Sephalla, My Nightmare. Ch. 9: Cum Cravings

 

Chapter 9: Cum Cravings

 

It’s Sephalla’s week, so…her rules apply. My week, starting next Monday. Then things flip, and I’m in control, and she’s fully in the role of submissive. And then we flip, again, as per the arrangement. The dirty deal, to satisfy both of us in terms of switching things up.

Yesterday, she fucked my arse for the first time. Thirty inches of demonic horse dick rammed into my human innards, resulting in an orgasm like no other. Resulting, as well, in a belly loaded to the limits with a virile volume of nightmare spooge. A wonderful way to start things off, at least. To set the tone: that when Seph is in charge, in the role of Mistress, I’m little more than a cocksleeve for her needs.

Yet for all the roughness, the effortless domination, Sephalla treats me with tremendous affection. As I laid there on the floor yesterday afternoon, she lay beside me, only the slightest hint of meanness escaping her perfect mouth when she laughed – and I joined in – at the fact that the enormous quantity of ejaculate left me effectively paralysed until the early evening.

Something to get used to, apparently. Something that’ll be easier to manage, the more and more her demonic dick milk empowers me, making me into some hybrid human-infernal. Though, unfortunately, the body doesn’t absorb it through the guts in quite the same way as it does through the stomach.

‘The process is mystical, not scientific,’ Sephalla said, having eventually helped me up, to carry me in her strong, gentle arms. ‘The belly has importance, as the seat of consumption. Your butt, not so much. We’ll have to train that stomach some more, to get things moving in the right direction…’

A tempting prospect, though Sephalla’s terms are…less so?

Exciting, there’s no doubt about that. The idea that, during those weeks when she’s the dominant partner, I’m going to forgo ordinary nutrition in favour of consuming regular quantities of her demonic horse tadpoles is deeply arousing. Though it does mean a certain degree of going around school with a fatter belly than I’d like.

It means dialling up the gossip surrounding us – gossip I’ve had my role in inflaming, with my desire to make things “official” in an outward sense – to a much more intimate degree. Why do Jake and Sephalla disappear around lunch break? Why does Jake go around looking like he’s eaten a banquet all to himself? Why does Sephalla pat his belly on occasion and smile with the utmost smugness?

It's an idea that keeps me up on Monday evening, but only because I can’t manage to get my cock to go down. It throbs violently, in need of release, but I take this role-play of ours with the utmost seriousness. My loads are for spilling only in her presence, and even then, only as and when she allows me to do so.

A simple, yet effective deterrent.

Thus when Tuesday morning rolls around I pass on breakfast, thinking only of the day’s dirtiness, fast approaching. To forgo ordinary food in favour of her demonic foal milk is at once depraved and divine, resulting in an awkward boner on the bus ride. People look at me and whisper among themselves, all the same, because I’m with the scary monster girl. Because someone doubtless saw Seph carrying me to the train station last night, in lieu of the late bus I missed for being so cream-filled.

It's strangely empowering, honestly. That we can attract so much attention for what? Being different? The start of things was rough, but now everything is ideal. Sephalla isn’t scary, not really. Lonely, more than anything. An outcast of sorts, in large part because there’s an expectation that monster girls should be simple and pretty. All of the more “monstrous” types end up being loners, though most aren’t quite as, well, casually abrasive as Sephalla the Magnificent.

I know they’re not jealous of me, as such, but I get the strong impression that they would be, if they knew the degree of paradise I’ve got waiting for me each and every time I end up alone with Seph. It’s not like I imagined I’d like futa dick, after all, but I’m not sure I could – even if I had to – find enjoyment in a regular woman. That Sephalla has everything going for her, all possible permutations of the perverse at her disposal when it comes to us enjoying one another, is something I’ll never take for granted.

When I arrive at school, I find Seph waiting for me. She affixes me with an assertive gaze as I walk towards the main entrance, devouring me with those coal-seam eyes. Where my own have some light to them, a flare capable of faintly illuminating objects in front of my face in a dark room, Sephalla’s are bright orange gemstones in her face, ringed in tastefully applied makeup and bursting with beauty.

The gorgeous goth-punk goddess is as enticing today as ever. Her hair, living blue fire, runs like a mane down her back, its emo fringe for the moment behaving itself. That same azure light dances side to side in the form of her equid tail, swishing with faint excitement to behold me. A faux leather jacket makes up the outermost layer of clothing, a death metal t-shirt beneath it for a change revealing little of her torso – as if those breasts and hips don’t, by merit of sheer size, show themselves regardless. Blue and black being her colours – the denim of her cut-down shorts not so bright as her flames – seems fitting, and yet doesn’t quite match her moods. Red, for lust, or pink, for sweetness, might be a better reflection of the woman’s soul, though there’s something appealing about having its secretive nature known only to my lucky self.

‘There’s a hunger in your eyes,’ she says, smirking. All pleased with herself, my “owner” for the week. ‘I like that look. No breakfast for you, I take it?’

‘None, Mistress. Just like you asked of me.’

Seph’s cheeks grow flush, her weakness to such moments of affection unfaltering, no matter how illicit or depraved. This is going to be a lot of fun, for both of us. A learning experience for both of us, as we explore these ever-rotating roles, and enjoy all manner of dirty desires.

But even though I’m meant to be the submissive partner at present, it’s still cute as fuck to see her blush on account of me using her preferred title.

To my surprise, however, Seph says nothing. She steps to the side of the passing throng of fellow pupils and I instinctually go with her, the towering inferno some lighthouse in the sea of irrelevant faces, this herd of nobodies that have no real interest to either of us.

‘Can you wait until first break?’ she says, suppressing a smirk.

‘If I have to, I guess? I mean…’

‘What?’

‘Just that it’s not like my tutor is going to notice if I turn up or don’t. He barely pays attention to any of that stuff.’

With utmost casualness, the smouldering stallion moves closer to me, making a show of pushing her groin against my shoulder. The cramped quarters within her jeans shorts, their contents opulent and obvious, send a chill down my back. While her cock is sheathed, her sextet of titanic testicles, stuffed to the brim with her supernatural seed, are impossible to ignore from their sheer heft and weight.

Her smell, that sulphurous sweetness, pairs with the heat of her body and the vastness of her loins. I wouldn’t think missing breakfast, by itself, would induce so sorry a state of desire but here I am, nonetheless, craving her cum. Craving a meal, if it can be called that, which sates and corrupts me, and gives her no end of perverse prideful pleasure.

‘I’m sure we can find somewhere quiet,’ Sephalla says, her act of casual crotch grinding managing, somehow, to attract no untoward attention. Bold of her to do it, even so. ‘Let’s go fill that belly, cumslut. I’ve got plenty of would-be foals waiting to baptise that tongue.’

Perhaps once, I might’ve been scared. Something in me harkens back to the beginning of this, to the incident which brought Seph into my life in a far more intimate fashion than she had previously occupied.

Back then I was terrified of her. Completely at her mercy, weak and pathetic, fearing the evils of this apparent villain at the tail-end of my life’s adolescent story segment. But here and now, I can look up at her beautiful face with a smile. I can behold the nightmare in full and fiery glory, without needing for a moment to turn away.

‘What’s that look for?’

I smile, and shake my head. ‘Nothing in particular. Where’s this spot, Mistress?’

‘Come. We’ll find it.’

