Content warnings: blood, violence, NC, watersports, drugs, war crimes
Red. Weeping gusts of deep, vicious scarlet, twisting in the air like ribbons. Poison - no, something worse. The shells bled without a moment of reaction time given to their victims.
With the defense of Mobile Bay a complete bust, the crew of the USCGC White Lamb was ad-hoc conscripted into the infantry. Armed with service pistols, a few spare rifles, and a shotgun looted from the trunk of a wrecked car, they marched like shorn sheep, twitching and nervous, into the ferocious wind and sweltering heat. Their mission: provide enough of a distraction to cover the last of the refugee caravan heading Westward. Whatever the method, however they achieved it - upper brass, what remained of it, wasn’t very clear on the specifics. Should they fail to provide a suitable distraction, human civilization East of the Mississippi was in serious jeopardy.
With a few moments of rough water off the shallow coast of the Florida panhandle, the small defense ship was blown ashore.
The beach they’d run aground was clearly the back of a resort’s more luxurious offerings. Driftwood, hardy grasses, and stones dotted the coarse soil, not an inch of it developed or prepared. Beyond it, a small parking lot, dotted with the husks of the vehicles unlucky enough not to escape the maelstrom of carnage that was the Atlantic seaboard. The sky above shone an ominous shade of gold as the sun struggled to filter through the clouds of ash drifting westward. Rays of jaundice yellow crashed upon the pale sand and blistering asphalt, an uneasy serenity engulfing the women, already on edge.
Little time to spare. Using whatever implements available, they immediately began constructing a temporary landing shelter to plan at attack. Blair, the field medic, directed her compatriots to build sand berms, a task they began eagerly. Driftwood would make improvised shovels - it had to.
A crash and the turning of necks. Gasps and retches as the fumes gushed forth from the steel canisters like thick, syrupy blood. Each twisted steel shell was embedded into earth like engorged ticks. What little they had to show of their entrenchment efforts were dashed to the winds in an instant; many of the women were simply blown across the craggy dunes by the force of impact, weapons discarded and utterly dazed.
Amanda was the first to crack, sucking down a lungful of the stuff before she was able to find anything close to a respirator; in this case, rather, a leftover facemask from the pandemic a few years back. Flimsy cloth gave little respite, of course. The spice, tingling in the back of her throat in a way she’d never felt before, was the first thing that belied just how fucked she was. Choking, capable of little more than a whine, she fell to the ground.
She’d foam at the mouth. She’d clench her stomach, her throat, her chest, the cruel fate of chemical warfare - that’s what they feared, at least. Somehow, though, the image of her shaking, terrified body beginning to unfasten her belt and rip away her service uniform had managed to scare them even worse.
Because if this wasn’t poison, their enemy wasn’t going to simply kill them.
The others joined her an instant later, the sound of the remaining few guns clattering to the ground and the stifled screams of a half-dozen functionally-innocent women. Whatever it was, the air of musk and incense brought an inescapable paralysis. Not one brought from a direct stoppage of nerve activity, of course; it was readily apparent by now that Demonic strategy was less about efficiency and more about maximally traumatizing the populace of Earth, and this gas was evidently part of the same grand strategy.
Lust was a haze beyond impenetrable. It ate them whole. Every panicked lungful only worsened their condition, their bodies heating up, burning like brimstone and spilling forth from the inadequate, meaty forms they inhabited. Too hot, much too hot; one by one, with faces of indignity and fright, uniforms were tossed aside. Some were more modest, choosing to crawl into the trenches where they might not be as visible - only to fall chest-first into the more highly-concentrated pockets of the gas.
Moans became sobs and sobs became moans again. Under the din of war it was hard to make out the lewd sounds of hasty masturbation, a minor blessing as it was. Artillery roared overhead, jet fighters shrieking before their untimely end in the flak-saturated skies above. Wreckage fell to Earth like dead and dying angels. Amanda, by now, was fist-deep in her cunt. Tanya, the girl from Memphis - she said she worked in a bakery before the draft was reinstated - was on top of her, lapping aimlessly at the other woman’s face. Mud held to tear-soaked skin.
