Looda Fucks the World Pt. 01

(DISCLAIMER: The following story is highly explicit. 18+ readers only.)

*****

Looda cursed his rotten luck. He was a prisoner, and his captors were taking him to be consecrated. The ritual would expel him from the earthly plane, banishing him to the infernal abyss where he'd remain for all eternity, slaving away in the profane breeding pits, submerged in the Great Rut's undulating sea of tortured souls.

Not that he minded the breeding pits themselves. He was, after all, a demon of carnal pleasure. The pits were his home, and he remembered them fondly. Working with the breeders, breaking in the new arrivals, stoking their libidos, joining in on their mating sessions-- he should have been content with his life in the pits. But alas, his lust was too great. Fellow demons whispered tales of the human realm, a paradise with cities full of untainted souls, ripe with luscious, unplucked fruit. Looda craved to visit, but crossing over was a rare privilege reserved for the archdemons. One day, he grew tired of merely masturbating to fantasies of the fertile realm. He schemed and snuck and stole the next summoning to the earthly plane.

And when he returned there would be hell to pay.

All that plotting for a shot at conquering the human realms, and he'd blown it on the first day. Or, rather, he'd blown the prince of Emeria under the banquet table and been discovered. The court had a paladin of Zin on staff, and it wasn't long before Looda's body was destroyed and his spirit bound into the object that happened to be closest at hand.

The covered wagon hit a bump and he wobbled, nearly falling over. He was a silver butt-plug now, completely immobilized and helpless, stuffed into a cargo net with a collection of other demonic artifacts on their way to be destroyed. Being a butt-plug might have been an entertaining experience if he wasn't in the possession of these Order of Zin prudes. They were no fun at all.

One of them pushed through the canvas flap and entered the wagon. She was a pretty thing, right in the prime of her beauty, with fair, blemishless skin and ample curves. Such a shame, Looda thought, that she kept her best assets hidden under those long, white robes. She was searching for something. Her eyes passed over the obscene butt-plug protruding from the net, and she scoffed. He tried to cat-call, but alas, he had no mouth.

"Do not dally in there, Isabelle," called a stern voice from outside.

"Yes, Conservator," she replied, her voice as fresh as a mountain spring.

Isabelle reached for the storage hanging high above Looda. She stood on her tippy-toes and stepped over him, giving the bound demon an excellent view up her robes. Unfortunately, her underwear kept her privates well-hid, but Looda appreciated the rounded bulge of her ass and the smooth, pale skin of her thighs.

Just then the wagon hit a crevice in the road and gave a mighty jump. It rocked and wobbled, assorted artifacts bouncing and clattering against each other. Isabelle's shoe slipped on the polished wood, and she fell backwards with a surprised yelp. Time seemed to slow for Looda as he watched her bottom, in that plain underwear, collapsing down upon him. Her cheeks funneled his narrow tip into the crevice of her crack where he caught against the hidden divot of her anus. Her weight crashed down, and with a audible riiip, butt-plug Looda tore through the thin fabric of her panties and sank into her ass. The bulb at the base of his shaft slowed her fall for a split-second before it too popped in, and she settled, sitting on his flared base.

Isabelle gasped, and Looda felt cold air rushing into her lungs. He saw the wagon's clutter grow blurry as tears welled in her eyes, and he felt the burning soreness of the plug lodged in the girl's tight, uninitiated ass.

I can't believe it, Looda thought, I'm inside her!

Isabelle glanced about. "What's inside me?"

"Just a harmless sex toy," answered Looda.

"Just a sex toy." Isabelle groaned.

Looda marveled at the strange feelings of this new body. He'd never been a female before, and as the wagon jolted down the bumpy road, Isabelle's breasts shook with it. Her generous rear absorbed most of the chaos from the rattling cart, bouncing and vibrating, awakening twinges of pain from her stuffed asshole. He liked it, and he grew giddy with excitement. This was his second chance! Now that he had a body, he was free to spread his lust across the land, and there was nothing in the world that could stop him!

A young man's face appeared through the wagon's canvas flap door. "Isabelle!"

He had a handsome, boyish face and silver-blonde hair. He looked to Looda like an ideal lover, but then Isabelle's eyes caught the glint of his silver brooch, a circle circumscribing a square, the symbol of Zin.

Panic gripped him, and Isabelle jumped to her feet, her robe concealing the metal plug lodged in her rear. "Andry! By the light, you startled me."

"Sorry. Is everything okay in here?"

"No, I--" she started.

