Find the source of the sound

The lights are entrancing, but your attention is pulled back towards the grunting noise. If there’s anything you don’t trust in this cave, it’s that. Considering you were dragging along a perverse demon whose sole purpose was ****, it’s an understandable caution. You reach into the boat and retrieve the sword of the Saint. With its warm steel in your hand, you creep towards the sound. The darkness makes your ears far more acute than before, and you are still some distance when the grunts become accompanied by the all too familiar sound of slapping flesh. You grit your teeth in sudden anger. That imp will suffer dearly for this. You hold the sword ready as you draw yet nearer.

You slowly come to realize it’s not as blindingly dark as before. You can see, in a faintly scarlet light, the outline of rocks ahead, muffling the sound and hiding the source of both the sounds and illumination. Curious as before, but caution redoubled, you carefully ensure the sword does not strike the stone and betray you, and sidle up against the rocks. They’re cold and you repress a shiver that runs down your back, and carefully peek over the edge.

You nearly drop your sword in surprise.

It was the imp, the depraved little red skinned pervert grunts heavily as he thrusts feverishly, slapping his hips frantically forward, but it is not Glenda he is penetrating. It’s one of the slimes!

Amazed you watch as the imp feverishly pumps his tiny hips, ramming his disproportionate fuck stick into the gelatinous form of the slime. The woman is still an ill-defined mass, its form the crude caricature of the feminine in its impossibly huge breasts and jiggling hips, its cunt merely a hole that sucks and ripples about the imp’s turgid flesh as he plunges his cock into her over and over again. You watch as the imp groans and arches, your breath quickening at the sight of his seed spilling into the slime, quickly dissolving in her body.

A ripple seems to course through the slime. Her form gains more definition and shape. Features where there was once mere mass take form in a crude face, shaded by ropes of hair like snakes. Her flippers of hands turn into long and alluring fingers, her lower body taking on the form of thighs and long, supple legs. Even a belly button indents into her stomach.

The imp slows as these changes take over. “Stop. Tired. So tired.”

“Nooo,” the slime groans. “Keep going. So good.”

“Alright. Keep up. Tight like virgin.”

The imp moans as the slime begins to undulate again, her gelatinous cunny milking the demon once more. The imp is visibly exhausted. His wings lie limp on his back and his tail flops wearily about. Were it not poking into her, the stinger doubtless would have fallen out some time ago. Again the imp resumes the ritual of fucking the slime, but he can barely move his hips, and it is up to the slime to proceed, her gelatinous mound oozing up and down the imp’s shaft, milking him for all he’s worth, which can’t be much more looking at the demon. You almost feel sorry for him.

You continue to watch, utterly enraptured by this strange display of lust. You feel hot despite the cool, and to your shame, you rub your legs together in helpless arousal at the scene. There’s something truly karmic seeing an imp being fucked to exhaustion by a woman.

Any amusement at its predicament is suddenly lost as you see what happens next. The imp moans and again cums inside the slime. The seed evaporates, sucked into her body eagerly, but that’s not all that happens. Her body again ripples and gains greater definition, but she also gains horns. You suck in a breath as two ridged points rise from the mass of her forehead, curling up like a bull’s, although dulled at the tips, like most of her. Moreover, you finally see what had created the strange light. It’s the slime! She glows with a light like she was living blood of the infernal realm. No rune marks her body, a gel can’t get pregnant anyway, but you’ve never heard of them being corrupted.

“D-done,” the imp gasps, falling limply against the slime’s body.

Red fingers that glow with their own light gently cup the imp’s head. They lift him so he is looking at the slime woman. Two shapes take form in her face, the outlines of pupil-less eyes with long sultry lashes attached to the flesh like she wears some form fitting mask. A mouth of pouty lips smiles down at him.

“Not yet,” the slime coos, her voice like rushing water.

The imp’s eyes widen in panic. “Wait! Can’t give more! Don’t have more!”

“You do,” the slime demon says. Her glowing hand cups his heavy testicles and fondles them like they were dice to be rolled. “I can feel. You give me all.”

The imp squeals and you see the slime’s pelvis begin its impossible undulations again. The imp plants his hands against her but they merely sink into her flesh, trapping him as surely as cement. The imp thrashes but his weakness is telling and he can barely manage to resist. He was always small, but now he looks downright shrunken, his skin stretching across his bones as if his very essence were being drained. Which, in a way, you suppose it is.

You should be horrified by this change, but oddly, you can’t help but feel impossibly aroused. Your breath grows short but you try to control it. You should intervene, but wouldn’t it be just for the imp to die in such a way? Fucked to **** has an oddly poetic ring for the perverted little fiend. Not to mention you would very much like to see the little monster get what’s coming to him.

It’s then you recall there had been two slimes on the boat.