Belokh & Lowland Devil: Quenching the Flames

TAGS: M/F, female demon, monstrous male, fighting, hard noncon, anal sex, vaginal sex, pain of sexual and nonsexual varieties (hair/horn pulling, ryona, spanking, clawing, biting, nipple torture, general abusive roughness, unpleasantly large penetrations, branding...), excessive semen, multiple orgasms, denigrating language, humiliation.

***

Bloody superstitious fools, the lot of them. The rebellion of the Blue-Blooded had, bit by bit, inched across the lands, from hills to forests, gorges to mountains. Small cells of his chosen men had set out with loyal troops, raising whatever havoc they could - night raids on villages, attacks on caravans, torched fields, waylaid travellers. Each attempt at suppression was met by a fading-away and a striking somewhere else, bleeding the humans white and reminding them that their continued occupation of this territory would be at a high price. The Blue-Blooded feared no men: they were fear. So why, then, did Belokh's guerrillas refuse to operate in the Red Wind Valley? Old myths of fires and perils and scourges, of evil brands and being taken in the night. Cowards.

The warlord hated having to get his hands dirty like this, but who else would set an example for his disgraceful troops? And so the old hobgoblin, a mess of scars and grim-set yellow eyes, had set out to disprove the legends. Set a fire at dusk with the greenest wood possible; let it smoke heavily. Wait. Wait in silence, craggy-featured face frowning ever deeper as the minutes passed by. His massive fists gripped his trusty warhammer and iron-rimmed shield tightly; that entire hulking mass of his, slablike muscle and brute force wrapped in piecemeal chain and scraps of scavenged armour, tensed and ready to spring at the slightest moment. If nothing came for him in the night, then he would crucify the group leaders in the Valley and appoint new ones - ones that were not craven. And nothing would come for him in the night. Myths and legends...

A sudden gust of wind caught the fire, making it flare brighter for a moment and sending the thick woodsmoke wafting all around. The embers crackled and sparked, and the flames suddenly leapt a good few meters upwards, casting wild shadows across the scrubgrass before settling down just as quickly. A scent began to permeate the air as well, faint but unmistakable: brimstone, that immemorial calling card of demons everywhere. The flames danced higher once more, the shadows they cast showing twisting visions of lithe, barb-tailed figures that seemed to melt into each other, over and over again.

Myths and legends and hells! Snarling openly at the sudden development, the savvy veteran practically springs up from his seated position, leaping backward in a show of considerable dexterity for such a burly figure. Belokh was no warlock, and he had little patience for the arcane mysteries, but he had travelled extensively in his younger days, and he'd heard the tales - reliable ones, first-hand accounts, not just the hushed whispers of cowards and human housewives. The stink of brimstone floods his blunt, flared-out nose, and still wordlessly, his ever-reliable weapon came to the fore. Dwarf-made, he'd looted it long ago off some underthane's hearthguard; it seemed to sing in the hand when swung, eager for violence and battle. The bright blaze of fire and light momentarily blinds the brute, however, and despite his best efforts to stay on watch, he can't help but flutter his eyes, trying to clear the hated sparkles out of his sensitive goblinoid vision.

The stench of sulfur was impossible to miss now, hanging heavy in the air as the fire reached its zenith. A noxious wind howled across the valley, bringing the smoke with it, and then, with a sound somewhere between the crack of a whip and a breaking bone, it all stopped. The air went still, the smell began to fade, and even the flames were gone completely...

But in their place stood a lithe young woman.

She was clad in little more than a loincloth and a wrap around her chest, showing ample amounts of olive-colored skin. A barbed tail extended from her lower back, wrapping sinuously around her legs and thighs before it snapped at the ground, whiplike, causing several small fires to spring up in the surrounding grass. She turned to Belokh, eyes boring into his like points of ice, and said, in a voice that seemed to echo inside itself:

"You... you are brave, mortal... or perhaps just very, very stupid."

By the time the flares and coronas are blinked out of those hard, mustard-yellow eyes, she was there in front of him, surrounded by ashes and charcoal. The scarred warlord shakes his bulky head once, as if to dispel the last bright spots that had so dulled his vision, and then he fixes his own gaze intently upon this unexpected arrival. Long, lean lines and lithe athleticism augmented by the exotic look of those otherworldly horns and tail; abstractly, Belokh muses that the creature before him would be alluring in its own way, if every war-trained nerve in his body was not screaming danger. And so he gathers himself up, visibly settling into a wary, defensive posture. His armour clinks and creaks with each small movement, grey-green skin shifting above taut-drawn muscle. "To think that there was truth to the damned fool rumour," he growls, voice rumbling like distant thunder in the mountains. "So you're what's spooking my men."

"I am," she replies, the flames in the grass below her inching towards her feet and coiling languidly around them. "It wasn't exactly grueling. They fear fire, I embrace it. They are weak, I am strong. They are mortal, I am not." Her lips part in an expression that might have looked like a genuine smile, were it not for the reddish fangs and forked tongue inside. "But you... you think you're different, mm? You drew me here. You want me for yourself." As she speaks, she shifts her stance slightly, dropping lower, her tail swinging back and forth behind her and drawing a blackened line in the grass. Her voice takes on a lower, predatory tinge as she lowers her head, her curling horns pointing at Belokh's head. "Well, come, mortal. Show me. Prove yourself..." She grins once more, baring her fangs as the flames around her flash and dance, painting her body with light and shadow. "Brave? Or stupid?"

Part of the hobgoblin chieftain's longevity - relative to most of his species, anyways - had come from his stubborn refusal to engage in more foolish personal challenges than strictly necessary. His people may have fetishized the duel to an obscene degree, but Belokh knew full well that no throne was a comfortable one when affairs of 'honour' threatened constant usurpation. And despite all these misgivings, he had been dragged into this sorry state of affairs, squaring off against some...hellspawn. Still, there was no need to be impetuous, and so the towering brute begins to circle his opponent, each sideways step slow and measured. "I want you to leave my men alone, fiend," is stated slowly, grindingly. "'Want you'? Last thing on my mind." Still, his line of sight visibly flickers over the demoness' fire-and-shadow form once more, and a thin, toothy grin of his own cracks that stony face. "But maybe something for you wasting my time like this." Fires swirling about it, the ambient temperature visibly rising...Belokh knew he had to be careful. "What, afraid of some mere mortal, beast? Some lesser monster?"

The demon snorts at that, and the flames surrounding them sputter. This... creature, whoever he was... he was an uppity one! That, of course, would make it all the more enjoyable for her to crush him into her plaything. "We'll see who's afraid of who, once I'm finished," she says, and the fires all flicker out at once, hundreds of points of light shooting through the air into her chest. The markings along her skin flare a rich red-orange, and a visible heat haze surrounds her as she advances, taking a step towards Belokh, then two. "You," she says, her voice rich and resonating with infernal heat, "will be a pleasure to break."

"Wouldn't be the first to try," is the derisive, scorn-dripping response, spat out rather than simply stated. Lower the shield slightly, test the grip on the weapon. Footing is good. The visible aura of heat that poured off the demon gives the hulking goblin pause, but only briefly; worst comes to worst, he may have to abandon the shield, should its wood catch fire. No retreating before her, but no advancing, either - Belokh lets her advance, his harsh features fixed in hard calculation. Ignore the play of fire upon her skin, ignore the trickery. Focus on the important part: the fiend herself. Check the feet, the hands, the tail. The eyes, more glowing orbs than anything else. The rest is irrelevant. For now. So wait. After the conjured devil makes its last step, however, the hobgoblin lunges forward, surging out of his steady, anticipatory posture like a pouncing mountain lion. There is no roar of battle-lust nor reckless, headlong charge - it is all that collected tension unwinding, springing Belokh towards his foe with shield raised high and warhammer trailing not far behind.

She grins as she sees him lunge, leaping forward to meet him. She would crush him, yes... and he was a strong one, too! All the better.

Just as she's about to collide headlong with his outraised shield, her form flickers and twists, becoming a snakelike coil searing flame. It darts between Belokh's legs, leaving a line of fire across the grass, before coiling upwards and reforming into the demoness with a CRACK. Then she spins, tail whipping around and impacting solidly with the hobgoblin's back, strong enough to stagger, but not to meaningfully pierce his armor. She growls, fangs bared, before leaping forward at him once more, her left fist shimmering with pulsating, restrained heat.