Looda snapped her mouth shut. Everything's fine! he urged.

"I'm fine," echoed Isabelle.

Andry relaxed. "Good. I was worried about you. There's lots of dangerous artifacts in here."

"I know," she scoffed, her ass clenching around the plug.

"Of course you do," he smiled. "But demons will be the least of your worries if you don't hurry up with that waterskin. Conservator Renout is getting impatient."

"I'll be right there."

Andry nodded and disappeared back outside.

Isabelle sighed in relief, her heart beating fast enough for both her and Looda. That was a close one.

"Why didn't I tell him?" she muttered, reaching back to feel the cold hardness nestled between her plump cheeks. The touch brought a hint of pleasure that was more tempting to Looda than the scent of a freshly baked apple pie.

Isabelle was brimming with delectible, untainted quintessence. Pure human essence. He wanted nothing more than feast right here and now. He'd spark her dormant libido, kindling it into a raging fire that she couldn't ignore. Then she'd do the work herself: throw off her robe and plunge those delicate fingers between her legs. She'd stroke and moan and when she came, he'd consume all of her quintessence in a single glorious gulp. He could picture it now, her muscles writhing and clenching in orgasmic bliss as her virginal human body transformed into a stunningly exotic demonic figure. Oh, and when the prince's warriors saw her, they'd reach for their cocks instead of their swords.

As he fantasized, the ache in her ass faded into throbbing bliss. Isabelle's face flushed. Her breathing quickened.

But he cut the thought short. That sort of greed had been his mistake last time. The conservator and that fresh-faced boy Andry would have his spirit bound back into that butt-plug before he could seduce a single soul. This time he had to be subtle. At least to start.

Isabelle withdrew her hand and stepped toward the exit. "I should tell Conservator Renout."

Looda halted her feet, straining in his weakened state. You'll be punished!

"It's forbidden to be penetrated. I could be demoted."

"No one needs to know."

"I could remove the thing myself. . ."

"Yess," Looda hissed, "it was only a harmless accident."

"Just a momentary lapse," Isabelle breathed, "nothing serious."

She took a squat and reached her hand up her robe, glancing furtively about the inside the the wagon as if she half expected to find the conservator crouched behind a barrel. Her slender fingers wrapped around the base of the plug and gave a pull.

Youch! That stung, and the plug was still lodged in place.

Gentle. . . Looda thought, Relax. You're fragile; coax it softly. Work it back and forth, loosen yourself up.

Isabelle closed her eyes. Her hand twisted and tugged the toy with a deftness not her own. Now that felt good. The taste of pleasure was on Looda's tongue now, and oh, how he wanted to feast. He drooled, and Isabelle's pussy dripped with his saliva.

Now, take a big, deep breath, and when you exhale, we're going to ease it out. Ready? Breathe in in in-- hooooold it-- and let it go.

Isabelle's breath turned into a sigh of relief as the plug slurped free and clattered to the floor. Looda, exercising an unprecedented level of self-control, shaved only the most meager sliver of her honey-sweet essence into his mouth. As he swallowed, her anus flushed with tingling heat, puckered, and swelled permanently larger.

The more of her quintessence he consumed, the more his own spirit filled the void, the more her body would express her developing demonhood. It was inevitable, but he could slow the process, feed only to sustain himself, lay low until the time was right.

Does she even know I'm here?

Isabelle jumped and hid the plug behind her back. "Who's there?"

Once again she checked for intruders. Finding none, she grabbed a rag, wiped the plug clean, and shoved it back into the net. She then reached into the upper storage and retrieved a leather sack with a small nozzle that looked, to Looda, like a disembodied breast. Holding the 'waterskin' under her arm, she pushed through the wagon's canvas door and into the brightness of the world beyond.

The sun blazed the chill from Isabelle's skin. Recent spring rains had coaxed the first green sprouts from the fields of broken, unkempt straw. This world was nothing like the abyss. Birds chirped, leaves rustled. It was alive with purity and hope. Isabelle hustled around to the front of the wagon.

"There you are, Isabelle. I thought I'd die of thirst."

Conservator Renout's voice was as high as a child's but breathy and harsh. He trudged beside the oxen, flicking the reigns to motivate them through the dirt-road muck. Isabelle hurried over, bowed her head, and presented the waterskin.

"My deepest apologies, Conservator."

He glared at her with a face chiseled into a scowl so severe it was difficult to imagine he'd ever had a moment's fun in his life. He snatched the skin away and lifted his head for a long drink. A faded scar in the shape of the symbol of Zin graced the wrinkled skin of his neck.

