Chapter Text
The prostate position required an overhaul. The risks associated with poor circulation and nerve damage was very real. Even though the night could be ruined in a vast multitude of other ways, planned or unintentional, ending it earlier due to permanent damage was an irreversible outcome. Not even in Hell could take safety be dismissed so recklessly.
The loud suction of the three milker sheathes stopped abrupty; the engines of both machines easing to a full stop, the mechanical sighs from their slowing pistons announcing the temporary detachment from the buck's tenderised body.
Kneeling on the split padded bench, Alastor breathless and blindfolded as he was seen to, the caretakers worked quickly to upgrade the set up. Two stout figures unstrapping his buckled legs, slipping his wrists from the stocks, the cord unclipped fron the band still clamped to the base of his wrapped deer’s tail, and lastly the final belt around his middle. Supported upright to loosely rock back onto his folded thighs and heels by one assistant, in a armlock, the other attendant kneeling in front to take care of the Radio Demon's sweat-soaked prized tackle.
Arms held tightly behind his back, still blind, Alastor's head lolled forward, jaw loose and apathetic to the pink aphrodisiac trickling out from one downturned corner. Drops of sweat fell off the end of his sharply pointed nose, ears bobbing up in weakened alarm when he felt a calloused hand curl around the base of his sheathed cock — holding the cock milker in place for for the time being, the caretaker carefully pulled the first glass cup off one fat teat, pausing the same attention to the other when the figure hastily leaned in to without warning suck the overstimulated teat into his mouth. Alastor cringed, shrinking back, unable to exact the frightened move ideally to completion, since the second attendant did not ease their stalwart embrace.
A chain of soft, keying up moans accompanied each resolute suckle of the ticklish star-shaped slit, the caretaker's hands gliding under and between Alastor's thighs to firmly knead the rear of the udders, finding the flesh hot and damp with perspiration. The coloured lube and the distinctive pink hormones potion had forever been dribbling out from his ring, mixing and parting ways as the different fluids followed the slopes of his buttocks and inner thighs, tracing along at last his full udders. Still bursting with milk, the milking machine had been good at the start — drawing out milk faster and a greater volume than an organic mouth ever could have dreamed of; after countless hours the rubber seals and the brutal relentless suction had done a number on his organ. The gentle, soft and warm mouth tenderly nursing on his abused teat was the lifeline he sorely needed.
Alastor wasn't aware this was only an intermission.
The buck’s hips rolling back to thrust his tired pelvis forward, the lips around the teat sucked the throbbing nipple in deeper to be cradled by a stiff tongue — the slick muscle rolling and squeezing the teat tightly, pulling on the base to stir a thicker flow. Alastor's milk spurted eagerly under the more natural manipulation, multiple thin streams of milk expressed inside the greedy mouth in a fine spray, the star-shaped sphincter pumping in insatiable earnest.
The released oxytocin tingled the ends of Alastor’s fingers, racing down fast to spread reignited arousal to the bud inside his empty ass, filling his sore udders with a new hunger for fulfilment. A choked whimper had Alastor jerking up, pulling the reddened udder out of the caretaker's hot mouth. Milk welling up in it's tip, the taut flesh pinker, it's twin was neglected inside it's solitary glass prison. The Radio Demon's udders heaved as he panted heavily, feeling dizzy again, his erect cock bumping his clammy belly.
The cow tail costume binding his true tail belled musically as it swatted at nothing, the heavy brass holding the bulk of his dressed-up tail down to arc at it's highest point above the peak of his ass, the dragged end brushing against the yet unspoiled skin of his asscheeks. The pressure visibly satisfied. Alastor's body language again reduced to a constant state of shivering, the musk of his fading arousal lucent. Something might be able to be coaxed out of the sleepy stag Overlord; the attention to one half of his mammary glands reawakened the unquenchable want to be fed on.