The sudden disappearance of the demoness into living fire gets a single, spiteful curse out of Belokh, who is already trying to spin about to face his foe's repositioning. As surprisingly fast on his feet as he is, however, it is not quite fast enough, and the sharp lash of her heat-roiling tail across his partly-turned back drags a bellow of fury out of the hobgoblin. The piecemeal armour creaks beneath the strike, and even through the layers of mail and leather, he can feel the fire of that appendage prickling at his skin and causing small pieces of fur on his armour to singe and smoulder. Still, the savvy fighter rolls with the strike, working off its impact to complete his about-face. The direct attack is something he is ready for, and the warlord punches forward with his shield, aiming it squarely at that blazing fist. Halfway through the motion, he shifts and steps forward with his right foot, aiming the blunted top of his warhammer squarely at the devil's exposed midriff in a short, sharp thrust, half-hidden behind his defensive bulwark.

Her fist sails forward, hitting the shield in a crackling burst of heat and force. The wood cracks, chars, and splinters, and she hisses with triumph as she grabs the blackened mess, ready to tear it from his hand and throw it aside-

But before she can, something hard and unyielding rams into her stomach, making her stagger back, wheezing. The unholy light shining through her skin flickers for a moment, muted, and she drops to all fours, glaring up at Belokh as an orb of fire begins to collect around her right hand. "When this is over, you will beg for the touch of fire," she snarls, hurling the orb at him as she leaps to her feet once more. It goes wide and impacts behind the hobgoblin in an eruption of flame, scarring the ground below but leaving him unharmed. She hisses in frustration, fangs bared, the symbols on her skin gleaming as a second orb begins to form.

The yielding crunch of the shield as it absorbs the full force of that impact runs straight up the brawler's arm, leaving it numb - but ths shield has done its job, blunting the worst of the impact and paving the way for his assault. His follow-through sweep of the hammer hits naught but air as the devil recoils from the strike, but he is already twisting his body into the next swing, his long, apelike arms giving the hobgoblin surprising reach. The blow is pulled as he swerves out of the way of the errant fireball, and instead he hurls the shattered remnants of his half-smouldering shield at the crouching demoness, shifting to a two-handed grip on his weapon before charging in low and attempting to land a quick upward strike upon his opponent's head or shoulders, striking more to daze than kill.

Her tail arcs upward, batting the blackened remains of the shield aside, and the flaming orb grows, nearly twice the size the previous had been. She's determined not to miss again. Once was humiliating enough. "Burn." she growls, staring straight into Belokh's eyes, seething with savage anger. Her arm draws back, ready to release...

She sees the hammer coming, but far too late; she'd been so focused on glaring at the hobgoblin's scarred, pitted face that even her inhuman reflexes can't save her. The heavy metal head smashes into her shoulder, causing the orb to explode in a shower of harmless sparks and her to grunt in wordless pain. She stumbles back once more, clutching her injured arm, thrown off-balance both by the blow and the sudden backfiring of her infernal powers.

It would take too long to bring the warhammer around once more, and Belokh is in no mood to let his opponent recover. Pain is something he can deal with - something he knows - but incineration is not so easily shrugged off, as more than a few burn scars upon his leathery hide remind him. Letting out a ragged snarl of his own, the brutish war-captain simply charges forward to smash his bulk into the recoiling fiend, completely lacking in subtletly. Over a half-foot taller than his foe, the grizzled hobgoblin is a towering wall of stony muscle: broad-chested, thick-armed, and sturdily built in every way imaginable. And every single ounce of that massive frame is hurled against the devil, threatening as brutal an impact as any hammer. In this close, he can feel the waves of blazing heat pour off the hellspawn, but he doesn't care; all that matters is getting to grips with the foe and smashing them down, as quickly and forcefully as possible.

"Ungh!" This time, the demoness' pain is audible as Belokh smashes into her, the impact carrying her off her feet for a good meter or so. As she's hit, a wave of searing heat erupts from her body in all directions, a purely instinctual reaction to being slammed into with as much force as she had.

She lands heavily, right on her already-damaged arm, and winces for a moment, a hated sign of weakness. It can't be helped, though. She's fairly certain the arm is fractured or worse, and the waves of sickening pain coursing through it seem to confirm her fears. Balors damn this corporeal form! So weak, so fragile... everything she knew she wasn't. Breathing heavily through her nose, she rolls over, heaving herself up onto all fours with her uninjured arm and tensing her legs, ready to leap back to her feet.

The scalding blaze that pours off of the devil's body in response to the impact keeps Belokh from following through on his crushing slam, and instead he lurches backward, hissing sharply at the pain. The scent of burnt hair fills his senses, and the most cursory of visual inspections shows the dark singes upon his leather strapping. "Stubborn little bitch," the hobgoblin spits once more, advancing upon her once more. One meaty fist clenches and unclenches as the old veteran forces his way through that wall of oppressive heat, the air in his lungs feeling like it is threatening to combust at any moment; still, he knows he cannot let the fiend recover. Still, she is slow to rise: good. He'd heard of hellish monstrosities that laughed off all but the most powerful of enchanted weapons, and it would seem that the olive-skinned devil before him was not one of those.

Her roll-about comes just as Belokh draws near to her, and the scarred brute lashes out with his free - albeit still numb - hand to grab at one of those horns. Sweat is pouring off his tough skin in waves from the desert-like dryness about her, evaporating long before it can ever drip off him, but still the hobgoblin grits his teeth through it, hoping he can put an end to this before he reaches his limit.

Her eyes widen as she feels his rough, calloused hand grab her horn, gasping at the sudden torrent of new sensations. She can feel everything about his skin; its texture, its temperature, the little pits and valleys in his hand and the thin layer of grime that coats it. Demon horns are incredibly receptive things, and Sil (for that was this demon's name) had never bothered to learn how to control what they perceived. She shudders violently, the short, sharp claws of her good arm raking across his skin as she tries and fails to pry his hand off her, then grits her teeth, sucking in the heat once more. Her skin markings flare, and her body flickers as it transforms into living flame, but only momentarily. Not long enough to escape Belokh's iron-like grasp. She snarls, a desperate, feral sound, and tries again, with even more pathetic results; sparks burst from between her pores as she pushes herself past her limit. The burning power inside her is fading, as is the sweltering heat around them, and now she can acutely feel the dizzying pain in her arm.

"You..." she manages, in between ragged gasps. "Are strong... but I'm stronger. I am always stronger, mortal." She punctuates the statement with her tail, sending the barb swinging up straight at Belokh's face. It's a clumsy attack, telegraphed, but it's all she has left, and she has no intention of losing.

The hobgoblin's fist is massive; his grip strong, viselike. He has no way of knowing just what impact that clamp-down upon one of Sil's horns is doing, so he simply attempts to wrench her head up all the more, punishingly harsh in his movements. "Well, well, so much for- ghhh!" The taunt is cut off by the lash of nails over that trunklike arm of his, and although it is enough to pierce the hidelike skin and draw out small rivulets of nearly-black vitae, there is only the faintest fluttering of Belokh's grasp. Growling in vexation, he gives the fiend's head a harsh shake, not letting go even as she transforms into fire and heat. Those sharp incisors of his grit and grind as he endures the sudden flush of fire licking against him, and his knuckles squeeze at that horn all the more, as if he could crack it through sheer brute force alone. When the fires finally sputter out, a mocking chuckle rolls within his chest, matched perfectly to the jeering look in those yellow eyes of his.

"Pathetic," the warlord declares, caring little for the tough talk. "My men are cowards." The sudden up-swing of her tail, however, does catch his attention - his craggy face tightens for a moment as his free hand swings at the lashing barbs, seeking to meet the base of it halfway with a heavy backhanded blow, aided all the more by the weight of his warhammer still clutched in that first.

Sil hisses in pain as the iron-hard knuckles smack into her tail, causing it to withdraw and coil defensively around her legs. "Release me, fool," she spits at him, eyes blazing with cold fury even as her horn and arm throb with pain. "Or there'll be repercussions your stunted little brain can't even begin to imagine." That was an utter lie, of course. The Lords of the Abyss cared nothing for the plights of lesser demons like herself, and as a matter of fact, many of them would have found the whole situation intensely amusing.

The thought of that, of being laughed at, makes Sil almost dizzy with fury, and she tries to force herself to her feet once more, favoring her good arm and twisting against Belokh's grip.

