Sephalla My Nightmare Ch 02

***The characters referenced in this story are Sixth-Formers, aged 18, or they are teachers. No character is any younger than 18***

Things continue largely as normal. If anything, the bullying worsens in severity, if not frequency.

She breaks my phone. She throws my lunch in a bin. She trips me so hard that I'm pretty sure a muscle gets torn. I go home with a new bruise, every other day or so. It's starting to take its toll. The way it's going, I'm certain to end up with a broken bone regardless of any threat she's made.

So I tell the headteacher.

And on the Friday of that same week, I'm in another counselling session with Mr Mayhew.

And opposite me, smirking throughout, is Sephalla the Magnificent.

A title, not a surname, because demons care about one and not the other. Fitting for her body, but not for her mind. Sephalla the Cunt, Sephalla the Bully, Sephalla the Bitch, sure. Not magnificent. Nothing like that.

Mr Mayhew does his same shtick, his back-forth, and it's pointless. Because he wants an easy life and Sephalla can make it difficult and the last thing the school wants is to upset the demons, who are such big money that their loss of interest would be a tragedy.

Nothing is fixed. Sephalla leaves first and I wait and wait and then leave and, shock-horror, she's still waiting for me. I shut my eyes and expect the broken arm but then she's got my throat in one hand and hauls me down a corridor, barging into an empty classroom, dim and cool in the winter afternoon.

'Going to teach you a lesson,' she says, her dark sweetness broken up by metallic rattling. I open my eyes as she slams me against a wall, a palm on my forehead, mighty fingers gripping my scalp and hair. Her jeans are down, her blue living-fire crotch aglow yet alien for its lack of radiant heat. 'Be lucky I'm not breaking your arm.'

I'm pushed back hard, as she thrusts. It hits me, the realisation, the visual glitch, the unseen sight. An enormous horse dick, multiple feet in length, indigo-blue, latticed with bulging veins and ending in a flat flared glans, a glistening fearsome spear-head. I don't speak, don't make a sound.

'Ughn.'

The dick splits my lips ease, glides into my mouth like it's a wet pussy. I fight back, push against her hips, but it's like fighting gravity. Sephalla moves, and her blunt helmet punches the entrance to my throat. She chuckles, dark sweetness, and moves again. There's no rush of pain, no ache or soreness. It's like her dick is coated in menthol for a moment, like it numbs all that it touches.

She enters my throat, and more than a foot of her demonic equine penis invades my face. It flexes down my gullet, bulges, fills my mouth and neck and the uppermost bit of my torso with a kind of resplendent, magnificent heat.

'Mhm.'

'Good slut.'

Sephalla thrusts deeper, deeper. Something's wrong here. This is unnatural, and I don't mean the act itself. As she grunts and thrusts, draws back and pushes deeper, it's obvious that the nightmare's cock is practically the thickness of my arm, and longer than it, and with a flat flared helmet as wide as my fist.

This should be agony. I should be choking. Instead, my cock is straining against my boxers, and that radiant heat is bringing with it something not dissimilar to pleasure.

'Look at me,' Sephalla says. 'Look at me, bitch.'

I glance up, barely seeing her past her ridiculous chest, that overhanging shelf of what must be something mad, like R-cup breast meat. On the deep thrust she disappears, then reappears on the pull-back. Smirking, staring, giddy and pleasured and victorious.

'That's your place, slut. I'd have you kneel, but a midget like you wouldn't reach my meat from your knees.' Another slam and more of her cock goes in, plumbs unknown depths, hiding her face. My cock twitches. My eyelids wobble unsteadily. The pleasurable heat spreads, sending an electricity up my back. Sephalla appears again from behind her immense rack, smirking deeper. 'It's okay to like it. I might be a nightmare, but the things I can do with my cock are far closer to something out of a dream.'

I'd lose my footing, if she weren't so strong. That flaming patch of azure pubes grows closer by the thrust, and something starts to brush the air in front of my chin. My insides feel like they stretch, like something arcane is occurring, as if...as if whatever her cock needs, my body will warp around itself to accommodate it.

'Mhm.'

'Tasty, huh? Ughn. Bet it is.'

