8. Chapter Eight

8

CHAPTER EIGHT

" W hat do you want?" I howled, not understanding the change in Furcas or this demonic energy. " What do you want from me?"

With terrifying speed, it rounded the corner and galloped at me. A board cracked beneath the sudden force of its approach, and I screamed and went to my knees. Furcas stopped before it crushed me and ran its fingers through my hair, gripping hard.

"Stop screaming," it hissed, and I clamped my mouth shut. Tears fell—I could not stop them leaking from my eyes.

"You are a stupid fool of a human," Furcas told me. "About as pathetic as your kind can get. But you have also a misplaced wisdom or a luck—something favours you. You could not have made it this far otherwise. I will tell you this. Your jealousy of other humans, whether they have entered Hell for Lord Asmodeus or not, will be your undoing. The Prince might find it sweet for the first blink of an eye, but it has had a millennium of whores, demonic or human, or the occasional angelic on the verge of losing its status. Surely you know you are not special?"

"I know that," I said. I had already come to this conclusion. "But I am human. I feel certain ways, and sometimes I can't always help it."

"You have let yourself be fucked and used by plenty of demons. Do you fear Asmodeus will fuck other holes in its wait for you to reach it?"

Furcas loosened its tight grip on my hair as it spoke. I slumped. Its question defeated me.

I struggled to form the words. To explain to this demon the complexities of human desire, of my insecurity, of the greatest sacrifice I had made. Everything I was had been reduced to this, naked and shivering before a demonic centaur. Could something as ancient as Furcas or, indeed, my Lord Asmodeus, ever understand the act of devoting one's life if one was immortal?

"Tell me," it whispered. "Speak to me your fears."

Shaking, I let it all out. "I am jealous, sometimes. Often fearful. I have no worth except for my body and my devotion, but I will give it to Lord Asmodeus, as I promised it on Earth. And I have given the entirety of myself. Even my mortal life." I looked up at Furcas, who stared down at me, hooves clopping as it shifted its weight. "So I am not jealous of Asmodeus using other creatures. I am scared that, by the time I reach it, it won't remember me. That I'll be forgettable. That it'll. . . it'll all have been for nothing."

The last words turned to a whisper, strangled high.

"Then you must stand out, don't you think? You must show Asmodeus just how willing you are to become its toy. Even to the extent of pleasuring me, an old man with the body of a horse. For this repulses you. I can see it in your eyes. You may wonder about the size of my cock pressing into you and bulging out your stomach, but you wish it was attached to something you could find pretty in the right lighting." Furcas' touch became soft. I couldn't quite comprehend the shift in its attitude; the wisdom turned to wild and unfettered insanity, curtailed once more to encourage me to bend over for it.

I would have done it anyway. Did it not know that? I needed no convincing on my journey to Asmodeus.

But perhaps it is the one who needs convincing .

Yes, that was it, wasn't it? A wise and learned creature whose pride had brought it to the depths of Hell in pursuit of knowledge. . . that kind of creature could not happily enter a human. But in service to its Lord, and perhaps as a means of having me owe something, it could do it. Perhaps even with joy.

"You would do that for me?" I clarified, making it obvious I understood Furcas was framing this as a kindness. It nodded slowly, long-nailed fingers stroking through my hair. I let it drag those fingers down and catch on my lip and let them slip ever so slightly into my mouth, where I tasted the dust of old tomes still coating the tips of its fingers. As it glided those fingers out, I said, "For what price?"

Its eyes flashed at me, and a low chuckle rumbled in its chest. "Ahh. . .how smart of you to ask, little lamb."

It assessed me, and I waited. What would it want? For it to have been dismissed by the angelic creatures in Heaven, for it to turn its back and gladly walk to Hell, what could I offer it to make my hole worth its while? I envisioned it asking me to petition for it, taking some plea all the way to Asmodeus. Would it ask for more books? More knowledge? A bigger library?

And what wouldn't you do, whorish priest? You have made it clear your body is forfeit in pursuit of Asmodeus. Becoming a pack mule is little strain on a body already crushed and reshaped by monstrous lengths.

I jolted.

The journey didn't matter. That I would become a messenger did not matter. What disturbed my soul was that, after decades, I had never once been a messenger for God. Instead, in worship of a lesser demon, I would do its bidding.

Behold, I send my messenger before your face, who will prepare your way before you.

Furcas leaned down and bared its teeth at me. It was terrifying. Then it licked out, strange human tongue flattening against my cheek as if to savour the sweat pooling.

