k¡nktober day seventeen - threesome or moresome with all nine main demons
~1300 words
cw non con drugging , drinking , groping , butt chugging , alcohol , non con , filming
“Mhm? Is something different about the Demonus tonight?” your eyes begin to lid as the castle ballroom goes a bit out of focus. Mammon catches your arm as you stumble and lift your glass to observe the golden liquid.
“Oh?” Diavolo chuckles as he dances his way over to you. “I must’ve forgot to mention I had Barbatos mix in some Human World alcohol into tonight’s brew.”
You frown. “I should- I should probably stop drinking now…”
“MC~,” Asmo grabs your shoulders and plants a fat kiss on your lips, tasting wine and flowers. You groan into the kiss, blinking hard.
“I need—,” your head spins and pounds as you pull away from Asmo’s soft, soft lips. “I think I should lay down.”
“Awh,” Asmo whines and Belphie perks up.
“Come here, MC,” he motions to the spot at the table next to him and you sway as you walk over to him. Beelzebub clears the whole area of the table that you’re sitting in front of, taking the cups and plates and serving bowls.
You hum as Belphie grabs you and makes you rest yourself up to your breasts on the table. Your eyes slip closed and you feel someone’s hands, gloved, maybe Barbatos or Lucifer, fondling your chest and you weakly try to shove them away. Alcohol tugs at your mind lulling you into lethargy.
“Mhmm, stop it,” your words come out slurred as your cheek presses into the table cloth. Someone shushes you and across the table someone lifts you by your armpits to lay you vertically on the table.
“Hm?” You try to look up, Beelzebub’s blurry face coming into view. “What’s— What’re we doin’?”
“Shh, don’t worry,” Lucifer’s voice.
“No, wait, what’s—?” You sniff as Belphie’s hands tug down your dress pants, exposing your underwear. “Don’t do that!”
“Shh, it’s okay, just relax, MC,” Belphie rubs his hands over the curve of your behind as he says it. You whimper into the tablecloth as your underwear is stripped away and discarded.
Embarrassment spikes your heart when slender fingers pry open the lips of your pussy. Tears well up in your eyes from the humiliation and you want to do something about this, whatever is going on, but you’re so tired.
“Awh,” Asmo’s colorful nails snag your attention as he coos over you. They tenderly cup your face and he presses a kiss to your lips.
“Just relax,” Mammon pets over your hair.
It’s hard to relax when Belphie’s rubbing his fingers over your dry slit.
He needs to stop, you think. You’re in the middle of Diavolo’s ballroom, and you aren’t in the mood. What would Diavolo do — think of you — if he saw this?!
“Wait,” you attempt to lean up, but the heavy petting on your hair from Mammon makes it hard to lift yourself. Both from the pressure and from the part of it soothing you.
“Shh,” Mammon murmurs into your hair.
Something warm and wet rubs over your slit, and it takes half a second before you realize that it’s Belphie’s tongue. There’s a kiss pressed into your hair, but it does little to stop the trembling sob from leaving your chest.
Another hand begins undoing the lace of your shirt from the back. From the skill of the fingers you assume it’s either Asmo or Satan. It makes you sniffle and try and squirm away.
The tongue against your hole has begun arousing your body, making slick begin to leak from your pussy.
“It’s okay,” Mammon mumbles against your scalp. “Just relax, it’ll be so much easier if you just let them in.”
“Nngh,” you can’t find the words to disagree with him. It halfway turns to a moan as Belphie’s lips wrap around your clit, and his tongue rapidly flicks over the sensitive bud. Your hips weakly squirm away from the stimulation but you get nowhere.
Your top falls from your body and a rush of cold air raises your nipples to peaks. A large, warm hand scoops under your body to fondle one. The other breast is quickly taken hold by a smaller hand, but fondled as well.
“This ‘s wrong, stop,” you protest.
“Do you think they’ll remember this tomorrow?” A voice, Satan’s you think, although the cloudiness of your mind has a lot of room for error. You jolt as a pinch is sent through one of your nipples, a weak shout leaving you, encouraging Mammon to place another soft kiss to your hair.
“Not if we keep them drinking at a steady rate.” Lucifer, or is it Diavolo?, replies. Shoes click against tiled linoleum and another hand ruffles through your hair and grabs hold of your skull, lifting you to meet the red gaze of Lucifer.
He takes in the daze on your face, sighing before gently dropping your head. He says something to someone, but it’s too quiet for you to understand.
Belphie is too good at oral for your own good, and your legs clench and unclench fruitlessly as you cream over the demon’s face. You swear you can feel him smile against your sticky sex.
“My turn?” A deep voice, Beelzebub’s, asks and one of the hands on your breasts disappears.
“Take their mouth, I want this side,” yes, that’s Belphegor speaking.
Mammon helps another pair of hands maneuver you so that your head can just slightly go over the ledge of the table and your eyes get up close and personal with a humongous erect cock. Based on the ginger pubes, it is Beel. Then his hands pry your mouth open and the tip of his cock slips into your mouth.
You hope he doesn’t force you to take the whole thing, it’s far too large for you to live through that. Luckily, for your life, he only fucks your throat in quick, shallow thrusts.
On your other end Belphie’s sliding into your spit slicked hole. He whimpers lowly, and begins a slow rhythm of thrusts.
There’s the sound of multiple zippers all at once, and muffled the starting sound of a DDD beginning a recording. Fuck, someone is filming.
The notion that you’re being recorded as you’re being taken advantage of, makes a fresh wave of tears build up. They’re brushed away by Mammon’s tender hand as soon as they fall, another round of shushing on his end.
It takes far too long for the twins to finish their assault on your holes before they ejaculate into you. You choke on the absolute tsunami of semen that Beel delivers and he pulls out of your mouth with a creamy-spitty dick. Belphie also pulls out after creamping you.
A chilled bottle rim ghosts over the rim of your ass and cold alcohol trickles over the lip and makes you shiver. The rim is lodged into your hole and there’s a brief moment then all of the chill of the drink comes flooding into your ass. You cry out in shock as your bowels are forced to contain the liquid.
Out of the corner of your eye you see Barbatos’ slender gloved hands adjusting the angle he’s filming, and you cringe fruitlessly away from the lens.
In front of you another cock, Diavolo’s, appears, he’s rapidly jerking himself off and aiming at your face. More of the demons you had been partying with surround you, all tugging on their dicks like their lives depend on it. Just when you think you’re in the clear from any more penetration, Diavolo sets his heavy tip in your sore mouth.
Fuck.
Someone, you can’t crane your neck to see who, presses into your wine filled ass. They shallowly fuck into your hole, making the liquid slosh around uncomfortably.
Your body begins to tire and the alcohol in your system begins to make you lethargic. The last thing you remember is:
“They won’t remember this, right?” You hope you don’t.
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