Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the series or characters; all rights are owned by their respective owners. Warning: Mature themes like underage sex, Incest, and other bad stuff will appear in this story. If you don't like that, don't read.

The scent of blood and gunpowder filled the office before the portal even fully materialized.

Loona didn't bother looking up from her phone, her claws tapping rhythmically against the screen as she scrolled through her Voxtagram feed. Just another Tuesday at I.M.P. The familiar whoosh of the portal opening barely registered in her ears, which flicked slightly at the sound of Blitzo's voice cutting through the relative quiet.

Lincoln, however, glanced up from the leather-bound tome on his lap, the purple amulet around his neck pulsing faintly as the portal's energy disrupted the flow of his reading. The book Stolas had given him was fascinating—full of incantations that made the hair on his arms stand on end when he read them silently to himself—but the commotion demanded his attention.

"Another job well done!" Blitzo announced, strutting through the portal with blood splattered across his suit. He twirled his pistol before holstering it with a flourish. "The target never saw us coming. Isn't that right, Moxxie?"

Moxxie followed behind, meticulously wiping a speck of blood from his weapon with a handkerchief. "We could have been more discreet, sir. The collateral damage was completely unnecessary."

"Collateral shmollateral," Blitzo waved dismissively. "The client wanted a show, and we delivered!"

Millie bounced through last, her axe dripping a trail of crimson across the floor. Her smile was wide and cheerful, a stark contrast to the violence evidenced by her weapon. "That was the most fun I've had all week! Did you see how his head just—"

"Do you mind?" Loona growled, finally looking up from her phone with narrowed eyes. "Some of us are trying to concentrate here." The lie slipped easily from her lips—she'd been looking at pictures of cute puppies, but no one needed to know that.

Lincoln closed the book carefully, making sure to mark his page. The amulet's pulsing slowed as the portal energy dissipated. He'd gotten used to the imps' post-mission celebrations, but something about the way Blitzo was grinning made him uneasy. That was the smile that usually preceded some ridiculous announcement or plan that would inevitably drag them all into chaos.

"Hey, kid!" Blitzo called, noticing Lincoln's watchful gaze. "You should've seen it! I pulled off this move where I—"

"Please spare us the replay," Loona interrupted, rolling her eyes. "Nobody cares."

Lincoln could see the slight twitch in her ears, though—the tell she didn't realize she had. Despite her harsh words, she was listening. After months of hanging around I.M.P., he'd learned to read the hellhound's subtle cues.

Moxxie tucked his weapon into his holster and turned to Lincoln with a warm smile. "How's the reading going? Finding anything interesting in that book?"

"It's fascinating," Lincoln replied, running his fingers over the ancient symbols on the page. "I think I've almost figured out how to—"

"My boy!" Millie rushed over, her blood-spattered dress trailing behind her as she enveloped Lincoln in a tight hug. "Did you eat the lunch I packed? I made your favorite sandwich with the crusts cut off, just how you like it."

While Moxxie and Millie fussed over Lincoln, Blitzo had positioned himself in front of his office door mirror, striking various poses with his gun.

"And then I said, 'Your time's up, buddy!' and BAM! Right between the eyes! I'm telling you, I'm getting better with age. Like a fine wine. Or a moldy cheese. Either way, I'm—"

Loona's ears suddenly perked up. Her nostrils flared as she caught a scent that made her fur stand on end. She lowered her phone, head tilting toward the hallway outside their office.

Thump. Thump. THUMP.

Heavy footsteps approached, each one deliberate and powerful. The floor vibrated beneath them.

"What the hell?" Loona muttered, a strange uneasiness crawling up her spine. The scent was... familiar. Primal. It tugged at something deep in her memory, something she'd buried long ago.

Before she could process it further, the office door exploded inward, hinges shrieking as it crashed against the wall. The frame splintered from the impact.

Silhouetted in the doorway stood a towering female hellhound. Her muscular frame nearly filled the entire entrance, shoulders broad and powerful, thighs like tree trunks. The dim hallway light caught on her charcoal fur and the gleaming leather of her boots and gloves that reached her elbows. A tiny latex bikini strained against her chest, clearly several sizes too small.

Loona's phone slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor.

"Hello, little sister," the intruder purred, red eyes glowing with predatory intensity. "Miss me?"

The office fell silent. Even Blitzo, for once, seemed at a loss for words.

"Beatrix," Loona finally managed, the name bitter on her tongue. Her claws extended involuntarily, digging into the desk. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Beatrix Dominatrix sauntered into the room, each step deliberate, her massive boots leaving impressions in the cheap carpet. She ran a gloved finger along the wall, inspecting the dust with disdain.

Behind her, Beatrix's gimp Legion filed in, their leather-clad forms moving with eerie synchronicity, faceless beneath their masks. They spread out along the walls of the small room, blocking any possible exit. The air suddenly felt thinner.

Loona backed up instinctively, her spine pressing against the cold concrete wall. Her eyes darted desperately for an escape route, but found none. The Legion had sealed off every path.

"Well, well, well... Little sister." Beatrix's voice filled the space, deep and resonant, dripping with a possessiveness that made Loona's skin crawl beneath her fur. "Did you really think you could hide from me?"

Blitz lunged forward, positioning himself between Loona and her approaching sister. "Back off, you oversized carpet sample!" he snarled, baring his teeth. "Nobody's taking her anywhere!"

Beatrix didn't even break stride. Her massive arm swung out, catching Blitz across the chest with enough force to send him flying. The wall cracked and crumbled as his head punched through the drywall, leaving his legs dangling comically, kicking at empty air.

"Blitz!" Loona called out, but her voice caught in her throat as Beatrix closed the distance between them.

Before Loona could react, she was enveloped in her sister's crushing embrace. The air squeezed from her lungs as Beatrix's powerful arms wrapped around her, lifting her feet clear off the floor. The familiar scent of her sister—latex, expensive perfume, and something primal—filled her nostrils.

"I've missed you so much, little moon," Beatrix growled, her voice a disturbing mixture of affection and possession.

Loona squirmed, trying to free herself, but Beatrix only tightened her grip. Then, to her horror, her sister's rough tongue dragged across her cheek, then her muzzle, and finally across her lips in long, wet strokes. The display was simultaneously infantilizing and deeply unsettling—a perverse parody of canine affection.

"Stop—" Loona managed to gasp between licks, the taste of her sister's saliva making her gag. "Fucking—stop it!"

But Beatrix only laughed, the sound rumbling through her massive chest and vibrating against Loona's body. Behind them, the Gimp Legion watched in silent, obedient attention, while Blitz continued to struggle, half-embedded in the wall.

"Oh, sister," Beatrix purred, finally pulling back just enough to look into Loona's eyes, her own red irises glowing with twisted delight. "We have so much catching up to do."

Suddenly, a high-pitched whistle cut through the air, followed by the sharp crack of a bullet ricocheting off the wall inches from Beatrix's head.

"Put her down. Now." Moxxie's voice was steady, his pistol trained directly at the massive hellhound's face. His usually nervous demeanor had vanished, replaced by cold determination.

On the other side of the room, Millie had already positioned herself in front of Lincoln, her twin axes gleaming in the fluorescent light. Her usual cheerful smile was gone, replaced by a predatory grin that promised violence.

"Step away from our receptionist, you oversized bitch," Millie growled, twirling one axe with practiced ease. "Or find out exactly how many pieces I can turn you into."

Lincoln pressed himself against the wall behind them, clutching the ancient tome to his chest. The amulet around his neck pulsed rapidly, responding to the sudden surge of tension in the room.

Beatrix's ears flicked back in annoyance, but her grip on Loona didn't loosen. She regarded the two imps with amused contempt, as if they were nothing more than yapping chihuahuas.

"What's going on here?" Moxxie demanded, his finger steady on the trigger. "Who are you people, and what do you want?"

Beatrix's muzzle split into a wide, unsettling grin, revealing rows of gleaming teeth. "Isn't it obvious, little imp? I've come to take what's mine." She nuzzled against Loona's neck, making her younger sister stiffen in revulsion. "My precious little sister has been playing house with you vermin for far too long. It's time she remembered where she belongs—with family."

"I don't belong with you!" Loona snarled, renewing her struggles. Her claws raked across Beatrix's forearm, drawing thin lines of blood that beaded on her dark fur.

Beatrix didn't even flinch. Instead, she tightened her grip until Loona wheezed, her ribs creaking under the pressure.

"You've always been so willful," Beatrix sighed, as if dealing with a petulant child. "That's why you need guidance. Structure. Discipline." The last word rolled off her tongue with disturbing relish.

From his position still stuck in the wall, Blitzo managed to pull his head free, drywall dust coating his horns. "She's not going anywhere with you!" he shouted, staggering slightly as he tried to regain his balance. "Loona is part of I.M.P. She's my daughter!"

Beatrix threw her head back and laughed, the sound booming through the office like thunder. "Daughter? You think adopting a stray makes you family?" Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Blood! That's what makes family!" Loona snarled, finally wrenching herself free of Beatrix's grip. She stumbled back, chest heaving, fur bristling along her spine. "Which is something you'd know nothing about, since you fucking abandoned me at that shelter when I was a pup!"

The office went silent. Even the Gimp Legion seemed to shift uncomfortably behind their leather masks.

Loona's voice cracked as she continued, memories flooding back that she'd tried for years to bury. "You told me to wait. That you'd be back in an hour." Her claws dug into her palms, drawing pinpricks of blood. "I waited for three fucking days before they realized no one was coming back for me!"

Beatrix's expression didn't change, but something flickered behind her glowing red eyes. Not remorse—something colder, more calculating.

"You were too weak," she stated flatly, crossing her muscular arms across her chest. "A liability. I couldn't build what I needed to build with a runt slowing me down."

Moxxie and Millie exchanged shocked glances. Lincoln pressed himself further against the wall, the amulet around his neck pulsing faster as Loona's rage filled the room.

"A liability?" Loona repeated, her voice dangerously quiet. "I was a fucking child!"

Beatrix snorted, her nostrils flaring. "And now look at you—working as a receptionist for imps." She spat the last word like it tasted foul. "While I've built the largest hellhound criminal syndicate in the Pride Ring."

She began pacing, her massive boots leaving indentations in the floor with each step. There was something manic in her movements now, a fervor that hadn't been there before.

"Don't you see, Loona? Everything I did—everything I built—was for us. For all hellhounds." Her voice rose, filling the small office. "We're predators! Apex hunters! And yet we've been relegated to the bottom rungs of Hell's hierarchy for centuries!"

Blitzo tried to inch toward Loona, but one of the Gimp Legion members stepped forward, blocking his path. He froze, eyes darting between the siblings.

"The hellish aristocracy, the Ars Goetia, the overlords—they've kept us as their pets, their guard dogs, their fucking fashion accessories." Beatrix's eyes blazed brighter, her massive frame seeming to grow even larger as her passion mounted. "But no more! The wolves are rising, sister. We're building something that will shake the very foundations of Hell!"

She extended a hand toward Loona, leather glove creaking. "Join me. It's your birthright. Together, we'll lead the pack to glory."

Beatrix's eyes widened, pupils dilating until they nearly swallowed the red glow. Her breathing quickened, chest heaving against the straining latex as she stepped closer to Loona.

"But that's just the beginning, sister," she whispered, voice taking on a fevered quality. "I've been studying the ancient bloodlines. The true power of hellhound genetics." She licked her lips, a thin line of drool escaping the corner of her mouth. "Together, we could find a worthy Alpha male—someone strong enough to handle us both."

Loona's stomach lurched. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Breeding!" Beatrix's voice rose to a near-shriek, her massive hands gesturing wildly. "A new generation of hellhounds, stronger than any before! With our superior wombs and the right stud, we could create a lineage that would make even the Seven Deadly Sins tremble!"

Her massive frame quivered with excitement, silver hair standing on end as she paced, the floorboards groaning beneath her weight. "We'd be queens, Loona. QUEENS! Ruling side by side, our pups becoming the new aristocracy of Hell!"

The office fell deathly silent. Even the Gimp Legion seemed to shrink back from their mistress's manic display.

"You're fucking insane," Loona finally managed, backing away until she bumped into her desk. "I'm not breeding anything with you. I'm not going anywhere with you."

Beatrix's expression hardened, the manic glee vanishing in an instant. Her massive shoulders squared as she loomed over her sister.

"I wasn't asking, runt," she growled, voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. "You have two choices. Join me willingly as my equal..." She reached out, clawed finger tracing Loona's jawline, "...or I collar you right now and drag you back to my compound as my personal breeding bitch."

Loona slapped the hand away, baring her teeth. "I'd rather die."

"That can be arranged too," Beatrix snarled, grabbing Loona by the throat. "But it would be such a waste of good genetic material."

"Get your filthy paws off her!" Blitzo screamed, launching himself at Beatrix's back. She barely flinched as he landed, swatting him away like an insect.

A gunshot cracked through the air. One of Beatrix’s gimps jerked backward, a smoking hole between his eyes.

Instantly, Moxxie and Millie sprang into action. Moxxie’s bullets found their marks with surgical precision, while Millie spun through the dim warehouse like a blade-wielding tornado, manic grin splitting her face as she tore through Beatrix’s underlings.

"Loona!" Lincoln shouted, darting between swinging limbs and discarded weapons. He ducked under a flailing gimp just as Millie’s blade severed its head. Heart hammering, he reached Loona’s side, took her hand, and tried to lead her away from the carnage.

Across the room, Beatrix lounged agenst Loona's desk, legs crossed, claws idly admired. She watched the mass of bodies falling without so much as lifting an eyebrow. When another gimp screamed, she simply yawned, then stretched her powerful arms above her head. "Is this really the best you can do?" she drawled. "Pathetic."

Moxxie dispatched the final gimp with a sharp crack of his pistol. He straightened his bow tie, satisfaction flashing across his features before his eyes locked on Beatrix. "It’s over. Get out of here, you deranged psychopath."

Beatrix’s muzzle curved into a cruel smile. With languid grace, she rose, rolling her broad shoulders as silence fell. Her knuckles popped as she flexed her massive hands. "Oh, I don’t think so." In a heartbeat, she lunged.

Moxxie barely had time to gasp before massive claws ripped into his chest, lifting him off the ground. The world spun as Beatrix hurled him across the room; he slammed into the wall with a sickening crack and slid to the floor, vision blurring.

Millie screamed, charging with her axe raised high—but Beatrix caught the weapon mid-swing, wrenched it free, and backhanded Millie so hard she skidded across the concrete. "Too slow," Beatrix taunted, drawing her enormous machete from behind her back. The blade gleamed in the harsh light as she advanced on Blitzo, who planted himself defiantly between her and Loona.

"You really thought a bunch of imps could stop me?" Beatrix purred. She stalked forward, machete in hand. "Perhaps I should give my little sister a front-row seat while I carve up her substitute family."

Loona's eyes caught a glint of metal on her desk—a letter opener. Without hesitation, she grabbed it and flung it with deadly precision. The blade whistled through the air, striking Beatrix just below her eye.

"Argh!" Beatrix stumbled back, her free hand flying to her face. Blood oozed between her fingers, dripping down her muzzle. The machete wavered in her grip.

For a moment, the office went silent, everyone frozen in shock.

Beatrix slowly lowered her hand, revealing a deep gash running from her cheekbone to the corner of her mouth. Her expression morphed from pain to something more complex—anger tinged with a perverse pride.

"You've learned something after all," she murmured, touching the wound almost reverently. "Good aim, little sister."

Loona tensed, ready for retaliation, but Beatrix's gaze shifted, landing on Lincoln. The boy stood clutching his book, the amulet pulsing rapidly against his chest. Something changed in Beatrix's eyes—a calculating gleam that made Loona's blood run cold.

"No—" Loona began, but it was too late.

Beatrix moved with impossible speed for her size. She slammed into Loona with her shoulder, sending her flying across the room into the pile of groaning imps. Before anyone could react, Beatrix's massive hand closed around Lincoln's throat, lifting him off the ground.

"What have we here?" she purred, examining the amulet that dangled from his neck. "A human? In Hell? How... interesting."

Lincoln gasped, his hands clawing at her iron grip. The book tumbled from his grasp, pages fluttering as it hit the floor. The amulet pulsed frantically, its purple glow intensifying.

"Let him go!" Loona snarled, struggling to disentangle herself from Blitzo and the others. Her side throbbed where Beatrix had struck her.

Beatrix ignored her, bringing Lincoln closer to her face. She sniffed him, nostrils flaring as she took in his scent. "You smell of power, little one. Old power."

A distant wail cut through the tension. Both hellhounds' ears shot up simultaneously, swiveling toward the sound. The high-pitched shriek of sirens grew louder by the second, drawing closer to the I.M.P. building.

Beatrix's face contorted into a snarl, her grip on Lincoln tightening as recognition dawned in her eyes. She clicked her tongue in irritation.

"That damn fox cunt and her little friends," she growled, glancing toward the windows where flashing red lights now painted the walls. 

Loona struggled to her feet, heart racing as she looked from Lincoln's terrified face to her sister's calculating expression. The boy's lips were turning blue, his fingers weakly clawing at Beatrix's massive arm.

"Put him down!" Loona demanded, taking a step forward despite the pain shooting through her ribs.

Beatrix's eyes narrowed, her bloody muzzle twisting into something between a smile and a grimace. "You want the human alive?" She loosened her grip just enough for Lincoln to gasp a desperate breath. "Then come to Wrath. Join my pack. Together, we'll be unstoppable."

The sirens grew deafening now, the building itself seeming to vibrate with their approach. Blitzo was shouting something, but Loona couldn't make out the words over the cacophony.

Before Loona could respond, Beatrix tucked Lincoln under her arm like a rag doll, the boy's legs kicking uselessly against her side. With three powerful strides, she reached the window and, without hesitation, smashed through it in an explosion of glass and splintered frame.

"NO!" Loona screamed, rushing to the shattered opening.

Below, she saw Beatrix land in a crouch that cracked the pavement, completely unharmed by the three-story drop. Lincoln dangled limply from her grasp, the amulet around his neck glowing brighter than ever. Surrounding them was a sea of motorcycles—at least thirty hellhounds on massive chrome machines, engines revving impatiently.

Beatrix swung her leg over the largest bike—a monstrous three-wheeled beast with skulls mounted on the handlebars and exhaust pipes that belched hellfire. She tucked Lincoln into the sidecar, securing him with what looked like chains rather than seatbelts.

"Last chance, sister!" Beatrix called up, her voice barely audible over the approaching sirens. "He dies if you don't come!"

The convoy of bikes roared to life, smoke and flame billowing from their exhaust pipes as they prepared to move out. Beatrix's massive machine led the pack, its engine growling like a demonic beast.

Beatrix gunned the massive motorcycle, its engine roaring like a demonic beast as she tore down the street with Lincoln. Loona could only watch helplessly as her sister's convoy disappeared around a corner, the thunderous rumble of engines fading into the distance.

"Fuck!" Loona slammed her fist against the window frame, sending shards of broken glass cascading to the floor. Her chest tightened with dread, images of what Beatrix might do to Lincoln flooding her mind. That psychotic bitch with her breeding obsession.

Before she could process her next move, the sound of multiple footsteps pounded down the hallway. Loona whirled around, hackles rising instinctively as three figures burst through the doorway.

"Freeze! Super Fuck Squad!" announced a tall, athletic fox with russet fur and piercing emerald eyes. She wore tactical gear emblazoned with an insignia Loona didn't recognize, a pistol held confidently in her grip.

Beside her stood a purple-furred hellhound with flowing hair and a distinctive green bang,  wearing a read leather jackiet andmatching pants, her posture casual but eyes alert. The third figure—a yellow tabby cat in a lab coat with improbably large breasts—adjusted her blue gloves as she surveyed the wreckage of the office.

Loona snarled, dropping into a defensive crouch. Behind her, Millie had managed to stagger to her feet, blood trickling from her forehead as she raised her remaining axe. The small imp looked dazed but determined, positioning herself near Moxxie's unconscious form.

