Following a disastrous dungeon crawl, an adventuring party makes a series of very poor decisions.
guest story by reluctant-ronin
tags: corruption, demon, girl penis, nsfw, transformation, village of nightmare
“What the hell?” Roland muttered, gaping at the circus freak show that had seemingly replaced the Church of Secklid.
Granted, the thief had never been a religious man, but his profession necessitated the occasional blessing, healing, and resurrection, so he was no stranger to the local house of the Goddess. He was certain there had been far fewer signs advertising “Girls, Girls, Girls!” and red paper lanterns bearing lewd illustrations the last time he’d visited.
“Looking for someone in particular, sweetie?” purred a seductive voice to his left.
Roland turned, coming eye-to-tits with… well, if not the trashiest whore he’d ever seen, certainly a close runner-up. Her tight, spike-studded leather top appeared to have been spilled over her breasts and left to dry, leaving a heart-shaped hole that showed off ample cleavage, while a long, silky loin cloth provided the only modesty down below. Her face was adorned with various shades of bright green makeup (the eye shadow was especially excessive) that matched the unnatural tint of her shoulder-length hair and stood out against her caramel-colored complexion—or was that body paint?
“Like what you see?” she asked with no shortage of bemusement, suggestively toying with one of those exotic pipes popular among the Eastern merchants he’d robbed.
The thief shook his head, the whore’s mocking tone reminding him of his mission. “Is the priest available?” he asked, hoping beyond hope that the bizarre décor was the work of vandals or pranksters.
The woman chuckled hard enough to set her gaudy jewelry jangling. “You’re not likely to find him here,” she said once she regained her breath. “I’m afraid the church is under new management. My name is Natalia, and this is my… gentlemen’s club,” she said, gesturing to a banner that read “Filthy Habits,” decorated with an inverted cross for added irony.
“Well, do you know where I can find him? I’m on urgent business,” Roland barked.
For a moment, Natalia glared at the thief, lazily chewing on the stem of her pipe.
Roland shivered under her almost predatory gaze—was it just him, or did her dark eyes flash red for a brief instant? He felt uncomfortable enough already; his slender build and short stature were best suited to skulking around in shadows, not staring down a deranged hooker wearing thigh-high boots in the harsh light of day. “It’s important,” he pleaded, any pretense of bluster draining away. “One of my friends was badly injured in a dungeon raid. She needs help.”
Natalia broke out in a (sinister?) grin. “Why didn’t you say so? Here at Filthy Habits, we take pride in our spiritual healing services.”
Again, the thief bristled at her words. “I don’t see how a whorehouse…”
“Gentlemen’s club,” she corrected sternly. “And I assure you, our methods are quite… reinvigorating.”
Roland hesitated. Time was of the essence, and he didn’t really feel like turning the city upside down in search of the priest. But something about this situation felt… overwhelmingly wrong. “I don’t know,” he stammered.
“Still not convinced?” Natalia pouted, leaning in so close that the thief could smell the sweat beneath her pungent perfume. “Step inside, honey. I’ll give you a free demonstration that’s guaranteed to change your mind.”
The thief swooned as the whore exhaled a lungful of pink smoke directly into his face, the thick, oddly sweet scent of the tobacco invading his nostrils and eroding away all thoughts of his companions…
*FLASH!*
Helena stumbled back from the rickety bedframe, warm tingles spreading from her chest to her extremities as the ambient magical energy abated. She pinched the bridge of her nose, her head swimming from the strain of this latest healing session.
Groaning, she peeled back her sweat-soaked hood and undid her tight ponytail, letting her mop of drenched auburn curls fall across her shoulders. The coolness brought some relief, but she still felt as though she’d just trudged through a volcano.
Thankfully, the mage’s efforts—despite thoroughly expending her mana pool—seemed to have finally alleviated the last of Olga’s pain. Now, it would be up to the priest to remove the hex that had caused their party so much agony and grief.
Helena glanced back at her companion. The paladin’s sun bronzed skin remained caked with grime, her normally radiant, neatly-braided hair in disarray, darkened with subterranean dust and plastered to her face, but at least the scar from that wicked witch’s spell—which had been terribly scorched and inflamed mere moments ago—had been reduced to a patch of irritation no worse than sunburn. And, despite the… less than ideal accommodations, she was slumbering peacefully.
The healer swore under her breath—uncharacteristic, but not unwarranted. She simply could not fathom why the local prostitutes felt compelled to conduct their business at this inn when there were allegedly two perfectly good brothels available. Between the incessant catlike yowls of pleasure (faked for the customer’s benefit, she assumed) and heavy odor of tobacco, she hadn’t gotten a wink of the sleep she desperately required to replenish her magics.