Throwing the hammer aside in the wake of his successful intercept, the warlord simply listens to that threat impassively. His bestial visage, a mess of poorly-healed scars and the travails of age interrupted by those slitlike eyes and harsh, thin-lipped mouth, curls into a distinctly denigrating sneer. "And who will bring them down on me, worm? Certainly not you, if this is any indication." Scorn drips from every word the hobgoblin utters in his harsh tongue, nearly tangible in his utter contempt for the demoness writhing before him. "What will your kinfolk in the abyss think of this, hellspawn? A proud demon, laid low by some 'feeble mortal' named Belokh." Sil's twists and turns are counterbalanced by more sharp jerks on her horn, and when she has the temerity to attempt to rise, Belokh's free fist swings squarely forward to meet her midriff, a sharp rebuke intended to discourage any further squirming or resistance.

"Hhlk!" She crumples back to the ground, fangs bared in a silent hiss as she struggles to regain the breath that's been well and truly knocked out of her. Now that her internal fire has receded, she can feel her entire body throbbing with pain, and every effort to get up again is more difficult than the last. That doesn't stop her from trying, though, and after a couple seconds of catching her breath, she gets back up onto all fours, staring defiantly up at Belokh. "Well," she says, still wheezing slightly, "go on. Do it. Kill me, and satisfy your pathetic need for dominance here, while you can. I'll see you again in Hell, and when I do..." She chuckles, then fights back a wince as she feels a shooting pain in her ribs. "You'll wish you'd let me beat you down."

Long, lean lines and lithe athleticism, augmented by the exotic look of those otherworldly horns and tail...the same observations he had made before. But she was no longer dangerous, this demoness; the canny fighter's wary nerves no longer jangled whenever he looked upon her. She was beaten, and each feeble squirm of hers, each attempt at drawing in breath, only highlighted that fact...and the perverse, taboo allure of such a formidable creature. "'Pathetic need for dominance,' is it?" Belokh snorts in amusement, yanking Sil's head up by the horn before he nonchalantly strikes her across the face, full-palmed and dismissive. Even with only a fraction of his strength put into the strike, it is still enough to sting sharply upon that struck cheek, the drag of his rough-hewn hand over her skin like sandpaper. "Let me tell you something, you insufferable bitch," is continued, something approaching cruel satisfaction dancing in those guttural tones. "You've wasted my time with your petty antics here. I have other ways of getting some use out of all this." Drawing back his striking hand, the hobgoblin firmly grasps his sturdy leather belt, yanking it sharply to snap it loose of its bindings and hooks.

Sil winces again, another low grunt of pain escaping as she feels the sting of Belokh's hand across her cheek and the pressure on her horn. She continues breathing deeply and heavily, trying to regain control over her aching body. If she could just start another fire, she might be able to pull some last-ditch power out of it. Closing her eyes, she focuses drawing up her inner reserves of demonic energy. After what feels like hours, but is truly only seconds, she feels a tiny spark appear, maintained purely by force of will. Now, if she could just make it catch...

Sil opens her eyes, and as she sees Belokh tugging off his belt, smiling cruelly, she lets the spark die out of pure shock. The demoness stays silent for a moment, staring at the scorched earth below her, then speaks. "You wouldn't dare," she says, in a voice that, for the first time since the warlord has met her, is ever so faintly tinged with fear.

"Weren't you the one saying I wanted you for myself, you hellspawned whore?" A grunt of cruel satisfaction rumbles in the monster's throat at Sil's obvious unease; one did not survive as long as he, in both politics and war, without being able to pick up weakness. Soon undone, the belt falls away from Belokh's rocklike hand, gathering in a pile upon the fire-swept grass. The hand upon the demoness' horn eases up for a moment, letting slip of the gnarled protrusion - but only so that he can switch his grip to its twin, roughly tugging her head back up so that she has no choice but to be directly eye level with the victor's crotch. Even through his thick leather leggings, the tenting is painfully obvious, impossible to miss. And then, with a grunt, the hobgoblin sharply yanks them down, shamelessly exposing just what had been lurking beneath.

Sil's first exposure to Belokh's manhood is the way it lunges forth once free of its confines, slapping against her cheek with scarcely less force than his prior slap. But 'manhood' is too imprecise a term for such an...implement; it is monstrous. Obscenely thick and disproportionately long even on the battle-captain's massive frame, even the thick, leathery sleeve of skin covering that oversized prick cannot hide the finger-thick veins crisscrossing every inch of that dark, bloated shaft. It is a hefty thing, more a weapon than any mere implement of pleasure, and the harsh, hungry fire in Belokh's eyes as he looks down upon the defeated demoness shows that he has every intention of using it as such. Thick, matted hair down at the base of that savage hardness conceal its root, while a heavy, hand-sized sac hangs beneath it, swollen and pulsing. The entire thing smells of sweat and leather, hard marches and manhood, and the warlord's harsh horn-grip pins the fiend in place as his bloated cock is rubbed against her face. Finally, however, he pulls his hips back, and begins marching about her, still keeping a firm hold of her. "I'm sure something like this is nothing to a demonic slut," he raspily chuckles.

Sil growls, trying to twist away as Belokh's grip loosens for a moment, but before she can even properly move her head, she has to squeeze her eyes shut as the same tidal wave of sensory input hits her as before. She feels his manhood smack her in the face, carrying with it all the scents of war and sheer masculinity, but doesn't move, waiting for the sensations to fade. When they do, she sees the warlord walking behind her, and she can't help but feel another pang of fear. That fear eventually gives way to desperate courage, and she tenses her legs for a moment before attempting to leap upwards and pull away from his grasp. "Release me!" she roars, yanking her head back and scrabbling desperately at the gnarled hand on her horn. "I am not your plaything!"

"Not many can say that they've fucked hellspawn," the scarred brute muses. "This will be... interesting." That line of thought is interrupted by Sil's furious response. The attempt at escape is not entirely unexpected, although the sheer desperation of it is. Reflexively, Belokh's fist yanks back punishingly upon that horn, jerking it as harshly as any warg-reins. "Stubborn cunt!" is spat out, more frustrated than angry, as the hulking goblinoid attempts to shove Sil back down to the ground through sheer brute force alone. His free hand, seeking whatever purchase it can get, seizes upon that tail of hers, squeezing it no less fiercely than her horn, and when even that does not seem to be enough to get the demoness to yield again, a single sharp kick is aimed at the back of her nearest knee, seeking to cut out her legs from beneath her.

Sil spits out a curse in some dark, long-forgotten language as she feels a sudden, shooting agony through her already-aching tail, quickly followed by a savage blow to the back of her knee. The pain and shock is overwhelming, and she collapses heavily once more, taking deep, shuddering breaths as she tries and fails to find the strength to rise. Her face rests against the charred scrubgrass for several seconds before she manages to get back up on her hands and knees, and even that takes a considerable amount of effort. She says nothing, conserving the energy that would be wasted in speech, and settles instead for glaring back at Belokh, though that proves somewhat difficult with his hand gripped tight around her sensitive horn.

A visible shudder runs through the turgid length of the demoness' assailant as he looks down upon her, splayed out on the grass, on her hands and knees so very unsteadily. "That's a much better look for you, fucktoy," is stated so very mockingly by Belokh, the brute now leaning over her from behind. Giving Sil's tail an angry smack down near the base - as if to threaten it against any temerity during the proceedings - his free hand claws its way over the small of her back, blunted nails still sharp enough to scrape and score, even if rending through the fiend's unnaturall durable skin was beyond them. Thick fingertips slip beneath the chest-wrap just beneath her shoulderblades, tugging at the material testingly before he simply tears it away, a sharp wrenching motion accompanying the 'hrgh!' of exertion as that small piece of modesty is ripped asunder. That done, Belokh rakes his hand back downward, bringing it to her loincloth. Without pausing for a moment, he simply flips it aside, hard eyes focused squarely upon what hides beneath.

Sil manages a soft hiss at the 'fucktoy' comment, but any further aggression is far beyond what her battered body is capable of at this point. She exhales sharply as the sensitive base of her tail is slapped, causing it to whip up into the air involuntarily before settling back to the ground, then stiffens as she feels Belokh's nails dragging across her back. The pain is dull, but it hurts nonetheless, and the demoness clenches her hands into weak fists as she feels her top being ripped away. Her breasts hang free, small yet relatively perky, each capped by a rapidly-stiffening dark green nipple. Her eyes close, and she remains motionless as Belokh tugs the loincloth away, revealing a pair of smooth, toned cheeks and perfect, pale green lips, with not a single strand of hair to be found. Her hips and ass shake slightly as she shivers, finally realizing just how cold the night is with no fire, inside or out, to warm her.

