Date: Sat, 30 Oct 2010 11:08:37 -0400
From: Heathyr Diamond <darkheathyr@gmail.com>
Subject: Demon Whorehouse Transformation (TG)

The following tale of sexual depravity contains adult material. If you are
under the legal age for your area (generally 18 or 21), or object to
explicit sex, stop reading NOW. Otherwise, if erotic situations and taboo
acts turn you on, then please enjoy yourself. The characters and situations
are, of course, completely fictitious.

Feel free to post or archive, as long as the story remains intact and
unmodified, and my contact information remains attached.

Otherwise, this work should be considered copyright 2010 Heathyr Diamond.



Demon Whorehouse Transformation
By Heathyr Diamond


       An icy November breeze whipped through the near-barren trees. Small
brown leaves, already curled in upon themselves from the sudden cold snap,
broke away to fall awkwardly to the ground. Shrouded in thin sheets of
frost, they fell hard and fast, crunching softly upon the cracked and worn
sidewalk. It was the sound of autumn crumbling away. The winter that the
weather had been warning of for so many weeks had finally arrived.
       Oblivious to everything else around him, Chris slowed his
pace. Without being too obvious about it, he fell back an extra step behind
the stunning little blonde. He smiled to himself as he watched her raise
one black heel in the air and hop across the sewer grate onto the curb. For
one brief, tantalizing instant, the rise of her short blue skirt revealed
the trim of white cotton panties before falling back into place.
       Damn. There was one fantasy crushed. The Kim of his fantasies was a
sexually aggressive little bitch with a fetish for black satin. More than
once, he'd day-dreamed of being smothered by the slick, damp satin of her
crotch while she swallowed his cock. Back at the office, with his eyes
closed and his feet up on the desk, he could almost feel the material
against his tongue. Not once had it ever tasted as plain as cotton.
       Maybe it was time for a change of fantasy. If it wasn't all an act,
and she really was as sweet and innocent as she seemed, then maybe it was
time for him to be the aggressor. Yes, as soon as they got back from lunch,
he'd have to daydream about teaching the new girl a lesson in office
politics.
       "So . . . this is it, huh?"
       He watched her take another sip of the same bland coffee he'd
polished off a few blocks back. When she was done, she tilted her head to
the side and favoured him with one of those innocent little smiles that
drove him nuts. Perfect white teeth teased from behind full, red lips,
suggesting pleasures that likely would never consciously occur to her to
offer. As naturally sensuous as she was, Chris was forced to accept the
possibility that the young woman might be honestly oblivious to how she
affected the men around her.
       "Yup." He grinned right back.
       Another sip of coffee. Another smile. "Where's the nearest bookstore
around here?"
       Chris groaned inwardly. God, how he wanted to experience those lips,
to find out just how talented they might be. Maybe she didn't have much
practice in the sexual arts, but he just knew she'd be a natural.
       "It doesn't have to be anything grand." He watched as she looked up
and down the street. If those quick, furtive glances were an attempt to
hide her curiosity, it wasn't working. She acted like a kid at a carnival,
completely overwhelmed by her surroundings. Of course, it didn't help
matters that she barely topped 5 feet in heels, with a waist as big around
as his neck. "Even a little used bookstore will do."
       He cleared his throat. "You have gotta get your mind out of the big
city, little Kim."
       Her cheeks blushed red, almost as bright as the tip of her
wind-chilled nose.
       Chris laughed. Coming from a 6'3" frame that weighed nearly 300
pounds, his laughter sounded loud and guttural – almost
obscene. "Closest thing to a bookstore you're gonna find around here is the
paperback rack at Sauer's Drug."
       She stared blankly.
       "Over on Main."
       Her lips, full and dark underneath just a touch of gloss, pursed
slightly.
       Damn he wanted her! If he didn't have to return to work with her,
he'd be tempted to take her right there on the street. He could feel the
panties ripping in his hands, the shocking warmth of her sex, and the
virginal tightness of her pussy as she violated her, right there, on the
street, in full view of anybody walking by. Hell, if she was even half as
good as he dreamed, it might be worth the sexual harassment complaint she'd
slap him with.
       Of course, there was always after work.
       "Tell ya what. Why don't I walk you home tonight?" He dazzled her
with his best smile. "I'll show you around. Make sure you find what you
need." Yeah, he thought, and then some!
       Kim sighed. The light seemed to fade from her eyes. "Thanks anyway,
but I've got too much work to do. Steve wants the proposal on his desk in
the morning, and I'm nowhere near done."
       Steve. He might be the boss, but at least he was no
competition. Nope, Kimberly Strauss was one thing the bald little gnome
wasn't going to be taking away from him.
       "No problem. We'll just do it another night."
       "Sure." Suddenly, she was all smiles again. "Who needs a map when
I've got you?"
       "Well, the suburbs can be a bit of an adjustment." Chris tossed his
empty coffee cup in the nearest trashcan. He smiled back at her. "Guess
that's what the internet is for, eh?" The edges of his mouth stretched the
smile from pleasant to lecherous.
       Together, they strolled in silence to the end of the block. "What
street is this one again? I swear I can't tell the difference between it,
and the last ten."
       Chris watched her breasts sway gently beneath the faux-fur jacket as
she shook her head. Full and round, with nipples impossible to hide, they
wouldn't have looked at all out of place on a woman twice her size. On her
petite little frame, the effect was almost hypnotically sexual.
        "Ah, don't worry, little Kim." Suddenly, he couldn't help
himself. He threw an arm about her shoulders and squeezed. She let out a
yelp of surprise before he released her. "You'll get used to it sooner than
you think."
       "I guess so." A visible shiver coursed down her spine as she brushed
a strawberry blonde lock of hair from her eyes. Once again, the light
seemed to fade from her eyes. Something in her body language told him she
was suddenly eager to conclude their little tour. Chris mentally kicked
himself for not holding back, and then kicked himself again for not taking
full advantage of the moment.
       It would have been so easy to `accidentally' brush his hand against
those amazing breasts. So easy to discover the answer to the questions that
every man in the office – and more than a few women – wanted to
know. Were they soft or firm? Did they yield to the touch, or bounce right
back? Were those nipples as hard as they looked? Most importantly, were the
damn things real?
       But, then, he knew they were. She was far too naive about her beauty
to have resorted to surgery.
       "Shouldn't we be getting back?" Kim's strained voice drew him back
to the present. "We have less than twenty minutes left on our lunch."
       He smiled again, not about to let his disappointment show. If he
couldn't cop a quick feel now, then he'd just have to play the gentleman
and bide his time. "As you wish, milady." With an exaggerated bow, Chris
turned down the street to their left. He put a few houses behind him before
shortening his stride to let her keep pace.

*******

       "Hey! I thought you were in a hurry?"
       "Ah, yeah . . . yeah, I was." Kim crouched down and placed her
coffee on the sidewalk. They couldn't have been more than five minutes away
from the office, but she just had to stop here. "Wow." She did a quick
check of traffic – not that there was any in this neighbourhood –
then jogged across the street. In the absence of traffic, her heels clicked
loudly across the black asphalt. "What is this?"
       She stopped before a filthy, crumbling stone wall, not quite close
enough to let it stain her coat. An erratic line of withered apple trees
ran the length of the fence, having given up on hiding the immense,
dilapidated mansion they surrounded. Three full stories, with what looked
to be a half-attic above and a cellar below, it must have been something
magnificent at one time. Sadly, it had clearly seen better days. Those
windows that weren't broken were boarded over. Most of the blue-grey paint
had peeled away to reveal the rotted, crumbling boards beneath.
       Kim wandered further down the street. Even with her untrained eye,
she could see that the entire building seemed to be sinking on the right
side. The master balcony had long ago crashed down upon the front porch,
destroying the elegant railing in the process.
       "I mean . . . what was it?"
       Chris paused just long enough to hand over her coffee. "It's
nothing, little Kim. Let's go." He started walking back across the
street. "It's just some dusty old relic that nobody's ever gotten around to
cleaning up. Forget about it."
       She paused a moment before hurrying to catch up, then couldn't
resist looking back over her shoulder once more. "Well, if nobody wants to
restore it, why don't they at least demolish it and develop the property?"
She was almost walking backwards, reluctant to let the mystery pass out of
sight. "There has to be room for three houses, maybe even five if you
follow those long-and-narrow designs you showed me back on Arthur Street."
When the burly programmer didn't immediately respond, she asked, "What? Is
it some kind of historical landmark or something?"
       Chris chuckled softly at the suggestion. There was nothing obscene
about his laugh now. "Yeah," he muttered, "you've got it dead-on with the
'or something' part."

