H(ot)ell Ascension step 3 Written by Septia. Without a doubt, the silhouette carved by the light in the basement’s door frame, was unmistakable. A being whose presence radiated a chatter of inaudible voices were dredged from the canyons of irreality: The radio demon. You swallowed. Absorbing Vagatha had brought a new vigour, though even with two fresh sinners fuelling your body between Husk and Vaggie, against the radio demon…? what a joke you were… “aHahahA,” Alastor laughed with the tin scramble of static. Your spine tensed, could he read your thoughts? It was not out of the question. “mutt,” Alastor continued, “would you regale me as to why You venture down these drool depths? Why, Even nifty has refrained from deigning to enter.” “Promise, I can explain. I was just there t-.” “How am I not surprised? that a dingy mutt from the lower rings were to unearth miss Vagatha's secluded Spirit stash.” Tension sparked through your spine, followed by confusion washing over you. Quickly, you searched Vaggies memories for… Oh, go figure, she was hiding liquor in the basement. “What can I say? You found me out, though, to me those bottles of 'Castle' wine stink worse than the overlords’ fashion-sense.” Alastor's eyes glared a milky pale, pupils diving under the surface as his smile crooked up past the peaks of his lips, an echo of laughter warping the air behind his head as he vocalized through a pinched teeth. “apt descriptor.” “I ain't one to partake of mah spoils in darkness.” Alastor started into the abyss, and the abyss turned its gaze to stare into you. Then, with the tune of a radio knob cycling through stations, Alastor's expression relaxed into merely a face stealing grin. “capital suggestion, mutt. we'll rendezvous at the bar,” he said and turned from the peak of the staircase. As he did, you noticed, the signature chalk-stripe suit hanging loose. A rend through the fabric, then another, yet the seams were not torn, but rather bracketed in ethereal rectangles, flickering in a gray static, as if staring into TV snow. In fact, on closer inspection… That is, exacly what it was: gleaming squares of black and grey in a myriad of hues. Few would be able to lay a finger on the Radio demon, and with traces like that, it narrowed the options down to singular… “Vox…,” you mumbled, “he's fought Vox…” you realised this clarity of vision was not your own, pupils forming crosshairs from Vagatha's one sharp eye. You blinked it away, pressing the singe she'd marked on you. While heading down back down the stairs Huskar's wings still itched at your back, the red stripes he'd left flaring up as you sought out the booze stash. It had to be held under warps. The less Alastor knew, the greater your chances of… well, surviving your new job. ~ 1 ~ Alastor held the bottle by the corkhead, a jiggle to hear the aged liquid glug within. Then a vigorous pinch cracked the seal of the cork and compressed with enough force so the bottle clanked onto the barcounter. A clattering, distant recording of clinking bottles infested the atmosphere as Alastor spoke. “aaAAh, a red sealed Castle, brand of Prestigious marketing from the Annals of the British 1860s, sandwiched Between a cholera outbreak and the phylloxera epidemic that set back the Whole Alcohol business by a Decade.” “Could explain why it is so rare,” you suggested. “Hohho hoH, whole crops laid spoiled, seeds Fed by the Carcass of their stalks, and ah yes, the mortal's Suffering.” The caw of a quenched crow echoed under the sinner's voice. -Phhhwwopt- The cork rung as it escaped the bottleneck. You interjected, “Some'd say they gave it their life, and that'd make this just' their life's work, don't it?” “hah. for All creatures in Hell, perhaps I Underestimated hellhounds. They go through the thick of it and walk out laughing with stories a’plenty. A rarity, seeing it,” the atmosphere's tension was strung by a violin's bow, “would not be caught Underestimating Anyone, bearing eyes like yours.” A quiver dripped down your spine as you placed down bottles and liquors behind the counter. Certain you had surpressed Vagatha's pupils, or was the eyeshadow she'd stained into your fur distinct enough… “'Preciate it,” you said with a claw dragging down beneath your eyelid to showcase the yellowed eyeball. “Grew these myself,” you said, hands moving on their own, measuring fluids and carving eyes, presenting Alastor with a cocktail of deep oranges and cutting lime syrup; “have something to quell the rupees.” Alastor's perpetual smugness shone through the glass as he raised it high. “A toast to the inevitable cavalcade of failure aboard the hazbin hotel,” he mused and put the drink to his lips. “Here,” you chimed in as he drank. Perhaps the alcohol served enough of a distraction, you couldn't take the next step before you knew what ground was solid to stan-. -kktchnk.