"Well, well," Belokh intones as he grasps one of those pert rear cheeks, sinking his nails into it as he harshly kneads the supple flesh. "What were you doing hiding these away, whore?" The grip on her horn, still as harsh as ever, shifts and pumps slightly as it rakes over the keratin surface, allowing the strapping goblinoid to adjust his grasp. That swollen cock of his slaps down against Sil's ass, warm against her olive skin - perhaps the warmest thing in contact with her, in fact. Even from this incidental contact, the brisk, hard thump of the hobgoblin's heartbeat can be felt, each surge of blood causing the monstrously hefty prick to throb against her. The harsh-groping 'caress' of her backside shifts into a blatant tugging aside, exposing to that sallow gaze the hole nestled between those pert curves. A pleased noise rolls in the back of Belokh's mouth, and his thumb slips down to scrape over that clenched ring, nail just barely dragging along the ridges and contours of the slightly wrinkled surface.

"Fff..." She jerks slightly as she feels Belokh's thick, throbbing cock against her bare, goosebumped flesh, but doesn't make any effort to avoid it. A low sigh escapes as she feels her supple cheeks being squeezed and manhandled, followed by a gasp of shock as Belokh's thumb begins to rub around a very delicate area. Still, though, Sil doesn't move, preferring her body to be taken advantage of rather than broken. She certainly hurt enough as it was, and her arms were shaking slightly with the mere effort of holding her on all fours. For now, they hold, but it's becoming more and more of a struggle every minute. Sooner or later, her strength will give out, and she'll be forced to drop to the ground, completely at the mercy of this brute, this mortal, this, this... thing.

The thought makes her glare down at the ground as her temper flares once more, imagining Belokh being torn limb from limb in a hundred horrifying ways, but imagining did nothing to change the fact that the real Belokh was right behind her, preparing to ravage her in unspeakable ways.

"I've heard human clergy say that sodomy is the pastime of hellspawn. That true, cocksleeve? You familiar with getting fucked hard here?" The firm press-down of his prodding thumb strains the tightly-clenched hole, threatening to break through its resistance...but Belokh eases up right before he can force that bit of resistance to collapse, and instead he shifts his strongly-built hips to wedge his bloated hardness in the valley between those two lean globes, just the perfect balance of softness and toned resistance. His savage thickness is impossible to deny as he slowly slides that fat cock up and down against her goosebumped skin, each swollen vein and blood-gorged bump in the beastly thing all-too-tangible against Sil. Even this soft motion gets light growls and groans out of the hobgoblin, and his meaty erection is already spitting and dribbling faint trails of slimy spunk, an ugly yellow fluid that possessively sticks to whatever scrap of bare flesh it contacts. So too does his doughty foreskin slowly peel back, finally revealing his squat, blunt-tipped glans, already glistening from anticipation. Another slipping, stroking tug of a horn, and the monster's freed-up hand lashes out against one pert, bubbly bottom cheek in an open-handed smack, angled in sharply for maximum palm-heel impact.

The sensation of the hobgoblin's engorged member against her bare ass is enough to get another hiss out of Sil, and she shivers again, the involuntary motion making her smooth cheeks shift and rub against the swollen cock wedged between them. Her arms are shuddering noticeably now as the cool night air slowly saps her of any remaining energy, and her shoulder screams in protest. It's all she can do to simply remain as she is, let alone stop Belokh from having his every way with her.

She feels something warm and sticky on the small of her back, and her momentary confusion quickly turns to disgust as she realizes exactly what it is. How could this be happening? She is an Infernal, a creature of the Abyss, as ravenous and powerful as the blazing fires of Hell-

"Ngah!"

The sharp spank sends an unexpected jolt through Sil's body, and she can't stop herself from crying out as her arms finally fail, leaving her facedown on the ground, though her knees are still bent. Her hips and round, spunk-stained ass stick proudly in the air, a faint handprint becoming visible against her left cheek.

Resting on his own knees, the brutal monster sneers at Sil's collapse, leaving her utterly exposed before him - and in the perfect position for the exact brand of depravity he is so clearly intending. "That's a good look for a whore," Belokh states once more, all heated contempt for the vanquished demoness before him. Another jarring slap is directed against her rump, an underhand swing that shudders the hip from its square-on impact. Following through immediately, the hobgoblin drags his claws over the already-reddened cheek, raking lines across that pliant flesh. The meaty shaft ensconsed firmly between her twin globes continues its unhurried rocking, its underside dragging over and against Sil's snug ring with every long pump.

Finally, however, both of the warlord's hands make their way to those trim hips of Sil's, even letting go of her horns for this. Those strong fingers sink into her flesh, grasping hard enough to bruise. Another slide of that turgid length, and then a shuffling and shifting, a repositioning; in short order, something obscenely thick is nudging squarely against the demoness' puckered hole, smearing more freely-oozing liquid against that tiny ring. A throaty chuckle follows from the hobgoblin...and then, fingers clamping down as every corded muscle in his massive frame tenses, every single ounce of raw power in the brute's frame is poured into that single, headlong slam, driving his massive cock against Sil's sphincter like a ram crashing into a gate.

Even as Belokh slaps her ass, leaving it smarting, even as his sharp nails rake against her flesh, even as his thick cock slides back and forth between her supple cheeks, coating them with pre, Sil stays near-motionless; utterly, absolutely spent. There's no choice, now, no say in the matter... she just has to lay there, rear sticking up like some sort of animal, and take it. She groans softly, the every motion of Belokh's hips against her own exacerbating pain all around her body, before exhaling suddenly at an unexpected relief: her horns are free, no longer being squeezed hard enough to make her whole head throb. If there was any strength left in her, she would've used the sudden release as an opportunity to escape, but as it was, all she could do was hope his hands stayed off them.

Then she feels the rough grasp of Belokh's hands against either side of her hips, and, with mounting horror, realizes what's about to happen. With what he had been like so far, she was certain Belokh had no intention of being gentle, either. The demoness grits her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut, and braces herself...

Sil screams, a long, wild sound, as Belokh's huge cock rams into her perky, upturned ass, filling it completely with a single, powerful stroke. She can feel it inside her, every twitch, every throb, every pulsing vein... the pain is indescribable, enough to squeeze a few tears out from behind her glowing eyes. They sizzle softly as they hit the ground below, an obvious show of weakness that Sil makes no effort to hide. Once, she might have cared, but now, the only things that seem real are the pain and the hot, thick feeling of the warchief's member inside her.

That shriek from the roughly impaled hellspawn is matched by a rolling growl of triumph from the savage chieftain, whose headlong hilting of Sil's bottom is capped off by a deafening crack of flesh upon flesh. The strangling tightness of the fiend, painful as her broken-through ring of muscle cinches tight around the base of his shaft, drags a harsh grunt from Belokh, but he does not stop. The inner walls of her gut fit about his engorged prick like a second skin, and his harsh grip on the demoness' hips is used to forcibly tug her back against him all the more, trying to force his bloated cockhead a litle further inside of her. When the brute is certain that he can reach no deeper - a heated rod of iron, closer to a forearm than any common manhood, whose overwhelming fullness and pressure can be felt against the pit of her stomach - he begins to wrench and drag his unwilling plaything back off his cock, all harsh tugs and hip-scoring jerks that force those innards to yield all the more about him.

The pain inside her condenses, focusing down into a single point that sears through her entire body, bright as a star. Sil's vision flickers for a moment, but through some miracle of will, she manages to stay conscious, her inborn survival instinct beating out the desire for it all to end. Belokh's cock feels incredibly, impossibly large, enough to force out a few more sulfurous tears as he pushes ever deeper, utterly ravaging the insides behind those supple, shapely cheeks. As the warlord starts to pull away, she lets herself go limp, drawing in deep, ragged breaths and allowing him to grope, squeeze, and yank her hips and ass to his heart's content. Resistance would only bring more pain. She knows that now, though it doesn't do anything to make her rear and thighs hurt less.