*******

       Although it was several blocks out of her way – and she wasn't
even sure she'd be able to find her way home afterward – Kim couldn't
resist passing by the old mansion again after work. She'd spent a good part
of the afternoon trying to drag some details out of the few people she'd
gotten to know at the office, but nobody seemed to want to talk about
it. Either they claimed to have `never really paid any attention' to it, or
they just assured her `it wasn't worth wasting her time' on. Despite their
excuses, though, they all had one thing in common – a brief, nervous
twitch that said far more than words.
       "So . . . just what – exactly – is your secret?" She stood
beneath a flickering streetlight, hands tucked into her pockets, and let
her gaze wander across the scene before her. It consumed her . . . called
to her . . . demanded that she notice it, and she didn't understand why.
       The crumbling stone wall that surrounded the property stood roughly
waist-high, and was maybe twelve inches thick. Although she couldn't tell
what kind of stone it was in the darkness, there was a distinct blue-grey
coloring visible beneath the dirt and the mould. At one time, there must
have been a wrought iron trim along the top to match the gate, but all that
remained were rusty holes in the stone where the posts had once been. As
for the gate, it was an elaborate piece of early twentieth century
craftsmanship that, in defiance of the ruin it protected, remained solid
– if not clean – and securely fastened.
       She abandoned the weak circle of yellow light and strolled over to
peek inside the gate. The yard beyond the apple trees was nothing more than
dirt and weeds, with what looked liked dead rosebushes scattered randomly
about. A narrow, meandering path of cracked and broken paving stones led up
to the building itself, with a few interesting branches to either side. Off
to the right, the path circled its way around a deep oval ditch, where a
fountain, or perhaps a garden pond, must have sat at one time. Off to the
left, one path ended at the remains of an old gazebo, while a second
disappeared around the side of the house.
       "You must have been something special," she mused, "so what
happened? Doesn't look like a fire, or any kind of sudden disaster. It just
looks like . . . well, as if you were left to rot." The petite beauty shook
her head softly, wondering what could have befallen such a gorgeous
building.
       More than that, though, she wondered what it was about the place
that had everyone so spooked.
       And what made her so insanely, inexplicably curious.
       "Oh well." It was dark, cold, and she was tired from a long day at
work. For now, she'd leave the issue alone, but she planned to come back
for a closer look on the weekend. With one last, curious glance, she turned
around and headed for home.
       At least, she hoped it was the right direction for home.

*******

       Despite the obsession gnawing at her subconscious, Kim waited until
Sunday morning before deciding to risk a closer inspection of her mystery
mansion. The house that Froud Enterprises had found her was situated in a
mature neighbourhood, full of good, old-fashioned, churchgoing souls. Not
all of her neighbours fit the stereotype, of course, but enough did that
she felt a little more comfortable with fewer prying eyes to watch my
daylight trespassing.
       "Good morning, Kimberly."
       She frowned. `Kimberly.' Even her mother didn't call her that
anymore. "Good morning, Mrs. Henderson."
       Not long after she'd moved in, the kindly old woman next door had
`just popped by for a cup of tea,' as she put it. That cup of tea had
lasted two hours, and the woman had still been talking as Kim walked her
out the door. For a moment, she thought about pretending she'd forgotten
something in the house, but then paused.
       If anybody could tell her more about the old mansion, it'd be
Mrs. Henderson.
       Kim resumed her usual cheery smile and happily skipped over the
flowerbed that separated their yards. "How are you, this morning?" She
stood there, racking her brains for something – anything – the old
woman might have told her before. "Is . . . um, is that orange tomcat still
digging up your flowers?"
       "Oh, gracious, no. Sprinkle a little cayenne pepper around the
garden every day, and the cats, they only dig up once." She waggled her
wrinkled index finger in Kim's direction. "After that, their burning little
noses keep them away."
       The young woman laughed, honestly amused by the idea of
neighbourhood strays having met their match in this sweet, little old
lady. "You've lived around her most of your life, haven't you?"
       Mrs. Henderson nodded. "Yes, my Phillip and me, we were the third
tenants of this building. It was during the war, you see, and houses were
much too expensive for a pair of newlyweds to afford."
       "So, you must remember that old mansion over on the corner of Edgar
and . . ."
       Both cataract-clouded eyes lit up at that, which meant there was
indeed a story to tell. "Now, what would a nice young woman like yourself
be doing in such a sordid place?" The little old lady cocked her head to
the side and looked up with her one good eye. "I think you'll find that
most folks around here, they like to stay away from there."
       Kim shrugged. "When you come from the land of glass and steel, a
little bit of history tends to catch the eye."
       "Well, if you'd really like to know the story . . ." The old woman
smiled. "I could use a little help with my groceries, don't you know."
       "Sure. I'd be glad to."

*******

       "A burlesque house?" Kim leaned into the shopping cart and
smiled. "Are we just talking about off-color jokes and petticoat
stripteases, or . . ."
       Mrs. Henderson winked, apparently not scandalized in the least to be
having such a discussion in the cereal aisle. "Oh my, it was much more than
that. Folks nowadays would call it a whorehouse, but people back then, they
liked to sugar-coat their vices." As they turned down the next aisle, she
continued. "It was a very high-class place, mind you, but what they did was
still sordid and dirty."
       "Really?" Kim felt herself blush at the thought.
       The old woman favoured her with a gentle shake of her head. "My
lord, the things some girls will do to earn a living!"
       "Must have been a few scandals within those walls."
       "Oh, no – at least, not at first. Kept things very quiet and very
discreet, they did." Mrs. Henderson dropped a bag of oatmeal into the
cart. "Would you be a dear and grab me the little fruit rings up there?
Phillip, he just loves them."
       They continued onto the next aisle. "You know, they had a lot of
very good years there. Mind you, the Great Depression marked lean times for
us all, but they'd made enough during Prohibition to see things through and
even to offer some folks a little charity."
       "Then, what happened? From what you're saying, it sounds like it was
almost a respectable business. What eventually brought it down, and why are
people so unwilling to discuss it?"
       This time, the old woman took a good look up and down the aisle
before motioning Kim close. "Not here," she whispered. "I'll tell you the
rest on our way home . . ."

