The Pit

Here's another commissioned piece. Again, a bit outside my norm, but I had a lot of fun with it. Hope you like!

“Julius, no!” Cyrus cried as the enormous naga sunk its paralyzing fangs into his squire. He'd told the boy not to rush in, but he hadn't listened. Overconfidence against any dungeon boss, even on the first floor, had deadly consequences. 

As Cyrus was finding out. Julius slumped to the ground and the naga shifted its attention to the knight. The monstrous creature was truly vile—its obese features were almost human, save for the cobra hood and the thick tube of scaly flesh that went on further than the dim torchlight could reach. 

Cyrus wasn't even sure his longsword would penetrate deep enough to fell the colossal beast, but he had to try. For Julius. 

“Die, you vile cur!” Cyrus shouted as he charged, shield at the fore and sword at the ready. It hardly mattered. Moving faster than anything that size should, the naga slammed its corpulent belly into the knight and sent him flying into the cave wall. Before he could even gather his wits, the naga had him coiled and restrained, its jowly snout hissing in amusement right in front of Cyrus’s nose. 

“You're a ssspirited one,” the naga said, surprising the knight with its eloquence. “You will make a fine addition to the Demon King’s army.”

“I would never… join… the Demon King!” Cyrus wheezed as the powerful naga crushed him in its coils. 

“I would not be sssso certain,” the naga said, flicking its forked tongue flirtatiously over the knight’s face. Then the snake’s eyes began to glow a swirling purple. Cyrus tried to look away, but the naga had him firmly in its grasp. There was no escape. Once their eyes met, the knight went entirely slack, all thoughts of resistance gone. In fact, not a single thought went through the knight's mind as the naga carried him off to meet the Demon King. 

The naga’s hypnotic gaze eventually wore off, bringing Cyrus back to his terrible plight. He was stuck fast within the corpulent coils of the naga, its bulk preventing him from moving or even seeing much more than scales straining to contain the naga’s mass. He could breathe, barely, and he could hear the hissing breath of his captor as well as the surprisingly gentle sound of its enormity sliding easily over gravel and stone.

He was being brought to the Demon King. The thought finally woke Cyrus from his stupor. He had to escape! He struggled, but it was all in vain—he could hardly move an inch. 

“Mmm, good,” he could hear the naga chuckle. “Struggle all you wish. The ssstrong ones make the most deliciousss minions.”

Cyrus tried to retort, but he couldn't draw enough breath. 

Minutes passed as the naga slowly slithered deeper into the dungeon.  Cyrus had never been this far deep; no one had. This was the lair of the dreaded Demon King. 

As they drew deeper, Cyrus began to see demons of all kinds. Claws, fur, fangs, horns, wings—it seemed no two were alike. Some seemed to be laborers, taking odds and ends from one place to the next. Some stopped to jeer at the vanquished knight. Still others hooted and hollered, engaged in all manner of depravity. Cyrus couldn't quite see over the naga’s bulk, but he could have sworn he saw two imps fornicating down a dark passage.

The tunnel the naga dragged him through eventually opened up to a wide chasm, braziers lighting a path that led to drapery hanging from the cavern’s ceiling like great fabric as stalactites. Demons crowded the underground court, and at the end, sitting atop an enormous throne of bone sat the Demon King. 

He was truly gigantic. Larger than any beast or demon Cyrus had ever seen. Ram’s horns curled around a head that seemed like an exposed skull, but beneath it was a giant’s body of pure power. Impossible musculature led to a codpiece that was woefully inadequate for the Demon King’s royal member, which lazily flopped over the edge of the throne for all to see. 

The naga slithered toward the Demon King, bowed, and then unceremoniously dumped the vanquished knight on the ground. A pair of wiry goblins surged forward to hold Cyrus down, only allowing him to ascend to a kneeling position before the towering monarch. 

“My esteemed lieutenant has brought you before me as he sensed great potential in you,” the Demon King intoned. The sound somehow filled the cavern even though the King’s jawbone never moved. 

“I shall give you two choices,” the Demon King continued. “Pledge yourself to my service, or spend the rest of your human life in the Pit.”

The words leaped from Cyrus’s mouth with hardly a thought. “I will never serve you!” The knight spat on the ground in defiance, only to have the goblins jam his face in the now-moistened dirt. 

“They always choose the Pit,” the Demon King chuckled while the rest of his fell court roared in amusement. “Take him. We will see how long he lasts.” 

The goblins let go, and for a brief moment, Cyrus thought he could escape. But then the naga charged forward, its snake eyes glowing a deep and mesmerizing purple, and Cyrus was once again enthralled. Slackjawed and staring vacantly at the purple orbs, the naga scooped him up in his coils and slithered off to the Pit. 

“It was foolish of you to challenge me,” Cyrus heard the words, but couldn't make sense of them. His mind was a fog, thoughts unable to coalesce into anything more meaningful than vague impulses. He knew he was once again restrained, but by what, he couldn't recall. 

“I was once like you,” he heard again, a slight sorrow in the voice. “I thought I could challenge the Demon King. I wasss quite mistaken. And I too chose the Pit.”