Not one of the six mariners-turned-marines spared a thought in their mind beyond indulging in every excess the foul chemicals offered. It was a heavy, throbbing ache, inescapable and thick behind the eyes; with it came the tingling, the burning, the itch - it was over, after that.
Joann, first mate and first body up against the asphalt, was too busy fucking herself on the butt of her pistol to notice the mass of infernal might moving towards her.
Demons. At least four, with a few possibly lagging behind them. Towering forms of malice and hardened vermillion skin, muscles barely concealed beneath layers of angular-cut black silk and heavy Hellsteel armor; yet despite the inhumanity of their size, they were eerily reflective of Joann’s own kin. Two legs, angled at the knee and terminating in blackened, heeled hooves. Two arms, of course; each section of their bodies were covered in the thick, red, plate-like skin, yet around joints and tender areas they bore black and reflective skin that shone in the vermillion light like iridescent puddles of oil. A head, adorned with long, curling horns, black and ribbed like charred bone. What little could be seen of their skeletal faces bore crude resemblance to Joann’s own: six eyes, each glowing red, sat inlaid in their sockets where, in terms of human anatomy, a singular eye sat. Bony cheeks terminated in a bony chin, ribbed with bizarre indentations and notches the human’s addled mind could barely begin to understand the purpose of.
Adorning them, black silk, reflective in the dimming light like nothing of Earth. It clung tightly to their forms, cut away in places to more easily allow salacious gazing at their toned bodies. Unlike the humans, they bore no rank, no insignia - save for a single black-and-white sigil across their breast, each was dressed almost identically. Heavy Hellsteel armor rattled around as they moved, the angles of the metal complementing the Demons’ physique. Imposing, near-black shone along the ridged steel, and a deep rusted umbre in others. Spikes and rough edges menaced like the grinning teeth of some ancient and forgotten beast.
The Demon at the front of the line fired a burst of warning shots from her enormous squad weapon into the berm beside Joann, to which the brave patriot responded with a whimper and an uncontrolled bladder release. Staring back at her, a particularly angry-looking one of Lucifer’s bastard children; her red form towered nearly eight feet, draped in black hellsilk and human leather, slender and delicate like a finely-crafted blade.
Joann did little to fend for herself. Her mind conjured a million methods of escape, not a single one even remotely possible while so heavily intoxicated. By the time her grand plans had been reduced down to simply ‘scream for help,’ the unholy thing was practically on top of her - and, a few seconds later, physically on top of her.
“Reporting full neutralization, my Imperatrix. This one is mine.” the Demon spoke into the walkie-talkie mounted on her chest, her tone belaying her excitement. To her human onlookers, guttural hissing and harsh syllables, their animal ears unaccustomed to the tongue of their masters. A hand wrapped itself around Joann’s throat and threw her to the ground while the invader tore away her baggy uniform pants.
Laughter, of course, transcended all language barriers. The Demon at the front began to cackle the sick cackle their kind seemed so fond of, clearly enraptured by the terror on her captive’s face as she pulled her twin cocks out. A few more soldiers would emerge from the brush, weapons readied - and quickly lowered, as the state of the so-called ‘resistance’ was found. One of them smiled behind their steel visor and licked their supple lips, eager to join in ruining the freshly-captured Joann. They’d yet to try both of their cocks on a single human…
Few of the human women writhing on the ground could be called conscious, but those that did found resistance more than troubling. Where their limbs could move - a task made progressively more difficult by heavier exposure to the gas, still leaking - they made little effort beyond that which scratched that deep, burning itch. In their most desperate hour, their very minds would be the ones to betray them. The gas took incoming impulses for self-preservation and fear, and twisted them into motions of lust and debauchery. Basic movements became Sisyphian tasks, the labor of those condemned to the windy depths of Incontinence.
