A Prize To Be Won Ch 02

***AUTHOR'S NOTE***

Like most of my works, this one will continue to feature elements of nonconsensual/dubiously consensual sex. All characters are 18 years or (in most cases) much older because this author is personally turned off by teens for the most part lol

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Chapter 2: Azazel - Command ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

At the stroke of midnight, when Channing was freshly sound asleep between her silk sheets, Azazel stepped forward so that he could touch the water of the scrying pool. His shredded, bare body was hard and intimidating, like the cock between his legs, as the air around him flexed with power.

Mahzi recognized this part of the ritual from when he'd watched the game a century past. The competitor would appear in the target's dreamscape to introduce themselves and inform them of the curse mark they were about to bestow and its function. It was the demonic method of fair play, warning the mortal of what was to come. Of course, humans so rarely listened to or even remembered those dreams.

"I am Azazel of the Anash Clan," he announced imperiously into the scrying pool. "You will bear my curse, human." He smiled wolfishly. "My mark is Command. You'll do as any man bids you, regardless of your personal feelings. Your obedience won't appease them, though. It will only serve to make them want to abuse you more, bringing out their natural aggression until they're satisfied."

Azazel withdrew his hand from the water, letting it still and return to a solid reflection of Channing, tossing and turning in her bed. She shucked off her cover to reveal her newly marked nude body. The demonic symbol appeared on her lower belly, over her womb, burning her skin and causing her to awaken with a start, hands clenched at her stomach.

Mahzi felt bad for her as she writhed in her bed, clutching her midsection and stifling screams of pain as Azazel's mark burned into her flesh. Marking a human was normally a pleasurable experience they had to consent to, giving their soul over to their new demonic master. But for this competition, it would be forced on Channing for twenty-four hours, so the process was painful.

Knowing that the winner would be the one to get her fucked by the most unique men, Mahzi determined to at least be gentle when he won the game and claimed her soul. She'd be a little broken, most likely, but she'd also be his most cherished possession, the first of his harem.

His brother Ambrose had told him of the human practice of kintsugi, where broken pottery was mended with something like golden lacquer, making the breakage a beautiful part of the piece. After this competition, that's how Mahzi would remake Channing. He'd dust her cracks with powdered gold until her imperfections shone.

The thought made his petite cunt clench.

He felt a certain possessiveness over her already, disliking how Abaddon and Desdemona were stroking their cocks with glee at her suffering. His slight wings stretched with rancor. For now, he would suffer his human to be gawked at and lusted after, but he was eagerly counting down the days until it was his turn.

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Nausea threatened to overwhelm Channing as she gripped her stomach as tight as she dared without hurting herself. The brand that had suddenly appeared over her uterus was the outline of a heart with six spikes coming from it as if someone had tried to make a heart outline look tribal.

She broke a piece off her aloe plant and smeared the jelly-like liquid over the burn, hissing in pain as she did so. Despite the pain radiating from her skin, it was smooth and unbroken.

"What the shit?" she questioned aloud, nonplussed.

She grabbed her phone and looked up 'waking up with burns on skin' and got the usual responses of sunburn, irritant exposure, or medication use. None of which applied to Channing, who wasn't on medication, hadn't been exposed to any irritants, and always turned a beautiful, sun-kissed golden rather than burning in the sun.

She debated going to the hospital but reasoned they might think someone had done it to her or, worse, that she'd done it to herself. Not to mention, it was Monday morning, and she had to get up and ready for work in six hours. She already had a doctor's appointment on Friday, anyway. She could ask about it then.

In the morning, when she dressed in her pantyhose, black pencil skirt, and fashionably oversized azure cashmere sweater, she tried to ignore the strange symbol on her body. She'd never even gotten a tattoo, so it was bizarre to see her skin marred with what appeared to be well-healed red ink after sleeping on it for a while.

It was a bittersweet consolation that she had no lover or serious boyfriend to notice the tattoo. After a decade-long dry spell married to her job, Channing doubted anyone would ever see her naked again. For some reason, that thought tickled something in the back of her mind. A faint memory that she couldn't quite tug free.