"Back the fuck off," Loona growled, extending her claws. "I've had enough unwanted visitors for one day."

The fox stepped forward, holstering her weapon in a deliberate gesture of peace. "I'm Carmelita Fox. This is Roxanne Wolf and Dr. Monique Pussycat. We're tracking Beatrix Dominatrix."

"Congratulations. You're too fucking late," Loona spat, gesturing toward the shattered window. "The psycho bitch just kidnapped our kid."

Carmelita let out a frustrated growl, her fist slamming against the bullet-riddled wall. "Dammit! We were so close this time." Her emerald eyes blazed with barely contained fury as she surveyed the destruction around her.

Meanwhile, Dr. Monique rushed to the fallen imps, her lab coat swishing as she knelt beside them. Her clinical gaze assessed the damage, paws moving with practiced precision as she checked vital signs.

"Who the fuck are you people, really?" Loona demanded, backing toward Blitzo's crumpled form protectively. Her fur remained bristled, every muscle tense and ready to fight despite her injuries. "Some random squad just happens to show up right after my psycho sister? I don't buy it."

Carmelita holstered her weapon, her movements sharp and controlled. "We're a specialized task force assembled specifically to capture Beatrix Dominatrix. Your sister has been wreaking havoc across multiple rings of Hell for years now."

"That doesn't answer my question," Loona snarled, showing her fangs.

The fox's tail flicked with annoyance. "Fine. We're the Super Fuck squad. DON'T ask about the name, it wasn't our choice, we're a covert team assembled by none other than Beelzebub herself."

Loona's ears perked up in surprise. "The Queen Bee? Why would one of the Seven Deadly Sins give a shit about Beatrix?"

"Because Beatrix crossed a line," Carmelita explained, her voice dropping an octave. "She raided one of Beelzebub's special brewing factories where she experiments with new types of alcohol and food infused with her personal magic."

Across the room, Roxanne picked through the debris, sniffing occasionally at overturned furniture and blood spatters. Her movements were fluid and predatory as she examined a fallen gimp mask, turning it over in her clawed hands.

"Carmelita," Dr. Monique called, her voice clinical but urgent. "We have a situation here." The feline scientist's paws moved deftly over Moxxie's broken form, her stethoscope pressed against his chest. "This one has three broken ribs and a fractured femur. The boss imp has a concussion and multiple compound fractures in his right arm and leg." She gestured toward Millie. "The female is relatively stable—just a minor head wound and some contusions."

Loona's ears flattened against her skull. Her chest tightened as she looked at her battered family. "Can you help them?"

"I can stabilize them, but they'll need more advanced care," Monique replied, already pulling supplies from her medical bag. "The two males won't be fighting anytime soon, that's for certain."

Roxy padded back to the group, shaking her head. "No sign of them in any of the nearby buildings. Trail's gone cold."

Carmelita's jaw clenched, a low growl escaping her throat. "Dammit." She paced in a tight circle, claws clicking against the pavement. "Fine. We regroup. As soon as Pussycat finishes her medical treatments for the wounded, we're moving out. Beatrix has already gained too much ground."

"We're coming with you." Loona stepped forward, her red eyes blazing in the dim light.

Millie nodded vigorously beside her. "Damn right we are!"

Carmelita stopped pacing, her tail swishing in irritation. "Absolutely not. This is a specialized tactical operation. We don't need civilians getting in our way."

"Civilians?" Loona snarled, baring her teeth. "That bitch is my sister. I can track her scent better than anyone in your little squad." She moved closer to Carmelita, using her height to loom over the fox. "And in case you hadn't noticed, we're not exactly helpless."

Carmelita didn't back down, her emerald eyes narrowing. "Family connection or not, I can't authorize—"

"She took my son," Millie interrupted, her voice cracking. "That psycho hellhound kidnapped Lincoln to force Loona to join her sick plans," Her small hands curled into fists. "He's just a boy. My boy."

The revelation seemed to give Carmelita pause. She exchanged glances with Roxy, who shrugged noncommittally.

Loona pressed her advantage. "Beatrix told me her main base is in the Wrath Ring. I know which territories she favors, where she might hole up." She crossed her arms. "You want to waste time following cold trails, or you want someone who can lead you straight to her?"

Carmelita's ears flattened against her head as she considered. The seconds stretched into uncomfortable silence.

"Boss," Roxy finally said, "tactical advantage is tactical advantage. Doesn't matter where it comes from."

With a resigned sigh, Carmelita nodded. "Fine. But you follow my orders. You step out of line, endanger my team, and I'll personally drag you back to this spot and leave you here. Clear?"

"Crystal," Loona replied, relief washing through her. Lincoln was still out there, in the clutches of her deranged sister. Every minute they wasted was another minute he spent in danger.

Pussycat approached the group, wiping blood from her paws with a cloth. "Wounded are stabilized. Nothing fatal, but they'll need proper medical attention soon."

"Good," Carmelita said. "Call in extraction for them. The rest of us are heading to the Wrath ring."

Hours later in Beatrix's secret base

Lincoln's head throbbed as consciousness crept back. His mouth felt like sandpaper, tongue thick and useless as he tried to swallow. A metallic taste lingered—blood? Drugs? He couldn't tell. The purple amulet lay cold against his bare chest, its usual pulsing glow dim and irregular.

Screams pierced the fog in his mind. Not the quick, sharp screams of sudden pain, but the drawn-out wails of prolonged suffering. Between them, rhythmic moans punctuated the air—not of pleasure, but of resignation and defeat.

Lincoln's eyes flew open. Darkness gave way to hellish red light that cast long shadows across unfamiliar surroundings. He tried to sit up, but cold metal bit into his wrists. Panic surged through him as he realized he was handcuffed to an enormous four-poster bed, the metal frame thick as tree trunks. The mattress beneath him felt damp in places he didn't want to think about.

"Help!" he tried to call, but his voice emerged as a hoarse whisper. "Loona! Millie! Anybody!"

As his vision adjusted, the horrors around him came into focus. The massive room stretched out in all directions, its high ceiling lost in shadow. Dozens of hellhound women were chained to the walls and floor, their bodies in various states of undress and abuse. Some were bound to breeding benches, leather-masked gimps mounting them with mechanical precision while the women's eyes stared vacantly at nothing. Others were suspended from the ceiling, their fur matted with blood as gimps methodically worked them over with whips and electrical prods.

Lincoln's stomach lurched. He turned away, only to find himself facing another hellhound woman being force-fed something from a tube. Her eyes bulged in terror as a gimp held her jaws open.

"No, no, no," Lincoln whispered, yanking frantically at his restraints. The metal cuffs jangled against the bedframe but held firm. "This can't be happening."

A particularly agonized scream drew his attention to the far corner where a young hellhound struggled against her bonds as a gimp branded something onto her thigh. The sizzle of burning flesh reached Lincoln's ears, followed by the acrid smell of singed fur.

"Excellent," came a familiar voice that made Lincoln's blood run cold. "Make sure the mark is deep. I want her to remember who she belongs to."

A deep, throaty chuckle echoed through the chamber, sending ice down Lincoln's spine. Movement at the far end of the room caught his attention—a bizarre procession emerging from the shadows.

Two female hellhounds crawled on all fours, their bellies grotesquely swollen with pregnancy, straining against the floor. Their faces were obscured by leather masks with only small breathing holes, their bodies adorned with thick collars and leashes. And standing atop their backs, balanced perfectly despite their uneven gait, was Beatrix.

The massive hellhound loomed like a conquering goddess, her muscular frame silhouetted against the red glow of the chamber. She wore nothing but her latex bikini, boots, and gloves—her body on full display as she rode her living throne toward Lincoln's bed.

"Comfortable, little one?" she called, her voice carrying effortlessly across the chamber. "I do hope the accommodations are to your liking."

Lincoln's throat closed with terror as he watched the grotesque parade approach. The pregnant hellhounds whimpered with each step, their legs trembling under Beatrix's weight. When they reached the foot of the bed, another gimp scurried forward on hands and knees, positioning itself before its mistress.

Without hesitation, Beatrix stepped down, using the gimp's back as a stepping stool. The creature grunted but remained perfectly still as she ascended, her massive boots digging into its spine. With a fluid motion that belied her size, she climbed onto the bed, the frame creaking ominously beneath her weight.

"There we are," she purred, crawling toward Lincoln with predatory grace. "Just the two of us. Well—" she gestured lazily around the room, "—and my loyal subjects, of course."

Lincoln pressed himself against the headboard, as far from her as his restraints would allow. "What do you want from me?" he managed to croak, his voice barely audible over the ambient sounds of suffering.

Beatrix smiled, her fangs gleaming in the dim light. "You're the bait, sweetling. The morsel that will bring my dear sister running right into my arms." She traced a claw along his jawline, just hard enough to raise a thin line of blood. "But this pretty necklace of yours... that's an unexpected bonus."

Behind her, the pregnant hellhounds remained on the floor, motionless except for their labored breathing. The rest of the room continued its symphony of suffering—whips cracking, chains rattling, moans and whimpers providing a constant backdrop.

"Loona will never join you," Lincoln said, trying to inject courage into his voice despite the terror gripping his chest. "Loona would rather die than be part of... whatever this is."

Beatrix threw her head back and laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls and drowning out the ambient torment for a moment. "Oh, child. You understand so little about hellhounds." She leaned closer, her breath hot against his face. "We're pack animals at our core. The lone wolf is always drawn back to the pack eventually. It's in our blood, she WILL join me, be it as an equil or a breeding bitch it doesn't matter, but she will join me one way or another."

Beatrix reached forward suddenly, her massive paw engulfing the purple amulet hanging around Lincoln's neck. She lifted it with surprising gentleness, turning it this way and that as the dim light caught its facets. Her red eyes narrowed, studying the ancient symbols etched into its surface.

"Curious little trinket," she murmured, her hot breath washing over Lincoln's face. "Old magic. Powerful magic." She sniffed at it, nostrils flaring. "How did a human child come to possess something like this?"

Lincoln swallowed hard, the amulet warm against his skin as Beatrix manipulated it. He could feel its pulse quickening, matching his own racing heartbeat.

"I don't know," he whispered truthfully. "It just... found me."

Beatrix's eyes flicked up to his face, searching for deception. Finding none, she let the amulet fall back against his bare chest with a soft thud.

"And my sister," she said, leaning back slightly. "She seems unusually attached to you. Why is that? What makes you so special to her?"

Lincoln's mind raced. Would the truth protect him or endanger him further? He decided honesty might be his only shield now.

"We're friends," he said, his voice steadier than he expected. "Loona looks out for me. And I look out for her."

Beatrix's muzzle twitched, then split into a wide, mocking grin. A bark of laughter erupted from her throat, echoing around the chamber and momentarily silencing the ambient suffering.

"Friends? How adorably pathetic," she sneered, wiping an imaginary tear from her eye. "My sister, 'friends' with a human child. How far she has fallen."

Her amusement vanished as quickly as it had appeared. A deep growl rumbled from her chest, vibrating the bed beneath them. Her eyes flashed dangerously, pupils contracting to pinpoints.

"Let's see exactly what kind of 'friend' you are to my sister," she snarled.

Before Lincoln could react, Beatrix's massive paws seized the waistband of his pants. With a single violent motion, she ripped them away, shredding the fabric like tissue paper. His underwear followed in the same brutal gesture, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.

Lincoln gasped in terror, trying desperately to curl into himself despite the restraints. The cold air hit his exposed skin as shame and fear crashed through him in equal measure.

Beatrix's eyes dropped to his exposed genitals. Her expression morphed from anticipation to disgust, her upper lip curling to reveal her fangs.

"Pathetic," she spat, genuine revulsion in her voice. "This is what she's protecting? This is what she values over her own blood?"

Beatrix reached behind her, the movement causing the bed to shift under her massive weight. She produced a machete—the same one she'd wielded in the I.M.P. office—its blade gleaming wickedly in the crimson light. With practiced precision, she positioned it beneath Lincoln, the cold steel pressing against his most vulnerable flesh.

"Maybe I should do my sister a favor," she purred, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Save her the disappointment of seeing this... inadequate equipment." The blade pressed harder, not quite breaking skin but threatening with every subtle movement. "It's not even worth mounting on my wall of trophies."

Lincoln's eyes darted to where she nodded—a far wall he hadn't noticed before. His stomach lurched violently at the sight. Dozens—no, hundreds—of severed demonic genitalia hung there like macabre hunting trophies, preserved and mounted on wooden plaques. Some were massive, others average, all displayed with clinical precision beneath small brass nameplates.

"A collection I'm quite proud of," Beatrix continued, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips. "Males who disappointed me, challenged me, or simply caught my eye on the wrong day." She tilted her head, studying Lincoln's terrified expression with detached curiosity. "But yours? Not even worth the effort to display."

Lincoln couldn't breathe. The cold steel beneath him felt like ice against his skin, the weight of the blade a promise of agony to come. His mind raced desperately for something—anything—that might save him from mutilation.

"Please," he whispered, the word barely audible even to his own ears. "Don't."

Beatrix leaned closer, her hot breath washing over his face. Her tongue lolled out, dragging across his cheek in a slow, deliberate lick that left a trail of saliva.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't snip off this useless appendage right now," she growled. "Convince me, human."

Lincoln's mind raced frantically. What could he possibly say to this monster? What would make her stop? The pressure on the blade increased slightly, and he felt a sharp sting as it bit deeper.

The blade pressed harder, drawing a thin bead of blood. Lincoln squeezed his eyes shut, certain his life was about to change forever in the most horrific way.

Suddenly, heat flared against his chest. The amulet vibrated, then began to glow—not its usual soft purple pulse but an intense, blinding radiance that filled the entire chamber. Lincoln felt a strange power surge through his body, starting at his chest and flowing downward like liquid fire.

"What the—" Beatrix jerked back, the machete clattering to the bed as she threw her arms up to shield her eyes.

Lincoln gasped as the energy concentrated in his lower body. The restraints around his wrists grew hot, then disintegrated into ash. The light intensified, becoming so bright he could see it through his closed eyelids, bathing the entire torture chamber in its purifying glow.

Beatrix snarled, trying to lunge forward, but an invisible force slammed into her chest, throwing her backward onto the mattress. She thrashed against the unseen power, her massive form looking small against the overwhelming light.

"Stop this! What are you doing?" she howled, her voice distorted by panic.

Lincoln couldn't have answered even if he wanted to. His body arched off the bed as the amulet's power coursed through him, remaking him in ways he couldn't comprehend. The sensation wasn't pain exactly—more like being unmade and reformed in the same moment, his very essence shifting under the amulet's influence.

As suddenly as it had begun, the light receded, drawing back into the amulet which now pulsed with a steady, confident rhythm against Lincoln's chest.

Beatrix lowered her arms slowly, blinking as her vision adjusted. Her eyes widened, jaw going slack as she stared at Lincoln's transformed body.

Where once lay a frightened boy with unremarkable anatomy now stood something that made even the fearsome hellhound mistress take a step back. Lincoln's manhood had transformed completely—now a massive, throbbing shaft that radiated power, its surface etched with the same ancient symbols as the amulet. It pulsed with life, seeming to have a consciousness of its own as it stood proudly erect.

"Impossible," Beatrix whispered, her voice stripped of its usual confidence. Her eyes couldn't seem to look away from the transformation, her nostrils flaring as she caught a new scent—something primal and dominant that made her own body respond instinctively.

The Gimp Legion shuffled toward the bed in a trance-like state, their leather-clad bodies moving with uncharacteristic hesitation. Lincoln could see their masked faces turning toward each other in confusion, could hear their muffled murmurs of disbelief. Even the tortured hellhound slaves ceased their wailing, the chamber falling into an eerie silence broken only by the wet, rhythmic pulsing of his transformed member.

Beatrix dropped to her knees on the mattress, her massive frame suddenly trembling. Her eyes had dilated completely, the red glow of her irises nearly swallowed by black pupils. Her breathing came in short, ragged gasps.

"Alpha," she whispered, the word hanging in the air like a prayer. Then louder: "ALPHA!"

The howl tore from her throat, primal and raw, echoing off the walls of the torture chamber. Lincoln pressed himself against the headboard, heart hammering against his ribs as Beatrix prostrated herself before him, her forehead touching the mattress in supplication.

"The prophecy," she gasped, her voice unrecognizable from the dominant tone she'd used moments before. "The true Alpha comes not from hellhound blood but bearing the mark of the ancients."

With shaking hands, she reached behind her back and tore at her latex bikini. The material gave way with a wet ripping sound, her massive breasts spilling free. She kicked off the bottom piece, revealing the thick, ungroomed fur between her powerful thighs.

Lincoln watched in stunned silence as Beatrix rose to her full height, standing astride his transformed manhood. Even with her towering above it, the purple-tinged head brushed against her exposed sex, the ancient symbols pulsing with hypnotic rhythm. A drop of moisture fell from her onto the glowing shaft, sizzling on contact.

"My Alpha," she breathed, lowering herself slightly so the massive head pressed more firmly against her. "My god. My master."

Around the bed, the Gimp Legion had fallen to their knees, heads bowed in worship. Even the breeding slaves had managed to orient themselves toward the bed, their eyes wide with reverence and fear.

Beatrix's massive thighs quivered as she positioned herself above Lincoln's transformed member. Her expression had changed completely—gone was the sadistic dominatrix, replaced by something Lincoln had never expected to see on her face: submission.

"The pack is yours to command," she whispered, lowering herself another inch. The head of his cock began to stretch her, the ancient symbols glowing brighter where they made contact with her flesh. "I am yours to command."

Lincoln felt a strange surge of confidence flowing through him, emanating from the amulet and spreading throughout his body. His fear hadn't disappeared, but it was now mingled with something else—a power he didn't understand but somehow knew how to use.

Outside the base, with the Super fuck Squad

Dust billowed in thick clouds as the armored vehicle ground to a halt outside the massive compound. Loona's ears flattened against her skull as she peered through the tinted windows at Beatrix's hideout—a sprawling concrete fortress nestled against the crimson cliffs of the Wrath Ring. Barbed wire topped the twenty-foot walls, and snarling hellhound guards patrolled the perimeter with automatic weapons slung across their chests.

Loona's fur bristled at the sounds. Her ears swiveled toward the massive structure looming against the crimson sky of the Wrath Ring. The building resembled a twisted cathedral merged with an abattoir, all sharp angles and rusted metal. Hellhound guards patrolled the perimeter, their muscular silhouettes visible even from this distance.

"That's it," she growled, jumping down from the tactical vehicle. "That's where she's keeping Lincoln." Her claws extended involuntarily as another scream pierced the air.

Carmelita emerged from the lead vehicle, her russet fur catching the hellish light as she surveyed the compound through high-powered binoculars. "I count at least twenty sentries on the outer wall. Another dozen patrolling the grounds." She lowered the binoculars, her expression grim. "And those are just the ones we can see."

Millie was already unpacking an alarming array of weapons from a duffel bag, her small hands moving with practiced efficiency. "I don't care if there's a thousand of them," she muttered, checking the edge of her favorite battle-axe. "I'm getting our boy back."

Loona watched the tiny imp load herself with enough firepower to level a small building. Despite her diminutive size, Millie's eyes burned with a mother's fury that made Loona almost pity anyone who got in her way. Almost.

Roxanne Wolf approached, her purple fur nearly black in the dim light. She carried what looked like modified sniper rifles, passing one to Carmelita. "Tranquilizers," she explained, catching Loona's questioning glance. "Specially formulated for hellhound physiology."

"Tranqs?" Loona snarled, the fur on her neck rising. "Fuck that. I'm going to tear that bitch's throat out."

Carmelita's tail lashed in irritation. "Stand down, hellhound. Beatrix is to be taken alive." Her emerald eyes narrowed. "Those are our orders directly from Lady Beelzebub herself."

Millie paused in her weapons check. "What? After everything that monster's done?" She gestured toward the fortress with a serrated blade. "After she took our boy?"

