No, John, You Are The Demons...

The mans hand gripped the stairwell rail tight, the blue veins within showing through the parchment pale skin, the bones and tendons within nearly visible.

Slowly the stooped figure made it's way slowly, creaking with each shuffling movement, hand over hand along the rail, down the steps and ever on into the darkness.

As he walked the candles ahead of him sputtered into fitful life, flames igniting of their own accord as he took each faltering step. He was so weak now, so sick, grown old and weary, his powers all but faded until cheap parlour tricks were all that he could muster to give him comfort.

Down he went.

Down.

Into the dungeon.

The air around him grew thin, cold, moist. Far beneath the surface, away from prying eyes and into the squalor of wretched things. They scurried from him, afraid of the once proud figure that had cast them out down here, strong no longer but fear runs deep in the animal mind.

Down.

Passed vaults and crypts, passed catacombs and crevices, passed brick and rock and hewn passages, down he went, over steps slimy and furred with age, some crumbling beneath his feet, some worn away to nothingness.

Down.

Down.

Down.

Down, until finally he reached the door. Carved of oak cut before he was born, carved before he had grown, put in place before he had learned his craft. Oak grown black with age, as hard as iron and full of stories of its own accord.

He slid the iron grille open and put his mouth to it.

"it's John." he called out into the darkness beyond.

He clasped the handle, his fingers so terribly thin, shaking and liver spotted. It took more effort than he could afford to give to turn it, down here in the crushing bowels of the earth weight was a relative thing. The door swung open and he was admitted.

He drew his robe around him to ward off the chill which even now seeped in to his rotted bones. He felt it suckle at him, weakening him, stealing him away ounce by ounce.

He had to come. He could not stay away.

"Hello John..." came a voice, like a drip of melted dark chocolate.

He could not stay away.

The chamber was small, the space hewn into raw stone and lined with kiln bricks in masonry sizes, here and there carved with dark eldritch signs and unknown tongues. From the ceiling dangled a large metal ring, from that dangled a thick chain, and from that...

She stood, smiling, almost nonchalant.

"I knew you'd come, John, one last time."

He looked upon her, and felt an old warmth stir inside him.

"Marielle" he whispered.

"Ssssh, John, it's alright. Save your strength."

He shook his head, he had none to save.

"You must know... Why I'm here..."

She nodded. She wore a thick studded collar around her delicate neck, the iron chain affixed to it, keeping her here, his prisoner.

His plaything.

He had summoned her decades ago, into this room, he had bound her to it, fixed her with the chain and the wards, kept her here.

He had possessed her, as only a man can.

Many was the night he had stolen down here, into her arms, her embrace, it had intoxicated him, her kiss, her touch, her tender flesh. It had been his for the taking, and he had taken his fill of it. Every whim, every day dream, every illicit thought and guilty pleasure he had whispered to her, compelling her, commanding her. She had done things to him and been done to in truly monstrous fashion, wicked things, awful things.

It had not left a mark on her.

He looked, and as he did so his heart skipped a beat. She did not ate. She looked as youthful and splendid as the day he had first laid eyes upon her, perhaps more so.

He on the other hand was a shadow of his former self. Gaunt. Frail. Skeletal. His power had all but left him, robbed by the incessant march of the years, the dulling of the mind and the wasting of the limbs.

He was old now, and desperately sick. When he coughed, there was blood.  He feared when he slept there would be no waking up.

"Marielle... I cannot leave you here... If they found you..."

She nodded.

"Your reputation would be ruined, yes. I know. Your name would be struck from the records, your remains unearthed and scattered in unmarked plots. A very public humiliation."

Her tongue, slender and pointed, showed when she spoke. Through the door behind him a draught blew, but not a single one of her long black hairs so much as moved, the elegance in stark contrast to the deep red horns that emerged between the tresses in an animal configuration.

"Yes..." he wheezed to her, steadying herself. "I must... I must destroy you."

The door only opened one way. He could not send her back. She was ore a part of this world now than her old, the bonds were too strong.

She only smiled.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that..."

She snapped her long, slender, black nailed fingers, and at once John felt his chest clench around his labouring heart.