"Little Alessandro, with your body so perfectly lithe. . .your hips jutting from your skin like osseous handholds, your waist small enough for my hands to wrap around you wholly. . .I understand why my Lord Asmodeus is testing you. I could ask you for knowledge, or I could ask you to beg our Lord for a moment of its time. But you have fallen into my lap and listened so well to my conversations that you do not disgust me nearly as much as you first did. The sound of your voice excites me. I can feel it, the way it pitches high when you're frightened. And so I have been imagining it. All the sounds you might make, the way you will writhe when my overbearing weight holds you down. How you will arch your back and shudder as I enter you. How you might sound when I use you without mercy—for there is no better way to test your devotion to Asmodeus than to withstand my attempt to break you."

My breathing grew rapid. Transfixed, locked halfway between lust and fear, I could do nothing but watch the demon; too frightened was I to move or look away. Furcas stroked my cheek and smiled. "All I want from you in exchange," it kissed my forehead, "is to hear you scream ."

My voice lodged in my throat. A shiver passed over my body, and I involuntarily convulsed. All my bodily systems turned riotous, for both desire and fear fought to take control, and in the ensuing struggle, I found myself incapable of moving.

Furcas' hand moved up the side of my cheek to the top of my head. Roughly, it forced me onto the ground. Crowded in on either side by its four legs, with my head pressed up to the underside of its belly, I felt at once claustrophobic and strangely at peace. From this vantage, I could see its cock—long, flared—twitching to life.

"Help it along," Furcas said, voice low and airy.

I shivered. I had never seen one so large or lightly coloured. Hesitantly, I crawled forward to be close to it. It smelled of sweat and something sweetly acrid, a scent enhanced by the translucent fluid pooling at the head.

I went to the underside of it, kissing the place when the length joined the balls, which were warm against the palms of my hands. Moving my fingers gently, I cupped and moved them, felt the weight of them, the heft. I opened my lips and put one in my mouth, hand fondling the other before I passed my mouth over that as well. They were softer than expected. Gravity helped me; they sank onto my tongue with ease. The taste was murky, layered with sweat, salt, the dank of unwashed skin—an appetiser in anticipation of the main course. I dragged my tongue up the underside of the long cock and found myself near frightened when I reached the head and found the flared top and puckered hole already furiously leaking. Furcas stomped somewhat impatiently, but what made this unique from other times I had been forced on my knees—save, of course, the type of cock I planned to service—was that Furcas' human arms could not easily reach me.

So every movement I was to make or not make, every lick and kiss and full-throated suck I would offer came down to me. I would not be forced; I would have to prove my desire.

Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.

By the same logic: embrace the devil, and he will come to you.

I embraced Furcas with my mouth. I opened and tried to wrap my lips around the pulsing cock. I peeled my teeth away as far as I could, afraid to nick the most sensitive skin, afraid to pollute its pleasure and therefore its opinion of me.

Furcas made a grunting noise that nearly warped into a whinny, and my stomach twisted, and my heart sped at the wrongness of this.

Demons are fine, Malphas with its raven-head would have been fine, but when one's lower half is horse-like, where do you draw the line? Clearly, I had not drawn the line. I was on my knees, rutting up into my palm with my cock as hard as ever, sucking desperately on what little of the equine member I could fit into my mouth.

Then, roughly, Furcas stepped away from me. The hooves clopped back, and I craned my neck as its face came into view. The demon was looking down at me, eyes alive with interest but otherwise wearing an expression I could not read. Without another word, it raised one of its horse legs and jabbed it into my side. I flinched away, understanding belatedly it wanted me to roll onto my stomach, and the instant I did it was upon me, cock rubbing over the cleft of my ass.

Instinctively, in anticipation, I whimpered.

The size was not something I had encountered before—or rather, the length. Of all the demons I had encountered, Asmodeus' cock had been the one to fit perfectly, stretching and filling and reaching in all directions the most perfect amount. The two demons that had pulled me onto the crucifix had been large and similarly as huge as Furcas. But neither of them had been this long nor this dangerously shaped.

Indeed, it did feel dangerous, then. I felt certain something vital in me would tear or bleed. But I thought also of what I had promised to Asmodeus, and to myself, of the kind of person I had vowed I would become. Scripture inevitably came to me, then. Do you know, I felt that I could use most of my passages in my prayers, and they still held true when I meant them for Asmodeus. And so Jonah 2:9 filled my mind:

"But I with the voice of thanksgiving will sacrifice to you; what I have vowed I will pay. Salvation belongs to the Lord!"

Salvation belonged to Asmodeus. I would offer every part of myself to these demons as an instrument, a means to achieving that salvation. The fear stopped. Pain in this place was only temporary; my body was no longer human. I could be pushed to the uttermost limit and not die.

