The footsteps were getting closer, and Cyril tried to pull away again.

'I should be angry.' He thought, and wanted to growl, but only a pitiful moan stuck in his throat.

He wanted to cry from impotence.

'I don't even have the strength to be angry.' He thought, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. 'How did they even do this to me?'

After everything he'd been through in this strange world, it was so ridiculous to be stuck in a basement that smelled of sweat and mold. To get the strength to smash walls with your bare hands when bullets bounce off you like your skin is made of high-strength Kevlar from freaking superheroes, and be powerless against two half-naked girls and an old woman with a dog?

'Fuck!'

The prospect of staying here forever made Cyril's heart ache.

'Of course, my body didn't fight, this is something to get high for it to fuck.' He sighed to himself, remaining a crucified toy. 'If I could at least die from such love, but apparently it won't work.'

He closed his eyes, ready to accept his fate, but remembered something.

'Did they want me to serve them? No way!'

The heavy door opened, and the torchlight swayed in the wind. The same girls who had bullied him before he woke up alone came in.

A second torch was burning in the blonde's hands. She went to the wall to Cyril's right and inserted it in a special holder. The torch on the opposite wall stopped flickering as the redhead closed the door.

Cyril pretended to be asleep, but left one eye slightly open.

"Don't try to deceive us, sly boy." The redhead chirped, coming closer. "We know when you're awake. Your body speaks for itself."

With that, the redhead ran her hand over his swollen balls. She moved a little closer and kissed him on the cheek.

"I'd like to take this damned gag off you and kiss you on the mouth, but you're still resisting our will." The girl spoke softly, but at the same time she sounded like a spring stream. Cyril couldn't help but realize how much he missed that voice.

The redhead in front of him started to change her face, becoming more and more like someone who could have a picnic in the middle of a bug patch.

'Clara.' Cyril groaned to himself.

"You want her, don't you?" She whispered, stroking his face.

Cyril clenched the gag between his teeth, feeling the tension build up in the head of his cock.

"Now she can be yours." The redhead continued, changing her hair color to gold. "You just need to stop resisting."

Cyril groaned, feeling ready to give up.

"Maybe you want another one." The girl giggled, stepping aside and giving Cyril a view of the blonde.

Although, instead of an unfamiliar blonde, he saw his wife.

'Fuck.' He groaned to himself. 'It's not her, she can't be here.'

Clara, with her attractive, toned ass and desirable thighs, walked over to his lost wife and took her hand. She looked into the face of the taller and older woman and smiled. Natasha leaned over to kiss Clara.

Cyril groaned, unable to look away. He wanted to be there with them, to hold his wife, to tell her how much he missed her, how much he wanted to bring her back from the world of the dead, if only he could break free of these cold chains. And then they would fuck a smart dragonfly together.

Natasha broke out of the deep kiss to put her hands behind Clara's back. Looking into her eyes, she untied the barely noticeable laces on her back and removed the pathetic piece of clothing, revealing sharp, protruding breasts. Clara groaned.

Cyril felt the head of his cock throb in agony. An unbearable itch made him say 'yes' to the delusion, just to get his cock back in the warm, soft, caressing mouth.

Natasha knelt down, greedily grabbing one of Clara's nipples with her lips as her hands pulled down her snow-white panties.

'Fuck you, Natasha.' Cyril grumbled in his heart. 'Clara is mine, don't you dare pick my flower!'

As much as Cyril wanted to take both women, he couldn't help feeling that the moment he said yes, it would be over for him.

'I won't be able neither to die nor to help others.'

Meanwhile, his wife let Clara take off her clothes and lay down on the stone floor of the basement. Clara perched on top of her, her back to Cyril, her crotch resting on Natasha's face.

'You're not Clara, you're just a ghost.' He thought, looking at her slender back and firm buttocks. 'Same as Natasha. My wife is dead, these two are an illusion.'