"Lady Beelzebub wants her for questioning," Dr. Monique explained, adjusting her lab coat as she unpacked a medical kit. "Something illegal experiments and hellhound genetics. If we kill Beatrix, Her Ladyship will have all our heads—literally."

A bloodcurdling howl shattered the night, echoing across the barren landscape. Loona's ears shot up, every muscle in her body tensing at the sound. It wasn't a cry of pain or rage—it was something far more primal. The howl rose and fell in a rhythm she recognized instantly, making her fur stand on end.

"What the hell was that?" Carmelita whispered, her ears swiveling toward the sound.

"That's Beatrix," Loona growled, her stomach churning. "And she's... she's in heat."

As if responding to her words, another howl tore through the air, longer and more desperate than the first. The guards at the perimeter suddenly stiffened, their weapons lowering as their heads turned toward the main building. One by one, they abandoned their posts, racing toward the entrance of the compound with an urgency that bordered on frenzy.

"They're... leaving?" Millie watched in disbelief as the sentries vanished into the structure, their posts completely abandoned.

Roxanne sniffed the air, her nose wrinkling. "Something's not right. I can smell pheromones from here, but they're... wrong. Too powerful."

Dr. Monique's scientific curiosity briefly overcame her caution. "Fascinating. It appears to be triggering a pack response in all nearby hellhounds."

Loona felt it too—a strange pull at the base of her skull, an instinct she'd spent years suppressing. The scent carried on the wind made her blood run hot for a moment before she forced it down with a snarl.

"I don't care what's happening in there," she growled, extending her claws. "This is our chance."

Carmelita nodded sharply, quickly assessing the situation. "Agreed. We move now. Standard formation, weapons ready. Remember—Beatrix is to be taken alive."

They advanced swiftly across the open ground, encountering no resistance. The massive iron doors of the compound stood partially open, as if the guards had been too frantic to secure them. From inside came more howls—not just Beatrix now, but dozens of voices joining in a cacophony of desire and submission.

"Stay alert," Carmelita whispered as they slipped through the entrance. "This could be a trap."

The interior hallways were deserted, eerily silent compared to the commotion they could hear echoing from deeper within. Millie moved with surprising stealth for someone carrying half her body weight in weapons, her eyes constantly scanning for threats.

"This way," Loona murmured, following both the sounds and the scent that grew stronger with each step. "She's in the central chamber."

They wound through dark corridors, passing empty cells and abandoned torture implements. The further they went, the stronger the strange energy became—a palpable force that made the air feel thick and charged.

As they descended deeper into the compound, the air grew thick with an invisible haze that seemed to coat Loona's lungs with each breath. Her steps faltered as a sudden wave of heat crashed through her body, starting at her core and radiating outward until her skin felt like it was burning beneath her fur.

"Fuck," she gasped, pressing a hand against the wall to steady herself. The concrete felt cool against her palm, a sharp contrast to the fire building inside her. Her nipples tightened painfully against the fabric of her crop top, the friction making her bite back a moan.

Roxanne stumbled beside her, the purple hellhound's usual grace abandoned as she doubled over, panting. "It's... the pheromones," she managed, her voice rough with unexpected desire. "Never felt anything... this strong before."

Ahead of them, Carmelita dropped to one knee, her tail bristling as she fought against the biological imperative washing over her. Sweat dampened her russet fur, making it cling to her trembling form. "We need to... keep moving," she ordered, but her authoritative tone was undermined by the needy whine that escaped her throat.

Even Dr. Monique wasn't immune, her scientific detachment was crumbling as she leaned heavily against the corridor wall. The feline's lab coat now had visible wet patches where her breasts pressed against the fabric, her thighs rubbing together unconsciously as she tried to alleviate the growing pressure between them.

Loona felt a warm trickle down her inner thigh and cursed, knowing her body was betraying her most basic instincts. The scent of her own arousal only intensified the effect, creating a feedback loop of primal need that threatened to overwhelm her reason.

"We can't... stop," she growled, forcing herself forward despite her body's demands. Lincoln was somewhere ahead, and whatever was happening to him was causing this reaction. The thought of her sister's plans for the boy made her stomach churn with both rage and, shamefully, a twisted kind of jealousy.

Millie staggered behind them, her small frame shuddering with each step. Unlike the others, she had no hellhound biology to blame, yet her reaction was just as intense. Her chest heaved with labored breaths, and a dark patch had formed at the front of her dress where her nipples strained against the fabric.

"What's... happening to me?" the imp gasped, her usually cheerful voice now husky and strained. "I've never felt like this before. Not even with Moxxie."

"It's affecting everyone," Dr. Monique observed, her scientific curiosity briefly overriding her body's demands. "Not just hellhounds. Fascinating... and terrifying."

They pressed forward, each step a battle against their own bodies. The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly, the walls pulsing in time with the thundering of Loona's heart. The moisture between her thighs had become a steady trickle, her underwear soaked through completely.

A massive set of double doors loomed ahead, ornately carved with scenes of hellhound conquest. From beyond came sounds that made Loona's ears twitch—moans and growls, the unmistakable rhythm of bodies moving together.

They could hear the thunderous chorus of moans echoing through the massive doors, each sound washing over them like physical waves. Beatrix's voice rose above the others—a deep, guttural howl that made Loona's fur stand on end. But it was the other voice that sent ice through her veins despite the heat consuming her body: Lincoln's unmistakable cries, distorted in ways she'd never heard before.

Carmelita stumbled forward, her tactical gear soaked with sweat. "We... have to move... now," she panted, her emerald eyes glazed with unwanted arousal.

Loona's claws dug into her palms, the sharp pain momentarily cutting through the fog of lust. Her thighs trembled with each step, slick with evidence of her body's betrayal. Yet the thought of Lincoln in her sister's clutches provided just enough clarity to keep her moving.

"On three," she growled, positioning herself beside the door. The others flanked her, weapons drawn despite their shaking hands. "One... two..."

The massive chamber stretched out like a cathedral of depravity, its high ceiling lost in shadow. But instead of the torture scene they'd expected, they found something far more unsettling. Every single occupant—the leather-clad gimps, the formerly tortured hellhound captives, the guards who had abandoned their posts—all knelt in perfect rows, faces pressed to the floor in supplication.

"Alpha," they chanted in perfect unison, the word rippling through the crowd like a prayer, their voices dripping with lustful devotion. "Alpha. Alpha. ALPHA." The sound of their chanting mingled with the wet, squelching noises echoing through the chamber.

At the center of the room stood an enormous circular bed draped in crimson silk, soaked dark with sweat and other fluids. And there, atop it, was Beatrix—her massive frame completely naked, her head thrown back in ecstasy as she moved atop a figure Loona could barely recognize as Lincoln.

The group stood frozen in the doorway, their weapons forgotten as they stared at the scene before them. The air was thick with the scent of sex and the sounds of wet flesh slapping against wet flesh.

Beatrix straddled Lincoln on the massive bed, her powerful thighs flexing as she rose and fell in a frenzied rhythm, the suction of their joined bodies loud and lewd. "Fuck, yes!" she cried out, her voice hoarse with primal need. "Take me, Alpha! Fill me!"

But what held them all transfixed wasn't the act itself—it was the impossible sight of Lincoln's transformed anatomy. Where the boy had once been, there now writhed something beyond comprehension: a pulsing, glowing member that stretched upward like a pillar of ancient power, its surface etched with the same purple runes as his amulet. It glistened with Beatrix's fluids, the wet sounds of their coupling filling the air.

Loona's jaw went slack. The thing protruding from Lincoln's body was larger than Millie's entire frame, thicker than a hellhound's waist, and pulsing with eldritch energy that bathed the entire chamber in an otherworldly glow.

"Holy fuck," Roxy whispered beside her, the words barely audible over the obscene, slapping sounds echoing through the chamber. "That's... that's not possible."

Beatrix's body contorted with each downward thrust, her stomach visibly distending as she fought to accommodate Lincoln's impossible size. "More, Alpha!" she screamed, her voice a mix of pain and pleasure. "Give me more of that thick cock!" Her usually domineering expression had been replaced with one of desperate, almost religious ecstasy. Her massive frame, which had always seemed so imposing to Loona, now looked almost fragile as it stretched around the monstrous intrusion.
"Alpha!" Beatrix howled, her voice cracking as she slammed herself down again. The impact sent ripples through her muscular body, her belly bulging obscenely as the head of Lincoln's transformed cock pressed against her internal organs. "MORE!"

Despite her superhuman strength and size, Beatrix couldn't take more than half the length. Each time she tried to force more inside, her body physically rebelled, the outline of Lincoln's member visible through her stretched abdomen. "Fuck, it's too big!" she cried out, her voice a mix of frustration and desire. "I need it all, Alpha! Please!"

Loona felt her own body respond traitorously, a fresh wave of heat washing through her core at the sight. The pheromones in the air had thickened to an almost visible miasma, making her dizzy with unwanted arousal. "This... this is insane," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Beatrix arched her back, her arms flying behind her head as she desperately tried to force herself further down. Her eyes rolled back, unfocused, as she took only half of Lincoln's transformed member inside her. Drool flowed like rivers from her open muzzle, her tongue lolling out as she gasped and moaned with each frantic bounce. "Fuck me, Alpha!" she screamed, her voice hoarse with need. "Make me your bitch!"

Below her, the massive shaft pulsed with ancient power, stretching her beyond what should have been physically possible. The wet sounds of their fucking filled the air, punctuated only by Beatrix's desperate cries.
"More!" she howled, her voice cracking with desperate need. "Must... take... all!"

Her pussy squirted violently with each downward thrust, drenching the crimson sheets beneath them. The fluid glowed faintly where it touched Lincoln's runic shaft, sizzling and evaporating into purple mist that filled the chamber with the intoxicating scent of primal lust.

Loona watched in horrified fascination as her sister's juices sprayed across the bed with each violent orgasm. "Oh god," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "This is... this is obscene."

Behind her, Carmelita and Roxanne had abandoned all pretense of self-control. The fox's tactical gear lay in a heap on the floor as she frantically worked three fingers inside herself, her emerald eyes locked on Lincoln's impossible member. "Fuck, that's hot," she moaned, her voice thick with lust.

Roxy had torn open her uniform, her purple-furred hands desperately massaging her exposed breasts while her other paw worked furiously between her thighs. "Oh god, oh god, oh god," she chanted, her voice breathless.

Even Dr. Monique had succumbed, the feline scientist's lab coat hanging open as she pressed herself against a nearby pillar, grinding desperately against its edge while mewling in shameless need. "Yes, yes, yes," she cried out, her voice a mix of pleasure and desperation.

Only Loona and Millie remained somewhat lucid, though Loona's body trembled with the effort of resistance. Beside her, the small imp's eyes were wide as maternal concern warred with lust.

Before Loona could say anything, the massive shaft and balls between Lincoln's legs began to pulse more intensely.
"It's happening!" Beatrix screamed, her voice rising to a pitch Loona had never heard from her sister. "The seed of the Alpha!"

Without warning, the shaft between Lincoln's legs surged impossibly larger, the purple runes flaring with blinding intensity. Beatrix froze mid-thrust, her entire body going rigid. Her eyes constricted to tiny pinpricks, her mouth falling open in a silent gasp.

Lincoln felt something primal take over. His hand shot out, grabbing Beatrix's tail with a strength he didn't know he possessed. He yanked hard, eliciting a strangled yelp from the hellhound.

Then it happened. The pressure that had been building inside him released in a cataclysmic eruption. Lincoln felt his consciousness swim as the first torrent of cum rocketed upward into Beatrix's body.

"Holy shit," Loona whispered, backing away as Beatrix's stomach began to expand at an alarming rate.

The hellhound's abdomen swelled outward, stretching to proportions that defied biology. It ballooned rapidly, the skin pulling taut as it grew to the size of a beach ball, then larger still.

Beatrix threw her head back, her spine arching at an impossible angle. The scream that tore from her throat wasn't one of pain but of transcendent ecstasy. Her howl reverberated off the chamber walls, making Lincoln's ears ring. "Yes, Alpha!" she screamed, her voice hoarse with pleasure. "Fill me with your seed!"

Then came the overflow. Lincoln watched in horrified fascination as his essence began to fountain from Beatrix's mouth in thick, pearlescent jets. It sprayed from her nostrils, streamed from her ears, and even leaked from the corners of her eyes like obscene tears.

The hellhound minions surrounding them fell to their knees, some howling in reverence, others extending their tongues to catch the streams raining down upon them. They bathed in it, rubbing it into their fur as if it were sacred oil. "The blessing of the Alpha!" one of them cried out, voice trembling with religious fervor.

Lincoln felt exhausted and powerful all at once. The runes along his transformed body dimmed slightly as the flow finally began to ebb. Beatrix slumped forward, her body twitching with aftershocks, her fur matted and dripping. "Thank you, Alpha," she murmured, her voice thick with satisfaction. "Thank you."

A droplet of Lincoln's essence splashed across Loona's face, landing just below her eye. The world seemed to slow as the glowing liquid seared into her fur, sending electric pulses straight to her core. The scent—primal, powerful, divine—filled her nostrils, overwhelming her senses. Her body seized, legs buckling beneath her as a violent orgasm tore through her without warning.

"L-Lincoln," she gasped, falling to her knees. Her claws dug into the stone floor as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her, each pulse more intense than anything she'd ever experienced. She couldn't fight it, couldn't stop the convulsions that wracked her body. Her vision blurred, the room spinning around her as her hips bucked against nothing but air.

Beside her, Millie had collapsed entirely, the small imp's body writhing on the floor as more droplets rained down upon her. Her weapons clattered across the stone as she thrashed, her back arching impossibly high.

"My sweet boy," Millie moaned, her voice unrecognizable through her pleasure. "My beautiful, powerful boy!" Her small form shuddered with each splash that touched her skin, her dress soaked through with her own arousal.

Through the haze of her orgasm, Loona watched as Beatrix's massive frame swayed precariously atop Lincoln. Her sister's eyes were unfocused, drool still flowing freely from her slack jaws. With a final, gurgling moan, Beatrix pitched forward, sliding off the monumental shaft with an obscene squelching sound. She crashed face-first into the enormous puddle of cum that had formed beneath the bed, her body twitching with aftershocks.

Something fundamental had shifted inside Loona. As the waves of pleasure finally began to recede, she stared at Lincoln with new eyes. Gone was the familial affection, the protective instinct she'd felt toward the boy. In its place burned something primal, possessive—a hunger that terrified and thrilled her in equal measure.

This wasn't her friend anymore. This wasn't the kid who hung around the office reading Stolas's books. This was something else. Something she wanted—needed—to claim.

A commotion from behind broke through her daze. Carmelita, Roxanne, and Dr. Monique had abandoned all pretense of professionalism. The fox burst forward, tearing at what remained of her tactical gear, her muzzle open in a desperate pant.

"Alpha!" Carmelita howled, vaulting over fallen gimps in her haste to reach the bed. Her emerald eyes were wild, fixed on Lincoln's still-erect member with single-minded focus.

Roxanne wasn't far behind, her purple fur slick with sweat as she raced toward the bed. The hellhound had stripped completely, her muscular form glistening in the purple light as she overtook Carmelita with a snarl.

Dr. Monique, usually so composed, had abandoned her clipboard and lab coat. The feline scientist bounded across the chamber on all fours, her tail lashing behind her in excitement.

The three women descended upon Lincoln's transformed member like worshippers at an altar. Carmelita pressed her breasts against the pulsing shaft, her tongue tracing the glowing runes with reverent precision. Roxanne straddled the base, grinding herself against the impossible girth while her claws dug into the bed for purchase. Dr. Monique's scientific detachment had completely vanished as she lapped eagerly at the head, her rough feline tongue collecting the remnants of Beatrix's essence.

Lincoln gasped, his body jerking as fresh waves of pleasure crashed through him. The amulet on his chest pulsed in time with his heartbeat, sending ripples of energy through the chamber. His vision blurred at the edges, the overwhelming sensations threatening to pull him under.

Loona stood transfixed, her resistance crumbling with each passing second. The sight of her sister's unconscious form, bloated and defeated, should have disgusted her. Instead, a primal voice inside her whispered that this was right—this was how it should be. The Alpha had conquered the false leader, and now...

"No," she whispered, digging her claws into her palms. The pain cleared her head momentarily, but then Lincoln's scent hit her again—musk and magic and raw power. Her knees weakened.

Beside her, Millie whimpered, the small imp's eyes never leaving Lincoln's transformed body. "That's... that's our boy," she murmured, her voice thick with conflicting emotions. "We need to help him."

"Help him," Loona repeated, the words shifting meaning even as they left her mouth. Yes, they needed to help him. Help him fulfill his purpose. Help him claim what was his.

The last threads of her willpower snapped like overtaxed rubber bands. Her hands moved of their own accord, tearing at her clothes. The fabric gave way easily under her claws, shredding to ribbons that fell forgotten to the floor. Beside her, Millie was doing the same, her small red hands ripping away her blood-spattered clothes with all her strength.

Lincoln's fading consciousness registered the new sounds—the ripping of fabric, the padding of bare feet approaching the bed. He forced his eyes open, fighting against the blackness that threatened to claim him. Through the haze, he saw them approaching—Loona and Millie, both completely naked, their eyes transformed. Where once had been familiar expressions now shone literal purple hearts, pulsing in time with the runes on his body.

"Mine," Loona growled, shoving Roxanne aside to claim her place against Lincoln's shaft. The contact sent electricity racing through her fur, every nerve ending singing with pleasure. She pressed herself against him, grinding her sex against the pulsing runes, leaving slick trails of arousal on the glowing surface.

Millie crawled onto the bed from the other side, her small form almost comical next to the massive dick towering above her.

Lincoln felt his consciousness slipping, the overwhelming sensations threatening to pull him under. The world swam around him, purple light pulsing in time with his heartbeat. Through the haze, he saw Loona and Millie approaching the bed, their eyes transformed into literal purple hearts that matched the runes on his body.

"Loona," he gasped, his voice barely audible over the chorus of moans. "Millie. Please... help me."

The words left his lips, but they didn't register as he intended. Instead of concern, both women's faces lit up with devotion, their expressions morphing into masks of worship.

"Yes, Master," Loona purred, pushing past Roxanne to claim her place against his shaft. "We'll help you. We'll serve you."

"We're here for you, Tot," Millie cooed, but the maternal tone had twisted into something primal and possessive. "Let Momma take care of everything."

The last thing Lincoln saw before darkness claimed him was Loona and Millie working in tandem, their bodies pressed against his transformed member. Loona's tongue traced the glowing runes with desperate fervor, her white fur glistening with sweat as she worked her way up the impossible length. Millie mirrored her movements on the opposite side, her small red hands barely spanning a fraction of the girth as she rubbed her entire body against the pulsing shaft.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I'm alive! Sort of, sorry about the delays and no chapter for my other stories, with my laptop not connecting to the wifi, I'm forced to use the either cable, which, due to various reasons, doesn't give me much time to write. But don't worry, I haven't given up on doing the other chapters I promised, I'm just going to have to be a bit more selective of what I work on.  

Now, I bet none of you saw this story coming did you? Well, to be honest, neither did I at first. With the extra free time I have, I was trying to come up with new ideas for my stories while scrolling on my phone when i came across the web series Super Fuck Friends, and after binging the two seasons, some things just clicked, and i was hit with a LOT of inspiration and needed to get it down.

This takes place in the A Loud among Demons setting, not sure when exactly, other than Lincoln having the amulet he got on earth, so somewhere in the later seasons.

Now, regarding Loona and Beatrix being sisters, that and many other things are going to be explained in the next chapter.

Now, if it wasn't clear here in the first chapter, this will be a very sex heavy story as Lincoln will be getting all the bitches in due time, as for plot. Honestly, I'll be making that up as I go, so please don't expect too much, or if you have suggestions, feel free to let me know.

Welp, that's all I can think to say for the moment. If you liked this story, or have any questions or suggestions going forward, let me know in the comments, and I'll try to get to them as fast as possible.