It’s little things that remind me, time and again, that there is no power imbalance here. That Seph is mine as I am hers, partaking of this thing which is mutual and magical. For all her height and power, it takes but a word, a playful title, to provoke further flushness on her cheeks. I wonder if it’ll ever become mundane to her, given what must be the raw psychological appeal of it.

She turns, and I follow, the two of us slipping away from the morning throng as they find their various tutor rooms or otherwise distract themselves before the first lesson of the day. I’ve never been so naughty as I am with Sephalla, but this feels particularly bad. Skipping tutor, potentially arriving late to my first lesson. And when I do, without a doubt, the evidence of my “sin” is going to be bulging my belly.

The towering inferno, gothic and gorgeous, leads me round the back of the cafeteria to the Maths block. From there, we pass along the side of the large building – one of the newer ones – and find an otherwise unimpressive door. A door which Seph opens with…a crackle of blue flame from her finger.

‘It doesn’t do any damage, before you ask,’ she says, gesturing for me to go inside. ‘It’s just a minor charm, and the lock is dead simple. Not like they have much to protect, in a storage room like this.’

As I step within the oversized cupboard, clearly accessible only from the outside, her words ring true. It’s just boxes of exercise books, to be given out at the start of the term, or as replacements, but nothing more exciting than that. Stationary, perhaps, lurks in some of the boxes or on the shelves. But there’s a more prominent thought, on the mind.

‘Why do you know about this place?’

She moves inside and casually barges me out of her way with a sway of those wide womanly hips, catching me with inhuman gentle quickness before I actually collide with the row of shelving to my right. Sephalla shuts the door and flicks on the light, leaving us in perfect privacy. The room is high-ceilinged, but given her sheer stature it’s not quite tall enough for the nightmare to stand at full height without brushing her head.

‘Reasons,’ Seph says, turning to face me. The faint flutter to her eyes, and the slightly awkward smile on her lips, speak volumes. ‘It makes a good place to write those dirty stories I had about us, you know? It’s not like anyone comes here. It’s just a matter of picking the right times of the term, and the day, and then it’s a quiet little sanctuary.’

Her strength is obvious, and impressive, in the way she moves several of the file cabinets to lay them on their sides, forming something of a stack upon which to sit. Low, of course, but just the right height for her balls to dangle over the edge of the makeshift chair. Which they will, the moment she removes those jeans shorts and frees the beast.

I get the impression, as Sephalla brings her weight down upon the makeshift metal blowjob throne, that she’s done this before. Not necessarily the oral sex side of it, but at the very least I can picture her in here by herself. Wanking or not, depending on the circumstances.

Neither seems exactly unlikely, given what I know of the towering inferno and her unrelenting tendency towards lustiness. Nobody else, to my knowledge, has anything like her dirty diary and its collection of tales.

‘What’s that look for?’ she says, the cabinets faintly protesting as her perfect posterior comes to rest heavily upon them. The nightmare smirks, black lips luscious and glossy. Her eyes glow, flare brighter, and she shakes her head at me, living-flame mane shifting. ‘Oh. I know what you’re going to say. The answer’s no, because you know what kind of mess would result.’

I can’t help but chuckle, the sound bouncing off the close walls and coming back at me louder for the fact. ‘You were writing those stories without even touching yourself?’

Sephalla rolls her eyes. ‘Of course I was touching myself. But that’s the benefit of girl parts, you know? The two aren’t hooked up, not unless I put special effort in. Can you imagine if I dropped a load in here? It’d stink of jizz forever, given they don’t clean it.’

Her expression rapidly shifts from dismissive to delectable, eyeing me up with those coal-seam gemstones. For here, of course, exists a possible means to both ejaculate and not deal with the messy aftermath. Particularly given the fact that this is her week to make demands of me, and we both share a predilection for prolonged bouts of oral sex.

‘What are you going to say, to explain your belly bulge?’ Seph says, wetting her lustrous black lips with the violet sleekness of her tongue, passingly showing off that piercing. ‘Or are you going to be a coward, and refuse me?’

‘No, Mistress. I’ve no intention of refusing.’

It’s a balancing act, to play submissive for her. Honestly, I’m going to have to incorporate a certain amount of dominant service into my weeks, simply because the thrill which blossoms inside of my chest when she blushes faintly is too much to contend with. I don’t advance on her – not without being expressly told to do so – but I’m also not going to simply do nothing.

Sephalla chews her lower lip in a sensual manner, watching me with interest aflame as I slowly descend onto my knees, finding the thin cheap carpet lining of the storage room floor uncomfortable but nonetheless a necessary consequence of our sordid situation.

After all, a price has to be paid for such perfection, right?

‘I gotta say, Jakey, you’re fucking great at this.’ The naughty nightmare, pushing through her intense excitement, beckons to me with an elegant finger. ‘Come to Mistress, slut. Come pull out my morning load.’

‘Anything for you, Mistress.’

It’s impossible to avoid noticing the bulge in Sephalla’s jeans shorts, no matter the occasion, but it’s particularly prominent right now. The lump, like the size of a football, all but lacks for definition until I make the first shuffling shift across the floor towards her sublime self. She towers over me, beautiful and intimidating without presenting anything like a genuine threat, and seems to grow that much larger with every inch I advance.

‘Good little slut.’

I shiver as Seph takes hold of my head, bringing a strong hand down upon my hair, its size and strength inducing a deep sense of submission and satisfaction. The statuesque demoness could overpower me with ease, but she doesn’t have to. Here I am, fully at her disposal, ready to tend to her needs.

My cock twitches as she widens her stance, those big boots – cool as can be, much as part of me wants to see her with hoofs – gliding smoothly across the rough-fibred carpet. Inviting me closer, in a gesture. Inviting me to sandwich myself between her thighs and take full advantage of the humungous horse cock lurking inside those shorts.

The heat of her body permeates the distance between us, radiant warmth tinged with her substantial smells. Potency, sexual and metaphysical. Her perfume, her body wash, and that sulphurous sweetness so uniquely Sephalla’s. A coolish day in late Spring, the little storage room particularly so, but the beautiful body of my flame-maned mistress keeps everything plenty toasty.

‘You’re so perfect, Mistress,’ I say, reaching for her thighs, sinking my hands into the silken softness of her fine fur, upon the womanly thickness and muscular vigour of her legs. ‘I can’t imagine anyone in all the world is a better match for me than you.’

She sucks in a gentle breath as I run my fingers along her inner thighs, towards the torn fabric making up each eyelet of her jeans shorts. The powerful muscles flex and shift beneath my intrepid touch, the bulge in the denim ahead of me growing fit to bursting with the sheer quantity of cock and balls stuffed into those tight bottoms.

I lose a bit of patience and rush for the belt buckle, coming to a rapid halt when the towering inferno seizes hold of my head and locks me in place. The note of laughter that leaves her lovely lips is a raw and true embodiment of lust, and when I meet her eyes I find nought but delicious dominance.

‘Do you promise that?’ she says, eyes glowing all the brighter. ‘Do you swear it?’

‘Yes, Mistress. I swear it.’ I press my hands to her belt, to the top of her fly. Her bulging behemoth warms my palms, strains and swells at its confines like some fabled beast seeking an escape from a restrictive prison. ‘You’re my Mistress, and there is nobody I want more than you. I…I never imagined I’d find anyone half so perfect as you.’

Sephalla moves with ever-impressive quicksilver quickness, casually pushing me onto my calves and leaning forwards to bring her lips down upon mine. Mwah. Smack. Mlep. The kiss catches me off-guard with its force and fire, a thing of tremendous passion and tantalising ferociousness.