Removing the second udder sheath without fanfare, allowing that neglected teat’s milk to intermittenly leak a puddle of rejuvenated milk, the punishing suction granting that quadrant’s surplus to expell itself in rivulets of milk filming that sac in white, out of nowhere else to go. The cock milker twisted off next with the same apathetic acknowledgement, the sticky seed coming free with a schlick, the interiors of the semen pump sheath snowy white and pungent.
Wrenched up higher to hang in the caretaker's arms, his open limp thighs buckling under the exaggerated shift in weight, the second assistant had by that time already finished prepping the second machine.
It was now Alastor's turn for prep.
This new machine was different. It was a shame the Radio Demon still wore his blindfold, forced to imagine the distressing equipment waiting to milk him dry.
It wasn't a chair or bench, like the last one. This machine resembled closest to a cow crush.
The machine comprised of a platform on a raised floor, overhead an assortment of other gadgets. Brought over, the two caretakers in tandem worked with another pair settled the lethargic buck into the new equipment. Face down, two broad leather straps were slung underneath his torso, brought up the other side and tightened, hoisting him up to their waist-height.
Alastor's softening cock was contrariwise squeezed painfully, a freshly donned rubber glove rubbing lube over his shaft and cockhead before left to sag into the topside cleft of his swollen udders, the sensation heightened from the hot skin on slick skin, his shallow breaths guiding his throbbing member. Alastor's heavy udders were not left to sway: an elaborate leather ass-harness was pulled on and buckled tightly, straps threaded through in the snug gaps between his inner thighs and sacs, other straps pulling the glands inwards to be clutched almost flush against his own groin and belly. The buck's cock was hugged there, cockwarming itself and out of sight.
Bewildered, raising his head, Alastor uselessly blinked, turning his face to try and determine the incoming touches, flinching away at any spontaneous caress or suggestion of a fondle. Two caretakers per set of limbs; one team brought Alastor's arms back to fold not behind his head like he had been anticipating — forced through a tight sleeve sheathing his forearms into a praying position close to his chest, Alastor's heartbeat pounding inside his head, his frantically flicking ears, his fur bristling straight up, uneasiness sharpening his senses.
Behind, the other team had tied his legs stretched down, shackling his ankles to a spreader bar. Rear forced into alignment with the curve of his spine, the belly sling cranked into the right supine position, the second phase of the machine rolled into place.
The engine was complicated compared to the crush’s bondage supports. Two rigid legs supported the frame; an (inert for now) rotary wheel fixed with four stout leather paddles, each alternating broad strap allowed a second’s respite of nothingness before the next smack driven upwards to spank his sweet-spot; the overall effort an oscillating reel of discipline.
Below the wheel waited a second much more discreet machine, a magic wand attached to a mechanical arm, holding it at an incline.
After disappearing for a protracted period, only one of the caretakers returned to continue the supposed final phase. The room was quiet, save for the buck's laboured sighs, the attendant paying no mind to the deer demon's occasional panicked wriggle — the crush instilling a strong sense of claustrophobia, the tight bands and the udders-ass harness cradling his pelvic region tensely without ample room to squirm out of pleasure or pain.
There were sounds of the snap of doffed gloves, the rubber pair pocketed for a unique momento; standing close behind the anxious stag, the domino effect of a passionate rub down blazed the Radio Demon's enthusiasm anew, the demon moaning keening lustily the instant those naked hands (against the rules) dabbed a palmful of massage oil below the root of Alastor's tail, watching how his trained hole spasmed as the cooled liquid dripped, sinking into the orifice before continuing down his throbbing taint and the bulging pillows of his udders.
Splaying his hands wide open, the caretaker took his time, thoroughly enjoying the way the captured buck's ass quivered under his erotic massage, Alastor's muscles shuddering as the slicked digits skillfully rubbed and kneaded both asscheeks and outer thighs in long, drawn out strokes. Gliding in around his narrow waist, the oil was stroked into the cramped space where his trembling belly met the topside of his cock and full udders. The deft strokes occasionally dipped in between his clenched thighs, gradually relaxing Alastor's frayed nerves, firmly stroking the overstimulated udders, gliding back out to push his thumbs into the taint, boldly massaging the flesh upwards until he had reached Alastor's entrance.