Looda's blood turned to ice, and Isabelle shivered. A Conservator. He was a mouse hiding under a cat's nose. In his weakened state, even a single Word of Anathema from those papery lips could send him hurtling back into the abyss. Worse still, that high voice and barrel-chest marked the old man as a eunuch. Looda's lust magic would be useless against him.

The conservator lowered the waterskin. "Were you speaking to yourself in there?"

Isabelle furrowed her brow. "No. Was I?"

"I am growing tired of your rebellious streak, Piatan Isabelle. Speaking to oneself is strictly forbidden."

Isabelle glanced back to Andry who gave a bemused smile as she got chewed out.

"I understand," she said, "but respectfully, Conservator, what is the harm in speaking to myself?"

The conservator snorted. "It is a sign of demonic corruption. You say that you understand, Piatan, but you do not. When you meet your first demon, when you see your friends' bodies perverted into gross mockeries of their former selves, then you will understand. The Order must use every tool at our disposal to catch the demons when they're weak, before the cancer has a chance to spread."

"I understa-- I mean, I won't talk to myself anymore."

"Good. If I am harsh, know that it is only because I wish to protect you. Praise be to The Purifier, Zin."

The name made Looda's stomach turn.

"Praise be to The Purifier, Z--" Isabelle choked on the word and coughed.

Conservator Renault's eyes narrowed at the girl. He handed her the waterskin, and she took a deep drink of the warm, leather-soaked water.

His green-eyed gaze pierced Isabelle's eyes and stared straight into Looda's. "Are you feeling like yourself, Isabelle?"

"Yes. Absolutely," said Looda before Isabelle had a chance to speak.

The conservator stared a moment longer. He nodded. "Very well. The mud is deep here. You and Andry must carry your packs until we're through it."

Isabelle rejoined Andry behind the wagon, and Looda breathed a sigh of relief with her lungs. The conservator was out of earshot and he was safe, for now. The old man would be difficult to deal with. He would have to use violence, which he abhorred. He plotted for a while, but soon grew distracted by Isabelle's companion.

Andry heaved his bag over his shoulder and handed a smaller one to Isabelle. "Got any marks from that tongue-lashing?"

"Shut your mouth, or you'll be the one getting the lashing," Isabelle grumbled. Her hand brushed against Andry's as she took her bag, and Looda felt butterflies fluttering in the pit of her stomach. She was attracted to him! Horny and flustered all on her own. Perhaps these Order women weren't all as cold and dispassionate as they seemed.

Looda had to admit, Andry was quite the snack: a handsome young man with big, strong shoulders and a voice as smooth as silk. Perhaps he joined the order to get away from the throngs of women throwing themselves at him.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"

"It would be if not for all the squawking." Isabelle winced as her bag's strap dug into her shoulder.

Andry raised an eyebrow. "I could carry that for you if you'd like. Mine's not that heavy."

"I'm fine," Isabelle said, readjusting her load into a position somehow even more uncomfortable than the last. Looda was confused. Her heartbeat quickened whenever she looked at Andry. She clearly wanted him. Why was she pushing him away?

Looda had not eaten his fill earlier in the wagon, and the more flustered Isabelle got, the more he wanted to-- needed to feed.

He forced her to speak. "On second thought, I'd love for you to hold my bag."

"Great!" Andry beamed.

Isabelle didn't move. Looda had to puppet her legs over to Andry, but once she was there she let him take the load off her shoulders. To Looda's dismay, he managed it without actually touching her. Looda jerked her leg and sent her tumbling toward his slab of a body. He caught her with a gentle strength, carefully cradling her in his well-muscled arms. She pushed away as quick as she could, bracing her dainty hand against his rock-hard chest. She nearly swooned.

Andry chuckled. "You alright? Gotta watch your step."

"I was!" Isabelle snapped.

"But my eyes keep drifting back to you," Looda offered.

Andry was taken aback. "Oh! Thank you. Of course, vanity is a sin. . ."

"Forget I said anything," said Isabelle.

"But I'd love to speak to you in private," finished Looda.

Isabelle: "What am I saying? I don't even want to be your friend."

Looda: "I want to be something more than friends."

Andry looked concerned. "Isabelle? What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing at all," said Isabelle.

"And that's the problem." A wink.

Andry halted. "Should I call the Conservator?"

"No!" said Looda and Isabelle. "I'm fine. Honestly."