Thank the Goddess for the enchanted ring she’d plucked from that crazed cultist’s corpse; it made for an excellent conduit, amplifying her waning powers and allowing her to attend to her patient more efficiently. She held out her hand to admire its intricate design: the metal had been meticulously fashioned into the shape of two intertwining serpents, and the light practically danced across the many facets of the blood-red gemstone clenched between their jaws. Fashionable, as well as functional, she mused with an increasingly dazed grin; the onyx band even matched the color of her nails.
Wait… Helena never wore makeup, much less black nail polish—her order forbade such vanities. Panicking, she tugged at the bauble, only to find it securely fastened to her finger.
Cursed! She should have known better than to meddle with it; even the most seemingly innocuous items could prove treacherous. She’d have to mention it to the priest when he arrived; he’d be able to properly disenchant it…
*FLASH*
Then again, painted nails and a slightly paler complexion were a small price to pay for such a powerful artifact. Besides, Olga’s wellbeing took priority over Helena’s comparatively minor problem.
Olga! Dread settled in the pit of Helena’s gut: channeling her healing spell through the ring might have transferred a piece of the curse into the paladin’s body; if it interacted with the witch’s hex, the results would be catastrophic. The mage turned to the bed with renewed apprehension; indeed, that blotch of “sunburn” had deepened to a rich crimson that was slowly creeping across her pelvis.
This was bad. Very bad. Helena threw on her hood and stormed towards the door. She needed to locate Roland and the priest before this… taint or corruption or whatever it was progressed too far…
*FLASH*
But… perhaps she should examine Olga more closely first. After all, it was irresponsible to leave a suffering patient unsupervised. She wasn’t even sure of how severe the situation was. Why, a resourceful healer like herself might even miraculously discover a way to stanch the curse’s spread.
Hesitantly, as if fighting against her own limbs, Helena knelt beside the bed, watching the inexorable advance of her friend’s transforming flesh. Experimentally, she reached out, half expecting to be repelled by a jolt of static electricity, but instead finding the afflicted skin… hot. Not quite feverish, but… pleasantly warm, like a patch of sunlight on a winter morning.
Entranced, the healer gingerly traced along as the red pigmentation gradually enveloped the paladin’s abdomen, lingering on the taut, well-defined muscles, solid as iron beneath her touch.
Helena licked her lips, staining them midnight black. All these years hunting for treasure in dank caves and dilapidated ruins, and this glorious bounty had escaped her notice. Clad in her stylish armor of polished silver, blue cape billowing dramatically behind her, Olga was the perfect picture of feminine grace—a warrior, yes, but a lady nonetheless. Stripped bare, however, she looked positively statuesque. Amazonian. Virile.
Continuing its steady march, the corruption swallowed up the paladin’s crotch, the neatly trimmed pubic bush thickening, curling, and darkening to an inky black in its wake. She moaned, writhing atop the tattered mattress and feebly kicking at the moth-eaten blankets at her feet. Her subconscious mind desperate to quench her body’s sudden but insistent thirst for release, she grabbed ahold of the nearest instrument and shoved it into her gushing snatch.
The nearest instrument just so happened to be Helena’s hand. The tantalizing fragrance of Olga’s arousal washed over her, flooding her nostrils and filling her brain with such… deliciously naughty ideas. The mage’s eyes rolled back, and when they refocused, they glowed a sadistic yellow.
Encouraged by every pleading mewl, the tainted healer probed her friend’s lower depths, the deviant thrill of reducing such a proud, noble fighter to a quivering, needy slut permeating every fiber of her being.
And as her pure soul faltered, the ring’s curse finally found purchase, slithering across her like a cunning viper. First, it disintegrated her cloak, a symbol of devotion to the false goddess Secklid, of her desire to protect the weak and innocent; these things were no longer necessary. Next, it transformed her modest underclothes into a constricting leather corset that made no effort to cover her nipples or pussy—unlike her old, tyrannical deity, her new master would not subject her to the oppression of needless chastity. Even her rosy, freckled complexion was not immune to the… liberating caress, lightening first to a chalky white, then to a pale, icy blue.
Helena shook her head, her significantly shaggier hair brightening to a fiery orange with the motion. Though she could not will herself to cease her ministrations, some increasingly muted sliver of her mind knew that these intrusive thoughts… these seductive whispers were wrong. She needed to regain her senses before she fell too far—and worse, dragged her cherished comrade down with her.
