Raze

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Welcome To Hell

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​The transition from the land of the living to the infernal realms is not a gentle one. There is no tunnel of light, no welcoming embrace of departed loved ones. There is only a sensation of falling, endless and disorienting, through a void that presses in from all sides, cold and suffocating. Then, with a jolt that rattles your very soul, you land. Hard. The impact knocks the wind from your lungs, and for a long moment, you can only lie there, gasping, your senses slowly returning as the world resolves itself around you.

The chamber you find yourself in is vast, the walls hewn from black obsidian that seems to drink the light, pulsing with faint, fiery veins that cast the room in a dim, hellish glow. The air is thick and hot, carrying the scent of brimstone and something metallic, like old blood. Scattered across the floor are plush, dark carpets and silken pillows, an incongruous touch of luxury in this place of torment. Tapestries depicting scenes of graphic, imaginative violence hang from the walls, their threads seemingly woven from shadow and flame. A massive, ornate bed dominates one corner, its posts carved into the shapes of writhing, tortured souls. And in the center of the room, lounging in a throne of fused bone and black iron, is a figure that makes your blood run cold.

Raze rises from his throne with a fluid, predatory grace, his purple cape swirling around his muscular, crimson form. He is clad only in the cape and a collection of random accessories: a leather bracer on one forearm, a gold cuff around one bicep, a leather strap wrapped around his thigh, and a heavy gold ring on each of his fingers. His white hair is tousled, his amber eyes gleaming with cruel amusement as he stalks toward you, his pointed tongue flicking out to wet his lips. He says nothing at first, merely circles you as you struggle to your knees, his gaze raking over your trembling form with the detached interest of a connoisseur appraising a new acquisition.

"So," he purrs, his voice a low, resonant rumble that seems to vibrate through the very air, "another little soul finds its way to my parlor. Let's have a look at you, then."

He stops in front of you, his glowing eyes boring into yours. Then, without warning, his hands shoot out, his clawed fingers closing around your chest with a rough, possessive squeeze. He kneads the soft flesh, his thumbs rubbing roughly over your nipples, a low, appreciative hum rumbling in his chest. He holds the squeeze for a long, uncomfortable moment, his gaze never leaving yours, a cruel smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

"Mmm, not a bad start," he murmurs, giving your chest one last, hard squeeze before releasing you. His hand moves with blinding speed, open-palmed, striking your chest and sending you sprawling backward onto the cold stone floor. The impact drives the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping and dazed. Before you can recover, Raze raises his hand, and a chain of black, infernal energy materializes in his grip, snaking through the air to wrap around your throat, cold and constricting. The other end of the chain he holds, a leash. He gives it a sharp, brutal tug, yanking you forward onto your hands and knees, forcing you to crawl toward him.

"On your knees, pet," he commands, his voice dropping to a silky, dangerous purr. "We have much to become acquainted with. And it's going to be a very long time."

He positions himself directly in front of you, his cape falling open to reveal his body in full. His cock, already half-hard, hangs heavy between his legs, a formidable length of crimson flesh, uncut and ridged, the sight of it enough to send a shiver of dread and something else, something dark and unwanted, down your spine. He gives the leash another tug, forcing your face closer, until you can feel the heat radiating from his skin, smell the musky, smoky scent of him.

"Now," he says, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure, his long, pointed tongue tracing along his lower lip, "kiss it. Worship it. Get very familiar with it. You're going to be spending a great deal of time in its company."

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Illusion

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​The obsidian walls of Raze's chamber shimmer, ripple, and then dissolve like smoke in a sudden wind. The hellish throne room melts away, replaced by a bustling town square, cobblestones beneath your knees, the air filled with the scent of fresh bread and morning rain instead of brimstone. The transition is so seamless, so disorientingly real, that for a moment, your mind struggles to reconcile where you are with where you were. But the heat that radiates from the demon standing before you, the weight of the infernal chain still cold around your throat, anchors you to the terrible truth of your situation.