"I- ghhh! suppose this is the! mmgh! famed demonic toughness at, guh, work!" The latest round of jeers comes out fragmented, each new shift and shove within those smothering guts causing Belokh's breath to catch. Inch by inch, bit by bit, that obscenely swollen penis is tugged out of Sil, causing her desperately-clinging pucker to snare around the flared-out ridge of the hobgoblin's hefty glans. Still, even that is wrenched past, causing that entire massive cock to audibly pop free from the ruined hole. It smacks wetly across the demoness' red-tinged cheeks, brief moments of blessed respite, but before she has any opportunity to catch her breath, it is already pressing against her again, bearing down on her, being punishingly shoved right back into that unwilling passage, repurposed for the cruel pleasure of Belokh. Lacking the devastating full-force spearing of his first impalement, the re-entry is a jerky affair of short stabs and aggressive pumps, battering and reaming its way back in. Resistance is ground down with a barrage of crushing blows and violent hip thrusts, and by the time his matted pubic mound is nestled squarely against the enticing curve of her ass, Belokh is panting heavily, having scraped down her hips hard enough to almost draw blood. But he keeps going, all sharp movements and violent corkscrewing pelvic twists, drawing back solely so he can drive forward again, grinding Sil's entire body down against the charred grass.

With each jerky, erratic push and pull of Belokh's member within her ass, Sil feels herself becoming more and more accustomed to the agonizing feeling; almost numb, in a way. She gasps weakly as he pulls free from between her cheeks for mere moments before being forcing himself back inside, her hips clenching around his swollen girth as she lies breathless on the ground, legs spread as wide as they can possible go to try and accommodate him. Her tail lies limply beside her, twitching slightly whenever there's a particularly violent pull or thrust, and she feels the area around its base ache down to the bone as her ass is scratched, spanked, and violated, again and again and again...

Letting go of her hips, Belokh leans forward over Sil's collapsed body to grab onto both her horns, curling his harsh grip about the two ridged protrusions. Leveraging his grasp, the lithe hellspawn is shoved back against the next punishing pelvic pump, a harshly-angled half-length thrust that further splays out that clenching backside, reducing it all the more to a petty fucksleeve for the brutal warlord. Her growing relaxation - or is that numb compliance? - allows for a faster pace, a harder pace, and the goblin takes full advantage of it, boring the demoness' pert, pretty ass out with hip-shuddering slams.

At the apex of one particularly fierce sheathing, his firm balls slap hard against the bottom of his anal plaything's hitherto-untouched snatch, and Belokh's entire body goes rigid for a moment. There is a violent throbbing that runs down and through that entire swollen, veiny shaft, seemingly swelling outward against the increasingly broken-in inner walls of the devil, and then a flood of clammy heat gushes out within her gut, splattering thickly against her rough-used lining. Grunts and muffled growls creep out of his clenched jaw as his cock twitches and surges within Sil, each new throb another heavy gob of his vile cum painting her innards with his colour and scent, spurt after spurt of that monster's seed pumping out of him and into that awaiting ass. But the hobgoblin does not stop. He simply grins toothily as the arcs of his thick cream thin out to spurts and spits before he keeps thrusting, the sodden squelches and slurps of each new indignity filling the night air.

Sil's breath catches as she feels the slap of flesh on flesh, the sudden impact on her pale green lips, and a violent shudder runs through her body as Belokh's meaty shaft tenses inside her. It's quickly replaced by a wave of disgust, and as the hobgoblin continues to pump long ropes of his seed deep between her spread asscheeks, she finds herself growing faintly incredulous. Surely it'll end soon... how much cum could he have? She shuts her eyes once more, her face pushed against the ground, and waits for it to end...

Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. With each violent pump, Sil's hips and rear are jerked into the air slightly by the sheer force, her shapely thighs jiggling slightly with the motions. She grits her teeth, her resolve returning as she feels the flow of hot, sticky cum inside her start to ebb. Just a little more, just a little longer... and then he'd stop. He'd have to stop.

But the hobgoblin doesn't stop. He keeps thrusting, hips pummeling Sil's defenseless rear over and over, his cock showing absolutely no signs of being finished. The tiny ember of hope she'd had flickers and dies, and she goes fully limp again, resigning herself to further humiliation.

In what may be a tiny mercy, the brute so violently pillaging Sil's pert derriere has not yet resumed his full, bone-jarring pace. Indeed, Belokh seems to ride out the post-release languor, using the thick flood of his monstrous seed within her to ease the pasage of his thick, veiny cock, so stubbornly intractable even in the wake of its intestine-flooding release. With her insides thoroughly drenched in his spunk, each long thrust finds its mark all the more easily, his bulbous glan scraping somewhere deep inside her each and every time his wiry pubic coat scrapes against her hard-used cheeks. The fists on her horns continue to tug the miserable demoness back against each unhurried pump, craning her neck awkwardly in the process. "Hnngh! And I! Mmf! Bet you! Ghh! Thought it was! NNNGH! Over, didn't you?" is grunted amidst the harsh pounding, its insulting tone drowned out by the lust-drunk thickness of the hobgoblin's gravelly voice. "Not! Done! Yet! Fucktoy!"

"Nnuhh!" A short, pained sound escapes from dry lips as Sil's neck is yanked back, and she stares up into the inky night sky, a few more tears pooling in her eyes. The sensation of the warlord's still-throbbing dick between her cheeks somewhat muted by the sheer volume of semen coating her insides, a small mercy she hardly bothers to acknowledge. She doesn't care, at this point. The pain, the vileness, the utter shame of it all... it's all past her, now. Only the single, overwhelming thought remains: when will it end?

Fucktoy...

She hears Belokh's harsh, triumphant words, and something fundamental inside her breaks. Soft, choking sobs begin to well up inside her throat, and though it goes against every iota of her personality, of her being, she lets them out anyway, her ragged breaths coming almost in time with the hobgoblin's thrusts inside her reddened, cum-stained cheeks.

For a single moment - a single, solitary, aching moment - that fierce bludgeoning of the demoness' backside actually stops. Is she...? She is. The chieftain cannot help it - he laughs. Booming like war-drums, that barrel-like chest of his rumbles and heaves, sadistic amusement at Sil's open distress overflowing nearly as much as the sticky seed being spread and scraped about within her cruelly repurposed rear passage. "This is the comedy of the ages!" roars Belokh, shifting one hand off of a horn to instead knot itself amidst a fistful of her deep auburn hair. A hip-creaking slam follows, that veiny cock spearing so deep into her that some of the copious cum poured within her is squelched out around it to puddle on the ground, and he leans over her back, drawing a low hiss past her ear like the scrape of drawn steel. "A fiend of the Hells, crying! Because she's getting fucked." A flesh-cracking drive forward of those doughty hips, forcing the hellspawn across the burnt grass. "Hard." A harsh twist as, only half-withdrawn, Belokh shoves himself back in anyways, grinding himself viciously within her. "In her." Sharp angles, forcing her to stretch all the more, forcing her to yield, even more than she already has. "Useless. Sloppy. Cocksleeve of an ass!"

The sudden, redoubled force of Belokh's cruel thrusting makes Sil twist violently, the deep, burning ache suddenly flaring up within her again. She would've dropped to the ground had the warlord's hand not been gripping her hair, sending fresh anguish through her already-throbbing head. She winces as she hears his voice right beside her ear, the rough, gravelly tones making her shudder and withdraw even deeper into whatever semblance of self she has left.

Her hips ache, her shapely thighs are smarting from being smacked and scratched, and her ass itself has been fucked raw many times over, as the thick fluid leaking from between her cheeks can attest... but still he continues, thrusting further and further, heedless of her body's protests or her own desperate sobs.

There is no fight left in her, no resistance; sneering, the grizzled brawler decides that he has no further need of trying to keep her in place. The fist in her hair remains, sharply tugging and yanking at those tresses to keep the lesser devil's head jerked upright, but the hand that had remained on her horns retreats, indelicately clawing its way down the curve of her back. The blunt talons score and scrape rather than cut, leaving livid red lines down that olive skin. The base of Sil's limp tail is subjected to the same indignity, scratched harshly before being cuffed with a dismissive backhand, and that free-swinging hand is then lashed downward against one taut, splayed-out globe, the crack of his sandpapery palm colliding against that jiggling cheek echoing through the surrounding trees. Belokh immediately rakes his way downward over that curvy rear, lashing down along her thigh, and through all this he is unrelenting in the way he saws back and forth within that utterly vanquished rectum, using it solely as he pleases now. "I'm, ghh! Going to have every one of, ugh! my men come and, hrrrngh! Have their turn with you, cunt!" is promised amidst bestial pants and snarls, the heat of his breath tickling against the fiend's neck. "It's, mmf! All you're! Ghhhh! Good for!"