- The empty glass hit the counter. “That wasn't all you had, was it?” You were already shaking a new drink, “Who do you take me for?” Alastor mused, a receiver tone carving through the air between them. “Some who wear the skin of a Bartender, to, a, T,” he said with a tilt of his head for each word. Exasperation left in a huff through your nostrils. “Say,” the radioman continued, voice swing between heckled tunes as he appeared behind the counter, wrapping one arm around you, “Those red marks of yours cut into a Prime aesthetic, and are,” he said with a reverb sowed through his musings, “a spot on match for ol' Huskar's stripes.” Well, least your death would be quick… who are you kidding? Alastor would never be satisfied with a hurried end to your suffering, no matter how little he actually cared for his old 'friends'. You steeled yourself. -Tththwp- A strike at your back… “Hah. I see why you keep them Hidden,” he said and faded back onto the stool with a crackling hiss, “must make the old tramp jealous, seeing a dingy mutt pull of his fashion Better than himself.” The relief was ice in your veins: cool, to the point it gave you frostbite. Scanning through Huskar's memory for further drink recipes. “After all,” Alastor continued, his voice dipping an octave, “that is all that lovable bum, Had, going For him.” “Ah-aha, bit harsh on that feline, ain't like he don't know a thing or two.” “Alcoholism ceased being a Valid entry on a resumé many years ago,” Alastor said, swirling the cocktail glass before drinking his fill of old boy. Your pouring hand quivered as you dropped off a smooth drink. “I have taken the liberty to imagine you as demon who, Knows their clientele, Inside, and Out,” Alastor mused, rolling the words between his lips. Your heart was set pounding again… This, it was all just a game, and Alastor was sitting there, stewing in your dread, just waiting for you to slip up, those red eyes torching you like a hot iron spit. “Oh? And what would cause the great, reputable, Radio demon, ta say this about a, stray mutt?” you said and rounded up another cocktail in the queue, Alastor drinking with surprising fervor. “Why, your Performance with Charlie. Takes some acting bravado to carry a sob story in your heart down here, but another to… open yourself up, and show what you got, Deep inside,” a prolonged pause followed as he finished the drink, “whatever it was, was sure enough to twist that ‘lil princess's heartstrings. Emotion, that's what lacking. But, say, my intoxicative proficient chum, I have, one, Pressing, question.” You didn't look up this time, just trying to focus on the drink, hiding the building sweat. “What really is your favourite piece of Earl Hines?” You sighed in your answer, making it sound contemplative as you relieved stress. “Of all the performances, while Blues for Garroway is a classic, Weather bird is the one that gets what crumbs of a soul I got dancing.” “Well wahaddya know, there's something Alive inside of this mutt yet.” Your eyelid twitched. At this point you were really hoping Alastor was unable to hear the frequency of your internal screams of frustration. “Do you have any hopes for Charlie's dream?” A curveball could be a change to detail the conversation. Alastor stroke his chin. “The naïveté of that girl's near as infectious as the phylloxera epidemic. this veritable Watch of vacant vessels have sparse room for hope, an immunity torched into us. It is ridiculous, which is why I am here. Do not tell Me you Believe in her?” You scoffed. “Whichever way they go, it'll be entertaining.” “ohoh, A mutt of my own colours.” “Might as well take a chance, there's, never anything interesting playing on the TV…” The prod was successful. First time in you believed you'd seen The radio demon's smile drop. “That, showoff, brain rotten, dung bag,” he said, each word putting more pressure on his drink until the glass shattered under his palm -Kkrtssht-. He stared forwards, as the grits of glass crackled, and retracted from across the bar, with a slurping