‘Mhm. Mhaah.’

She moans into my mouth, her tongue delivering a series of lovely lashings against my own, filling my world with the warmth of her breath, the sweet smokiness of her spit, and the prominent metallic heat of her tongue stud. In an instant my cock is fully engorged, uncomfortably pressing against its bindings in my boxers and trousers. And when Sephalla withdraws, licking her lips of my spit, the smirk on her mouth is a thing of devilish divinity.

‘You’re a good boy, Jakey. The feeling is very mutual.’ She keeps hold of me a moment longer, studying my face, and then straightens up to her full and intimidating height atop the makeshift throne of overturned filing cabinets. ‘Good boys get big, delicious rewards from Mistress. Come get yours.’

She pulls her hand away from me in a flirtatious fashion, dipping it down to cup my face and then slides her fingers gently across my cheeks, dragging me towards her beautiful body with the richest of salacious smirks upon her black lacquered lips.

My gaze drops from hers, down past her ridiculously fat R-cup breasts in an ever-tight death metal t-shirt, noting briefly the piercing through her belly button, all the way to my hands lingering there on her belt buckle. Sephalla flexes her hips, provoking her member to swell and thicken, prodding against the bottoms of my hands.

‘Thank you, Mistress. You’re too kind.’

I’m impressed with myself, across the board. That I manage to speak clearly yet softly, as meekly as I can in favour of her strength and vigour. That I don’t stutter, that I don’t fumble with the buckle and struggle with the belt as she slides her gait wider again. That I don’t gawp and gasp when at last the raw physical prominence of her beefy prick urges open the zipper of her fly all of its own accord.

The deliciously indigo demonic horse cock slides forth and grows inch after inch towards its full and tremendously titanic size before my eyes. A thing of baleful beauty and generous gorgeousness, an equine erection with the unmistakable infernal qualities that suit her naughty nightmarish nature. Its head, that fatal flare, provokes a licking of my lips as the already-oozing proud prominence surges up towards me to deliver a crude and sloppy kiss to the side of my neck.

‘Good boy,’ she says, chuckling carnally. ‘I’ve got so many strong would-be nightmare foals to feed you, cumslut. Your belly is gonna be squirming for half the day.’ Seph pats my head, treats me like the slutty starving pet that I am. ‘You’re excited, aren’t you, Jakey? All that stallion sperm, with your name on it. Can you imagine anything better?’

It’s that duality, of course. That disturbing distance between the two parts of the whole. That I want to rule her, but be ruled by her. That I want to conquer her, but be conquered as well. That I want to see her belly fat with my child, yet want my own guts fat with the rich creamy goo of her big beautiful black bollocks. And in this moment, the conquered, the submissive, the ruled, is the side which sings the loudest.

‘No,’ I say, truthfully. ‘No, Mistress, I can’t.’

She pats my head again, then holds the grip firm. Warm fingers, silken touch, gentle yet suggestive of sublime strength. ‘Then make it real, cumslut. Make it real.’

And now, I stumble a little. Shiver, as if I’m new to this and only now learning my place. Only now experiencing this explosive eroticism. Jesus Christ, her cock is beautiful. She’s gorgeous, but my attention is seized wholly by that beast between her thick thighs, stood almost upright before me through infernal intensity above a low-sagging sextet of sperm-stuffed orbs in their velvety blue-black sack.

Make it real. Yes, that’s the hope. Yet my fingers tremble and twitch as I reach for her throbbing titan, as if this is the very first time. The heat it radiates, the space it takes up in the world, are both monumental. There’s something about this act, this kinky role-play, that makes the whole situation new again. Restores in me some virginal shyness, some state of sensual submissiveness.

‘You’re so big, Mistress.’ I finally manage to get my shaky fingers against the smouldering solidity of her shaft, the flesh lustrous and lust-amplifying. ‘So big…’

My voice trails off as I lean closer on instinct, cock-craving, hungrily horny. The warmth of her wonderful weapon heats my face as I come within inches of its magnificence, suiting her excellently, its wild smoky demonic smells inflaming my senses and causing me to salivate intensely.

Mwah. Smack.

‘Ooh. Good boy. Good pet.’

The first kiss is promptly followed by a second, planted upon the underside of her pole, against the throbbing cum canal that waits patiently to deliver unto my tastebuds a feast of devilish dick milk. Slowly but worshipfully I slide my hands down her length, appreciating its sturdiness, its sheer virility and vigour.

‘Mhm. Mumph.’

Mlep. Schlup. Smooch.

Sephalla, my nightmarish mistress, tangles her fingers through my hair and smiles down at me with infernal intent. ‘You look like you belong there, Jakey. You sure you don’t want to–ugh–alter our deal? Live on your knees forever?’

I blush, and smirk, and kiss the side of her rod. ‘Permission to break character?’

‘Denied,’ Seph says, her own cheeks reddening, her eyes flush with that same duality of emotions that rumbles about in the core of me. ‘But…given that we’re in-character, anything you say is just for the sake of enjoying ourselves.’

‘In which case,’ I say, taking a moment to slide the flat of my tongue against the side of her horse cock, getting a good taste of salty smokiness, ‘I very much want to live on my knees for you, Mistress. Forever and ever. I’m just a toilet for your lovely loads.’

She bucks all of a sudden, firming up her grip on my head and grinding her colossal cock against me. The towering inferno presses into my lips, writhes against my cheek, takes control of my head as though I’m her toy to the extent that her flared horse helmet disappears behind my shoulders.

‘You are,’ Sephalla says, stabilising her shaft with her other hand. Holding it in place, holding my head – lips first – against it, my whole body trembles with every throb of her fierce futanari fuck-stick. ‘You’re going to milk me for breakfast, and for lunch, and for–mhm–dinner, cumslut. By the end of the day there’s going to be more of my sperm inside of you than there is in me. How does that make you feel? Is anything in the world so fucking perfect?’

Smack. Mwah.

I kiss her, smooch her, try to shake my head but fail. The side of her mighty member spreads my lips and rests roughly between them, pulsating powerfully with its naughty neediness. To be at her mercy like this is a thing of beauty, intimidating and deeply arousing. She’s so much bigger than I am, so much stronger, pure demon and all woman. Dick and balls happily included.

Schlep. Mlap. Schlup.

Instinct and initiative both ensure I suckle on the side of her pole, tasting the salty smokiness of that wonderful glaze coating her shaft from its time spent in her sheath. Sephalla exhales sharply, producing twin plumes of ash and glory, the cloudiness dissipating into the air within a moment’s passing.

‘Good boy,’ she says, holding back a grunt. It slips out, of course. ‘Ughn. Such a good little cocksucker, Jakey. Make me proud.’

She keeps her cock wedged between my lips, holding me firmly, preventing me from doing anything beyond appreciating the side of her slickness. Its potent tastes fill my mouth as I suckle upon it, flicking my tongue about, appreciating and enjoying. The responsive implement of exquisite intimacy pulsates and throbs, needy and naughty, demanding more and more effort on my behalf.

Mlep. Schluck. Slurp.

‘Mhm. Mumph.’

I moan sweetly, mouth plugged, as I bring my hands forwards to play with her large and lovely loins. That sublime sextet of sperm-makers, dangling away beneath her huge horse cock, call to me like little else in the world. I shiver simply to touch them, to crudely cup one in each hand, marvelling at their massiveness. Hugely fat and heavy, the skin lustrous and loose, the whole region radiating warmth and suggestive of tremendous virility and vigour.