It's wrong...this is dick...this is Sephalla, worst of all, but...it's delicious. Demons don't shit or piss, so there's no off-notes. The stickiness in my mouth, coating my tongue and tastebuds, has to be...yes, it is. Whenever she draws back the most -- a seemingly purposeful action -- that thick-rimmed blunt helmet spills out a heavy dribble of oily, gooey, delicious salty-sweetness.

Then her horse-cock slides forwards, dragging that lubricating ooze across my tongue and into my throat. 'Mumph.' I grunt, and she keeps pushing. I look up, and Sephalla's face has disappeared behind those gigantic tits once more. The false-heat of her fire-crotch brushes my nose now. A thick band of fibrous tissue, the leathery ring marking her sheath's beginning, presses against my lips. A massive set of testicles slams against and engulfs my chin, huge and heavy.

I'd not felt it coming, but it does. My knees weaken, my eyelids shiver. As Sephalla holds herself very-nearly hilted in my face, my stupid cock spills a load in my boxers. 'Mhm. Mugh.' She laughs as I twist uneasily, embarrassed and ashamed and ecstatic with pleasure. I've just cum from her fucking my face.

'Pathetic little slut,' Sephalla says, pulling back slightly. She slams again and I shudder anew. 'Still, can't say I'm not flattered. It's not every day I find someone so ready and willing to succumb to the power of my dick.'

'Mumph. Mhm.'

'You should be--ughn--grateful.'

'Mumph. Mugh.'

'Most--ughn--don't get the luxury of--ugh--being my fuck-hole.'

'Mhm. Mugh.'

Sephalla moves almost casually now, finding a rhythm, never quite leaving my throat enough for me to look up at her smug, proud, smirking beauty. Instead I shut my eyes, warring between shame and hedonism, enjoying something degrading and yet immensely erotic.

Her huge balls slam and slap against my chin, engulfing it repeatedly, and I'm pretty certain she's got more than two. Maybe more than four. Hairless, leathery, they're nonetheless surprisingly hot for testicles. And her blue fire-bright pubes, swimming and shifting, are nonetheless cool, ticklish but not for a moment burning me.

She tastes amazing, feels amazing. The stink of her lust, the musky carnal sweetness of her loins, her cock, is heady and enrapturing, like a fog on the thoughts. I shoot another load, a spontaneous and sublime orgasm, and Sephalla sniggers and continues pumping away, using me like a toy.

'Ughn, shit.' Sephalla's grunt stirs me, sounding urgent. 'Ugh, your face is so fuckable, slut.'

Some bit of me, some semi-aware sensible fragment, realises the truth of what this, of what's happening, of what's going to happen. I've got her penis in my mouth. I've got, periodically, a set of testicles larger than my fists slamming against my chin. I've got her grunting, groaning, moaning.

Her stance is wider. She's shuddering, just a little. The haze goes, fades instantly, replaced by worrisome fear. Is she going to--

'Guh. I hope you're fucking hungry.'

My eyes widen as her cock tenses up, thickening further, throbbing monstrously. I push against her hips, wriggle futilely, fail to escape. Then it hits.

'Ughn. Fuck.'

I shudder, all-too-aware of the sensation of having my throat pumped full of something thick as cream, hot as her loins, gooey and gluey and ropey and dense, drenching my oesophagus and pouring straight into my stomach. It comes in huge bursts, separated by long interludes, a periodic assault upon my gullet.

'Oh, shit.'

Sephalla starts slowly withdrawing, painting my innards in her creamy ejaculate with every inch she slides back, holding my head firm all the while. And now I'm terrified for another reason, scared shitless that if she pulls back soon enough, far enough...

'Mhm. Mugh. Gack.'

Three things occur, in short succession.

Firstly, Sephalla's flared horse-glans slides back into my mouth, in the process covering the back of my tongue with something hot, thick, gooey, creamy, and incredibly, grotesquely, delicious. Which causes me to moan in a kind of awful, subservient, cum-loving contentment.

Secondly, this triggers a spontaneous orgasm, the third of this sordid affair, and while I've not got much sperm left to shoot, the pleasure is no duller than the first two times. But this causes me to lose focus and to forget myself, which leads to point three.

Sephalla is a nightmare. A demon-horse. And regular horse-people ejaculate monstrous amounts, and demons are all the more virile. So while I imagine I could handle a single shot, just about, the ten or twenty seconds of elated distraction provided by my orgasm give her plenty of time to overload my mouth. She practically cackles as her seed shoots out of my nostrils in a large enough quantity to make a mess down my shirt, the force of the shot simply too much to bear.

