Seven Sisters

"Why," she managed to gasp out, "why?!"

Light-headedness was stealing over her, darkness slowly creeping over her vision. Her muscles ached with exertion, the desperate struggle to get away (and nothing, she knew, could free her from those bindings), the constant shake of panicked laughter, her stomach, her lungs, her voice a stranger to her.

Why were they doing this?!

She could still feel the incubus's cock inside of her, twitching occasionally, but it wasn't until a particularly vicious bit of tickling that made her whole body shake, her muscles tighten up, that she finally realized what he wanted. Her incubus came hard, thick spurts of infernal cum painting her insides, sudden warmth filling her pussy, as the pieces came together in the distracted corners of her mind. Every time that she was tickled, every time that she laughed, it made her pussy go tight as her muscles reflexively contracted.

It must have felt great for the incubus, as her pussy squeezed the demon's cock. Not only did she suffer, but he literally got off from it.

The tickling didn't stop until he'd had his fun, continuing to ravage her exposed torso while she laughed and cried and laughed, her pussy spasming like crazy, forcing her helpless cunt to milk every drop from her inhuman torturer. It was long minutes before the incubus was spent.

Then, and only then, did he raise his hands from her body, pull his cock from inside of her, stepping away, leaving her cold and empty, her chest heaving, her breath ragged.

She actually wanted to thank him for the reprieve. Almost. Methani wasn't nearly so strong; her inelegant and near-incoherent blubbering served as a reminder of the toll that had been exacted from both of them.

For now, though, Larian just took deep, shuddering breaths, gasping. Faintly, she realized that her tear-streaked face probably would've looked truly pathetic after the hellish ordeal, blindfold or not. The rest of her body, too, sweat-slick, a demon's seed leaking from her pussy...

Then she heard footsteps and another incubus took his place, cock already hardening, rubbing her slit with unmistakeable intention.

"Noooo," she moaned, "please, not again, not again..."

When he thrust into her, he did so just as deftly as her first, stirring the embers of lust that had nearly been eclipsed by the recent torment. The only difference was that this time, the sounds of her and Methani being taken excited her imagination fivefold, her own wetness and the invader's semen squishing lewdly together like nothing before.

Larian hoped that she would be spared a repeat of the previous performance. Her hopes were dashed.

"No! Nohohoho!"

The new incubus seemed particularly interested in her breasts, her nipples but also the underside of her tits, which Larian found to her horror were unbearably sensitive. Naturally, her incubus focused on that region most diligently, punishing her until she was a sobbing wreck, then without any warning at all grabbed her flanks and began to tickle her there. The suddenness of the attack was a mental shock that nearly jarred her out of her wits, sending her into another paroxysm of wordless laughter.

Beat me, she begged, hurt me, please, anything but this, and her words may not have gotten out but there was no way they could have mistaken her desires. Any other torture, she might have withstood. She had been trained for it. Being tied up and tickled, of all things, was harder to shrug off. She hoped, she dearly wished for any distraction, some tiny hint of variety.

And why would they give it to her? They had her exactly where they wanted.

She lost count of how many cycles they put her through. One incubus would shoot his load into her trembling cunt, then maybe a minute's time elapsed before the next one would start. It might have been hundreds of incubi lined up to teach them a lesson in humility. Or it may have been only two, taking turns, trading places with each other again and again. Larian thought about that, the idea that Methani's juices might have been mixed with her own, that the same cock which disgraced Methani might have been subsequently used to defile her, again and again.

Once, during a lucid moment, Larian realized that she couldn't remember the last time she'd taken remedy. An icy chill gripped her heart. Did she risk being impregnated? Were fel bodies compatible with mortals in that way? She couldn't recall. Maybe that's what was happening. Maybe she and Methani had been drafted into service as vessels for fel-tainted spawn. Mothers for a new generation of demons that would scour what was left of the mortal world.