Slipping thumb tips into the lubed cavity, the caretaker took longer than necessary observing the deer's relaxed core, silently deliberating their next decision. Spreading Alastor's needy hole open, one hand quickly let go to retrieve a new toy from his waist-pack.
Jerking up, a pent-up BLEAT resonated, signalling the deer demon’s vehement reluctance, grinding his hardened cock into his squeezed udders, tongue lolled out in bliss. The fist had slipped inside him, forcing his inner rings apart to deposit a gel capsule, the springy membrane surviving the initial insertion inside the fist’s solid embrace. Pulled out with a squelch empty-handed, Alastor's cheeks and stomach heaved, feeling the bouncy capsule beginning to soften into a buttery salve. Almost simultaneously, the strongest wave of pleasure yet rippled outwards, seeping into every fibre of his oiled up flesh exclusively — the fevered heat tingling his blushing udders, member oozing precum excitedly. An intense knot of arousal budded in the pit of his stomach, the flower blooming to encompass his groin and to the tips of his leaking teats.
Trying again to thrust, Alastor's hips strained, grinding his throbbing shaft sandwiched firmly, heat increasing. It felt incredible, however disturbing fucking himself felt, was it really so different to regular masturbation? Panting wetly, drool hanging in strings, his ears registered a sudden movement to his right side before the rest of his thunderstruck brain caught up. The Radio Demon wasn't fast enough; the safeword didn't even exist, anyhow.
The gruff caretaker mercilessly squeezing the scruff of Alastor's neck hard, drawing out another pained bleat, his free hand firmly grabbed the root of Alastor's tail to yank erect, the escaped tufts of deer fur at the base flared out in terror. The cow’s bell rang, thrown back to rest on the prominent curve of Alastor's spine emerging in his stiffening slender body, the bumped ridge of thinly skinned vertebrae splitting his rounded buttocks as it turned into his tail. The slippery oil soothing the chafed skin under the udders-ass harness, the erotic massage’s afterglow a persistent warm buzzing in his head and groin suddenly liquefied in a heartbeat —
— The machines behind Alastor rolling forward on their tracks, a press of the caretaker's foot on a pedal below Alastor gunned both engines. Held down, the pedal accelerated the brutal assault.
The rotary wheel spun at an astonishingly fast RPM, 30 smacks per minute — almost at a blur, each pair of sturdy leather paddles swung continuously without pause, the heavy claps underscoring each upwards swipe of Alastor's buttocks. The smacks thudded, jostling the buck forward to rock back in a steady rhythm, each leaden smack efficiently numbing Alastor's rouged bottom to in essence glow as the spanked deep tissues hardened, blood climbing to the surface level and blushing his shiny skin from pink to a softened crimson.
The spanking seemed incidental — it was a step in the master plan, a predecessor. Whereas the solid blows rocked him, the dull smacks introducing a defined swollen outline of the ass-harness’s leather bands giftwrapping his cheeks, the final phase was drawing near.
Immediately — the first wallop had as intended through the short-sharp-shock element of surprise made Alastor unsurprisingly bear down, the flexible capsule as anticipated by the caretakers burst into a sludge of a slippery gel, the internal eruption sending a fiery aftershock of profound pleasure dispersing in waves. A negligible amount trickling down his clenching taint, the toughened leather paddles drying it out in a flash, the caretaker carefully easing his weight off the pedal to slow down the wheel’s unflagging blows.
In actuality the spanking machine delivered just the thirty blows, immobilising the Radio Demon's comprehension of the rigid thuds. Degrading tears, stinging hot, burned as Alastor’s pained cries ushered out for each thwud of the overpowering belts.