scramble the whole crushed cocktail was smothered into the aether underneath Alastor's hand. “It won't be an issue. We are close to opening, and any Reputable Business is not worth its weight in Salt without advertisement. be it through radio waves, or flashing picture stills.” Alastor swerved your way. “You noticed this as well, did You not?” “Had an assumption,” you mentioned and nudged a gesture towards the tear in Alastor's left sleeve, the crackle of static hissing in a high frequency. “Yfhm” Alastor huffed, holding his face, grinding his thumb and forefinger against his eyebrows. “It could stand A repair,” he mumbled. And unbuttoned it. Though as he begun to scale it you noticed a fluctuation of static at the left sleeve amplified, locking in Alastor's wrist. “That, piece of-…” “Allow me, I'll give you a hand,” you ensured, stepping around the bar disk too. His back was turned to you, exposed, drunk, and stuck in a snag of his jacket. There may not be better chances… You weighed your options, if Alastor knew and was prepared you'd be x'ed out of hell sooner than you could scream, joining his chorus of ethereal screams. If he wasn't prepared, then it was perhaps only an, eighty percent chance you would get your jaw unceremoniously separated from the rest of your cranium. Terrible odds, for sure, but the tension of being found out, of Alastor arriving back far too early in your plotted schedule. This might be the only chance you had. To assimilate one of the strongest sinner wandering the seven rings. “Let me help ya out with that…” you mused, grabbing hold of Alastor's right wrist, spreading your jaw to a desperate gape and-… -Slltwwlpch- That… noise, the squelch of stepping into a mud pit, of latex grinding against a windowpane…, unlike any of the Demon's previous broadcasts, and the sensation in your hand… your eyeballs honed up to your wrist, Vaggie's cross forming in your pupils… Your wrist, overlapped Alastor's. The dark grey coat swathed over his black skin like a fur coat, the lithe wrist wedged to and fro, bumps forming under the seams of flesh at your arm that contained him, hand sticking out under your own. “Blast, right one decided to snag as well,” Alastor mumbled. You shook your head, quickly following the traces of creases between where your coat overlapped his jacket, and drew it back -Shrlrlpt- A light crinkle, as the jacket unfurled from the clutch of your wrist, and with it you sealed a good hold of his jacket. “Ain't no worry,” you mumbled, “I think I just got it…” ~ 2 ~ Over the next hour there were a row of emptied glasses a the counter. Alastor's expression was as wide as hers, shoulders hunched down without the pads in his jacket, and this was is wavering every somewhat. “Haa, the greatest victories truly deserve the greatest celebrations, but this is but a taste of the chaos when we open those doors…” “And what a show it'll be, huh?” you mused and prepared, one last drink. crème de cassis in a martini glass, adorned with strawberries, and topped to the brim with smooth champagne, the clear drink taking on inky hues of red as the glass filled up. A crackle of station tuning accompanied Alastor's expression. “a kir royal…” “Elegant, direct, made finer by the quality of each ingredient, and delightfully devilish,” you said, handing him the grand glass. Alastor observed it, swirled the glass, held it under his nose for a sniff, before taking a dainty sip. “Haa. Huskar used to make this, back when he was, less droll. He knew it went right to me.” “I'd hazard a guess, elusively fine drink. But, you are starting to stumble,” you said, lifting the glass from his grip. “Shall I and this drink accompany you to your room?” “You are merely carrying my drinks, understood? I wish not a repeat of that infuriating frosted Twink.” “So, less for the carnal pleasures, are we?” “The more Carry, the less talk, the better” Alastor mumbled as they reached the room. He brought up his key, pushed it to the lock, missed. Reeled back, again, missed. Then he rammed his key and fist through the lock -kkrrpstshths- splintering wood and throwing the door open, stumbling inside as uncast shadows forged the lock together, “Perhaps that dalrling has some judge of character. for a mutt you have your leg in the game,” Alastor mused as he stepped out of his trousers, the pants hanging in the air before he snapped his fingers, and they dematerialized in a shower of arcane runes, then