His wife began to stroke her labia, parting to show Cyril a hole once belonged only to him. She moaned into Clara's looming crotch and drove her finger into her vagina.

Cyril tightened his grip on the gag as his cock oozed lube. He began to think about what was left outside the basement, because there was no way what was happening here could be true.

'The real Clara still hasn't returned.' He recalled. 'Dyck is counting on me, and Kalim has to revive the mechanic. I want to die and go back to my real wife, not fuck with ghosts for the rest of my life. I need to do something, I need to get out.'

The basement was filled with the moans of two women. Natasha worked her tongue, making Clara twitch in ecstasy as Clara reached back and ruffled Natasha's pubic hair.

"Obey us." Clara turned and sang in a voice like a bell. "And we will give you the happiness of pure lust."

She screamed and shook her whole body, and Natasha drove several fingers deeper into her pussy at once.

Cyril groaned.

Finally, the illusory Clara rose from his wife's face and went to Cyril to kneel in front of him.

She looked up at him and licked the base of his cock. Cyril felt an electric shock and groaned. Natasha got up from the floor, smiling and coming closer.

"He's still resisting, it's not right." She said, and there was a note of alarm in the woman's voice.

The illusory Clara broke away from his penis and stood in front of him, taking a step back. Then she answered in a strange, deep voice.

"The lady has ordered a final ritual to be performed on him. We must show our true form so that the man will fall before us."

Cyril wanted to think about something, to swear at least to himself that he had had enough of the transformation, but the thought stuck somewhere in the middle of the word.

Natasha disappeared, regaining her white hair color and a strange face. The thin, tall body became thicker, shorter, and strong muscles appeared. The skin gradually turned red, and a pair of tiny, curved horns grew on her head.

The monster smiled, showing a row of white, pointed teeth.

'Mother of God.' Cyril swore, and immediately felt a huge sense of relief.

As he watched his wife's transformation, the redhead swallowed his cock again. The itch disappeared, replaced by warmth and a sense of caress.

Cyril groaned, and his groan deafened the basement through the saliva-soaked gag.

Natasha, or rather a red-skinned monster with a magnificent chest and sharp teeth, laughed. A long, thin tail rose from behind her.

"He has so much power! I can feel the feast coming!" She laughed, while ghostly Clara moved her head in anticipation of the seed.

Cyril couldn't take it anymore.

'I'm wasting my fucking time in this fucking basement!' He yelled to himself and finally shot a stream of cum down the girl's throat.

He had lost count of the orgasms he had already had.

'My wife is fucking dead! I don't wanna stay here!' He finally managed to get angry. And with anger came strength.

Still crucified with his back to the bare, cold wall, he pushed his hips forward, plunging his cock deeper into the insatiable throat, and pierced first the palate, and then the flesh and skull of the fake Clara.

Cyril's cock popped out of the back of the instantly killed girl's head. He glared at the red-skinned monster in front of him, his eyes blazing. As the tip of his penis dripped a mixture of semen and blood, the monster shivered, sinking to the floor.

"M-my Lord?" She whispered, tucking her long tail between her legs.

Cyril kicked the chain out of the wall and pulled the lifeless head of the girl off his cock. Then he tore the chain that held his right hand from the wall and tore off the hateful gag. He pulled out his other leg and arm, stood on the floor, and pushed the corpse away.

"Bitches." He growled in a voice that wasn't his own. "How you fucked me up."

The red-skinned woman began to bang her head on the floor, grabbing herself with her hands and holding her tail between her legs, where the equally red crotch oozed grease.

"My Lord! Spare me!"

Cyril grabbed her by her throat and pulled her up in front of him. He could see the horror in her eyes.

"Who are you?" He snarled, squeezing the monster's throat.

She started to say something, but only managed to wheeze as Cyril threw her against the wall. She hit her head on a cold rock and cracked her skull.

"Body, slow down!" Cyril cried. "I need information, not corpses!"

However, the body didn't listen and moved towards the heavy door.