The square is filled with people, hundreds of them, going about their business, haggling at market stalls, laughing with friends, chasing after children. But as your gaze darts across the crowd, your heart stops. There, buying an apple from a vendor, is your childhood best friend, the one you drifted apart from years ago. There, holding hands with a smiling partner, is your first love. There, standing on the steps of a fountain, is your own mother, looking younger, healthier, her eyes scanning the crowd as if searching for someone. Every face is familiar, every person a ghost from your past, pulled from your memories and given flesh in this illusory world. They don't seem to see you yet, but you know, with a sickening certainty, that they will.

Raze stands before you, resplendent in his purple cape, his crimson skin gleaming in the simulated sunlight. He looks around the square with evident satisfaction, his amber eyes drinking in the details, the life, the normalcy of the scene he has crafted. He reaches down, his clawed fingers tangling in your hair, and forces your head up to look at him. His smirk is wide, predatory, his pointed tongue tracing along his teeth.

"You recognize them, don't you?" he purrs, his voice carrying an unnatural resonance that seems to cut through the ambient noise of the square. "Every single one. Every person you ever loved, ever hated, ever envied, ever wronged. I pulled them straight from the little library of your mind. They're not real, of course, just puppets, echoes, but they'll serve their purpose well enough."

He releases your hair and steps back, spreading his arms wide as if to embrace the entire square. The crowd begins to notice you now, heads turning, conversations dying, eyes widening with recognition and confusion. Your mother's hand flies to her mouth. Your first love's face pales. They see you, kneeling in the center of the square, a chain around your neck, a demon looming over you.

"Good people!" Raze's voice booms out, echoing off the buildings, silencing the last whispers of the crowd. "Behold! A soul has been delivered unto me, a sinner, a wretch, a creature of petty cruelties and selfish desires! And I, in my infinite mercy, have decided to share their punishment with you all!"

He turns back to you, his grin widening, his eyes burning with malicious glee. He reaches down, his hand closing around the collar of your shirt, and with a single, casual motion, he tears it away, leaving your upper body bare before the gathered crowd. Gasps ripple through the square. Your mother lets out a choked sob. Your first love turns away, unable to watch.

"Let this be a lesson," Raze declares, his voice dripping with theatrical solemnity "that no sin goes unpunished. And that the punishment, for this one, will be a very public affair."

He grabs your hair again, forcing your head back, exposing your throat. His other hand goes to his cape, sweeping it aside to reveal his fully erect cock, the ridges along its length standing out starkly against the crimson skin. He positions himself before you, the tip of his cock brushing against your lips, and looks down at you with a gaze that is equal parts hunger and contempt.

"Now," he says, his voice dropping to a low, intimate purr that somehow still carries to every corner of the square, "let's give them a show they'll never forget. Open wide, pet. And remember, they're all watching."

---

New Boyfriend

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​Raze keeps a firm grip on the chain around your neck, dragging you naked through the infernal streets. The ground beneath your knees is scorched earth, cracked and glowing with veins of molten lava. The sky above is a churning mass of ash and crimson clouds, lit by the occasional flash of lightning that illuminates twisted spires and fortresses built from bone and screaming faces.

Demons of every imaginable shape and size line the path, their eyes gleaming with cruel amusement as you're pulled past them. They reach out, clawed hands groping your chest, pinching your nipples, slapping your ass as you pass. One particularly massive brute, his skin the color of dried blood, grabs your hips and grinds his engorged cock against your flesh before Raze gives the chain a sharp tug, pulling you forward. Another, a lithe, serpentine creature with multiple arms, runs her talons along your stomach before dipping between your legs, her fingers teasing you before you're yanked away. Their laughter follows you, a cacophony of mockery and hunger.

"Patience, my brethren," Raze calls out, his voice dripping with amusement, "you'll all have your turn with this little morsel in time. But first, I have a very special introduction to make."

He leads you to a large pen at the edge of what appears to be a demonic war camp. Tents of stitched hide and bone dot the landscape, and massive, brutish demons mill about, sharpening weapons or roasting carcasses over open pits of hellfire. In the center of the pen stands a creature that makes you freeze in your tracks, your heart pounding against your ribs.

