Demon-Sluts Rise Ch. 01: First Seed

Chapter One: First Seed

Content:

Male on Female, Straight, Demons, Incubus, Demon on Human, Gentle dom, Gentle domination, Maledom, Worship, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Blowjob (brief)

Elve snuck through the undergrowth of the deep woods, steps carefully measured and eyes darting. The Huntress' bow rested on her thigh, arrow aligned to be nocked- not that it would do much good.

The bronze tip glinted almost mockingly, and Elve paused for the third time that morning to silently cuss out the Cektarians.

When the colony had been surrendered to the theocratic Cektarian empire, they'd been promised that they would keep their freedoms and traditions- why, by grace, had they been so keen to believe them?

Now steel was a rarity, every ingot sent to the armouries of distant armies, and what little remained would not be allowed in the hands of some 'impure' huntress.

Her silent profanity was interrupted by a breath of movement in the briar, a rabbit slowly poking its way out to nibble at a dandelion stem. She was a huntress, not a noble lady or governess; she had no solutions to matters of politics and war. She would help her people in the way she could.

Within a second she had nocked and fired the defective arrow, sinking it into the fluffy flanks of her mark, and within another she was chasing the tiny beast as it sprinted into the undergrowth- the softer metal had turned an instant kill into a mortal, but slow wound. Diving over brambles and shielding herself through nettles, she almost slid in the mud as the rabbit ducked into its hidden warren, just gaining purchase on its hind leg before it disappeared completely.

She drew her skinning knife to finalise her hunt, when she suddenly felt a sudden shift in the earth, a mighty crack.

And then, she fell.

The landing was not pleasant, her skin radiant with pain across her back and behind that would surely swell and blister- but, had the soft earth not caved in with her, it would've been much worse. She took the opportunity to finish the rabbit, before peering through the gloom as her eyes adjusted.

With the trickle of light from the collapsed ceiling, it took but a moment to realise that this was no natural cave. The floor was flagstone, the high-vaulted ceiling was supported by grand pillars, and the walls were carved with human figures. The reliefs were elaborate, a mark of incredible craftsmanship, but in the dark that was all that Elve could really make out of them.

Incredibly fascinating, but archaeology was not her primary concern at that moment. Finding a way out before she died of dehydration was.

Slinging the coney into her sack, she slowly stood up despite her body's protests and took a look back the way she came. As she suspected, the drop was too severe for her to attempt to simply climb out. She took a step from her dirt landing and began her wander down the hall.

The air was old and stale, but also oddly humid, and her throat did not agree with it, spluttering and coughing; to her delight, the coughs did not echo- the structure couldn't have been too large, then.

She came to the end of the hall to find an intersecting corridor, forming a T-shaped junction, and licked a finger to test for wind- there was none. Remembering an old adage, she turned left and proceeded through the narrower corridor, allowing her fingers to trail the reliefs; figures in bulky and pointed armour, spears, a catapult or mangonel; a depiction of some kind of battlefield. A whisper of academic curiosity crossed Elve's mind; the colony was only around a hundred years old, and didn't have any major conflicts in that time- so who built this strange place?

The question was silenced when she came to the end of the corridor; in the small room beyond there was a door! A huge, stone thing, luckily for Elve's now very limited vision, and while it seemed to be sealed tight Elve trusted in her strength to move it. She dashed to it, as fast as her body would allow, and began to feel for a handhold.

Running her hands over the surface, they came to find purchase on the rough texture of rusted metal chains that she found to wreathe the door.

"Damn," she whispered, and began to trace them with her hands- hoping to find a simple catch or fastening. The texture of the rust was rutted and gnarled, leaving only the whisper of engravings on them; even if Elve had the light to see, and even if she had understood the ancient tongue in which they'd been written, time had worn them to meaninglessness.

She finally discovered the lock a few inches over her head, a padlock- much to her frustration. With an exhausted sigh, she took her skinning knife and began the slow process of cutting the shackle. Mostly rust, she made excellent timing- the metal was not hardened, it scored easily and within five minutes the lock fell with a heavy thud and a pulse of heat- unbeknownst to Elve, the last flare of a long-faded warding. She took a deep breath, grasped the door on either side, and pushed.

