Diablo IV short story, featuring a demon and a druid because I said so:
I made a post awhile ago asking about the monsterfuckers in the Diablo IV fandom and it got no traction. So I may stand alone or with a very small crowd here. But I am still standing, so hear me out.
I have a druid character in Diablo IV and if you play Diablo IV, you know the druids are husky. They are tall and plump, buxom, packed with muscle and padded with fat. The druids are goddamn bears. Sometimes literally! You can shapeshift into a bear! You can also shapeshift into a wolf. But all that woman made me think of a demon desperate to plow his skeleton of a body between those plush thighs, to have those magnificent breasts spill out of his long-fingered hands, and to lay his skull on that soft, firm pillow of a belly.
It's all I can think about.
So hear me out here with a little story I have been daydreaming about the last few days:
(smut, mentions of demonic possession)
He tugged on a strand of silky fine hair. Not harshly - he would not want to wake his wife.
His wife.
She had looked him in the eye and said,"I marry you," and he, dumb with greed for her, had said it back.
Now she quested across Sanctuary, speaking of her wheat stalk of a husband whom she loved dearly, but who was just too frail to go adventuring with her. Everyone from Scosglen to Hawezar knew his name and that he was exceptionally tall and just as exceptionally thin and a mediocre sorcerer at best, but his "equipment" was more than satisfactory and -
Well. His wife - his damned wife - was well known for having a big heart and perhaps a bigger mouth.
Yes, his dear wife had ruined his anonymity by traipsing from one corner of the continent to the other and making sure every party she joined and every ghost, demon and bandit she fought knew that she was happily wed to Kher of Kehjistan. Kher of Kehjistan who might be more than just a man, or not a man any longer.
He should be flattered, but he was annoyed instead. Anonymity was very important to a demon in hiding - especially one that would like to stay hidden.
Seven years ago, was it? He had possessed this mortal shell to disguise his demon origins for one single purpose: To plow this very woman. To take her in his hands and between his teeth and to ravage her until she lost her very mind to the sweet agonies he gifted her with. He recalled with great clarity the maddening lust that had had him chasing her. His cock had wept for want of her flesh.
As a buxom woman of overflowing physical qualities, his dear wife opted to wear chest wrappings to keep her breasts in place. She also despised tunics. This was true now and had been back then.
He, the demon he had been, had gone in for the killing blow on some hill near Gea Kul those seven years ago. His wicked claws had just managed to tear through her wrappings as she lunged away from him and, oh. Oh.
He had watched, transfixed, as her breasts had spilled free, bouncing and swaying and heaving, nipples, soft, a trickle of blood where his claws had scratched, his mouth was watering -
And then she shapeshifted into a werewolf and mauled him near to death. She got distracted by other demons that were actively trying to kill her, however, and left him clinging to existence with one thought snarling in his depraved mind: I will have her.
Matrimony had not been part of his plan at all, he recalled drily. No, he was sure he had planned to fuck her so stupid that she followed him back to Hell where her suffering was to be endless and beautiful. Demons fed off pain and hers was meant to nourish him until he grew bored of her.
Now he was Kher of Kehjistan and a joke in Hell. His sustenance came from cursed rings he sourced from an associate in Hawezar and the pleasure he inflicted on his dear wife.
His damned wife who had made him this way. He should be leading a contingent of minions for Mephisto, but now he kept house as if he was the wife while she trotted off to gather bounties and slay his own kind.
A joke indeed.
How quickly she had conquered him, and with practically no effort on her part.
He in his newly possessed body had requested her service as a bodyguard to such-and-such-a-place, believing that he would have her addicted to the heights and lows of agonies long before they got there.
How had it gone again?
Ah, yes.
Somehow, he kept remembering somewhere else he had to go. Just a little farther down the road, I swear. The next town over. Around the mountain. Along the coast. Just until we get out of this frozen wasteland. Just until we are out of the desert. Oh, we appear to be on a completely different continent, could you be my guide until I recognize where I am?
Pathetic creature. Not her, him. He panted after her like a needy beast and she was flattered enough by his attention to stay by his side, but she would not submit to his seductions no matter how sweetly poisoned words rolled off his tongue of promises that were true if not easily misunderstood.
Not until such a day a group of lycans had nearly gotten the best of her. In the process of pulling their insides outside, he revealed his true form.
That should have been the end of that, but she turned out to be full of surprises as well as stubbornness.
"I have a friend in Hawezar who is a man possessed by a demon. They get along quite well, actually." She tipped her head at him, eyes glittering with interest as she took him in from cloven feet to curving horns. "Are you the man or the demon?"
"The demon," he admitted. "The man has departed." In agony, he thought but did not say. She did not ask, though she should have.
She did not recognize him as the demon who had tried to kill her in the past, but instead accepted him as a "friendly" demon. Which was incorrect, but served him well. He could be "friendly" in a way, if the meaning of the word could be taken vaguely enough.
His human shell had been a tall and skinny thing- still was, actually. Not quite tall enough to be eye to eye with her, but almost thin enough for her hands to touch around his waist.