hel out his hand for his drink. You closed the door. The 'Undressed, check…' you thought. -Kllctch- the you turned the key in the lock. “Your drink,” you said, placing it in his palm. “My good man, or perhaps your kin adheres to the, good dog moniker,” he mused, and put the glass to his lips. “My thanks,” you said, moving closer. “But I wouldn't go that far…” It was now or never, and the option was clear: how could Alastor be prepared for you, if you had no idea what you were doing?” A leap, the silhouette of your form was cast over the radio demon as you landed square on his back with your chest buffed out. This close impact reverberated with the smatter of throwing a cow of made of bubblegum into a stop sign, as your coat compressed over Alastor's back and merged over his shoulders and armpits -Shhcrtttlpudsghtwp-. The lithe frame of a twig that Alastor's sinner body sported provided little resistance to the bounce, sinking in as mud, with his torso and shoulders enveloped in the first impact. The gamble already paying off, as the sheer shockwave of force left Alastor’s grip of his staff to falter, the microphone screaming with a cry of feedback as it hit the ground. The radio demon's eyes bulged, staring down at himself. Watching his deep burgundy skin superseded by gray. Dunes of ashen hell hound coat billowing in droves of moist clay over his chest and locking around his neck as he'd sunken deeper into your body. Your arms clasped around him, further restricting the mobility of his arms as he thrust down on his gut, -Chhrrllrpsth- a squeal of a waterbed full of nougat denting whilst the Sinner's core submerged into your stomach. “How,” Alastor mused with his head tilted down, rearing back up with empty eyes and blackness spewing in lingering fog around his face, voice going from a hissing radio shrill to crystal clear, deep mirth like a sledgehammer forged from tar, so clean and polished in its quality that it seemed everything else in the room was projected with his voice distortion, “Dare, you touch me.?” “Oh shut your face, you said you'd didn't want any filthy junk, and I have no interest in your body,” you wheezed out as you closed off your senses and tugged with all your might, bolstered by Husker and enhanced by Vaggie, “I just want what you're capable off.” “YoU, ahahrhar,” the distortion burgeoned back into this voice in the cackle, “think this, would challenge me even at my lowest?” he growled, and snapped his fingers, to a deafening clack. A glow from his fingertips drawing tethers to rings in the air, eencircling rings over your body, through whist shadows emerged, broad tentacles wedged through the seems where they merged, wrapping around Alastor and tugging him outwards. Other tendrils swarmed over your neck, their cool oil drooling from the appendages and seeping frostbite through your skin, tautening to wring the air out of our breath. “Die, like the Dog you are,” he commanded through the tremor in his voice… then… You stopped gasping. -Clllssrpth- More movement of tentacles, new dark openings birthing limbs that wrung around Alastor's tendrils, clasping around his body, and choked the limbs hogging your neck, the tendrils in grays and black worming over each other, distracted from their task and choking each other out in grand breeding balls across their bodies. You stare down at Alastor, eyes clean white, with but an outline of your crossed pupils left in the eerie glow. “Funny. I Always thought you'd make a fine chew toy.” -Thhfshd- Alastor slammed his back into the wall with you, -Crrllpsth- which only sunk him a cent deeper into your body. To your delighted chuckles. His fist crackled up to your face, and you failed to cautch it, knocking into your muzzle, blooded, bone creaking back in your head. Your vision dimmed, but in the second hit… you were ready. -Aawnghgs- Your maw opened wide and sank with your glowing white teeth into his fist, the fangs barely breaking surface, but it viced him in place. “Pghaghah what is even happening? this was not part of The program,” he wheezed out, then kicked back -Slptths- getting his foot suck in your leg. But with a furious tug he pulled it free again. “Stay and accept it, we can do so much together,” you wheezed trough your teeth, though playing to that side of the sinner was hardly an option, at least it broke his concentration. You shoved forwards, knocking into a wardrobe and then tumbling into bed. Alastor