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Good to the Last Bite

By Limewah

Subscriber Reward for Moxas (Feb 2024)

18+

“Just one morsel left,” Mephistopheles said, with a sadistically mirthless smile. He was looking down at his kneeling pet, stroking his cheek and the top of his head.

The grey-furred goat would have towered over his raccoon thrall even if said thrall wasn’t hunched and looking up at his master with a drooling, docile expression. The raccoon’s posture had gone out the window a long time ago. There were barely any hints of that old nervous, bookish sparkle in his eyes now; they now were more on the grey side of blue-grey. His once slender figure was now toned and muscular, like he’d been forced to fend for himself in the woods for a month. Mephistopheles had made sure he was working out as often as possible. Since they were by the mansion’s pool, a swim would do the pair of them good.

Mephistopheles didn’t really adhere to the adage that one shouldn’t swim after a meal.

The demon held the glowing, truffle-shaped ball of light between his fingers. A thin strand like melted cheese connected it to the centre of the raccoon’s forehead. The goat smiled and opened his mouth wide before letting it slip into his mouth. It had such a delectable give - the last vestige of the soul was always the tastiest part.

“Thank you for this delicious treat, Adamos,” he said as he cradled the ‘bonbon’ in the corner of his mouth. The raccoon paid no heed, their eyes currently focused on Mephistopheles’ thick, throbbing member. There was only the barest flicker of hesitance left. The tiny connection to the last piece of his soul was the only thing separating him from his feral, horny hungers.

“Adamos?” the goat asked again. The raccoon’s eyes didn’t even flicker with recognition. The ringtail had forgotten his name with the previous bite of his soul, and there was only the barest hint of self actualisation. Mephistopheles chuckled, pursing his lips around the tiny strand and tugging once to un-moor it.

The raccoon groaned like a feral beast, divested of all but the tiniest fleck of his soul once again. He whined and drooled with need, his mouth practically foaming with saliva as his head angled towards the pendulous demon-cock.

Mephistopheles chuckled with delight, and cracked the soul-piece between his teeth.

Demons experience taste differently to us, and souls, too, have an equally indescribable flavour. But regardless, it was Mephistopheles’ favourite.

As the husk lunged muzzle first towards the goat’s crotch, Mephistopheles grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and held him at bay. He was lapping at the air and scrabbling.

“Good boy,” Mephistopheles said, still enjoying the soul’s flavour as it bloomed and dissolved in his mouth. “Do you want your treat, now?”

“RRrghgh…” the raccoon groaned and growled, still trying to get their tongue to touch that cock. The tip of the cock was barely an inch away from his nose, and he kept pulling against his master like a disobedient puppy.

“Oh, I can’t deny you at all, can I…” The goat smiled, and released his grip. Within a half second, the husk’s throat was entirely wrapped around Mephistopheles’ cock. There was no hint of a gag reflex left, now, and the raccoon sucked like he was made for this task, like it was the most delicious taste in the world for him.

Which it was.

Without one’s soul, one became governed by their most base instincts, whatever those might be. Whatever sin felt most appropriate to them. In this particular case, thanks to some very careful, subtle prodding from the goat, the raccoon formerly known as Adamos thought of nothing but the body of his master, and of tasting every inch.

Mephistopheles allowed the empty mortal to salivate and groan for a little while, mesmerising him with little pulses of his member, before finally giving the base creature what he desired and burying his cock throat-deep in that needy throat.

The transition was always a delicious one. The moment the beast had a mouthful of cock, that feral hunger immediately subsided into a needy whine. There was a wonderful duality to Mephistopheles’ toy, and the way his baser urges pulled them in these two directions.

It wouldn’t last forever. There was an art to eating a mortal’s soul. One had to leave just a little fleck left; that would be enough to let it regenerate, to gradually allow the pet to think he was called ‘Adamos’ again, and remember his old life. Which, in turn, would develop that soul’s delicious flavour all over again.

For now, though, Mephistopheles swallowed the last gulp of his current meal. The faint glow of the soul spread through him, barely visible like veins of light moving just beneath his sooty fur.