"What the fuck?"

Beyond the doorway was no entrance, nor even another tunnel, instead a shimmering reflective surface, as if she were peering into a silver-hued lake. Despite the darkness, her reflection in it was well-lit as if standing under the open sky. The doors had slid through the surface cleanly, but her hands rested against it solidly, sturdy as a brick wall.

Part of her was terrified. This thing she had uncovered was clearly arcane and ancient, drawing old stories of spirits abducting young ladies to dance in her mind.

However, that part was positively silent compared to the intense fascination that blossomed within her as she gazed upon her reflection. She moved this way and that, looking for some mystical property to distinguish the object from a mundane mirror, until she was suddenly grounded when she caught a glimpse of angry red at the base of her neck.

Turning around, she looked over her shoulder as she tussled her short hair out of the way, revealing the splotchy red harbinger of a new bruise- the very top of the wounds she had taken in her fall. It wasn't too bad, but it was sore and uncomfortably warm to the touch.

She would never quite understand why she did it. Perhaps it was a mix of a tired mind and an instinctive need to ensure her health, overcoming her more rational senses. Perhaps it was something... More. It didn't matter- she would never regret it.

She took hold of the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head, unveiling the almost tree-shaped blister running an inch to the left of her spine. She ran a finger along it, wincing at the tender flesh, but pleased to find no blood. As her eyes trailed the mark, they also took in her rosy skin, long and finely-toned legs, strong glutes and athletic frame. The Cektarians would label her as whorish, vain and prideful, but Elve loved her body, adored how it reflected her years of hunting and hard work. She smirked gently as a hand came to rest on her hip, feeling out the layers of muscle, muscle the Cektarians would have groomed out of her to be replaced by repressive 'purity', self-deprecating 'humility' and obedient 'etiquette'. Grace and respect only given to those who serve them, who fit their beliefs and interests.

The reflection rippled, stretched and distorted, stopping Elve's thoughts cold. Her reflection now stood at the top of the main road, the same path she took each day to hunt. Arrayed behind her lay her town, the town of Moonwatch, the small but homely houses, the windmill grinding away, the bakery huffing and puffing smoke and dusting the aroma of fresh bread into the evening air. There was also the Cektarian temple, a brutalist block decorated with a spiking steeple, looming over like a predator. The guard towers, once a shield against the wilds, now the coordinating pillars for Cektarian 'guards' more intent on protecting their empire than the inhabitants. She gazed at the tableaux, confused, shocked, and marvelled. This thing, whatever it was, had read her mind.

She took a step back. Then another. Despite her wishes, she couldn't tear her eyes from the arcane mirror, but instead found herself obsessing over every detail, every tiny figure in the background. She could recognise each of them, even if only vaguely.

What did she want?

She blinked, the thought having come unbidden.

What would make that picture perfect for her?

She was complaining, but she didn't really have any solutions. Part of her, deep in the recesses of her mind, wished that their homeland, Royland, would grow a pair and fight for them, go to war and reclaim the colonies, but No. She shook the thought from her mind; the colonies had been lost in a pointless, distant and bloody war, and she would never ask anyone to engage in such a fight again- and besides, she didn't hate the Cektarians, at least as individuals. The daughters of the temple were kind, if passively disdainful of her lifestyle, the guard captain had a son waiting back home. They were people, and if anything she pitied that they were constrained by a culture determined to stamp out their humanity and repress them into its shape.

What she wished, she supposed, was that they abandoned their damn 'purity' so they could love themselves and others for who they were!

The mirror rippled. People wandered the streets, hand in hand, mouthing words and laughing in merriment. The temple was now finely-carved, elegant with figures: seeking wisdom, sitting together, frolicking in the trees... And fucking. Her face glowed with a fierce blush as she took in the incredible depictions; a woman lifted from the ground by two lover's cocks, another milked like a cow, a man crawling to lick a nun's toes. It was obscene, it was-

no, it wasn't vile.

It was lewd, it was different; but ultimately, she realised, it was what she wanted. It was free, and loving, and glorifying of every person it depicted. The women had stretch marks and scars and blemishes all proudly chiselled, the men had soft curves and charming lopsided smiles.

