Feed Me Harder

Content warning, if non-con, demons, hideous spiders and bugs, slavery, blood and violence turn you off... take heed and hit the back button XXX otherwise, enjoy the finale!

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It's a little after noon and Donna Valentino is still unconscious, hogtied on the couch. The male servant is wide eyed with terror, bound to a chair with his pants around his ankles. He's drooling around a leather gag, the spit gathering in his chest hair and pooling on his half hard cock.

The candlestick phone is a work of art itself, beautiful, like everything Donna Valentino uses, like everything she owns. Ramona continues staring at it, mouth dry, the smell of the nearby cup of cold coffee adding to her nausea. A gentle breeze carries through the French doors, playing against the voile drapes. A handful of lazy insects circle the fruit bowl, the low buzz barely registering above the feminine hum of Oblata's oral tribute.

The sweet thrall kneels between Ramona and the desk. Devoting all her attention to her mistress's perfect tits, she is seemingly oblivious to Ramona's conflicted thoughts. The woman's enthusiastic tongue keeps Ramona's mind sharp, but does nothing for her nerves.

Ramona shifts in the heavy leather chair and hitches up her sheer skirt. Oblata eagerly meets Ramona's lustful eyes. She lowers her head and mouths the heat between the demon's shapely thighs. Her tongue strokes firmly against the clitoris as she suckles, drifting lower now and then to feast on Ramona's slick cunt.

The thrall's breath radiates contentment, satisfaction. These offerings of the soul give Ramona the will to finally lift the receiver. The French operator makes the international connection and Ramona waits.

"Good afternoon, 986."

Ramona pauses. On hearing the calm and familiar butler's voice, unwelcome tears blur her vision. She struggles to keep her voice even.

"Hello Carter. Is my mother home?"

There's the sound of mother's laughter, echoing in the hallway.

The butler takes his time answering. When he does, she can hear a lump in his throat.

"Miss Ramona."

"I really must speak with her. It's..."

"I had to destroy your things. I couldn't bear to destroy them, but I had to. I'm terribly sorry, Miss."

"Oh..." Ramona covers her mouth to stifle a sob.

Mother's sparkling voice again, distant but closer now, questioning. Carter puts his game face back on impressively fast.

"This isn't the right number, I'm terribly sorry, perhaps you meant to ask for 989, the cricket club? Good day."

The hiss of the empty line. Then the hum of the dead tone.

Oblata takes the receiver from Ramona's hand and hangs it back in place.

Ramona shudders as she holds her silent sobs at bay.

"I wish..." Oblata says timidly, "I wish you'd said you were calling your mom. I'd have said... said something."

Ramona nods. "It was stupid."

The thrall's fingers still rest just inside Ramona. Her other hand settles on the barely covered breast. She shakes her head. "No. Not stupid at all. But I guess... I guess you're still... still thinking of things the way they were before. Not the whole..." Oblata stops as Ramona nods again, and the tears finally fall.

"She was laughing. Probably convinced herself it's all for the best." The sobs ease off, a weird numbness replaces the ache in Ramona's chest.

"A long time ago." Oblata brushes Ramona's tears gently from her cheeks. "Before we came along."

"Things are just carrying on without us."

"Must be, I guess, for a day or so." Oblata smiles wryly. "They'll be grateful they're not in here."

"Right." Back to reality. "Because this isn't the first time the Donna shut herself away to fuck something to death."

Oblata laughs nervously. "What happens after a day?"

Ramona doesn't answer, but the thrall's adorable gaze is steady now. Whatever happens after a day, Ramona will not have to face it alone. The most precious gift is this rational calm, where despite the lewdness of her penetrated snatch, Ramona has some dignity.

"We're totally fucked, aren't we? How am I supposed to know where to begin?"

Oblata's gaze shifts from Ramona to the bound man and back again. "Hey," the thrall says gently, "we're not done. You've got this."

Ramona meets her eyes again, uncertain. Mother would say that running a great house is no different to any other expression of mastery. Lady Norton, Ramona's tutor, would say that any problem can be broken down into manageable parts. Either one of them would be horrified to hear Ramona show weakness to a servant. Stiff upper lip.

"Tell me about the twelve you mentioned, who are they, what do they do?"

"Everything?"

Ramona sighs. "Could you please be more specific?"

"I'll try. But you know, all I remember, it's not... They have scary titles. I've only been around the slave master, the hunt master, and the game master. There's talk about others, the gold master especially, and the blood master, and I'd guess they're exactly what you'd expect them to be. There was an Opium master once, I think..." she tails off with a shrug. "I think the slave master deals with those things now."

