The howls and screams of the damned filled the enslaved village, the hard baked earth soaking in demonic viscera as the cohort of Huntress's followed behind the Bull who charged the slave drivers of hell.

That deep into corrupted territory, the very fertility of the land itself had withered, the virile life sucked dry to sate the demon's apatites. Not just the soil, but the inhabitants too, their faces gaunt and haggard, as they peered from the shells of their homes, and the refuse at the roadside. They watched on, horrified, and in awe, as the massive bovine and His band stormed through their once quiet street. His hide had a faint ruby glow, the inner fire stocked with each swing of His unstoppable fists, the heat palpable in the air, as thunderous blow after blow sent the forces of night reeling in disarray.

Trailing in His wake came the Huntresses, many struggling to maintain the pace, burdened down with bellies not fit for battle, eyes often drifting from the fight, to follow the man at their head, lingering on the splendour of His glistening form. If not for two of their number, still svelte and agile, doing all they could to coral the lusting gazes of the others, likely several would have fallen prey themselves to the demon’s hands.

The horde thinned, they were not there to fight an incursion, only intended to control and exploit their slaves. Imps, fiends, lesser devils and their followers, fell away, driven before The Barbarian, as He cleared the path to the central square. There, as the tainted tide scrambled and ran, He paused to look up at the face of the Queen herself, the fey beauty, the Hound that bit Her master's hands, and led the invasion of the surface world. Her sharp, grinning, angular muzzle, with it's unnaturally precise, and wicked smile, held an all too perfect glamour, removed from anything animal or natural, as She looked down on the world with eyes of chiselled limestone. The statue was half finished, made with the toil of the oppressed beneath the demon's whip, directed to exacting standards.

With a snort and a grunt, The Barbarian planted His great hooves, thighs clenching, ready to spring upon the edifice. Only for the sound of mocking laughter, a lyrical, seductive, female voice, to interrupt.

"Well now, you're at least a suitable distraction to satisfy my cravings," A fox faced female cooed, perched atop the towering idol's base, her buxom figure clad in nothing more than lavender fur, and girding straps of black, lifting and squeezing her abundant breasts, and curvaceous rump. She was gorgeous, in such a way that was wrong, painful to see and comprehend, unreal and yet tangible. She did not need the small wings, or the petite horns, or the swirling tattoos that strained the eye, to let the watcher know she was raised in an infernal womb.

"S-succubus!" Asta shouted, panic in the rodent's voice as she felt the snare of ensorcelment wrap about her mind. Her paw went to grab a flask at her hip, holy water saved for just such a moment, but some invisible force held her, like iron chains wrapped about her wrist. No, her will, her wish to act forestalled by external pressures.

"Oh, boo. Spoil the surprise why don't you, little snack." Tittering, Zala'Lutha, the Lashing Tongue of the Queen, glided down from her perch on a cloud of purple smoke, watching with glee as the assembled hunters found themselves bound in her web of temptation. "Still, you'll all make fine entertainment. There's not a soul with lust in its heart that I cannot bind, and oh my, all of you are so... Thirsty! You make even my hunger blush in embarrassment for you~."

Groaning, the women of the party found their eyes drawn, not to the demoness, but the object of their desires. None, not even the holdouts who had abstained from His bed, could pull their gaze from the steaming bull, their every thought and fantasy of Him playing within their minds, deepening their lusts, binding them ever tighter in the succubus's hold. Visions of wet, vigorous sex, of thighs burning in protest as He spread them, of wombs creaking in agonising ecstasy as He brutalised them, it brought them down to their knees, one, by, one.

Even the two who remained resistant were reduced, their strength withering, their snatches turning to swamps, as the image of His majesty refused to fade. In front of them, the statuesque figure of The Barbarian still stood, still strained, the heat of His body building, the light in His muscles mounting, the sweat, the aroma, growing.

He took a step.

Zala'Lutha, twitched, her perfect brow creasing, as her control was contested.

"Oh, it seems at least your hunger is for more than just fancies," her sharp teeth shone unnaturally in her infernal light, as she pulled even harder on the chains of lust to bring the large man down, feeling the deep oceans of His passion beneath the surface.

Still, He took another step, slowly, with the physical effort writ raw on His bulging muscles. Vapour trailed behind Him, the potent odour filling the square and making every nose inhale the scent of pure, raw, primal virility.

Zala'Lutha, grit her teeth, feeling her own appetites grow, as her grip tightened further, her mind kissing the surface of His as they entangled in mental conflict.

