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Her scent was like smoke and lust. You never truly expected the summoning ritual to work, but now, before you in the protective chalk circle, sits a hellhound. Her yellow eyes, full of some emotion that you can’t quite decipher, follow you as you nervously pace around, unsure what to do now.

“It’s bad manners to summon a demon and then just leave us here,” she says, voice raspy and yet so seductive that it sends chills down your spine. You shiver. Even as a sergal, bigger than the hellhound herself, there’s something deeply disconcerting about the naked demon, enough so that you barely dare to look at her. “Are you sure there isn’t a service that you require?” she adds, the corners of her mouth tugging up into a toothy grin.

“N-no,” you stutter, though you do manage to force yourself to look at the thing you summoned, perhaps foolishly. Her eyes glow like embers in ash, surrounded by jet black fur on her face, and-

“Go on, you can at least look. You’ve interrupted what I was doing already,” she coaxes you, and somehow, that sounds like a good idea.

The hellhound has a pair of heavy breasts. A taut belly, black just like the rest of her. But just below that was a sheath – bigger than your own – with a crimson shaft lazily peeking out, half-hard as she looks at you the way a predator looks at her prey. A clear drop of excitement pearls at the very tip of that canine length, and even glancing at it makes your mouth feel dry.

“You can look more closely if you’d like,” she purrs. “Maybe we can figure out a service you could ask for. In fact…”

The hellhound pauses for a moment. She sniffs the air, and you see her cock pulse as it pushes further out of its sheath, looking just like that of a dog, only bigger. You can practically feel her radiating with both lust and power as she taps into your own growing arousal, and you quickly realize you’re in way over your head. This isn’t an ordinary servant hellhound; she’s something that looks like one, but far more powerful. A baroness, at least. Maybe higher.

“Mhm,” she confirms. You can almost feel her infernal presence in your mind, brushing against your thoughts, leaving behind it an oily shimmer of desire as your own cock swells. “But don’t worry, the circle protects you, doesn’t it? And besides, I’m happy to help you with that… problem.”

“W-what problem?” you ask.

“Oh, that you feel like a bitch in heat,” she says, her voice like flame, heating up your entire body. “You were never meant to have an unsightly cock like that. I can smell it on you. What you really want to be. Come closer.”

You move a little closer to the circle, the hellhound’s scent filling your nostrils with each breath. It’s as if you’re hypnotized, but you know that it’s your own traitorous body pushing you closer to her. She can’t actually be controlling you, can she?

You have no idea if the summoning circle can contain anything above what you intended to summon. But it’s the only protection you have.

“Isn’t that what you really want? I can feel it,” she continues, reaching out to touch you. Her hand stops just at the edge of the circle, but you’re not sure if she’s contained or simply pretending to be. You’re also not sure if she’s telling the truth or inserting that truth into your mind with her brimstone-honeyed words. “You want me to help you. To make you what you really are, on the inside.”

“What am- what am I?” you ask. By now, she’s fully hard, and you are, too. Her presence alone is enough to leave your little cock hard as rock.

“A bitch,” she replies. You’re so close to her now that you feel her warm breath on your face. “A bitch in heat who desperately wants to be bred. Oh, there’s no point in denying any of it, I can feel it, smell it… you were born to give birth to litters of hellhounds, to be used by any demon or mortal that wants to stuff that pussy of yours.”

“I don’t have-” you protest, but she interrupts you.

“You do, in spirit,” the hellhound reassures you. “If not in flesh. But flesh is oh so malleable, hardly a problem at all. You just have to surrender yourself to me, and we’ll bring out that inner hellhound slut. Just come a little closer.”

You take another trembling little step towards her.

And then you realize that you’re inside the circle.

She grabs your head and pulls you into a kiss. There’s no time to react as her lips press against yours so firmly that you can’t even breathe. Her breath tastes like smoke and brimstone, but her lips feel heavenly against you.

The hellhound presses herself against you and draws a deep breath, taking the very air from your lungs, and… more. You feel light-headed from the lack of oxygen, your vision immediately dimming, but there’s also a sense of lightness, of emptiness as she devours some intangible core part of you. The sensation is exhilarating, dizzying, like something that’s always been holding you back desperately trying to cling to your body as you melt into her arms. Your soul, maybe.