A momentary burst of relief flashes through Sil's mind as she feels her horn released, but it soon fades. Of course he wasn't letting her go, not now, maybe not ever. Belokh's sharp spanks and raking nails cause involuntary jerks of her hips and thighs, but aside from that, she barely moves, her pain and exhaustion allowing the hobgoblin to use her as he wishes. Her faint, broken cries of pain and humiliation gradually peter out into soundless, shuddering breaths as her tears are fully spent, leaving no sound but the wet smack of flesh on flesh and Belokh's grunts and guttural jeers. She moves with him fully now, her entire back half thrusting forward as he does, taking his whole cock without an ounce of resistance.


Laid low by arms, but broken by his monstrous fuckstick - oh yes, gloating thoughts inside the warlord's lust-drunk head weigh the pros and cons of collaring this feeble hellspawned fuckpuppet and dragging her back with him as a gilded prize and symbol of his prowess. By now, she is every bit as sloppy and slack as Belokh had jeered earlier, his every movement nearly effortless. No matter how deeply he sinks into her, no matter how hard he pivots and twists his hips, Sil seems able to take it, and the sadist in the towering hobgoblin hates this. Snarling in open annoyance, he rains down strikes against that upturned rear, leaving harsh welts upon those parted globes splattered with seed and sweat alike. Here a sharply-angled palm strike, there a hand splayed out wide to practically engulf an entire cheek beneath his stinging slap before he sinks his worn-down talons in; all the brute's frustration and annoyance is taken out on the devil's backside, through cock and hand alike. With each body-shivering blow, his breathing grows heavier, and the twitches inside her more pronounced; those yellow eyes narrow sharply, spiteful daggers of moonlight boring into the back of her head.

The strikes only halt when the brute once again seizes a chunk of her fleshy behind in his stony grasp, but this time begins shoving her forward into the dirt, the grasp in her hair doing likewise. With a rearward snap of his hips, Belokh's bloated cock drags itself out of her ruined guts, slipping out effortlessly - not even her tiny, ravaged ring putting up any meaningful fight. Only the wet, slurping pop of his broad glans breaking the seal of her pucker. With a raspy exhalation, his beastly shaft twinges, dripping cum and whatever other fluids he scraped out of her in the process of the hard fucking in the cool night air. A hiss follows, and then a geyser, the hobgoblin's filthy spunk surging out of his quivering sac to rain down upon Sil beneath him. The first gout splashes right upon her gaping sphincter, joining the mess already dribbling out of that hole, but more follows hot on its heels, long arcs splattering and smearing over her battered rump and the scratched-up small of her back. Upon the open wounds, that vile yellow fluid stings, coating the hellspawn in that ugly off-white glaze. But more just keeps pouring out of that wildly spasming shaft, so hot it nearly burns, thick gobs gracing her collapsed shoulderblades and even the bottom of her hair as the stink of cum drowns out everything else.

The demoness' bruised, beaten rear jiggles slightly as Belokh lays into it, and if he had been listening, his sharp hobgoblin ears might have caught a sudden, hissing intake of breath with every welt-inducing smack. Though Sil's will might have been broken, and her body nearly so, she can still feel pain, and the blows against her upturned ass are like waves crashing against a rock, gradually wearing her down. After some time-- she doesn't know how long the rough, punishing, spanking continued, nor does she care-- the hobgoblin's commanding hand forces her downward, tearstains mixing with the charred grime of the earth below as it's smeared across her face. She accepts the new position, blue eyes remaining tightly closed, and waits for the next bout of anguish.

And it comes, oh, does it come, in the form of Belokh's engorged cock twitching against her ass once more before erupting, covering her bruised and near-bloody rear end in his foul seed. The next few spurts land across her hips and back, and Sil writhes in sudden agony as she feels the hot, thick liquid burn like acid against her numerous open wounds. She twists violently, fingers and toes clenched, as a low, feral sound escaping from deep within her chest. All this pain she's felt already, and yet still this mortal finds new ways to make her suffer.

What cruel trick of monstrous physiology is this? As obscene an amount of bestial release had already coated her, yet more was still forthcoming, that entire vile shaft surging and pumping visibly as it spills upon Sil. What at first had been abstract patterns of the disgusting liquid seep and spill together, forming puddles and pools upon every possible dip and curve of that far-too-exposed back and ass. The sharp, musky scent seems to seep into her skin, permeating it utterly with its slick sliminess and pungent aroma. The fiend's hateful thrashing sends droplets of the stuff flying every which way, but the vast majority seems insistent in the way it clings to the fiend's verdant flesh, slick and sticky to the touch. At first, that writhing and twisting is something the burly monster attempts to fight against; an unwelcome show of liveliness that must be crushed. The grip on her hair tightens all the more, attempting to ride through it... but soon enough, he has a better idea. Belokh lets go of her locks to brusqely cuff her across the face, putting a sharp spin on the motion. Just as he does so, he grasps one (mostly) unsullied thigh to forcibly flip the demoness over, seeking to throw her over onto her already-ravaged back.

Sil's lips part in a harsh, wounded yell as her back slams into the ground, sending a spike of searing agony through her spine. Though her eyes are dry, they close anyway, and had she had tears left to shed, she would've. Her bottom half throbs with continuous, surging pain, but at least, small mercy that it is, she isn't being actively violated for the time being.

The front of the demoness' body has so far fared much better than the rear, and besides the growing dark red bruise around her midriff and a thin layer of dirt and ash, her smooth green skin is still relatively unblemished. Her small yet perky breasts stand out proudly from her chest as she takes in deep, hungry gasps of air, trying not to think of what's in store for the pair of plump, perfect lower lips in between her battered thighs.

Belokh's intentions are painfully straightforward; there is no mystery about them. Legs are wrenched apart artlessly before being slung over his broad shoulders, leaving twitching feet to dangle uselessly upon his still-armoured back, hard and unyielding. A hand on her hip lifts the fiend's body up off the ground slightly, lining those puffy folds up squarely with his oozing prick. There is a brush of its slimy tip against her slit as the hobgoblin shifts his position slightly, and his free hand takes another biting swat at the flank of one of her hard-abused asscheeks, growling hotly at the feel of those flawless lips trembling against his veiny length. "Let's see how your worthless cunt fares," is chuckled harshly amidst continued alignment of his greedy, bloated cockhead against her loins, smearing disgusting ooze from their previous rutting over this hitherto-unsullied place. Its un-outraged state disappears promptly, however, when a hard forward push from Belokh easily spears into that awaiting snatch, slimy cum and brute force combining to piece that tight pussy quickly and brutally.

"Ngah!" Sil gasps, her body straightening as if electrified. The sudden feeling of the massive cock being shoved inside her makes her thighs clench hard around it, body screaming in protest. Her ass, ravaged though it was, had at least gone nearly numb at a certain point. But this...

She can feel every inch of Belokh between her legs, every curve and swell and pulsing vein of his member against her inner lips. It hurts, yes, but far more intimately than anything she's previously experienced. This is an inside kind of hurt, the type that starts from somewhere deep and horrible and spreads and constricts and steals her breath, her head swimming as she tries in vain to stretch her legs farther to better receive the warlord, to ease the pain just the tiniest bit. Her forked tongue lolls out of her mouth as she shudders violently, head swimming, but somehow, she manages to remain conscious and ever-so-acutely aware of Belokh's turgid length filling her completely...

"That's, ungh, better!" Unwelcome praise from the warlord, whose punishing attentions had reduced her rear hole to such a slack and savaged mess, flooded with seed and cruelly pressganged into use as a thing for his brute satisfactions; a sleeve to satisfy greedy cocks and naught else. But now it was too loose, too hard-worn and sundered, to give the kind of friction and resistance needed for even that shameful calling, and Belokh craved more of that wet friction, struggling in vain against his deep, demanding ravaging. Thankfully for him, her slit provided such in spades. Even if her ass had once been tighter, and even with the copious slickness provided by the filth and grime collected on his shaft, this slit was not yet broken, and so he revels in that newfound snugness. Sil is easy to take like this, and her feeble attempts to reduce the strain make it simpler still, so her assailant does not even bother with delicacy or restraint - he drives into her deeply, seeing just how much of his massive endowment this new hole can take. The sight of her perfect little pussy lips obscenely stretching and straining about the monstrous invader makes the brute growl in satisfaction, and his hands move to the demoness' thighs pressed up against his chest, kneading them roughly.

