Devilbound - I
//1
>You ordered from the app D-Dash
>Surprise, nerd, it’s actually DubDash
>Outside your apartment you here the banshee scream of her vehicle engine
>Wheels skid and the (insert cart) swerves into parking with total indifference to the surrounding property – bitch even double parked!
>It’s not food you ordered, and several thunks at your door reveal the arriving “guest”
>You hesitate, cause once you twist that knob, ain’t no going back
>You do
> “Sup, runt.”
>Holy fuck – you meant to say that aloud, but the words get caught in your throat, because look at this beast
>She goes by Dubmare, a hybrid fiasco of, well, it’s not exactly clear what she is – one profile may suggest a drifting shapeshifter or demon, another a mercenary for fire, then others a criminal extraordinaire 
>She shoves you aside and saunters her ass right in
>Speaking of ass, christ on the cross, Dubmare’s fat, wide grey cheeks wobble and shake as she wiggles into your apartment
>She has absolutely zero fucking concern for prudence, wearing pump heels, a leather jacket cut short at the midriff, platinum anklets and wristbands, thigh-highs and a blank v-sling
>The jewelry rings with a provocative chime as she kicks the door shut, glancing around your otherwise unimpressive living estate, snorting
> “Nice shitshack.”
>Kind of amazing she even fits in the place; Dubmare doesn’t just have a fat, waist-crushing ass, she’s near double your height too, and her pointy radar-esque ears certainly don’t help
>She swings around to look you over, sizing you up (or down?) where her supple cleavage also spills into view
>There’s a ballistics joke in there somewhere, and Dubs is packing, her frothy pair of tits easily the size of your skull, if not larger
>Like the rest of her, she could no doubt suffocate you with em’, or turn your head into confetti with her bust alone
> “Er, thanks. . .” you manage to say
>You’re trying not to stare – or are you? Is there etiquette here or should you abandon the pretense all together?
>She definitely doesn’t care, given the smirk stretching her wolfish features
>That’s another thing you can’t quite pin down: as a species she’s got features of a wolf and fox, though her tail is long and scaly like a serpent save for a cloud of fur at the end
> She leans now, her thick wobbly tits shivering into view before she peers into your eyes, orbs of burning gold
> “Before this party starts, run, I’m obligated t’give you a sec to think this over, just in case you’re getting a cold dick. Blah blah blah, part of the bitch out clause.”
>You were transfixed on her cleavage, so you near didn’t hear her
> “Pay attention pipsqueak, you don’t own these yet.” She flicks your forehead, and there’s a hint of dangerous strength behind her chiding attitude
> “Oh, fuck, yeah. . .”
> Dubmare sneers and her gold teeth glint in the apartment light
> “We ain’t to that part just yet.”
> At any rate, this whole transaction costs one soul. Yeah, soul, deal with the Devilmare, that kind of thing, and like a deal you fall back to the “I wasn’t using mine anyway”
> Not like you give a shit about the consequences given the state of the world, which is the whole reason you wanted somebody like Dubs around in the first place. Besides, if Hell is filled with fat assed gals like Dubs suppose you could do much worse
>One horny night of scrolling through DubDash later and here she is: your soul for her temporary servitude, terminated at the time of your demise at which point she feasts on it, or something
>Said demise could be anything, by the way – even bedroom antics
>In return though, you got THIS thick lady at your beck and call, so guess it was worth a trade
>You’re just some punk trying to scrape through the literal monster infested world, with limited prospects where even the nature of survival isn’t guaranteed, so there isn’t much to weigh in on here
>What, you gonna’ give her a look over now and say ‘nah, no thanks’
> “Yeah, I’m fine with it,” you finally say. “Whatever it takes.”
> “Good boy,” she shoots back before grabbing your thumb and taking a small bite of it. A spring of pain forms and she proceeds to lick and suck a droplet of blood, finishing the deal.
> “Hopefully the rest of you tastes as good, runt.”
>Nervous laughter
> “Now, collar me, bitch.”
>Dubmare straightens herself and fishes out an unbound leather collar, studded with spikes and a symbol you don’t recognize, while she twirls it around one of her digits
>Excuse you? She throws the collar into your hands and you near drop it. It’s quite heavy, actually, a dense binding of sin-black leather, and its unnerving to look at for very long
>This is all hitting you pretty fast, so you brain isn’t doing the word-good part
> ”What, like, a dog?”
>Dubmare cackles, rumbling with a dark, twisted laughter, both exciting and terrifying
> “Bark, bark,” she snickers.
> Her tail winds about and here she proceeds to slip to all fours in canine fashion, prostrating herself in front of you as her hips gently toss from side to side in slow, metronome fashion
> It doesn’t matter that she’s on all fours, though, she’s still got size on you, and even where she is, her head would sit right above your waist
> “So ya’ like a bitch on her hands and needs for ya, runt? You owe me a walk later, then.”