"Stop, fighting, big boy," She growled between moistened lips, mouth watering as she tasted the bottomless wellspring of rutting lust, "You’ll get everything you want and more, when I’m done with you, moulding and shaping you, making you ripe for Her bed. So, surrender, let me make you enjoy it, let me make you serve Her, as I... do..."

Another step, another degree of heat, a snort of escaping pressure leaving His nostrils as He powered through the cursed magic. Every muscle was on display, veins highlighted in glistening sweat, from His brow, to His pecs, to His jutting, mighty, dripping, cock.

"You'll, enjoy it. You'll love it. Endless, pleasures, bending the knee, licking over h-Her, tasting hi-Her." The vulpine demon groaned, battling against the endless sea of carnal intent, the scenes of women and men, broken before His dick. A hundred orgasms, a thousand, a hundred thousand, each a notch writ on His soul.

Again His hoof struck dry dirt, just a few metres away, just a few arms lengths. The swaying log bobbing back and forth, with a sound like tightening cords.

"Surrender. Surrender, give in, give up, give Her, your everything. Everything. Pleasure. Power. Life. Just, stop, moving, stop, coming, closer. Stop, fighting, and give... me..." Her knees buckled, she staggered, the sheer depths of His drive for sex, for fucking, mating, breeding, breaking, drawing her down. Her magics bound her like chains on an anchor, sinking into a fathomless ocean of depravity. An insatiable want for sex, a thousand fathoms deeper than her own.

One more step. The stench of masculine intent burnt out synapsis, just as the radiating warmth crisped whiskers.

"G-give... her... me... your... COCK..." The demoness was crushed beneath such pressure, the light of reason swallowed in the black of rut. She fell forward, slack jawed, right onto what she desired.

The Barbarian didn't even need to touch the demon vixen, gravity and momentum carried her open mouth down over His flare in an instant. The searing hot meat plugged her maw, forced her lips past even a succubus's natural capacity. A roar issued from the damned gullet, not of rage, but a desperate, whorish, whine of lusting need.

He was not gentle. His hand seized the top of her head, holding her firmly in place, as the heavy shaft advanced, crushing her uvula, bulging her throat, becoming an obscene shape travelling down her neck. And it kept going, and going, until at last it reached the root, and his sac was knocking on her tits. The succubus's entire chest was visibly distended by the massive python that she'd been forced to swallow. If she'd needed breath, she would have suffocated, windpipe crushed to make space for the Bull's girth. Instead she suffered in near silence, blissful as she was driven under the waves of His appetite.

Grabbing the hell spawn by the horns, The Barbarian began His rut, the first stroke dragging a whole metre free, before returning with a smack. In seconds, she was bobbing like a living toy, chocking on Him, drool pooling below her, her body a vessel for His pleasure. His pace relentless and quickening. With others He at least took care not to break anything important, but with the demoness, He had no such restraint. She could take it a little rougher, her body could stretch, her breast could take the bruising of His bollocks slapping, her muzzle would survive the hammering of His pelvis impacting. He could tell exactly the tolerances of every plaything He'd had, and she was suitable for His venting.

Desperately, her forked tongue wrapped around His pumping length, trying its best to milk and tease and please. But His speed was beyond mortal limits, and her attempts were laughable. Yet her body refused to fail Him. A creature of temptation, she was made for this, and she tried her damned hardest to take Him to the base. The ring was in her gullet, the sheath less than a hand away, His flare punching clean through her stomach to explore the edge of her guts. If only she were a little wider, a little bigger, she could take it, she would please him, she would give that endless desire what it was craving. A hole without limits!

The heat became intolerable, the smell, the taste, the feel, everything too much, a constant state of overwhelming, endless, ecstasy. Soon her brain couldn't handle it anymore, her vision no longer needed, same with her voice and ears. Only the ability to feel, taste, smell the Man making use of her remained.

Finally, the rhythmic slap and clench of His heavy nuts grew erratic, the steam billowing, the pressure, the tension, swelling to a critical peak. He did not slow, a brief grunt the only indication of the torrential spray of sperm that erupted into her lower half, through her torso! The mighty balls cooking her bosom convulsed, contracted, pushing and pulsing to flood her guts from top to bottom. Her eyes crossed with her muffled scream, her stomach bloating, her cheeks ballooning, as the fiery glow transplanted from His veins to her overstuffed organs. Each ejaculation cooled the flames, and warmed her innards to a perfect simmer.