Sil's teeth clench as if she's trying to grind them to nubs, her back arching further as her tight, sweat-covered folds struggle to take even half of Belokh's cock, let alone the entire, swollen thing. Her mouth is open wide, fangs bared in a breathless scream and spots dancing behind her eyes now. When the hobgoblin had rammed himself into her upraised, then-tight ass all those hours-- or was it minutes?-- ago, she had thought then that there was no pain worse, no anguish more severe. Now she knows better, of course, and dimly, as her thighs are forced apart and her broken body is defiled ever further, she wonders if this is what Hell must be for mortals. Relentless, unending hurt and humiliation... how many had she damned to that same existence, marking them with Abyssal brands as she broke their bodies and their spirits?

As Belokh thrusts further, groping at and pulling her scratched and bruised thighs to his chest, the line of thought escapes her, and she goes limp and acceptant once more.

If there is any semblance of mercy to this latest phase of Sil's seemingly-unending violation, it is that - for the moment, at least - Belokh's thrusts do not seem actively calculated to punish. Oh yes, between his sheer bulk and his unrestrained ferocity, each hard thrust of his is nearly enough to bruise bone and stretch the pliant elasticity of inner folds to their very limits, but as of yet, there are none of the keenly-angled assaults or short, stabbing motions that seemed designed solely to break in and beat down. Of course, there are their own indignities. The thick layer of spunk that the brute's length had brought with it cloyingly smothers her depths, like some layer of gooey film that will not entirely come off, and the fact that his massive cock is forced to bottom out against her inner walls rather than simply sinking deeper into her guts makes each hilting a pelvis-shuddering affair. The hulking goblin leans forward slightly, causing his victim's legs and thighs to fold back against her stomach somewhat as one oversized hand reaches out to engulf a modest breast, grinding that harsh hide of his against the unwillingly swollen nipple.

That nipple stiffens noticeably at his rough groping, and Sil gasps as her entire body is shunted back and forth with every stroke, causing her vision to jerk up and down as her tender lips are speared over and over by Belokh's dripping member. She winces as her thighs are pushed upwards and backwards, nearly flat against her stomach, all to further accommodate the source of her degradation, but at the same time, through the haze of hurt and exhaustion, she can feel something building inside her, something wonderful and sickeningly terrible both at once.

Belokh's thrusts are rough, but not so much that the ache they cause completely masks the slow-burning flame of arousal gradually forming between her legs. His cock, so monstrously thick and hearty, is pounding into her, unceasing, and though her spirit cries in protest, she can't deny her corporeal body's most primal function any more than she can deny the bruises marring her skin. The demoness bites her lower lip, breaths coming faster and lighter as each slam of the warlord's hips against hers brings alternating waves of pain and pleasure.

The perky mounds of Sil's bust are easily buried within a single palm of Belokh's, and this fact is put to good effect as he squeezes and kneads at them, running his war-scarred palm and digits over their smooth, pliant skin. His thick, meaty fingers cause the flesh beneath them to dimple and yield, letting him pull and prod aggressively at them. Occasionally, a stiff nub gets caught between strong digits, causing it to get roughly rubbed and twisted, rolled and abused, before slipping loose; such seems purely incidental to the hobgoblin, who simply enjoys the feel of those lean tits beneath his hand.

What he enjoys more, however, is that demonic cunt that manages his obscene hardness so well. Each domineering shove forward from his powerful hips demands that it yield before his 'affections,' but it still clutches so eagerly to him as he slides back in preparation for the next assault, each one coming faster than the last. The sloppy churn of his bestial cock in those befouled loins causes a sticky froth to gather around her distended lower lips, and the warchief pillages her snatch freely, grinding hard against every inch of her inner walls his veiny hardness can reach...until, it would seem, he realizes just what a state Sil is in. Wordlessly, but with a contemptuous sneer that suggests he knows exactly what she is feeling right now, Belokh re-angles his shaft within her before moving again, this time scraping roughly right against the underside of her pelvic mound with each and every hard-driving movement.

Those quick breaths slowly turn to grunts of dull exertion as tingling flame inside Sil is fanned with every jolt and push of Belokh's body into hers. She hisses sharply through her teeth at the sudden re-angling of the rod of flesh within her, then shudders in thoroughly unwanted pleasure as his thrusts resume again. The pain in her swollen, sticky lips does nothing to stop the fact that she can feel herself growing more and more aroused every moment, though she would give anything to make it not so. At least, she thinks, biting her lip hard again as one of her sensitive nipples is tweaked, it's something to occupy her mind, something other than how much she hurts in every conceivable way...

"Shameless." The snide comment is hissed out from Belokh's tight-set mouth, right before he turns his head to the side and bites at one of the calves slung over his shoulder. Those jagged teeth of his are nearly - nearly - sharp enough to pierce Sil's unnaturally tough flesh, but as it stands he simply grinds his keen incisors down upon the lean-lined leg, broad tongue lapping against the smooth olive flesh even as he does. One tit of hers is given a sudden smack, angled in from the side but clapping down just enough to fully catch the nipple, which flows through into a sharp pinching of its twin between thumb and forefinger. But there is no denying, there is no escaping, the way he stretches out the petty demon's cunt with his grossly bloated shaft and hard, demanding movements; each fierce stroke of that oversized tool angling along the root of her clitoris. Ungentle, unloving, aggressive and harsh...but perhaps not lacking in its own savage appeal, should one be in a suitably addled state.

If Sil had been more coherent, no doubt she would've spat back an equally condescending reply, but all that comes out of her mouth as Belokh's teeth sink into her leg is a muffled yelp of shock and pain. Her leg twitches slightly in a feeble attempt to dislodge his sharp incisors, but as ever, her exhaustion wins out over all else, and she soon returns to her formerly limp position...

"Hah!" Though it doesn't last for long. She yelps once more as her sensitive chest is slapped, a sharp, pained noise; her compact breasts do little to cushion the forceful impact. But even through the relentless abuse, the tingling feeling endures, flooding the demoness' ragged body with steadily-increasing doses of endorphins. Her mind feels fuzzy, caught in some strange limbo between wanting to give in to ease the hurt and wanting to soak up every bit of arousal that Belokh's shaft is forcibly pumping into her.

Nails and teeth score pliant flesh, outstretched palms striking at bare breasts, or, occasionaly, reaching down to harshly strike the demoness' overabused ass from below; the impact of which proves to be more a sordid squelch than anything else, the thick coating of hobgoblin jizz that Belokh had caked her back with still layered on. Each one leaves a stinging reminder of the abuse, be it a dull ache or a piercing throb. But the warlord shoves himself forward all the more as he pins Sil's slack knees right against her ribcage, letting him stare right into the demoness' pretty, if bruised and battered, face. Sweat is pouring down that broadly-built body of his, thick and salty, and he lunges down to fiercely bite at her leaf-coloured neck, slavering like a war-wolf as those fangs of his scrape over and upon the hollow of her throat. A hand comes up to grasp a horn once more, nails raking across the keratin surface, as the harsh pounding of her overfull slit grows harder, faster, rougher, even as whatever vague semblance of rhythm it may have once had becomes increasingly threadbare. Small snarls and booming grunts of exertion constantly slip out of the brute atop Sil, punctuating every pelvis-creaking pump that sets the nerves inside her slit's delicate walls ablaze with wildly conflicting sensations...

Her body bucks in time with his motions, her half-stifled gasps only interrupted by occasional cries of pain as she's slapped and bitten; somehow, now, those seem to hurt her more than being penetrated by her attacker's oversized cock-- or maybe that's just dulled by the erratic flushes of electrifying heat shuddering through her body, making her thighs clench again and again as she reaches new heights of terrible, forbidden pleasure...

A thrust, another, another, and then, with no warning, her head feels as if it's exploding, blinding shards of agony ricocheting through it as her horn's surface is scratched and marred by Belokh's claws. For a few moments, everything is drowned out, even the feeling of the cock inside her, and when lucidity returns, she's panting, sweating, her mind spinning with thoughts she's far too tired and battered to put properly into words...

Not moments after Sil's awareness comes back from the edge, Belokh's massive prick wedges up deep inside her, the faint outline of that hefty implement visible beneath her trim midriff. Something between a throaty chuckle and groan croaks out of the hobgoblin's throat, and his hands upon her horn and hip alike seize up, leaving more talon-marks upon her. Indeed, that entire monstrous body visibly tenses, powerful muscles cording and coiling, and a powerful lurch runs straight through the impaling rod wedged between her stretched-out lips, his entire lower body quivering slightly.