The Pit. That was where he was being delivered. By the naga. The naga that had him in his clutches. Cyrus remembered now; he had just refused the Demon King, and now he was sure to be tortured. He could only pray for salvation. 

“The Pit made me what I am now,” the naga said, and this finally got through to the knight’s addled mind. 

“Wait, you mean… you were once like me? A man?”

“Once,” the naga said with a slither. “But those days are long past. I serve the Demon King now.”

The naga stopped and shifted his coils to raise Cyrus up. He could see the two were atop a stone bridge above what seemed like a lake of black. Within the darkness, Cyrus could see shapes roiling as if in agony or ecstasy—he could not tell which. All were covered in a tar-like substance that made their features impossible to recognize. 

“The Pit will change you. The weak last but a few minutes. The strong can last for hoursss, sometimes days. Not often.” The naga brought his cobra head to Cyrus's face. “I wonder what you will be?”

Without another word, the naga uncoiled like a spring and tossed Cyrus into the Pit. The fall was terrifyingly long and plunged him deep beneath the tar. It wasn’t like water—water gave way, it was malleable, moldable. This… goo didn't want to move. It wanted to invade. It slipped easily past the knight’s armor, past his clothes, into every crevice, and then into every orifice. Cyrus tried to hold his breath, but eventually, his lungs screamed for air, only to be met with more black ichor. For a few moments he experienced true panic, but then a bizarre calm washed over him. He knew his end had arrived, and he welcomed it. There was no fighting it. All he had to do was let himself be carried into a deep, eternal slumber.

Slumber came, and just as quickly went. Cyrus was at first surprised, then confused to find himself awake. Then he was once again panicked to feel his mouth, stomach, and lungs full of goo. He coughed, then vomited, then coughed again, spewing black ichor back into the shallow pool he found himself in. 

It was curious. He remembered a vast black lake with roiling, struggling shapes, but here he could stand in liquid that was merely knee-deep. Looking around, he saw there was still a lake of black tar—the true Pit—but he'd somehow washed into the shallows. 

There were also bodies here. A few lay still, unmoving, unbreathing. They appeared dead, but Cyrus had thought himself much the same only moments ago. Or perhaps hours? He realized he had no idea how long he'd been unconscious. Perhaps these poor souls would yet find salvation as he had. 

Cyrus began to slog his way forward to search for a way out when a tar-covered body burst forth from the muck, apparently not dead at all. Unlike Cyrus, however, he seemed in utter agony, grasping his head and moaning as the black oozed off him. As it did, it revealed the man’s clothes and features, and Cyrus realized he knew this man. 

“Julius?” the knight rushed forward, reaching out to his squire to try to aid him, but stopped short as Julius turned. Instead of the squire's, young, boyish features, Cyrus beheld a horribly mishappen visage. The boy’s nose and jaws stretched forth monstrously to reveal enlarged square teeth. His ears had stretched into points, and his eyes were full of blind panic like a trapped animal.

But what truly made the knight’s blood run cold was his squire’s verbal response, more like a horse’s whinny than human speech. Julius tried to speak again but could only cough while clutching at his elongated face, black spittle flying from between deformed lips. 

Just then Julis jackknifed forward and whinnied in agony, while Cyrus watched in horror as the boy’s musculature rippled, flexed, and bulged. He heard a tearing sound and realized his squire’s body was transforming before his very eyes, growing larger than his tar-stained tunic could contain. 

It wasn't gradual or pretty. Parts of him inflated faster than others. His left arm would contort and bulge before the right would follow suit. A back spasm would fling Julius upright to reveal ooze-encased pectorals jutting over a slim waist and quads trembling to support the top-heavy creature, only for those legs to surge in strength a moment later. And between those legs, a bulge that was quickly straightening outward, briefly tenting what little fabric remained over the squire's groin before it fell away, revealing a lengthy turgid member. 

Cyrus has seen the boy naked many times in the royal baths. The two had even shared a certain intimacy that would sometimes boil over into lustful coupling. Had the two not sworn their service to the kingdom, they might have even settled down somewhere. But what the knight saw rising from his squire’s groin was nothing like the member he'd enjoyed after a day’s training. It didn't even look human anymore. 

Julius continued to painfully contort as his body grew in fits and starts, but Cyrus could do nothing but stare transfixed at the boy’s member. It too grew alongside its owner, lengthening and thickening, the skin at the base bunching and folding into an animalistic sheathe, the head flattening and expanding, a medial ring forming along the extending shaft, all while black ichor flowed freely from the widening urethra. 

It was mesmerizing. Cyrus felt a tightness in his codpiece as he felt a rush of arousal.

No! This wasn’t right! Julius never asked to be turned into a monster! A freak! “Fight it, Julius!” Cyrus said, reaching out again and trying to work his way through the muck. “Remember your vows!”

For a moment, Cyrus saw the light of humanity return to his squire’s eyes as his contortions halted. But then those eyes beheld the towering shaft that now inched up as high as the boy’s chest and the light immediately faded away into animalistic lust. Julius neighed, louder than any sound he’d made yet, and his whole body surged with power. Muscles piled upon muscles, his hair grew into a mane, and fine fur covered whatever humanity Julius had left. He’d become a monstrous equine beast.