Tanya, the communications lead, was the last to try and muster resistance to the oncoming Demons. She rose defiantly, trembling limbs beating like the wings of a mighty phoenix as it soared from the ashes. Her khakis’ location around her ankles and the slickness of her pussy wouldn’t stop her - triumphant, hand shaking, she pulled the stock of her rifle from between her wet thighs, bringing it to aim…
…and as swiftly as she rose, she was thrown to the floor and mounted by a Demonic auxiliary. The hulking thing cast her pistol aside as she dug her clawed hands into soft flesh like a predatory animal. Tanya was never the most voluptuous of women, her petiteness only accentuating the already-large disparity in their sizes. With a disgusting squelch, her stomach bulged outwards, reflecting her abrupt filling; the hot breath of Hell licked and kissed her neck with sharp teeth and sharp tongues.
With a quick motion of its high-heeled hooves, the Demon mounting Tanya kicked her rifle away. As the scraping of steel across concrete ended, so too did the crew of the White Lamb’s hope for resistance. Distant anti-air rattled off another burst of flak, and wordlessly, fighter pilots turned back, turned West - away. Communications were shuttered, bridges were blown, and they, along with the lives of everyone still East of the Mississippi, were left behind.
And fend for themselves they would not. Steel hoof plates dug into the mud, bloody fog swirling. Emerging from the foliage is the unit’s commanding officer. While an imposing mass of flesh herself, she tends towards the more voluptuous side; her body is soft, tender, rounded, unlike those of her Sisters. Each of her breasts rival the size of her long-horned head, hidden beneath the black helm of authority. On her black-clad hip, a pistol - and a whip, the tips flayed and bloodied.
Dry lips curled into a smile as a gloved hand slipped a flask back into its Hellsilk pocket.
“Another flawless victory, Sister-Cadres.” hissed the Imperatrix, taking a sip of her bloodwine. “Your commendations shall reflect this.”
With her declaration, the cadre let loose. They hissed, cackled, giggled to themselves in delight; the women found themselves pressed against a dirt hill and the sea, boxed in by the encroaching Demonic lines. If chaos hadn’t been the word to describe the battleground prior to the looting, it most certainly was now; Demons wantonly gripped and tossed their captures like cheap sex dolls, striking them when their gas-saturated minds managed a scream.
To the bleary and intoxicated volunteers, time came in scattered, disconnected pockets. Human minds were fragile. At once their visions would fill with horrifying, devilish things, unintended for the eyes of mortal men; an instant and a deeper breath of the crimson air later, and the horror disappeared into clouds of ash. A grunt and a moist slap. Twelve inches of Demonic cock pulled out of Tanya’s throat and slapped her cheek, a thick strand of saliva connecting it to her puffy lips. In her eyes, hues of red and black swirled into incomprehensibility, all dissolving like fairy floss in water before the hegemonic will of the gas. Lust was a solvent more potent than any others, eating her mind down to the nub.
“Their throats are so tight, by the Empress!” hissed the auxiliary, barrel-chest rippling as she gripped Tanya once more and braced her for another few slaps into her esophagus. “It’s like I’m about to break it…”
She cocked Tanya’s head upright, and a moment later, the girl’s nose was buried in her crotch. Every inch of it was buried in the human’s throat, triggering her gag reflex and yet offering no hope to dislodge it. What little oxygen was available to suck down in the second or two she was given to breathe only forced more of the gas into her lungs. Clearly, the suffocation was delighting her tormentor, as every time she wheezed for air the auxiliary would snort in satisfaction.
A clawed hand wrapped itself around Tanya’s neck and squeezed, stroking the auxiliary’s cock through her throat. Little if any concern was given to the girl’s wellbeing or the potential fragility of her trachea - the auxiliary, after all, was horny; pumping a few cups of pearlescent, disgusting Demon seed into her stomach was more important than any of the human’s weak protestations. Gurgling, mustering every ounce of her fading strength, the poor girl moved to try and break the demon’s grip… only to find herself weakly fondling the pair of taut, full balls dangling in front of her.
Tanya’s throat-breeding was hardly the worst of the volunteers’ fates - far from it, indeed. Amanda, the first to go down, laid broken and half-nude upon the ground. The poor girl had collapsed nearest the canister, getting the heaviest dose of all of them; whatever they were being exposed to was cumulative, and now, she could do little more than flutter her eyelids and drool as the gas wrecked absolute havoc on her mind. Thought beyond the desire for more pleasure was all but eradicated. Lacking external stimuli, she’d simply revert to a suggestive, inviting pose, waiting for the next Demon in the cadre to help themselves.
