It's a miniature harpy, except with a far more avian head and disproportionate cock. Like if some hawk superhero actually had a bird head, was about two and half feet tall, and had a massive schlong. The harpy-imp chirps and looks at Monday, who is slowly returning to normal.

"You've got to name him, Monday."

"Yes, Lord Quinn. How about Inky? Because of his black wings?"

You nod and subconsciously rub your own bloated abdomen.

"We've got to hide him. He can help us in our escape. Inky, turn into a rat and make your way above deck. Once there, turn into a crow and keep hidden in the masts. We'll need an eye outside."

The imp nods and shifts before scurrying away.

"Sunday, Monday, I know you want to practice your magic, but please undo your modifications; we want to hold all of our cards close to our chest."

Monday looks down in shame but Sunday just nods.

"I was trying for a full body modification." She says as she snaps her fingers, removing the vagina from the passed-out minotaur.

"You'll get it one day. When everyone is out of this brig." You nod encouragingly.

"Could you tell us more about it? The outside, I mean?" Saturday asks, ever curious.

"Of course."  You smile.  "There are vast deserts out there, shining a beautiful yellow, like Monday's skin."

Monday beams. You have to give them perspective, after all.

"And there are jagged mountains that reach so far into the sky, you'd think the Earth was trying to bone the sky."

Yup. Perspective.

"And sunsets...The sun would go down and then the light would change. The sky would go from the blue of Friday's skin to Tuesday's pink skin, then orange-red like Thursday's eyes, to Saturday's purple hair, and finally to Jan's black hair."

"And the white, fluffy clouds like Tuesday's feathers would go orange then red, then dark blue..." Everyone, including the harpies, are listening with rapt attention. "But that's just the sky. I've seen rumbling hills covered in grass a lot like Saturday's feathers. I've seen massive caverns filled with gold..."

"What's gold, Lord Quinn?" You fidget a bit. Easy to forget that while most weren't born yesterday, they actually were pretty close. And May was definitely born yesterday, so... "Gold is...something a lot of beings find valuable."

The demons look at each other , eyes raised and shrugging their shoulders. The harpies stare in deadpan at the explanation, but a few actually start to wonder.

"Why?" February asks. "It doesn't sound like something people can eat if it's filling a cavern."

Oh boy.

This is going to be difficult.

"Gold has a certain...allure to beings. It's bright and shiny, and lasts a lot longer than food or other metals, so it's used for trade. Steel and iron rust, copper fades, wood rots, and food perishes, but gold is immortal. It never loses value. Which is why many...non-demons find it so useful. You can trade gold for land, or food, or acceptance."

"Or power." A snide voice puts in.

Motherfucking...

Glasgow.

"Interesting little demons, talking about the economy after such...debauchery." He pushes up his glasses. "Allow me to educate you. Gold is not just long-lasting. It's very conductive. Especially to magical energies. Etch a rune into gold and you've got a nifty amulet. Form gold into a glyph of enough purity and size...one can do almost anything. Gold is money. Gold is power. And power is everything."

He looks at your demons, the women, you... and sneers.

"I have no sympathy for you. I was in your position once. A slave, used and abused. Less than nothing. I scurried about, surviving on scraps. Unlike the others, I was born in that position. And while those idealistic morons droned on and on about the 'outside', I was working. Every extra scrap, every extra bone, every extra shard of glass, I pilfered. I fashioned. I created. And I traded. At first to other slaves. Then to serfs. Then nobles. My first gold coin I used to get a hundred more. Those hundred, ten thousand. I bought myself a prostitute and had her buy me out of slavery. I left the other slaves to rot because all they could do was dream about once was, not what will be."

You huff.

"And yet you follow a crazy rapist who finds joy in sticking his dick in whatever moves. Or doesn't. At least it's in my nature. We have an excuse."

"Maybe. But without me, Claw is just another boisterous pirate. A lecherous, bloodthirsty one. Hardly one that could have accomplished what we have together." He walks up to you and raises an arm to smack your plump belly and you growl. He smiles and lowers his arm. "But without Claw, I would simply be bowing my head to another successful corsair captain."

What a complete piece of shit.

You had hoped that he was the type that was stuck working for Claw, despite what your instincts told you... But his rotten soul and attitude blew that notion out of the water.

"Congratulations on the twins, by the way. I'll make sure to give you a free day tomorrow. After all, there are only so many spots in the brig and I wouldn't want to find out how hard demons are to kill."

He may be smiling, but he has to drag twenty of his crew-mates out of the brig. All of them are drenched in sweat and sexual fluids.

The next hour was spent in silence as you all watched a tiny harpy struggle to move all the bodies. Not easy to do with arm-wings.

Glasgow does sweat and grumble a lot. But the little prick deserves it.

And worse.

But you know, turn the other cheek and all that. Then smack 'em in the gob. Wait, that's the completely fictional second Christ rather than the apparently very real Jay-Cee.

When Glasgow's finally done, everyone turns back to you. The harpies are a bit embarrassed when their eyes pass over your puffy sex, but you shrug it off. No need to let them know you can taste their DESIRE.

"Could you tell us more about that story?" Thursday asks. "You know, about the man who fights the monster, Grendel?"

"Beowulf. Of course. Now where was I?" You smiled as you began to tell them more stories.  It was a sort of tradition, for everyone in the brig.

Glasgow is wrong.

Stories and dreams may not help the body...But it does wonders for the soul. And just because you're dreaming doesn't mean you're not working on an escape plan.

Inky is sitting atop the balloon is looking for any opportunity. From the crew. Or from outside.

