Give up

Tears spring to your eyes as you realize the futility of struggling against this many daemons, even if they are individually smaller than you. You raise your hands, palms facing the ratch that spoke.

"I surrender," you say.

"Goooooooddd choooooiiiiccceee," says the ratch, struggling to **** the words through his drooling fangs. They are on you in a rush, their black nails tearing at your clothes as they yip and hoot and reduce your gown to ribbons. Their long fingers stroke your slender body.

One opens its fanged mouth and you cringe, sure you are about to be bitten. Instead, it smothers one of your breasts in its hot, wet maw and begins to suck at the whole of your breast. Another begins grabbing your buttocks, spreading your cheeks and running its long, black tongue up and down your crack.

"Goddess, save me," you cry, before your words are smothered with the wet kiss of one of the ratches. It pulls your face down to its height and rams its slimy tongue into your mouth, gagging you on the foul eel of its length. You feel another tongue between your thighs, lapping at your slit and thrilling the hard bud of your clitoris. Your legs give out and you collapse to your knees.

The Burning Rose saves those who save themselves and you have chosen not to even try. She is silent in your mind as the depraved lesser daemons crowd around you, fondling and licking and sucking at your virgin body.

Their black eyes are hungry and their actions are almost bestial. Worse than their touch is the growing desire you experience. It begins as a warmth that radiates out from wherever their claws have raised red welts, but soon it is thrumming in your blood, gathering between your quaking thighs and flushing your face.

"Mmmmmmmm please," you cry, as the ratch's tongue slithers out of your mouth. "Please...please..."

You no longer know what you are begging for. One of the ratches hops in front of your face, its heavy balls swinging and its hard little cock bouncing. It flaps its erect prick against your lips. Drops of daemonic precum wet your face.

Your mouth opens as you surrender to your lust. The daemons cackle with glee as you begin to respond to their touch. Your hips work and fuck your ass back against the tongue slithering between your cheeks and grind against the tongue at your slit. Your lips tighten around the foul-smelling cock of one ratch and you begin to suck.

They shift you atop the daemon that was talking, forcing you to straddle the little beast's bloated hips. You do not resist them as you drop your hot cunt against the daemon cock and begin to grind and bend the fiend's cock beneath your weight. Your slick folds press against him. He grabs your ass with both clawed hands and shifts beneath you to press his drooling tip at your entrance. You take a deep breath through your nose, pausing in sucking the daemon cock in your mouth as you realize the full meaning of what is about to happen.

"FFuuuuuuuckkk," growls the daemon.

He bounces his hips and the swollen thumb's length of his cock opens your slick folds and thrusts into your cunt. It pushes past your hymen, spoiling your chastity with a grotesque hiss of pleasure from the daemon beneath you. The pain of that physical violation is magnified tenfold by the agony of losing your connection to the Burning Rose. It is a final echo of your shameful surrender. Pleasure is all that matters to you now.

Your lips begin to move again, taking the daemon cock deeper into your mouth and pressing your face against its taut belly as you begin to ride atop the other daemon's heaving loins. The tongue slithers from your anus, leaving you feeling wet and opened. A moment later you feel the weight of one of the beasts against your back and their thick, stubby cock is pressing against your hole. It forces it way into you and you let out a stifled cry of shock.

You are a queen of filth. Drool drips from your chin to your breasts. The daemon thrusting into your ass screeches and pours its molten heat into your bowels. You cum and taste the spurting seed of another. The ratch beneath you bounces you up and down, long strands of cum dangling from your chin and splattering your breasts as you cry out for more. Your womb is basted with the lowly seed of the ratches. Your body is anointed in their blasphemous brine. The more you wring from their cocks inside your spasming cunt and ass, the more you suck into your belly, the greater your desire.

You are lost in the hot wretchedness of your lust. A fate you share with Yves and Penelope in a heaving, cum-spattered orgy of three sisters and, in time, dozens of ratches. They gather around you, taking their turns or simply wanking their cocks and adding their hot spray to the slime already covering your writhing body.

Thoros, the mighty daemon lord, eventually comes to the barn and finds you, bloated and dazed, your holes dripping with daemon cum. His huge presence spooks the lowly ratches and he leans down to scoop up the sword of St. Magdalena. He turns it over in his hand and smiles cruelly. His inhuman eyes gaze at you.

"Spoiled flesh," he growls. "You will stay with the ratches and when your flesh fails you in their mating pits, your soul will be mine."

The curse sears itself into your mind as you and your sisters are dragged off to the abyss.