Help themselves they did, indeed. Evidently growing bored of sampling their other fresh captives, a Demonic gunner fancied Amanda a urinal. Torrents of brimstone-yellow piss cascaded across her unconscious chest, gushing from the Demon’s rigid, imposing cock and seeping into the ruined earth. If nothing else, it helped to wash away the thick, half-congealed layer of cum and dirt that clung to the remaining scraps of her uniform. Urine spattered up onto the gunner’s legs, the flow slowly ebbing; with a deep sigh and a grunt, the gunner gripped her temporary restroom by the throat and pulled her onto her shaft. There was, of course, no response.
The same couldn’t be said of Joann. As it turned out, there were seven demons to only six women - which meant one of them had to share, and none of the shock troops on deployment were horny or stupid enough to try and get the Imperatrix to give up the raven-haired field medic, Blair. Hastily, they tore at Joann’s jumpsuit, easily shredding the fabric in their feral claws.
Her nude form was hoisted a few feet off the ground by the arms of the twin Demons who’d picked her. She was bent between the arms of the muscular machinegunner, head forced downwards at a painful angle with her arms bound behind it. Gripping her hips were the black talons of another, slightly smaller Demon. This one held Joann’s legs, contorting the limbs to allow easier access to her pink, vulnerable pussy.
Gunfire ripped through the sky as Joann dropped her rifle, the weapon misfiring. Another hot slug of lead in a sky full of it; the noise alone set her skin on fire, a firestorm of stimulation raging in her already-overstimulated mind. The furthest from the canisters, she’d not fallen victim to the stuff’s more insidious mental effects - and thus, faced the horrors of Hell alone, head-on and sober.
Leathery Demonic skin rubbed against Joann’s scarred and sand-caked flesh. She’d begun to wish that it had taken her mind, had taken her out early and painlessly like her comrades - but it was a mercy she would be forever denied. A mouth full of shark’s teeth grinned back at her harrowed face, six-and-none of its eyes… blinking, perhaps.
“What do you think of this one - fertile?”
Behind her came the rattle of belt buckles and sick Demonic laughter - and even in her state of panic, she’d realized that Demons didn’t wear belts. At least, not regularly.
“Heh - it matters not for me, does it, Sister?”
They shared a chuckle. A pause, the wind howling in the silence.
“I’m going to take it’s ass anyway.”
The girl’s cries fell upon deaf ears. Thirteen inches of Demonic shaft forced their way into her throat before beginning to piston in and out. Behind her, hammering her asshole, ten ornately carved inches of some kind of Hellish ivory, twisted into a lewd facsimile of a Demonic penis. It was lubricated with the Demon’s cum-thick spit and a bit of blood seeping from Joann’s cuts. Neither did a good enough job, but hopefully the pain would get the thing to tighten her throat.
Both enormous Demonic forms completely overshadowed her, their sweat dripping down on her body and practically signing her comparatively-frigid skin. Joann was little more than a sex doll to them - one highly, painfully aware of its predicament.
Despite the agony of her own consciousness, Joann got off relatively easy - especially when compared to her other compatriots, Hannah and Kim. Kim was a short woman, the youngest by far out of the ragtag group; cum-slathered, pixie-cut blonde hair stuck out like patches of snow on a frigid peak of cum, blood, and uncountable other substances. She had been in the Air Force before “emergency reassignment” gang-pressed her onboard the White Lamb a day before it was scheduled to launch. Hannah, on the other hand, hadn’t so much as held a rifle in her life. They’d picked up the tall and fiery-haired woman in the open ocean after her yacht had capsized, apparently shelled at random by Demons on the mainland. As any adult capable of handling a gun, Amanda deemed her fit for duty on the spot.
They were tied together. Kim was arranged so that her face was all but swallowing Hannah’s cock, kept out of her mouth only by her limp and exhausted jaw refusing to close. The poor redhead was arranged as Kim’s opposite; blood trickled out of her broken nose as Kim’s pussy ground against it, seeking a relief to the deep, insatiable itch ignited by the aphrodisiac.