‘Cumdump.’ Sephalla struggles not to chuckle as she says it. ‘Cumslut. Seed-sucker. Dick-toilet. Isn’t that all you are, Jakey? My cock worshipper?’

‘Mhm-hm.’

I manage an affirmative moan, just about moving my head in some shoddy attempt at nodding agreement. My cheeks are aflame, my mouth loaded with saliva – not that it does anything to dilute her futanari flavours – and my dick is sore where it tents against my trousers, throbbing away, demanding release. More than that: demanding her release.

And in a passing heartbeat I realise that I’m finally, at last, getting into character. Finally, at last, realising that I can forget the outside world and the rules beyond this week, beyond this singular instance. There’s nothing to be lost in submitting to the woman I love, playing the game I agreed to play, and going all-in on it. For when I meet her eyes, those coal-seam fires burning bright amidst her baleful black-blue beauty, I know I can trust in her.

I can let go.

‘Good boy,’ she says, as if seeing the shift in me. Seph’s grip on my head weakens, replaced by gentle stroking and patting. ‘Are you ready to do your job, suck-slave?’

Mwah. Schlep.

Leaving her leviathan with a kiss and a suckle, I withdraw a few inches. Firm and mighty as it is, it springs straight the moment she releases it, slapping the side of my face with a pleasing splack where moistness impacts dryness. I suck in a breath, lick my lips, and smile up at her.

‘Of course, Mistress. I know my place. I’m your cumdump. Your suck-slave.’

Sephalla shudders, the look of ecstasy in her eyes brightening as my words sink in. She gives my head a pat and brings her hands back to her sides, resting them against the front edge of the filing cabinet upon which she sits.

‘That’s what I like to hear, Jakey.’ The naughty nightmare widens her stance, dragging her big-booted feet to the sides, giving me plenty of room to work in. ‘Take care of me, and take your time. I don’t give a fuck if we’re late to first period.’

Neither do I. Nothing matters beyond the confines of this room, nothing has any importance. My woman, my Mistress, my gorgeous dickgirl goddess, smiles down at me. Her delicious demonic dick rests against my neck, its huge horse-like helmet out of sight for the moment. I take one last look at her body, breathing her in, relishing the size of her mammoth mammaries and her heavy hips, the sensual sag of those tremendous testicles, the way her living-flame pubes shiver and swirl, and then bring my hands up from her nuts to take hold of her cock around the rigid ring which marks the distinction between shaft proper and the sheath from which it originates.

‘God, you are the best thing that ever happened to me.’

It slips out without me even realising, some romance to dilute the kinkiness. My attention drifts solely to her captivating cock, which I’m in no rush to part ways with. I sniff its perverse glory, inhale her potent scents, and apply a sweet and dutiful kiss to the shaft where it’s nearest to my face.

Mwah. Mlep.

A lick naturally follows, and before I know it I’m making my way down her pole, moving towards those stupendously fat nuts dangling beneath it. I give some attention to every vein I pass, to every inch of her indigo impressiveness, adoring the silken softness of her schlong’s skin. It throbs against my hands, that bulky band particularly noticeable between my palms, inspiring the powerful urge to feel it kiss my lips as she truly impales my skull.

Schlep. Smooch.

I’ve no interest in tugging her. To accelerate the process is anathema to our interests here, to the act of cock worship. Instead I dip lower, bringing my mouth to the underside of her ridiculous rod, pressing my lips against that swollen cum canal in some show of servitude and sluttiness.

‘Ugh. Good boy.’

Her words of approval warm me, light a furnace of satisfaction in my soul. To please her is everything, to submit to her all. Smack. Mlap. Smooch. Schlep. I can’t quite snog her dick, not from this angle at least, but I do my best, and the sordid sloppy sounds which echo around the small storage room highlight that in earnest. Every note plays back to me, highlighting my depravity, my servitude.

The same with her moans, which are the sweetest things. The same with the slight creaking of the metal cabinet where she shifts her weight atop it, or the dragging of her boot’s rubber soles against the carpet. Faint sounds elsewhere, but here, with just us, with such close confines, every single one has an importance beyond the obvious.

‘Mhm. Mumph.’

My sluttiness joins the mix, naturally. The taste of her titan, that ridiculous reproductive organ, the perfect penis of a demonic horse dickgirl, might as well be etched into me at this point. I can’t get enough of it, and I’m not even lavishing in her precum just yet. Let alone the luxuriousness of her sperm, the ultimate glory of all of this.

‘Mhm. Aah.’

The sweetness of her sighs dials up to eleven the moment I slip my hands from that band atop her sheath and replace them with my lips, my tongue. Schlep. Slup. Mwah. It’s clearly super sensitive, given how readily it causes her to tremble, how it strikes silence into her domme-mode heart.

It’s such an interesting thing, as well. Thick and firm, demarcating the lustrousness of her pole from the faint leathery nature of her base, and the dividing line between the flavours of her dick proper and the mere saltiness of her sweat. It’s practically as long as my cock is hard, she’s simply that massive. And here I stay for a few drawn-out moments, returning my hands to her big balls while my mouth extends her enjoyment, taking good care of my magnificent Mistress.

‘Mhm. Mumph.’

Smooch. Schlup. Slurp.

‘Fuck, Jakey. You’re such a dirty little whore, aren’t you? I’m surprised you ever–ugh–thought about women, given how natural a cocksucker you are.’

Now that is properly degrading. That is a remark cutting enough for me to hesitate, humiliation a touch beyond my expectations. ‘You’re so mean, Mistress.’

‘Am I?’ She moves with supernatural swiftness again, but this time merely brings a finger up beneath my jaw. With the faintest of urging she lifts my gaze to meet hers, and from this angle it’s a bit of a struggle to look past those behemoth breasts. ‘Let’s be real, slut. You’re treating me like a goddess. You want what only I can give you. You want that belly to grow fat with me, don’t you? You want to taste what a real dick can produce. It’s so fucking obvious.’

I tremble, for her voice is perfect, every word spoken by it at once depraved and divine. She’s…she’s not wrong, is she? There’s something about this huge horse cock, demonic or otherwise, that conjures an interest. That part of me, so eager to be less than her, to obey her, to belong to her and be used by her, cannot help but adore the idea of being absolutely loaded with her spooge. To appreciate her body in the most primal way imaginable, to gulp down what it produces, to honour her as my superior by accepting her into my belly and, as I know all too well, into my very soul.

‘Not for anyone else,’ I say, giving her bulky band a kiss. Smooch. ‘Only for you, Mistress. It’s only your dick I dream of. Only your seed I crave. But…you’re right, otherwise. You’re completely right, and you’re the only person I’ll admit that to.’

Sephalla the Magnificent lives up to her name, in this moment. I must catch her off-guard, for her eyes widen and her cheeks grow redder, but she reclaims control with a lascivious licking of her lips and a smile that could end wars. Perfect pearly teeth behind those full curvaceous clips, fangs passingly on show, her beauty a thing that words can’t quite capture.

‘Thank you, Jake. I’m really, really glad. Nothing is so satisfying as knowing that you’re digesting my cum. Like seriously, it’s stupidly hot.’