“Nnnnngh, fffffuck. Deeper, Roland,” Olga groaned groggily, her feminine folds clamping down on her friend’s inquisitive digits like a vice.
*FLASH!*
Roland?! Searing, irrational anger throbbed in Helena’s temples, pushing out a pair of sinister ebon ram horns that curved around her pointed, lengthening ears. Olga had wasted all these years lusting after that… that ropy wimp like some pathetic, timid schoolgirl when she possessed such a magnificently sculpted physique? She could hardly believe she’d ever respected the paladin as her equal. If she really wanted the thief that badly, all she needed to do was shove his face into the mud and ram her cock up his…
No! These images… they weren’t right. Prim, elegant Olga with a (thick, succulent) penis? Charismatic, confident Roland on his knees, rump raised, shuddering with anticipation? Goddess, these were her friends! They’d risked life and limb together on innumerable adventures, supported each other through countless hardships. The ring… this fucking ring had twisted her desires and perverted her perceptions. She… she had to… she needed to…
*FLASH!*
She needed to teach this pitiful bitch how to be more assertive. Helena smirked, her razor sharp fangs gleaming in the gem’s enveloping light.
Olga’s hearing was the first of her senses to return, her ears twitching, stretching longer to better detect the rhythmic, metallic creaking and… something else… something obscenely wet. She became distantly aware that her body was gently rocking back and forth, and that something… something pleasantly warm was sliding up and down her thigh, discharging a trail of slick, sticky fluid to lubricate its path.
The paladin’s vision came next, hazy, indistinct shapes and colors gradually swimming into focus as she regained consciousness. She wearily blinked away the last lingering crust of sleep…
…only to find a pair of malevolent reptilian eyes staring hungrily into her own.
Olga recoiled, her drowsy mind reeling from the sudden sensory assault: the intoxicating scent of sex and lust permeating the cramped bedroom; the amorous heat of the womanhood grinding vigorously against her leg; and the surprising weight of the petite succubus that had mounted her while she slumbered.
The she-demon’s plump lips, black as charcoal, peeled back into a jagged, sadistic smirk. Sweat cascaded down her cerulean skin as she doubled the tempo of her furious bucking, the bedframe groaning in protest under their combined mass.
Struggling to suppress her burgeoning arousal, Olga desperately scanned her surroundings for her sword, quickly spotting it propped up against the wall in a shadowy corner, alongside her carelessly discarded armor. With sinew tense as coiled springs and her fists clenched so tightly she could feel the tiny bones popping, the paladin prepared to leap to her feet…
*FLASH!*
…only to be yanked back down onto the mattress with a violent crash, rendered utterly immobile, as though held fast by invisible chains.
“Not so fast, you naughty bitch,” the monster playfully chided. “You’re mine until I say otherwise.”
That voice… somewhere, buried beneath the venomous malice, Olga recognized… “Helena?” she stammered, incredulous. “What in the Goddess’ name have you…?”
“Hush,” her corrupted companion commanded. “Toys are not allowed to speak.”
The cursed ring flashed again, compelling the ensnared warrior to comply in spite of herself, as if a nonexistent thread had sewn her mouth shut.
“Hmph. Disgraceful,” Helena said with a wry chuckle. “Pretending to be this… fearless holy knight when you’re afraid to be honest with yourself. Bottling up all those… primal urges and instincts every time you so much as glanced at Roland, acting like a damsel in distress because you can’t handle what you really are.” She leaned tantalizingly close, her hot breath tickling Olga’s ear as she punctuated each calculated word with a slow, sensual roll of her hips. “A sexy. Savage. Beast!”
And with that, the wanton demoness grabbed… something attached to the paladin’s head and gave a harsh jerk, forcing her to gaze into the dusty, cracked vanity mirror on the nearby nightstand—to confront the horrible truth of her own reflection.
A horn. That’s what the she-devil had used for leverage. A bull’s horn, to be precise: long, sharp as a spear, and gently curving as it emerged from an unruly mane of soot-black hair. Her hair, which had once been the color of a field of wheat on a summer’s day, but was now undeniably tainted by demonic influence. And her muscles… Goddess, how grotesquely they bulged beneath her crimson-stained skin! Previously, she’d been able to tastefully conceal them with a formal dress when the occasion arose, but the curse had inflated them to such ridiculous proportions that such elegant attire would look less out-of-place on an elephant.
Helena smiled impishly at the sight of her comrade drinking in her thoroughly perverted form for the first time. “Look at yourself,” she growled. “If you’re not going to put these assets to good use, then you deserve to be treated like a fucktoy.” She shoved the hapless paladin’s face into her modest bosom, forcing her to inhale the alluring, enticing aroma of her perspiration. “My fucktoy!”
