The smell of smoke and charred flesh is everywhere, and somewhere in the distance is the sound of screams, both human and goblin. The raid is nearing its end, and half the town seems to be ablaze while blood, bodies and debris litters the streets. Pure carnage. Still, I can't help but smile as I glance this way and that, scanning the flickering shadows for movement. There's gore on my sleeves and on my knife, and a burn mark across my cheek, but more than that I can feel the crackling, ethereal crimson flame in my hand, and the way its ghostly heat caresses my fingers and palm.

I've killed a dozen creatures tonight. Vile and twisted little things, and each of them had it coming. But still. A dozen lives taken. A dozen lives sent to whatever version of the Nether Realm that they confess to. And a dozen words of thanks offered to my patron, like sanguine bliss on my lips.

A child-sized figure darts without warning from an alley, arms laden with loot, and I snap my hand out, the fire roaring to life and forming into a lance of blood-red force that stabs through the ember-filled night and slams into the creature, felling it. There is a brief, croaking scream as it dies, and the sound of silverware and trinkets spilling over the ground. Then silence. I give a cold smile and lower my hand once more.

"Thank you, Daddy," I purr, for the thirteenth time tonight.

I am dreaming, but even in the dream I know it is all real. The hall of jagged obsidian surrounds me, a basalt throne at the heart of it, and my eyes fall upon the same thing I see every night when I close my eyes, the same familiar and regal figure atop the towering seat of power. I am on my knees before I know it, the dream warping around me so that I am spared even the expense of walking to your throne. You sit there, towering, the orbs of dark fire in your skull gazing down at me as I prostrate myself before you in worship and admiration, my body naked except for the sigils of power that you drew on my skin so long ago.

Your skin is warm as I lay my hand on your inner thigh, and the scent of you makes my mind ripple and groan with the strain of trying to maintain my sanity. Warm, eddying pools of lust begin to form between my legs the closer I get, and I feel more than hear your voice as you speak to me, through a language that I don't understand. The sounds are incomprehensible, the sentences mere rumbling nonsense. But I know what you mean. And I obey, pushing forward to wrap my lips around your hardness, feeling it sink into my mouth like a rod of molten metal, warm and firm and pulsing with delight. I push forward, and I feel the head brush up against my uvula, feel the tip strain for a moment against the tight opening of my throat, and then your hand is in my brown curls, and my throat is filling with your hard cock, filling and stretching beyond what should be possible for a mere human woman, were this all not a dream...

The landscape is changing around me, pastures and fields giving way to craggy slopes and rocky, mountainous foothills. The carriage I've hired to take me to Fellwind Keep creaks and groans beneath me, and I catch myself absently rubbing the red spiral tattoos that cover my naked arms. The other travelers are garbed in their winter furs and oiled skins, and I know they look at me and my slight, skimpy outfit with incomprehension and mistrust. But the fire is within me, renewed nightly by my congress with my otherwordly patron, and part of the deal is to flaunt that fact. It's why you marked me as you did, covering every inch of my skin with symbols and designs. It's why you make me invoke your name every time I take a life in your honor, whether man or beast. It's why I'm going to Fellwind Keep in the first place, in a corset and thin, flowing skirt that whips around my naked ankles in the chill breeze. I have cavorted with the Fiend, and now must show the world. Not the worst fate in the world. Less so for the power you grant me.

Warm drool runs down my lips, the hand in my hair holding me effortlessly as you pump me over your cock again and again. Wet, slurping sounds drift like music from my throat, and I can feel your large, smooth balls bump against my chin every time you drive your cock back in to the hilt. The air is warm around me, and I am dimly aware of time as it flows diffusely around us; how long have I been here, sucking and worshiping your cock? How long have you held my head and made love to my throat like only a prince of the pit could? For an hour, perhaps, or for eternity - it doesn't matter, nothing matters except the sensation of your hard length pumping past my lips and promising me such wealthy rewards if only I can coax that warm, corrupted seed out of you. My hands clutch your balls and rub them tenderly, while my body throbs with the desire to be held and fucked and used. I am asleep and dreaming, but somewhere in the back of my mind I know my body is stirring and shaking with unconscious pleasure.