The realization of what is happening, or might be happening, makes you cum on the spot. Your cock twitches as weak spurts of cum splatter over the hellhound’s belly and her own massive shaft, soaking her sheath in what little seed you can muster.

You claw at her back in the throes of your orgasm, squirming weakly, feeling all strength leave your muscles in the most pleasurable of ways as your body struggles for air. She’s relentless, and far stronger than you. With the circle broken by your shuffling feet, you’re entirely at the hellhound’s mercy, and worse yet, despite your consciousness fading, you love it.

But then, having liberated you from that meaningless part of you, she breathes back out, and with no choice in the matter, your lungs fill with a burning sensation, not painful but instead ecstatic, your whole body spasming as the demon’s taint fills it, breathing your corrupted soul – or whatever she’s replacing it with – back into you. The orgasm seems to never end, but you suddenly become dimly aware that there’s no more twitching, no more throbbing, and instead, you feel something wet and warm leak down your trembling thighs as the hellhound reshapes you.

You don’t even need to breathe anymore. But you do, greedily inhaling more of her like a newborn, helplessly tainting yourself as the infernal fire spreads throughout your body from your lungs outward, leaving what feels like every fiber of your being alight with that beautiful fire of hers, like acid, like flame, like forbidden pleasure.

There you go, you hear her voice scratching in your mind. Just surrender to me.

You’ve long since surrendered to her already, your body and mind like wet clay in her hands. Her hands roam your body, leaving pitch-black fur everywhere she touches. Your chest eagerly swells into soft, seductive femininity as her palms come to rest against it. You can’t look down, not with your lips still locked with the demoness, but you know what’s happening. She’s blessing you with a pair of heavy breasts to make it completely undeniable what you really are, unable to conceal or hide yourself the way you always have been before.

You fall backwards and the kiss breaks. Her strong arms catch you before you hit the floor, and instead, she lowers you to the floor gently like a lover. For the first time, you glance down and see your breasts, and the sight fills you with perverse pride, watching your new breasts heave with each breath of fresh air. And then her hand is between your legs. Although you never truly notice your cock melting away, you feel wetter and wetter, softer, yielding, receptive. Then those demonic fingers push inside you, widening that growing sleeve between your legs.

It's not even a pussy. You don’t deserve that title. It’s a sleeve, a cum-catcher, a breeding hole for demons to rut into and fill as much as they desire. You clench around those digits as she pushes deeper, intruding inside you, molding you into the perfect breeder, ready and fertile and utterly unable to deny anyone who would wish to take a turn inside you.

It doesn’t stop there. You feel that new, soft mound swell into her hand, and you realize that she’s not only giving you a cunt, but a spade, obscenely swollen and showing off every last bit of desire you feel, perfect for locking around a knot like hers to make sure not a single drop of tainted demonseed will spill when the time comes. A black, permanently wet hellhound-cunt, dripping with slimy desire.

You gasp and squirm, your weak legs kicking as the sensations threaten to completely overwhelm you. But then, suddenly, she stops, and you realize that you want nothing more than for the beautiful hellhound to continue.

“There you go,” she repeats, but this time in actual words. “And now it’s time to give you what you really need. To put you to proper use. Spread your legs, whore.”

You do so. Little remains of your old self. You couldn’t keep your legs closed if you tried to, so you don’t. Why would you? This is your entire purpose as a hellhound fucktoy. You spread your legs wide to show off the most important part of you, baring your slick, needy spade for the hellhound, and then you clench again at the mere act of eager self-debasement.

“Good girl,” she growls, positioning her enormous, dominant cock at your entrance and then thrusting in roughly, taking your breath away again in an instant as she sinks impossibly deep into your slutty, willing body. Your new spade offers no resistance, only squelching wetly as it swallows every inch of your new mistress.

There’s no love in the way she ruts you. No affection. She uses you like the toy you are, concerned only with emptying her heavy balls into you. And yet, love or not, you feel nothing but adoration for your mistress and her amazing cock as it pushes into you again and again, until she’s fucking you like a feral dog, claiming every inch of your new body before you even have any time to get used to it.