"Marielle... Stop... I command you..."

He clutched his chest, feeling his rib cage squeeze, his breath panting, each more difficult that the last.

"Poor John. You really don't know, do you? My name isn't Marielle... And I was ever bound to you..."

He chocked, a thin fleck of spittle erupting with a deathly cough, his face ringing with blue.

"I was never yours to own. Slowly, little by little, I have poisoned you, taken life from you and grown stronger and stronger, more real and more a part of this world. Poor old John, your lust made you weak, I needed to do was smile and you were mine..."

"why..."

"Why? I want to live, John. I want to live and drink in all life has to offer. You were a means to an end, John, nothing more."

"but... I..."

She shook her head, smiling, her full pouting red lips curved into a sensuous grin.

"Don't be sad, John, we had fun together, didn't we? And besides, I'll always remember you. After all, how could I forget this?"

She patted her trim, lean midriff, and all at once seemed to breath out. The scraps of fabric covering her breasts and womanhood creaked in protest as she grew, ballooning outward. Her hips widened, thighs thickening, plumping up, loosing their lean edge and taking on a more pampered, plump appearance. Her buttocks swelled outward, matching pace with her bosom which jiggled and rippled within the confines of her clearly inadequate garments.

Her stomach swelled, bloating outward, growing alarmingly. John shrank back, terrified, watching the horror before his eyes balloon with an incredible rubbery sound as the illusion lifted.

She arched her back, placing her hands on the generous curve of her hips and puffing herself outward, accentuating the outlandish curve of her burgeoning abdomen, the cream coloured flesh stretching effortlessly outward, tapering downward between her hips to leave a pair of narrowing grooves running along her hips where her belly tapered into her pubic mound, kept hidden from view by her loincloth. The colossal swell bounced outward, seeming to emerge suddenly as the sun does from behind a cloud.

Her growth slowed, slowed, slowed and stopped. She ran a hand over it appreciatively, smiling to it with a deep sense of pride, her grin not bearing malevolence,  more an impression of achievement, of triumph.

She patted the great jutting orb, packed tight and swollen, heavy and low and pendulous lay emerging from her frame, full and fat and unbelievably large.

John shook his head and collapsed to his knees, never to rise he stood before the demoness as she calmly waved a finger at the collar, which broke apart and catered uselessly to the ground. The bricks began to smoke around them, several of those that had been carved cracking and splitting with sudden snaps and crunches.

She stroked her prized circumference, the huge orb bobbing in the low light of the candles, it's dimensions so large as to seem uncertain in the tiny space which she nearly filled by herself.

She placed her palms flat against her tummy, gasping with pleasure in a small illicit groan as her navel popped out, bulging suddenly from the front of her huge girth, her transformation complete as she revealed her true and terrible form to him, the man who was never her master. He was spent, useless, she had spent years syphoning off his power and corrupting his body until finally she was ready.

"I will never forget you John, really after all how could I?" she smirked, rolling her hips and jutting her belly towards him, low and heavy and cumbersome with an air of sexual fulfilment to it. His skin crawled to look at it, his ears droned with the sound of buzzing flies, his vision growing dull as he felt something beyond even his understanding stir, coming at last to take what he owed it. He was powerless to resist, the great sorcerer brought low.

The demoness smiled from ear to ear with a grin almost as wide as her stomach, blooming forth from her like on an almost geographical scale, so huge and full, the skin achingly taut but flawless and completely smooth, wonderful to behold and aching to be touched, stroked, caressed, a duty she seemed more than capable and happy to do.

He watched in sick astonishment as his last moments arrived as a single bulge rose on the left of her belly, the swell of her flank distorting for a moment as the contents of the sphere shifted and kicked twice in quick succession, rippling across the bulging face of the pale girth.

"How could I forget the father of my child?" she grinned, her teeth now looked sharp, animal, predatory, her nails drumming menacingly on the taut skin of her immense fecundity as she loomed over the dying Mage, showing off every inch of her bloated, ballooning body, her maternal midriff massive, engorged beyond enormity.

"Its a boy."