It's criminal, all of it, like some mafiaesque cult. The twelve are wicked powerful people, maybe even demons themselves. Nothing Ramona has ever been taught prepared her for this.

"It's not enough."

Oblata echoes Ramona's thoughts. "I don't know enough. But he might," she nods at the bound man.

"So what? What do you take me for, I'm not going to beat it out of him!"

"Don't... please don't be angry with me. I've been thinking."

Ramona can't help laughing. "God help us both."

Oblata flinches then smiles. "N.. no lightening?"

Ramona gently kisses Oblata's lips. "Guess not."

"Concentrate." The woman shivers at the touch of Ramona's hot lips but leans into the kiss despite her fear. "Look how easy this is for you."

Electricity, desire, the sweat of Oblata's fear is sweet. Pulling away from that honeyed scent feels unnatural, but she must if she's to keep her word.

"I. Am. Concentrating." Ramona breathes. Every little flicker of emotion on Oblata's face is as obvious as a neon sign spelling out the woman's thoughts. "You mustn't be scared. Don't you feel it? Feel us? I won't hurt you."

Ramona leaves Oblata kneeling on the carpet and revisits her captive henchman. The clammy cock stiffens to fullness as she steps closer. His will is like wet paper, he moans his growing need for relief and Ramona despairs anew. "You're not even here, are you?" She says, disgusted.

The way men act around Ramona is so feral. Equally her hunger for blood and semen, for tears, for souls, all this and more is her inheritance. Controlling these powers is either an instinct that she's yet to master, or some arcane knowledge she has no hope of learning.

There is a muffled chuckle from the gagged and injured Donna. Ramona stalks across to her, delighted to see the rash amusement in the old woman's eyes shift back to terror.

"You just can't help yourself, can you?" Ramona moves behind the chaise, looming over the bound woman and out of her line of sight. "What are you afraid of? Don't tell me you regret beating the living shit out of me and hanging me up like a piece of meat? Leaving me in misery for days on end? Huh?"

The bitch shakes her head furiously in denial.

Ramona tilts the chaise, tipping the hogtied woman violently onto the marble floor.

"Nothing comes close to what you put me through, because you know someone will save you. I didn't. All I had was the monster in my head. And the light in my eyes, the hunger, asleep awake, like a fucking nightmare." She gazes down into the remorseless face of her tormentor. "I know. You wanted me gone. You wanted a fuck doll with wings and tits to torture, not these fucking eyes! Not these fucking questions! What the fuck am I! Why are we here!"

Oblata's quiet voice cuts through the threatening frenzy. "Please, Donna Ramona, be careful..."

Nonna Valentino's eyes narrow as Ramona calms herself.

"It's alright, Oblata. Thank you. I didn't expect an answer. A soul. You wanted to breed me and take the child's soul."

A flicker of regret in the old woman's eye.

"But no, it doesn't work, for whatever reason. So here we are. Is there any chance we can come to some arrangement that doesn't involve me literally kissing your arse?"

Amusement again, even as the bitch flinches, Ramona kneels down beside her.

"Oblata, darling?" Ramona winks across at the thrall. "Can you get a message to Don Grimaldi that Donna Valentino has a proposal for him. Invite him over at his earliest convenience."

The thrall smiles a questioning half smile and rises gracefully off her knees. "Right. I guess that could work."

Donna Valentino grunts and shakes her head, eyes darting wildly from Ramona to Oblata in horror.

"Of course I don't know what I'm doing." Ramona says grimly. "Hardly my fault though, is it?" The desperation in the Donna's eyes is fascinating. Once Oblata has stepped outside, Ramona caresses the old woman's cheek sadly. "What? What have I got to lose?" She unfastens the gag and Donna Valentino's muffled tirade spills into the quiet room.

"Let me go you arrogant little fool, you'll doom us all! You think this is a game? Pensi che sto giocando eh? Ah!"

The woman yelps as Ramona drags her along the tiles by a handful of dishevelled grey hair.

"Stop! Listen to me! Riporta la fica qui adesso!"

"Shut up." Ramona lifts the woman's mouth up against the henchman's cock, resting the bound woman's bony knees on the hard floor. "You're the cunt, not her. Open wide." The thick meat fills mouth and throat deep enough to make that scrawny neck bulge, the bound man's eyes roll back in pleasure. Ramona crudely works a rhythm along that magnificent cock in time with her words. "I wish I knew why you made such a fuss of me in your fucked up way and then turned your back. I don't hold much hope of ever knowing." The load quickly hits the back of the Donna's throat and with a deep wet cough the bitch swallows all. "There. Isn't that better?" Ramona mocks.