'Swallow, idiot,' the nightmare says firmly. 'Swallow my fucking sperm.'

So I do.

'Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.'

Her semen is salty, savoury, not at all sweet. It's meaty, creamy, like gravy, like demon semen. It tastes rich with virility, practically squirms with omnipresent nightmare-tadpoles, comes out in heavy bursts, shots of ropey string that clog my mouth, that I struggle to swallow down.

'Eat that load, bitch. Ughn, swallow my pride.'

I'm filling my pants and she's filling my mouth, filling my belly. Thankfully no more of her obnoxiously viscous seed flows out my nose, but my throat feels constantly packed and my stomach feels as though it's swelling with fullness. I'd look down to find out, but I'm pinned against my will, forced to consume my demon bully's immense load.

It's wrong, and it's gay, and I'm not meant to like this, but Sephalla's semen is like nothing I've tasted before. The texture and flavour both are amazing, the rich saltiness, the savoury meatiness, the way it flows and the way it feels, hot and creamy and thick.

'Mhm.'

I chance a look upwards and find her smug, proud, dominant, terribly beautiful, sexy, hot. I'm tasting and swallowing her semen, her sperm, her baby-batter. The milk of her loins, forced upon me, and she knows that I can't hate it. It's all part of her victory, her conquest today. I've been degraded, beaten, made into her bitch.

She floods my mouth and I swallow, floods my mouth and I swallow, seemingly an unending cycle of cum-eating, sperm-guzzling. It's wrong, and she's awful to me, but God it feels right. For all the bad stuff, for all the pain and suffering, I love this. I shouldn't, and it's shameful, and I'll regret it later, but right now, here...I fucking love it.

'Ugh, one for luck,' she says. 'Don't swallow it straight away.'

Sephalla seems to shoot a particularly massive shot, a fat knotty rope of sperm-loaded creaminess, and then pulls out of my mouth with a wet pop. She makes a mess of my face with a quick rope, a splatter on my cheek, and then a final shot on my shirt. When she backs away, I slide down the wall to rest on my arse.

My belly roils, hot and obvious. A look down and I almost gasp, for some reason obedient to her order, remembering the seed copious in my mouth. My stomach bulges out, as if it's Christmas and I've eaten to the point of sickness, but I don't feel particularly unwell -- merely stuffed.

'Up,' Sephalla says, cooing, soft. I gaze upwards, past her softening cock and those gigantic nuts, past her toned flat midriff, past her mammoth breasts, to that smirking, proud, gleeful face. 'Show me the last of what I've given you, slut.'

Slowly, warily, I open my mouth for her. With how thick, sticky, gluey it is, the stuff just forms strings and ropes, connecting the top of my mouth with my tongue and teeth, not for a moment risking spillage. Sephalla beams approvingly, proudly.

'Chew it around. Savour it.'

Why do I obey? But I do.

'Mhm.'

'My sperm tastes good, huh?' While I chew, she gently pushes against my bloated belly with the tip of a boot. 'Packed you to the brim. You're basically one of my balls now, you know?'

'Mhm.'

'Swallow it, baby. Swallow mistress's dick-milk.'

I gulp, and gulp, and gulp again. It takes three and a half swallows to empty my mouth of that unworldly thick, gooey, virile spunk. The last of her sperm swim down my gullet, joining their ball-mates in my belly, to be digested, consumed, as though her jizz was food and I was at a banquet.

'Better than being knocked around, huh?'

'Y-eah.'

She smirks. 'Well, next time you think you want to tell on me, you can blow me, instead.' Sephalla puts away her junk, and buckles her belt anew. There's just the faintest bulge, that of her hefty nut-sack. Magic, I guess? 'Might want to digest that a bit. You look fucking pregnant.' She chuckles. 'See you around, loser.'

I'm left in the dim room, with sperm oozing from my nose, dripping down my face, staining my shirt, growing cold in my pants, and slowly digesting in my stomach.

The overwhelming feeling is that of shame. Shame to have been abused, raped, forced to suck and swallow the nightmare's load. Shame to have enjoyed the process, and enjoyed the ejaculation she fed me. Shame to be sat here, belly-bulging, a mess in a dim classroom after school.

It's not exactly surprising that I burst into tears.