Smack. Mwah. ‘I know the feeling, Mistress. Are you done mocking me for the moment, or can I get back to my purpose in this world? I’m in no rush to end things, but I am really excited to be full of your genes.’

She chews her lower lip and strokes at my chin, eyelids fluttering. ‘You say all the right things, you perfect little cocksucker.’ Pulling away her hand again, the nightmare snorts smoke, and shudders noticeably. ‘Go on, cumdump. Tend to me. Earn that morning load.’

‘Thank you, Mistress. I fully intend to.’

I dip my head down, and kiss the tops of her big, sperm-filled balls. Mwah. Smooch. It’s important to attend to them, after all. To ensure that what comes out of her tremendous thickness is the very best her body can offer to her personal spunk-swallower.

Their heat makes my lips tingle where I brush against them, that sublime sextet. Each is the size of a large orange, big and round, a fat and infernal horse testicle bursting with would-be foals. The way they touch against my cheeks, the faint and ferocious pulses that seem to ripple through them – suggestive of her power, her virility – chills me despite the fire which seems to emanate from this entire region.

Seph twitches, the cutest of movements for someone so tall and fierce. Her nuts are as sensitive as mine, despite her demonic nature. Each kiss, the momentary meeting of my saliva-slicked lips and the scrotal skin that separates her balls from my mouth, results in the faintest of relieved exhalations. Or are they instead the tell-tale markers of a growing tension within her?

Smack. Mwah. Smooch.

I lose myself in the act of romancing her loins, treating them like lovers, each in turn. Of course, it’s one thing to attend to those closest to the front, and it grows progressively harder, progressively more involved, to deliver my affection to the second row, and then the third. Little by little I find myself engulfed by them, face buried in the liquorice darkness of her lustrous leathery sack.

‘Mhm. Jake.’

No slave, no slut, no cumdump. Just my name, and somehow, it wields all the same intensity as one of those perverse pet names. I like being Jake, for her. For her, when she says it, it’s so much different. For her, it has a degree of importance that no other name carries.

Mlep. Smooch. Smack. Schlap.

‘Mhm. Mumph.’

‘Ooh. Fuck.’

Sephalla’s grunt is a glorious thing, filling me with the pride I only achieve in either ruling or being ruled by her. For there is, much as it seems counterintuitive, a kind of profound power present here even though I’m on my knees, even though I’m openly engaged in the process of working to ultimately thank her for letting her load my mouth with a steaming feast of thick equine-demon seed.

This game we play is all about taking turns, trusting one another, treating each other right. As I grapple with her gigantic balls, sliding my tongue about them to taste the salty smokiness of her flesh, never has it been more obvious. She’s so vulnerable here, and not simply in terms of biology. In fact, biologically, I’m sure her loins would break a regular person’s fist.

But I’ve chosen to submit, and to turn back on her now, to reject what we’re building, would be like a knife to the heart. Sephalla isn’t like this for anyone else, doesn’t dare relax into her sexual urges in the wider world. Rolling my tongue about in circles across her nuts, one after the other, teasing out the distinct vastness of their contours through the silken smoothness of her sack, I wish I could see her eyes. Wish I could watch the particular faces she pulls, the satisfaction prominent therein.

Slup. Mlap. Smooch. Mwah.

I leave her balls sticky with spit, the physical sign of my appreciative lust directed towards her. Her scent and taste are rich in my senses, brilliant in their differences, their similarities. The endless appeal of this pseudo-bestial state of things, that she’s so different to a human, at once animalistic and demonic, transcendent, at the same time.

‘Jake…’

‘Stop, Mistress,’ I say, pulling back slightly. ‘Remember who I am to you right now.’

‘You’re really okay with me being, y’know?’

‘Dirty? Mean? Fuck yeah. It’s you. I trust you, Seph. You’re mine, and I’m yours. We own each other, heart and soul. Right?’

Leaning back enough, I meet her eyes. Find there something unusual, but not completely unfamiliar. A hint of reticence, again? A suggestion that the mask is slipping, the hardness cracking, the sweetheart beneath the rough exterior continuing to slip through?

‘You’re so, so good to me.’ Sephalla brushes at the back of my head, plays with my hair, and then says, ‘Cumslut. Do your fucking job.’

‘Anything for you, Mistress!’

The act reaffirmed, I resume my worshipping of her nuts, happily bouncing them about against my face as if motorboating a pair of breasts. Well, six breasts, in this case. Their warmth and heaviness slaps lavishly against my cheeks, wonderful and wicked. Schpap, schpap, schpap. It’s a perfect sound, sensual and sublime, pairing perversely with the sensations of size and stickiness from where I’ve lapped and loved her titanic testicles.

There’s something in me, I realise, with every passing moment, that seems to be in a strange communion with her body. It makes sense, that part of me is now permanently engraved with her essence. My soul itself, stained with her seed. But it’s still overtly weird, to feel this “calling”, this new sense that’s not any of those I’m at all familiar with.

‘Mistress…what’s this feeling in me?’

She chuckles, pats my head. ‘It’s nothing to be scared of, slut. It’s just that part of you, now.’

‘That part of me?’

‘Yeah. The part that belongs to me. That knows it belongs to me.’ She applies a sudden forcefulness to the back of my scalp, crushing my face against the bouncy behemoths dangling below her horse cock. ‘You know what my body is going to give you, cumdump. You’ve felt it before, and it’s intrinsic to you now. Etched into you. You’re not addicted, or anything like that, but…there’s a bond between us. It’s going to make everything way, way better.’

‘Mumph. Mhm.’

Schpap, schlup, schpap, mwah, schpap, mlep.

I continue my carnal ministrations, though Mistress Sephalla takes control of the positioning of my face. She holds me in that humid sanctuary, guides me about, ensures that her naughty nuts continue to dance and wobble against my cheeks, engulfing my jaw, darkening my vision with their all-encompassing enormity.

A sense I very much do understand begins to build, responding to that novel one. Hunger. I skipped breakfast, yes, but I hadn’t quite anticipated this degree of bodily interest in the contents of her loins. Sexual? Sure. But the meeting of such a basic need? Both unexpected, and unequalled. The mundane manifested in the shape of the vulgar, surging up within me, a deviant delight.

There’s something powerful, about oral sex involving a cock. Culture doubtless plays so key a role, and yet humans have always put a great deal of importance upon certain qualities. Semen, out of the penis and testicles, has a mythical magic surrounding it. It which conceives offspring, it which represents virility, it which marks and claims and conquers.

Schpap, schlup, schpap, mwah, schpap, mlep.

And as Seph’s nuts wobble and shudder against my face, as her strong-swimming sperm cells anticipate their approaching freedom, I can’t help but want to be marked by her, claimed by her, conquered by her. The admittance was true, after all.

I want to be her cumslut, and I want it like nothing else on Earth.

‘Mhistress,’ I manage to say, muffled by her loins. ‘Mhistress, plhease lhet mhe tahste yhou…’

Her lusty laughter is profound, spine-tingling. Happy and horny, at once playful and mocking, perfectly attuned to her current mood. Mistress Magnificent softens her grip on me, gliding her fingertips about between my ears.

‘I suppose you have done a wonderful job so far, haven’t you?’ She coaxes me with her idle fondling, somehow suggestive. The mixture of her words, her intonation, her gentle toying. ‘Kiss your way up to the prize, cumdump. Do that, and I’ll happily grace your filthy tongue with my pride.’

