Vess trembled.
The words hung in the night air like a curse. ’A sex demon.’ She knelt in the dirt of the ruin, her wrists still bound by invisible magic behind her back, her sword useless in her grip.
Her face was a mask of his seed—thick, white, dripping from her chin, bubbling from her nostrils, pooled in her open mouth. The smell of his cock was everywhere.
It assaulted her nostrils with the dense, musky, utterly male scent of a creature that existed to rut. It was the smell of her sister’s virginity being torn. It was the smell of her own submission.
"A demon?" she rasped. Her voice was shredded. The seed in her throat made her gag. "A... sex demon?"
He chuckled.
The sound was warm. Intimate. The chuckle of a man who had just emptied his balls into a woman’s throat and found her confusion amusing.
"You seem so," he said. He stood over her, naked and unashamed. The moonlight carved his body into sharp relief. "Don’t I look like that?"
Vess looked.
She couldn’t stop herself. Her eyes traveled down from his smirking face to his chest. The muscles were not bulky. They were defined. Cut. The kind of hardness that came from power, not labor. Her gaze moved lower. The abs. The V-shaped lines of his hips that arrowed downward like a roadmap to destruction. And then the cock.
It was still erect. Or erecting again. Endlessly. It hung heavily between his thighs, thick as her wrist, the veins pulsing under the dark skin. The shaft rose from a heavy sack of balls that hung low and full, swaying slightly as he shifted his weight. The head was blunt and swollen and glistening with the remnants of her sister’s blood and juices and his own massive load.
He looked like a predator. A beast. A god of rutting who had stepped out of a temple dedicated to the filthiest worship.
His eyes looked down at her. Dark. Warm. Utterly without mercy.
She trembled harder.
The magic held her frozen. She couldn’t look away. She couldn’t flee. She was on her knees before him, her face painted with his semen, her naked lower body exposed, her pussy dark and wet and betraying her with every pulse. She looked past him—to her sister. Lena was sleeping on the stone, curled naked, well-fucked, peaceful. The girl had chosen this. The girl had chosen him.
Vess’s internal thoughts were a storm.
’What do I do? What do I do?’
She didn’t know. She was a commander. She was a warrior. She had faced death a hundred times. But she had never faced a demon who fucked. She had never faced a cock that could not be bitten. She had never swallowed the seed of her enemy and found it tasting of power and revenge.
She looked down at herself. Her thick, muscular body was bound. Her heavy tits were thrust out. Her pussy—her ruined, noble-fucked, gaping pussy—was visible to him. She felt the wetness between her legs. She felt the heat. She felt her own pulse in her clit. It was strange. It was wrong. She should be killing him. She should be dead rather than feel this.
But his cum was inside her now. In her mouth. In her throat. In her nose. It was changing something. She could feel it. A warmth spreading through her chest. A clarity. A horrible, traitorous clarity that made her body hyper-aware of every nerve. The air on her skin was sharper. The smell of him was deeper. The ache between her legs was insistent.
She breathed. Her breathing was fast. Shallow. Her chest heaved. The seed on her tits slid down the valley between them.
Raven looked down at her. Patient. Unhurried.
"You already know what I want," he said.
And the world cut.
****
"Aaaaaanghh~!! Please— my lord— please— it hurts— it hurts—"
The maid was crying.
She was young. Nineteen. Fresh from the country villages where her family had sold her into palace service for three silver pieces and a promise of a better life. She had been scrubbing floors for three months. She had been warned about the Crown Prince. She had been careful. She had avoided the west wing.
But the Crown Prince had found her.
She was on his bed. The massive, silk-draped monstrosity that dominated the chamber. A pillow was pressed over her face. It muffled her screams. It was silk and goose-down and it smelled of expensive perfume and old sweat. Her fingers clawed at it. Her nails tore the fabric.
The Prince—Hordy, second of his name, heir to the throne of Althorn—was on top of her.
His body was lean. Cruel. The body of a man who had never worked but had trained with blades to kill, not to build. But between his legs was a ruin.
His cock was seven inches.
Thick. Brutal. But it was not whole. It was scarred. The base had a ring of pale, twisted tissue where something had been severed. The shaft was ridged with healed cuts. The head was misshapen, darker than the rest, the result of a botched healing after a woman—a mercenary bitch from years ago—had taken a knife to his original twelve inches while he slept, drunk on his own seed and arrogance. He had woken to blood and agony and a cock that was no longer the royal monster it had been.
But it was still enough.
Enough to tear. Enough to break. Enough to make a virgin maid scream.
He had her legs spread. Her thighs were pale and trembling and forced wide by his knees. Her maiden pussy was hairy—thick, dark curls that had never been touched. She was a virgin. He had checked. The guard had dragged her in, her uniform already half-torn from her struggles. He had pinned her, yanked up her skirt, and found the tight, unbroken, hairy cunt of a country girl who had never been opened.
"Please—" she sobbed under the pillow. "My lord— I am sorry— I am sorry— please show mercy—"
"Mercy?" Prince Hordy snarled. His face was handsome in a sharp, cruel way—a jaw inherited from his father, a sneer learned from his mother. "You spilled wine on my boot. A royal boot. You deserve this. You beg for mercy? I will give you the mercy of my cock."
He gripped her hair. Not the hair on her head. The hair of her pussy. He grabbed a fistful of the dark curls and pulled.
"Aaaaanghh~!! Hiiieeengh~!!"
"Shut up," he hissed. He gripped the pillow with his other hand and pressed it harder over her face. Her muffled screams became wet, desperate sounds. "You are nothing. A maid. A peasant. A hairy little cunt for the Prince to use when he is bored. You should be honored. I am the Crown Prince. My cock is royal. Even broken, it is more than you deserve."
He positioned himself.
The scarred, seven-inch shaft pressed against her hairy mound. He used his thumb to part the curls. He found her clit. He pinched it.
Hard.
"MMMPH~!! NGH~!!"
He twisted. The nub was stiff with terror. He tortured it with his fingers. He pulled the lips apart. The hair was in the way. He grabbed her thighs and pulled her toward him, dragging her body across the silk sheets until her ass was at the edge of the bed. He stood between her legs. He looked down at her.
Her panties were on one thigh. White cotton. Torn. Hanging. The mattress was bunched up beneath her hips from her struggles. Her legs were spread. Her pussy was exposed. The hair was dark and wild and completely untamed. The lips were small. The entrance was a tight, terrified slit.
"Virgin," he muttered. "Good. I need to break something tonight. I need to hear someone scream."
He slammed.
SKHLRK—
POP.
The head tore through. The maiden barrier ripped. Blood sprayed. The maid’s scream under the pillow was a sound that no human should make—a high, suffocating, animal shriek of absolute agony. Her body went rigid. Her legs kicked. Her hands tore the pillow.
"AAAAAANGHH~!! HNGHH~!! KYAAANGH~!!"
"Yeah," Hordy grunted. He gripped her hips. He pulled her onto him. "Yeah, take it. Take the royal cock. Take the scarred prick. Feel what a prince feels like, you peasant bitch. You spilled wine. Now you spill blood."
He began to fuck her.
PAH PAH PAH—
"MMMPH~!! NGH~!! HNGHH~!!"