Binding them were several layers of reflective Hellish leather, slick like some awful polymer. Fresh sweat and blood made the uncanny softness of it all the worse, every inch that touched them practically overstimulating them from its mere presence. Across the leather stretched barbed wire sharp enough to dig through thick hide straps and pierce the skin; every inch of them was dotted with repetitive cuts and wounds, the jagged pattern of crude and mass-produced steel clearly reflected where it depressed and bit their skin. The slightest flinch would send shocks of pain through each of their bodies, each instinctive thrash like another volley of punishing spikes in their flesh. Fresh blood, vibrant crimson, swirled beneath the blackened leather and coated their constricted skin in coats of their vitality.
The constant discomfort would ensure they kept moving.
Each woman was gripped tightly and angrily by a muscled Demon, pumping away into them with the abandon one reserved for cheap sex toys. One laid on the ground below Hannah, bucking her hips upwards into the makeshift human fleshlight. Thick ropes of cum coated the inside of her thighs, the lewd squelching almost drowned beneath the rhythmic pistoning of the other Demon’s equine cock. Neither captive was held in a regard higher than that of dirt, the two once-vibrant and independent women reduced to warm, quivering holes. If their minds were still capable of rational thought, the two of them would be screaming.
What screamed instead was the sharp tongue of a whip as it slammed against raw flesh, Demonic hushing and reassurance below.
“That’s it, you’re learning. Your eager performance excites me, meat - perhaps there is hope for your kind yet.”
With half-lidded eyes, Blair lapped at the Imperatrix’s steel-toed hoof. Each alien syllable of Demonic that graced her ears rattled her brain, yet she understood not a word of it.
Out of the myriad women of the White Lamb, Blair remained the only one to be personally chosen by the Imperatrix - a dignity even the animal’s underevolved mind recognized the importance of - to lead her astray comrades into the welcoming arms of the God-Empress. She’d been chosen!
It was a strategy that worked again and again. Poor Blair was no different, it seemed; the Imperatrix’s personal collection of subjugated human concubines was growing, in no small part thanks to her deceptive use of restraint. Even the human’s impaired mind could still find horror in the things the shock-troops were doing to her comrades - and find solace in the protection the Imperatrix offered. With a relatively minor amount of coaxing, hatred and fear became undying devotion in the primitive minds of humans. Blair was to be a serpent twisted around her finger, unaware of just how tangled with her Owner its body had become.
Gloved fingers wrenched themselves around Blair’s tender throat, dragging her away from the spit-polished hoof and up towards her pussy. She knew the combination of panic and impairment would do wonders on the underevolved mass of grey matter between the human girl’s ears, accelerating the tiring work of breaking down the remaining vestiges of her dignity; indeed, the Imperatrix did revel in the carnal side of slaving, but Blair’s new role wouldn’t be that of a sex slave. No, indeed, she had something far greater planned for the human girl.
Keeping captives in line once the drugs wear off is always a difficult process. Without the sedation and aphrodisiac promoting submission, the often deeply-embedded fear of Demons in the human psyche begins to set in - but not if one were to give orders through a surrogate human slave-driver. Blair, the one they’d entrusted so much to, would make a wonderful puppet in the Imperatrix’s latest show.
A now-familiar black-gloved hand wrapped itself back around her throat, and with a gasp half-excited and half-mortified, she was dragged back into the heat of war. In her delirium she’d hardly noticed the Imperatrix speaking into her walkie-talkie
“At attention, slave.” she barked, twisting the girl’s head to the side and snapping a loose Hellsteel collar around her throat. “The front is moving - and you’re being promoted.”
With a quiet chant and the sudden, searing burn of an Anguish flash-welder on her neck, Blair’s collar was sealed shut around her throat. Fear wasn’t given a scarce second to set in before the scarlet air catalyzed it to a breathy moan, her lips twisting themselves into a weak smile. Contempt left the Imperatrix’s face unchanged.