You feel her throb, and that feeling alone is better than anything you ever felt with your own cock. Knowing that your body is pleasuring her makes you howl with pleasure, and the way each thrust seems to touch every sensitive nerve inside you makes it even better, robbing you of all sense of self and all control of your body.

“You’ll always be pregnant,” she snarls, and though it sounds like a threat, there’s nothing you want more. What hellhound fuckslut isn’t constantly heavy with puppies? “Beg. Beg for it.”

And you beg. You beg for her to fill your new cunt with her tainted seed. You beg for her to give you purpose by fertilizing you. To permanently leave you as just another bitch in her kennel, to be used when desired. And you beg for her to tie with you as you feel her massive knot slam against your puffy, leaking sex.

She doesn’t need long. And with how the sheer act of being taken excites you, neither do you. You cum before she does, and the sensation is indescribable, wracking your entire body in a way that male orgasms never had never done before. It’s all-consuming, your cunt clenching around her beautiful demonic cock again and again in frenzied, desperate rhythm, glutting on all the raw carnal beauty that you’re filled with, greedy for her corrupting essence and hungry to be inseminated.

You’re squirting, gushing, completely unable to hold anything back as your warm juices – smelling like heat, musk, and a whiff of brimstone – spray across the floor, soaking both yourself and your mistress in your shameless hellhound fragrance.

“Good girl,” she repeats, and then locks her jaws around your throat as she thrusts one final time. Her knot pushes into you, and it feels like the world splitting apart around you. Your cunt effortlessly swallows it, locking around her exactly the way a breeder’s cocksleeve should, and yet you’re left feeling so utterly stretched. So full, and so owned.

She throbs hard, that unyielding and magnificent cock jerking inside you, her teeth perilously close to sinking into your throat, but they never do. Instead, you feel her heat erupt into you, filling the void she created in you with pure demonic lust. Her cock pumps, the heat blossoming inside you more and more until you feel like you’ll surely burst, your new womb filled to the brim with the demon’s cum, just as it was meant to, and as it’d always be from now on.

Your mistress seeds you so heavily that you know beyond the shadow of a doubt that you’re pregnant before the throbs even begin to slow down, and that makes you cum even harder, thrashing and bucking as your body takes over, ensuring that it milks every last drop of her precious gift from those heavy balls and into where it belongs, soiling what purity remains and burning away what little dregs of soul you have left. How could you ever have been so foolish as try to resist her? This is you. Your entire existence condensed down that clenching, slutty spade and your fertile womb in which new hellhounds will soon grow. Again and again, each time she or her other toys fuck you.

Her orgasm does end, eventually, and she’s left tied to you, your sweaty breasts squashed together as she lowers herself, pinning you to the floor.

“Time to take you home,” she whispers, voice dripping with a malignant, proud kind of satisfaction. “But first, there’s one more thing left to do.”

She reaches somewhere – you can’t really see, but it looks like her hand pierces the air to reach somewhere else entirely – and pulls out a strap of leather, embedded with studs cast of a black, no doubt infernal metal.

You bare your neck instinctively, craning your head to give her the best access, and she quickly slides the collar around your neck. The studs point inwards, but you know that they’ll only hurt if you disobey, and you couldn’t even dream of disobeying. Not as long as you can simply get fucked by her and the others each time any of them feel even a twinge of desire.

A little tug secures your new collar, a sign of her ownership of you, just as much as her knot and seed inside you are, only far more permanent. You whine happily, squirming just to feel her essence slosh around inside you. You’ll have to clench hard to keep from spilling any of it once she softens enough to pull out, but that won’t be for a while yet, and you’re perfectly happy to simply wallow in your sexual bliss and filth with your new mistress until she’s ready. You don’t really expect any inch of your body to ever be clean again, anyway, not with how you’ll be permanently wet and ready.

“You were delicious,” she whispers, perhaps referring to the soul you once had.

You thank her effusively with your needy little whines, already looking forward to being introduced to all the studs in her little kennel of toys and servants.