. Each gulp felt like the last one he could take, but he forced himself. His fingernails had turned black and stretched into claws, his pit hair was long and wiry, soaked with smelly slime. His goatee trailed down into the shit on his chest, at least six inches long now... but the strangest sensation was the pressure on Quentin's forehead. It felt like there were two stones trapped beneath his skin. His skin was irritated, fighting the pressure, but eventually it lost.

Blood spurted out as the skin lost integrity and two black horns pushed forward before curving straight upward. They pierced through the knit beanie that Marsh had given him, rising tall and proud. Quentin let out a thunderous roar of pleasure before his mammoth cock erupted like a geyser. At first the cum was its usual pearly color, but after a few moments it thickened and darkened, coming out in a much stickier, slimier consistency. It landed in thick ropes, sinking down to the bottom of the reflecting pond to create yet another layer of filth.

Marsh shuddered as he pushed out the very last of his shit, but he gasped as an oddly thick, oddly phallic tongue slipped up into his ass, sliding in inch after inch. Marsh peeked between his legs, letting out a surprised coo of shock to see that Quentin had gained a tentacle like cock tongue, able to use it as he pleased. Marsh closed his eyes, letting his boyfriend tongue fuck his spent ass, collecting the very last shit he had to offer. It was a dream come true. His master was an amazing, powerful, and very skilled filth demon... And they'd never be apart again.

---

Green hazard tape fluttered in the breeze, the orange and yellow sunset working to weather the color away from it day by day. The mall had been closed for over a year, condemned for a severe biological hazard. The parking lot was cracked and covered in garbage, the grasses had grown long and dried out. The windows were blackened, the outside covered in graffiti. Getting even a few feet from any of the doors brought with it a haze of methane and sulfur, the smell of the foulest shit... and any that wandered too close fell under the spell of its keepers.

Soft moans escaped Marsh's lips as he slid up and down on the massive cock invading his ass to inhuman depths, a mixture of shit and cum squirting out around the base, soaking into the greenish brown bush of the man fucking his slut. Drool leaked out from Marsh's lips, his eyes glazed with lust, a clawed hand stroking the long, oily goatee of his master. One of Quentin's hands held Marsh's hip, but the other had a leather leash wrapped tight around it, leading up to the collar on Marsh's neck.

Quentin's greasy hair had grown down past his shoulders, his ears were pierced, and a biohazard tattoo was inscribed across a muscled bicep. He had grown to love his body and how it made Marsh quiver with need. He loved each day, and he especially loved to see the effect the filth had on those that wandered too close. No longer did he simply watch people in their own lives. He had an effect on any that dared to come close. For some it merely rotted away at their ethics, leading to bad behavior, rebellious attitudes... But for others it led to lives of true depravity. A few lucky souls made it far enough to gaze into the reflecting pond. One look into its hideous waters was enough to rot away any human's soul, leaving just the scum of the Earth... and that was a kind of party Quentin loved to attend.

The demon king threw back his head and howled out in pleasure, letting loose yet another load of tainted cum into Marsh's ass. Marsh squirmed and cooed, clenching down, trying to trap all the seed he could inside his body. After all, what kind of slave would waste a gift from his master? Their moans and roars carried on the wind, disappearing into the hot smog of the city's summer sky.