For My Ascension, I Ordered My Commanders to Stalk Me
Copyright© 2025 by Palescript
Chapter 16: The Proving Grounds
Supernatural Sex Story: Chapter 16: The Proving Grounds - Choose Your Own Synopsis: Black Flag: (least spoilers/you want the darkest ride): Libby's life as a small-town librarian is brought to an end the night two monsters masquerading as men drag her through a portal into Hell. Subjected to public humiliation and ritualized depravity beyond comprehension, Libby clings to one certainty: none of this is random cruelty. What purpose does it, and will she, ultimately serve in this terrible new world? Red Flag blurb is in the Preface.
Caution: This Supernatural Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Mult Mind Control NonConsensual Rape Slavery BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction High Fantasy Horror Paranormal Magic Demons BDSM DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Rough Sadistic Spanking Gang Bang Group Sex Harem Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Double Penetration Exhibitionism Oral Sex Voyeurism Public Sex Royalty Violence
Chapter Trigger Warnings:
-Moderate Body Horror
-Breath Play
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Asmodeus removed his finger from her mouth and fisted the dirty braid at the back of her head, drawing her face towards his cock. The nested tiers of tendrils that covered its pleated head flared wide, and webs of glistening secretions pulled taut between each one.
A wave of disgust penetrated through the fog of her thoughts, and she fought to keep her horrified reaction off her face. At the same time, a detached, mechanical part of her wondered if this was how his cock had always been, or if the anomaly that deformed Auric’s members was more of a gradual process than she’d initially realized.
She stared at the inhuman appendage looming above her. Her eyes dropped to the heavy, swollen sac he’d freed just below it. Down here on her knees, she could make out every single disturbing detail. His dark, uncanny flesh, so engorged it took on a shade of rich merlot. Curved, layered flanges that ran up and down his imposing length in alternating rows, turning an already grotesque organ into what would surely be a nightmare of punishing, unbearable friction.
Wrath guided her head closer, allowing his tendrils to explore the defenseless opening of her mouth. Revulsion crawled across her skin like millions of skittering legs and scattered goosebumps in its wake. They slipped into her warm interior, seeking out and stroking her tongue before moving on to brush along the roof of her mouth.
“Oh, I believe I’ve discovered one of your gadgets, Chancellor Fenrow,” Asmodeus commented, his exploratory tips tracing the coin across her palate. “It’ll be interesting to see it in action. It’s not every day I get to meet another adept conjurer, let alone one who can imbue his own hexes into his creations.”
“Quite so,” Fenrow said, his smile all teeth. “Dual-weaving is one of the many gifts my mother passed down to me, among other things.” He lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “We must make use of the talents we’re given or let them rot and go to waste. It’s truly remarkable what you can accomplish when you refuse to settle for anything but your finest.”
Their deep voices blurred together into meaningless noise. Her eyes grew unfocused as his sinuous lengths continued to coat her lips and chin in a slick film, making wherever they touched burn with an uncomfortable heat.
She was somewhere far away, a place where her mind safely floated above the sting of shame, the sharp scent of Wrath’s peppery musk, and the stringy precum dripping down the front of her throat.
The flat of Asmodeus’ hand suddenly connected with the left side of her face. Her head rocked back on her shoulders and dark spots bloomed across her vision. She couldn’t choke down her raw, ragged gasp as the biting ache radiated along her jaw and into her temple.
“Well don’t just fucking sit there. Suck it. Lick it. Put in some godsdamned effort.” His hand closed around her head and he ground her face into the slick tangle of tendrils at the broad tip, smothering her and pinning her there until she couldn’t breathe. Then he leaned in until she was the only one who could hear him, his too-hot breath fanning across the top of her head. “If you don’t show a little more enthusiasm, I’ll start hitting this pretty face until it isn’t so pretty anymore. So make yourself useful, tribute, and do it properly.”
He let her go. Libby sucked in several breaths before drawing her shaking hand away from her cheek.
The force of his slap had sent her head whipping toward Galen and Fenrow. Her eyes lifted to their faces. Nothing had passed across their placid features. Nothing except for the simultaneous narrowing of their white pupils, which were vanishing entirely into the obsidian expanse of their void-dark eyes.
She let her hand fall to her lap and balled it into a fist. She nearly made the mistake of raising her eyes to meet Wrath’s stare head-on, but her sense of self-preservation made her lower her gaze before she could provoke him further.