Every girl who was old enough brewed remedy, and made sure to drink it often. She never had to worry about someone siring a bastard on her, not even in her most debauched moments. How long had it been since she'd been captured? Since she'd had the chance to take precautions?

Then the next incubus was upon her, hands groping for her most vulnerable spots, and she was thrust once more into hell.

--

He had no name pronounceable by mortal tongue, but he had significant rank among the lords of the fel, and he'd pulled many strings to acquire this particular prisoner. A debutante, newly introduced to polite society...clever and dextrous, so much like her sisters...and now her lips were around his cock, effortlessly taking him into her mouth. She sucked like a born whore, and he'd made sure of it. The training he'd given her was finally taking hold.

"Good girl," he murmured, petting her hair. A second later, he came deep into her throat, and his newest pet obediently swallowed it all.

Sighing, he leaned back, letting her rise from his cock. She didn't even wipe her face; she knelt meekly, awaiting his next command.

He was satisfied, for the moment, but there were plenty of ways to amuse himself with this one. "What is your name?" he asked.

"Sarouna A'Arpam."

"No," he corrected gently, "your name is Candi. What is your name?"

"My name is Candi," she immediately answered.

He smiled. "No, your name is Fucktoy. What is your name?"

"My name is Fucktoy."

"Very good. What is your job, Fucktoy?"

"To keep you entertained, Master."

He'd trained her to call him Master first of all. He always enjoyed that.

"Good girl." She shuddered gently. One of his favorite triggers.

"Now, Fucktoy," he said, "who owns you, body and soul?"

"You do, Master," she sighed.

"Good girl." He paused to think for a minute. "Hmm. When I give you an order, you will obey promptly. Isn't that right, Fucktoy?"

"Yes, Master."

"Even if you don't want to?"

"Yes, Master."

"Even if I loan you out to other lords and ladies?"

"Yes, Master."

"And give you over to the lowest peons of my realm?"

"Yes, Master."

"Even let the Nethemir jerk off in your direction?"

"Yes, Master."

He smiled. She was definitely looking forward to the prospect, although if she thought they'd go easier on her than he did, she'd have been dreadfully mistaken.

"Very well, Fucktoy," he said casually, "jump into the tentacle pit."

She looked up with alarm. "Wh-! No, not again!"

He caught her chin in his hand. Sarouna went deathly still, realizing she'd blown her facade of obedience.

"I-I mean, please, Master, I've been good!"

"Hm." This one was going to need a bit more work. "And yet, I think you haven't learned this particular lesson by heart..."

"No, wait! I'll suck your dick again! Don't put me back in there, it doesn't let me cum! Please, n-AAAAH!"

Sarouna shrieked as he shoved her into the tentacle pit. Her fall was cushioned, of course, by all the squishy tentacles, which began to probe her for the second time that week.

The demon strolled off, ignoring the pleading that grew steadily fainter beneath lewd noises of pleasure. He'd return once he felt she'd be suitably desperate to make up for her little lapse.

Until then, there were other very lovely distractions to be had. Why, he heard one of his agents had managed to bag a draenei paladin, and a high-spirited one at that. Perhaps that one would prove to be a similarly pleasing plaything...

--

And then there was one.

The indignity of being captured wasn't enough, Arimasva thought. Last of the guardians to fall, eldest of the seven, she had been paraded through the streets as a trophy throughout the lands where the fel lords held dominion. Which, at the moment, was a depressingly large portion of the world.

They'd jeered at her, and promised all sorts of depraved punishments, and then had evidently gotten bored and left her in a cell, alone. Not unrestrained, mind you, she was chained astride a most devious device that whirred and hummed between her legs.

Not anything she couldn't handle. She, herself, had been a better-than-average artificer. Indignity of indignities, she recognized the machine that was busy stimulating her pussy. It was of her own design!

