While the character of 'Doc' isn't mine, his owner was more than happy to give their blessing.
Warning: contains monsterfucking and possession.
***
Doc dragged his fingers across the dirt path. "We're close."
"How can you be sure?" A villager called from the back of the mob.
"The soil's tainted. You can already see it affect the plants." He stood and gestured to an ash tree, its bark splitting as black thorns tore their way through. "Your demon must've been here for a while."
"Aye, we've always told our children to stay away from the woods." An older man nodded, lip curled in disgust. "Thought it was just folklore, myself, but whatever it is has grown bolder."
A young widower hugged a pitchfork to his chest, his gaze dropping to the floor.
"It's a good thing you came when you did, cleric. Had we sent for help, I doubt they would've made it back before the whole village disappeared."
Doc gave a solemn nod. He looked out at the dark forest with its gnarled trees and thick walls of bracken, an unsettling knot forming in his stomach. Definitely demonic corruption: the fey didn't blacken the soil or turn sap to ichor. Clasping his hands together, he mouthed a short prayer, finishing by kissing his fingertips through the veil covering most of his face. Gods give him strength and guidance, for he knew he'd need it.
He followed the path, the ragtag mob a few feet behind him. Doc resisted the urge to pull his cloth coif further over his head as their stares burnt into his back. Or, rather, his backside. Touches of red bloomed over his cheeks; the loose slit skirts cascading off his girlish hips did little to hide his' blessings.' Generous flashes of copper skin atop stark white thigh-high boots. Large, hazelnut eyes surrounded by long lashes. A slender torso cinched tight by a grey girdle atop a tight leotard.
That was what set the villagers muttering when he'd offered his help. A few mutters still floated behind Doc now: when you asked for a demon slayer, you expected a heroic build. Big man or woman, even bigger sword. He exhaled slowly. He didn't need strength, not when he had his faith.
"Where does this path lead?" He asked over his shoulder.
"Not sure." The older man shrugged. "No one comes this way."
"It might lead to the old manor!" Someone suggested.
Doc cocked his head. "I thought your lord was too far to ask for help?"
"He is. But generations ago, there was a noble lady. Never married and bore no children." The older man shook his head. "My great-grandfather was the last to see her. Said she'd gone mad and cast out all her staff. I can't imagine what it must've been like, dying all alone out here."
The villagers murmured amongst themselves, grips tightening on their cudgels and farming implements as sweat dripped down their brows.
"Y-you don't think she's behind this, do you?" The widower gulped.
"I don't know," Doc said, "Maybe not her. But it's not uncommon for the mad and desperate to turn to magic. Perhaps all this is the result of dark sorcery left—"
He stepped across an invisible line, and his blood froze. Fearful needles pricked his skin. Doc stopped dead in his tracks, the villagers barrelling into one another. His wide eyes flicked through the shadows. Mouth dry and heart pounding in his chest, he swallowed.
"We're here" He whispered.
No sooner had he said it than the signs became clearer: grey fog settled around them, thick enough to suffocate with its faint sulphurous smell. The twisting limbs reaching into the sky blurred and faded, becoming the silhouettes of dark horrors waiting to pounce. Brambles with finger-length thorns clawed onto the beaten path. The oppressive silence stole their breath and left them with only their thudding heartbeats to remind them they were still in the land of the living. For now.
The villagers huddled together, shuffling and clunking their tools. Murmuring became panicked whispers. Doc took a step back, hands clasped in front of him as if the mere suggestion of prayer could provide protection.
"Show yourself!" His voice cracked.
A shrill, mocking laughter echoed around them.
Doc looked about the fog, eyes flicking between dark, shifting shapes. One of the mob screamed, stumbling back and pointing. The group turned, weapons ready, shrinking back as a pair of red eyes gleamed in the darkness. A clawed finger lazily ripped through the fog, the grey veil dissipating until a single tree stood out from muddled colours. In its bows lounged a lanky figure; a five-foot frame stretched to seven or more.
"My, my... I wasn't expecting any guests today," The demon purred.
Its spindly legs hung from a branch, each with three toes tipped with enormous claws tapping against cracked bark. Smooth black hair fell down to its waist like a waterfall of ichor. Its only garment -a patterned red and gold silk gown— hung loosely about its purple shoulders. It held itself with a feminine authority: like a tyrannical queen about to sentence an unruly advisor to death.
She vainly examined her lengthy, black claws. "And to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Are you the one responsible for the women disappearing from the surrounding villages?" Doc took a tentative step forward, running through every scrap of training in his head.
"Me?" The demon feigned indignation. "Such a horrid accusation!"
"Don't play games with us!" The widower pushed to the front of the crowd. He raised his pitchfork, hand trembling as he spoke through gritted teeth. "You took my love from me, you monster! Not more than a few days ago!"