With repressed anger burning in her chest and the lingering sting of Asmodeus’ slap pulsing hot beneath her skin, she rose up on her heels and reached for his cock. She repressed a shudder as she took its monstrous heft between her hands, the throbbing mass the length of her arm from wrist to shoulder.
Wrath leaned back in his seat. He linked his fingers together and winked at one of the cameras before returning to his curated conversation with Galen and Fenrow.
Keeping her head down, she extended her tongue and flattened it against the underside, licking him in one long stroke from base to tip. There was no way she could fit him into her mouth, so she used both hands to stroke his length, her lips working the ridged head while her tongue circled and dipped into the wide slit at the center of his crown.
Her gauntlets covered the backs of her hands, leaving her palms free but for the series of smooth, ring-like bands that secured it to her wrists and fingers. She tried not to let the metal scrape his shaft, afraid of stroking his ire even further. But when she inevitably grazed him with her heavy gloves, he either didn’t notice or didn’t seem to mind.
“ ... a shame about what happened to Velmion,” she distantly heard Asmodeus say. “Never liked the bastard all that much, but he could hold his infernum better than anyone I knew.”
Libby slipped her tongue inside a deep groove at the base of his cock, tracing a series of rough bumps that made the hair at the back of her neck stand on end. His length twitched in her arms, immediately rewarding her with a stream of clear precum that spilled down his great length in thick rivulets.
It splattered across her upturned face, her neck, and pooled in the hollows of her collarbones. The substance was hot, almost blisteringly so, and the sheer abundance of it made her stomach turn. She used the viscous mess to lubricate her strokes, rubbing her face, her throat, and her ample cleavage along him as best she could.
“After his soldiers deserted and his armies disbanded,” Wrath said, his voice entirely unaffected by what she was doing. “Well, I believe I speak for everyone present when I say we thought Greed would fall to ruin within months. But here we are, more than ten years later,” he held up both of his hands, “and Greed is still standing.”
His endless spill of slick seeped under the smooth plates of her armor and combined with the perspiration already dampening her skin. There was so much of it that it dripped from her elbows and spilled onto the hard panels covering her thighs.
“Quite the unprecedented situation, if you ask me,” he continued. “One day Velmion was there, the next he wasn’t. Missed one Unification Rite, then two. Now here we are at the third Rite, and still no Velmion?” He shook his head in disbelief. “It’s hard to fathom that the Sovereign of fucking Greed would just up and abandon his kingdom like that. Boundless greed is like, his whole fucking deal. But then he, what, walked away? Abandoned it all and left his vast fortunes unguarded?”
Libby kept her eyelids low, using the loose strands of hair that’d escaped her braid as cover to peer up at him. Above her, Wrath’s lips had twisted in a considering frown. He wore a garish iron crown studded with rubies the size of her fist. It was jauntily cocked between his branching horns, the very crown that had inspired the one atop the basalt monument carved in his image.
It had to be the Crimson Crown, the grisly trophy Wrath had earned from torturing the last tribute, the poor human man with the orhre skin and empty eyes from before.
“And then just like that,” Asmodeus said, snapping his fingers. “Everything was seized by the two drow who’d led his armies for centuries. The very same ones responsible for the recent massacre on the Treasury Coast.”
Something resembling begrudging respect entered Wrath’s voice. “I have to admit, the Treasury Coast operation was masterful work. Tell me, chancellors, how many of my men did you slaughter that day? Three thousand? Four?”
“If memory serves, I devoured somewhere north of five thousand souls that night,” Fenrow replied, idly twisting a ring around his finger. His eyes, like Galen’s, were still wholly black. “Your soldiers were delicious, by the way. One of the most satisfying feasts I’ve had in years.” The pale elf covered his widening grin with a hand, but he didn’t bother to hide the flash of bloodthirsty glee that bled into the corners of his eyes. “Nothing’s quite compared to it since. But then again, I’ve heard good things come to those who wait.” He turned toward one of the crystalline cameras and offered it his most charming smile. “Or so I’ve been told, anyway.”
“To answer your earlier question,” Galen interjected smoothly, his words deliberate and unhurried. “Opportunity doesn’t wait for permission. And neither do we.” His head canted slightly to the side. “You brought your war to our shores. All we did was answer in kind.”