He grasped the back of the raccoon’s head and took a little more initiative, pushing his crotch right up against his pet’s muzzle and feeling him squirm and whine. The way his mouth squeezed around the shaft and his throat spasmed against the tip… As far as mortals went, this one was naturally of the better cocksuckers he had under his power - even more so after training. While demons didn’t experience orgasm the same way mortals did, he could take enjoyment from the raccoon’s enjoyment. Particularly when he felt the raccoon’s seed paint his ankles from a mind-melting, hands-free climax, that made his whole body shake as though it might fall apart entirely.

He took to it all so very well, especially after the first dozen feedings.

The last little vestige of his soul still danced behind his eyes. If it was taken, the raccoon’s old self would be totally gone, turning the mind into a blank canvas to be repainted completely from the beginning.

But Mephistopheles had no intention of that. Even though he was moulding and remaking the raccoon in an image that pleased him, he wanted to ensure those delightful vestiges of Adamos’ old self remained.

The process of regenerating Adamos’ soul was always a slow one. A strange one, one that he always found frightening at first. It was like emerging from a deep sleep over the course of days. One by one, hour by hour, a new memory or faculty would return to the mortal. His train of thought was sluggish, and still fixated on every inch of his ‘butler’s body. Wanting to hold onto the taste of him, the scent of him. To indulge himself once again.

What did help (upon Mephistopheles’ recommendation) was exercise. Squats, lifts, running, all those things helped him re-build himself. The rush of blood and endorphins went a long way. In fact, he never felt better. All those times he used to spend poring over books was far better spent rejuvenating his body. His mind never lasted very long, anyway. Mephistopheles never allowed him to be fully awake for an extended period; just long enough for him to realise what had happened to him, and that it would happen again.

If he had any doubt that his soul was replenished, that would be dispelled when Mephistopheles reached out to him to take the first bite.

-

“Have you wondered why I’ve not devoured every bit of you?”

“Hnnh…?” Adamos groaned, his head tugging slightly with each pull until another morsel of soul was dislodged from his forehead. The piece of soul was held between the goat-demon’s teeth, almost as though they were a pair of love-struck teenagers sharing a meal.

“B-because you don’t want me to die…?”

“Rather close, but not as astute as you normally would be. It’s because I’m not a short-sighted glutton the way so many of my kin are.” Mephistopheles popped the piece into his mouth and chewed slowly, taking his time to savour the fear and desperation on his palate before he spoke again. He could see Adamos’ eyes fade and his mind slow.

“Most would just devour a soul as thoroughly as possible… lick the plate clean, so to speak. Lick.”

Adamos leaned in and gave a long lick along Mephistopheles’ lips. They kissed for a moment.

“Do you taste yourself on my tongue, Sir?” the goat asked.

“No, Mephi… M…I don’t…”

“Perhaps if you’re turned one day, you’ll understand how exquisite the taste is, and moreover just how difficult it is for some to resist it. I am no glutton, though. I understand that one must set aside a bit of the crop for re-planting. And besides all that, I want to ensure you are having a wonderful time. You know me well enough by now, yes? You understand that I live to please, I indulge in the indulgences of others.”

“Yes…” Adamos mumbled, before shivering as Mephistopheles opened his mouth again. His mouth was so beautiful. He wanted to climb inside it. Another chunk of soul slowly emerged from the raccoon’s forehead.

“At least you find the experience pleasurable,” the goat added. “I do, of course, wish to make you happy. There is a freedom to being a slave to one’s basest impulses.”

“Yes,” Adamos whispered desperately as he throbbed and pulsed; edged hands-free by his master’s voice.

“It is easier to indulge in those cravings that you’ve held back for so long.”

“Nnhn, thank… you…” Adamos mumbled, feeling a surge of bliss as he did so.

“So, before I take the last piece… how would you like to enjoy me today, Sir?”

“I’ll… take you…” Adamos said, a feral growl starting to rumble in his procyonid throat. “I want to fffuck you…”

“An excellent choice, Sir.” Mephistopheles chuckled.

The raccoon was strong enough to at least partially lift Mephistopheles’ ankles; enough to get the right angle to push himself inside the tight, hot hole. He allowed himself to drool freely, he forgot himself again, and his whole world was buried in the goat, his master, his patron, his world.

Being Mephistopheles’ meal and thrall was the purest form of pleasure he ever felt. If he had the capacity for hope in these moments, he would have hoped that this would never end.