The machine’s rotation coming to an abrupt stop, the engine rolling in reverse to permit the former extra space between it and the stag demon, the pedal elevated back to it's original stationary position. Heart pounding away, Alastor blinked under the blindfold to clear the tears' stinging burn, sucking in broken breaths as inconsistent sobs shook his bound body — buttocks spanked scarlet, a shade lighter than the crimson of the deer's fur, the appealing sight of a stag tied up and presented as an offering was dreamlike.
Tail limp, Alastor's alertness was put to the test when the caretaker finished rubbing feeling back into the scruff of his neck, smoothing down his sweat-soaked headfur before resuming the game.
Hot to the touch, Alastor’s trembling frame went rigid at the intrusion of two ungloved digits pressing into his aroused entrance; the moist fingers moving together as one, sliding in to curl inwards and pushing down on the sweet knot that roused his stiffened cock to full mast, except it remained crowded between his belly and udders.
Rolling his pelvis forward as much as he could steal, his hips held back by the harness, Alastor's yearnful moans following each ungainly thrust into himself emboldening the caretaker to follow it through with brisk, firm strokes of his pulsating prostate. The seam connecting the two udders swiftly pooling with precum, the tip of his throbbing cock rutting into himself, Alastor's thrusts grew faster, more harried; lids stretched wide, jaw agape, his long tongue curling back in itself as his first post-spanked climax shook his frame.
A thick lasso of seed spurted out from the narrowed gap coupling dick and udders, dripping off his swollen teats to feed a growing puddle beneath. There wasn't any use for a bucket or another tank since the Radio Demon's member was otherwise virtually confined by his own body.
As the unyielding fingertips milked his prostate, the strokes growing firmer and rushed, the buttery salve crept into more crevices and valleys of his inner walls, the pleasure concentrated the most where the lotion convened to drive his overstimulation into a new frontier, the highest he’d experienced tonight. Incoherent gasps heralded Alastor's subsequent climaxes, the orgasms returning in a snowballed cycle making his darkened sight see a kaleidoscope of brilliant stars.
Completely helpless to bring an end to the overstimulation, afterglow shivers jarring his sticky frame as he slumped in the slings, totally exhausted by now. Weakened cries now and then broke his laboured panting, saliva leaking down the hollows of his bared throat, his pulse visibly beating in his prolonged burn out from repeated orgasms. The objective still wasn't identified in spite of the Overlord's relative obedience. Pulling in deeper inhales to wipe his thoughts clean, Alastor's attention failed, the fog of the multiple orgasms leaving the enervated buck spent.
The caretaker preoccupied pumping his fingers by himself up until now, the process wasn't entirely undemanding. Turning a deaf ear to Alastor's grieved grunts, the attendant withdrew his fingers to replace them with an effortless mode of operation. Pulling up the shaft of the second, smaller machine, he wordlessly pushed the nose of the magic wand into the middle seam of Alastor's bloated udders, right below his hole, and turned the device on.
The deceitful buzzing of the toy instantly had Alastor buck wildly in a split second, letting out a strangled bawl as the toy hummed, rubbing vibrations endlessly into the swollen sacs.
Frantic, Alastor shook his head, trying to curl up and draw himself inwards to fold, his exertions failing miserably. The magic wand carried on vibrating his throbbing organ, the taut skin blushing red in arousal, the oxytocin again flooding his instinctive appetite to nurse anything. So long as the immense pressure building up inside his glands were relieved, as soon as possible.
The deer's agitated bucking quieted when he invariably sensed the original milker machine roll over, the sickly sweet fragrance of his own milk filling his flared nostrils. Perked up, the buck's rocking attempts stilled the best he could settle for, precum dripping every so often from the folds of his throbbing udders. His cock twitching, his movements kept rubbing all around his slick shaft and head, the heat increasing rapidly. The vibrations through the rear cleft of his udders travelled through to a degree, the depth increased by the hard press off the wand’s head sunken in.