Stay safe and stay awesome. I need to go charge my laptop, bye!

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the series or characters; all rights are owned by their respective owners. Warning: Mature themes like underage sex, Incest, and other bad stuff will appear in this story. If you don't like that, don't read.

Prince Stolas's palace, a few days later

Consciousness returned to Lincoln in fragments. First came the softness beneath him—not the sticky, soiled sheets of Beatrix's chamber, but something clean and crisp that smelled faintly of lavender. Then the gentle weight of a silk comforter draped over his body. Finally, the distant chirping of exotic birds filters through an open window.

His eyes fluttered open to a high, vaulted ceiling painted with constellations he didn't recognize. Lincoln blinked slowly, trying to piece together where he was and how he'd gotten there. The last thing he remembered was... was...

His breath caught in his throat. Beatrix. The torture chamber. The amulet activating, and then...

Lincoln's hands flew to his groin, yanking back the covers with panicked urgency. He stared down at himself, heart hammering against his ribs. His body was clothed in soft pajamas, and beneath them—he checked with trembling fingers—everything was normal. Completely, unremarkably normal. His anatomy was exactly as it had always been, with no sign of the monstrous, rune-covered appendage that had transformed him into some kind of hellish deity.

"Was it all just a nightmare?" he whispered, running his hands over his chest. The amulet was gone too. Had any of it been real? Beatrix kidnapping him, the torture chamber, Loona and the others bursting in, all of them transformed into worshipping...

Heat rushed to his face at the memory—or was it just his imagination?

The creak of a door pulled Lincoln from his thoughts. He jerked his head toward the sound, body tensing for another threat.

Prince Stolas stood framed in the doorway, an ancient tome clutched against his chest. The owl demon's eyes widened, four red pupils dilating in surprise.

"Lincoln! You're awake!" Stolas nearly dropped the massive book, fumbling to keep it secure as he rushed to the bedside. His talons clicked rapidly against the marble floor, long legs carrying him across the room in three quick strides. "My dear boy, how do you feel? Are you in any pain? Any lingering... effects?"

Lincoln shrank back against the pillows as Stolas loomed over him, the demon's feathered head tilting this way and that as he examined Lincoln with intense scrutiny.

"I'm... I think I'm okay," Lincoln managed, his voice rough from disuse. "What happened? How did I get here? Where's Loona and the others?"

Stolas settled on the edge of the bed, his weight barely registering on the plush mattress. He set the massive tome beside him, one talon lingering protectively on its worn cover.

"You've been unconscious for three days," Stolas said, his voice gentler than Lincoln had ever heard it. "After what happened at that barbaric hellhound's base, well, let's just say we expected it would take longer for you to wake up."

A wave of nausea crashed over Lincoln as the owl demon's words sank in. Three days unconscious. The memories flooded back—not dreams or nightmares, but horrifying reality. His hands trembled beneath the silk sheets as fragments of recollection pieced themselves together: Beatrix's lair, the torture chamber, the amulet's power, and what it had done to him... what he had done to them.

"It... it was real, wasn't it?" Lincoln's voice cracked. He clutched at his chest where the amulet had hung, finding only bare skin beneath his pajamas. "The amulet, Beatrix, what happened to my... to me..." He couldn't bring himself to describe the transformation.

Stolas's feathers ruffled slightly, his four eyes blinking in rapid succession. He seemed to debate with himself for a moment before releasing a long, resigned sigh.

"Yes, my dear boy. I'm afraid it was all quite real." The owl demon's voice was uncharacteristically gentle. He adjusted his position on the bed, talons carefully arranging the ancient tome on his lap. "The amulet you wore—the Phallus of Priapus—is one of the most dangerous and potent artifacts in all the circles of Hell. It's been lost for millennia, and now we know why."

Lincoln's stomach twisted into knots. "What... what happened after I passed out? Where's Loona? And Millie? Are they okay?"

Stolas's head tilted slightly, studying Lincoln with an expression that mingled concern with scientific curiosity. "The extraction team arrived approximately thirty minutes after your... transformation. Lady Beelzebub herself came to collect Beatrix."

Lincoln stiffened, blood running cold at the mention of Beelzebub. The Queen Bee had seen him at that party when he was disguised as a hellhound. If she'd been there during his transformation... if she'd witnessed what the amulet had done to him...

His mouth went dry. "Beelzebub was there?" he whispered, voice barely audible even to his own ears.

Before Stolas could respond, the bedroom doors burst open with enough force to rattle the ornate frames on the nearby walls. Lincoln flinched at the sudden noise, instinctively pulling the silk sheets higher over his body.

Beelzebub strode into the room like she owned it, her four arms gesturing expressively as she spoke to someone behind her. The insectoid demon's hair shifted through a kaleidoscope of colors that caught the light streaming through the tall windows. Her revealing outfit—little more than strategically placed strips of fabric—left little to the imagination.

"—and I want those test results on my desk by tomorrow, or I'll have someone's exoskeleton for jewelry," she was saying, her voice sharp and authoritative. She stopped abruptly when she noticed Lincoln sitting upright in bed, her compound eyes widening slightly.

"Well, well! The guest of honor is finally awake." Her tone shifted instantly to something honeyed and playful as she approached the bed. "How's our little miracle boy feeling?"

Lincoln shrank back against the headboard, heart hammering against his ribs. The memory of what had happened in Beatrix's lair flashed vividly behind his eyes—the transformation, the power, the worship. And Beelzebub had been there to witness it all.

"I... I'm fine," he managed, voice cracking. His fingers clutched the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"Fine? Just fine?" Beelzebub laughed, the sound like tinkling glass. She perched on the edge of the bed opposite Stolas, one of her hands reaching out to pat Lincoln's leg through the covers. "After what you did? My dear, you're far more than fine. You're extraordinary."

Beelzebub's lips curled into a wolfish grin as she studied Lincoln's face. She slid closer on the bed, her multiple arms moving with predatory grace as she reached out to cup his cheek.

"Look at you," she purred, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "My new favorite big-dicked boy is finally awake. I was beginning to worry we might have to wait another day to properly... debrief you."

Heat rushed to Lincoln's face, his cheeks burning so intensely he feared they might catch fire. He tried to sink deeper into the mattress, wishing it would swallow him whole.

"I... I don't think we've actually met before," he stammered, desperate to establish some distance from what had happened. "Formally, I mean."

Beelzebub threw her head back and laughed, the sound like wind chimes in a hurricane. Her lava lamp hair shifted from pink to aqua-blue as she leaned in closer, close enough that Lincoln could smell her perfume—honey and something darker, more intoxicating.

"Oh, don't be coy with me, sweetness," she said, tapping his nose with one slender finger. "I never forget a scent, especially not one that got as adorably hyper as yours did after consuming half the candy table at one of my parties. Also, that hellhound disguise you wore was fucking adorable."

Lincoln quickly turned to Stolas, who nodded solemnly.

"After we rescued you," the owl demon explained, his voice soft, "we had to inform Lady Beelzebub about your situation. The curse binding you to Hell, your human origins—everything."

Lincoln's chest tightened, his lungs suddenly unable to draw air. The room tilted around him as black spots danced in his vision. He was exposed—completely vulnerable. If one of the Seven Deadly Sins knew about him, about his humanity, he might as well be dead already. His hands clutched at the silk sheets, knuckles turning white as he gasped for breath.

Beelzebub's cool fingers caught his chin, tilting his face up to meet her compound eyes. The touch was surprisingly gentle, almost maternal, despite the predatory gleam in her gaze.

"Calm yourself, little pup," she murmured, her voice like honey dripping from a knife. "Your secret is safe with me. I have no intention of sharing your existence with my... colleagues." Her lips curved into a conspiratorial smile. "Well, maybe Ozzie giving that scare you gave him at his club, but I'm sure I can talk him into keeping things quiet, so don't worry, neither you or your friends are in any trouble for that."

Lincoln breathed a sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging as some of the tension drained from his body. At least one of the most powerful beings in Hell wasn't planning to destroy him on the spot. Small victories.

"However," Beelzebub continued, her voice hardening as she turned to Stolas, "as one of the Seven Deadly Sins, I have certain responsibilities to maintain the balance of power between our realms."

Lincoln's momentary relief evaporated as quickly as it had come.

"I'll be confiscating your grimoire, Stolas darling," she said, her tone deceptively light despite the weight of her words. "The one your little imp friend has been using to access the human world."

Stolas's feathers bristled, his four eyes widening in alarm. "My lady, surely that's not necessary—"

"It absolutely is," Beelzebub cut him off, two of her four arms crossing over her chest while another gestured dismissively. "This little assassination business has become too risky. One human child finding his way to Hell is problematic enough. We cannot risk more exposure."

Lincoln's stomach dropped. The grimoire was their only reliable connection to Earth—his only potential way home someday.

"For how long?" he asked, his voice small.

Beelzebub's compound eyes shifted to him, her expression softening just slightly. "For the foreseeable future, sweetness. I.M.P. won't be doing any jobs for quite some time."

Lincoln sank back against the pillows, mind racing. No more trips to Earth. No more going up on missions with the others, no more seeing the world he was born in. He was truly trapped now.

"What about Loona?" he asked suddenly, remembering his friends. "And Millie? Are they okay after... after what happened?"

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Stolas fidgeted with the edges of his robe, suddenly finding the patterns in the marble floor fascinating. Beelzebub's smile took on a quality Lincoln couldn't quite interpret—something between amusement and calculation.

"They're recovering," she said finally. "The effects of your magic pharamoans and cum hit them pretty hard. By the time I found them, they and my little squad were all working together to get as much cum out of you as possible. You were like a fountain as they BATHED in your hot, smelly jizz,” the sin grinned at him, "It was hot as fuck watching them rub your white stuff all over themselves while also eating it."

Lincoln's face turned a mortified red, the heat spreading all the way to his ears as Beelzebub's words sank in. He wanted to disappear into the mattress, to be anywhere but here with the Queen of Gluttony describing how she'd watched his... fluids being used like some kind of sacred ointment.

Beelzebub caught his expression and licked her lips slowly, deliberately. "Oh, don't look so embarrassed, sweetness. I enjoyed it too." Her compound eyes gleamed with mischief as she leaned closer. "In fact, the taste was so exquisite that I'm going to base my next feast on it. Already have my chefs working on recreating that unique flavor profile."

Lincoln's jaw dropped. He tried to form words, but his brain seemed to have short-circuited. The thought of Hell's aristocracy dining on food inspired by his... he couldn't even complete the thought without wanting to die of shame.

Stolas cleared his throat loudly, feathers ruffling with obvious discomfort. "Perhaps we should discuss more pressing matters," he said, shooting Beelzebub a disapproving glance. "Such as the amulet and its effects on young Lincoln."

Lincoln gratefully seized the change of subject. "Where is it?" he asked, hand moving instinctively to his chest where the purple gem had once rested. "The amulet—what happened to it?"

Stolas sighed, his four eyes shifting to meet Lincoln's gaze. "The amulet has been secured in my personal vault for safekeeping and study," he explained, his voice gentle but firm. "It's far too dangerous to remain in anyone's possession right now, especially after what we witnessed."

Lincoln swallowed hard, a mixture of relief and anxiety washing over him. Part of him never wanted to see the cursed thing again, while another part felt strangely bereft without its familiar weight against his chest.

"As for what it did to you..." Stolas continued, talons nervously adjusting his monocle. "After extensively questioning Beatrix's surviving gimps, I've developed a theory." He leaned closer, voice dropping to an academic murmur. "When Beatrix threatened to... remove your manhood, it appears you subconsciously channeled your latent magical energy through the amulet."

Lincoln's stomach clenched at the memory of the cold steel pressed against his most vulnerable flesh, the wall of trophies leering at him from across the chamber.

"The amulet," Stolas continued, "simply responded to your desperate desire for self-preservation. It chose the most... effective method to ensure your genitals remained not only intact but, shall we say, enhanced beyond all recognition."

Beelzebub snorted, covering her mouth with one of her four hands. "That's putting it mildly. The damn thing gave the kid a cock that even Ozzie would blink twice at."

Lincoln decidedly chose to ignore Beelzebub's crude comment, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He cleared his throat, forcing a weak smile.

"I'm just glad everything's back to normal," he said, gesturing vaguely toward his lower half. "At least I won't have to worry about... that... happening again."

The uncomfortable look that crossed Stolas's face made Lincoln's stomach drop. Beside him, Beelzebub's lips curled into an amused smile that sent a chill down his spine.

"About that," Stolas began, his talons fidgeting with the ancient tome on his lap. "I'm afraid the, ah, enhancement the amulet bestowed upon you is still very much in effect."

Lincoln felt the blood drain from his face. "What? But I checked, and everything looks—"

"Normal? Yes," Stolas nodded, adjusting his monocle. "That's because Lady Beelzebub was kind enough to place a magical seal on your... anatomy. Without it, you'd still be, well..."

"Sporting a cock the size of a hellhound's leg and flooding this entire wing with sex pheromones potent enough to make a succubus blush," Beelzebub finished with a delighted grin. "The seal keeps everything contained to a more manageable size and prevents you from turning everyone within a hundred-yard radius into sex-crazed worshippers."

Lincoln slumped against the headboard, his mind reeling. The transformation hadn't been reversed—just contained. Like a magical time bomb waiting to go off again.

Lincoln stared into nothing, his mind struggling to process Beelzebub's words. The transformation wasn't temporary. It wasn't over. It was just... contained. Like a monster locked in a cage that could break free at any moment.

"So what am I supposed to do now?" he finally asked, his voice hollow. "Just hope this 'seal' never breaks? Live my life knowing I could turn into... that... again?" The memory of what he'd become—what he'd done—made his stomach churn.

Beelzebub leaned forward, her eyes reflecting Lincoln's pale face. "You learn to control it, sweetness. That demonic cock is part of you now, whether you like it or not." She tapped his chest with one slender finger. "You need to learn how to manipulate it to your wishes, bend it to your will instead of letting it control you."

Lincoln blinked, dragging himself from his stupor. "How am I supposed to do that?" The question came out more desperate than he intended. "I don't even know what happened the first time!"

A slow, predatory smile spread across Beelzebub's face, her eyes gleaming with an emotion Lincoln couldn't quite identify. "With a great teacher, of course."

She rose from the bed in one fluid motion, smoothing down her revealing outfit. "You boys just wait here a sec while I go fetch her. She and I were in Stolas's parlor waiting together when i decided to go look for Stolas. Trust me when I say she'll be more than happy to teach you all about demonic lust energy."

"You boys just wait here a sec while I go fetch her," Beelzebub said with a wink. "She and I were in Stolas's parlor waiting together when I decided to go look for Stolas. Trust me when I say she'll be more than happy to teach you all about demonic lust energy."

The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving Lincoln alone with Stolas. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken concerns.

"Who is she talking about?" Lincoln asked, his voice barely above a whisper. The knot in his stomach tightened as he imagined what kind of "teacher" Beelzebub might bring—probably some ancient, terrifying demon specializing in torture disguised as education.

Stolas sighed, his feathers ruffling slightly as he adjusted his position on the bed. "Someone who was very concerned for your safety when she heard about what happened to you, my dear boy." The owl demon's four eyes blinked in rapid succession. "She's been quite... persistent in her inquiries about your condition these past three days."

Before Lincoln could ask for clarification, the bedroom doors swung open again. Beelzebub sauntered back in, all four arms gesturing grandly as if presenting a prize.

"May I present your new instructor in the arts of lust management," she announced with theatrical flair.

Lincoln's jaw dropped as Verosika Mayday strode into the room. The succubus pop star's purple skin seemed to glow in the soft light of his bedroom, her curves accentuated by the revealing black leather outfit that left little to the imagination. Her violet eyes immediately locked onto his, a mixture of relief and something more intense flickering across her features.

"Lincoln!" Verosika rushed to his bedside, shoving Stolas aside with enough force to send the owl demon tumbling off the mattress in an undignified heap of feathers. She sat where he had been, her hands immediately finding Lincoln's face, turning it this way and that as she examined him. "Are you okay? When I heard what that psychotic hellhound bitch did to you, I nearly died of shock before rushing over."

Verosika cupped Lincoln's face in her hands and began planting frantic kisses all over—his forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose—each one punctuated with a little sound of relief. Lincoln's brain short-circuited at the sensation of the pop star's soft lips against his skin, her perfume enveloping him in a cloud of sweet jasmine and something darker, more seductive.

"Thank Satan you're okay!" She pressed another kiss to his temple. "When I heard what happened—" Another kiss, this one dangerously close to his mouth. "—I was so worried!"

Lincoln sat frozen, his face heating to what felt like the temperature of the sun as the succubus continued her assault of affection. His eyes darted desperately to Stolas, who was still sprawled on the floor, and then to Beelzebub, who watched the scene with undisguised amusement, all four of her arms crossed over her chest.

"I, um—" Lincoln tried to speak, but Verosika silenced him with another kiss, this one landing on the corner of his mouth.

"After what that psycho did to you..." Verosika pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, her own violet ones swimming with genuine concern. "I couldn't believe it when Vortex told me."

"Vortex?" Lincoln managed to squeak out between kisses. His head was spinning, trying to make sense of why a famous pop star was showering him with affection.

Beelzebub chuckled, her compound eyes glittering with mischief. "Yes, I may have mentioned your little adventure to my current main squees," she said, examining her nails with exaggerated casualness. "Who, as you know, is Verosika's bouncer/bodyguard."

"The moment Vortex called me," Verosika continued, finally giving Lincoln a moment to breathe, "I was in the middle of a nude photoshoot for Sinful Succubus magazine. Dropped my props, didn't even grab a robe—the photographer was still shouting as I teleported out." She stroked his white hair back from his forehead with surprising tenderness. "I showed up at Bee's place completely naked, wanting to see you."

Lincoln's throat tightened with emotion. The genuine concern in Verosika's eyes made his chest ache in a way he hadn't expected. This famous pop star had literally dropped everything—including her clothes—and rushed to his side the moment she heard he was in danger.

"I... thank you," he managed, his voice cracking slightly. "I'm sorry I worried you so much. You didn't have to—"

"Don't you dare apologize," Verosika interrupted, pressing a finger against his lips. Her expression softened, the usual seductive edge in her eyes giving way to something more vulnerable. "What happened to you wasn't your fault. None of it was."

Lincoln nodded, not trusting himself to speak as warmth spread through his chest. The finger against his lips lingered a moment longer before Verosika pulled it away, her usual confidence returning as she flashed him a dazzling smile.

"Besides," she continued, bouncing slightly on the mattress with sudden excitement, making her generous cleavage bounce right in the boy's face, "now I get to be your personal instructor in all things demonic lust energy!" She clapped her hands together, her enthusiasm almost childlike despite her provocative appearance. "I've been planning our lessons ever since Bee told me about your... condition."

Lincoln's face heated again. "Lessons?"

"Of course!" Verosika's eyes lit up as she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a sultry purr that sent shivers down Lincoln's spine. "We're going to start with the basics—breathing exercises to control the flow of energy through your body. Then we'll move on to the fun stuff."

"Fun... stuff?" Lincoln squeaked, his imagination running wild.

Verosika nodded enthusiastically. "Practical application is essential for mastery. I've already cleared my touring schedule for the next three months so we can focus on hands-on training." She winked, the double entendre unmistakable. "By the time I'm done with you, you'll be able to control every aspect of your transformation—size, duration, intensity, even the flavor profile of your emissions."

Lincoln choked on air, coughing violently as Beelzebub burst into laughter from across the room.

"Actually, that reminds me!" Verosika bounced excitedly on the edge of the bed, her eyes lighting up. "You're going to absolutely LOVE my mansion in the Lust Ring! I've already had my staff prepare the east wing just for you—it's got the most amazing view of the Crimson Gardens."

Lincoln's head jerked up, his momentary embarrassment forgotten. "Your... mansion?"