The deranged demoness let loose a predatory howl as she resumed her possessive humping. With each ragged, rasping breath, her heaving tits ballooned out, further smothering the vanquished warrior.
Olga moaned into the fleshy cushions, her clitoris buzzing, pulsing, engorging in perfect sync with her depraved captor’s lewd rhythm, growing longer and thicker in direct proportion to the irrepressible anger burning in her chest. Fucking whore, she thought, her neglected pussy clenched so tightly that it hurt. Thinks she can belittle me? Use me? I’m a fucking paladin of the Church of Secklid! If I don’t go around plowing every slut I see, it’s only because I choose not to. If I really wanted to, I could ruin this little bitch’s…
And with that decidedly unchaste image resonating through her mind, a pair of hefty, pendulous testicles erupted forth from the paladin’s cunt with a moist pop, slick with the last feminine juices she would ever produce and heavy with her new male seed.
“There’s a good toy,” Helena teased, momentarily ceasing her self-stimulation to give the virgin phallus a tender caress, coaxing out its first dribble of precum. “Now I can really break you in.” The succubus shifted her weight, bracing herself on Olga’s broad shoulders as she lined up her drooling lower lips with that splendidly bestial cock, drizzling her corrupted fluids over the damp, tangled forest wreathing those fertile balls. Once positioned to her satisfaction, she lowered herself onto the bulbous head…
…and met with unexpected resistance. Grunting in frustration, the she-demon pushed herself down again, and again, stubbornly refusing to be denied her exquisite pleasure. But her efforts were in vain—it was as though her womanhood had been welded shut from the inside.
With Helena’s attention thus diverted, the potency of her binding spell began to wane. Sensing an opportunity to escape, Olga seized it, her arms darting out swift as cobras, effortlessly lifting the fallen mage…
*FLASH!*
…before roughly, cruelly slamming her back down. The transformed warrior’s monstrous dick practically vanished into her partner’s yielding asshole, sliding in as easily as her holy blade returned to its scabbard. She gave her tormentor no time to recover, pistoning deeper, and deeper still, absolutely merciless and relentless in her display of newfound dominance. “Yeah, take it, cumslut!” she hissed between rapidly sharpening teeth. “How do you like being my toy?”
Helena cried out in ecstasy, apparently delighted at the sudden turn of events. And why shouldn’t she be? Her lover’s every thrust added more curves and removed more blemishes—her hips widened, her waist narrowed, her freckles faded, her clit expanded, and her lengthening tail lashed enthusiastically as she bounced up and down on that glorious pillar of corrupted flesh with unwavering zeal. And when Olga finally experienced her first orgasm as an unapologetically slutty succubus…
*POP!*
….so did Helena.
Hours later, Helena awoke atop the splintered wreckage of the bed. She sighed contentedly as she nestled into her still-snoring companion’s possessive, dominant embrace, savoring the musky scent of their soul-shattering lovemaking. But as the initial euphoria of their shared metamorphosis gradually subsided, sobering realization dawned: the formerly studious and devoted mage had broken her order’s every vow, given herself over to the vilest of witchcraft, sacrificed her purity, her humanity, her very gender….
…and she was finding it exceedingly difficult to care. What, after all, had she truly lost? Piety, virtue, altruism—all had been fragments of a façade pieced together to disguise the gaping void in her soul. Well, she had finally discovered something real and tangible and very, very substantial to fill that emptiness, rendering her delusions of self-righteousness irrelevant and inconsequential. How could the warm, fuzzy feeling of mending some brat’s broken bone or rescuing a pompous merchant from bandits possibly compete with the deliciously carnal sensation of her lover’s semen leaking out of her thoroughly ravaged asshole, of her own cum slowly cooling as it trickled down her skin?
Her cock stirring to half-mast in anticipation of all the future depravities she intended to indulge in, the healer lazily traced the elaborate pattern that had magically tattooed itself onto Olga’s torso as they… consummated their new relationship: a snake, slithering from the base of her spine around to her abdomen, then up to her right breast, where it lovingly coiled around the perpetually hardened nipple.
Helena’s contemplative gaze drifted over the matching design adorning her own chest (though her serpent favored the left tit) before settling on the cursed ring that had initiated her descent…
*…*
…that had enabled her sublime rebirth. She admired its gemstone one last time… and then casually plucked it from finger and flung it away. The bauble clattered noisily across the wooden floorboards before disappearing in a puff of smoke. Its work completed, she no longer required it; its power now resided within her blackened heart. Perhaps, to some extent, it always had.