Her thighs clenched, a trickle elegantly dancing down. She gazed into it, so lost in it that she didn't see the figure emerging behind her, not until he had put a hand on her shoulder.

"Hello darling."

Elve jolted back in surprise, which only succeeded in throwing her into the figure's waiting arms.

He chuckled gently with a rugged yet harmonic voice, and set her down gently, arms still around her. "Sorry darling, didn't mean to spook you there."

Elve stared, frozen in place, heart thumping in her chest, at the figure behind her in the mirror.

He was a little taller than her, his eyes about level with her forehead, and of a similar build; toned, slim and athletic. That was not what froze her. His skin was a deep ruddy red, his eyes golden like a hawk's, and a crown of four marble-coloured horns stood proud above her. His arms were not the only things holding her, but she was gently supported by a thick serpentine tail. His feet were angular, clawed, almost raptorial. Over his shoulders she could make out thick, leathery pyramids- the tips of his furled wings.

A demon, just like those of the fairytales, was looming behind her, and she was half-naked, underground, alone. She could feel his deep breaths, smell his scent- an earthy, comforting smell with hints of some unknown spice- and hear his faint heartbeat. In short, the demon had her, and she was as good as dead- or worse.

So why was he just standing there, gently but firmly holding her, gazing into the reflection with a slightly smug, approving gaze?

Distracted, she assumed, she took this- her probably last- chance to lunge herself free, smacking head-first into the reflection but rolling with her momentum to circle the demon, drawing her bow and nocking a bronze arrow, the tension in her shoulder awakening a flow of pain from the bruise across her back. She grit her teeth and held the bow ready.

She didn't fire. Why didn't she fire?

"Darling," his voice lay thick with pity, a genuine pity that shocked her to her core. Her shoulders sagged, and the bowstring lost tension as surprise and a jolt of pain disarmed her.

Slowly, with measured steps, the Demon almost wandered towards her, giving all the time she may have needed to flee if she were capable.

He wore a parody of her hunting dress, tailored tight to emphasize his pecks and abs, so short as to expose the bottom of his braies. His eyes were warm, though still unnervingly avian, and she could see them dart as he ogled her waist and belly.

"Are you alright, Darling?"

"Wha- hell in the- what are you- where did you?" Her mind raced a like a prized stallion, adrenaline surging through her as she attempted to recall demon lore and her basic survival skills, all while swimming a sea of fear... tinged with a shameful, quiet touch of lust.

"It's all a little complicated," he said with a sigh, "lets get you out of here, back to your home, and we'll talk about it later?"

She shouldn't, she reasoned. Inviting a demon into her town, into her home? The stupidest decision she could make, an instant betrayal of herself and her people. While her reason elaborated, however, the demon helped her instincts back into her dress, took her hand gently but firmly, and unfurled his wings.

They rose from the hole she'd made, his wings beating like great war-drums as they hovered just below the canopy. The forest shrieked with the sound of fleeing animals, and he halted for just long enough for her to gain her bearings before he took to the wind, darting through the trees with an inhuman elegance, as if he'd done it every day for a lifetime.

He was fast, so the ride was short as her feet touched ground again, just on the verge of a small hill overlooking main street. It was growing dark, orange staining the clouds as the sun descended over a distant mountain.

"Thank you." For the experience of flying? For taking her home? For not dropping or murdering her? She wasn't quite sure- but she was a little surprised to discover that she meant it.

"I owe you that chat," was his only reply, "but I can't just wander into town with you."

Thank Grace, she thought, relieved beyond words that she had not just started some demonic invasion out of tiredness and fear.

"So I'll see you tomorrow, when you return to the forest. Unless you summon me, of course."

"I'm not a witch, you-" she couldn't end the sentence, not having a proper insult. He smirked, satisfied, the same smirk he had given to those erotic carvings on that strange reflection. Wordlessly, he took to the air, darting into the rapidly darkening forest.

She slugged herself down the roads to her small home, threw herself on her mattress, and was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.

When she awoke, it was to birds chirping and light seeping through her window- it was later than she would normally like for this time of year, by now she'd have made it to the edge of the forest.

Today, however, she reasoned that she'd earned some time off.