But they were doing nothing else to her, at least for the moment, and her mind was calm. She closed her eyes. All she needed to do was focus. The magic of the cell was unfamiliar, but not impossible to decode. Reaching out, she began to work. It was almost like meditation, in a way...

"Took you long enough to arrive here."

Arimasva's eyes flew open at the familiar voice. Standing before her, clad in leathers and smirking, was her sister Ardaster. The forgotten middle child.

"Ardaster! I thought you were lost! H-how did you escape? How did you break in?" Her heart soared with hope.

Ardaster's smirk didn't falter an inch. "I didn't."

"What?" Arimasva gaped. Then she shook her head. "Oh, no, no no...not you, too."

Ardaster laughed, proud and cruel. "Oh yes. You ever wondered why it all happened so fast? How every one of the temple wards failed at just the right time?" She giggled. "How they caught you so quickly?"

Arimasva wearily closed her eyes. "It was you."

"You catch on quickly, elder sister." Her words were laced with sarcasm.

"When did you start working for the enemy?" Arimasva wanted to know.

Her sister laughed. "Long, long ago. I was the first. Remember when there was that big treaty awhile back? A temporary truce, no more infiltrations or crusades or whatever the fuck, and as a guarantee of goodwill I was sent to them as an ambassador?"

"Oh, Ardaster," Arimasva whispered, "I'm so sorry."

"Less an ambassador, more like a hostage! Am I right? Ha! Well, let me tell you something," Ardaster said. "It wasn't bad at all. I mean, it's not like I could leave or anything. Even if I wanted to. Which I certainly didn't, not after awhile." Her voice dropped conspiratorially. "I was sucking dick before the week was up."

"Why?"

"Why? That's your question, why?" Ardaster seemed even more amused. "Well, tell you the truth, they tricked me at first. Said it was a traditional greeting, local custom, yadda yadda you can imagine it I'm sure. But after that, well, it was honestly kinda fun." She snickered. "Seriously, it wasn't just dick-sucking. Had a couple succubi assigned to me as chambermaids. They'd do aaanything I asked, and believe me, when they'd play with me all night, before long I was asking them to-"

"Stop!" Her head was swimming. "Just...please, the others. Are they okay? They, they're not being hurt or anything?"

Ardaster raised a hand in the air. "See for yourself."

Magic swirled around them both, the walls of the cell fading in and out as a series of visions played out.

Zalezda, hopelessly ensorcelled, dreamily opening her legs to an orgy of demonflesh.

Langalyn, getting plowed by a dragon, eyes fluttering as it took her again and again.

Methani and Larian, crying with laughter as they were ticklefucked to within an inch of their lives.

Sarouna, trapped in a tentacle pit, squirming as they toyed with her young body.

"And that leaves us." The illusion was gone. Ardaster grinned. "Well, I don't know what they have in store for you. Probably something super public. Hey, join the club. I remember a few parties where I was the main attraction. You haven't truly lived until a half-dozen of the mightiest studs here run a train on your ass."

Arimasva blinked back tears. "Please, Ardaster. You can still beat this. Break free! I know you're stronger than that!"

"Stronger? Ha. They gave me back my free will years ago. I'm my own woman now." The fallen heroine grinned. "See, after I had a good long time to think it over, I thought, well, what's more fun? Having to humor stuffy old fools who wouldn't give us the time of day, remaining bound by covenants for a world long lost to the ages? Or, hear me out. Turn our backs on all that, and just give in."

"I...I never will."

"Oh, don't worry. You don't have to. Some really headstrong prisoners from the last big war are still around, and I hear the most dedicated of the bunch still haven't broken. Let me tell you, though. It's absolute heaven if you accept your true self."

She straightened up. "Well, I've got a date with a fel lord, or three. And I'm sure that'll occupy my entire weekend. So, like, I'm off, but I might come back to visit sometime later? Do keep in mind what I've said." Ardaster grinned. "We might be all damned. But honestly, I've never had more fun in my life."

And then she was gone, and the door was closing behind her.