Deciding it must not be that important, she applied her mascara and red lipstick, carefully rearranged her shoulder-length tresses, slipped on her stiletto heels with the pointed toe, and grabbed her briefcase before heading out the door.

It was a lovely autumn day, with remains of summer keeping the days a mild temperature that allowed Channing to walk the half-hour to work. She enjoyed how the wind played with her hair and teasingly caressed her skin through her pantyhose as she strolled down the city blocks. Debating stopping at an upcoming coffee shop for a pumpkin-spiced drink, she was oblivious to the crew of construction workers starting their morning not twelve feet away from where she walked.

"Hey, sweetheart, give us a smile!" One of them called after her. Usually, she would ignore the catcalling and go about her day, but for some reason, Channing stopped in her tracks and offered a beaming smile to the group of men.

Disquiet settled in her gut as she stood rooted to the spot, the smile unwavering on her face. They were shouting appreciation to her for stopping until one of them hollered, "Show us your tits!"

The group around him laughed and shoved him good-naturedly but quickly fell into stunned silence as a horrified Channing dropped her briefcase and lifted her sweater and bra in one swift movement. Her large breasts, several shades lighter than the rest of her body, bounced free. Her pink nipples hardened as the autumn winds continued to tease her exposed skin. Screaming internally, she stood there with her upraised top, stupidly smiling even though her sweater was obstructing the view of her face.

"What the hell are you all doing out here?!" Barked a gruff, masculine voice. "Get back to work, ya bums! And you, Tits McGee! Put your funbags away and get the fuck outta here!"

Compelled once more, Channing corrected her bra and sweater and bolted away, barely remembering to sweep up her briefcase as she retreated. Her face was flushed red with humiliation and panic as she continued her trek to the office, but her smile didn't fade until she was a block away. 'What was that?!' she thought furiously, her mind racing.

She'd had no control over her own body. None whatsoever. Her hand came to rest on her stomach tattoo over her clothing. She wasn't stupid. It couldn't be a coincidence. The mark and her loss of control must be connected. That nagging thought she'd had earlier was back, but she still couldn't summon the memory she sought.

Now convinced that memory was, in fact, very important, she wracked her brain, trying to remember for the rest of her walk to work. Unsure what set off her sudden obedience, she made a beeline straight for her secluded office, not stopping to talk to anyone. Luckily, that wasn't unusual behavior for her, so no one sought her out to ask what might be wrong.

Channing had a mostly laid-back day of solitary work, like reviewing and resetting the department's sales goals, except for one meeting that couldn't be moved. A performance review for her former lead salesman, who was now trailing behind their newest team members. She wasn't looking forward to that, even if she'd had an ideal day beforehand.

Hours passed uneventfully, but the events of the morning kept playing over in her mind again. She'd unwillingly flashed dozens of strange men her tits. The way her limbs had moved on their own before her thoughts could even catch up was beyond alarming.

The knock on her door that announced Steve's arrival was a welcome interruption to get her away from those thoughts. She stood and opened the door for a man in black sweatpants and a stained white shirt. The building was old and well-insulated, so he wouldn't have heard her even if she'd screamed for him to enter the room, and there weren't windows facing the office, so she couldn't wave him inside either.

He brushed past Channing rudely, sitting in the chair in front of her desk without so much as greeting her. Shutting the door behind her, she took her seat, putting on her best fake smile. Steve was in his late fifties, short, balding, fat, freshly divorced, and bitter about all of it. He used to be an amiable, hard-working guy who took pride in how he presented himself. Now, he was a cantankerous, odorous loser.

But still, he was on her team, so he was her problem. "Hi, Steve," she began, trying her best to sound warm.

"What's this about? I have a mountain of work to do," Steve groused, not giving her a chance to speak. "If this is about me not hitting metrics, I told you, the goal is set too high."

She tried hard to keep her tone patient. "All metrics were set according to current trends, and, frankly, Steve, you're the only one who didn't meet expectations." She held her hands up placatingly when he looked upset. "I have tried to be patient because of your situation--"

"What about my situation?" Steve interrupted.