*******

       It was two painful hours later before Kim was finally able to get
away and explore the old place. Mrs. Henderson had really dragged out the
final, incredible details, but she hadn't done anything to dull the young
woman's interest. If anything, she was even more obsessed with the old
place now than ever before.
       Apparently, the brothel's fortunes had taken a turn for the worse in
the early fifties. World War II was over, the boys had come home, and –
as far as most people were concerned – things were to be back to
normal. Of course, people's private lives were a lot more private back
then, so it took quite some time before the strange patterns of bedroom
behaviour came to be noticed.
       At first, it was just little things – a little more energy after
dark, a little more aggression in bed, and a little more curiosity beneath
the sheets. It seemed the sweet, demure women the boys had left behind
. . . well, weren't quite so innocent anymore. In fact, some of them were
downright aggressive, demanding to be pleased and pleased right now!
       Before long, everyone and everything became suspect, but nobody
could have guessed the bizarre truth. These young, lonely women who'd gone
so long without their husbands had indeed sought out the affections of
others. They had indeed found themselves warm beds and willing partners
– but not with the men who'd stayed behind. Instead, it was the women of
the brothel that consoled them, and it was they who kept the brothel in
business!
       The sordid, Sapphic scandal had very nearly caused the brothel to
close its doors right then and there, but the Madame's resignation and
consequent sale of her mansion pacified most. Unfortunately, an era had
come to an end, and things were never quite the same after that. People
were no longer willing to turn a blind eye to the brothel's activities, and
many of its most prominent clients eventually decided it would be safer to
find their pleasures elsewhere. As a result, the new Madame was forced to
supplement her brothel's income with other . . . perversions.
       "Ouch!" Kim stumbled through the back door on her third attempt to
force it open. The rotted wood had proved stronger than she'd thought,
almost as if it were trying to keep her out. It was silly, of course, but
her imagination tended to run away with her at times.
       Once inside, she found that the small flashlight sticking out of her
purse wouldn't be needed right away. The upper floors might be a different
story, but here the open door conspired with the broken windows and other
various holes to provide adequate illumination. It wasn't perfect –
there were still a lot of shadows to be explored – but she had no
difficulty discerning the general layout of the dusty, cobwebbed scene
before her.
       The room in which she stood appeared to be some kind of lounge, well
furnished and well decorated, with a large fireplace on either side. While
she had no idea what color they might once have been, moth-eaten couches
dotted the room, each discreetly turned to provide a measure of privacy
from the others. The few she stopped to examine had all been elaborately
carved, with the same kind of claw-feet you find on antique bathtubs. In
addition, before each couch were tattered patches of fabric that she
assumed had once been rugs -- likely more ornamental than functional.
       The young woman stooped down to scratch her ankle and
frowned. Sneakers may have made for a comfortable walk, but a decent pair
of boots might have been more appropriate for exploring. "Hope there are no
mice in here." Coming from the big city, burglars, cockroaches, and even
rats she could deal with. For some reason, though, mice drove her a dozen
different kinds of crazy.
       She crossed the room and stepped through the wide archway, which led
into a cold, dark hallway. Very little light made its way in here, but she
was able to make out a pair of doors. The one on the left was just inside
the archway. The one on the right stood much closer to what had to be the
front door. Picking the closest one, she turned the handle and nearly fell
on her face as the entire door came crashing down.
       "Hmm. I guess that's – cough – one way to do it." She blinked
away the dust from her eyes. "Maybe I should have knocked first." She
laughed to herself and dropped the brass door handle – which had come
away in her hand. Carefully, she stepped over what was left of the
door. The room here was little more than a closet. There was a small
counter just inside where the coat-check girl must have stood, with empty
clothes-racks two deep on both sides, and a third at the back. Even if only
half of those racks had been filled on any given night, she could clearly
see this had been a volume business.
       Not finding anything of interest there, Kim backed out into the hall
and tried the door on the right. "Come on, come on, come on." She felt the
door give a little and kept pushing. The frame must have warped over time,
sealing the room shut.
       "Hey, need some help there?"
       Kim screamed.
       "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" The figure before her stumbled back a
step. "It's me, Chris." He held his hands out, as if to keep her away. "I
stopped by your place to see if you wanted to grab some lunch, and this
weird old lady told me you were heading back to this dump."
       "You idiot." She was panting slightly from the fright. "I nearly
kicked you back into your mother's womb."
       To his credit, Chris looked as if he honestly were sorry. He also
looked a little scared, and far more nervous than he should have been,
considering he was on the other side of the fright. Kim was about to tell
him to go, that she could handle it quite fine herself, thank you, when she
heard herself say, "Well, as long as you're here, I could use a strong pair
of hands to help with this door."
       Where the hell had that come from?
       "Sure thing."
       One push from Chris, and the door popped open.
       A dank, musky odour rushed out, but dissipated almost as soon as Kim
noticed it. She withdrew the flashlight and trained its narrow beam across
the room. "Well, if you're still game," she said, "let's see what we have
here."
       Chris stepped back from the open door. "Ladies first."
       As she passed through the door, Kim allowed herself a self-satisfied
smile. He might be acting all gallant and polite, but she could see from
the way his hand shook that she'd have better luck turning him into a
gentleman than getting him to go first.
       Inside was another, smaller lounge, with a segmented sofa running
all the way around. What immediately caught her eye, though, was the
elaborate spiral staircase in the centre. To her relief, it was made of the
same wrought iron as the front gate. She desperately wanted a look upstairs
– where the real action had taken place – but rickety old wooden
stairs alone would have put a definite damper on her curiosity.
       The petite blonde giggled like a schoolgirl. "I can't believe we're
doing this!"
       "Neither can I." No giggles from Chris, but those looks back over
his shoulder were another nervous sign.
        They took their time climbing the stairs, cautiously testing each
step before shifting their weight forward. It made for slow going, but it
beat the alternative – an all too quick and possibly deadly descent. The
higher they climbed, the darker it became, so Kim kept her eyes glued to
the small circle of illumination the flashlight cast around her feet.
       She was so busy watching for missing stairs that the second floor
kind of snuck up on her.
       To this point, she hadn't questioned her curiosity for a
second. Give her a problem, a query, or scenario and she'd be all over
it. Actually, it was finding problems that was in her blood, which was what
made her one of the most sought-after software developers in the area. Her
original coding might be simple and uninspired, but she had a knack for
finding a way around the errors and omissions of others.
       This, though, was something else entirely. It was like reading the
tabloids or slowing down for a car wreck. It was trespassing, and she had
no idea what possessed her to do it. She was normally shy, quiet, and not
at all adventurous. Just peeking in a friend's medicine cabinet left her
riddled with guilt for days. And when it came to sex . . . well, a good
girl just didn't' belong anywhere near a place like this.
       Still, something about the house just seemed to call to her.
       She looked back to find that Chris has paused a few stairs beneath
her. He looked pale, and she was sure it wasn't just the light.
       "You've come this far," Kim told him, "so you might as well see
what's up here."
       A long, dark hallway stretched out before her, carpeted in dust,
with doors to either side. Swallowing loudly, she raised the beam of her
flashlight and watched it disappear into the darkness. Here was an entirely
different world from the first floor – so quiet . . . so dark . . . so
stale . . . so closed off from everything else.
       She'd laughed when Mrs. Henderson told her the place was haunted,
but now she starting to understand why Chris apparently felt so creeped
out. Not only had he not made a pass at her yet, but he'd hardly said a
word.
       According to Mrs. Henderson, the new Madame's perversions had been
of a decidedly dark design. Breaking the ice with some relatively tame
bondage and role-playing, she'd allowed things to develop into hardcore
S&M, later adding some weird occult twist to it all. Ironically, the
mysterious occult twist that proved to be such a temporary salvation,
turned into their eventual damnation.
       Clients came from all over the country to sample this darkest of
perversions, and the Madame had extorted a high price for it. For a brief
time, profits had eclipsed even the heady days of Prohibition, but it
wasn't to last. Just as the brothel's reputation began to spread beyond the
shores of North America, the entire operation came crashing down, literally
overnight. Without any apparent reason or explanation, the Madame and her
staff had fled the mansion in panic one frosty Sunday morning, never to
return, and never to speak of what they saw.
       Kim slowly made her way down the hall, taking small steps to avoid
disturbing the dust any more than was necessary. Not that it helped when
Chris was awkwardly, almost reluctantly shuffling and staggering along
behind her. The dust he stirred up conspired with the darkness to further
shroud what she already could barely see. Fortunately, just as she was
beginning to wonder if there was an end to the hall, a telltale glint of
metal was revealed in the distance.
       She confirmed her suspicions with a nervous glance behind her. The
stairs to the third floor were directly ahead. Now that she had her
bearings, she felt comfortable enough to start checking out the doors on
either side.
       "Of course, all that haunting stuff is absolute bunk," she
whispered. Chris snorted his disdain behind her, but she ignored him. "It
does make a girl wonder. I mean, a grand old building like this, and it
stands empty for decades. No homeless people shacking up inside, no teenage
gangs hanging out . . ." She paused for a moment, lost in thought. "And no
animals claiming it for their own."
       "Some critters just know when to leave well enough alone."
       It hadn't really registered to her until now, but the place was as
clean as it was silent. She would have expected the stench of rat feces,
dead squirrels, cat urine, and the like to be nearly overpowering after so
many years of abandonment. At the very least, the smell of mould should
have been all around her, but all she could smell was dust.
       Other than the sounds of their own breathing, there wasn't a sound
to be heard. No mice scratching inside the walls. No birds in the
rafters. If she held her breath, all she could hear was the laboured
breathing of Chris behind her.
        Suddenly, it was as if a spell had been broken. Kim shivered with
the November cold that she hadn't been feeling. It came on so quickly, she
dropped her flashlight as her arms snapped up to warm her painfully erect
nipples.
       "Hey!" Chris screamed like a little girl and reached out to grab her
arm.
       Clouds of breath that she couldn't recall seeing a few seconds ago
were hovering before her face now. Even her toes were beginning to feel
numb.
       "There is definitely something fucking wrong with this place."
       Kim agreed. Her curiosity was completely gone. Whatever had come
over her had broken, and all she wanted to do now was get out.
       "Come on." Chris' meaty paw tugged at her coat. "Let's just go back
the way we came."
       Kim turned awkwardly, fighting his grip, not sure she remembered
where to safely step without the flashlight.
       "Hold on. Let me grab the flashlight."
       Chris continued to tug. "No time. We have to go. Now."
       "Relax. You're starting to freak me out." Having Chris to focus on
was helping to keep her own fear at bay. "Besides, I never asked you to
come."
       "Oh, fuck this." Chris let go. "I'm gone."
       Suddenly overbalanced, Kim stumbled back. "Chris," she called out,
"take it slow. Be care—"
       CCcccrrraaAAcccKKKkkkCRASH!
       "Nnnnnnnnnnnoooooooooooo. . ."
       "Chris!"
       BANG! WHAM!
       " . . . Oooooooooohhhhhhhhhh . . . "
       "Chris! Please be okay!"
       CcccrreeeaaaakkkkkCccrreeeaaaakkkkCRASH!