Kneeled, the caretaker kept himself busy in the meanwhile, first wiping down each half of Alastor's twin sacs dry and clean with a soft rag, before the onset of fresh seed spurting freely from the Radio Demon's overwhelmed member shooting more spunk untouched outside his own body. A hard tug on the machine's single Y-pronged sheaths raised it higher to meet the leaking nipples — slipping each sheath over a teat, the internal seal clamped tighter than previously around the base to begin the process all over again.
Switched on, the capsules restarted the suction, rhythmically tugging the bloated teats down at a much faster pace, thrusting each one in sync back up into the billowed udders repeatedly to pump his milk flow vigorously, milk squirting out loudly to froth up the glass walls. Veins were popping out across the bloated sacs, the saccharine scent of crisp dairy hanging in the air, purifying Alastor's overwrought wits, pacifying the buck into an exceptionally placid state.
Lids lowered to almost close, drowsiness and at ease, Alastor's submissive composure was plateauing at it's peak, completely subdued and seemingly on the verge of falling into sleep.
The deer's tail twinged randomly, flicking to either side in unbridled happiness, pleasure receding and crashing back in waves as the machine diligently milked, the tension in his groin and asscheeks tightening for a blink before his whole body trembled violently, another orgasm triggered by the delicious combination of the cyclic pumping and the lingering prostate gel activated by his irregular pelvic thrusts into his full udders and stomach.
The top of the machine was dripping with his spent cum, the elbows of his armsleeves restraints sprayed with the first shots of spunk. The flesh on the nape of his neck where the caretaker had squeezed him stick burned, but it was a distant memory now, Alastor's mind adrift in the murk of his afterglow.
Soft footsteps approaching, the Radio Demon's vigilance lulled into insensibility, stiffened fingers cleaved through his lapsed concentration — claws digging into the corners of his jaws, prying them wide open, the silken shaft of a fully erect cock brusquely forced into his slack mouth, the slick underside gliding over his tongue, the head bumping the back of his throat.
Recoiling to gag, the claws raked in harder, the needle-like tips piercing the skin, the formations of a deep bruise thriving in the vice-like grip. Holding the Radio Demon's face crushed up against his abdomen, the caretaker rolled his hips up in shallow strokes, clear fluid lubricating the weeping slit and throbbing shaft inside Alastor's mouth. Alastor's whimpers muffled, he could only accept the heavy cock lest he choke, swallowing the head periodically, the roof of his mouth squeezing the top on every return stroke.
Mouth drooling with saliva and precum, the warm cock filling his mouth to the brim as it engorged with blood, Alastor's catastrophic decision came later than expected, given the repeated assaults, admittedly the Overlord hadn't designated much time and efforts on seeking a permanent solution in his favour.
The milking machine continued sucking out milk, the pronged-head rhythmically bouncing, tugging the swollen teats in and out rapidly. The Radio Demon's ecstasy was drained to exhaustion, the forced blowjob seizing all coherent thoughts left, the saltiness of the leaking slit shoved deeper down his clenching throat foremost in his survival instincts. Incapable of kicking the machine out of order, his legs spasming tied to the spreader bar, the cowbell still attached to his tail chimed gaudily as it wagged in a panicked frenzy — the noise made uglier by the dark goings-on.
The distant humming of the magic wand unbroken, the toy’s firm press accentuated when Alastor recoiled, the blunt head squashing the mammary sacs outwards briefly.
The pair of resistant strong hands splaying flat to encompass his flushed cheeks, his head bobbing in time with the caretaker's accelerating thrusts, the deer demon's tears joining the flow of precum hanging off his jawlint; feeling the tension start to build in the stranger's groin, his nose and brow mashed up to the twitching belly, Alastor made his move.