His disguise struck her as too delicate and breakable to handle her. His true self, he discovered, was far more appealing.
He was red skin and lean muscle stretched over a very long skeleton. There was a delicious ache in his bones that never went away due to his severe lack of padding. So, yes, he was "skinny". Horrifically so.
But he was also a head taller than her and she was an incredibly tall woman. He was strong enough to pick her up in his arms and carry her and she was an incredibly heavy woman.
His human guise had been successful in making her trust him, but it was his true self that caught her.
How sweet she had been, shaking and panting and sobbing beneath him, unwrapped breasts heaving and jiggling with every thrust, her thighs shaking and quivering as he had driven himself into her, soft everywhere he touched, plush, decadent, delicious -
He had her a number of different ways. He had made sure she had known it was all her fault, denying him for so long. Teasing him. He had so much to give her, just a little more, just one more time, and another and another...
He had felt so smug as he had laid there afterward, cock soft and wet where it rested, well serviced by a cunt that had definitely been worth the effort.
Still shaking and twitching, she had rolled on top of him - dense muscle padded with so many layers of fluff that it was like having a somewhat firm pillow on his chest. Her softness filled the places of himself that were missing and soothed his eternally aching bones. Warm and malleable.
He breathed easier with her on his chest. He remembered the oddness of that realization.
That was beginning of the end. He hadn't known that seven years ago, but it was obvious seven years later.
Her delicious womanhood had not been what destroyed him, but her weight on him, sinking into him. Her lips across his protruding ribcage, at the base of his neck, up his throat to the underside of his jaw.
"I didn't know it could be like that," she had said, full of wonder. "I didn't know my body could do that." And she had looked at him with something dangerous and impossible in her eyes.
They circled the continent a second time after that. Her as the main force of their party and him disguised as a mediocre sorcerer of no importance. By the time they were in Kehjistan again, his goals had changed completely and the future he had imagined for her had been wiped away.
He preferred Hell to Sanctuary, but he did not want Hell to touch this woman.
His woman.
His wife.
"I marry you," he had said at the entrance to the home he had carved out of a tree for them. It was the simplest marriage and yet he felt its binding in his core. No priest or devil - except for himself - had overseen it and still, somehow, those words had felt witnessed. Branded into his chest in a way he could not see them, but could always feel them.
"Marry" could almost be a different word, for all the weight it carried. Some dangerous and impossible word.
He caressed a red knuckle over her softly parted lips. She snuffled in her sleep. Tucker her face away and down even as she scooted closer and threw a leg over his protruding hip bone. He laid his hand over her thigh and squeezed just to watch her flesh dimple under his claws - not tear or bleed, but simply mold to his touch.
The heat of her core was pressed tantalizingly close. She preferred nudity in their bed over any kind of sleepwear and he simply preferred her nude.
As he admired his red hand splayed across her magnificent thigh, another hand came to rest on his. Not a small hand, but still shorter than his own wickedly clawed ones. She moved his hand to grope her voluptuous arse.
He rumbled deep in his bony chest.
She sighed, somewhere between awake and asleep, and kissed the dip of his collar bones. "My poor husband, alone for months without his wife to tend to him. How you must have suffered."
He gave her a little swat for that. She gasped and archer into him. Still needy even after the way he had welcomed her home.
"I didn't suffer alone, dear wife," he noted. "No lovers on the lonely road?"
"Only once," she said. "A real devil of a fella. You'd never believe the things he did to me."
He cackled. "Never?"
She wrapped a hand around one of his horns and tipped his head so that her mouth could touch his pointer ear.
"He was good." She kissed the just of his jaw. "Mayhaps even better than you."
She roared with laughter as he rolled them over.
"Damned wife," he growled. He hoisted her legs over his shoulders. "Teasing me, always. A brat of a woman."
"Dear husband," she cackled, eyes glittering with something dangerous and impossible.
He let his tongue slide out of his open maw, stretching and stretching more until it laid over her mound and toward her navel.
Her eyes got wide and dark at that. Her legs tried to splay wider, but he kept them in place, thighs clenched in his fists.
His tongue slithered back toward his mouth, but not before dipping down to lap at her cunt, still swollen and sticky from his earlier attention. "Will you beg for mercy?" He rumbled.
"No," she said, but she didn't sound strong about it. Her hands played with her bountiful chest. Rolling and pinching her nipples as she stared up her body at him.
"You will," he said. He flicked at the key to her pleasure, to her agony.
"I won't." She sounded incredibly eager.
He started to spell the alphabet with his tongue. He was barely halfway through when she started sobbing.
"Damned husband!"
He slurped messily. Rubbed his teeth against a blushing inner thigh. "Dear wife."
A joke in Hell, perhaps, but his wife would learn to take him seriously one way or another.
Her and the damned priests that kept showing up to exorcise him.
His dear wife with her heart big enough to love a demon, and a mouth big enough to talk about it.
Big enough for other purposes as well.
He would know. He has had seven years to figure out his dear wife cannot talk when her mouth is full.
