Demonic Birth

• Dear lustful satyr friends, sex demons, perverts, she's yours, feast on your sexual power.

A satyr with twisted horns stepped forward, his monstrous member glistening with purple fluid that pulsed beneath translucent skin crisscrossed with demonic veins.

"Your uterus is going to learn to pray," he growled, jerking his skinned thighs apart to the cheers of the demonic crowd.

The satyr's deformed member entered in a single brutal motion, tearing Prue's already tortured flesh. A hoarse scream escaped her, mixed with a gurgle of **** pleasure, the monster began to move in and out of her.

• I can give you an orgasm with every penetration; let's see how long you can last.

The satyr's member swelled further, his veins pulsing like snakes beneath her skin as he pushed every inch in with calculated slowness.

Prue felt her torn walls stretch beyond their limits, each violated fold of flesh triggering an electric shock of pain that turned into a spasm of pleasure.

A trickle of saliva flowed from her parted lips as her stomach heaved under the monstrous pressure, her clitoris throbbing in time with the bestial thrusts.

Prue's orgasm continued, feeling like she was nothing more than a living orgasm that would never end as long as the satyr enjoyed keeping her in this state.

The satyr laughed hoarsely, his clawed fingers gripping Prue's hips to keep her from writhing too violently.

Each withdrawal of his monstrous member elicited a hoarse moan from the witch, each brutal plunge caused a convulsive spasm—her stomach heaving as if under the **** of a demonic tide.

Prue felt her strength draining from her in this permanent orgasmic state, she begged in vain; he delighted in keeping her in this little sexual ****, his bestial laughter resonating against her eardrums as her muscles convulsed under the unrelenting ****.

The satyr slowed for a moment, his clawed hands moving up her bruised sides to grasp her breasts, squeezing them so tightly that the pain/pleasure added to Prue's state of orgasmic distress.

• I grant you the gift of no longer being able to lose consciousness from pain and of becoming a nymphomaniac who will always seek more of the most **** sexual gratification.

Prue's eyes rolled back as a wave of burning pleasure coursed through her belly, more intense than anything she had ever endured. The satyr dug his claws into her hips, impaling her even deeper, his deformed member pulsing like a demonic heart.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as her uterus violently contracted around the monstrosity that was **** it, each spasm triggering a new electric shock of cursed pleasure.

When finally the satyr deigned to cum inside Prue in an avalanche of demonic sperm, the hot semen flooded her insides like lava, each drop seeping into her brutalized flesh with demonic greed.

Prue felt her stomach distend, her muscles twisting in uncontrollable spasms as the purple fluid spread inside her, marking her uterus with a corrupting heat.

The satyr didn't withdraw—he remained buried to the hilt, his claws digging purple bruises into her hips as a final jet pulsed deep inside her.

Under his terrified gaze, her belly began to swell, as if pregnant, and accelerate. The satyr licked her stomach.

• You'll be a mother very soon, my dear. In a few seconds you'll give birth to my son, but you'll smell worse than a human birth.

Prue's scream echoed through the cavern as her belly swelled grotesquely, her skin stretching like overstretched leather.

The satyr's child writhed beneath her flesh, the ridges of its developing limbs pressing outward in frantic pulsations.

Her hips jerked involuntarily as her uterus convulsed—not to push, but to expand around the thing inside her, cartilage and muscle splitting into wet fissures to accommodate its girth.

Demons rushed forward and began to suckle the milk her breasts began to produce, but Prue, under the pain/pleasure of this accelerated nativity, was no longer in a civilized state; only her primal urges remained to take over.

Prue's spine arched as her uterus split open completely, releasing the pain and release of birth. Her water broke, and the satyr peered between her legs.

• I see his face, he looks like me.

He pulled roughly for Prue, who so desperately wanted to find refuge in the unconsciousness that was now denied her by the satyr's curse; she had nothing left to do but endure until the end of this birth.

Prue's cry turned into a guttural howl as the satyr's offspring escaped her womb in a monstrous ooze of viscous demonic fluid.

The pain was a burning brand that seared her spine, yet her cursed flesh denied her the mercy of unconsciousness, forcing her to feel every millimeter of tearing.

The newborn demon writhed between her thighs, its scaly back heaving as it took its first breath—a raspy, gurgling breath that reeked of sulfur. Her father finished freeing it, taking it away with no more regard for its mother, whom her mistress was tending.

Prue sat up in bed screaming, had she had a nightmare? She didn't know, she looked for traces but nothing, yet this pain and this pleasure did not leave her, her master smiled, she would remember her lesson without ever really knowing what was true and what was false, but the demonic gifts would serve her later but not necessarily to Prue's advantage.