latching onto the sides to avoid sinking deeper, straining as your whole body pressed firmly into him, compressing the sinner to the mattress. “Fmhhggaark.” “Mgggsrr,” you screamed at each other as the bed rocked beneath you, the contracting springs below creaking under the violence. -Shiinkh- -Thhwnnnsk- -Twwwshnnk-. Squeaks and rumbles could be heard down in the foyer when Angel Dust entered. With a bottle in hand, nursing it as he heard the rampant squeaks above and chuckled. “What is that noise?” Charlie announced as she came down form her office. “And what are you holdi-.” “Someone's getting bissaaay ahahrha,” Angel Dust cheered and chugged the last of the beer, throwing it into the corner as he walked straight past Charlie. Who sighed and looked between the glass and Angel Dust, before deciding to clean up first… The orchestra of squeals from the bed rung out through the room as the sinner and demon laid locked in combat. An orgy of eldritch appendages battling between them, curling and coiling, fuming and choking to and fro. Alastor watched as his right arm dips into the malleable fur, past your coat. A hoist and slam to ease him out of it, only for the counter force to tug him deeper, reeling him in with the rebound -Shtwffjlloff-. Ash's tendril's folding in over his own and aiding in tugging him deeper, deeper. He stares as the mounds of flesh warped over his biceps, sliding upward along his forearms like a rising surface of tar, -Shshrl- Untill… -Chhrlpt- It closed over his arm, completely. In its place laid a dome of meat warping out your biceps to a grotesque parody of musculature, but one which moved on its own, shifts and struggles sending the surface oscillating with the meat below bending and clutching onto the shape of Alastor's arm. “Phaha…” you wheeze out, holding up your arm and flexing so your body compressed and smoshed the outline of Alastor's arm taut to the surface of squirming tendrils, your skin a slate for the unwilling bearer. “Ohaam, I know you feel this power, we are more together than apart,” you groan out, a surge in your arm is only amplified by his struggles as it spread through your body, “achieving not justmfms power, but status. We contour the monarchy as our own, the seven rings at our stage.” “With you at the helm it will bomb like an opera for toddlers. I will personally rend asunder every artery in your body and string them up to a speaker which can play the Dolcet tones of your screams for eternity.” “So ya say, but you are really just a power bottom.” The sheer radiating frustration fuming from the radio demon was sulfurous, a grind in his nose but also all other senses. But it did distract him… and that was your only advantage until you could harness more of Alastor's power- The sinner's face shot up, grinding on the back of your chest with a creak of rubber, dipping deeper, yet he stared with pupils contracting to a dot. All tendrils, his and yours, stiffened… His pupils dilated, and at once and the tentacles jiggled until they melted into jelly, drooping down the bed and onto the floor. And that was another part of your advantage gone. Alastor heaved a grasp of the bed, and launched the two of you over it, knocking you onto your side as he drew his head outwards. Straining against him and stumbling to stand. Alastor titled you forwards and walked on his own legs, ramming you into the wall -Sdkdkwpthtd-. Something dislocated… but you grabbed a hold of a wardrobe and hoisted, and wrung it forwards, keeping the grasp tight as it toppled over you. “I would like to Fashion a second opinion on this plan of yours,” Alastor screamed as the hard mahogany bored own on the two of you -Lllthfhpwhfhabh-. The struggle paused for a moment. -Kckksth- Then splinters burst through the wood, fracturing as the Radio demon tore through it with one arm. Head sinking, lower and lower. His body dipped down in waves over the hell hound, fleetingly sticking out at your ankles, lower torso, then head and left arm. But the image of Alastor laid complete across the canvas of your body as it emerged from the wrecked wardrobe. The negative space funnelled up with droves of the hell hound's body, warping over the contours of the sinner, and the bulges kept crawling, consuming more of Alastor's body, a slow, turgid quicksand. You laid battered, beaten from Alastor and yourself alike, but the pressure of the cabinet had worked, the force had been absorbed and