A Friendly Conversation

You laze about the next day, stomach bulging slightly under the weight of the sloshing, potent seed inside it. While you feel disgusted with yourself for finally submitting to the Mistress, you can’t deny that a day off from her **** feels warranted.

You recline against the back wall with your head in your hands, and let out a deep, disturbed sigh. Your body tingles with needy arousal as you attempt to center yourself.

Ever since you sucked down the Mistress’s seed, your passive state of arousal has only increased. Even now, your small, needy cock stands fully erect with pulsating lust. You feel hot and bothered by the unbidden thought of gleefully gulping down torrents of thick, creamy spunk. Your hand delicately moves down to caress the cage of your frustrated cock.

Your lewd reverie is suddenly disrupted by the sound of light footsteps on stone. You shove your hands into your crotch, hoping to hide your caged little cock from the passerby.

The figure peeks around the hall fleetingly before crossing fully into view. You squint your eyes momentarily, attempting to size up the individual. No doubt about it, this is the same girl who tried to “tend to your wounds” the other day.

Looking her over once more, you see that her skin is the same sickly blueish purple as the Mistress’s, though she is shorter and appears to be a fair bit more youthful. She has short, nubby horns growing from the sides of her head, and her cute auburn hair is tied back into two short pigtails. Adorning her body is that same black and white dress that you saw on her before. The dress reaches to her mid-thigh, and vaguely strikes you as maid-like in appearance.

“Heya, friend.” She smiles bashfully, positioning her hands behind her back. “How’re you holding up?”

You regard her with cautious eyes. “What’s it to you?”

She pouts at you like a petulant, disappointed child. “I know you wanted nothing to do with me last time, I get that...I just--I heard that you finally submitted to the Mistress, and I…I wanted to say that I’m proud of you."

You glare at her warily with brooding eyes. “Proud of me for what? Giving up the last of my pride to that bitch?” You scoff. “At this point, I’d rather be dead.”

The demon-girl grips the bars of your cell with a passionate plea. “Please don’t say that! It was brave what you did. You’re a survivor; I respect that.”

You sigh bitterly, turning your face away from her.

The girl dips her head sadly. “I know you don't trust me. I look just like the Mistress, so why would you." She purses her lips and temporarily shifts her gaze. "There's a good reason for that, but...please believe me when I say that I'm nothing like her!"

She covers her mouth and quickly looks around, realizing that she may have spoken a little too loudly.

A pregnant pause settles over the room as she looks at you with an embarrassed smile. "Look, I’ve been here a long time. I’m a survivor as well. I thought perhaps…I don’t know…Maybe we could chat for a while? Help each other out?”

“Everybody needs a friend…w-what do you say?” She looks at you hopefully, waiting for your response.

Something about the tone of her voice leads you to believe that she’s being earnest in her request. Yet still, you aren’t sure if you even want to make friends with this demonic looking creature.