*******

       Chris was able to shake himself back to consciousness by the time
the dust and debris settled. Tears blurred his eyes as he stared up through
the gaping, jagged hole he'd left in the two floors above. One second he'd
been retreating from the freakish cold, and the next he was crashing
helplessly through the rotted floor. One of the old couches in the first
floor lounge had broken his fall – knocking the wind out of him in the
process – but their combined weight sent him plummeting again, this time
into the basement.
       At least, he hoped this was the basement, because he didn't think he
could handle another landing like the last one.
       Chris gasped desperately for breath. He was coughing up more dust
than anything else. Panicked, he knew he had to sit up if he was to catch
his breath, but he couldn't seem to summon the strength necessary to
move. Instead, he waited until he could at least manage a regular rasping,
and then began taking stock of the situation. First, he tried wiggling his
fingers and toes to see if anything was broken – and blanched when they
refused to respond.
       "Hello? Chris?" The voice was faint and far away. It had to be
coming from above. "Are you okay down there?"
       The panic began to well inside him again. "Paralysed. I'm
paralysed. I can't move!"
       He heard her scrambling away, then nothing at all for a few long
minutes. Just as he was becoming convinced that she had abandoned him, her
voice called out again.
       "Chris, you're going to have to hold tight. I'm going to go get
help. There's no way I can get around the hole and make it back to the
stairs, but I think I can escape out a window and make my way down from
there."
       He wanted to cry out, to beg her to stay, but he knew he needed
help. "Okay, but be quick." He licked his lips. "Please, Kim? Please be
quick."
       The sound of scrambling came again from above, and then more
silence. Chris closed his eyes and tried to force his body to relax, to
remain still, and to allow the healing process to work its magic. The
thought of being permanently paralyzed was more than he could cope with. It
scared him, but it also depressed him.
       He felt so lost, so doomed, that the concept of putting forth any
effort at all to rescue himself was alien to him.
       {This . . . is good.}
       A strange, inhuman voice reverberated off the walls.
       {Very good . . . those who struggle . . . die . . . you . . . you I
can use.}
       Chris catapulted from panic to absolute terror in the space of a
heartbeat. His head snapped left and right in a vain attempt to place it,
but the voice seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.
       "Who?" He had to swallow past the lump of fear in his throat. "Who's
out there?"
       Silence was the only response.
       A cold sweat was trickling down his face, but that was the only
physical sensation in his suddenly claustrophobic corner of the world. The
darkness was pressing in upon him with suffocating intensity, and he had no
idea who – or what – was out there. For all he knew, there could be
some homeless, homicidal maniac crouched at his feet, just waiting for his
moment. For all he knew, some inhuman monster could be sitting on his legs,
already gnawing upon his flesh!
       "Who's out there? Where are you?" He tried to keep his mind from
slipping into madness. Where was Kim? It had only been a few minutes, but
he wished she was there with him. He was clearly delirious, hallucinating,
and he desperately needed somebody to keep him grounded in reality.
       The silent darkness continued to mock him. Startling even himself,
he suddenly screamed out, "What do you want?"
       {Entertainment . . . amusement . . . diversion . . . perversion.}
       Strangely, that chilling admission actually quelled some of his
fears. He may have been trapped, completely at the mercy of his
as-yet-unseen captor, but perhaps he could bargain his way to
safety. High-pressure sales was his job, after all. He'd bargained with the
best, negotiated deals he had no business even contemplating, and he was
damned good at what he did. Besides, with his body already broken and
useless, there was little he wouldn't be willing to do for his freedom. He
honestly didn't care what price he had to pay, just so long as he got to
see the sun again.
       "Look," he promised, "whatever you want, I'll do it." Desperate for
a glimpse of his fate, he gazed into the endless darkness, but it was no
use. Try as he might, there was just no way his eyes were going to
adjust. Down here there were no streetlights, no stars, no passing
headlights, not even the faint illumination of a digital clock. This
darkness was absolute.
       Suddenly, something or someone lifted him up off the floor, severing
the last of his physical sensations. As long as he'd been able to feel that
cold, stone floor beneath his head, he knew he was alive. Now, though, it
was like he'd been suspended in some kind of sensory deprivation
tank. There was nothing to see, nothing to hear, and nothing to feel. Only
the fact that blood wasn't rushing to his head told him he was being held
upright.
       For all he knew, he might as well have been skewered upon some kind
of giant meat hook.
       {You are broken . . . but I will mend your inside . . . your outside
. . . you . . . will become . . . mine.}
       He cried out in despair as the hole above him slowly slid out of
sight. He was being dragged deeper into the basement, away from the single,
solitary, residual tie to his sanity. He remained little more than a head
dripping sweat into the darkness for the longest time. Judging by his
thirst, he must have passed in and out of consciousness several times,
although there was nothing against which to judge the passage of time. It
might easily have been several days before anything changed. Then again,
maybe it was just a few minutes – there was no way to know.
       Chris wanted – needed - to thrash around, to kick something, to
hit something, but there was no outlet for his aggression. He'd never
before felt quite so helpless. He didn't even know if he was still moving,
much less where he was.
       His first indication that something had changed was a very slight,
almost imperceptible tingling in his arms. Under any other circumstances,
it would have gone unnoticed, but after the terror of complete paralysis,
it was impossible to ignore. Assuming he wasn't just imagining it, that
tingling was the first indication he'd had that he might survive this
ordeal intact.
       Before long, the slight tingling became something more. He still
couldn't see a thing, but it felt as if something had been wrapped tightly
around his arms. Perhaps that's what was holding him up – he couldn't
yet feel enough to be sure – but the phantom sensation was growing
warmer and stronger the more he concentrated upon it. At the same time, he
was beginning to notice a far different sensation down below. There was a
warm, insistent, tightly focused pressure between his legs, almost as if he
was sitting on a damp bicycle seat.
       {You begin . . . to feel . . . to respond . . . this . . . is good.}
       Something was definitely happening, of that he was certain. As to
whether or not it was a good thing . . . well, time would tell.
       His arms were beginning to throb – almost painfully – and now
his legs seemed to be responding to the same kind of stimulation. As for
the pressure between his legs, it hadn't changed, but he felt like he
wanted to squirm away from it. The physical need was there, but that kind
of movement was still beyond his control.
       {You feel . . . but you do not . . . see.}
       Long after the words themselves should have faded into silence, they
continued to echo like laughter inside his head.
       {Let . . . there be . . . light.}
       The entire room exploded with a white-hot illumination. It was just
as blinding and absolute as the earlier darkness, but the void of his
prison was now white instead of black. After a few moments, his eyes did
begin to adjust, but it was a slow, painful process. He paid for every new,
blurry detail with wave after wave of agony, until he began to wonder if it
was even worth it.
       The first thing to come into focus was the dusty, crumbling stone
wall ahead of him. It was hard to tell through all the mould and rust, but
the stones seemed to be the same blue-grey as the wall that surrounded the
yard outside. Something about them seemed almost ancient, as if they
predated the brothel itself, but it was nothing he could put his finger
on. Fortunately, they were a softly soothing colour to look at, and staring
seemed to help with his headache.
       As he allowed his gaze to slide across the wall he discovered the
source of the blinding illumination that had so suddenly filled the
room. There were antique iron braziers paced every ten to twelve feet along
the wall, reminding him of some kind of medieval dungeon. They all appeared
to be sporting the same white-hot flame, but there was something odd about
them. He cautiously squinted at them out of the corner of his eye and
realised that the braziers contained no torches to account for the flames.
       "What the fuck?" He briefly considered the possibility of natural
gas being piped through the walls, but he couldn't smell anything. Besides
that, if there were still live gas lines here, the place likely would have
gone up in flames long, long ago.
       {You look . . . but you still . . . do not . . . see . . . look
. . . closer.}
       Suddenly his body was being jerked in all directions at once,
manipulated like a puppet on a string. Although he was experiencing it, he
barely felt it. It was like watching from inside a costume as it happened
to somebody else. Whatever it was that had hold of his arms and legs yanked
them all forward, while something else pulled him back by the
waist. Fortunately, most of his body was still senseless from the crippling
fall. Otherwise, being folded in half like that would have had him
screaming in agony.
       Seconds later, he was screaming in horror instead.
       "Oh shit . . . this can't fucking be real." Wrapped tightly around
each of his ankles was a dismembered black, ashen, sharply taloned claw. He
could see them grasping and squeezing his naked, sweaty flesh. "No
. . . fucking . . . way is this real." As for his arms, they were victims
of the same grotesque bondage, only these claws were red and limned by
faint traces of fire. "Son of a bitch. I . . . I want to fucking wake up
right fucking now."
       As a mental picture began to form inside his head, he realised he
really didn't want to know what was causing the warm, damp, pressure
between his legs. As long as he didn't look, he didn't have to believe it
was real. His captor seemed to have different ideas. Two more demonic
hands, one black and one red, wrapped around his neck. Alternately hot and
cold, they applied just enough pressure to manipulate him, without choking
him to death, and forced him to look.
        "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" A pair of disembodied claws held the cheeks of
his ass wide while a shiny black talon began working its way in and out of
his ass. It seemed to be thrusting more aggressively as he watched, and was
steadily working its way farther and farther inside. As if it hadn't been
bad enough before, the urge to squirm and struggle was unbearable now that
he knew what was happening. Every instinct he had was screaming for
release, but there was nothing he could do.
       {Ah . . . the screams. I remember them . . . well. Allow me to
. . . savour them.}
       Suddenly, his body was jerked straight again as more than a dozen
more blood-red and ash-black claws began appearing around him. One by one
they wrapped themselves around a phantom void that only revealed itself to
be a monstrously long, grotesquely swollen, devil's cock as the final claw
took hold.
       It took thirteen large hands to encompass the length of the red
member. As he gazed in horror, Chris could see veins of fire pulsating
weakly between each razor sharp talon. The demonic hands pointed the
grotesquely swollen cockhead his way as they jerked backwards and forwards,
masturbating it in perfect synchronization. Each stroke seemed designed to
challenge his fragile mind to understand what was happening. The truth of
what they were up to was sickeningly obvious, but he couldn't bring himself
to accept it.
       "No. No. No." He wanted to shake his head, but the talons wrapped
around his throat wouldn't allow it. "There is no fucking way I am
believing this." He couldn't even close his eyes, because each time he
tried, the claws squeezed a little tighter until he opened them again. "It
cannot be . . . it just . . . just can't be what it looks like."
       "Kim! Where the fuck are you?"