The tavern is dimly lit, and populated by seedy people. Up near the bar sits a group of adventurers, haggard and coarse by their looks, but wealthy enough to keep the bartender from kicking them out. Weapons gleam and shine in the firelight. I wonder where they are off to, what treasures they might reap for themselves. My Daddy craves no trinkets of worship, just the wanton chaos and destruction that my fingers bring when they unleash his powers. But companions might be useful, and I slide up to the nearest and introduce myself, offering a deep glance down my cleavage before downing my drink with a cheeky grin. A young, shapely woman with inhuman powers of magic and a clear lack of a gag reflex? What band of monster-slaying heroes wouldn't want that on their side? And sure enough, the drinks begin to flow and the tongues are loosened. A story of treasure and danger high in the peaks of the mountain range. Blood and gold aplenty for those with the guts to face the trials. A veritable smorgasbord of lives to take in your honor, Daddy.

You grunt with pleasure above me, hips slamming onto my mouth with breakneck force. The sustained gargling groans of a submissive throat mirrors your thrusts, and I know that it is only the dream that keeps my lungs from burning and my brain from lapsing into darkness. My chin and breasts are soaked in spit, and my hair a tangled mess after hours upon hours of sloppy, obedient oral worship, but now that the end is near, I am loathe to stop; I push forward, eager to be nothing more than your eternal cock sleeve, and feel your length grow and throb as warmth spreads down, down into my belly and through my core, until my entire being is set ablaze by the heat of your eruption. I swallow, moan and swallow again, feebly massaging my Daddy's devil dick with my throat until there is nothing left to do but fall back and let the long, thick cock slide from my throat and out to hang, swaying and glistening with my drool, before my eyes.

"Thank you, Daddy," I moan, fingers working between my legs as I look up at you with worship in my eyes. "Thank you, thank you..."

My throat is sore when I wake, with the pale morning light shining through the window. It is the price I pay for greatness, but the warmth inside me keeps me from complaining. Next to me, with his back turned, lies one of the adventurers from last night. He snores softly, and I study the scars on his back before I get up and get dressed. Idly, I summon the crimson heat in my hand, and watch it flicker silently between my slender fingers. It feels good, like the warm embrace of my Daddy's approval, and I can feel all of the dark and terrible magic secrets course through my veins as I stretch and flex in the chill tavern room. Tonight, I am going to unleash the power of my patron on the unsuspecting monstrosities of the world. And then, when I go to sleep, I will once more sit at my Daddy's feet and nurse his cock between my lips, and thank him for the wonderful gifts he gives me.

Everyone loves D&D, right? Well, how about a warlock whose patron is also her demonic Daddy Dom? Slinging spells by day, and worshiping his cock by night - sounds about perfect to me. So how does it work as a play? Fucked if I know, but it's a fun concept, and I can imagine a few ways to make it fun, at least. So, do you like putting your cock in a morbid little sex-kitten who squeals and calls you her big-dicked Daddy every night? Then this prompt is probably for you.

I don't like mindless degradation, and I am not looking for a DD/lg type of thing; let's just keep it at the level of an ordinary, trans-dimensional demonic being and his personal human cock-sleeve. Violence, scat, pee, all of the usual things are hard limits, as is rape and unmotivated partners. Seriously, I don't ask you to be Ernest Hemingway (in fact, please don't be), but just show that you are at least as interested in this thing as I am. Enthusiasm and personal chemistry goes a lot farther than all of the expensive words in the dictionary with me.

I'd prefer it if you'd take the time to introduce yourself first, rather than launching straight into an RP reply. Tell me what you liked about the prompt and how you imagine it being shaped into a play, and I am sure we will get along just fine. Of course, chances are I won't be able to get back to all of you; for that, I apologize in advance. I'll try, but I'm only really looking for one partner for this.

I have a subreddit for all of my writing, so maybe check that out if you want.