#monster man

The Cult worshiped an old god, strong and ancient, named Craith. He was an intimidating sight. 8 feet tall, tendrils made of shadow writing from his back but disappearing when he willed them too, an impressive set of antlers, corded with muscle, two rows of sharp teeth for rending meat and bone, obsidian skin, six golden eyes and equally golden hair, pointed ears, four arms, and the flat nose of an animal. He wore only a belt with a monster’s skull on it and a loincloth that exposed his equine cock whenever he sat down.

It was easy to see why he was an object of worship. He commanded impressive magical abilities on top of being so physically powerful.

The Cult brought him sacrifices of enemies. Those who tried to stamp out the worship of Craith.

You were the priest to a rival god. A false one at that. But you weren’t on his list of people to sacrifice. You didn’t try to stamp out his religion.

The fervency and passion with which you worshiped your nonexistent deity made him jealous. He watched you constantly. You mannerisms, habits, devotion, and personality were so perfect. Why didn’t you worship him instead? He had no one like you in his cult, there was no one like you anywhere. No one.

He simply had to have you in his cult, and as he continued watching you with his magic crystal he began to want you for other things too. Began to crave you. Began to need you.

Craith masturbated while imaging you touching it for him, sucked himself off while imaging your small human lips all over it.

Fantasies weren’t enough!

The old god instructed his worshipers to take you, without harming one hair on your precious head. One had bruised you, hitting you to get you to lessen your struggling. Craith slaked his thirst with that cultist’s blood later that night.

“Heathen! Demon! By the power of the almighty Elthiel I demand my freedom! I rebuke thee in the name of the holy!”

He chuckled at your silly words.

“Your god isn’t real, small thing. I am though. Why not put your faith in me?”

You shivered as the foul monster stroked your cheek. How dare he touch the sworn servant of Elthiel. Unacceptable. You bit his finger, though it only made him smile and flash those terrifying teeth of his. Craith supposed this was a good sign. The harder you clung to your false god the harder you’d cling to him once he rid you of your belief in your false idle and replaced it with love for him.

He would have to harm you though for everything to work. But not in a physical manner and he wasn’t happy to have to do it.

He would treat you coldly and isolate you and break you followed by being warm and loving. He’d be your only source of joy. Your only only comfort. You’d realize your god wasn’t there and would never come to your aid. Only he could cure your sorrows. He was old and relied on human worship for the majority of his power, he knew much about human psychology.

It was cold and dark. Water dripped from the ceiling in the corner of the dungeon room. The straw you were given to sleep on smelled sour, the food was never warm and always bland. The only light other than the torches that flickered outside the cell doors was from a window, and the weather seemed to be cold, damp, and clammy.

When Craith spent time with you his scent warmed you and heated your groin, he took you to his room. It was happy and bright and dry. The food was decadent, though the first several times you were in Craith’s chamber you resisted the temptation. The weather always seemed sunny when you were there, though it wasn’t something you consciously noticed.

When you finally gave in and ate the food you were offered, honey roasted haunch of goat, sweet sausages, lemon cakes, custard pies, and trays of exotic fruits and cheeses, Craith knew his plan was working. The wall was beginning to crack.

With a bit more pressure you began talking to him and no longer ignored his presence. You needed someone to talk to, especially since all your prayers went unanswered.

Soon after that you no longer shied away when he sat closer to you.

A few more months and you didn’t even oppose it when he casually picked you up like a little pet and sat you on his lap.

Though you did get uncomfortably silent when he did so. Still, it was nice to feel his warmth against your skin.

But all too soon it was yanked away and you were back to your cell.

Until the day that you were the one who clung to him, leaning on your arm. Your god was either fake or deaf. How could he leave you in the cold and dark? Craith always gave you warmth and light. Craith was real.

And after that you never had to go back to that dungeon ever again.

You began to worship Craith, you donned the robes of his worshipers, though yours were more ornate and comfortable. You recited prayers to him. You killed his sacrifices. And you slept in his bed with his arms securely around you.

After becoming his most valued priest your new god allowed you to worship him like no other cultist was allowed to. You got to attend to his holy cock. Your hands massaging his nuts and stroking his large shaft, your mouth peppering them with sweet kisses, and your nose taking in their heady musk.

He even did you the honor of allowing you to sit on his lap when he sat upon his throne. You’d bounce on his cock as the cultists chanted and sang his praises, his hands massaging your thighs. You thought you were worshiping him but he thought you were a thing even more divine.

The intoxicating sound of your gasps and moans would fill his ears as his cock bucked and flared inside of you. Anyone else making such noises would be lewd and perverse, but they came from you in such a sweet and innocent manner. Even when you took control you bounced so gently.

Though Craith always made you cum plenty of times, he always enlarged your belly with his seed far sooner than he ever meant to. Your insides just felt too perfect.