sent tumbling back into you. And yet there was still a raging beast jutting out of your chest. “It is… close.” “I refuse. I will, I will shred you asunder from the inside out.” “Then, go ahead'n try,” you growled, clapping your arms together, pinning his arm against yours, and pushing down. The force of the bulk engulfed flesh weighing down on the demon's head, as your arms sunk down onto your chest in a gesture of pocking prayers, a crinkle and clatter -Sllphthtph- from Alastor wedging his head from side to side in the engulfing flesh bulging over him, until his noise was not but static, fading under the burgeoning flesh melding over him in a fuzzy aperture -Chslrlptch-. -Sllpth- With a smack the creak sloughed over his face, arm and fingers spiralling as they sank in… engulfed. All across your body laid the outline of Alastor, his legs scrunched along yours, long but folded in an awkward twist and shivering under your skin, his crotch lining up with your own, and slim body morphed against your torso, his arms worming under yours… The static was still there, muted, drowning, as the bulge of his face sculpted to his motions, growls echoing through your frame. Yet… You had… done it. The radio demon… helpless, under your skin… and Alastor would have stood true to his promise, were it not for… the sheer power seeping from his flesh into yours, bolstering your body’s capabilities, reknitting damaged flesh -Crll-plltch- popping your shoulder back into its socket. Just… had to wait now. “We did it… Just, easy now, this will be for the bette-.” -A slam roused your form and robbed you of the satisfaction -Sthhtpthst- a kick rumbled with a gelatenous squeal of burning latex at your middle, a bulge stretching out half an arm ahead in the guise of Alastor's foot with your skin stretching down along it to the outline of a boot. -Sllpwthtaht- And at the peak the top the foot bullied through, back out into the open air. You slammed both arms down on the bulge, cramming it back down before it could tear through you -Shrrlpsth-. -Cptphtwth- But then another came… You stumbled to standing, holding over your body, trying to choke down the lumps as they swelled up. Strikes, kicks, pummels swelling up along and around the thrashing outline. Clambering yourself back towards the bed, you hissed, strained to contain him. “Would you jus' give in? Accept defeat like the overlord you claim to be.” “Think that's gonna work on me? You think I can't spot a liar?” “Evidence, fmsmapgh, points to yes…” You gnashed out through your teeth as you laid down, on your belly, gruelling to contain him to the mattress. -Cllpththg- -Llgpthhst- knocks and billowing bloats of Alastor's resistance hammering into the bed, harder, faster. -Thpths- -Kjjtwhwhng-kkthTwwhngh- Charlie peeked up at the squeaking, tumbling noise in the distance above. “Should… should someone? Someone should take a look at that, right?” “Whoooo,” came Angel Dust as he stormed out the foyer, “They're going the distance, round two.” “Hang on, where are you going?” “I forgot my beelzejuice shots.“ “Y-your what?” Charlie exclaimed, “Angel Dust, Wait up.” This definitely wasn't working to-. Unless your goal was to make some, reverse perversion of a massage bed that massages other beds, you were just laying there getting queasy as Alastor gave you a tumultuous stomach ache. Domes were protruding from distinct contours of the Sinner in elongated domes drumming into the bedding below. “This is the worst, pain of my unlike…” you grumbled, breathing heavier, the consistent ache funnelling through your body until you couldn't take it. Shifting to the side to land a direct pummel to your gut. -Thhtndg-. The shockwave of ache sprouted through your frame. You cursed under your breath. “Just hit myself in the guts…” “Gnnrhhgaa, would you stop it…” But this, this was interesting. First you peeked down at the settled gut, then your eyes flung wide. This meant two things… one, Alastor felt what you felt… Two, with Alastor in this state, you had enough force to Hurt Alastor. And, if he felt what you felt… “I will cleave you head to toe and stitch you back together just, so I can, Can…” Alastor trembled, the flesh around him weighing harder, as if someone packed cement over the hell hound's body. “What… are…” his energy was wavering, concentrating towards, one point, down at his… “Unhand me.” You heard him scream, but you gripped tighter, feeling the meat pulsate