Andry shrugged. ". . . Okay."

Looda cursed Isabelle for ruining his flirt. What kind of madness drives these humans? All his life, if he wanted to fuck something, he tried to fuck it. Both of these humans wanted each other, yet they resisted! What horrible restraint they had.

Ah, but if they had stopped marching, set down their packs, and embraced each other, her soft breasts pressing against his solid chest, his hardening shaft nuzzling against her thigh. . . if they had, the Conservator would have found him with another dick in his mouth. That horrible restraint had saved him from another early end.

This realization did not lessen Looda's hunger pangs. He was starving now, desperate for sex and quintessence. He drooled non-stop. Thankfully Isabelle's robes hid the moisture dripping down her thighs. The next time she took a drink, Looda strained his meager magic reserves and summoned a glob of his viscous, fem-cum saliva into her mouth. She tried to swallow it back, but he caught her and spat the demonic goo into the waterskin. He used her smile to grin at his deviousness.

The wagon lurched to a halt, and the conservator approached them. He announced that they were past the worst part of the road and would camp here for the night. He untacked the oxen and led them into the nearby meadow to graze.

Looda took advantage of the old man's absence as Isabelle and Andry pitched their own individual tents. Whenever Isabelle paused her work and let a hand rest idly, he lifted it to her nipple for a pinch or crept it into her crotch for a rub. She snatched her arms back to task each time she noticed them wandering, but he managed several successful gropes, snacks to hold him over for dinner.

The process of unfolding, assembling, and erecting the tent was like magic to Looda, who had only been exposed to simple tools like dildos and nipple clamps. It was hard work, and Andry took several swigs from the waterskin as he set the stakes into the ground. Soon after, he changed his posture, and Looda caught him re-adjusting his robe to hide the second tent growing between his legs. It's working, he noted with excitement. The next time I seduce him, he'll be putty in my hands.

But as desperate as he was, Isabelle was too defiant to make an attempt on Andry. She needed convincing, teaching. As the tent neared completion, fewer and fewer of Looda's gropes went contested. She was ready. The moment she finished adjusting the starched rain-cover, she ducked inside the tent and fastened the door's buttons with shaky fingers. The thin walls did nothing to quiet the sounds of the outside, but they were at least hidden from view. Privacy at last.

Isabelle tore off her robes as quickly as she could, and Looda finally got a glimpse of the body he inhabited. He'd seen countless women, but never from this angle. Her youthful skin laid before him like a peach colored canvas, ready to be embellished. She was well-washed, but unshaven, all natural, just the way he liked. Her breasts were natural too, not succubus-perfect, but human, a little fat, a little less than perky. They jostled a tantalizing dance as she finished stripping off her stockings.

Isabelle's hand grazed something that burned like a hot coal. She jumped back and looked to see what caused the pain, but there was nothing save the silver insignia of Zin pinned to her robe. She gagged at the sight of the holy symbol and wrapped it in her robe so she wouldn't have to look at it.

"Something's very wrong with me," Isabelle worried to herself. She grabbed a sock and moved to wipe her sopping sex dry, but Looda opened her fingers, released it, and her bare hand landed on her pussy. She startled at the unexpected touch of skin, but her hand lingered. Looda knew exactly how she felt; in matters of lust, their minds were one. Her skin was hot to the touch, her heart was pounding, and she was empty, oh so horribly empty. Her unshaved, unsatisfied pussy yearned for company, and her hand would make an excellent companion.

She pressed her palm into the soft mound of her pussy, smushing her labia against the cracks in her fingers. The pressure brought a twinge of pleasure. She relaxed, then pressed again, another twinge.

Isabelle gasped. "This is wrong."

"But it feels so good," moaned Looda.

She started rubbing her palm up and down her sex, not separating her fingers, not parting her lips or penetrating her vagina, but nevertheless stroking her clit indirectly. Oh, how inexperienced she was! But Looda was so desperately horny that even her clumsy first-time masturbation was a sip of water in the desert.

The little twinges of pleasure offered nibbles of Isabelle's quintessence for Looda, and he gladly sucked them down. Strength flowed into him, but he wanted more. He focused himself into Isabelle's hand and stopped her awkward pawing. He stretched her fingertips lower, down between her generous ass cheeks to rest against her altered anus. Isabelle clenched her swollen pucker as he traced her fingertip around the sweat-slick wrinkles of its opening. It had grown not only in size, but in sensitivity as well. A few more feedings and it would be a full and proper sex organ.