"I had no choice, fottuto idiota! This house owes a debt, it must be paid or everything..."

The door clicks shut. Oblata's standing there draped in a silk bed sheet. "He's on his way."

"Don't you dare look at me you filthy little cunt!" the Donna shrieks in indignation, "I'll have your eyes!"

The poor thrall drops to her knees and casts her eyes down in terror.

"You're making this too easy, Nonna. Never mind Oblata, what's your problem with him? Now's the time to spill the beans if it's important I guess."

"lui e un evocatore, a mage who controls demons, ti possiedera il culo within an hour stupida ragazza."

"Right. And how is him fucking my arse any worse for me than being your slave?"

The silence is brutal.

"Is that what you think?" Donna Valentino says at last, anguish on her face.

Ramona swallows hard. She lets Nonna Valentino fall face up, squirming with her hands and feet bound beneath her.

"Cara Mia. A slave? You're my life's work. My finest achievement."

"So you keep saying, but actions speak louder than words. I'm your prisoner."

"I love you with all my strength, Piccola Ramona. But there's no place in this modern world for a fucking succubus."

"You are dead wrong, Nonna. Because here I am. So who do we owe a soul to, and why?"

"Lady Layla, mother of night." The old woman finally relaxes into her bonds. "Don Pedro and I came to an arrangement many years ago to make this haven last. Through so many conflicts and misfortunes our houses remain steadfast. Our blood has bought peace for our families and an uneasy truce between ourselves."

"You're fucking him. Why hide it, Nonna? I'm not stupid. So your deal needs a soul with the blood of both houses?"

"Our souls. The original deal was for our own souls. I made peace with that a long time ago, he's the fool that always wanted to cheat La Madre."

Ramona frowns. "So it's complicated."

"Not really. It doesn't matter now, it's too late for us. And you, my darling, if the curtain falls while you busy yourself with trifles."

"Too late?"

"Midsummer's night is days away. I would have come to you, love, I would have told you once I found the courage."

"No." Ramona says firmly. "You weren't acting like a dead woman walking. You were still doing business, still lording it over everyone. If Oblata hadn't freed me, I'd have been your sacrifice."

An ugly scowl mars the symmetry of Donna Valentino's face. "It's no sacrifice, Piccola, it's payment due for services received. What else should I do in my final hours than pay my debts and secure my legacy?"

"If I believe you, what harm can come of trying to prevent it?"

"You'd make me a liar, and yourself a slave."

"D... Donna Ramona... look!"

Oblata scrambles to her feet, backing away from them, wide eyes fixed on the bound man. His face is covered in a seething mess of bluebottles, a strange gargling sound escapes his gagged mouth and he convulses as a growing cloud of insects takes flight. For a horrible moment they swirl mindlessly in the air before surging towards the three women.

Ramona has the presence of mind to close her mouth, but Oblata's blood curdling scream is immediately choked off by hundreds of tiny bodies.

"Untie my hands! Don't be stupid Piccola, do it now!" Donna Valentino begs.

But it's far too late. Ramona panics, flailing, clawing at her face, desperately trying to clear the invaders from her nostrils, and yes of course inevitably she screams in primal terror as the unnatural swarm smothers her. As her senses fail she can hear Donna Valentino wail in abject misery in her turn. It's no consolation at all.

Then falling, spinning into the shapeless void, the rhythmic draft of huge wings approaches, warm and sultry as a breeze rushing across desert sands. Vast folds envelop Ramona's struggling body, close around her like an enormous cocoon, threatening metamorphosis. Tendrils of shadow, febrile with dark desire burrow into every hole and crevice, Ramona squeals through her stuffed mouth, humps desperately with her stuffed sex, limbs pinned uselessly, tail twisted tight between her and this nightmare being. Inevitably it gentles her, tames her with its relentless force.

The enforced stillness consumes Ramona, until at last air fills her starved lungs, and forgotten body parts become relevant again. Chill air on her naked breasts, colder stone wall against buttocks. Metal cutting into wrists and ankles. Rhythmic banging and grunting, angry, feminine. Her eyes flutter open and her head spins. She's hanging upside down, a terrific weight dragging on her bound wings. She moans softly, mournfully into a cloth gag at the sight that greets her.