"Of course, you adorable bunny!" Verosika waved dismissively. "Where else would you live during your training? My place has everything we need—soundproofed rooms for when your powers flare up, reinforced furniture that can withstand demonic strength, and a swimming pool filled with soothing aloe for after our more... intense sessions."

Lincoln turned to Stolas, confusion written across his face. "What is she talking about? I thought I'd be going back to I.M.P. once I recovered."

Stolas cleared his throat, adjusting his monocle as he finally managed to climb back to his feet after being unceremoniously shoved off the bed. His feathers were still ruffled, both literally and figuratively.

"Ah, yes. About that..." The owl demon smoothed down his plumage. "After extensive consultation with all concerned parties—myself, Lady Beelzebub, Blitzo, and the rest of the I.M.P. crew—we've unanimously determined that given your current... condition, it would be safest for you to reside in the Lust Ring under Ms. Mayday's supervision."

"What?" Lincoln's voice cracked. "But... Loona and the others..."

Verosika caught the panic flashing across Lincoln's face and quickly reached for his hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

"Oh Linky, there's nothing to worry about!" She brushed a strand of white hair from his forehead. "I already talked to your little imp family about this. I've offered to house them at my place too—well, except for Blitzo." Her nose wrinkled slightly. "That would be... awkward, given our history."

Lincoln's heartbeat slowed a fraction. "They're coming too? All of them?"

"Well, the girls are," Verosika said, her thumb tracing small circles on the back of his hand. "Millie was absolutely thrilled at the idea—something about making sure her 'baby boy' gets proper home-cooked meals even in the Lust Ring." She chuckled. "And Loona... well, she didn't say much, but she packed her bags faster than anyone."

Relief washed over Lincoln. The thought of being separated from Loona and the others had sent ice through his veins. They were the closest thing to family he had in Hell.

"What about Moxxie?" he asked, suddenly realizing the imp hadn't been mentioned.

Verosika's expression softened. "He decided to stay in Pride. Said he needed to find temporary work until Blitzo settles things with Beelzebub and they can get back to their assassination business." She shrugged. "Between you and me, I think he's a little uncomfortable with the whole 'living in the Lust Ring' idea. He seems like the prudish type."

Lincoln could imagine Moxxie's flustered face at the mere suggestion of moving to the most sexually charged area of Hell. The thought almost made him smile despite everything.

A sudden weight lifted from Lincoln's chest. The thought of Loona and Millie coming with him to Verosika's mansion meant he wouldn't be alone in this strange new situation. Whatever challenges his transformed body presented, at least he'd face them with familiar faces nearby.

But as the relief washed over him, another thought pierced through—the hellhound women from Beatrix's torture chamber. Their vacant eyes and agonized screams still echoed in his memory, making his stomach twist with renewed nausea.

"What about..." Lincoln swallowed hard, finding it difficult to form the words. "What happened to all those women in Beatrix's compound? The ones she was..." He couldn't finish the sentence, the horror of what he'd witnessed still too raw.

Beelzebub's playful demeanor vanished instantly. Her compound eyes darkened, and her lava lamp hair shifted to a deep crimson as she moved closer to the bed. For the first time since entering the room, she looked every bit the ancient, powerful demon she truly was.

"The victims," she said, her voice dropping an octave. "Yes."

Lincoln watched as the Queen of Gluttony folded two of her four arms across her chest while the other pair clasped behind her back. The sudden shift in her body language made his heart beat faster.

"Those who hadn't been completely broken by Beatrix and her gimps are currently recovering in a private hospital in the Sloth Ring," Beelzebub continued, her eyes fixed on a point somewhere beyond Lincoln's shoulder. "The facility is being funded out of my personal accounts. They're receiving the best care Hell has to offer, both physical and psychological."

Lincoln nodded, a small measure of relief trickling through him. At least some of the women might recover. "And... the others?" he asked, though part of him didn't want to know the answer.

Beelzebub's expression hardened further. "Those too far gone—the ones whose minds shattered completely under Beatrix's 'training'—have been transferred to specialized facilities in the Lust Ring."

She paused, her eyes finally meeting Lincoln's. "They can no longer function as anything but sex-obsessed masochists and breeding vessels. Their capacity for independent thought is... gone."

Lincoln felt sick. The room seemed to tilt around him as the full horror of what Beatrix had done sank in. Those women would never recover, never return to normal lives. They were permanently damaged, reduced to the very thing Beatrix had tried to make them.

"That's..." He struggled to find words adequate to express his horror. "That's awful."

Verosika reached over and squeezed his hand, her touch unexpectedly gentle. "It is," she agreed softly. "But the facilities in Lust are the best possible option for them now. They'll be comfortable there, their needs met without further exploitation."

"What about Beatrix?" Lincoln asked, fear and dread in his voice.

Beelzebub's compound eyes darkened, the lava-lamp colors of her hair shifting to a deep, bloody crimson. Her lips curled into a vindictive smile that sent a chill down Lincoln's spine.

"Beatrix," she purred, the name dripping with malice, "is currently enjoying my hospitality in the deepest level of my palace in Gluttony." She leaned closer to Lincoln, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "She's undergoing what I like to call 'reprogramming and rehabilitation'—a special process I reserve for those who've truly earned my... attention."

Lincoln swallowed hard, both relieved and disturbed by the gleam in Beelzebub's eyes.

"Will she ever be released?" he asked, voice barely audible.

Beelzebub's palace, Gluttony Ring 

Deep beneath Beelzebub's palace in the Gluttony Ring, the air hung heavy with the scent of blood, sweat, and something chemical—sharp and medicinal. The reinforced cell was bathed in harsh fluorescent light that left no corner in shadow.

Beatrix's massive frame was secured to a metal chair bolted to the floor, thick adamantine restraints binding her wrists, ankles, and neck. The once-proud hellhound was barely recognizable, her charcoal fur patchy and singed in places, silver hair matted with dried blood. A grotesque helmet encased her head, wires and tubes snaking from it to a bank of humming machinery that filled one wall of the cell.

The sizzle of electricity against wet fur filled the sterile chamber as Carmelita pressed the cattle prod deeper into Beatrix's exposed flank. The hellhound's massive body convulsed, muscles seizing involuntarily as current coursed through her restrained form. Yet when the shock subsided, Beatrix didn't scream—she laughed, the sound hollow and mechanical through the helmet encasing her head.

"Is that all you've got, foxy?" Beatrix taunted, her voice distorted by the apparatus. "I've had rougher foreplay with virgins."

Carmelita's emerald eyes narrowed as she stepped back, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of one gloved hand. Three days of interrogation, and the hellhound remained defiant. Even with the mind-reprogramming helmet pumping chemicals and subliminal messages directly into her brain, Beatrix's will hadn't cracked.

"Maybe we should try something more traditional," Roxy suggested, her purple fur gleaming under the harsh lights as she approached with a serrated blade. "I've always been curious what a hellhound looks like without her pelt."

Beatrix's laughter only grew louder, the sound bouncing off the concrete walls of her cell. "Do your worst, purple bitch. Nothing you do matters anymore." Her head tilted awkwardly within the confines of the helmet, tubes and wires shifting with the movement. "He's coming for me. My Alpha. My god."

Carmelita exchanged a troubled glance with Roxy. This wasn't the first time Beatrix had mentioned her "Alpha" since they'd brought her in. The hellhound's obsession with Lincoln had only grown stronger with each passing day, as if the reprogramming was somehow reinforcing her delusions rather than breaking them.

In another section of Beelzebub's underground facility, Dr. Monique Pussycat hunched over her microscope, whiskers twitching with concern. The genetic samples extracted from Beatrix's blood displayed patterns she'd never encountered before—anomalies that defied conventional hellborn DNA structures. She adjusted her glasses, squinting through the lenses at the cellular mutations that seemed to pulse with unnatural life.

"This can't be right," she muttered, reaching for another slide. The feline scientist's tail lashed behind her in agitation as she compared the samples. Each one showed the same disturbing alterations—deliberate genetic tampering that went beyond anything she'd seen in her centuries of research.

Dr. Pussycat pressed a button on her console, bringing up a holographic display of Beatrix's complete genetic sequence. Red markers flashed throughout the strand, highlighting dozens of artificial modifications.

"She's been experimenting on herself," Monique whispered, horrified realization dawning as she scrolled through the data. "Using her own body as a test subject for years before she started on the others."

The implications made her stomach turn. Whatever they had planned for Beatrix's rehabilitation had just become exponentially more complicated. The hellhound's very DNA had been corrupted—twisted into something that barely resembled a natural hellborn anymore.

She needed to inform Beelzebub immediately. This wasn't just a case of psychological reprogramming anymore. Beatrix's entire biological makeup would need to be addressed before any meaningful progress could be made.

Back with Lincoln and the others

Meanwhile, back in Stolas's manor, Beelzebub had risen from her seat beside Lincoln's bed and begun pacing. Her four arms gesticulated wildly as she spoke, her lava lamp-like hair shifting through agitated reds and oranges.

"You know," she said, turning to face Lincoln and Verosika, "while Beatrix absolutely deserves everything coming to her for her crimes, there's something you should understand about her."

Lincoln watched the Sin of Gluttony move restlessly across the plush carpet, her compound eyes flickering with memories.

"I've been digging into her background," Beelzebub continued, her voice uncharacteristically somber. "That shelter where she and Loona grew up? It wasn't just any orphanage. It was also used for exparamentation."

"Project Fenrir," Beelzebub said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "A classified experiment funded by a particularly ambitious Goetia lord who wanted to create the ultimate guard dog—a hellhound warrior unlike any Hell had ever seen."

Lincoln's mouth went dry as he listened. The Sin of Gluttony's normally playful demeanor had vanished completely, replaced by something cold and clinical that made his skin crawl.

"They selected Beatrix from the shelter when she was barely more than a pup," Beelzebub continued, her compound eyes fixed on a point somewhere beyond the bedroom walls. "She displayed unusual aggression even then—dominating the other orphans, establishing herself as the alpha of the pack. The researchers saw potential."

Lincoln's stomach twisted as he imagined a younger Beatrix—still a child really—being taken away for some horrible experiment. Despite everything she'd done, the thought made his chest ache.

"They injected her with experimental compounds derived from ancient hellborn creatures," Beelzebub said, two of her four arms gesturing as if mapping out a complex diagram in the air. "Growth hormones, strength enhancers, aggression amplifiers—cocktails that would have killed most subjects. But Beatrix survived. Thrived, even."

Verosika's hand found Lincoln's beneath the covers, squeezing gently. He was grateful for the contact, an anchor in the storm of horrific revelations.

"The project's goal was to create a living weapon," Beelzebub said, her hair shifting to a deep, somber blue. "A hellhound that could serve as both personal protection and offensive asset for the Goetia funding the research. But they miscalculated."

"How?" Lincoln asked, his voice barely audible.

Beelzebub's lips curled into a bitter smile. "They made her too strong, too aggressive. And they underestimated her intelligence. One night, after a particularly brutal round of injections, she broke free of her restraints."

Lincoln shuddered, imagining the scene. Beatrix, pumped full of experimental drugs, her body transforming into the massive, muscle-bound monster he'd encountered.

"She slaughtered everyone in the facility," Beelzebub said flatly. "scientists, guards, other test subjects. Even the retared Goetia that funded the whole thing."

A heavy silence fell over the room. Lincoln could almost hear the screams, see the blood splashing across sterile walls as Beatrix tore through her captors with newly enhanced strength.

"She disappeared after that," Beelzebub continued. "Spent years building her criminal empire, recruiting other hellhounds to her cause. The effects of Project Fenrir never diminished—if anything, they intensified over time."

"That's why she's so..." Lincoln struggled for words.

"Fucked up?" Verosika offered, her usual bluntness returning. "Yeah. Being turned into a walking biological weapon will do that to you."

Lincoln's throat tightened as he absorbed this new information. He could almost see it—a younger but still terrifying Beatrix, covered in blood, walking away from the carnage she'd created.

"I found out about the whole thing a week after she escaped, and immediately put together the Super Fuck Squad to capture her," Beelzebub said, pacing faster now. "Not to punish her—to help her. The experiments had altered her mind as much as her body. She needed treatment, rehabilitation."

Verosika's grip on Lincoln's hand tightened slightly. Her eyes followed Beelzebub's movements, her expression unreadable.

"But she eluded us for years," Beelzebub continued, frustration evident in her tone. "Always one step ahead, gathering followers and slaves as she went. Building that army of hers." She stopped pacing suddenly, turning to face Lincoln directly. "She wasn't just building a cult of personality—she was preparing for war. A war against the Goetia, against the nobility of Hell, against anyone she deemed responsible for what happened to her."

Lincoln tried to imagine the scale of destruction Beatrix might have caused with her army of brainwashed hellhounds. The thought made him shudder.

"But now," Beelzebub's serious expression melted into a reassuring smile, "that won't be an issue anymore. We have Beatrix contained, her followers are being deprogrammed, and her little revolution has been stopped before it could start." She waved two of her four hands dismissively. "So don't worry your pretty little head about any of that stuff. You've got more important things to focus on—like your training with our lovely Verosika here."

Lincoln glanced at Verosika, who beamed at him with enthusiasm that made his cheeks warm.

"Speaking of important things," Verosika said, bouncing slightly on the bed, "your friends should already be packing up your stuff from I.M.P. right about now." She flipped her pink hair over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I sent some of my roadies over to help Loona and Millie gather everything. They're surprisingly good at packing—comes from all that tour experience."

Lincoln blinked in surprise. Everything was moving so quickly. "Today? We're moving today?"

"Actually," Verosika said, crossing her legs as she leaned closer to Lincoln, "I've already gotten things moving. Loona and Millie should be packing up your belongings from I.M.P.'s office right now. I sent some of my personal movers to help them." She flipped her pink hair over her shoulder with a practiced flourish. "We can head to my place as soon as you're feeling up to it. Everything will be ready for you."

Lincoln blinked, trying to process how quickly his life was changing. Just a few days ago, he'd been sitting at I.M.P., reading Stolas's book, and now he was about to move into a pop star's mansion in the Lust Ring.

A gentle knock interrupted his thoughts. The door creaked open, and Octavia's feathered head poked through the gap.

"Father? How is he do—" Her yellow eyes widened as they locked onto Lincoln. "You're awake!"

She rushed into the room, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste. Her gothic dress swished around her ankles as she darted past Beelzebub, who stepped aside with an amused smile.

"Lincoln!" Octavia reached his bedside, her talons hovering uncertainly over him as if afraid he might break. "Are you alright? When did you wake up? Has he eaten anything yet, Father? His color looks better, but he still seems pale. Have you checked his temperature? What about his vitals?"

The questions tumbled from her beak in a breathless rush, her eyes never leaving Lincoln's face as she searched for signs of distress or pain.

Stolas cleared his throat, adjusting his monocle. "Via, darling, give the poor boy some space to breathe. He's only just awakened."

Lincoln felt a warmth spreading through his chest at Octavia's concern. He hadn't expected the owl princess to be so worried about him.

"I'm okay, really," he assured her, offering a weak smile. "Just a little tired and... confused about everything."

Octavia perched carefully on the edge of the bed opposite Verosika, her talons gently smoothing the silk sheets. "We were all so worried. When Father brought you here, you were completely unconscious. I thought—" She stopped herself, swallowing hard. "Well, it doesn't matter what I thought. You're awake now."

Stolas cleared his throat loudly, drawing everyone's attention. He stepped forward, his feathers ruffling slightly as he adjusted his posture.

"I believe Lincoln requires rest now," he announced, his voice gentle but firm. "The poor boy has only just awakened and already we're overwhelming him with information and visitors."

Lincoln felt a wave of relief wash over him. His head had started to throb, and the weight of everything he'd learned pressed down on him like a physical force.

Beelzebub nodded, her compound eyes shifting between Lincoln and Stolas. "Quite right. Besides, Stolas and I have several matters to discuss regarding certain... arrangements." She cast a meaningful glance at the owl demon, who nodded in understanding.

"And we should inform I.M.P. that you're awake," Stolas added, turning to Lincoln with a softness in his four eyes. "Blitzo has been calling hourly for updates on your condition."

Octavia reluctantly stood from the bed, her talons clicking against the marble floor. "I suppose I could call Loona," she offered. "She'd want to know right away."

Verosika leaned in and planted one last kiss on Lincoln's forehead, leaving a perfect lipstick mark. "And I need to check on the renovations at my mansion. Your wing needs to be perfect before you arrive!" She winked, her violet eyes twinkling with excitement.

Stolas approached the bedside, gently adjusting Lincoln's pillows. "If you need anything at all, my dear boy, do not hesitate to let us know. The servants have been instructed to attend to your every need."

Lincoln nodded, feeling both grateful and overwhelmed. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice still raspy from disuse.

One by one, they filed out of the room. Beelzebub led the way, already deep in conversation with Stolas about "containment protocols" and "energy displacement theories." Octavia followed, her phone already in hand, thumbs flying across the screen as she composed a message to Loona.

Verosika was the last to leave, blowing him a kiss from the doorway. "Rest up, cutie. We start your training as soon as you're settled in at my place." With a final wink, she pulled the door closed behind her.

Lincoln sank back into the pillows, finally alone with his thoughts. The silence enveloped him like a comforting blanket after the chaos of visitors and revelations.

At Blitz and Loona's apartment

Meanwhile, across town in a cramped one-bedroom apartment, Loona yanked open another drawer and emptied its contents into an open suitcase. The worn cotton t-shirts and shorts joined a chaotic pile of clothes she hadn't bothered to fold. Her ears flattened against her skull as Blitzo's voice rose to an even more grating pitch behind her.

"A succubus, Loona! You're moving in with a fucking succubus!" Blitzo paced frantically, his arms windmilling as he ranted. "Not just any succubus—Verosika fucking Mayday! My ex! The same bitch who's had it out for me since our break-up!"

Loona rolled her eyes and slammed the drawer shut. "For the fifteenth time, I heard you the first fourteen times." She grabbed a handful of socks from the top of her dresser and tossed them into the overflowing suitcase. "It's not like I have a choice. Lincoln needs help."

Blitzo stopped pacing and threw himself dramatically across her bed, crushing several shirts she'd just packed. "She's stealing my entire company! Two employees and my daughter!"

"Get off my fucking clothes," Loona growled, shoving him aside to rescue a black tank top. "And she's not stealing anything. It's temporary."

"Temporary?" Blitzo scoffed, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. "Nothing is temporary with Verosika. She's like a fucking leech. A sexy, talented leech with amazing tits who destroys everything she touches!"

Loona slammed her suitcase shut, the zipper straining against the overstuffed contents. "Look, I don't want to live with her either, but Lincoln needs me." She swallowed hard, unwanted memories of her sister's compound flashing through her mind. "After what happened..."

"I know, I know." Blitzo sat up, his expression softening momentarily before hardening again.

"Look, I get that the kid's in a tough spot. I don't blame him for what happened," Blitzo said, his voice softening before he jabbed a finger in Loona's direction. "But there's no way in hell I'm letting my sweet, innocent Loony live in the same mansion as a boy who's learning to control his giant-ass god cock!"

Loona's jaw dropped. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

"I'm serious!" Blitzo leapt to his feet, nearly toppling the suitcase off the bed. "You're a young, vulnerable goth girl who isn't ready for that kind of... exposure!" His hands flailed wildly as he spoke. "What if his seal breaks while you're there? What if you get caught in the crossfire of his magical jizz tsunami?"

Loona pressed her claws against her temples, a headache forming behind her eyes. "I'm twenty-two years old, you idiot. I'm not some innocent virgin who's never seen a dick before."

"La la la! Not listening!" Blitzo jammed his fingers in his ears, squeezing his eyes shut. "My daughter is pure and untouched by the filth of this world!"

"I literally brought a guy home last week! You walked in on us!"

"That was a bad dream I had after eating expired tacos!" Blitzo shouted, still refusing to unplug his ears.

Loona's phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, grateful for the distraction, and saw Octavia's name on the screen. Her heart jumped as she read the message.

"Lincoln's awake," she said, her voice cutting through Blitzo's continued denials.