"Open for me," Furcas growled, and I reached back with both hands to spread my cheeks to it. My face dug into the hard ground, and something in my spine popped from this angle. I imagined the depth of it, how it might press so far inside it would push my bulging stomach to the ground.

Without any preparation, Furcas tried to push inside.

I sighed with wanton anticipation. The pressure of the head against me felt not quite right. Part of me longed to give, for my hole to shudder open and take the impossibly sized length and bear the pain of it. But the reality was simple: without preparation, I could not open for it. Thus, Furcas had me change positions. It lowered itself so my mouth could suck at its cock again, and it could use its human hands to relax me and pleasure me. It knelt down for my ease and—my heart shivered. Was this affection? Was this a kindness? My experience with human sexuality was non-existent, but I had imagined, somewhere beneath the lust and the depravity, for something. . .something like this. . .

I want to hear you scream .

I came back to myself, for this was not a kindness. This was not for my benefit, but for Asmodeus', Furcas' Lord, and Furcas itself might take me to the brink, leave me gaping and weak, but it would not be allowed to impale me to death.

It slipped a finger in and pumped it in and out of me with no slowness or kindness. I groaned. Pleasure had me instantly relaxed, and I spread my legs, a sight that made Furcas chuckle. My eagerness was palpable. Even from that single finger, I felt wanton and wild.

It waited very little time to slip another finger in, then another, and another, until four fingers were moving slowly in and out, and Furcas was murmuring to me, fingers from its other hands gently stoking my cock. I kept bucking up towards the touch, for the slightest friction drove me insane, but Furcas kept hushing me, waving its hand inside my hole until it forced its thumb inside, too, and I cried out.

Its knuckles slid deep into me, hand elongated and fingers reaching for my insides before it curled into a fist. It spat onto its hand, and the slickness made it easier for Furcas to move. The only sounds were our heavy panting, my cries of pleasure and often pain, and then the wet shlick of its fist filling me.

Minutes went by with me arched like that, eyes rolling to the back of my skull. Furcas stared down at me, chilly eyes boring into my soul, and then it came to some decision. It punched down into my hole with such force a scream was ripped out of me.

I cried out, tears springing into my eyes, and every forceful thrust forward had my eyes rolling back, had me crying, had me limply jerking from the ache, the sharp stretch, and the pleasure pulsing out from my prostate.

"God's puppet," Furcas said in wonderment, "and now mine."

It pulled its fist free and rolled me, not gently. I flopped onto my stomach, moaning weakly. Cold air pricked at my entrance, and I could feel the hole pulsing weakly, squeezing around nothing. Furcas made a low moan of approval.

It guided me to slide between its equine legs, straddling me, and pressed again to my backside, clear slick fluid oozing onto my back as dragged its cock wetly over my ass.

"For my Lord," Furcas said. "As repayment for this bastion Asmodeus let me build here, for its honouring of the promise made on the precipice of the Fall, I will breach this human and fill him with seed and a thirst for knowledge: to know the True Form of our shared Lord and to satisfy it for eternity."

It mounted me completely and pushed the flared head of its cock to my open, pulsing hole. Clear fluid spouted from the tip, so much so I could feel it running over the cleft of my ass and down into the gap, down my inner thighs. My own cock was desperate for friction, but from this angle, I couldn't do anything but let Furcas have its way. And it did have its way.

The demon-centaur reared up with an excited whinny and breached my body.

My head fell limply to the floor. There was a long moment of incomprehension where I could feel the bulge as it shuddered into my stomach, and I became like a pocket in which Furcas' cock could sit. My hole pulsed rapidly around Furcas, and I realised I was groaning and crying out, my body spasming for the sheer overwhelm of the sensation. The pain came next, as the initial shock ebbed out of my body. But I kept trembling.

" You're so. . . big!" I cried out, and Furcas laughed.

"Little human, I have barely entered you."

I frowned. Furcas was not moving, allowing me to relax, and I pressed my hand to my stomach, certain I had felt it bulging just moments ago. As I relaxed, though, I understood only the great flared head of the cock had pushed inside.

Fuck. Oh, fuck.

I—how could I do this?

Furcas' massive hands stroked my torso, so big they could easily interlock at my front. They encompassed the entire waist.

"I think you are ready now."

I strained. I felt its cock quiver into me and then hammer down.