Suddenly, Olga’s arms wrapped tighter around Helena’s waist, interrupting her reverie. “Morning, fucktoy,” she whispered playfully, hands venturing back to fondle her partner’s buttocks and sensitive tail. “Ready to play some more?”
“Tempting,” the mage moaned, melting under her lover’s surprisingly skillful caress. “But we should save our energy… for when Roland arrives.”
“Mmmm, good idea,” the ex-paladin agreed, her dick already eagerly springing to attention. “What’s taking that scrawny bastard so long, anyway?”
“So, are you enjoying the demonstration?”
Roland couldn’t muster an intelligible response; his consciousness was adrift in a haze of tobacco smoke and red velvet curtains, his gaze riveted to the fat, jiggling ass in front of him—naked, glistening with sweat, and gyrating to a slow, sensual melody that he wasn’t entirely sure existed outside of his own mind.
Then the dancer gracefully spun around, and the sight of the incongruous cock jutting out from such an otherwise perfectly feminine figure snapped the thief back to reality. “I… I need to get back to my friends…” he whimpered, his eyes still fixated on the erection as it swung hypnotically from side-to-side. It… it dwarfed his own (rapidly dwindling) manhood.
The unexpected weight of his host’s voluptuous behind crashing into his lap derailed his train of thought and rendered him mute. Natalia leaned forward, her eyes gleaming a sinister shade of red, piercing Roland’s very soul like poisoned daggers. She flashed him a bemused smirk. “That’s right. They need your help. But aren’t you forgetting the healing ritual?”
“Healing ritual…” he repeated, lost in the confusing sensation of her testicles dragging across his bare thigh—when had he taken off his trousers…?
“I can teach it to you, if you’d like,” she purred, grinding against her entranced prey, her prick smacking his stomach, leaving a small dollop of precum that dribbled down to his navel.
The thief shook his head, struggling to clear the stubborn cobwebs. Something about this situation was… weird. Wrong. “No… no time. I’ve stayed too long already…”
Natalia suddenly pinched Roland’s nipples, immediately silencing him. The outmatched adventurer gasped, arching his back, his chest swelling outward to better fill her groping palms. “Come on,” the succubus urged, her disguise glamour fading as she kneaded her new plaything’s growing tits. “You want to save your friend, don’t you? Well, with my technique, you won’t just be healing her today; you’ll be protecting her for a lifetime.”
“Yesssss,” the thief moaned, leaning into his captor’s masterful ministrations, utterly oblivious to her increasingly demonic features and the changes perverting his own body.
“Yes what?” the whore hissed into her soon-to-be sister’s lengthening ear, giving her left nipple a particularly cruel tweak.
That moment of searing pain afforded Roland the measure of clarity that had eluded him since he’d entered this house of vice, allowing him to penetrate the dense sexual fog that had been clouding his perception. He was now able to see, unimpeded, the playful flick of Natalia’s spaded tail, the gentle curve of her horns, the menacing glint of the predatory fangs hidden behind her emerald grin… and somehow recognize in them the template towards which his own transforming frame was gradually, inexorably creeping.
Then he imagined poor Olga, withering away in some kind of group home for crippled warriors, gazing mournfully at the rolling hills beyond the windows of her prison as she died an agonizingly slow straw death.
He imagined Helena, devastated by her failure to save their comrade, dejectedly returning to the magic academy she’d abandoned in favor of their adventures, silently enduring the jeers and ridicule of her peers and professors as she studied in self-imposed solitude, desperate to discover what she might have done differently.
And… he imagined himself wandering alone once more, reduced to stealing stale bread and pocket lint from innocent travelers on the highway, the treasure he truly desired always just out of reach.
And as these troubling visions demolished Roland’s mental defenses, she uttered the only logical response to Natalia’s query: “Yes, Mistress.”
With that, Natalia snapped her fingers, causing the former thief’s miniscule nub of a dick (she’d have to earn back her length and girth) to splatter its seed all over the underside of her own newly grown tits. And as the thoroughly corrupted semen stained her new recruit’s skin a lovely shade of lavender, the demoness leaned in close and whispered, “Welcome to Filthy Habits, slut.”
Total Party Wipe
Author’s Note: Inspired by h-games like ‘Village of Nightmare’ and ‘Succubus Board Game,’ and a loose sequel to my story Filthy Habits (incorporating some of the material I originally cut from it), with some references to RPGs thrown in for good measure. This one grabbed hold of me and wouldn’t let go until I finished it. Hope everyone enjoys.