For a brief moment, she entertained the idea that it had been a dream, a hallucination or some such, but she couldn't fool herself. She had felt his weight, smelled his scent, she had flew with him. If he was a hallucination, then she was far more creative than she'd thought.

He was a demon, undeniably. Red skin, horns, tail. As a child, demons had wandered her nightmares; brutal monsters, incarnations of death, pestilence, evil. If he was product of her imagination, that is what he would have been. He wouldn't have been gentle, appear kind or...

Hot.

The carvings echoed in her mind; icons of love, lust- and pride. Her vagina pulsed, slowly sprouting the tendrils of desire up through her; that was it. Beyond the sex, the thick fat cocks, the shapely tits or child-bearing hips, it was the unabashed, unashamed pride that awoke her sexual soul.

The stone men, how their eyes rolled in ecstasy, unafraid to show their partners or the world their lust. Her hands scoured her body. The women, adoring faces as they called for the dicks and pussies they desired. She found her clit, gently massaging as a finger slipped into her sodden snatch. They loved, they lusted, so they fucked with not the faintest implication of doubt or regret. They worshipped each other. She worshipped her pussy, twitching faintly as she gently curled her fingers, like pulling on the cord of desire running from her clit to her enamoured mind, and, by lust but also by inspired choice, she didn't hold her voice, moaning quietly but then louder, louder as she encouraged the instinct, gasping and mewling and drooling saliva and juice. Pulses of lust glazed her mind and her thighs as she bucked against her powerful fingers, visions of a lover watching raptly as she performed this obscene dance for him.

Her pleasure spiked as he gently moved her hand from her torrential cunt, placing it amongst the black locks between his horns, and formed lip-lock with her glistening vulva. Shock, a whisper of panic only drove her higher and higher as his tongue effortlessly brought crescendo to her building orgasm, extending it, directing it, drowning her mind in bliss.

The only thought that remained was a profuse, deep, devoted 'thank you.'

By the time her soul had reasserted itself he had joined her in the bed, cuddling her closely. She hesitated for maybe a second before joining the hug, wrapping her arms around him.

"Wow, darling," he whispered, gently combing her hair with his hands.

"What the hell?" Her doors were locked tight, her windows shuttered. There was no way for him to get into her home.

She was glad he had ignored those limitations.

"It's about time for our chat," was his simple reply. "Unless you want another round?"

Part of her did, but part of her was curious, and another was- well, not scared- in fact, it was quite remarkable how fearless she was of him, how comfortable he made her feel- but perhaps wary, concerned for his sudden appearance and even more so for how easily she'd allowed him to tongue her to divinity.

How few regrets she had.

Perhaps the pride and confidence she so craved would take longer than she'd hoped.

Her lust was outvoted, so she replied "no, I think it's time we talked."

"Okay," he took a deep breath. "My name is Edir, and I'm a demon."

"Elve, human." She hadn't meant her reply to be so curt, but her brain had shorted at the realisation that she'd been fucked by a nameless stranger. He started speaking again.

"Nice to meet you officially Elve," he gently tightened their embrace for but a moment. "I'm glad that it was someone like you."

"Well, thanks? Someone like me who?"

"Right, okay- here's the simple explanation." He pauses, eyebrows furrowed for a quiet moment, before he finds the words. "What you found in the ruins, we call a rift."

"So a portal? To... wherever you come from?" Could she have fallen in?

"In a sense, yes," he smiled at her, "not a direct crossing, exactly- my world is a little more... Metaphorical than yours. A traditional portal isn't possible, thankfully."

She was curious what he meant by 'metaphorical', but kept quiet, allowing him the time to think out his words.

"So, where the two worlds intersect, you can find rifts. When you gazed into the rift, it gazed into you, and you became attuned."

She had expected as much; the mirror- no, the rift- had changed to literally reflect her desires. "And that... summoned you?"

"Exactly. When a rift is attuned, it calls demons to serve the desires of the person attuned to it." Edir sat himself up, adjusting himself on the headboard. "We are beings of desire- we feed on its fulfilment. There are different types of demon, who feed on different types of desires, and the rift finds the type needed for its attuned person's goal and begins to draw them in."