Words fail me, for my body moves ahead of my capacity for language. I should thank her, praise her, but I do so using my lips and tongue in a rather different manner. Mwah. Mlep. Smooch. In an instant I find myself beneath her beautiful behemoth, applying my affection to that interesting place where the dark indigo of her shaft proper leaves behind the black-blue of her furless sheath.

The heat is lightning against my lips, salty and smoky upon my tongue. My naughty nightmare widens her gait to its limits, her boots almost pressing against the front of the overturned metal cabinets. Knees trembling with anticipation, awaiting the true beginning of my final act of the morning, her responsiveness invites a sense of pride I don’t feel in other activities. Nothing makes me happier than taking care of the woman I love.

‘Mhm. Mhm-hm.’

Smack. Mwah. Smooch. Mlap.

‘Ooh. Good slut. Nice and slow, nice and slow…’

As if I need to be told to take my time, when all I want is for this to last forever. Each pressing of my mouth upon her monster gains less than an inch, and Sephalla has many, many inches. Her cock is, in truth, massive even for her size, at a little over three feet in length. It suits her, all the same. Suits her especially, when we’re playing this particular game.

Mlep. Smack. Mwah.

‘Good boy,’ Mistress says, as happy with me as I am with her. ‘Do your best to look at me while you work your way up. That’s a good cocksleeve.’

I tilt my head this way and that with each smooch upon the thick cum vein that runs along the underside of her dick, meeting her gaze with every movement. Those coal-seam fires she calls eyes, intense and aglow, evil stars captured in the most sublime of visages. Sephalla meets my attention with her own, and I’m at her mercy, completely beholden to her beauty, her unspoken dominance.

Her massive member shudders and throbs as I near the halfway point, taking hold of it around the sheath to faintly steady it while I continue on. The towering inferno’s lips glisten wetly as she smirks, confidence oozing from her expressive equine looks. A monster-girl, gorgeous and gothic, finer in form and features than anyone I’ve ever met before in my life.

‘That’s it. Keep looking at your Mistress. Keep–aah–working towards your prize…’

I can barely handle the excitement, as if this is new and special, as if this is the very first time we’ve ever done this together. The heat of her body sears my lips, her strong sensual scent fills my nostrils. Inch after inch after inch, kiss after kiss after kiss, and I shiver the moment her shaft begins to flare out towards its fat-headed conclusion. The beginning of her glans is marked by a bulky band, not dissimilar in texture and rigidity from that ring that culminates her sheath.

Simply brushing against it with my lips sends chills through me. I know what comes next, know how close I am to engaging in the deliciously dutiful act that each of us desires like nothing else in the world.

Schlep. Mlap. Smooch.

I pay extra attention to the liminal spot, the demarcation between shaft and head, watching with pride as the dominant dickgirl fights back against the urge to moan and whimper, to perhaps even praise me for being so very good to her. All I want right now is to hear that, to pleasure her and be thanked for it, to free her of this big and burdensome load and lavish in the affection it earns me. And, of course, to bloat my belly with her perverse produce.

‘You really want me to shoot a–mhm–heavy one, don’t you? All this teasing, all this toying. You’re such a dirty little cumslut, Jakey. Imagine what people would say about you, if they knew the kind of faces you pull when trying to milk a stallion of her–ughn–sperm.’

‘I don’t care,’ I say between laps and kisses. ‘I’m a human, and you’re a demon. This is just the’ – schlup, smack – ‘natural order. There’s no finer gift, Mistress, than the honour of being able to kneel for my dark goddess and service her big, powerful penis.’

‘Ughn. Jake…’

Mwah. Schlep. Slurp. Mlap.

Sephalla loses herself in the surge of pleasure as I lose myself in making love to the broad bulk of her cockhead. The lustrous flare, vaguely heart-shaped, with its central vertical cleft and appealing aperture tucked between the juicy bulges of demonic horse dick on either side of it, might as well be her mouth.

It comes so naturally, to treat it with such amorous affection, to snog it like it were my lover’s lips. Sliding my tongue across its contours, it responds by oozing copious quantities of sticky sliminess, salty and smoky, inhuman and intense. My dick aches with the knowledge that even this, her mere precum, contains her seed, her would-be foals, and it excites me to even greater heights of horniness. My slapping lips and thirsty tongue fill the small room with the naughtiness of our play, make unmistakable the sound of sordid sensuality.

‘Mhm. Mhm-hm.’

Smack. Slurp. Mlep. Smooch.

‘Good boy,’ Sephalla says. ‘Aahn. Good cumslut.’

She roughly tussles my hair, and I can’t resist parting my lips and sliding them around the broad flare of her helmet. The urge to pleasure her, the urge to taste her, the urge to earn more and more of her drug-like praise, is too much to handle.

Without difficulty, thanks to all of that delicious lube leaking from her monster member, I manage to take her into my mouth properly. The invasion of heat is divine, demonic, warming the inside of my face as if handling a strangely pleasant hot coal. My eyelids flicker and flutter, and my cock feels as though it’s going to poke a hole in the front of my trousers.

Schlup. Schlap. Slurp.

I’m sucking dick again, sucking Sephalla’s dick again, but it feels different today. Maybe I’m in just the right headspace, because this feels like my purpose, my place in the world. To suck cock, to taste semen, to forget that I’m a man, that I’ve got a dick of my own, and live only to serve hers. To be nothing more than a face-hole, for the dickgirl demoness to use as she sees fit.

‘Ooh. Dirty little slut, aren’t you? Hungry for me. Guh. So fucking hungry.’

She slips her hand back behind my head and assumes some semblance of control, guiding me a little deeper with every passing moment. Her breathing quickens, and my tongue shivers with every glistening dollop of pre-seed she rewards it with for its tantalising efforts. Her taste is so rich, so powerful, and so crudely caught up between the realms of animalistic and infernal.

‘Mhm. Mumph.’

I find myself moaning around her helmet, face speared with the thing. It glides back and forth as I go with her urging, her gentle yet determined guidance, and quakes powerfully as it slides across my tastebuds. Lustrous, yes, but incredibly firm, solidly rigid, built out of raw and unfaltering hardness.

Swallow, swallow, swallow. Getting my throat lubed-up for the inevitable, well-aware that before long she’s going to guide me to take as much of it as I can inside my face-hole, this mouth-pussy for her use alone.

Schleck-slurp, schlack-schlup, schlip-glugp.

‘Mhm. That’s it, cumslut. Deeper. Be my sheath, accept your p-lace.’

Sephalla groans, speaks breathily, as her battering ram pushes against the opening of my throat. The heat is tremendous, like a captured flame that causes no pain, a testament to her infernal and impressive nature. She pokes at my tonsils, forces me against them time and again, filling the room with the abject dirtiness of her assault upon my mouth.

What was meant to be a worshipful blowjob has transitioned, as a result of her ignited appetites, into something bordering on a face-fuck. I’m dimly aware of my memories of that first time, of being used like a cocksleeve for her to dump all of that demonically delicious spooge into. Aware, shamefully, that I enjoyed it. Aware that as much as I struggled with Sephalla’s nature, I was always captivated by how attractive she is.

‘Mhm-hm. Mhmf.’

My dick aches, swollen and needy, pressing against my boxers. Nothing turns me on half so much as Seph does, and it’s only exaggerated by perverse thoughts which result from the recollection of how this all started. That vulgar part of me, happy that she did what she did, because how else would things have turned out this way?

Schleck-slurp, schlack-schlup, schlip-glugp.