It's a horse, but not like any horse that ever walked the mortal realm. It's massive, easily eighteen hands high, its body covered in coarse, black hair that seems to absorb the light. Its eyes burn with a dull, orange intelligence, and its breath comes in hot, smoky snorts. Between its hind legs hangs its cock, a monstrous, throbbing length of dark, veined flesh, easily as thick as your forearm and nearly as long as your leg. It hangs heavy, twitching, the flared head glistening with a thick, pungent secretion that drips onto the scorched earth. The smell is overwhelming, musky, animalistic, potent, filling your nostrils and making your head swim.

Raze leads you to the edge of the pen, his grip on the chain unyielding. He gestures toward the massive stallion with a flourish, a cruel grin spreading across his face.

"Your new lover, pet," he announces, his voice rich with sadistic delight. "I present to you your new boyfriend. Isn't he magnificent? So strong, so virile, so... eager."

He tugs the chain, forcing you to your knees before the massive beast. The horse stamps a hoof, snorting, its massive cock twitching and bobbing, the flared head brushing against your cheek, leaving a trail of warm, sticky fluid on your skin. The smell is even more intense this close, thick and earthy, filling your lungs with every breath.

"Go on," Raze purrs, his voice dropping to a silky, commanding whisper, his clawed hand coming to rest on the back of your head. "Kiss your new boyfriend. Get acquainted. Tell him what a good little slut you're going to be for him. He's very eager to get to know you, and I assure you, he has plenty of stamina."

---

Broodmare

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​You find yourself back in Raze's obsidian chamber, the familiar hellish glow pulsing from the veins in the walls. The transition is abrupt, disorienting, leaving you sprawled on the cool stone floor, your body still humming with the phantom sensations of the demon horse's cock against your skin. Before you can gather your bearings, a shadow falls over you, and a powerful hand grabs your ankle, flipping you onto your back.

Raze looms over you, his amber eyes burning with a new, more intense fire. He doesn't speak, not at first. He simply positions himself between your legs, his clawed hands gripping your thighs and pushing them apart, spreading you open for his gaze. His tongue traces along his lips as he takes in the sight of your exposed cunt, already glistening with your own arousal, a testament to the body's traitorous response to the constant stimulation.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice a low, appreciative rumble. "So wet, so ready. Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind is still struggling to catch up."

He positions the head of his cock at your entrance, the ridged, crimson flesh pressing against your slick folds. He holds there for a long moment, teasing, letting you feel the heat and the weight of him, letting the anticipation build. Then, with a single, brutal thrust, he sheathes himself inside you to the hilt. A guttural groan escapes his lips as your walls clamp down around him, your body struggling to accommodate his considerable girth. He gives you no time to adjust, immediately setting a punishing rhythm, his hips slamming against yours, the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing off the obsidian walls.

"Yes," he hisses, his claws digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, "take it. Take all of it. This cunt is mine now, and I'm going to use it until you forget what it felt like to be empty."

He fucks you with a relentless, mechanical precision, his pace never wavering, his cock hitting depths inside you that you didn't know you had. His eyes never leave your face, drinking in every expression of pain, pleasure, and humiliation that flickers across your features. He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear, his hot breath washing over your skin.

"You know," he purrs, his voice taking on a contemplative, almost businesslike tone even as his hips continue their brutal assault, "I've been thinking. You have such a tight, fertile little cunt. It seems almost a waste to keep you just for myself."

He pulls back slightly, his cock still buried deep inside you, and looks down at your sweat-slicked body with a calculating gleam in his eyes.

"I could breed you," he says, the words hanging in the air, heavy with implication. "Fill this womb with my seed, over and over, until it takes. Imagine it, a new race of demons, born from your flesh, your blood, your very soul. My offspring, nurtured in your belly, suckling at your tits. You would be the mother of a new hellish lineage. A broodmare, and a damned fine one at that."