After four such turns she'd passed out from over indulgence, her stomach a burning coal. Only then did The Barbarian let the unconscious demon fall, her body slumping, deflating, His cum geysering from her many openings, leaving her once lavender fur dark and drenched as she spewed the rich load back over herself.

Disbelieving, the spell broken, the survivors of the liberated village came stumbled out of their hiding places, looking in wonder and awe at the Man and His companions, their saviours. 

"You freed us," a quivering dormouse managed, her tired eyes filled with a liveliness she hadn't felt in almost a year. "T-thank you! Please, is there anything we can do to repay you?"

The Barbarian turned, regarding the gathering crowd, and nodded. "Yes."

***

The hetman's wife struck their marital bed with enough force to snap the mattress strings, her brown fur a mess, ruffled and streaked with thick strands of white. Gasping and panting, she stared wide-eyed up at the Man that had been fucking her for the last half hour.

All about them the floor was littered with glassy eyed villagers, each savaged and brutalised by the relentless ravishing of their hero. From former maidens to aged widowers, there was not a hole that had not been stuffed by The Barbarian in His quest to sate His hunger. Feminine flesh gaped, leaked, pooling thick virile gunk, which already gnawed at ova not expecting such rude visitors.

"Oh gods, oh sir, oh, Fuuuck~," the small rodent cried, her own walls broken three times over to fit such massive girth after her far more modest husband. "Don't, don't stop, oh, fill me, breed me, use me, just don't, ah, ah, ohhh. YES! BREED ME MASTER! I’M YOURS!"

Her cries and prayers should have driven her husband to madness, if he were not prostrate himself. A thick thumb stuck up the old dormouse's rump, his eyes crossed, his brain filled with the fog of the potent male's musk. He'd believed all his life that he loved women, that he desired his wife, that his duty was to raise and protect his family. But right then, his adequate cock spewing a thin film across the floor, he finally understood. He was just waiting for such a Man, such a Specimen, to give him what he truly needed, to seed his wife with the young she truly desired, and savage him with pleasures unbound. His duty was to raise them, and his reward was whatever the bull gave him as he squeaked and squirmed, pucker and tail both twitching in bliss.

The huntresses, His playthings He’d brought to keep from growing bored, intermingled about the villagers. Already heavily pregnant, it didn’t stop them from receiving His gift. A doe collapsed against the wall, feeling hoof beats kick at her belly. A pair of Lynx’s, twins, purred against His thighs as they stroked a ball each with one hand, and their sister’s womb with the other. There was only one warrior in that hut, The Barbarian, and each bloated gut He worked became an advertisement for the next.

The whole village trickling in through the course of the night. The Barbarian grabbed a thigh, a hip, a breast, or a lock of fur, and He rutted, He fucked, He ploughed each and every one regardless of status or sex. He only desired the act, and He cared nothing for the thoughts of others.

As He deposited yet another squirming invasion of seed in the Hetman's wife, He already had grabbed another rump, and tossed them onto the mattress atop the dormouse. The milliner didn't protest as his thighs were spread, his eyes rolled into the back of his head, as a shaft a hundred times the size of his own laid claim to a passage none had trodden.

Through the night He toiled, He endured, He rutted, breeding everything before Him without pause. Not a womb went unseeded, not a mind was unaltered. Any sense of identity, any sense of morals, any sense of the normalcy was irrevocably changed that night, as a new order was established. Wombs were for the Bull, and holes were for His pleasure, with no exception.

Saving two outside, perched on the ruins of the limestone statue, doing all they could not to listen to the debauchery of the Hetman's hut. Asta busied herself in her maps, and a rogue of an otter known as Chitza fussed over her tools, and each tried to pretend they were not stroking a finger between their thighs.

***

"We're going," The Barbarian instructed the two conscious members of his party.

Asta and Chitza, the white mouse logistician, and the brown otter thief, were the only two of their company who had not joined the revels of the night before. Each was still trim, even if their minds had begun to wander, their limbs began to twitch, their needs...

"What about the others?" Chitza swallowed, her brown eyes glassy as she gazed on the devastation of the village.

The Barbarian, shrugged.

"I am done with them."

So said, He turned towards the ominous shadow on the dawn horizon, the gothic spires of the enemy stronghold. The Hell Queen’s castle, the fortress of demonkind. And he expected them to follow without question.