*******

       Kim was seething in anger. There was dirt on her hands and a cut on
her leg. Her jeans were ripped. The sky above had become overcast, and the
stone beneath her ass was cold. This was unacceptable. Somebody would have
to pay.
       She was startled out of her angry musings by a scream she felt more
than heard. She spun around to face the house. Something about it made her
so angry that she balled her hands into fits and pierced the flesh of her
palms with her nails. As she mentally forced the twin fists to reopen, the
tang of hot blood assaulted her senses. Kim's anger was only slightly
appeased as she watched the blood pool around each crescent shaped wound
before running down her hand. The blood dripped steadily until it was
almost a steady stream of crimson.
       As she followed the bloodstream down, Kim started in surprise. How
she'd gotten there she had no idea, but she was perched atop an immense
stone gargoyle that seemed to be soaking up the blood like a
sponge. Confused and disoriented, she looked around, but couldn't remember
seeing the gargoyle there before. Considering the fact that it was sitting
right in the middle of the stone path that circled the house she couldn't
see how she'd missed it, but here it was.
       Here she was.
       Come to think of it, she wasn't quite sure what she had been doing
in such an old, abandoned place in the first place. Idly, one bloody hand
began rubbing at the damp crotch of her jeans, while the other stroked a
hard nipple through a shirt that suddenly seemed two sizes too small. She
felt . . . passionate. That's the word she was searching for. She felt
passionate . . . full of pure, unadulterated, angry lust. She hadn't a care
in the world outside her anger, and not a thought for anything beyond her
sexual fury of the moment.
       Somewhere, deep in the back of her mind, a tiny little voice was
crying out about saving somebody . . . finding help . . . bringing someone
back . . . and coming to somebody's rescue. She didn't like that voice very
much, so she told it to shut the fuck up. It was interfering with her not
caring, distracting her from her anger.
       Oblivious to everything else around her, Kim ripped open her blouse
and began pinching and twisting her nipples until she cried out with
pain. She was riding her other hand now, rubbing her pussy with the
blood-soaked palm, even as she ground the back of her hand to an equally
blood mess against the stone of the gargoyle. It hurt, but it felt good. It
made her angry, angrier than she'd ever been before, but it also made her
feel satisfied.
       When her orgasm came, it came hard and fast, crashing through her
body with all the subtlety of a train wreck. She raised her head and
screamed aloud to the heavens, cursing the clouds even as she cried out her
sexual euphoria. Suddenly spent, she leaned forward, placed her head
between her knees, and let her forehead rest against the cold stone. A jolt
of electricity ran up through her head, down her back, and into her toes.
       [Yes. Feed your anger. Hunger for it.]
       A strange voice whispered to her through the breeze. It made her
bear her teeth in a fierce grimace of a smile. It made her angry, but she
liked that.
       [Blood and stone. Stone and blood. Use me and be used.]
       With a snarl of rage, Kim ripped the blouse from her chest. She tore
off her shoes and hurled them into the encroaching darkness. Surprised by
her own strength, yet not expecting any less of herself at the very moment,
she reached down and began tearing her jeans in half. The denim dug into
her skin, bit into her flesh, and drew fresh blood where it scraped and
rubbed, but she luxuriated in the pain. With a final explosion of fury, she
ripped half the jeans down one leg and cast them to the ground, then did
the same with the other.
       The stone of the gargoyle was beginning to warm beneath her. She
should have been light-headed and woozy with blood loss, but she'd never
felt more alive in her life. Frantic, she looked around for something with
which to soothe her sex. "Mine!" She snapped off the gargoyle's left horn
with less effort than she'd use to break a pencil, then jammed it deep into
her pussy.
       [Yes. Vent your rage. Express your anger. Use it to feed your
desire.]
       Kim was muttering like a madwoman as she ground herself against the
gargoyle. She reached down, wiped her hand in the pussy juices that were
now dripping from her like a sexual faucet, and then licked it clean. She
tasted of blood and cum and old stone. She liked it, but she was craving
more.
       [More. Give it to me. Take it from me.]
       "Shut up." She growled to drown out the voice, sounding more like a
rabid dog than the innocent young woman she'd been less than an hour
ago. That's when she noticed that her blood and cum were no longer being
absorbed by the gargoyle. Instead, they were defying gravity by running up
and over its head, before dripping down its face.
       When she looked down and saw where the stream ended, she smiled.