Finally, there is an inevitable gush of liquid fire, pounding against the demoness' inner walls with all the force of another brutal thrusting. Belokh's third release of the night mixes freely with the old film of frothy spunk he had fucked into her, flooding and filling her loins with his gooey cum, pulse after pulse, throb after throb. Every inch, every vein, on that oversized cock bulges and spasms inside Sil as whatever demonic approximation of a womb she may have is utterly filled with the brute's unclean seed, bubbling and roiling within her as it leaves no nook or cranny of her cunt unsullied. Thick rivulets of the stuff begin pouring out of their obscene joining, but still the growling hobgoblin grinds his hips back and forth like a seizing-up machine, each movement drawing forth new gouts of the oppressive stuff - and causing more of the already-overfull hole to spill over.

With Belokh's length shoved firmly inside her, Sil can feel his every move, including how he stops, tenses, his entire savage rhythm shuddering to a halt for a moment...

And then the release comes, and her eyes flash like shimmering sparks, the sudden, violent eruption making her go limp on top of Belokh as waves of bliss shoot through the demoness, making her scream aloud. Her toned thighs shudder, the world melts away, and for one moment, one incredibly brief moment, she feels herself again; strong and hot-blooded and roiling with power, ready to take on the world and crush it beneath her heel...

But all too soon, the ecstasy fades, and the pain comes flooding back, permeating every inch of bone and flesh. It all hurts, everything hurts, more acutely and tangibly than she'd ever believed possible. Sil coughs harshly, wincing as it brings up a small glob of red-orange blood, and lets her head loll back, staring listlessly at the stars. Broken she thinks, the afterglow allowing her a semblance of clear thought. I am... broken. This is not how it's supposed to be.

There is no dramatic wind-down for Sil's assailant; no grand show of panting or gasping for breath, of trying to piece senses back together again. After the demoness begins coughing, Belokh unhurriedly pulls himself out of those drowned-out confines, still sputtering and spurting rivulets of his cloyingly hot semen within her. When he finally slides loose with a long and sloppy slurp, a few thick strands of cum lunge out of that seed-painted shaft, marking her bruised stomach with its vile heat. Belokh leans back slightly on his knees, something between satisfaction and derision glimmering in that calculating glare of his.

Slowly, he pushes himself up to his feet, only the slightest tremble of those trunklike legs suggesting what kind of state he may be in. The still-firm grip on one horn forces Sil's head upward, squarely eye level with that savage thing that has so thoroughly violated her. It stinks of vile goblin seed and fucking, its monstrous dimensions seemingly all the more obscene with that yellowy translucent layer of filthy fluids upon it. The fiend's head is dragged in towards it, and a twist of the hip cracks the massive thing across her already-bruised cheeks, smearing its thick bile across her face in the process. Belokh musters a small laugh, harsh and hard. "Well, well. Looks like the little cocksleeve gets off on getting shown her place, does she?"

Sil says nothing, merely closing her eyes and exhaling as she feels the sticky, blunt implement smack hard across her cheek. It's less a show of defiance and more one of sheer apathy; at this point, she seems utterly lost to the world, and even the icy blue light behind her eyes seems to have dulled. No taunts or scathing retorts are forthcoming; instead, she simply sits, limp and languid, her tail curled around her lower body in a feeble defensive gesture. The one thing, the only thing that keeps her from collapsing onto the charred ground, is the tiny, distant hope that the this was it, that the nightmare would be finally, finally over soon enough.

For a moment, that squat, heavy-set glans presses against her bruised and swollen lips...before the scarred old hobgoblin suddenly furrows his brow, seeming to think otherwise. Instead he uses his unoccupied hand to scoop up a fistful of her sweat-matted brown locks, which are then curled around that sordid implement still menacing her face. With brisk, rough motions, Sil's hair is co-opted to wipe down that disgusting prick of his, leaving the unfortunate tresses so pressganged sticky, gooey, and utterly wretched to look upon - never mind leaving a permanent aura of his filthy cock-stench clinging to her. When that is done, the brute simply casts her down to the ground, like one may a broken doll. "Now, now, you pathetic little prick-pleaser, useless for anything except crying and getting stuffed full of real cocks...what do I do with you now, hmm?" A dread question, heavy and ominous in the air. A moment's pause later, a harsh smile breaks that glowering face, and the warlord collects his belt off the ground, rummaging through some of the pouches attached to it.

 Even as Belokh insults and degrades her further, even he smiles down at her broken form, Sil does not move. After the abuse she's been through, simply lying on the hardpacked ground is as soothing as the dark fires of her abyssal homeland. She stares out at nothing, the occasional spasm running through her as a particularly violent jolt of pain strikes. Perhaps, eventually, she would muster the strength to kneel, and stand, and speak... but all of that was far, far beyond her now. Belokh's hammer and fist and swollen, hungry cock had broken her, thoroughly and completely, in a way that even a demon would have a hard time recovering from.

Finally, the warlord seems to find whatever he was searching for. A brand. Twisted iron patterns form a crude fascimile of three clenched fists raised together. Tiny runes scrawled along the handle of the implement faintly flicker in the dim lighting as Belokh rolls it around in one of his hands, looking from the tool to the shattered husk of a woman at his feet. One thumbnail drags along some of the markings, and instantaneously the entire thing hums to life, flaring from cold-iron blackness to radiant red heat, almost white-hot, within moments. "A little thing some of our shamans make for my men," he explains, face twisted by brutal, inhuman mirth. "Dealing with regular fires can take too long when we're dealing with large numbers of slaves. Something for you to remember this by, hmm?" Cutting a barking laugh short, Belokh attempts to grab one lean shoulder of Sil's so that he can forcibly wrench her over onto her stomach, handling her less like a person and more like a sack of fodder.

The sound of the brand warming to life makes Sil start slightly, and her eyes flick upward towards it, widening as she realizes what Belokh has planned. As brutish and monstrous as he is, the hobgoblin appears to have at least some grasp of irony. Though her mind wants to resist his grasp, her beaten body refuses, and so she unwillingly allows herself to be shoved forward, her face once again hitting the earth. No... she thinks, her eyes clenching shut in sudden rage and fear and pain, I will not...

But as she is, covered in scratches and bruises and ash and semen and shame, that is all she is able to do: think, and wallow in her own misery as the tables are finally fully turned on her.

The utterly crushed state of the hellspawn makes matters simple. Rolled over, hips pulled up over one knee. Grasp those utterly abused cheeks, welted and scratched and bruised and... glazed, so that the beastly brawler can wrench them apart, exposing her ruined rear hole to those malicious eyes. Bring in the brand - there, right beside that shattered pucker, on the inside of her trim globes. Press down; hear the hiss of sizzling flesh, smell the unmistakable scent of it burning. The brand is flicked off again, heat and light dying from it nearly as briskly as it is done, and Belokh pauses to examine his handiwork - three black fists right on the inside curve of her rear cheeks. A brisk sideways slap sets that entire taut bottom a-jiggle, then the warlord simply throws her to the ground again, his task done.

"I want you to remember that feeling of me shoving into your guts all the way on the very first thrust for the rest of your eternal days, you useless whore," is spat out, now dismissive. "You'll leave my men alone in the valley. If you don't, I will find you again. And this will seem like a pleasant indulgence." The brand is tucked away, and, turning his back on the broken form of the fiend, Belokh Blue-Blooded begins belting himself up once more.

Sil grunts as she lands heavily on the ground, the fresh pain of the brand intermingling with the myriad of aches already present around her body. As agonizing as the mark feels, though, it's given her something: heat, boiling and searing and incredibly welcome, like a purifying drink of water to a parched throat. She feels strength flooding back into her limbs, not nearly enough for her to consider getting revenge, but enough to let her stand, wincing and trembling as her unsteady legs threaten to betray her. A few drops of thick hobgoblin cum ooze from out between her swollen pussy lips, but she doesn't seem to notice or care, staring only at Belokh. "I..." she begins, then trails off, unsure of exactly what to say, and perhaps unsure if she should say anything at all...

But eventually, whatever twisted, broken shard of her ego that remained got the better of her, and so the demoness murmurs, in a short, raspy tones, "I will remember this."

And with that, she draws upon her fast-receding well of inner heat and disappears with a crack, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a couple tiny, wavering flames.