Each time she pushes against my throat, my cock throbs all the fiercer, and something is…something is building. It makes no sense, at first. It feels like I’m going to cum, just from having my face used. A ripple of risqué resplendence pulses out from the tightness before my tonsils, the demarcating line which separates my mouth from my throat.

Sephalla winces as she pushes beyond it, holding my head firmly, commanding me without words to swallow her stupendously fat horse cock, beginning with its mighty and magnificent flare.

‘Ughn.’ She groans, bestial, beautiful. ‘Fuck. You were made f-or me, Jake. Guh. You’re perfect.’

Schlick-glugp, schleck-glugp, schlup-glugp.

The feeling is mutual. As inch after inch of her lovely leviathan slides past my tonsils, the towering inferno seems to grow larger and larger ahead of me, rapidly becoming the entirety of my world. I sink my hands into her bloated balls for stability as a whole third of her huge horse dick disappears past my tightly sucking lips to enjoy the hollowed-out tautness of my cheeks upon its sides and the energetic twisting of my tongue against the firm cum-canal that runs underneath.

And her comment, her use of my name, dissolves the shame. It was a mistake, and a terrible one, but Sephalla isn’t that person. But…I am glad that she did. Or else I might not be kneeling before her now, worshipping her like the dark goddess that she is, craving what only she can reward me with.

‘Mhm-hm. Mumph.’

Schlick-glugp, schleck-glugp, schlup-glugp.

I suck with increasing urgency as she continues to guide me deeper, to disappear more and more of her monumental member inside of my gullet. It’ll never reach my stomach, on account of the demonic magic. Or maybe now it will, given that I’ve demonic powers of my own? Something to, uh, discuss with her.

Whatever the case, my throat bulges, and my chest is full of the most wonderful warmth. A pulsating power that radiates outwards from the very core of me, resulting in the unmistakable shudder of a sudden orgasm. Mine, not hers.

‘Mhugh. Mhughn.’

‘Cum for me,’ Seph says, continuing to push me deeper, applying her hand behind my head with no hint of reservation. ‘Cum just from–aahn–sucking dick, cocksucker. This is your true nature. This is where you’re meant to–mhm–be.’

It’s such a vulgar thing, the way my body trembles, the way my cock spews and squirts, loading my pants. I’ve no ability to resist her, promptly passing the halfway line of deepthroating her gigantic member, but then again, I’d not want to stop. This is…this is one of the purest climaxes I’ve ever felt, a whole new thing. Like my throat is a pussy, built just for her cock, just to suck loads out of that fat demonic horse schlong.

Schlick-glugp, schleck-glugp, schlup-glugp.

In the moment, I’m in a realm of perfect submission. The way Sephalla speaks suggests the same on her behalf, that right now we’ve crystallised our roles into something momentary yet divine. As my drooling lips kiss the bulky band of her sheath, and the naughty nightmare holds me steadily in place, I can’t even envision the world outside of our tryst.

‘Good boy. Good slut.’

I continue to shiver and shake, nuts emptying themselves. A problem my brain realises is going to be annoyance, but one that it can’t seem to explain to me in any sensible fashion. For again, there is no world beyond here. There is just here, just now, and everything is in its place.

Her humungous horse cock rests on my tongue, but does so uneasily. It pulsates powerfully, needily, and makes clear the fact that this little lull of effort on my part is simply a charitable gift from my goddess, my queen, my Mistress. I suck eagerly around her shaft, relishing every throb and tremor, adoringly appreciating her fat sagging balls with my hands and working gently to cultivate an extra-thick helping of my lover’s essence.

‘Mhm. Mhmf.’

She plays with my hair, practically hilted in my face. Teasing fingers making a mess of my scalp, tracing out indistinct patterns across the skin, leaving a flickering sensation of lightning in their wake.

‘You’re a lucky boy, to have so kind a Mistress as I am,’ Sephalla says, a glorious giggle to her words, which come out clearer, less strained, in the wake of the illicit intermission. ‘Some Mistresses might make you endure both the joys of serving them and the pressure of cumming in your cute little boxers.’ She pats my head, and tickles behind an ear. ‘Are you ready to go again, Jakey? To repay me for the gift I’ve just given?’

I nod crudely, and moan around her. ‘Mhm-hm. Mhm.’

Seph replies with a smug chuckle, and calmly cradles my head with her strong hands. ‘Let’s give you what you’re after then, slut. I’m going to fuck that face so fucking good.’

She asserts her power not violently, but firmly, making sure that I appreciate how this is going to proceed. Sephalla’s huge horse cock pushes against the opening of my throat and then effortlessly slides beyond it, the first third of it disappearing again within the passing of a moment. Her fat flare is abundantly noticeable where it glides down into the depths of me, trailing tantalising heat and heaviness, throbbing away with that rigid ring seeming to be the most prominent part of the whole sensation.

Schlick-glugp, schleck-glugp, schlup-glugp.

As I pass the halfway mark, I realise that nothing is going to halt this second attempt but the creamy conclusion waiting in her big beautiful balls. Seph grows larger and larger as my perspective narrows, as the world becomes nothing but her and her demonically delicious body, my goth-punk goddess, my dark and deviant queen.

‘Mhm. That’s it. Fuck yeah, cumslut.’

She’s not stopping, not even drawing back for a moment to add a back-forth rhythm to things. Sephalla the Magnificent is intent on one thing, and one thing only, and that’s the complete engulfment of her enormous endowment within the cavity of my face, mouth, and throat.

Schlick-glugp, schleck-glugp, schlup-glugp.

My world shudders with sensuality as her heat fills me, her luxurious lance like a glowing monument of blessed bawdiness sliding inch by inch into its truest and most rightful of scabbards. To be nothing more than a cocksucker, to be nothing more than a hole, is in this moment the most marvellous thing ever offered to me. Why would I want anything else, to be anywhere else, to do anything else?

‘Mumph. Mhmf.’

I groan around her pole as it ripples and writhes past my tonsils, upon my pushed-down tongue, between my forcibly sucking lips and cheeks. Straining, swollen and needy, desperate to give me what I am desperate to receive, the culmination of a long and lusty act of oral copulation between Mistress and her toy, clearly much-needed by the both of us.

Sephalla’s belly muscles clench and she digs her feet into the ground, her hold on my head dancing between gentle and forceful. Ahead of me her living flame pubes await, beyond that equid sheathe, beyond the last third of vigorous violet shaft meat that throbs and bulges with all those veins, all that delectably depraved detail.

Schlick-glugp, schleck-glugp, schlup-glugp.

Little by little it becomes impossible to meet her coal-seam gaze, for her face disappears beyond the colossal dark shelf that is her breasts, those ridiculous R-cup juggernauts which are each massively larger than my head. The degree by which things grow impersonal, selfishly separated, is not lost on me nor unappreciated, for it only excites those sultry submissive parts of myself that crave to be used in so filthy a fashion.

And when the bulky band of her sheathe kisses my lips, there’s a brief respite. A pause in progress, as Sephalla is all but hilted inside my face, this salacious smooch between my human mouth and her demonic horse cock culminating in a meeting of her black leathery sheathe and my face-hole.

‘Ughn. That’s good. Shit, you’re nothing more than a dick toilet,’ Seph says, fondling my hair with her thumbs, seeming to be omnipresent. On either side her legs are massive, and above me she’s this unseeable shape, a belly and a fiery crotch and the last inches of a mammoth member. ‘Feels like I’m–aahn–almost home. I could stay sheathed in you like this forever, slut. It’s so fucking comfortable.’