Opening wider, the stag demon clenched his jaw, biting down fiercely to slice through the invasive cock — the blood and other bodily fluids surging, flooding his mouth and spilling out in a torrent, splattering the caretaker's semi-naked body, viscera and splashback spraying Alastor in return. Broken laughter pealing out, Alastor didn't need his vision to visualise what the mongrel looked like, stumbling back and pointlessly fumbling with his chomped genitals.
Strings of spongy tissue snagged in his fangs, Alastor spat them out, disgusted, swiping his tongue all around his bruised lips to dispel the acrid taste of unwanted seed, shaking his head and limp ears flapping blood droplets liberally.
Inhaling incisively, picking each breath carefully, spitting out more mixed drool and spunk, blood smeared across the lower half of his ashen face, the motionless caretaker sprawled in front of him averted the buck’s diminished attention; a group of new brisk strides coming up the rear, the footfalls deadened by the milker’s noisy clunking and squirting.
The first new pair of rougher hands seizing the Radio Demon's limp tail at it's stem, savagely pulling the tail back to bend at the root, the skin turning white, Alastor’s shrill BLEAT snubbed, the hands clipping a ring to the tail-wrap’s original ring tie-down and snapping it shut to a third ring — it’s cord stretched tight over his back to the nape of a new leather cow's collar, a third caretaker swiftly buckling the collar around Alastor's neck in time without a word to the struggling demon.
Excruciating pain racing up his spine, the nerves pinched under the tail-tie’s new stilted position, winded for breath Alastor had to undergo the sheer humiliation of the concluding punishment for his bratty disobedience — steering clear of his head initially, the collar-caretaker caught the deer's flicking right ear in a vicious squeeze; instantly a fire burned near the tip, the intense pain blossomed to fully swallow up his ear, cold wetness sleeking the fur flat. Unbeknownst to the new slave, it was a cattle tag — a silver metal tag stamped with Alastor's number, grade, milk yield, and barcode. Released, that pierced ear hung low, dead weight bumping into the curve of Alastor's strained cheek, his pulse beating rapidly in agony.
Blood drops disappearing into the puddles of caretaker gore, the two replacement caretakers sidled backwards, one half switching the wand machine off and rolling it back manually to clear some extra space for the terminal treatment.
Jointly, the caretakers reapplied a thick coat of slick to the buck’s swollen asscheeks and thighs, layering the wetness thickest over his sit-spots, the rise of the reddened mounds where he was bent forward and the skin pulled tightest over bone, the soap rivulets filling in the creases of the crack and bloated udders’ bulge, rubbing the oily fluid in to build up a uniform coat. Alastor's ring flared, feeling empty and neglected despite the barbarity, the residual aphrodisiac gel refreshing his stunted arousal.
The offered hole spasmed to flutter in the same breath both caretakers stepped on two pedals together as one — the powered on spanking machine rolling forward, the leather belts turning over to present the polar side, a hog’s bristled hairbrush twinning the opposite side of each leather paddle. Engaged, the wheel took up it's merciless spinning, swivelling onto it's horizontal axis to gyrate counter-and-anticlockwise alternately, industriously scrubbing Alastor's vulnerable buttocks and sit-spots in brisk sweeps, the stiff whiskers plunging in hard to aggressively scour the bulge of the deer's udders, the wet skin feeling like it was literally sizzling, the scorched effect the wet discipline invoked coldheartedly.
The spiteful punishment seemingly never faltered, the caretakers watching in absolute silence as the machine smacked their prisoner; Alastor's whimpers racking his enervated body, sagged inside the slings to droop in final surrender, the scrubs jolting his slim frame rhythmically back and forth. The Radio Demon's skij blushed bright red, warmed up and feeling no different than if it were on fire, flames licking along his raw cheeks and swelling his throbbing udders; the milker in front never lapsed, steadily pumping his reddened teats to express every drop of fresh deer fat-rich milk it could wring out of the new stag slave.