"I know it's been difficult since you split with Becky--"

"Oh, 'I know it's been difficult since you split with Becky,'" he intoned in a nasally voice, mocking Channing. She was quickly losing her footing in this conversation. She tried to speak, but Steve continued.

"Where do you get off bringing up my wife?" He laid his meaty hands on her desk and stood over her on his tiptoes. Pointing a finger in her face, a vein protruding from his forehead, he shouted, "You, suck my dick, bitch!"

Before she could reason what was happening, Channing was kneeling under her desk, fumbling at his pants, pulling them down around his ankles. "What in the Sam Hill are you doing?" he asked but didn't stop her as she pressed her face into his stinky groin, licking the outline of his rapidly hardening dick.

She didn't know what she was doing. She had no control again. She just knew that she had to suck Steve's dick, though she was fighting her body the whole time.

Freeing him from his underwear, his fat cock slapped her in the face. For the first time in ten years, Channing slurped a man into her mouth, and it was fucking Steve. He smelled fishy and tasted bitter as she lapped her tongue over his exposed head.

"Ooooh, fuck!" Steve moaned as she teased his cockhead with the tip of her tongue inside her mouth. "You naughty little slut."

As she sucked him down as far as she could, her gag reflex kicked in just as his belly came to rest on her forehead, making her retreat back to the beginning. But Steve wasn't happy with that. Grabbing her by the hair, he pulled her back down his cock. "Suck it all the way down, you cunt," he demanded. Compelled to ignore her body's limits, she sucked him down until he hit the back of her throat.

She gagged, drool spurting out the corners of her mouth, but forced herself to continue. She remembered how to open her throat from her days in college--she used to fuck guys like crazy before she became so career focused--but her gag reflex was completely untrained after being neglected for so long.

But she still persisted, shoving him down as she heaved. Opening her throat like she had to yawn, he slipped past the block in her gullet to slide as far as he could go, smashing her face into his belly fat.

"That's a good fuckin whore," Steve gasped, thrusting his hips so that he battered the back of her throat and his balls slapped at her wet chin. Channing felt shame settle in the pit of her stomach as she worked on milking her subordinate. "You're gonna take all my cum, you fucking skank bitch. Swallow every fucking drop."

His balls seized up tight, and he grabbed the back of her head, humping his filthy cock forward and launching copious fluid down her throat. She swallowed energetically, despite her revulsion, as the taste of his cum filled her mouth. Some of it slopped out the sides with her spit, flowing down her chin and onto the rug below. Reflexively, she cupped her hands below her to catch it.

"Oh, yeah, keep sucking, bitch. Milk me dry, ooooh, fuck!" She did as he commanded, sucking the last remnants of his sperm from his cockhead before she turned her attention to what had fallen into her hands. Greedily, she devoured the cold spit and cum mixture she'd captured there.

"No way," Steve said, his tone disbelieving as her eyes landed on the drops that had hit the floor. Humiliation curled up in her gut, heavy like a stone, as she leaned down to lick at the damp rug, fulfilling Steve's order to swallow every drop of his cum.

"Look at me," he said. Channing did so, startled when she saw his phone aimed at her.

"How long have you had your phone out?!"

"Little late to be worried about that now," Steve laughed. "Open your mouth." He stuck his thumb inside as her mouth popped open in a little "o," massaging her tongue and bringing his phone close to peer inside. She glared at him hatefully.

"Now, thank me for my cum," he leered.

"Thank you... for your... cum." The words were pulled out of Channing resentfully.

Steve pulled up his stained underwear and pants and tucked his phone back into his breast pocket. "Thanks for the morale boost, cunt," he said, laughing as he exited the room. Fighting the urge to vomit, Channing stayed on her knees under her desk for a long, quiet moment before she burst into tears.

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Mahzi eyed the leaderboard, trying to look politely interested.

AZAZEL: 1 PTS

LAMIA: ♡ PTS

DESDEMONA: ♡ PTS

ABADDON: ♡ PTS

MELUSINE: ♡ PTS

MAHZI: ♡ PTS

Azazel's stiff cock was being serviced by two of his bound souls, a cute femboy and a lithesome woman. He was congratulating himself on the first fuck of the competition, but Mahzi could sense his frustration.