*******

       Chris was in mid-scream, with his mouth open wide, when all thirteen
claws froze in mid-stroke and the grotesquely-swollen, horse-sized cock
opened up with an absolute torrent of cum.
       Even in his weakened, paralysed state, it was impossible for Chris
NOT to feel the gallons of hot, viscous cum splattering all over him. Each
drop burned like acid. It felt as if it were eating away at his very
soul. Within seconds, he was a steaming, stinking mess of white – and
the still-erupting head was being pushed closer! Of course, his first
instinct was to scream, but the terror of accidentally tasting that any
more of that inhuman seed was far worse than the horror of feeling it
coating his flesh.
       {What . . . no screams . . . no cries for mercy? Well . . . soon
enough.}
       To his surprise, instead of intensifying their perverted attack, the
thirteen talons released their hold and the demonic cock disappeared before
his very eyes. He sensed they were waiting for something, toying with him
perhaps, but the feel of all that sperm running down his body made it hard
to concentrate on anything else. It was a creepy, aching, sickeningly
ticklish sensation. Hot, white goo slid across his quivering flesh. The
worst part was, only the thickest, heaviest globs were actually falling to
the floor, leaving him with a viscous white coating.
       With a violent shudder, he reached up to wipe away the seal of semen
plastered across his lips – and froze.
       "I . . . I can move." Amazed, he wiggled his fingers before his face
and actually laughed. As bizarre as it seemed, the torrent of burning,
inhuman cum seemed to have some kind of healing property to it.
       That glimmer of false hope was precisely what his unseen captor was
waiting for. The disembodied claws holding his right arm tightened their
grip again, and then tore his hand away from his face. While he was still
reeling from the pain, the one around his neck began pressing against the
back of his head, forcing his chin into his chest.
       He was staring down at a sickening mess of white when the thirteen
hands closed ranks once again and the same red, fire-veined cock appeared
between his legs.
       "Argggghhhhhhhh!" A pained scream was torn from his throat as that
cock was quickly, brutally pressed into his ass. "Aaaaiiiiieeeeeeee!"
Another scream exploded from his lips as he literally felt himself being
impaled on the demonic monstrosity. It felt as if it were pressing its way
past his bowels and into stomach. Even as he began sobbing uncontrollably,
he fully expected to feel it creeping up his throat to emerge from his
mouth.
       {Yes . . . the screams. They . . . are what . . . he . . . savour.}
       This time, when the cock exploded, it was buried deep inside
him. His entire body shuddered and pulsed with each spurt. If it hadn't
been for the talons that still had hold of his arms, legs, and throat, he
would have been flailing around in mid-air, thrashing and bouncing against
a torrent of demonic semen that his body should not have been able to
contain.
       What was, perhaps, most disturbing to Chris, though, was the calming
sensation that seemed to be emanating from the deepest part of himself
. . . from the point within him where the cock had first begun erupting.
       Once again, when the claws let go, the cock disappeared. When it
did, a gallon of cum poured out ass. Chris could hear the sickening `slop'
of it drooling and dripping out to splash upon the rough stone floor.
       While he was still suffering the shame of his unnatural ejaculation
enema, twelve of the thirteen claws paired off, to wrap themselves around
six new, equally evil looking cocks. Although not as large as the first one
– they were only (only?) nine inches long – they were still as hard
and as thick. Two of them were pressed towards his chest, where their
piss-slits latched onto his cold, hardened nipples.
       At the same time, two more were pressed against his shrivelled
balls, while one pressed against the head of his cock. As he watched, the
piss-slit of the demonic cock between his legs opened wide and gorged
itself on his limp member. It literally began devouring him, swallowing his
manhood, in weird, jerky thrusts.
       "Unnnngggghhhhh!"
       The last horse-sized cock was pressed against his lips. Chris knew
what was coming next, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. To be
entirely honest, and he did not like how confused he was about this, he
wasn't sure he wanted to stop it. Suddenly, it was in his mouth and halfway
down his throat before he could even glimpse the blood-red blur of its
movement. He didn't remember opening his mouth, but here it was inside him.
       Chris immediately began gagging and choking on the huge
invader. Within seconds, he felt a sickening quiver across his tongue as it
immediately began spewing its seed directly down his throat. He tried to
grab a hold and yank it out, but the claws wrapped around his arms would
allow no such thing.
       {Drink up. There's plenty more . . . to come.}
       The fiery torrent of cum continued burning its way down his throat,
filling his stomach until it began swelling beyond belief. He was starting
to look like a pregnant bitch in heat, but suddenly that seemed to be the
least of his worries. The unholy fire was spreading throughout his entire
body, fed by the rest of his demonic rapists. The two that had seized upon
his nipples were literally spewing their seed into his chest, pumping him
with hot cum until his flesh swelled into a pair of ridiculously ample
breasts.
       As for the cocks down below, the two that had been kissing his balls
were now firing creamy white jets against them, forcing his testicles to
retreat back into his body, as if puberty were being reversed. The worst
part, though, had to be the blood-red sheath now almost entirely wrapped
around his cock.
       How he was able to distinguish one moist, fiery internal explosion
from another he had no idea. All he knew is that the attack on his manhood
had biological sirens screaming inside his head, drawing his attention to
its impossible invasion. Even though it was wrapped around his manhood, the
blood-red cock was cumming hard. Chris could feel the searing semen
exploding against the head of his cock, gradually forcing it back into his
body with every spurt.
       "Ahhh . . . ohhhh . . . ahhhhhhh . . ."
       He cried out around his mouthful of ebony flesh. His senses were in
complete overload, bombarding his brain with impossible sensations. While
he should have been insane with terror, Chris began to suspect he was
suffering from another kind of insanity altogether.
       He wasn't beginning to enjoy it, but he was beginning to crave it.
       Eyes wide, he began moaning as he squirmed against his bonds, but
the talons weren't about to let him go now. His stomach was still
expanding; his chest continued to swell to pornographic proportions; and
the cocks that weren't inside him were bathing him with their seed. He
could sense the moment of absolute violation almost upon him.
       "UNNNNNGGH . . . AAHHHHHH . . . AAAAIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
       As he felt the horse-size cock between his legs plunge its
blood-red, cum-spewing head into the fleshy hole where his cock had once
been, he snapped. What was left of the old Chris retreated into a private
little corner of his brain and cowered in the darkness. Far too much had
happened to him, far too quickly, and there was no way anybody could be
expected to cope with such extreme humiliation and remain sane. He knew it
was wrong, was certain of his status as victim, so how could he crave it so
much?
       {Yes . . . good . . . more emptiness for him . . . to fill.}