A carved sigil upon the side of the now-permanently fastened collar indicated her status; it was tiny, almost imperceptible, yet stood as the sole barrier between her newfound role as slave-driver and the fate of her former colleagues. Pride, sickly-sweet like decaying fruit, mingled with the build of orgasm in Blair’s rapidly-beating heart. It did little to truly replace what the gas and degradation had stripped from her - but that didn’t matter.
She would be saved. Not Amanda, not Joann, not anyone else - because nobody else mattered. Not to her, and from the scene of absolute depravity surrounding her, not to her new Owners, either. Her pussy twitched.
The Demons had retrieved the mounts. Hellish beasts as they were, Blair’s intoxicated mind spiraled deeper and deeper into horror with every passing second she spent looking at them. Roughly horselike in form and size, the beasts had rippling, muscled skin. It shone a deep burnt umber that glistered in the dying sunlight like freshly-spilt blood. Bone plating covered their intimidating forms, and the bones too sat beneath heavy and well-formed Hellsteel plate armor. Pointy, needle-sharp hooves adorned each spindly limb, the tips white-hot and smoking like newly-cast bronze. Whatever unseen and arcane power source warmed them also coursed through its thick, gnarled veins, flickers of scarlet glow beneath the flesh.
Steam hissed from the nostrils of the beasts as they bit down on their reins. On their sloped backs sat small, metallic cages, round and uneven like spider eggs. Tight, cruel things; they were constructed of rusted, bonelike struts, a seam running through the center of each, facing the ground. Concealed cords of sinew within them allowed the whole thing to pop open at the turn of a winch, spilling their cargo across the ground.
Behind the other nightmares stood the Imperatrix’s steed. It was an imperious beast compared to the gnarled and sickly-looking mounts of her subordinates, standing tall and seething with white-hot blood. Instead of a cage, the Imperatrix’s bore two finely-decorated seats, the rear smaller than the primary rider’s. A thick, knobby dildo adorned it, crafted by a mind palpably sadistic. Blair’s breathing hitched as her eyes traced the lewd contours of it, salivating hungrily from both sets of lips. The Imperatrix- her Owner - gripped her by the shoulder.
Clawed fingers locked themselves between tender human digits.
“Hurry up. We want those commendations to actually matter, don’t we?”
“Fuck off. I’m backed up.”
Machinegunner Vahaqash furrowed her brow and tightened her rifle sling. Marakh, the auxiliary, was taking her precious time with Amanda. Sun-dried cum and sand stuck to every inch of the latter’s bronze skin, reeking enough to smell from the parking lot beside the beach. Despite her cohort’s distaste, Marakh continued pumping in and out of the human’s loosened asshole. Each thrust drove the auxiliary crazy, her forked serpentine tongue hanging limp and drooling from her open mouth.
Amanda’s holes had been thoroughly ruined by the dozens of other loads dumped inside her, and took the auxiliary’s shaft without trouble. Eighteen inches of equine Demon dick, hard like infernal basalt, pistoned in and out of Amanda’s worn-out, gaping asshole. Her pussy had been stretched far beyond the point of usefulness; humans had yet to evolve suitably elastic orifices to compensate their new masters, unlike their Demon superiors. Syrupy yellow-white seeped from her destroyed cunt, providing a bit of much-needed lube for her slightly-tighter asshole.
The gunner, on the other hand, had already slaked her carnal thirst in Tanya’s throat. A delay like this was unbecoming of her fellow sister-cadre; time spent getting sloppy sevenths in an unconscious slave’s holes was time that could’ve been spent incinerating the innocent for the glory of the God-Empress.
Clouds of ash from faraway fires and atom bombs drifted like tendrils of inky night overhead. The other Demons sat upon their steeds, ready to depart - all but Marakh and Vahaqash. Blair writhed giddily on her dildo, wrapping her meager hands around the strong waist of her Owner. Excitement continuously bubbled up within her, teased and never released. She hated to doubt her superiors, but the delay was beginning to puzzle her.