Channing had made it over halfway through the day without taking any seed. It wasn't a strong start. In past competitions, Azazel had been able to insight gangrapes within hours of marking a target, but humans didn't have to interact as frequently with each other as they did a century ago. Mahzi fought a grin. Technology was a wonderful thing.

As always, the game was a combination of skill and luck, as they were subject to Channing's reactions to external stimuli.

Though it seemed she didn't remember her dream, she had figured out that she had to obey commands and elected to avoid people. But Mahzi knew better than to become arrogant. Even if the first day was a complete flop, four others still would have their turn before him. And while he believed skill was on his side, chance may not be.

Winding his spade-tipped tail around his waist like a belt, he reclined between his brothers, waiting to see what Channing's next move would be.

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Holing up in her office for the rest of the day, Channing waited until she knew everyone else had left the office, close to eight-thirty at night. Putting earbuds in to drown out anyone's potential orders, she took the back stairwell out of the building to ensure she didn't even run into the office custodians.

Power-walking, keeping her gaze locked ahead, she made her way home, her pulse in her throat the whole time. She was about halfway to her block when she passed the closed construction site where she'd shown her tits.

A younger man with messy brown hair in dusty work boots and jeans stepped in her path beneath a streetlight. He said something that she couldn't hear, smoothing his hand down the front of his sweat-stained t-shirt. Heart pounding, she shook her head and tried to walk around him. He grabbed her wrist and twisted her around, miming for her to remove an earbud.

Terrifyingly, that motion was enough to compel her body to obey. "Are you the woman from this morning?" He asked once the earbud was in her hand. She tried to pull away from him. She just needed to escape before he gave her another command. Channing tried to wrench free. She was the same height as him, she could kick him in the groin and run, even in her stiletto heels. "Hey, you're being rude," the worker criticized her, his grip tightening until she thought it might bruise.

She was increasingly afraid and considering screaming, but his next words stopped her. "Be nice like you were this morning."

She stopped struggling. Smiling at him like she had that morning, she used her free hand to raise her sweater and one side of her bra. Her pale tit swung free, making the man whistle his appreciation before he eyed her suspiciously. "Why's a slut like you trying to play hard to get?"

"Please, stop. I'm not a slut," Channing countered, the bright smile still on her lips betraying her words.

"Riiight," he said, pointedly grabbing her exposed nipple. She yelped and reflexively pulled back. "Shhh, be quiet and stand still," he said gently.

He looked around to make sure no one was around, his thumb and forefinger applying intense pressure on her nipple, which had long ago forgotten this particular sensation. But she couldn't move as he twisted and squeezed hard. Not even whimpers escaped her. "This is so fucking cool," he breathed, releasing her wrist to slide his hand under the lowered side of her sweater and bra, revealing her other tit.

He smashed his face between her breasts, motorboating her before sucking one of her nipples into his mouth. Channing gritted her teeth, wishing she could cry out, but all she could do was raise her arms and push weakly against his shoulders.

"Don't be like that, honey," he whispered, rising so that he was face-to-face with her as he kneaded her supple tit-flesh in the cold night air. He kissed her lightly, teasing her lips with his before he moved to leave a trail of kisses across her jawline and down her neck, where he captured a chunk of skin and sucked hard.

He drew back after about thirty seconds of aggressive sucking to admire the hickey he'd left behind. Grinning, he took in her appearance and thought about something momentarily. "Follow me," he said, turning his back to her and walking off towards the construction site, confident she'd follow.

Her previous order overridden, she was able to speak again. "Please, I want to go home," she said, even as she fell into step behind him, bringing down her shirt and bra.

"You can go home later," he said over his shoulder. "After we have some fun, right?"

She felt tears starting to choke her, and she didn't answer, afraid of what was bound to happen when following a strange, lusty stranger at night.

He rounded a corner and stopped, so she did as well, about six feet behind. She heard someone say, "Jerry, where the fuck have you been?"

"Skipping out on helping us pack up for the day, you prick?" Came another voice.

"You won't be saying that when you see what I brought," Jerry said excitedly. He motioned around the corner for her to join them, and her body obeyed. Her belly twisted in knots as she entered viewing range.