> A gulp. Well, at any rate, she’s watching you (and the collar) with intent, so you do as she requests, your heart racing. You ring the collar around her neck and feel her tuft of hair along your skin, a soft fur that promises blissful warmth
> You snap the collar on, careful it isn’t too tight, and it announces seal with a satisfying ‘click’
> Eh, in for a soul
> “Good girl?” you say
>Dubmare once again cackles 
> “Fucking wrong on all accounts, runt, but I like the attitude.”
> She looks up to you now, and there’s the devil in her eyes
> “You’ve got me down here, whattya’ thinkin’ of now, eh?”
>Right now? You grumble. Right now you’re imagining her bouncing her head on your cock, making a sloppy, slobbering mess of you, but ALSO
>You look over to your kitchen and then back to Dubs – who again is a tank of a thing – and you wonder what she even eats. Furthermore, though, your pantry is light, and were it not for Dubs with you, it’s possible you would’ve starved in your own apartment
> “Groceries,” you finally say
> Dubmare stares “GROCERIES!? You dumb fucking cute idiot.”
> She scoffs, standing up now with surprising grace, offering a sigh and roll of the eye. “Dumbass has me right there and won’t even get a blowie, unbelievable. . .”
> Time for that later, but you ain’t about to go out eating peanutbutter and ramen
> “We’re taking your fucking car, then, runt.”
> “Anon,” you gently correct.
> Dubmare quirks a brow, ruffling your hair. “How ‘bout Boss?”
>Seems pretty lofty for someone of your position and stature, but you can see it growing on you
> “Boss it is,” you say. “And Boss says, uh, we need groceries.”
//2
>The auto-gates wheeze open and you drive your clunker of a truck through them, minding the gaze of the security tower
>Your complex is a small, gated community, because the roads are dangerous if you travel at the wrong time, which is, well, most of the time
>It’s grocery time, so after around ten minutes of driving on mostly barren roads, you arrive at the BIG BARGAINZ, an all-inclusive grocery lot which sells “whatever the hell we’ve got on hand”
>Like most places, it’s also surrounded by fencing with overweight guards minding the entrance – some of whom gawk at your company
>Dubmare’s size means she’s riding in the back, though she does mind, and proceeds to flip off anyone glancing her way
>You click off the ignition and hop out, as does Dubs, though she makes the truck wheeze and wobble when she does, her strength cracking the asphalt as pump heels fracture the ground
>You look around, keeping an eye out for trouble – of which there already is, a random burning wreck in the corner parking lot
>Well shit. “We gotta’ be quick,” you say
>Dubmare’s tall, pointed ears flag and her expression shifts, aware of the potential and danger and the concern in your voice
> “I’ve always got time for a quickie, Boss.”
> She takes point in front of you, flicking on a pair of mirror shades
> “Let’s fucking go, already.”
> So you do, and a bonus of her waltzing in front of you is you get the view of her wide, immense ass, every step taken sending a fleshy clap of jiggly applause through her cheeks
>Within BIG BARGAINZ is just a hodgepodge of whatever can be sold; stocks aren’t guaranteed and you have to take what you can get
>Canned provisions are in high supply today, so you nab a cart and fill it to the brim, also hoping for fresh produce if possible
>Not much of that but you do manage to grab some frozen bags of fruit and vegetables, and the meat section at the very least has a few things – mostly the “Chicken Special” which is just a tub of chicken meat parts, a “fun” bucket of questionable quality
>Dubmare proceeds to nab herself a case of beers, crack one of the bottle heads and guzzle it down, wiping her mouth as the frothy liquid drips from her lips
>You gawk, and she doesn’t give a fuck, really
> “Hey! You didn’t pay for that!”
> She finishes her drink and licks her chops. “Nope.”
> This doesn’t go unnoticed, as a Screenman rolls up, its electronic face painted with a digital smile, gyrating its rectangular arms in cautionary fashion
> HELLO THERE VALUED BIG BARGAINZ CUSTOMER ™ YOU HAVE NOT PURCHASED PRODUCT B11B2 AND ARE SUBJECT TO THE MUNICIPAL BIG BARGAINZ AUTHORITY CODE PLEASE WAIT HERE OR PAY YOUR TAB IMMEDIATELY THANK YOU HA-
> There’s the loud crack of shattering glass as Dubmare proceed to ram her fist through the machine’s “head,” punching a gaping, smoky hole through it, shaking her knuckles free of any mechanical debris
> The Screenman collapses to the ground and you stare at its sputtering, malfunctioning corpse
> Well. Shit. You could stay and make a scene, but you’ve already lingered long enough. Dubmare kicks the mechanical corpse aside and yanks out another glass. “Want one?”
> “NO!” you yell back. “Let’s just go before anyone else shows up.”