"Oh? Was that adorable blonde your wife?" She propped her chin on the back of her hand and grinned. "My, but what good taste you have. She was delicious."
The young man screamed, tears streaming down his face as he dashed toward her.
"No!" Doc shouted.
Too late; the demon snapped her fingers, and the brambles beneath her lashed out. The widower thrashed and bellowed as thick, woody tentacles coiled around him. Thorns tore his skin like paper. Blood wet the soil. His cries of anger turned to fear, the twisting vines pulling him deeper. In a scarce few seconds, he vanished entirely into the underbrush, his stained pitchfork clattering to the ground. The bracken shrank back and lay perfectly still.
Doc swallowed back the bile in his throat. He clasped his trembling hands tighter, peaking his fingers and turning his terrified gaze up to the demon. "F-Foul fiend! You'll pay for what you've done."
"And who's going to make me, hmm? You? That pathetic band of farmers?" She chuckled, settling back against a branch. "If you all run now, I promise I won't take all the beautiful young women for myself. Maybe just once a year. I wouldn't want to get too gluttonous, after all."
"You won't be taking anyone else!"
Her noblewoman's laugh brought a flush of heat to his cheeks. "Oh? But you've already brought me the cutest little sacrifice imaginable. I prefer a little bit more on the chest, but you more than make up for it with those thighs."
The demon licked her lips with a long, forked tongue.
Taking a deep breath, Doc began to chant. Power welled up within him, running through his body like boiling water. It pooled at his fingertips until the heat became a bright white light. Hands apart, he drew symbols and circles in the air, fixing both his gaze and his willpower on the arrogant demon in front of him. The intricate pattern turned solid: a painting imbued with the light of heaven.
"I banish you, demon!" Doc cried, pushing the circle forward.
It flew through the air, expanding rapidly. Crashing through the tree, the light caught on the demon's skin. A flash, a sizzling noise, the smell of burning...
As the light faded, Doc's heart leapt: the demon lay slumped in the branches of the tree, limbs dangling and head thrown back. The villagers waited with bated breath. Doc stood straight, trying to peer closer without taking a step. Was it over so soon? Had it worked?
The sharp-featured face lolled back into view, wearing a bored expression. "Was that supposed to hurt, little girl?"
Doc's blood turned to ice.
Branches splintered. A sudden gust threw Doc back, only for a hand to snatch him out of the air. The villagers shouted and fell back as the demon held Doc out at arm's length, having crossed the distance in the blink of an eye. Doc scratched and clawed at the spindly fingers around his throat. Tendons like steel cables grew taut, tightening their grip. His legs kicked uselessly in the air. Gasping and wheezing, Doc grabbed the demon's thin wrist and tried to support himself.
"Aww, did you really think you could handle me?" The demon cooed, "Pathetic. I could snap your neck right now and leave you to rot. Oh, but it'd be such a waste..."
She picked apart the buttons on his girdle, the useless fabric falling into the dirt. A quick flick of a finger and the split skirt joined the pile, exposing the full extent of his enormous thighs.
"Well, well... you're not a girl at all, are you?" The demon dragged a sharp claw down over his leotard, tapping the tip of his bulge. "And here I thought I'd never find a boy to my tastes. Must be my lucky day."
Doc tried to choke out a reply, his cheeks burning brighter. Her tongue slithered up his neck and under his veil. The squirming appendage mixed with her mocking laughter sent shivers down his spine. A soft whine left him as she squeezed his throat.
"Oh, how adorable! I wonder what other noises I can wring out of you."
She shoved her tongue down his throat.
Slimy and prehensile, it thickened as it went until he could feel it fill his mouth completely. Wriggling, writhing, and bulging out his neck as it probed deeper. Doc's eyes rolled back, his breath stolen. Drool ran in small streams down his chin as the demon thrust her tongue between his lips. Gagging and gulping filled his ears. Stars danced on the edge of his vision.
Doc's legs clamped tightly together as a shudder worked through him; try as he might resist, his body reacted. Every brush past his plump lips sent a tingle down his spine. His own tongue, pressed flat in his mouth, wanted to squirm against the invader. Blood rushed away from his head.
The tongue pulled back, letting him gulp down fresh air.
"My, my, you enjoyed that!" The demon cackled. She traced the outline of his hardened cock with a claw. Fear, shame and arousal made him twitch against her. "I knew you were a pervert. Always the same with the pious types."
"I-I'm not...!" Doc whimpered. The white fabric grew dark as she teased pre-cum out of his tip.
"Look at you; only the barest touch and this thing is already gushing! How can you boys last a minute with something so sensitive swinging between your legs?" The demon grinned. "Oh, that gives me an idea..."