Wrought iron dug into flesh. None of the cages were intended to be comfortable, and any little relief given was promptly taken. Black leather isolation hoods covered their heads and concealed their identities, a dildo gag lodged in their throats keeping them nice and quiet. A temporary measure before the primary slave sorting facility. That was a problem for later, though. Fronts were moving, villages were being looted, virgins were being taken, and currently, none of the shock troops were getting in on it.
With one last triumphant slam of her hips against Amanda’s ass, Marakh was finally spent. Her hot breath left her lips as arid gasps, broiling like the thick ropes of Demonic sperm filling every inch of the poor girl’s bloated stomach. Ropes of it… squirmed, almost; the large, overactive sperm cells within her ejaculate moved constantly within the opaque white wads, like all Demons’ cum. Each cell fought eagerly and vigorously with countless others for a chance to impregnate her broken body; it might’ve felt like being filled with Pop Rocks, if she still had the capacity to remember those. For a moment, Marakh knelt in the sand between Amanda’s legs, grinning eyes trained on the visible annoyance behind Vahaqash’s Hellsteel visor.
“Mind your manners or I’ll have to fuck some into you, Vahaqash. Disrespectful bitch.” Marakh spat, gripping her still-erect cock and sliding it out of Amanda with a wet pop, yogurt-thick seed seeping out behind it.
“Marakh, on your steed. Leave the human.” the Imperatrix shouted.
Marakh’s smug and satisfied eyes widened at her superior’s voice. A gulp broke the stiff silence between the two Demons. Few things in life could manage to frighten Marakh into line, and it just so happened that the voice of her typically-reserved Imperatrix was at the top of the list. Her asshole never quite felt the same after her the first time she’d tried to push back - but she couldn’t simply leave without something to fuck! It was unthinkable - how would she go so much as the next hour, let alone the time it would take to reach the front?
Vahaqash finished tightening her shoulder straps and hurried back to her mount, bowing submissively towards her mounted commander and fellow sister-cadres.
“What!? This one is mine - I’m not leaving without meat for the road.” Marakh stammered.
No reply. A scowl spread across the Imperatrix’s brow.
“I - y-yes, Imperatrix! Give me but a moment to… c-collect myself.”
From her position atop the gnarled dildo lodged firmly in her ass, Blair furled her brow. It wasn’t Marakh’s insubordination that enraged her, but Amanda’s. The human had been given every opportunity to behave, to obey the orders she was given - and instead she lay tits-up in the sand, festering in the sun and sex that slithered across every inch of her battered skin. She clenched a fist. Ingrate - insubordinate! Amanda was offered the ability to stand on her two feet and she refused.
An odious smile crossed the Imperatrix’s dry lips as she over her shoulder, six red eyes curling upwards with unsated cravings and misintent. Blair rolled her hips.
“What do you see when you see defiance, human?” she asked, in English, speaking almost silently in the wind.
She wasn’t sure. Her Owner would want an intelligent answer! Blair racked her scarlet-choked mind as best she could.
“I… I see fear. I see fear and hesitation. I see foolishness, fear, and hesitati-”
“Really?” the commander growled, refusing to let Blair finish. “I see weakness.”
Blair gulped. In the distance, Marakh made a flimsy attempt to grab a slightly less cum-soaked patch of Amanda’s arm. Clearly she wasn’t trying, squicked out by the wretched lump of meat she’d just blown a load in. Weakness. Did she answer incorrectly? Her pussy betrayed her fear of punishment, clenching around the cock inside her.
Somewhere beneath the endless miles of bright red anger that now composed her mind, Blair recognized the Imperatrix fiddling with her holster.
“Weakness is a sickness,” the knife-toothed woman continued. “And it is your duty as a slave-driver to purge this sickness. On the ground.”
Legs trembling, Blair removed herself from the girthy phallus and dismounted the Hellbeast. Her bare feet hit the hot pavement, stinging where her Owner had struck her soles for speaking out of line. Pain didn’t phase her - showing weakness was not an option. Not now, not ever again - her Owner demanded it, expected it! To show weakness was a dereliction of her righteous, chosen duty. Pain was a gift which she was given freely.
Blair took her Owner’s whip.
