Chapter Text
Blindfolded, Alastor's vision reduced to a warm gloom, the supple leather binding completely encasing his shut eyes; lashes quivered, the buckle bit sharply into the back of his upturned face, ears pinned back im subservience, a reedy whine building in his throat.
A pink, creamy liquid had pooled in the corners of his parted lips, a rivulet of the mysterious fluid trickling off his chin. Hyperventilating, the Radio Demon's captivating position substantiated the principal reason clarifying his regretted consent.
Strapped to a fucking-slash-milking machine, Alastor's slim body was swathed in sweat, overstimulation peaked more than once, the machine’s double function set on auto-pilot. Tied down on his front, the padded bench cradled the underside of his jaw, tilting his face up in a minimalist stocks board. Wrists similarly bound in their own individual padded recesses in the same board, level with his face, Alastor's lower body was propped ontop a second padded Y-split supports bracing his digitigrade legs.
Folded at this knees, lower legs stapped to the winged bench, a system of further bindings controlled his resistant lowerhalf — a sturdy ring clamped around the base of his tail, pulling it back stiffly to expose the blushed flesh previously hidden by his clenched buttocks.
As a twist, an extravagant costume accessory adorned his abused tail — dressed in a sleeve of cow-hide print, the tufted tail swung erratically side to side whenever his real tail wagged or recoiled, the long tufted brush sweeping the blushed tops of his spread buttocks. A brass cow-bell dangled from the tightly wrapped appendage, adding another form of degradation with every clang.
Bowed, the ultimate purpose of the machine had driven an astonishingly thick dildo deep into the Radio Demon's slicked hole; for some time it had been busy plunging in smooth pumps, the curved head pummelling the restrained demon's throbbing prostate. The aim had been originally not accurate, the calibration adjusted after a couple of trials the artificial cock glancing off-target, not at the right angle. Syrupy lube seeped out, Alastor's stretched hole swallowing the inward pumps greedily, low moans underscoring every determined bump against the swollen bulge.
Muscles and cords of tendons taut, sweat left a glistening sheen on the stuck Overlord's skin. The constant penetration wasn't the focal point, it was obvious. A non-descript sex machine had one job.
A pair of umbilical tubing were affixed to the two engorged cervine udders lining his belly; a clear, glass capsule was sealed around each distended teat, the nipple blushed dark pink. The singular tubing ran separately, a pair, down and into a miniature tank below his navel — the aluminium casing showcased a clear gauge to indicate how much milk had been expressed.
Blue-imbued milk squirted under protest, at the outset the milk oozing out from the pinched teat until the suction of the capsule elevated to a stronger volume. The plump udders swelled, his nips fluctuating between elongating and shrinking back in sync with the perservering extraction. The deer demon's milk had certainly let down by now, splashing the suckling siphons’ translucent glass in alabaster froth.
Gasping raggedly, the Radio Demon tried to streamline his breathing, sheepishly reduced to slhallow intakes expanding and shrinking contracting his chest walls. Flicking his ears, endurance bottoming out, the buck was debating second thoughts.
The faster the strap-on hammered his poor prostate, the more bloated the deer’s udders filled to bust, drawing an anguished cry of pain from him. Jerking under the restaints, leather squeaking and metal supports rattling, Alastor had earned himself an unanticipated intermission.
Trying to slump forward, easing the pressure building in his shoulders and upper back, the stocks temporarily loosened it's snug collar — although what was in store for him was a total surprise.
Recoiling too late, a rubber-gloved hand had seized his jaw, thumb and forefinger digging in deep to pry his stubborn mouth open. Turned to the side to curb aspiration, the other hand had expertly shoved a tube down his throat, pinching his nose shut firmly to encourage swallowing. The pink liquid witnessed earlier was poured down the funnel a second time, Alastor's adam apple bobbing fervently as he struggled to gulp the hormonal potion down without backflow.
Gagging, the tube was eventually removed, the exhausted deer dimly aware another business was equipped behind him.
The whirr of the machine’s pistons had stopped. A sickening squelch, and the dildo was roughly plucked from his burning hole, lube spilling out to matt his tousled fur.
Back arched, missing the resilient spread of the stiff cock pumping in it's mouthwatering fashion, detrimental to Alastor's fading resolve, the additional relaxant was questionable.
Lost in arousal, the steady throbbing in his full udders distracted his attention. Shortly the stationary capsules twitched, emptying the glass vessels to make room for the resurgence of milking. A fleeting pause in between each hard suck, every pump extracted a spray of milk, the froth splashing the inner walls of the glass with a gratifying squirt, the plump teats ejected a shot on command. Each burning sac billowed and shrunk, the accelerated jerks hurrying up the milk flow.
The machine’s arm had rotated pn it's axis — a tapered nozzle lowered, it slowly pressed into the recovering Radio Demon's gaping ring, triggering a protective reflex of the inner muscle. Rolling his pelvis forward, the gesture didn't save him — the silicone tip coerced it's way in, the slim spout following the bends of his colon to reach further in. This method, Plan B, ascertained the injected hornones a much quicker absorption into his guts. A bulb indeed inflated internally, effectively plugging the deer's dripping entrance.
Thereafter, the hose stiffened, pumping an abundance of the aphrodisiac directly into his body through this alternative route, not unlike insemination... It took only a couple of minutes or so, the coolled liquid a distinctive change of temperature and bulk inside his core.
Digging his knees deeper into the padded bench rest, Alastor fretted in place, wept openly as he tried to ease the arousal sinking deeper, hurried along by the inserted plug keeping the elixir trapped. The suction gradually speeded up, beginning slow to avoid rubbing his skin too raw. A concentrated-shade of cream spurted forth, the rubber seals kneading the surrounding flesh of the abandoned teats in shorter cycles, pausing briefly to spare attention to his erect cock.
The head seeping thickened precvm, it bobbed up brushing his own abdomen, leaving a sticky trail. Groaning in exasperation, sac essentially blue with unreleased desire, the fleshlight delicately sheathed over his throbbing erection nearly made him shoot his load then and there — ass full, like he had been bred during a Rut, the Radio Demon bleated piteously, the fleshlight at a snail's pace began milking his painful shaft. The crystalline rubber sleeve hung lower to the ground, bending his cock as if he were hung like a bull — in his case, a princely buck.
The cord at the base weaved back between his knees, raised up to lead back into another clear tank placed on the base. The semen gauge on the front clearly illustrated that as soon as the captive buck had been milked beyond the verge of inconsolable overstimulation, the machine would stop.
Inside the tank, a digital scale monitor was installed — failure to tip the calibrated finish line by sheer weight alone meant the machine would be running nonstop. The glass was just a funny joke, misleading the Overlord and his enraptured audience both.
It was going to be a long night.