Carefully drawn on the marble floor tiles is an intricate mess of symbols that makes Ramona's eyes ache. At its centre is a crudely forged rack of black wrought iron. Nonna Valentino is held helpless, face down on the bed-like grid frame, as a man who could well be Don Pedro Grimaldi violates her. His wrinkled body is covered in a rash of arcane tattoos. Despite his ancient frail appearance his effortless thrusts clamour iron against stone with inhuman vigour. At last with a roar of satisfaction he pulls away leaving his victim gaping, quivering, sobbing quietly. Her tail, unbound, finds its familiar comforting spot well lubricated and snakes up inside, thrusting far more gently into herself than her captor did. The relief is short lived.

Don Grimaldi snaps his fingers impatiently and Oblata crawls hurriedly over to clean his cock off with demented enthusiasm. She hands him a cruel single tailed whip that would tear the hide off a buffalo.

Ramona weeps in earnest now as the evil old man lays into hysterical Nonna Valentino. Blood flows freely as he strikes a dozen times or more.

"Imagine," he scoffs quietly to himself as he hands the bloody leather back to Oblata. "This little tickler is nothing compared to the torments to which you would foolishly surrender yourself in the world beyond."

By the time he's ridden her hard once again, the bloody trails on Nonna Valentino's back have faded away to nothing. Thus he amuses himself with his resilient captive for some hours until the predestined moment arrives.

"Divine. My dear, your rage is palpable, your humiliation complete. Now, Carlotta. We shall come into our glory together."

In a bizarre twist of tenderness he lies on Nonna Valentino's back, gently removing the gag from her mouth.

"Don't do it, Pedro..." she whimpers, "I... not like this..." but her heart isn't in it. Her tail gives her perverse affection away, lovingly encircling the Mage's waist.

"Oblata. If you please," he says firmly.

The girl glances up at Ramona for the first time and hesitates. "You promised to let her go."

"Go on girl. Do it now," he snaps.

Oblata takes the few steps between her and the large black lever painfully slowly. "I hope your predictions are right, master."

The mechanism shudders with a hollow sounding rattle as she pulls the lever, and part of the ceiling that must weigh several tonnes begins to drift down towards the doomed pair on snaking chains.

Once again, Donna Valentino screams in futile terror. There is a sickening crunch and a flash of green light. The scent of brimstone wafts up to Ramona, and she writhes in her own frenzy of fear. The circle of power comes alive then, ribbons of neon and uranium green flare into life as the combined blood of Pedro and Carlotta pours onto the meticulously crafted magic. Crackling sounds like popping coals and air rushing in from beneath. All the while, the memory of Nonna's scream lingers. The marks fade away to nothing leaving only their after image like a camera flash.

Now it's Ramona's time to scream. From beneath the enormous slab, thousands of tiny insects swarm. Clouds of bluebottles and a roiling mass of arachnids stumble blindly around the windowless chamber, as Oblata whoops with glee, "It's working you mad old bastard! Yes!"

Her cries of glee quickly turn to horror as the scintillating wave of arachnids mobs her.

Ramona cannot bear to watch as the screams subside. Worse than her fear is the excitement that wells in her demonic flesh at Oblata's agony.

"Oh god! I'm blind! Mistress! Mistress!..." Her voice breaks. She bleats the word over and over as she rocks on her knees with her face in her hands.

The hideous mass of spiders condenses into a more humanoid shape. Likewise the swarms of bluebottles do the same. The buzzing and chirping is insistent, intricate. Ramona's tears fall steadily as Oblata curls into a ball, whispering, near catatonic, "...Ramona..."

As one, the two swarms that were once Pedro and Carlotta move towards bound Ramona. They join their trailing appendages, almost as though they were holding hands. Somehow, with all the competing demands on her attention, Ramona hadn't noticed the arcane circle surrounding her own vulnerable position. Silver ink shimmers, becoming the last source of illumination in the dungeon as the candles flare and go out.

Ramona's bonds crumble as a blast of hot air escapes the shining portal. It's unclear from their reaction whether the two of them expected it, but they come no closer as Ramona's lands catlike on clawed feet. Her mouth shapes words her mind can barely grasp, demanding tribute.

As a small group of arachnids and a handful of flies separate from the main mass and come close enough to touch, Ramona can smell the spiritual bounty each tiny form contains. The ancient passenger in Ramona's soul laughs heartily. What a misguided genius Pedro is. Or was...

The vast winged creature from beyond the void knows only desire. Knows only emptiness and longing that will never ever be filled, Ramona knows it too as lust. These arrogant mortals have quartered their souls, becoming both more and less than human. They offer tribute in souls of which there are now as many as maggots on a corpse. Ramona pops each delectable morsel they offer into her mouth with a satisfying crunch, and sits back to enjoy the inevitable consequences.