That got his attention. His fingers slipped from his ears as his expression shifted to concern. "The kid's up? Is he okay?"

"Seems like it." Loona's thumbs flew across the screen as she typed a reply. "Via says he just woke up. Still weak, but talking and everything."

"She's got a house full of trained sex demons, Loona!" Blitzo continued, throwing his arms up dramatically. "You think they're just going to leave you alone? They'll probably try to recruit you for one of her music videos! Next thing you know, you'll be grinding on some hellhound in a g-string while Verosika auto-tunes in the background!"

"And don't get me started on how she'll corrupt Lincoln! That kid's been through enough without adding a sex-crazed pop star to the mix!" Blitzo continued, his voice rising to a pitch that made Loona's sensitive ears throb.

Loona slammed her suitcase shut with such force that the hinges groaned in protest. "Shut the fuck up!" she snarled, whirling to face him. Her claws extended involuntarily, digging into her palms as she fought to control the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

Blitzo flinched at her sudden outburst, his mouth hanging open in surprise.

"I fucked up, okay?" Loona's voice cracked as the words tumbled out. "When we rescued him from Beatrix, I—I lost control. That poor kid had just had his first time stolen by my psychotic sister, and what did I do?" Her ears flattened against her skull in shame. "I fucking jumped him. I wanted... I wanted sloppy seconds."

The disgust in her own voice made her stomach churn. She turned away, unable to face Blitzo as she continued.

"He was traumatized, confused, probably in shock... and all I could think about was getting my turn." Her claws dug deeper into her palms, drawing pinpricks of blood. "What kind of monster does that make me that i want the dick of the kid i think of as a liitle brother?"

Blitzo's expression softened. He reached toward her but stopped short of touching her shoulder.

"Loonie..."

"No." She shook her head sharply. "I don't deserve your sympathy. Lincoln's the victim here." She yanked the zipper of her overstuffed suitcase closed, the metal teeth grinding in protest. "If I have to move in with your ex and be Lincoln's... practice dummy while he figures out this curse, that's what I'll do. End of conversation."

Blitzo stared at her for a long moment, his yellow eyes wide with shock. Loona could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he processed her confession. The silence stretched between them, uncomfortable and heavy.

Finally, he sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. "Fine. I know when I'm beat." He ran a hand over his face, suddenly looking exhausted. "If you're really determined to do this, I won't try to stop you anymore."

Relief washed over Loona, though it was tinged with surprise. She hadn't expected him to give in so easily.

"But," Blitzo added, his voice regaining some of its usual energy as he jabbed a finger in her direction, "I'm getting you the biggest fucking supply of birth control pills Hell has ever seen. And condoms. And morning-after pills. And whatever other STD prevention shit they sell."

"What? No, you don't need to—"

"And dental dams!" he continued, already backing toward the door. "And those little finger condoms! And antibiotics! And—"

"Blitz, I swear to Satan—"

"It's not just for you!" he called over his shoulder as he darted into the hallway. "The imps too! Who knows what kind of freaky sex magic that kid's packing now!"

"GET BACK HERE!" Loona roared, lunging for the door, but he was already halfway down the hall, moving with surprising speed for someone his size.

"LOVE YOU, SWEETIE! DADDY'S GOING SHOPPING FOR YOUR LADY PARTS!" His voice echoed through the building, loud enough for every neighbor to hear.

"I'M GOING TO FUCKING MURDER YOU!" Loona screamed after him, her fur bristling with embarrassment.

Meanwhile at Moxxie and Millie's appartment

Moxxie eyed the growing pile of weapons on the bed with mounting concern. The small apartment bedroom had transformed into what looked like a miniature armory over the past hour. Millie hummed cheerfully as she pulled yet another battle-axe from beneath their mattress—a hiding spot he hadn't even known about.

"Sweetheart," he began carefully, "don't you think this might be... excessive?" He gestured at the collection of blades, firearms, and what appeared to be several modified bear traps. "You're only staying at Verosika's mansion for a few months, not waging war."

Millie paused, the axe balanced in her small red hands. "You never know what kind of trouble might pop up, Mox!" Her smile was bright, but something in her eyes made Moxxie's stomach twist. "Especially around that succubus."

Moxxie sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Millie, we've talked about this. Verosika is helping Lincoln. She's offering you three a place to stay while Lincoln learns to control his... condition."

"I know, I know," Millie chirped, though her grip on the axe tightened enough to make the handle creak. "But a momma's gotta be prepared!"

There it was. The "momma" talk again. Moxxie's chest tightened as he watched his wife lovingly polish the blade of her favorite cleaver. Since rescuing Lincoln from Beatrix, Millie had fully entered over protective mother mode,  a role that had quickly developed a terrifying protective edge.

"Honey," he said, choosing his words with extreme care, "you understand that part of Lincoln's training will involve... certain activities with Verosika, right? That's literally what they will be doing."

Millie's cheerful humming stopped abruptly. The cleaver in her hands stilled.

"What exactly are you saying, Mox?" Her voice remained sweet, but Moxxie didn't miss the dangerous undertone.

He swallowed hard. "I'm saying that Lincoln needs to learn to control his new... abilities. And that might involve some, um, hands-on instruction from Verosika."

The cleaver slammed into the wooden dresser beside her, embedding itself three inches deep into the polished surface. Moxxie jumped, a small squeak escaping his throat.

"That succubus better keep her filthy hands OFF my baby boy!" Millie's accent thickened with emotion, her eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. "He's been through enough already! That psycho hellhound... what she did to him..."

Moxxie rushed to her side, taking her trembling hands in his. "I know, I know. It was horrible. But this is for his own good, if he doesn't learn how to control his new... appendage, everyone with in miles of him will be turned into horny sex crazed deviants."

Millie shook her head vigorously, her pigtails swinging with the force of her denial. "No, no, no! Lincoln would never hurt anyone like that. Not my sweet boy." She yanked the cleaver from the dresser with a splintering crack of wood. "The seal is working just fine. You saw him at breakfast yesterday—perfectly normal!"

Moxxie pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the beginnings of a tension headache. "Millie, you heard what Prince Stolas and Beelzebub told us. The seal is only temporary." He stepped closer, lowering his voice despite the fact they were alone. "They specifically warned us it could break at any moment, especially as Lincoln gets older and his powers mature."

"They don't know everything," Millie muttered, though the stubborn set of her jaw softened slightly. Her fingers traced the edge of the cleaver, her shoulders slumping. "I just... I can't bear the thought of him suffering anymore."

"None of us can," Moxxie said, gently taking the weapon from her hands and setting it aside. "But ignoring the problem won't make it go away. If Lincoln doesn't learn to control this... condition... the consequences could be catastrophic."

Millie's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "But why does it have to be her? That... that succubus with her perfect body and her fancy mansion and her..." She gestured vaguely, struggling to find the words. "Her expertise."

Moxxie drew his wife into a gentle embrace, feeling her small frame tremble against him. "Because she's the best at what she does. And Lincoln deserves the best chance at a normal life."

Millie buried her face against his shoulder. "What if she takes advantage of him? What if she hurts him? What if—"

"Then you'll have my full support when you use every single one of these weapons on her," Moxxie said, glancing at the arsenal spread across their bed. "But I don't think that will happen. Even Beelzebub vouched for her."

Millie pulled back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm still bringing my favorites," she said, gesturing to the pile of deadly implements. "Just in case."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," Moxxie said with a small smile. "Now, shall we finish packing?  Miss. Mayday texted that the moving van will be here in twenty minutes."

Millie nodded, her usual cheerfulness slowly returning as she began sorting through her weapons, selecting the most lethal ones with practiced care.

As Moxxie watched his wife methodically sort through her weaponry, his expression remained neutral, but inside he felt an unexpected sense of relief. Not about Lincoln's situation—that remained horrifying—but about the arrangement with Verosika. With Lincoln safely under the succubus's tutelage and Millie occupied with her maternal protectiveness, perhaps they could all finally move past what had happened.

Two days after Millie and Loona had returned from that fateful rescue mission, Moxxie had known something was terribly wrong. Lincoln had been safe, yes, but there was a haunted look in Millie's eyes, a brittleness to her smile that hadn't been there before. Loona had disappeared immediately upon their return, refusing to speak to anyone, not even Blitzo.

That night, when they'd finally returned to their small apartment, Millie had collapsed into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

"I'm sorry, Mox! I'm so, so sorry!" she'd wailed, her small body shaking against his chest.

"What happened?" he'd asked, stroking her hair. "Millie, you saved Lincoln. He's okay now."

But she'd only cried harder, her tears soaking through his shirt. "You don't understand! What I did... what Loona and I did..."

The confession had poured out of her then—how they'd found Lincoln after Beatrix had finished with him, how the amulet had suddenly activated, transforming the boy in ways that defied comprehension. How the overwhelming pheromones had affected them all, stripping away their reason, their control.

Millie's sobs had gradually subsided, her small body trembling less violently against his chest as she finished her confession. The silence that followed hung heavy between them, broken only by her occasional sniffles. Moxxie gently stroked her hair, his mind racing to process everything she'd just told him.

"I understand if you hate me now," Millie whispered, her voice hoarse from crying. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, her gaze fixed on a loose thread in their bedspread. "What I did... it was unforgivable."

"Millie, look at me," Moxxie said softly, tilting her chin up with his finger. Her eyes were red-rimmed, tears still clinging to her lashes. "I don't hate you. I could never hate you."

"But I—"

"You weren't in control," he interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. "None of you were. That amulet's magic was beyond anything we've encountered before."

Millie's lower lip trembled. "You really don't blame me?"

"Of course not," Moxxie assured her, pulling her close again. "And I'm certain Lincoln wouldn't either. He knows you better than that. We'll get through this together, okay?"

She nodded against his chest, her breathing finally steadying. Moxxie continued to hold her until he felt her relax completely, exhaustion finally claiming her after the emotional ordeal.

"I need to use the bathroom," he whispered, carefully extracting himself from their embrace once he was sure she'd be alright alone for a few minutes. "I'll be right back."

Moxxie closed the bathroom door behind him and leaned heavily against it, his legs suddenly too weak to support his weight. The cool porcelain of the sink pressed against his palms as he gripped it tightly, his reflection in the mirror revealing a flushed face and dilated pupils that told their own story.

"Get it together," he whispered to himself, but the words sounded hollow even to his own ears.

The shame coursed through him like molten lead, hot and heavy in his veins. He shouldn't be feeling this way. His wife had been violated—her agency stripped away by that cursed amulet's magic. Lincoln, poor Lincoln, had been through a traumatic ordeal beyond imagination. As their friend, as Millie's husband, he should feel nothing but horror and concern.

Instead, his body betrayed him with an unmistakable tightness in his pants and a flush of heat that had nothing to do with anger.

Moxxie turned on the cold water, splashing it over his face repeatedly. The droplets ran down his chin, soaking the collar of his shirt, but doing nothing to cool the burning images flashing through his mind: Millie, his Millie, losing herself to primal need, her small body writhing against Lincoln's transformed member, her sweet voice crying out in ecstasy...

"Fuck," he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. But that only made the mental pictures more vivid.

This secret desire had haunted him for years—the forbidden fantasy of watching Millie with other men. In their most intimate moments, he'd close his eyes and imagine her being taken by multiple partners while he observed from the sidelines, a willing witness to her pleasure. The thought alone was usually enough to push him over the edge, though he'd never dared confess it to her.

But this was different. This wasn't fantasy. This had actually happened—to his wife, to Lincoln. It was real, and his arousal at the thought made him sick with self-loathing.

Moxxie's hands trembled as he fumbled with his belt, desperate to relieve the pressure. Guilt crashed through him in waves, but it wasn't enough to drown the heat building in his core. He bit down on his knuckles to keep from making noise as he stroked himself, hating every second of his weakness yet unable to stop.

Images flashed behind his closed eyelids—Millie's face contorted in ecstasy, her small frame dwarfed by Lincoln's impossible endowment, the way she must have looked as she surrendered to those overwhelming pheromones...

His climax hit him with unexpected force, leaving him gasping and shaking against the bathroom sink. As the haze of pleasure faded, shame rushed in to fill the void, so intense he thought he might vomit. He cleaned himself quickly, disgust churning in his stomach.

"What's wrong with me?" he whispered, draging a hand down his face.

Now, back in the present, Moxxie shifted uncomfortably in his seat as his imagination spiraled out of control. The moving van's engine rumbled outside their apartment window, a constant reminder of what was about to happen. His wife, the boy he'd come to see as a son, and their receptionist - all moving to the Lust Ring without him.

And God help him, the thought was making him rock hard.

He crossed his legs, grateful that his diminutive size extended to all parts of his anatomy. At least his shameful arousal wouldn't be visible to anyone who happened to glance his way. What kind of perverted demon was he, getting excited about his family living in Verosika's mansion while Lincoln learned to control his new... abilities?

"Mox? You okay over there? You're looking flushed." Millie's voice cut through his thoughts as she hefted another duffel bag packed with weapons.

"Fine! Just fine!" His voice cracked embarrassingly. "Just, uh, thinking about how quiet it'll be around here without you."

Millie's expression softened as she set down the bag and crossed the room to him. "Oh, Moxxie." She cupped his face in her small hands. "It's only temporary, sugar. Once Lincoln gets control of his situation, we'll all come back home."

Her touch only made things worse. Moxxie's mind filled with images of those same hands exploring Lincoln's transformed body, of Millie losing herself to primal need again. He swallowed hard, hating himself for the heat building in his core.

"I know," he managed, forcing a smile. "I'm just being silly."

A knock at the door saved him from further explanation. Loona's irritated voice carried through the wood. "Hurry the fuck up! The van's been waiting for fifteen minutes!"

Millie gave him a quick peck on the cheek before darting to grab the last of her bags. "Coming!"

As Millie opened the door, Moxxie's mind began to wander. What would these months apart really be like? His imagination spiraled beyond his control, conjuring vivid images of Millie and Lincoln together in Verosika's mansion. Not just living there—but together in every sense of the word.

He saw them in a lavish bedroom, Lincoln's seal broken, his transformed member returning to its impossible size. Millie, his sweet Millie, crawling toward the boy with a hunger in her eyes Moxxie had never seen before. Her small red hands exploring Lincoln's body with shameless desire.

The mental images grew more intense, more explicit. Their bodies intertwined on silk sheets, moving together with animalistic passion. Lincoln's transformed cock stretching Millie in ways Moxxie never could, her screams of pleasure echoing through the mansion's halls. Night after night of unrestrained rutting while he sat alone in their empty apartment.

Then a worse thought—Millie returning months later, dressed as a typical whore, her stomach swollen with Lincoln's child. "I'm sorry, Mox," her voice whispered in his imagination, "but I belong to Lincoln now, his maassive dong is the only one that can satisfy me. "

A hot pressure built in Moxxie's groin, the forbidden fantasy too powerful to resist. Before he could stop it, he felt himself release into his pants, a warm wetness spreading across the front of his slacks.

"Oh crums," he whispered, mortification washing over him as he realized what had just happened. He glanced down in horror at the growing dark patch on his pants.

As Moxxie quickly got to work cleaning himself, the small imp kept telling himself that this was just all in his head, nothing but his overactive imagination running wild, there was no chance of any of that actually happening.

Right? what are the odds?

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

And thats chapter two in the bag. Whow glad i got this part done tonight, finally found a place to take my laptop and tomarrow it will be taken to hopfully get fixed.

As for the chapter, sadly no sex this time but we did see some sexy shit so no worries. Lincoln is awake and safe while Beatrix is getting her "reprograming" done.

We learned what happened to Lincoln and that it's likely permenit, and he will not only be getting lessons on how to control is giant meat from Verosika but will be staying with her for months with Loona and Millie at his side. What could possible go wrong?

hope you guys enjoy this one since i really won't be able to update anything for a while, as my computer is getting fixed with any luck at most it will only be a week or so.

Also some interesting news, Due to getting back into a certen game, I might be planing a new story for Lincoln, if i do go through with it things will difintly get Chaotic.

Whelp, i better wrap things up, if you like this chapter or have suggestions for this story make sure to leave a comment and i'll get to it as soon as i can.

For now stay safe, stay awesome and stay Horny! later.

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the series or characters; all rights are owned by their respective owners. Warning: Mature themes like underage sex, Incest, and other bad stuff will appear in this story. If you don't like that, don't read.

Lust Ring

The morning sun cast a crimson glow across the hellish landscape as Lincoln settled into the plush backseat of Verosika's hot pink convertible. The wind whipped through his white hair as they cruised down the highway connecting the Pride Ring to the Lust Ring. Despite everything that had happened, he couldn't help but feel a small thrill of excitement at the prospect of seeing Verosika's mansion for the first time.

In the front passenger seat, Millie fidgeted uncomfortably, tugging at her usual black outfit. Lincoln noticed how she kept adjusting the fabric around her chest, her face scrunched in concentration.

"You okay, Millie?" he asked, leaning forward.

"Just fine, sugar!" Millie chirped, her voice a touch higher than normal. She gave her top another subtle tug. "Just, uh, this outfit must've shrunk in the wash or somethin'. Nothin' to worry about!"

Next to him, Loona shifted in her seat, pulling at the hem of her crop top. Lincoln caught her grimace as she tried to subtly readjust. Her shorts seemed to be hugging her curves more tightly than he remembered, the fabric straining slightly.

Lincoln quickly averted his eyes, heat rising to his cheeks. It was probably just his imagination playing tricks on him after everything that had happened. The last thing he needed was to start noticing things like that about Loona and Millie. He stared fixedly at the passing landscape instead, trying to focus on anything else.

"We're almost there," Verosika announced from the driver's seat, her pink hair streaming behind her like a banner. "Just another ten minutes and you'll see my humble abode!"

Loona squirmed in her seat, discreetly trying to adjust the waistband of her skirt. "Humble, huh?" she muttered, her voice carrying a hint of her usual sarcasm despite the obvious discomfort. "From what I've heard, your place is basically the size of a small neighborhood painted pink."

The words died on Loona's lips as Verosika's mansion came into view around the final bend in the road. Lincoln's jaw dropped. The structure wasn't just a mansion—it was a sprawling pink palace that stretched across the hillside, its countless windows glinting in the crimson helllight. Massive statues of intertwined lovers flanked the winding driveway, their marble bodies frozen in various acts that made Lincoln's cheeks burn. As they drew closer, he could make out the intricate details carved into the mansion's façade—writhing figures, open mouths, entangled limbs—all rendered with such artistic precision that it blurred the line between obscenity and high art.

"Holy cow," he whispered, unable to tear his eyes away from the sheer scale of the place.

Verosika giggled as she guided the convertible up the curved driveway. "Like what you see, sugar? Just wait until you check out the interior."

Lincoln caught Loona rolling her eyes, but even she seemed impressed by the sheer opulence. The car rolled to a stop beneath a massive portico supported by columns shaped like curvaceous female forms, their marble arms reaching skyward to support the roof.

"Welcome to Casa de Mayday," Verosika announced, cutting the engine. "Your new home away from home!"

Before Lincoln could fully take in the grandeur of Verosika's mansion, the massive front doors swung open. Four feminine silhouettes appeared in the doorway, backlit by the mansion's interior lighting.

"He's here!" squealed a voice Lincoln recognized instantly.

The four succubi from Verosika's crew burst through the doorway in a flurry of excitement. Kiki led the charge, her fishnet-covered form practically floating down the steps. Behind her came Coco, her afro bouncing with each eager step, followed by Apple and Milky, who jostled each other to get ahead.

"Lincoln!" they cried in unison, swarming around him before he could even exit the car.

"Oh my Ozzie, look at him!" Kiki gushed, her hands immediately finding his cheeks, squeezing them as if he were a child. "He's even cuter than I remembered!"

Coco pushed in beside her, nearly shoving Kiki aside in her eagerness. "Move over, I want to see him too!" Her warm hands landed on Lincoln's shoulders, squeezing gently. "How are you feeling, sugar? We were so worried!"