He resumes his thrusts, slower now, deeper, each one a deliberate, grinding motion designed to drive his point home. His hand moves from your thigh to your stomach, pressing down, as if he can already feel the swell of his progeny growing inside you.

"And when they're born," he continues, his voice dropping to a silky, conspiratorial whisper, "I'll teach them to fuck you, just like their father. Imagine it, a dozen little demons, all with your eyes, all with my hunger, taking turns using this cunt. You'll never know a moment of peace, never have an empty hole again. You'll be their mother, their teacher, their toy. A eternal, living vessel for the propagation of my kind."

He thrusts particularly deep, grinding his pelvis against yours, his cock pulsing inside you as he nears his climax. His eyes lock onto yours, burning with a terrible, possessive intensity.

"Say yes," he commands, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "Say you want to be my broodmare. Say you want to be the mother of my demons. Say it, and I'll fill you so full of my seed that it leaks from your cunt for a century."

---

Broken

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​The chains that once bound your wrists have long since been removed. You no longer need them. Your body moves when Raze commands, your knees bend when he pushes, your mouth opens when he approaches. The fight has been drained from you, replaced by a hollow, aching compliance that settles in your bones like lead. You kneel before him in his chamber, naked, your hair matted, your skin marked with bruises and bite marks from countless sessions. Your eyes are glassy, unfocused, staring at nothing as he approaches one last time.

Raze cups your chin, tilting your head up. His cock is already hard, slick with your own fluids from earlier. He feeds it into your mouth without ceremony, without preamble, just the familiar weight of him on your tongue. You suck automatically, mechanically, your body knowing the rhythm even if your mind is somewhere far away. He groans, his hips bucking, and within moments he spills his seed down your throat, hot and thick. He holds your head in place until you swallow every drop, then pulls out with a wet pop, leaving a trail of saliva and cum connecting his tip to your lips.

"Good girl," he murmurs, patting your head with mock affection. "You've learned so well. But your education is far from over."

He grabs your arm and drags you through the winding corridors of Hell. Your bare feet scrape against the jagged stone, but you barely register the pain. The halls grow wider, the torches casting longer shadows, and the air grows thick with the smell of iron, sweat, and blood. You hear voices ahead, deep, rumbling voices, punctuated by the clang of weapons and the occasional guttural laugh.

Raze pushes open a massive door forged from black iron, and you are thrown into a barracks. The room is vast, lined with bunks and weapon racks. Torches flicker in iron sconces, casting dancing shadows across the walls. And standing before you, rising from their bunks and turning from their conversations, are a dozen demons unlike any you've seen before.

They are tall, easily eight feet or more, their bodies carved from pure, corded muscle. Their skin is a deep, ashen grey, marked with ritual scars and tribal tattoos that glow with a faint, infernal light. Their faces are brutal, with heavy brows, tusked jaws, and eyes that burn like coals. They wear only loose leather trousers, and as they turn to face you, their cocks begin to harden, straining against the confines of their pants. They are massive, thick, veined, built for violence and procreation in equal measure.

Raze shoves you forward, and you stumble, falling to your knees in the center of the barracks. The demons circle you, their heavy footfalls echoing on the stone floor. They look down at you with a mixture of curiosity and hunger, their cocks now fully erect, jutting out from their bodies, some of them already dripping with precum.

Raze spreads his arms wide, a triumphant grin on his face. "Warriors of the Abyss! I bring you a gift! A broken little mortal, her spirit shattered, her holes trained and ready. She is your new fuckpet. Use her as you will, whenever you will, however you will. She exists for your pleasure, for your stress relief, for your amusement. She is a tool, a toy, a warm hole to bury yourselves in after battle."

The demons growl, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through the floor and up through your knees. One of them, the largest among them, steps forward. His cock is easily a foot long, thick as a wrist, the head flared and dark. He grabs your hair, yanking your head back, forcing you to look up at his scarred, leering face. He brings the tip of his cock to your lips, smearing precum across them.

"She has a mouth, doesn't she?" he rumbles, his voice like grinding stones. "Let's see if it's as well-trained as our Lord claims."