> In a different scenario, weekend variety mall cops would have your number, assign you a fee and subject you to whatever corporate law was trendy at the time, but for some reason nobody dared approach the guy and the fuck-right-off wolf demon in his company
> Worked for you, and you at least bothered to pay your tab, hauling off with the cartfull of groceries before returning to your truck
> You fumble with your keys while Dubs is close behind
> “Goddammit,” you growl, “Dammit, Dubs! You can’t do shit like that, okay? You’re gonna’ get us into a shitload of trouble.”
> She snarls. “So fucking what? It’s what I’m here for, runt.”
> “Isn’t it supposed to be Boss?”
> “Yeah, yeah.”
> “Just, if you’re gonna do that try to be. . .” You want to say subtle, and then you remember who you’re with
> You sigh. What’s done is done, and could’ve been worse. “It’s. . . nevermind. Let’s get home.”
> “Sorrrreeeee Booooss,” mocks Dubmare. “Was I a bad dog?”
> She proceeds to plant herself on the side of the truck’s cargo bed, bending over and quivering her fat, thick firm ass
> “Get some pussy, Boss. It’ll calm you down.”
> Fucking christ. You’re frozen, watching her juicy, chubby cheeks jiggle from side to side, slopes of gunmetal grey clapping into each other while the hint of her supple pussy glistens through the black v-sling. She then proceeds to hop her hips, forcing the truck to whine and creak while her absolutely fucking delicious bubbly bottom jiggles in reciprocation, teasing you
> “Come on,” she invites. “That soft, juicy cunt is all yours, Anon, remember? All. Your. Pussy.”
> Every instinct screams in your body to drop pants and bury your cock in her until your balls are drained and sore, but it’s cut short by a loud, inhuman shriek ripping into the sky above
>Heart racing, you glance up and spy a winged silhouette screech through the sky, to which even Dubmare acknowledges with an annoyed glance
>Fuck. Later then.
>Also YOU’VE GOT TO FUCKING GO!
> ”GET IN THE TRUCK!” you command
>You toss in groceries, start the ignition, and one bored Dubmare hops in the bed as you proceed to speed off. Store alarms sound and the winged fiend circles around the building. In your rearview you see it bolt down like a flash of black, scooping up one of the guards like he were an egg in the field, the thing’s horrid red eyes visible from here
>Screaming and gore follows but you focus on the road until you get home, the auto-gates “securing” you
>It’s almost evening and the defense grid will come online soon, but that’s only enough to deter sky terrors, not stop them
>In haste, you take some groceries and Dubmare grabs the rest (with little trouble, you note) getting back inside your apartment
>She tosses them to the side in haphazard fashion while you lock up, sighing in relief
> “Shit,” you say. “Close one.”
>You see the groceries. “And thanks.”
> A shrug. “Don’t mention it.”
>You wipe your forehead, realizing you whipped up a sweat. Guess you got freaked out – but for good reason. Sky Terrors are no joke but they’re normally never that bold
> “Never seen a runt worked up ‘cause of those flying ass-pains.”
> You look at Dubs in disbelief. “Are you kidding? You see what they fucking do!”
> “Only seen em’ at the end of a barrel, or under my heel.”
> You’re not sure how to feel about that. Reassured? Well, Dubmare definitely fit the bodyguard role well
> “Relax, god,” she chided. “You need a drink.”
> Here, Dubmare proceeded to strip off her jacket and sling, leaving only heels and jewelry adorning her frame. Stripes of dark grey accented her frame, and at this you got a long, enjoyable view of her delectable body, every bouncing inch on full display
> “Uh. . .”
> She proceeded to grab her hijacked stash of beer bottles and yank one out for you, taking the drink and serving it to you, her pierced tits tossing about with every little motion and dance of her body
> It’s slowly dawning on you what all this means, and what’s happening, how from this point on your mortality is in the hands of this fiend, and once you expire, lord only knows
> One soul for a bitch like this – you honestly don’t feel so damned
> You’re hungry and tired, but you’ve got food and protection, fucked as it is
> Staring at Dubs, part of you wants to pump your cock into her day and night, but there’s meals to make and you don’t have the stamina. . . for the moment
> You do, however, allows yourself an indulgence
> “Hmm. So what’s this about your pussy being all mine?”
> Dubmare grins and her sadistic gold fangs glisten again. She proceeds to swing herself and plant her fat haunches on your hips, and the weight is something else, though you can feel the damp hint of her cunt from here
> “Til’ you’re roadkill, just like I said, Boss. Pussy in the property of one Anon. Nice deal, ain’t it?”
> You take a swig of the beer and touch one of her thick, juicy ass cheeks. It’s firm yet decadently soft, just as you thought.
> “There are worse fates.”
> Dubmare slides her haunches against you in steady grinds, chuckling. “You and me are gonna’ get on just fine, Boss.”
//TERMINATE