Lincoln's face burned hot enough to fry an egg as Apple leaned in, her blonde hair tickling his nose. "We've been preparing your room all day," she cooed, her fingers playing with a strand of his white hair. "I picked out the sheets myself. Silk, of course."

Milky somehow managed to squeeze between the others, her voluptuous form pressing uncomfortably close as she bent down to his eye level. "We heard all about what happened," she said with a wink that made Lincoln's stomach flip. "Don't worry, we're experts at handling... big situations."

"I-I'm fine," Lincoln stammered, shrinking back into the car seat as the four succubi crowded him. Their perfumes mingled in his nostrils, a dizzying cocktail of jasmine, vanilla, and something muskier he couldn't identify. "Really, I'm okay—"

"Girls! Give him some space to breathe!" Verosika called, though Lincoln noticed she made no move to actually help him.

"We just want to make sure he's comfortable," Apple pouted, her fingers still twirling his hair.

"Very comfortable," Milky added with a suggestive smirk that made Lincoln's ears burn.

A sharp crack split the air. Lincoln flinched, then realized Millie had slammed the butt of her battleaxe against the driveway. Where she'd been hiding the massive weapon, he had no idea.

"Back off!" Millie growled, her small frame somehow expanding with maternal fury. She shoved between Coco and Kiki, creating just enough space for Lincoln to breathe. "The boy just got here! He's exhausted from everything he's been through!"

The succubi backed away with dramatic sighs, their hands reluctantly releasing Lincoln as Millie stood guard. Lincoln took a deep breath, the first full one since they'd swarmed him, and managed a wobbly smile.

"It's... it's actually really nice to see you all again," he said, meaning it despite the overwhelming nature of their greeting. The last time he'd seen Verosika's crew had been at Ozzie's, where they'd been nothing but kind to him.

Verosika sauntered over, placing a hand on Kiki's shoulder. "The girls will be staying here as well," she explained, her lips curving into a smile that made Lincoln's stomach flutter. "They're all experts in different aspects of lust energy. Each one will help with a different part of your training."

"Training?" Lincoln echoed, glancing nervously at Loona, who looked equally concerned.

"Don't worry, sweetie," Verosika winked. "We'll take it slow. Now, let me show you all inside!"

She led the way up the marble steps, her hips swaying hypnotically. Lincoln followed, flanked protectively by Millie on one side and Loona on the other. The massive doors swung open to reveal an entrance hall that made him freeze in his tracks.

"Holy shit," Loona muttered beside him, her ears flattening against her head.

Lincoln's eyes widened as he tried to take it all in. The vaulted ceiling stretched impossibly high, painted with a mural that depicted dozens of intertwined bodies in various stages of ecstasy. The walls were lined with statues and paintings that made the exterior decorations seem tame by comparison. Sculptures of demons locked in passionate embraces stood on pedestals of polished obsidian. Oil paintings in ornate frames displayed scenes that made Lincoln's cheeks burn hot enough to melt steel.

And the music—it pulsed through hidden speakers, a rhythmic beat that seemed to synchronize with his heartbeat, the sultry vocals unmistakably Verosika's.

"Do you like it?" Verosika asked, watching their reactions with obvious delight. "I designed it all myself. Every piece tells a story of passion."

"It's... something," Millie managed, her grip tightening on her battle-axe as she stared at a particularly explicit sculpture of three imps in a position that defied anatomy.

Lincoln couldn't tear his eyes away from a massive painting that dominated the far wall. It depicted Verosika herself, sprawled across a crimson bed, surrounded by adoring fans reaching toward her with desperate hands. The artist had captured an expression of both power and ecstasy on her face that made Lincoln's throat go dry.

"That's from my 'Worship Me' tour," Verosika said, following his gaze. "Sold out every venue in Hell. The artist was so inspired he painted this as a gift." She said.

Verosika clasped her hands together, her bracelets jingling as she turned to face her three guests. "Now for the grand tour! You'll need to know your way around if you're going to be living here." Her smile widened as she beckoned them to follow.

Lincoln trailed behind Verosika with Loona and Millie flanking him protectively as they moved deeper into the mansion. Each hallway they passed through seemed more outrageous than the last. Platinum records hung alongside provocative portraits, many featuring Verosika in various stages of undress.

"This is the main music hall," Verosika announced, throwing open a set of double doors.

Lincoln's jaw dropped. The room was massive, with a ceiling that had to be thirty feet high. A grand piano carved from what looked like solid obsidian dominated one corner, its surface so polished he could see his reflection. Dozens of instruments lined the walls—guitars with bodies shaped like curvaceous women, drums with skins that seemed to pulse like heartbeats, and microphones mounted on stands that resembled writhing bodies.

"I've recorded three platinum albums right here," Verosika said, running her fingers lovingly over the mixing board. "The acoustics are perfect for capturing every... moan." She winked at Lincoln, who felt his face heat up instantly.

Millie cleared her throat loudly. "It's... very nice," she managed, though her grip on her axe tightened visibly.

Verosika either didn't notice or chose to ignore Millie's discomfort. "Through here is the dance studio," she continued, leading them through another doorway.

The next room was lined entirely with mirrors, the floor made of gleaming hardwood. Poles extended from floor to ceiling at regular intervals, each one polished to a high shine.

"For... exercise?" Lincoln asked hopefully.

All four succubi burst into giggles.

"Sure, sweetie. Exercise," Verosika purred, giving one of the poles a demonstration spin that made Lincoln's eyes widen. "You'll be doing plenty of that during your training. Moving on!" Verosika trilled, leading them through another doorway. "The dining room is just through here. We've prepared a welcome feast for you all!"

The dining room proved to be marginally less explicit—if one ignored the chandelier made of crystal phalluses and the chairs shaped like kneeling bodies. A long table stretched the length of the room, laden with an assortment of foods that made Lincoln's mouth water despite his discomfort.

"Is that... chocolate fondue?" Millie asked, momentarily distracted from her protective stance.

"With aphrodisiac cherries for dipping," one of the succubi—Apple, Lincoln thought—chimed in. "A house specialty!"

"And now let me show you the back of Casa de Mayday," Verosika announced with a dramatic flourish of her hand. 

She led them through the dining room to an enormous set of sliding glass doors that spanned nearly the entire wall. With a theatrical gesture, she pressed a button, and the doors silently retracted into the walls, revealing the most outrageous backyard Lincoln had ever seen.

Lincoln's mouth fell open as he stepped outside. The centerpiece of the yard was unmistakable – a massive swimming pool shaped like a pair of breasts, complete with pink-tiled nipples that sprayed water in graceful arcs. The "cleavage" between them formed a narrow channel where several inflatable loungers were already drifting lazily.

"That's... that's a..." Lincoln couldn't even finish his sentence, the words dying in his throat as heat flooded his face.

"Gorgeous, isn't it?" Verosika beamed, clearly mistaking his shock for admiration. "Cost me a fortune in custom tiling, but so worth it."

To the right of the pool stood a heart-shaped hot tub large enough to fit at least twenty people. Steam rose from its surface in sensual curls, and Lincoln noticed with increasing embarrassment that the jets were positioned in ways that seemed designed for purposes beyond simple relaxation. Around its rim, sculpted figures in various poses of ecstasy served as both decoration and what appeared to be handholds.

"The hot tub maintains the perfect temperature automatically," Verosika explained, trailing her fingers through the bubbling water. "And these little beauties—" she gestured to the sculpted figures, "—vibrate when you press them in the right spots."

Lincoln swallowed hard, his collar suddenly feeling too tight. He shot a desperate glance at Loona, who looked equally mortified, her ears flattened against her head.

His attention was drawn to the massive covered porch area, where an elaborate bar dominated one wall. The counter was shaped like a curvaceous female form lying on her side, with tap handles protruding from places that made Lincoln want to sink into the ground. Each tap was molded into a different suggestive shape, and the barstools were designed to look like naked bodies kneeling on all fours.

"Fully stocked with every liquor known in Hell," Verosika said proudly, sauntering over to demonstrate by pulling one of the more explicit taps. Pink liquid flowed into a waiting glass. "My signature cocktail – the Screaming Orgasm. Non-alcoholic version for you, of course," she added with a wink at Lincoln.

Lincoln's gaze darted around the rest of the yard, each new discovery more mortifying than the last. A volleyball court where the net poles were shaped like enormous phallic symbols.

"And this is where you'll all be staying during your time here," Verosika announced, leading the group up a sweeping staircase adorned with sculptures that made Lincoln's face burn hotter with each step.

Lincoln followed behind, trying to keep his eyes fixed firmly on the steps rather than the explicit artwork. Loona and Millie flanked him protectively as they ascended, both of them eyeing the succubi with varying degrees of suspicion.

The second floor opened into a long hallway lined with doors, each one painted a different vibrant color and adorned with personalized nameplates.

"Millie, this is your room," Verosika said, stopping before a crimson door with Millie's name written in flowing gold script. She pushed it open with a flourish, revealing a space that made the imp's eyes widen.

"Sweet Satan," Millie whispered, stepping inside. The bedroom was easily three times the size of her apartment, with a four-poster bed that could have comfortably fit six people. Plush red carpeting stretched from wall to wall, and a balcony offered a stunning view of the crimson gardens below.

Lincoln peered in from the doorway, watching as Millie circled the room in amazement. Despite the mansion's overall theme, her room seemed relatively tame—though the headboard shaped like interlocking bodies was hard to miss.

"This is... bigger than our whole apartment," Millie said, running her small red hand over the silk bedspread. "I'll have to talk to you about redecorating, though. Not that it ain't lovely, but it's a bit... much for my tastes."

"Of course, darling! Anything to make you comfortable," Verosika trilled. "Now, Loona, you're right next door."

Loona's room was similarly massive, though decorated in shades of black and silver that matched her aesthetic. The hellhound stood in the center, ears twitching as she took in the expansive space, her tail swishing behind her.

"It's bigger than my whole fucking apartment," she muttered, echoing Millie's sentiment. She ran her claws along the edge of a desk that looked large enough to serve as a dining table. 

"Oh, and you ladies should know about the fun little game we play with guest rooms," Kiki giggled, leaning against Loona's doorframe with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Loona arched an eyebrow. "Game?"

"Verosika likes to hide sex toys throughout all the guest rooms," Apple explained, twirling a strand of blonde hair. "Like an adult scavenger hunt! Some are really obvious, but others..." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Let's just say I've found vibrators disguised as hairbrushes, dildos that look like decorative sculptures..."

"I once found a butt plug masquerading as a doorstop," Coco added with a wink. "Didn't realize until I picked it up and felt the button on the bottom."

Millie's face flushed crimson, nearly matching her skin tone. "You're tellin' me there are... things... hidden all over our rooms?" She clutched her battle-axe tighter, eyes darting suspiciously toward an innocent-looking bedside lamp.

"At least thirty in each room," Milky confirmed proudly. "It's tradition! The record is twenty-eight found in a single night."

Lincoln felt his entire body heat up with embarrassment. The thought of sleeping in a room filled with hidden sex toys made him want to crawl under the nearest piece of furniture and disappear.

"Don't worry about Lincoln's room," Verosika interjected, noticing his discomfort. "I designed his space differently. Come see!"

She led them further down the hallway to a door that stood out from the others. Unlike the garish colors of the guest rooms, Lincoln's door was painted a deep blue with silver constellations scattered across it. His name was written in elegant script that glowed faintly in the dim hallway light.

When Verosika pushed it open, Lincoln's jaw dropped.

The room was nothing like the others. Instead of the expected sexually charged décor, he found himself looking at what could only be described as a teenage boy's dream space. A massive gaming setup dominated one corner, complete with multiple screens and every console he could imagine. Shelves lined with action figures and comic books covered an entire wall. A king-sized bed sat beneath a ceiling painted to look like the night sky, complete with glow-in-the-dark stars.

"I figured you'd want something more... age-appropriate," Verosika said, her voice gentler than he'd heard before. "The bathroom's through there, and that door leads to your own private study room with bookshelves I had filled with titles Stolas recommended."

Lincoln stepped into the room in awe, running his fingers along the edge of a desk that held a top-of-the-line computer. A mini-fridge hummed quietly nearby, and when he opened it, he found it stocked with sodas and snacks.

Lincoln stood in the center of the room, his gaze sweeping across the gaming setup, the action figures, and finally settling on the massive king-size bed. It was easily three times larger than the twin bed he'd slept on at I.M.P. headquarters, never mind the tiny single bed in his old room back home, with a plush navy comforter and what looked like at least eight pillows arranged artfully against the headboard.

"Verosika, this is..." Lincoln's voice caught in his throat. After everything he'd been through—the kidnapping, the torture chamber, the transformation—this simple act of kindness hit him harder than he expected. "This is amazing. Thank you."

Verosika's expression softened, her usual seductive smirk giving way to something more genuine. She knelt down to his eye level, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"You're more than welcome, Lincoln. I wanted you to have a space that felt like yours."

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down his spine. "And just so you know, if you ever feel lonely at night, my door is always open to you. The same goes for the girls. No pressure, of course... just an open invitation."

Lincoln's cheeks burned hot enough to fry an egg as Verosika stood up, turning to address Millie and Loona, who hovered in the doorway.

"Why don't you two get settled in your rooms?" she suggested, her usual playful tone returning. "We'll have lunch in about thirty minutes, and we can discuss Lincoln's training schedule while we eat."

Millie clutched her fists, her protective instincts visibly warring with her hunger as she glanced between Lincoln and the hallway. "You sure you'll be alright here on your own, sugar?"

"I'm fine, really," Lincoln assured her, managing a small smile. "I just want to check out my new room a bit."

Loona's ears twitched as she studied him with narrowed eyes, clearly unconvinced. "Yell if you need anything," she said finally, her gaze shifting to Verosika with unmistakable warning before she turned and headed toward her own room.

As the door closed behind them, Lincoln let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The quiet of the room enveloped him like a blanket, the distant sounds of the mansion fading to a gentle hum.

He approached the gaming setup, running his fingers over the sleek controllers arranged on the shelf. The collection was impressive—every major console from the last decade, plus several he didn't recognize that must be Hell-exclusive models. A small note card propped against one of the screens caught his eye.

"All games unlocked. High scores are mine to beat. —V"

Lincoln smiled despite himself. The gesture was so unexpected—thoughtful in a way he hadn't anticipated from the pop star. He moved to the bookshelves next, scanning titles that ranged from ones made in hell that Loona and Octavia have shown him, and some he regenised from up on earth.

With Verosika and her crew

Meanwhile, downstairs in Verosika's massive kitchen, the succubi were hard at work preparing a welcome feast. Steam rose from bubbling pots while the scent of exotic spices filled the air. Kiki stirred a crimson sauce that shimmered with an unnatural glow, while Apple carefully arranged sliced fruits on a platter.

"Did you see the way that little imp was clutching her axe?" Coco laughed, grinding something pink and crystalline in a mortar. "Like we're going to eat her baby boy or something."

"Can you blame her?" Apple replied, delicately placing heart-shaped strawberries in a spiral pattern. "After what the poor cutie's been through, I'd be protective too."

Verosika entered the kitchen, her heels clicking against the marble floor. She peered into one of the pots and nodded with approval. "Everything coming along nicely, girls?"

"Just as planned," Milky confirmed, opening the oven to check on what appeared to be pastries shaped like roses. "The special ingredients are all incorporated."

Verosika dipped her finger into a bowl of shimmering purple sauce and tasted it, her eyes lighting up with satisfaction. "Perfect. The Lustweed extract is balanced beautifully with the honey."

"I added extra Curveblossom nectar to Loona's portion," Kiki said with a mischievous grin. "That hellhound is way too angular. A little more fullness in the right places will do wonders for her attitude."

"And I doubled the Voluptuberry extract in Millie's dishes," Apple added, carefully drizzling a pink syrup over a plate of small cakes. "The poor thing's so flat-chested she can barely fill an A-cup. After a few weeks of our special menu, she'll have curves that would make an imp pinup model jealous."

Verosika nodded approvingly. "Remember, subtlety is key. We want the changes to happen gradually enough that they don't suspect anything." She ran her finger along the edge of a bowl, collecting a drop of shimmering liquid. "If I'm right about them, by the time they notice, they won't just like it, they will take it further if it means pleasing Lincoln."

"Why are we doing this, Verosika?" Kiki asked, setting down her wooden spoon. "I mean, I get that they're living with us now, but why all these..." she gestured to the various exotic ingredients laid out on the counter, "enhancements?"

Verosika's lips curled into a knowing smile as she leaned against the marble countertop. "Haven't you noticed? Their bodies are already changing."

"What do you mean?" Apple looked up from her fruit arrangement.

"That amulet Lincoln wore—the one that transformed him—it affected them more than they realize." Verosika ran a finger along the edge of a mixing bowl, collecting a drop of shimmering liquid. "His demon cock and the cum they were exposed to have already started altering their bodies. I can sense it. Succubus intuition, darling."

She licked the droplet from her finger, savoring the taste before continuing. "We're just... helping nature along. With our special ingredients, Millie and Loona will transform into the perfect sex-centric bimbos—all curves, desire, and eagerness to please."

"And then what?" Coco asked, her hands pausing over the mortar and pestle.

"Then we build Lincoln a proper harem," Verosika purred. "Those two are just the beginning. The boy has more potential than he realizes. With the right training and the right... companions, he'll become a force of nature in the Lust Ring."

Milky giggled, sliding a tray of pastries into the oven. "And we'll be right there beside him."

"Exactly." Verosika's eyes gleamed with ambition. "A boy with his power deserves the finest collection of devoted, pleasure-focused followers. And frankly, those two need this. That hellhound is wound tighter than a nun's asshole, and the imp is stuck in some 1950s housewife mentality, with a total micro dicked cuck for a husband. They'll thank us when they're dripping with pleasure and worshipping at Lincoln's feet."

The succubi exchanged excited glances, their enthusiasm for the plan evident in their quickened movements. Apple returned to arranging fruit with renewed purpose, while Kiki stirred her sauce with increased vigor.

"How long do you think it will take?" Coco asked, returning to grinding her crystals.

"A few weeks for the physical changes to become noticeable," Verosika replied, inspecting another pot of bubbling liquid. "The mental transformation might take a bit longer, especially for Loona. That girl has walls thicker than the Pride Ring's outer barrier."

"And what about Lincoln's training?" Milky asked, wiping her hands on a towel. "When do we start with that?"

Verosika's expression softened slightly. "We need to be careful with him. The boy's been through a traumatic experience. We need to ease the darling into the finer points of lust before we show him the deeper pleasures of what sex can give him."

As Verosika finished explaining her vision for Lincoln's training, the succubi exchanged knowing glances, eyes twinkling with mischief. The sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway made them all perk up.

"They're coming!" Apple whispered, quickly returning to her fruit arrangement.

"Places, everyone!" Verosika commanded, smoothing down her outfit and adopting a casual pose by the kitchen island.

The succubi burst into synchronized laughter at some imaginary joke just as Lincoln, Loona, and Millie appeared in the doorway. Their collective performance was so convincing that Lincoln wondered what he'd missed.

"What's so funny?" he asked, hovering uncertainly at the threshold.

"Oh, nothing, sweetie," Verosika said with a dismissive wave. "Just girl talk. Please, come in! Lunch is ready."

Lincoln stepped into the dining room and froze. The massive table was laden with a feast that defied description. Platters of exotic fruits glistened under the chandelier light, their surfaces dusted with sparkling powders. Steaming dishes of pasta swirled with sauces in colors he'd never seen food come in before—iridescent purples and shimmering blues that seemed to move of their own accord. At the center stood a towering cake decorated with flowers so lifelike that Lincoln half-expected them to bloom before his eyes.

"Holy shit," Loona muttered beside him, her ears perking up despite her attempt to appear unimpressed. Her stomach growled loudly enough for Lincoln to hear.

Millie's eyes widened, her motherly protectiveness momentarily forgotten as she took in the spread. "This is... this is quite a welcome lunch," she managed, her accent thickening with excitement.