He was gone. His squire and partner of many years—gone. It was too much to bear for the knight, and Cyrus shouted in anguish. 

Through the pain of loss, Cyrus suddenly noted the tightness in his codpiece had become actual pain. It felt like a metal hand had gripped his genitals and was slowly crushing them. In a panic, Cyrus began to throw off his armor piece by piece, each element sinking into the muck never to be seen again. Finally down to his tunic, Cyrus could only stare in growing horror as he watched his member erupt from the goo-covered fabric already a hand-length longer than he’d ever been. And from the engorged purple tip came a steady stream of black ichor.

“No!” Cyrus shouted as the first of many spasms wracked his body. The pain was excruciating—first his arms, then his legs, then his stomach. Like Julius, Cyrus jackknifed forward clutching himself, feeling his flesh contort and then expand in his grasp. He could hear his tunic tear as his already bulky form rapidly gained mass.

Through pain-clenched eyelids, Cyrus saw the massive form of the horse demon that had once been Julius step toward him, his long, powerful legs more easily able to stride through the muck than the pitiful human limbs he once bore. The beast towered over him to start, but as he got closer, Cyrus noted with some dismay that he was no longer peering at the beast's impressive abdominals and was now level at his broad and heaving chest. 

Eventually, the pain became so great he could do nothing but howl at the ceiling, but then a curious notion crossed his mind. His body fought the Pit, fought the change with all the might of a true knight of the realm, and for that, he suffered just as mightily. But the body followed the mind. He could end his torment by simply giving in. 

“Never!” Cyrus grunted through gritted teeth. “I’ll never become—” but then a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. It was Julius, or rather, the beast Julius had become. But even as a demon, some semblance of the boy remained, unable to watch his former master endure alone. 

“Julius…” Cyrus looked into the eyes of his former squire and saw the same nothingness as before. Then, he felt the hand press down, tilting the knight so he was facing the beast's enormous cock. It was so close he could reach out and touch it…

As though watching from afar, Cyrus saw an arm he didn't recognize reach out to grasp the horse’s member. It seemed impossibly thick with bulging muscle encased in a dense animalistic hide and ending in four clumsy fingers. Julius whinnied as the alien hand held the impossible cock that bobbed and twitched inches from his face. Then Julius pressed him further, and Cyrus opened his maw without thinking. 

The taste. The smell! It was unlike any member Cyrus had ever pleasured. It hardly seemed even a quarter inside his mouth, though, the flaring head tapping the back of his throat. And then a thrust seemed to bring more of the cock inside, more of the smell, more of the incredible flavor! It was heavenly. 

An increasingly distant part of Cyrus’s mind warned that it was his face drawing out into a broad muzzle that allowed him to suckle more and more of the demon’s cock. He pushed the thought aside, and after a few minutes, he found himself too tall to continue fellating the beast standing. Instead, he brought himself to his knees with an explosive splash, covering them both in the Pit’s transformative juices. 

The more Cyrus sucked, the better he felt. And when the demon horse came, it wasn't the white cum of a human or the off-yellow spunk of a beast, but as black as the muck that had transformed them. Cyrus couldn't tell, though, as he swallowed every last drop. 

Finished, he rose even taller than the former squire’s new demon form and almost twice as broad. Horns stretched above a bovine visage resting atop shoulders broader than any beast of burden. Where Julius had gained lean power, Cyrus’s thick bulk promised strength enough to move mountains. Or anything else the Demon King ordered. And between his legs, a cock that could batter down a keep’s bastion.

Julius the horse demon neighed in approval before hefting Cyrus’s cock like a lumberjack a log. It was far too large to fit in any of Julius’s orifices, but that hardly mattered. The horse tugged and fondled, and with a great bellow, Cyrus came. A fountain of black goo erupted from his bestial member, the demonic fluid returning to the Pit to transform another witless human.

“May I present,” the naga paused theatrically while the trill of the court beheld the hulking beasts that stood before them. “The former knight and his loyal squire.”

The cavern erupted into cat calls, hollars, and lewd gestures. More than one demon bared their genitals to entice either of the former humans. It was enough to get Julius to spill out of his sheath in arousal, while Cyrus's plumped up in anticipation. 

“I see the Pit has birthed two fetching new minions. Quite appealing, these new forms,” the Demon King rumbled. From beneath the royal garment, both Cyrus and Julius saw the Demon King’s cock stir. It was like watching an avalanche—slow to start, and then suddenly calamitous as it extended upward taller than anything in the court save the Demon King himself. 

“It has been some time since we properly inducted two into our loving brood.” The Demon King rose, his member now serving as the cavern’s fleshy ceiling. “Let us welcome them!”

With that, black goo began to spill from the Demon King’s cock, and the cavern erupted into pandemonium. Several latched onto the Demon King’s towering member to lick, kiss, rub, and frot, while others fucked and sucked where they stood. 

Cyrus and Julius gazed into each other's eyes before their views became obstructed by their own enormous members. Then they descended into carnality, never to rise again.