*******

       Although not technically a virgin – Billy Scott had taken her all
the way once, although he'd been unable to finish – Kim had never been a
sexual person. Shy and timid as she was, the depths of her passion had
always scared her. She wasn't easily aroused, but that was entirely a
mental limitation. Physically, her body had always been quick to give into
stimulation, and equally quick to reach climax. The loss of control that
came over her with each climax had always terrified her, though, which is
why she resisted it.
       Until now.
       She had never before hungered for anything like she hungered for the
gorgeous stone cock of the gargoyle below. It was easily as long and as
thick as her forearm, with a slight curve. It looked hard, cold, and rough,
the stone flesh marked by years of exposure. The way it was pitted and
cracked in places promised an equally rough fuck, but she had to have it.
       "I want it."
       Naked and covered in goose bumps from the cold, Kim somersaulted
backwards over the gargoyle's head and dropped to her knees. She began
worshipping the cock with her hands, stroking it to life, and feeding it
with her blood and her cum. The stone was already warming to her touch,
responding to her life-giving essences, but she forced herself to wait.
       It was hard. The need deep inside her ached so much, but she denied
it. She had to make herself angry before she could allow herself to enjoy
it.
       [Yes. Let your anger build. Let it give you strength.]
       Kim let her hands freeze upon the cock. "What do you want from me?"
       [Continue.]
       "No." She didn't like feeling used. She never had. It was one of the
few things in life that could bring her to anger. "Why did you bring me
here? What is the price of this lust?"
       The voice didn't respond with words. Instead, it bombarded her mind
with images. She watched Chris being violated by the demon cocks and became
furious. She watched his transformation into Chrissie and became furiously
aroused. She watched him give birth to a fiery demon monstrosity, and her
fury mounted. She watched the demon use Chrissie to breed more, and she
began to feel nervous. She watched the world descend into chaos and began
to tremble with fear.
       "Stop," she cursed. "That's your fear, not mine." Kim grabbed onto
the gargoyle's wings and used them to lift herself into position. She
lowered herself down, until the top of the stone cock was just kissing the
lips of her pussy, and she stopped. "I don't like feeling afraid. Give me
back my anger."
       Her mind was bombarded with new images. She saw herself straddling
Chrissie, forcing the demon-spawning bitch to suck on her tits, and she
felt the fear fade. She saw her own breast milk leaking out of the sides of
Chrissie's mouth, and she became furious at the waste. She saw the demon
kicking and trashing inside Chrissie's womb, and she became furiously
aroused.
       "Fuck me." Kim let go of the gargoyle's wings and impaled herself on
the stone cock. She instantly exploded with a soul-rending cry of both
agony and ecstasy. It hurt, but it felt good. The scrape of cold stone
against the hot flesh of her pussy walls was driving her insane. She wanted
it to stop, but she also wanted more. It was the worst kind of violation,
but it was also the best kind. Panting with lust, she began fucking herself
on the cock, riding it hard and fast.
       With a thunderous crack and a cloud of dust, the stone wings of the
gargoyle came around to envelop her in their cold, coarse embrace. The felt
rough and hard against her back, and she could feel the dampness of blood
where they rubbed and scraped against her flesh. The pain pushed her to new
heights of lust, even as it washed away the last remnants of fear.
       As she continued to fuck its cock, the stone claws of the gargoyle
came around to play with her clit. They pinched and pulled, twisted and
tugged, until it began to grow beneath their touch. Cocooned in the
darkness of the wings, there was little Kim could see, but she sensed what
was happening.
       The next wave of images erased any doubt. She watched herself
hurling Chrissie onto a cold, stone floor and felt her arousal grow. She
watched the look of confusion on the bitch's face, flitting between hunger
and terror, and felt her own lust envelop them both. She watched herself
kneel between Chrissie's legs and penetrate her with the cock currently
being fashioned between her legs, and she cried out in ecstasy. She watched
Chrissie's womb deflate, the demon inside fucked back into the nether
regions of hell, and she lost all control.
       She came around the gargoyle's cock. Orgasm after orgasm wracked her
body, filling her with previously unknown sensations of pure
pleasure. Blinded by the darkness, but driven by her newfound need, Kim
wrapped her hands around the gargoyle's and felt her cock continue to grow
and to swell. She wanted to cum, to feel the explosion of stone-bred semen
against her tits and her face, but knew she would have to wait.
       [Fuck him. Impale her. Please yourself. Preserve the world.]
       Kim laughed. She would fuck the bitch within an inch of his life
. . . and then some.

*******

       "Hi!"
       Mentally, Chris spun around, suddenly aware that there was someone
else inside his head. For a brief moment, it was like looking into some
kind of psychic mirror, but then the other began to change. Just as his
body continued to be transformed by geysers of inhuman cum, he saw his
mirrored essence being twisted and warped into something new and
disturbing. He almost recognized himself in her. Sure, where he had been
crude and masculine, she was vapid and feminine, but he could see exactly
how and where his suffering had led to her birth. She was him. He was her.
       She smiled with a mindless grin and advanced on him where he cowered
in the corner of his mind. He tried to hide, to flee, to get away from her
lewd embrace, but it was inevitable.
       She wanted it.
       She needed it.
       He was left with no choice.
       If this was what he had to deal with . . . if this was what he was
to become . . . then Chris figured it just might be better to live his new
life as a happily empty-headed sex-doll than as a tortured, tormented,
guilt-ridden man.
       She laughed.
       He screamed.
       She fell upon him . . . into him . . . through him.
       Suddenly, they were one . . . one demonically bred bimbo transsexual
whore who was taking a horribly perverse, impossibly obscene, pleasure in
it all.
       {Awake . . . arise. Become . . . my child . . . my spawn.}
       Apparently pleased with what it had created, his inhuman captor
released him from the binding claws. The razor-sharp talons were now gently
caressing his cum-drenched flesh, awakening his new body from its paralysed
slumber. At the same time, the demonic cock that had so effectively
prompted the rape of his mouth had released him as well, and now was
directing wave after wave of hot cum into his hair.
       It was a taste of freedom, a narrow margin of escape, but the new
Chris had no interest in taking advantage of it. Memories of his previous
life were already fading, leaving him a blank slate. Instead of wanting to
flee, he found himself succumbing to the overpowering lust of what was
being done to him.
       "Yummy, yummy cummy!" He sounded like a helium-infused cheerleader
as he sang, blowing bubbles in the cum around his lips. "Yummy, yummy
cummy," he reached out to grab the cock above him an pulled his to his
mouth. "Chrissie wants more yummy cummy in her tummy!"
       With a squeal of glee, he – now she – began madly jerking it
off, trying to coax even more cum into his – now her – stomach. She
wrapped her swollen, puffy, porn star lips around the swollen, spongy head
and began to suck. As the cum continued to flow, flooding her mouth until
it erupted from her nose, she continued to swallow.
       {Yes . . . feed me . . . feed us . . . rebirth me so that we
. . . can . . . rule . . . the world}
       Chrissie reached down to pat her semen coated, impossibly swollen,
inhumanly pregnant belly. She caressed it like the mother-to-be that she
suddenly was, saddened that she would be giving birth so soon, but
deliriously happy to be bringing her Mistress back into the mortal
world. She truly was young, dumb, and full of cum, but her transformation
had left her with three unshakable facts forever lodged deep inside her
head.
       She belonged to her Mistress.
       She lived to please her Mistress.
       She would be sustained by her Mistress.
       Suddenly, she let loose a scream that shattered the stones and
extinguished the unholy illumination around her. The talons and claws
evaporated into smoke, releasing her to come crashing down into the pool of
cum beneath her. Unseen by Chris, the cum dripping off his body had eaten
into the stone floor, carving out the small pool in which Chrissie now
floated. Thicker and heavier than water, the demonic cum kept her
suspended, even as if flowed around her and enveloped her with its warmth.
       "Mmmmm . . . yummy . . ." she closed her eyes and let her head sink
into the pool of thick, viscous sperm, completely submerging herself. Her
hands continued to stroke and caress her belly, inside which reborn her
Mistress floated in the pool of cum that had not leaked out of
her. Chrissie cooed and gurgled from within her warm, welcoming, nurturing
world of cum, even as she felt her Mistress doing the same.
       {Good . . . girl}
       Chrissie cooed and giggled with delight. She slurped and swallowed
cum, forcing more and more of it into herself, filling her to the point of
bursting. She took one hand from her belly and slipped it inside her pussy,
shoving the entire hand inside the gooey, slippery mess. If felt so good,
so right, but now was not the time for play. Instead, she opened her fist,
spread herself wide, and began beckoning with her index finger.
       {YES . . . It . . . is . . . TIME}