Hours pass and everyone is invested in your story.

"And so King Beowulf's body is set to the pyre, as his countrymen mourn the loss of a lord that cared for them, fought for them. A lone woman stands close to the fire and claims the future will be uncertain without him; even with the treasures he bought with his life. And so ends the sordid tale. From water he rose, to fire he fell. Just as the sun rises in the east, it will eventually set in the west. And from the ashes grows more life. And the cycle starts anew."

You were mostly bullshitting from what you got from sparknotes when you had to study Beowulf. There's been a lot of exaggeration and anime-ish inspiration. Maybe the battle when 'he split the mountain in twain with the mighty sword' was a bit too much.

And there was a lot more monsters.

But you think you got the original point across. And how convenient! The twins politely waited until the end of the story.

"Mmm~"

You lean back against the wall and spread your legs. The women are already used to it, and look away. Your demons eagerly watch the show that's about to start. Your passage contracts and waves of bliss course through you. You flick at your sensitive nubs, sending drips of milk onto your massive abdomen. You rub the side of your tail against your slit to help lubricate your newest children out.

Hard to believe you have more experience giving birth than most mortal women after less than a season of having a vagina.

Keep up, ladies. Or don’t, you’re getting addicted to this feeling.

Your pussy is flowing with juices and you feel it widen as something comes out. You push harder and moan. Through your thick eyelashes you smile at the sight of your children masturbating at the sight of you. A part of you, the most demonic part, is titillated by being seen as nothing more than a breeding sow for demons. The very thought sends fire through your loins and you gasp.

Something slides onto the floor in a mess of juices and stands back up. A girl with light blue skin stares at you. Her white hair covers one of her pink eyes.

"Mommy?"

Her brother soon follows, looking exactly like her.

You look to the other demons, who are all masturbating, or helping each other masturbate, in May and April's case. The more DESIRE, the faster they grow, and the more they feel 'in tune' with the others.

"June, July. Come have a drink."

Already teenaged, the two make their way to you and latch on to separate nipples. They're filling out, but it seems like they're heading in the same direction May and April did. Except far less androgynous. July's bust size has already exceeded May's and he's an incubus. Of course, he is just as shapely as his twin.

As they drink from your tits, they massage each other's breasts, and you bite your lip.

"Are you liking it so far?"

"Mmmm, mmm."

"Yes, Mommy."

They look at each other and smile with your nipples still in their mouths. They let go and get up to straddle your breasts. Their smirks and grinding against your chest tell you all you need to know. You will your nipple to grow and thicken until they're dick sized. July and June smile and impale themselves on your dicknipples.

Each push downwards sends a burst of milk into them. It overflows from her pussy and his asshole onto your tits. They turn around and face each other, entwining fingers as they kiss passionately, jumping on your breasts. Each jump distends their stomachs slightly with milk, until both their bloated bellies are touching, with July's dick being massaged in between. Your drooling cunt forms a pool underneath the grassy cushion you grew for yourself.

Your tail is thrashing wildly as each of your hands grabs a handful of June and July’s plump asses. You can’t touch your wanting pussy as the twins stimulate your nipples thoroughly. The rubbing of their swollen stomachs proves too much for July’s dick, and with a cry, the shemale ejaculates all over the three of you.

Their cheeks are flushed and they get off your tits, milk flowing out of their holes. They catch sight of your leaking cunny and turn to each other and smile. They get down on all fours and start to lap at your entrance. You feel June’s DESIRE and your body changes to accommodate her. A turgid length grows from you, and June eagerly takes it in her mouth as her brother licks at your pussy.

They begin to change once more. Their features become gradually more male. As they change, the milk in their abdomens is digested, rotund bellies turning into toned abs. June grinds her wanting lips on her brothers dick as the two please you orally. July takes the chance to tweak at his sister’s nipples, causing her to moan as she licks the underside of your shaft.

Pre flows down her throat.

She lets your length go so she can position her boypussy atop you…Teasing you. Before she slams down with a manly groan. July takes the opportunity to shove his cock into your cunt. Each thrust sends a bit of his pre spattering across your inner walls.

“Yeeeessss~…Give it to me!”

You wrap your thick thighs around July, keeping him from pulling away. June twists around, giving you a mischievous look as her tail swishes about. The two fuck you, each taking a genital as their own. The two masculine demons embrace, tongues intertwining. Grabbing June’s manly butt causes her to impale herself on your rod faster as her brother manages to keep up.

Pulses of pleasure ripple across you.

“Lord!”

“Lady!”

They scream in unison. 

”Cumming!”

Your seed jets into June, as July cums into your own ravenous cunt. Your creampies were identical. You reach down to lick your son’s white cream. The two of them become more and more androgynous, just as your penis shrinks and disappears.

They lay in your arms and kiss your cheeks.

D’aw.

Until the door opens once more. And that damn harpy walks in. His fucking smile fills you with rage. You’d think after the sob story he told us, he’d be at least somewhat reluctant to force your demons to imprison themselves.

But no.

His smile only gets wider with each click.

This prick.

You swear, when you get out, that his name will forever be used as a curse word among your kind. And since you’re pretty much the matriarch of your entire species on this planet, ‘being a Glascow’ is now an expletive native to your species. Gotta stack up on ‘em culture points early. You telepathically communicate with Sunday and Monday. What you send and what you receive from the youngest are only basic concepts and feelings, but it’s leagues better than it was a few days ago.

<How’s everyone’s magic doing?>

The older of your spawn nod whereas the youngest are confused, not quite getting the message.