under your grasp, propped up in bed, with your hand secured to your dick. “What? You haven't had, anyone play with your joystick for a while, eh?” you said, massaging your gentle tugs. Within, Alastor felt his shaft, funnelled up through the crotch, enveloped on all sides by the doming, bloated sleeve of Ash's meat, and each caress kneaded it down like steamy dough, clamping, kneading, stimulating. “S-steoppit I d-don't. These… what are t-these…” Alastor's senses wavered, soaking in a sense alien to him, someone else’s emotions sloping in to fill his brain up like shampoo. You kept up the rhythm, breathing in tact to it, watching your cock expand, funnelling more of Alastor's dick into your own. The contours of the radio demon's body were deflating, cratering towards your crotch. “You may not, have any lust left in you to feel this,” you mused as you pumped your shaft, swelling bloated like a cucumber in your grasp, “but… you didn't account for the fact, that I do… and I'mfms, a very, dirty dog…,” you groaned out. “SsSsta-... sst-stop t-this I-. I don't want…” Alastor's digits drew dunes along your skin as he clawed in desperation. The sinner’s body drawn towards your crotch as your mast only grew, and grew. Bloats formed up the shaft, down the base Alastor's lap, folding up into the twitching meat, contorting out wide as a cantaloupe to swell in girth and length, a thrashing gourd undulating with pleasure. Harder, harder, you felt it coming, so did he, and he vocalised his protests in a string of characters and buzzing howls of garbage noise. Two hands were required to pump the sinner-fattened dick protruding out your Alastor deformed body. The rush palpating through you… and at once, unleashed… -Slpptthth- The climax wandered through your mast in a sluggish pace, as if crowed by restricted emotions and years of lust, unloaded in a sludgy chain of spunk drooling down your chest, one stream hosed in a throb of the mast to drizzle the thick slime up your muzzle, soaking you in the semi-solid lust… Gradually, your duck constricted, the domes still threading the lithe sculpt of Alabaster, smoothing, steamrolling back into under your coat, till nothing remained but pink battered gourd. But it felt like you had actually… ejaculated part of Alastor with it… which you have? You especially didn't know how it worked while zooted on the afterglow… through your body the torching strain of transformation was lost in the wellspring of lust, rattling through your shaft as it merged down, deposing the bulk of the funnelled body -Sllpblttpah- with a chug and molding it down to one thicker, voluptuous battering of raw muscle through you. The steaming hot sensation of new flesh knitting in place all across your dick feeling like a cactus shoved down your manhood, but in this moment of pleasure the pricks became an enhancing acupuncture. Your moans shrieking louder, louder, peaking into new pitches that cycled through the static until the whole room was shaking. Of all the things he could provide, it was to amplify your speaker. You bared your teeth in a grin, it felt so natural, so smooth, tongue trailing across your fangs, molars growing into fangs, tarred golden as they drilled though your maw, forcing a grin in place… and above, your horns bleed into a deeper scarlet, stripes of crimson running through them in a pinstripe patterm as if pained by invisible hands. “Excellent, hell and back that’s so, fmmgoood,” you wheezed, tongue hanging over your precarious fangs. But, it was done. You had caught him… absorbed him, the radio demon… -Thhwptht- A bulge threw up at your core, the front a detailed outline of slim but potent knuckles, stretching back like a latex fabric down to your gut, the force enough to bob you up on the bed. “Gaga.” “That…” came a whisper from within, with nearly a touch of wave frequency corruption, “Was, a dirty, trick.” You clicked your tongue, holding down your gut, there wasn't another punch in him for now, folding down the bulge into your frame and wheezing between your breaths. “Still. Won't settle…” you huffed. “Gonna, need something, stronger… How the, heaven am I, g-ghuna…” “Alright, you horn puppies. I know you're in one of these rooms. Are you gonna make me find you? I'm offering a threesome and it is gonna be hot enough to steam your balls off.” A faint smirk cracked onto your exhausted lips. Maybe… you needed a few more pairs of hands to take down this bad boy…?