*******

       "My, my, my. What do we have here?"
       Chrissie let her hand slide out of her pussy and looked up in
surprise. The woman entering the dungeon, invading her territory,
interfering with her duties, looked familiar. She'd seen her somewhere
before, maybe in a previous life, and remembered wanting her. What she
didn't remember was the cock between her legs, but she wanted it too.
       "Oh, I do like what they've done to you, Chris." The petite beauty
swaggered with confidence as she walked, her every movement designed to
accentuate and celebrate her sexuality. "You were a pathetic waste of
misogynistic flesh, Chris."
       Chrissie flinched at the name. "Un-uh, silly." She licked globs of
demon cum from her hand and smiled. "I'm Chrissie," she beamed, proudly.
       "Like I care what the fuck you call yourself." Kim stopped a few
feet away from the pool of cum. "Chris or Chrissie, it doesn't matter." She
began playing with her tits with one hand while the other began stroking
her cock. "What matters is this," she snarled, "and just exactly where in
that bimbo body of yours I'm going to put it."
       {NO . . . Not yet . . . FINISH ME}
       "Ow." She pouted. "Chrissie doesn't like that." The naked,
semen-slimed, oversexed bimbo crawled to the edge of the pool. She could
feel her Mistress fighting her from the inside, but she was craving this
new woman's cock. It'd been several minutes since she'd tasted one, and she
was hungry. "I want that." She pointed to the hard cock just inches from
her face. "Gimmie."
       Kim smiled. This was going to be good. "Come get it, little bitch."
       {STOP . . .}
       Chrissie felt something tugging at her, urging her to stay in the
pool. She liked the pool. She liked feeling all of that hot, wet, thick
cum. She couldn't imagine anywhere she'd rather be than surrounded by
cum. It was safe and warm and sexy and right. She wanted cock, though, and
she didn't like being told she couldn't have it.
       The moment she emerged from the pool, Kim grabbed her under the
shoulders, lifted her off the floor, and literally threw her into the
corner. "You want my cock, don't you?" she asked.
       A delighted, childlike smile instantly erased the look of pained
surprise from Chrissie's face. "Yes!" She clapped in delight. "Chrissie
wants to suck it and fuck it and swallow all its yummy cummy goodness."
       Kim crouched over her, rubbing the damp head of her cock against
Chrissie's breasts. "And you'll get it," she promised, "as hard and as fast
and as deep as I want it." She grabbed Chrissie's head and pulled her to
her chest. "First, I want you to suck my tits."
       {NONONONONO . . .}
       "I'm not listening to you. You're mean." Chrissie shook off the
voice and opened her mouth wide. "Chrissie likes boobies!" The moment she
closed her mouth around the other woman's breast, milk began to flood into
her mouth. It was cold and sweet, as unlike the demons' cum as water was to
pudding. It hurt her belly. It made her feel all tired and weak. She didn't
want any more, but she didn't have the energy to pull herself away.
       "That's it, my bitch." Kim was fucking her face with the tit now,
shoving the hard, spurting nipple all the way to the back of her throat. If
she hadn't already been weaned in demon cock, Chrissie surely would have
been gagging, but instead she began contentedly suckling the mound of
flesh, allowing it to flood her belly with icy cold breast milk.
        {You . . . stupid . . . cow . . .}

*******

       Kim was on the verge of losing control. Playing with her tits was
one of the few pleasures she allowed herself, but it had never felt like
this. The feeling of Chrissie nursing on her tit was as intensely intimate
experience. She'd never thought of herself as a lesbian before, but she
couldn't deny her attraction to the bimbo before her. Maybe it had
something to do with the gargoyle, or maybe it had something to do with the
fact that Chrissie was once Chris. She didn't know, and she didn't really
care.
       "Yes," she cooed, "drink it all down." She began squeezing her tit,
forcing even more milk into Chrissie's welcoming mouth. All the while, she
was dry humping her grotesquely swollen belly with her cock, but she
noticed that their bodies were slowly becoming closer. A small orgasm
shuddered through her body as she looked down to see that the pregnant slut
no longer looked ready to pop.
       Kim roughly pushed her away, and then laughed at the bimbo's cry of
surprise as her head bounced against the wall. "Kiss it," she commanded as
she waved the cock in her face. "If you want to get fucked, then prove it."
       Chrissie's squeal of girlish glee was so genuinely innocent, it was
almost embarrassing. Her tongue flicked out to catch the drop of precum
glistening on the tip. "Yummy yummy cummy!" A light exploded behind her
eyes. "Chrissie likes it! Chrissie wants it!" She began bouncing up and
down. "Fuck Chrissie! Please fuck—"
       Their mingled cry of ecstasy as Kim drove her cock into Chrissie's
pussy shook the very walls of the dungeon. Dust and cobwebs fluttered down
around them, shook loose by the explosion of pleasure. Kim raised herself
onto her toes and rested all of her weight on Chrissie's crotch, driving
the cock in deeper. Without withdrawing, she began fucking in place,
driving it hard into the warmest, deepest depths of Chrissie's cunt. The
sight of Chrissie's belly deflating, shrinking with each thrust, sent her
over the edge.
       "Oh you fucking bitch take it take it feel my cum!" The force of the
orgasm was so intense, Kim literally felt as if she had left her body. For
a brief moment everything stopped, and she as watched the demon inside her
little bimbo slut was fucked back into the nether regions of hell. As if
she weren't already lost on an inhuman, impossible power trip, she
luxuriated in the knowledge that she'd done this . . . she had killed the
demon bitch and saved the world. Perhaps more importantly, she had freed
the whore inside herself, and there would be no going back.
       There were tears in Chrissie's eyes as she latched onto Kim, sobbing
and crying uncontrollably through her own very visible orgasm. Smiling, Kim
stared down at her lover's flat, taut, tight little belly. The bimbo looked
almost virginal in her unblemished perfection. That is, of course, if you
could manage to ignore the slick sheen of cum that still covered most of
her body, and the fact that she currently had bigger buried in her pussy
that most women had ever dreamed of encountering.
       The knowledge that it was her cock sent Kim sailing on another
orgasmic wave.
       [Well done. The threat is over. You will return to your selves in
the morning.]
       "Fuck that." Kim snarled back over her shoulder. She couldn't see
the gargoyle from down here, but she knew it was out
there. "This. Is. Mine." She bit off each angry word. "You will not take
this from me."
       Her mind was bombarded with a final series of images. She saw
herself turning Chrissie over and taking her up the ass. She saw herself
dropping down to suck her own cum from that ass. She saw Chrissie turn back
over, hunger in her eyes, and open wide to share in the mouthful of
cum. She saw their cum-stained kiss and felt the magic set, preserving them
in their new bodies, their new roles, forever.
       "Hey, bitch." She leaned down and favoured Chrissie with a long,
tender, sexually charged kiss. "Give me your ass."
        "Okie dokie!" Chrissie giggled and turned over.

*******

       A warm, August breeze whipped through the trees, rustling their
leaves and sending small squirrels scrambling for cover. Wide, dark green
leaves curled slightly, awaiting the rain to come.
       "Hey! I thought you were in a hurry?"
       "Yeah, I was, but . . . ." Derek tossed his coffee into the gutter
and stepped forward to lean on the elaborate stone wall that wrapped its
way around the corner. It was hard to see much past the trees on the other
side, but he could just make out an immense mansion hidden at the center of
the property. It looked inviting, with open windows, blowing curtains, and
lots of bright colours scattered around. He could smell a dozen different
perfumes in the air, along with an undercurrent of something else that
reminded him of sex.
        "What is this place?" He turned around to ask Steve, but his
co-worker was still standing on the other side of the street. "Hey," he
called back, "what gives?"
       Steve looked nervous, as if he were afraid to say anything. "Get
away, Derek. Back away now." Even from across the street, Derek could see
him swallow in fear. "It's nothing, Derek, Let's go." He started walking
down the street, challenging him to catch up.
       Suddenly, a little old lady popped up from the other side of the
wall, dressed for an afternoon of gardening. "Name's Mrs. Henderson," she
offered politely, "and this here is Clinique de Kimberly."
       Derek's heart began to race. He'd heard rumours about this place,
stories of abductions, transformations, and sexual orgies where sexualities
and genders became so blurred, no participant ever left unchanged. He'd
never allowed himself to believe that such a place could exist, but here it
was.
       Nervous, he looked back over his shoulder, but Steve was already
long gone.
       The little old lady winked her cloudy eye at him. "Would you like a
tour of the grounds?"
       His palms were sweaty. His throat was dry. His cock was hard inside
his stolen panties.
       Derek nodded.
       He passed through the open gate, knowing full well that he'd never
pass back through the other way.
       At least, not as Derek.

*******

       END

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