I howled. Bright, shocking pain blazed into my body. Straining, almost fearfully, my body lurched away, but Furcas put a hoofed foot against my back and pressed. It felt so large that I could barely squirm against it, and my body collapsed to the ground, ass raised but otherwise still. Like that on the ground, crying out, I choked on a plea. I broke a little, then. I cried. I begged: "Please, please, please."

Furcas either did not hear or did not care. It did not stop fucking me. And when I opened my mouth, nothing came out except my desperate moans.

Pathetic.

With a slowness, Furcas pressed down on my back and pushed inside to bottom out. I strained around, trying to see how much of it my body could accommodate. Little more than a third of its length had pressed into me when my body began to convulse.

Looking back now, I believe it was shock. A body pushed to its limits too quickly, a mind equally whorish and terrified, too frightened and too aroused to demand the demon stop. Because despite the fear and the pain and the instinct in my body to get away, I lay there moaning, reaching back to spread my cheeks to further ease the access to my hole.

I wanted it. I wanted it.

Still, I trembled with shock as it pressed and prodded, trying to loosen the tightness. My eyes rolled back into my skull, and saliva leaked from my mouth. Every moment dragged on an eternity, every moment of pain carrying with it the outline of pleasure. Impaled like that on cock, I grew so weak and full of feeling that my arms dropped limply to my side, where they dragged against the wooden boards. Furcas used me. It used me over and over like that, ramming into me, its massive cock levering my body open as it ignored my uselessly limp top half that was battling to remain conscious. I came a number of times just like that, my cock untouched, prostate pulsing, until I felt spent and slipped out of my reality to the edge of unconsciousness.

What was happening to my body seemed to be just on the right side of the outright impossible. I had no understanding of what magic was at play here; perhaps Furcas was perforating my insides as it went, and I was healing over and over. But as my body adjusted and my hole loosened, I reached a new state of being. My entire body was a hole for it to use, and I became distantly comfortable with my new reality.

If that was all I was, if this was how I could worship, then I was glad for it.

As my body gave, Furcas recognised the relaxation. It grunted, satisfied, and said, "That's it. Open for me. Open for me, whore." It pounded down into me, and I cried out, unabashed, gleeful. "Take it. Let yourself be reshaped to my member. Let your body change; you are nothing but a toy."

" Yes," I cried out desperately, and as I opened my mouth, my words devolved into pleasured babbling, moans truncated by sharp intakes of breath and the beat of the demon's cock slamming into me.

When it finally came, hot warmth spurted into my body. I shivered and moaned, my pleasure intensifying as I heard Furcas make sounds of satisfaction. I craned around. It had its head up to the ceiling, both its human hands splayed on my back. My hole squeezed and pulsed around its cock, and it made a sensitive hiss as it slipped free, wet, spent length spilling excess seed onto the floorboards. I collapsed to the ground, panting hard. Cum leaked from me. I could feel it glugging free, and my own spent cock lay limp between my legs. But something was different.

Furcas moaned and reached for me. I felt it touching me—touching something that was not my hole. Or at least, not quite.

"You've slipped out," Furcas said.

My stomach plummeted. I reached back to where it was touching me. Something was. . . outside of me. The flesh there was soft and sensitive. I couldn't see it, but I could feel it from where it had spilled.

I had—prolapsed.

A great fear came over me. I made a noise of upset and tensed, expecting pain, though none came.

Furcas came closer, hooves stomping. I thought, distantly, it was reaching to pat me as if I were a pet, but instead it gripped a fistful of my hair and wrenched me upwards. I yelled and pressed weakly at its hands, then gave up and let my body hang limply.

"Such a slut," it said, shaking me. "Well done. I thought for sure you would break. But you pulled through even with your body like this."

I moaned a little at its words; praise-adjacent, almost a compliment. Furcas dropped me back down to the cum-soaked boards.

Exhaustion hit me. "I still have. . .so many more demons to service."

"Not just on your journey to Asmodeus," Furcas murmured. "For the rest of eternity. Used over and over—that is your destiny, now that you have turned from God."

The structure around us began to crumble. Bricks and stones neatly folded in on one another, undoing the mess of the ruined library I had climbed. Soon, there was only a rickety wooden platform upon which I stood. The outside, which had been that red field, consisted of nothingness. A stone cliff had appeared out of nowhere. I could make it if I leapt.

The floorboards, still etched with Furcas' sigil, glowed a pinkish red.

"Good luck, little priest," Furcas whispered. Its form was already disintegrating, its voice as distant as ever. "And should you ever crave to learn the dark arts, call upon me."

"Wait," I murmured. "You can't just— please don't leave me like this!"

I could have sworn that beneath those bushy brows, Furcas winked.

An instant later, and the demon was gone.