But as she speaks, she pushes. My lips strain to accommodate the rigid ring, firm and forceful, but Sephalla wants my face buried in her groin, against those pretty blue lights, with her big black balls resting weightily against my chest. My stomach bulges with her cock, the world in there a contorted mess of fantastical impossibility, but the outward appearance suiting a somewhat believable expectation of what things should look like. Forty-inch phalluses being, after all, a death sentence from any source but a monster-girl.

‘Ughn. F-uck.’

‘Mhm! Mumph.’

I start blowing a second load, out of nowhere, as I begin tasting sheathe. Slightly sweaty, salty, distinctly different than the lustrous shaft which preceded it. Sephalla pushes me all the way up against her groin and the cute living flames dance before my eyes, hot yet not in the least harmful. A kind of analogy for herself, in that phrase, I’m sure.

And only then, having completely skewered my face, does the naughty nightmare proceed to the final step of orally owning me. She starts to stand, and yet holds onto my head, uses my impaled state as a good support for drawing me up off the floor.

‘Don’t worry, cocksucker. I’m just going to–mhm–use your face like it’s meant to be used. A pussy, for me, and me alone.’

She must rise up to the ceiling, hunched over but nonetheless standing tall, because the motion forces me onto my feet as well. Sephalla is simply so massive that by just getting upright, half of her dick slips out of my lips, freed and glistening and utterly suggestive of just how thoroughly I’m going to get my face slammed in.

‘Mhm. Mumph.’

Schlick-schlack-glugp-thwap.

The first thing my cum-addled brain makes note of is the weight of her sextet of sublimely fat orchids slamming against my chest, swinging down from above and coming to rest against the bulging of my belly where her gigantic dick fills and distorts it. Everything else then makes sense, and the actual action of her thrusting into my skull, delivering twenty-something initial inches of demonic dickmeat past my lips and deep inside of me suddenly hits like a splendid and mind-blowing truck.

‘Take it, slut. Take your Mistress. Ugh. You’re b-uilt for this.’

Schlick-schlack-glugp-thwap, schlick-schlack-glugp-thwup.

Sephalla ploughs my face without hesitation, without a moment’s concern, and I let my arms fall to my sides in surrender to her superiority. Her hulking horse cock defiles me, dominates me, leaves me spewing in my shorts and on the cusp of collapse from the profoundness of pleasure alone.

I’m nothing more than this, nothing more than a hole for her cock, a dumping ground for her jism. Just a delusion, just a make-believe thing, but it’s enough to lose myself in and simply enjoy the process.

She doesn’t need to go completely balls-deep now, because she’s won. That dominant part of me, happy to watch as the submissive part not merely gets his rocks off but has them cast into orbit, into interstellar space, is making notes. The swing backwards is going to be a fine thing, the pretend power struggle where it’s my turn to run things. And, of course, the dominant Jake has a means to extend his reign, where Sephalla doesn’t.

Schlick-schlack-glugp-thwap, schlick-schlack-glugp-thwup.

Her big balls smack against my torso and it’s the most carnal and enrapturing of experiences, matched only by the way her devilish dick throbs and strains at the realm it rules within my chest. It throbs fiercely, magically, every quake seeming to hit the core of me. Every thrust of Sephalla’s beautiful and terribly titanic body seems to deliver her fat flare right into the conjecture of my soul, to touch upon the ethereal as only a demon can.

And I’m dimly aware that if I’m getting to taste her this morning, it’ll be a fluke of a thing. Something about her approach suggests, loud-and-fucking-clear, that the aim here is simply to bulge my belly, to do what she wants, knowing that right now all I want is to please her, to obey her, to succumb to her.

Every time the bulky band of her sheathe kisses my lips, my knees weaken a little more. Her hold in my head is a fine thing, the pseudo-superhuman nature of my spooge-strengthened body giving me the ability to forget all such mortal concerns as injury and strain. Moment by moment I succumb to her, exist only for her, am nothing more than a sleeve for her superbly sizeable shaft.

‘Guh. Aahn. So p-erfect,’ Seph says. ‘All mine, and so f-ucking perfect.’

Schlick-schlack-glugp-thwap, schlick-schlack-glugp-thwup.

Her tone doesn’t give it away, nor does she slow her motions. My eyes widen as the realisation hits, as my belly begins to steadily grow, and a swirling maelstrom of sticky sublimeness packs my guts with her perverse payload. A hundred billion demonic equid swimmers, erupting deep into what must be my stomach, directly squirted inside of me with tantalising force and tremor-inducing vigour. Her nuts rise and fall against me, shuddering away with sensual superlativeness, their contents erupting out deep inside of me.

‘Mumph. Mhmf.’

Cumming again, I slip down and Sephalla allows me to fall to my knees, still pumping away, still draining herself inside of me as if I’m nothing more than a glorified pocket pussy. Her jism bloats my belly just as my own stains the inside of my boxers, and the world might as well melt for how little anything matters between the sensually searing sensation of receiving what amounts to my breakfast.

God, I wish I could taste it, but Mistress Magnificent is in control, and I’m too jizz-jammed to do anything like make a request of her. She just keeps going, keeps thrusting, keeps emptying those six hugely heavy orbs right inside me, mating with my mouth, breeding my belly, until at last the towering inferno pushes me right up into her crotch, past her sheathe, and grinds her flaming mound against my nose and eyes.

‘Another time,’ she says, breathy and spent. ‘I…got carried away. You’re so, so ideal.’

Sephalla holds us together like this for a long moment, her balls quaking against my chest where they sag low, and her dick pulsating proudly between my lips, upon my tongue, and within the entirety of my torso. The last of her load drains into me and I’m left feeling completely used, and completely satisfied for it.

Shit, I’m so full. Sleepy, on account of all her spooge. With surprising gentleness, given the roughness of her rutting, she eases me off her member at last and then carefully collects me up in her arms, sitting back upon the makeshift metal of the blowjob throne. I lick at my lips, thoroughly taste my mouth, but there’s no trace of her milk. All that fantastic filthiness, and not a drop to appreciate.

‘Are you okay?’ she says, stroking my hair with a warm and loving hand. ‘Too rough? I, uh, didn’t mean to interrupt you, I just improvised and–’

‘I love you,’ I say, dreamy, exhausted. ‘But I can’t walk for a bit.’

Sephalla chuckles, though I can’t bring myself to open my eyes and admire her face. She easily rests me across her legs, her cock still faintly poking against my underside, and the baleful beauty gives my belly the most delicate of touches, feeling out the squirming mass of seed set to become part of me, to be accepted into me, in that most intimate and illicit of ways.

‘I bet. You look fucking good all fat with my sperm, though.’ After a moment she adds, ‘And I love you too, Jake. I mean, cocksucker.’

I can’t help but grin, though even that comes sleepily. School is a memory, all of it’s forgettable, and I’m passingly aware that this isn’t going to play out quite as easily as we hoped it would. Beyond the fact that I’m going to need some digestion time for all this jism, my trousers are soaked in my own repeated loads and I’m not sure how I’m going to manage this a second time at lunch. Or if I’m even going to want lunch, with how full I am.

But more than anything, the happiness in her voice is honey on the ear, the sweetest of sounds. Such an easy thing to lose myself in, to drift off to.