The wind above howled louder. Every inch of Blair’s skin was lit angry red by the uncaring sun above, filtered through the ashen and choked sky. Moistness clung to her thighs and ran down her legs. All five fingers clenched the hardened leather like a vice-grip. She would perform her duty with delight, honor, and orgasm. Despite her fear, she marched across the blistering asphalt with resolve of steel. Whatever bravery had existed within her bosom was now galvanized by the flames of Hell into unrepentant zealotry.
Beyond the black pavement, shells of cars, and the detritus of sudden flight, Marakh was standing with her hooves in the sand. She was busy grunting, mid-piss, a stream of pungent gold cascading across the damp sand. Black-grey gauntlets, slick with half-dry cum, wrapped around the base of her equine shaft. Marakh turned to the human with a delighted expression, one that fell grim the moment she noticed the whip in her hand.
“What do you think you’re - ”
Blair struck the Demon across the leg with the whip, single tail flailing with an amateur’s devotion. Her pursed lips stayed silent, contrasting the started yelp from Marakh’s; caught off guard by her own submissiveness, the muscled auxiliary put up little defense as Blair reeled the whip back and prepared herself for another blow.
“Insect! How dare -” the Demon hissed in her mother tongue, cut off again by another strike of the veritable blade of cured leather. Angrily, she lunged for the holstered pistol upon her belt, nearly gripping it completely before the commander, from her steed upon the blistering asphalt, spoke.
“Unless you want to replace her at my heel, auxiliary, you will stand down immediately. You’ve wasted far more than enough of our time - get on your fucking mount,” dictated the Imperatrix, sighing as she finished. The depth of her voice was impressive. Echoes of it wafted through the vermillion fog of sunset and rang like a gunshot inside Blair’s empty head.
“Besides, your punishment is mine to dispense - the human wants the blood of it’s kin, not you.”
More silence, more tension - but in the end, Marakh relented.
The auxiliary pulled the wet shaft back under her kilt and stuffed it into her tactical garter. Whatever retribution was certainly about to befall her wouldn’t be helped with sore knees, the smaller Demon thought to herself. Her reluctance was audible with each heavy footfall as the auxiliary, at long last, started her way up the beach and back to her steed. Blair watched her as she moved, sucking air through clenched teeth. She’d tasted vengeance, savored the tang of discipline. Weakness - weakness was to be rooted out!
Below her laid Amanda’s unconscious form and the source of her righteous anger. For a moment, she wasn’t sure what to say. Should she spit on her? Reprimand her? Her digits clenched around the whip until they turned white, her face flush. Blood pumped through her veins like molten lead. How was weakness best dealt with, she wondered? Drops of her own slickness fell from her snatch upon the already-saturated sand. This would be her first true test - the first time of so many that she’d be given the chance to prove her Owner’s judgment correct. Doubt’s tenebrous tendrils wormed their way into her mind before shattering. A crooked smile broke the enmity upon her face.
Blair unloaded a flurry of strikes with the whip against her fellow animal’s exposed chest. It wasn’t long before long lines of vibrant red began to glow through the fog of filth and dirt, the same hue of the sun as its dying rays trickled across Blair’s sweaty skin. In the low light, she bore little resemblance to a human at all. Once, she’d been the proud field medic of the White Lamb, a patriotic vessel of the US Coast Guard. Her shipmates - Amanda amongst them - entrusted their health, their lives, to her. In a sense, she still held that trust. It would still be her duty to carry them when they could not carry themselves.
Red. The sky above shone the red of war and freshly-spilled blood. Whatever embers still burned in the smouldering wreck of the USCGC White Lamb were now thoroughly snuffed out, darkness engulfing all but the light of the sun as it filtered through the cumulative ash of nuclear incineration, drenched blood-red as it sank to the earth.
A twitch. Another crack of the whip before the slave-driver realized what was happening, forcing her to stay her hand. Amanda’s bloodshot eyes cracked open.
Above her stood the towering crimson figure of a demon, whip in hand and contempt in its eye. It bore little resemblance to its adoptive siblings. Much smaller, with such diminutive horns - did it have horns? No, not this one. It was familiar, somehow. A word came running to her from the fog.
Another crack pierced the silence. Twin demons smiled.