"Please, sit!" Verosika gestured to three places set with elaborate silverware and crystal goblets. "We wanted to make your first meal here special."

Lincoln approached the table cautiously, his mouth watering despite his lingering suspicion. The aromas wafting from the dishes were intoxicating—sweet and savory notes mingling with spices he couldn't identify. His stomach rumbled loudly, reminding him that he hadn't eaten a proper meal since before waking up at Stolas's manor.

As they settled into their seats, the succubi fluttered around them, filling their plates with generous portions of everything. Lincoln watched as Kiki ladled a shimmering purple sauce over Loona's pasta while Apple heaped Millie's plate with pastries drizzled in pink syrup.

"What is all this?" Lincoln asked, eyeing a fruit that seemed to pulse with an inner light.

"Just some Lust Ring specialties," Verosika explained, taking the seat at the head of the table. "Everything is specially selected for nutrition and... vitality." She winked at the last word, making Lincoln's cheeks heat up.

Loona sniffed the air and felt her mind almost get overwhelmed by the amount of delicious food available.

Loona took a tentative bite of the pasta, her eyes widening as flavors exploded across her tongue. Whatever this purple sauce was, it tasted better than anything she'd had before—sweet and tangy with an undercurrent of something that made her whole body feel warm.

Verosika set down her fork and cleared her throat, drawing everyone's attention. "Now that we're all settled in, I think we should discuss Lincoln's training schedule." She turned to Lincoln with a smile that was somehow both professional and seductive. "I've developed a comprehensive program to help you gain control over your... condition."

Lincoln nearly choked on a piece of fruit. "Right now? While we're eating?"

"No time like the present, sugar." Verosika leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table. "For the first few days, we'll focus on baseline assessments—simple exercises to gauge how much control you already have over your transformed anatomy and what areas need improvement."

Loona's fur bristled as she set down her fork with a sharp clink. "What kind of 'exercises' are we talking about exactly?" Her voice carried a dangerous edge.

Millie immediately tensed beside Lincoln, her hand inching toward the battle-axe propped against her chair. "Yeah, what sorta 'assessments' you plannin' for our boy?"

Verosika held up her hands in a placating gesture. "Nothing invasive or intimate without Lincoln's explicit consent, I promise." Her expression softened as she looked between the hellhound and imp. "Most of our initial work will be meditation techniques and energy control exercises—fully clothed, completely appropriate."

Lincoln's shoulders relaxed slightly. "That... doesn't sound too bad."

"Of course not, sweetie." Verosika smiled. "We'll start with teaching you how to recognize the energy flow from your amulet through your body. Once you can feel it, you can learn to direct it."

Loona's eyes narrowed. "And we're supposed to just trust you? A succubus whose entire existence revolves around sex?"

"You're welcome to supervise every session," Verosika replied smoothly. "In fact, I encourage it. The more comfortable Lincoln feels, the more effective his training will be." She took a sip from her crystal goblet. "I want to be completely transparent about this process. No closed doors, no secrets."

Loona and Millie exchanged skeptical glances, but something in Verosika's earnest tone made Lincoln think she was being genuine. The succubus seemed to genuinely care about his well-being, despite her flirtatious nature.

"Fine," Loona muttered, stabbing another piece of pasta with unnecessary force. "But I'm going to be watching every move you make."

"Same here," Millie added, though her voice had softened slightly. "Our boy's been through enough already."

Verosika nodded, seeming satisfied with their reluctant agreement. "Perfect! We'll start tomorrow morning after breakfast. For now, let's enjoy this wonderful meal my girls have prepared."

As the conversation shifted to less contentious topics, Lincoln found himself actually enjoying the exotic food. Whatever strange ingredients the succubi had used, the flavors were incredible—rich and complex in ways he'd never experienced before. He noticed Loona and Millie gradually relaxing as well, their initial suspicion giving way to appreciation for the feast.

By the time dessert arrived—a floating souffle that seemed to change flavors with each bite—even Loona had set aside her permanent scowl, and Millie had stopped clutching her battle-axe quite so tightly.

Later that night

Lincoln sank deeper into the massive bathtub, letting the hot water soothe his tired muscles. The bathroom attached to his bedroom was almost as large as his entire room at I.M.P. headquarters, with a tub that could easily fit four people. Jets pulsed gently against his back, and the scent of lavender rose with the steam.

His first day at Verosika's mansion had been overwhelming, to say the least. After lunch, the pop star had given them a more extensive tour, showing off rooms that ranged from the merely suggestive to the explicitly scandalous. Lincoln had lost count of how many times his face had burned with embarrassment, especially when they'd reached what Verosika casually referred to as "the dungeon."

Still, beneath all the over-the-top sexuality, there was a genuine kindness to Verosika that Lincoln hadn't expected. She'd been attentive to his comfort, making sure he had everything he needed, and her succubi crew had been similarly thoughtful, if a bit too eager with their affections.

Lincoln ducked his head under the water one last time before pulling himself out of the tub. Water cascaded down his body as he reached for one of the plush towels hanging nearby. He dried himself off, mind drifting to tomorrow's training session. What would it entail? Despite Verosika's reassurances, he couldn't help feeling nervous about the whole situation.

Lincoln ran his fingers over the purple mark on his chest where the amulet had once rested. The skin there felt normal now, though sometimes he imagined he could still feel a phantom weight against his sternum. Would he ever truly be free of its influence? Or was this transformation permanent, as Stolas and Beelzebub had suggested?

Sighing, Lincoln reached for one of the plush towels stacked nearby. The day's events had left him exhausted, and the warm bath had only intensified his drowsiness. He dried himself quickly, wrapping the towel around his waist before padding back into his bedroom.

The night sky of Hell cast a crimson glow through his windows, illuminating the spacious room in a soft red light. Lincoln dropped his towel and reached for his pajama bottoms, pulling them on. There was a knock on his door.

Lincoln paused midway through pulling on his pajama top at the sound of a gentle knock. He quickly finished dressing, smoothing down the front of his shirt as he crossed the plush carpet.

"Coming," he called, reaching for the doorknob.

When he opened the door, his breath caught in his throat. Verosika stood in the hallway, illuminated by the soft glow of wall sconces. She wore a sheer silk nightgown that left almost nothing to the imagination, the delicate fabric clinging to every curve of her body. The translucent material just barely concealed her nipples and the area between her thighs, creating a teasing illusion of modesty while revealing everything.

"I just wanted to check on you before bed," she said, her voice a silky purr. "Make sure you're settling in okay."

Lincoln's mouth went dry. He tried to keep his eyes on her face, but they kept drifting downward against his will. Heat rushed to his cheeks as he realized he was staring.

"I'm... fine," he managed, his voice cracking embarrassingly. "The room is amazing."

Verosika leaned against the doorframe, the movement causing her nightgown to shift in ways that made Lincoln's heart race. "I'm so glad you like it." She reached out, her fingers gently brushing a strand of white hair from his forehead. "I want you to feel comfortable here."

The brief contact sent a jolt of electricity down Lincoln's spine. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through his body.

"I just wanted to remind you," Verosika continued, her voice dropping to a whisper, "that if you need anything during the night—anything at all—my bedroom is just down the hall." She pointed to a door at the end of the corridor, painted a deep crimson with her name in gold lettering. "My door is always open for you, Lincoln. Always."

The way she emphasized the word "always" made Lincoln's stomach flip. There was no mistaking her meaning, especially not with her standing before him in that nightgown.

"Th-thank you," he stammered, heat creeping up his neck. "That's really nice of you."

Verosika's lips curved into a soft smile. "Sleep well, sweetie. We start your training bright and early tomorrow." She leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, her perfume enveloping him in a cloud of jasmine and something darker, more primal.

"Good night," Lincoln managed, the spot where her lips had touched tingling pleasantly.

"Good night, Lincoln," she replied, turning to walk back down the hallway. Her hips swayed hypnotically with each step, the backlit silhouette of her body clearly visible through the sheer fabric.

Lincoln closed his door, leaning against it as he let out a shaky breath. The image of Verosika in that nightdress was burned into his mind, threatening to keep him awake all night.

He crossed to his new bed and climbed in, sinking into the impossibly soft mattress. Despite his racing thoughts, exhaustion from the day's events quickly pulled at him. As his eyes grew heavy, Lincoln wondered what tomorrow would bring with his first training session.

His last conscious thought before drifting off to sleep was of Verosika's invitation—her bedroom door, always open. Just for him.

With Loona

Meanwhile, in her room, Loona tossed restlessly on her massive bed. The sheets felt too silky against her fur, the mattress too soft—everything in this damn mansion was excessive, including the growing heat in her core that refused to let her sleep.

"Fuck this," she growled, kicking off the covers.

She'd tried ignoring it. Had spent hours staring at the ceiling, counting the ridiculous cherubs painted there, even attempted scrolling through her phone. Nothing worked. The throbbing between her thighs only intensified, a persistent ache that demanded attention.

Loona ran her claws through her silver hair, tugging it in frustration. Something about that damned food—the shimmering sauces, the strange fruits—had left her feeling... different. Her nipples had been sensitive all evening, and her skin felt too tight, too hot.

With an irritated huff, she stripped off her sleep shirt and underwear, tossing them aside. The cool air against her bare fur provided momentary relief, but it wasn't enough. Not even close.

Her eyes darted to the bedside table. Verosika had mentioned hidden "toys" throughout the guest rooms. Maybe...

Loona yanked open the drawer, and sure enough, there it was—a sleek black vibrator, already charged and waiting. She stared at it for a long moment, pride warring with need.

"This is so fucking pathetic," she muttered, even as her hand closed around the device.

She fell back against the pillows, spreading her legs. The first touch of the vibrator against her slick folds sent a jolt of pleasure up her spine. She bit her lip to stifle a moan, not wanting to give the succubi the satisfaction of hearing her.

Loona closed her eyes, trying to conjure her usual fantasies—nameless, faceless partners that meant nothing. But as the pleasure built, those images dissolved, replaced by white hair and freckled cheeks.

"No," she hissed, increasing the vibrator's intensity. "Not him. Anyone but him."

But her mind refused to cooperate. Behind her closed eyelids, it was Lincoln's hands on her body, Lincoln's mouth trailing kisses down her neck, Lincoln's transformed cock stretching her impossibly wide.

The memory of that massive, rune-covered shaft made her whimper. She'd seen what it had done to Beatrix—how it had reduced her sister to a babbling, drooling mess. The thought should have disgusted her. Instead, it made her fur stand on end with want.

"Fuck," she gasped, working the vibrator faster. Her back arched off the mattress as she pictured Lincoln above her, his innocent face contrasting with the monstrous appendage between his legs. In her mind, his eyes were gentle even as he split her in two, ruined her for anyone else.

"Disgusting bitch," Loona hissed through clenched teeth as the pressure built to an unbearable peak. "Pathetic fucking whore." The vibrator hummed against her slick folds, sending waves of pleasure radiating through her trembling body. "Getting off to a kid—your friend—what's wrong with you?"

Her claws dug into the silk sheets, tearing through the expensive fabric as her back arched off the mattress. The pressure built, coiling tighter and tighter like a spring ready to snap.

"Lincoln," she whimpered, shame burning through her even as his name left her lips. "Lincoln!"

Her climax crashed over her with brutal force, her body convulsing as waves of pleasure radiated outward from her core. Tears sprang to her eyes, rolling down her cheeks and dampening her fur as self-loathing crashed over her with equal intensity.

"Disgusting," she sobbed, flinging the vibrator across the room where it hit the wall with a dull thud. "Fucking animal."

She curled into herself, wrapping her arms around her knees as she shuddered through the aftershocks. The tears wouldn't stop, hot tracks of shame down her face as she tried to push away the images of Lincoln that had brought her to such heights of pleasure.

"He trusts you," she whispered into the darkness. "He looks up to you, and this is how you repay him? By getting off to him like some perverted pedo freak?"

Sleep seemed impossible now, her mind a battlefield of desire and disgust. The sheets beneath her were damp with her arousal, another reminder of her weakness. Loona pressed her face into her pillow, willing the ground to open up and swallow her whole.

Across the hall, Millie knelt on her massive bed, face buried in her pillow to muffle her increasingly desperate moans. Her small red hands trembled as she worked the enormous dildo she'd found hidden in her nightstand deeper into her ass. The stretch burned in the most delicious way, sending sparks of pleasure racing up her spine.

"Oh, Lincoln," she gasped, pushing the toy deeper. " My sweet baby boy..."

Her free hand worked frantically between her thighs, fingers circling her clit in tight, desperate motions. Guilt crashed through her in waves, but it wasn't enough to stop the building pressure in her core.

"I'm so sorry, Moxxie," she whimpered, even as she thrust the dildo harder, imagining Lincoln behind her. "I'm sorry for being such a bad wife and mother, I'm sorry—oh!"

The mental image of Lincoln's transformed member, those glowing runes pulsing with power as he filled her completely, sent her careening over the edge. Her body convulsed with pleasure, thighs trembling as she came with Lincoln's name on her lips.

Millie's vision blurred with tears of shame as she worked the toy deeper, her body betraying every moral conviction she'd held sacred. The burning stretch only intensified her need, each thrust bringing images of Lincoln's transformed anatomy flooding back with crystal clarity.

"What kind of mother thinks about her boy this way?" she sobbed into the pillow, even as her hips rocked against the intrusion. The food from dinner had left her feeling strange all evening—hypersensitive, aching in places that had never demanded such attention before.

She could still see him so clearly: Lincoln's face twisted in confusion and pleasure as that massive, rune-covered shaft had emerged from his small frame. The way it had pulsed with otherworldly energy stretched Beatrix beyond what should have been possible. In her fevered imagination, it was her small body being split apart by that impossible girth, her voice crying out his name as he claimed her completely.

"He's just a boy," she whimpered, pushing the dildo deeper until tears streamed down her cheeks. "Your boy. You're supposed to protect him, not—oh God—not fantasize about him using you like a breeding toy."

The shame only made the pleasure more intense, a feedback loop of self-disgust and desperate need. Her free hand found her neglected clit, rubbing frantically as she imagined Lincoln's innocent eyes watching her debase herself for his satisfaction.

"Mommy's here, baby," she gasped, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "Mommy will take care of everything. Use me however you want."

The orgasm that tore through her small frame left her convulsing against the silk sheets, Lincoln's name a broken prayer on her lips as waves of pleasure crashed over her. When it finally subsided, she curled into a ball of self-loathing, the toy forgotten as sobs wracked her body.

At the same time in Glutteny Ring

The cell's fluorescent lights flickered, casting strange shadows across Beatrix's hulking form. Carmelita checked her watch for the fifth time in as many minutes, her emerald eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"Something's wrong," she muttered, stepping closer to the observation window. "Dr. Monique, are you seeing these readings?"

Dr. Monique's whiskers twitched as she studied the tablet in her paws. "Fascinating. Her hormone levels are fluctuating wildly. I've never seen anything like—"

A strangled gasp from Roxanne cut her off. The purple-furred hellhound pressed her face against the glass, eyes widening in disbelief. "Look!"

Carmelita's breath caught in her throat. Inside the cell, Beatrix's massive body had begun to... change. The bulging muscles that had made her look more like a bodybuilder on steroids than a hellhound were visibly shrinking, contracting beneath her charcoal fur. Her shoulders narrowed, her biceps deflated, and her tree-trunk thighs slimmed down with each passing second.

"What the actual fuck?" Carmelita whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from the transformation.

Dr. Monique frantically tapped at her tablet. "The artificial compounds in her bloodstream are breaking down at an impossible rate. It's like her body is purging itself of the experimental enhancements."

Beatrix's head lolled forward, silver hair obscuring her face as her frame continued to contract. The restraints that had been custom-made to hold her hulking form now hung loose around her wrists and ankles. Within minutes, the once-massive hellhound had shrunk to nearly half her previous size—still muscular and powerful, but more lithe, more feminine.

"We need to adjust those restraints," Roxanne said, already moving toward the cell door. "Now."

Too late, Carmelita saw Beatrix's head snap up. The hellhound's eyes gleamed with malicious intelligence as her lips curled into a predatory smile.

"No, wait—!" Carmelita lunged for the door controls, but before her finger could hit the emergency lockdown button, Beatrix moved.

It happened so fast that Carmelita's brain barely registered the sequence of events. One moment, Beatrix was securely fastened to the interrogation chair. Next, she was free, a blur of charcoal fur and deadly precision. The sickening crack of Roxanne's head hitting the wall echoed through the observation room as Beatrix flung her aside like a rag doll.

Carmelita reached for her weapon, but Beatrix was already on her, clawed hand closing around her throat with crushing force. The fox's vision swam as oxygen was cut off from her brain. From the corner of her eye, she saw Dr. Monique scrambling for the panic button. The feline scientist's paw had barely brushed the panic button when Beatrix's transformed body blurred across the room. In one fluid motion, the hellhound seized Dr. Monique by the scruff of her neck and slammed her against the wall beside the dazed Roxanne. With her other hand still choking Carmelita, Beatrix effortlessly pinned all three women against the cold concrete.

"Look at you, pathetic bitches," Beatrix snarled, her voice deeper than before despite her more feminine frame. Her newly streamlined muscles rippled under her charcoal fur as she held them in place with surprising strength. "Thinking you could break me? Thinking you could reprogram ME?"

Carmelita clawed desperately at the grip around her throat, her lungs burning for oxygen. She tried to reach her sidearm, but Beatrix had her pinned at such an angle that her fingers merely brushed against the holster.

Beatrix's laughter echoed off the cell walls, her newly prominent breasts heaving with each manic breath. The silver hair that had once been matted with blood now cascaded over her shoulders like liquid mercury.

"Now you'll serve a greater purpose," she growled, her yellow eyes gleaming with malice. "My Alpha needs loyal servants, and I need practice breaking bitches like you for him."

Carmelita's vision began to darken around the edges as she struggled for breath. Through the haze, she saw something impossible happening between Beatrix's legs. The fur parted, revealing swollen flesh that extended outward, growing larger by the second. What emerged was unmistakably a hellhound cock, angry red and throbbing with unnatural veins that pulsed with the same purple energy Lincoln's had displayed.

"What... the fuck..." Dr. Monique gasped, her scientific curiosity somehow persisting even in her terror.

Beatrix's grin widened, showing every one of her razor-sharp teeth. "A parting gift from my Alpha. His seed changed me, made me better." She thrust her hips forward, the massive member bobbing obscenely between her legs. "And now I'm going to change you three as well."

She released her grip on Carmelita's throat just enough for the fox to draw a desperate breath. "Your minds will break long before your bodies do," Beatrix purred, dragging her claws down Carmelita's tactical vest before ripping it off and exposing the woman's gorgeous breasts. "And when there's nothing left but obedient little fucktoys, I'll present you to my Alpha as gifts."

Outside the cell, one could hear the screams of pain of the three women, but they were soon drowned out by howls of pleasure and crazed laughter.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

And done, man, glad I managed to get this one out somehow. Well, we have Lincoln and the girls moving into Verosika's place, and surprise, surprise, there's erotic stuff everywhere, the three will have to adjust quickly to what's to come.

Just going to forewarn you now, there will be a small time skip as I plan to get to the hands-on part of the training as soon as possible, so Lincoln will have a basic idea of what sort of control he has over his cock and Verosika and the others will now help him learn to keep it under control while being pleasured.

We also see that not only are Loona and Millie undergoing both physical and mental changes, but Verosika and her girls are making sure the changes go better than they should.

Lastly, we see Beatrix isn't held captive so easily, but she won't escape easily either, as Bee is prepared for this sort of scenario. How, you may ask? You'll just have to wait and see.

Whelp, that's all I got for now, but before I go, I have a question from my readers. Later on in the story, I want to eventually bring the Loud girls and their mom into this, but I have no idea how right now. If any of you have suggestions or ideas, please let me know in the comments.

That's it from me. If you liked the chapter or have suggestions or ideas for the story, let me know, and I'll try to respond as soon as possible. Stay safe and stay awesome!