There could be no doubt, the angel was changing. The heavenly being, ageless, eternal, unwavering, stood disrobed, staring at their figure. Skin had softened, hips had widened, two small mounds of soft tissue had developed on a once flat chest. Circlets of diamonds were still fastened round their arms and ankles, though the limbs they wreathed were hopelessly skinny. Most recently, they had awoken to find that the golden hair which framed their face in loose curls, and which was encircled by a halo of many-colored flames, had grown inexplicably overnight to hang past their shoulders. It was beautiful, but the angel knew it was not His doing. Thus, it shouldn’t have been.

The angel did not know how these transmutations of their deiform flesh were possible, though they had an idea of what might have precipitated them.

It all began with a word; the word was “She.”

In the time before time, when He had created the cosmos, shaping chaos into heaven and earth, He first populated the heavens with angels. It was only later, though it is impossible to say how much later—it was difficult to feel the passage of time in a realm that is eternal and unchanging—that He decided to populate the earth. The cycles of life and death, the changing of the seasons, and the passing of ages gave the universe its narrative. And so He created man, His first imperfect creation in His perfectly ordered cosmos. Man, like the angels, was created in His image, though man was scruffier, unrefined: a creature meant to strive, to grow, and to bring itself, one day, into harmony with the rest of creation.

Yet, in order to grow and to change, He realized that man must encounter something which was not himself. So He set about to make man not just a companion, but someone who would be other to him, a lowlier, more basal creature who would not only serve man but give him a point of comparison from which he could strive to make himself greater.

Her name was woman. And to no one but the angel, she was without equal. Marvelous beyond words. She was beautiful, yes, but she was also strong, willful, possessing a joyful and boundless spirit. But He deemed her beauty lewd and her joy profane.

It was the task of man to break her will, harness her strength, diminish her spirit, to make her temperate and obedient. Her servitude would be the prize for his conquest.

Upon learning the fate He had chosen for woman the angel, for the first time, felt despair. And with this despair came doubt. How could He have made it the destiny of such a wonderful creation to be the servant of one who, compared to her, looked like a bad first draft? It looked like a mistake. Man was a mistake, the angel concluded. Woman was the more perfect creation. Unlike man, or even the angels, woman could create life; in this way she even rivaled Him. Though He insisted that she was nothing more than a plot of earth in which man could sow his seed. The angel could not see how this could be the case. If man’s seed was so precious and powerful, why would he so often waste it, spraying it uselessly upon the ground (devoted to self-gratification as he was)? Yet instead of recognizing his inferiority, first man was arrogant. He demanded woman serve him just as the angels served Him in heaven.

The angel looked down at the world and wept. Their heart broke for first woman as they watched her slave away in service to him and having to suffer the agony of birthing that beast’s progeny. First woman had once tried to deny man her body, and for this, He cursed her. In every month she was not carrying man’s seed, she would suffer and bleed for it.

Our little angel, however, did not only despair at the fate of first woman and the generations of women that followed her, the angel despaired at the realization of what might have been, might the the angel had been cast in the same mold as woman. For in spite of her travails, nothing seemed more desirable than to be as she was. It was this secret wish that had transmuted the angel’s body against the will their conscious mind—or so the angel believed. Such a thing shouldn’t have been possible.

Angels were made perfect. To question His design in this way was tantamount to rebellion against the whole divine order. But the angel knew what they wanted, what they could not exist without. It pained the angel to defy His will, to be dissatisfied with the form given by Him. They had been blessed. When He populated the earth, He decreed that man—males—were primary, sovereign, and that woman would be, in all things, secondary. It made no sense to desire to be lesser. But when the angel looked upon their male form, a form which mirrored the divine ruler Himself, they were repulsed. He repulsed the angel. His laws, His order, the cosmos as He had made it repulsed them.

Except He was goodness manifest, which could only mean that is was they who was truly repulsive. The angel was fickle, changeable, corrupt, and vile. Shame roiled within them. The little angel could no longer bear to meet the gaze of their fellow angels.

And so the angel fled from heaven, wings carrying them down to earth. From there they walked until they could no longer hear the heavenly choir. The sky above the earth was filled with lowering clouds, though the air, hot and thick, still stifled. Legs weary, the angel sought refuge in a cave where the air was cooler. The angel lay down upon a rock, and there, shielding themself behind their large wings, allowed the tears to fall once more.

The angel remained there softly weeping, until they heard a voice ask, with a kittenish laugh, “Now what’s a little angel doing so far from heaven?” The sound of it was uncanny. The angel knew that the voice, warm and inviting, was calling out to her from a distance, and yet, it felt as though the words had been whispered by lips close enough to graze her ear.

The angel gasped at the slight tingling sensation and looked all around them for the speaker. Seeing no one in the darkness of the cave, the angel rose to their feet and called out, “Who’s there?”

“A friend,” the voice answered back.

“I’m sure I don’t know you, whoever you are,” the angel replied, growing frightened.

“Well, I am certain I know you——” The angel thought they heard the voice utter a name under its breath, though their rattled thoughts did not let them linger on what it was. “And I am certain you know me.”

“How can I know if that is true if you won’t show yourself?” They asked.

“Very well.” The angel leapt with a start as the lips they had imagined moments earlier well and truly grazed their ear, fully corporeal. They stumbled forward and then, turning to meet the speaker’s gaze, froze.

Before them was a woman, albeit a woman unlike any the angel had ever seen. A creature. She terrified and amazed the angel, who tried, feebly, to take in the oppressive presence that stood above them. She was perfectly naked before the angel. Her feminine figure was lean and strong. Her skin, which glimmered with a ghostly pallor, bore but one flaw: a deep scar composed of dark red branches that traced across the top of her right breast from her shoulder to her heart. Two broad, black pinions fanned out behind her. Her nails were talons, and horns sprouted in helices from beneath her thick, raven hair. Below them, her fine features were set against a face that was gaunt and hungry-looking. The effect was staggering.

Yet above all, it was her eyes that held the angel in place. Two polished black jewels, impossibly black. The angel could feel themself being drawn into them. The creature—no—demon’s eyes were an abyss. The angel searched for something, anything, in them that they could grab on to, to stop themself from falling any deeper, but found nothing. No lies, no truth. Only beautiful and inviting oblivion. As they stared, it began to dawn on the angel just how beautiful the demon herself was, the furthest thing from monstrosity. Millenia in paradise and they had never seen anyone who looked so divine.

“Are you alright?” the demon asked,shocking the angel back to alertness.

“Y-y-you …” the angel stammered, “You are the devil—Inūra. The fallen angel.”

The demon circled them. The angel watched her slow, deliberate, graceful steps as she strutted. Her heels never quite touched the earth, though not in a way that suggested daintiness, rather she was like a predator always ready to pounce upon its quarry. The way she moved was mesmerizing.

“So you do know me?” the devil grinned.

What the angel knew was that long before He created the orders of angels who now dwelt with Him in the heavens, He made an angel, one whose original name no angel in heaven is privy to. They know only the cursed moniker bestowed upon the fallen creature after their great offense. His first, most beautiful creation, this angel was His cupbearer, His chief attendant, and most beloved companion.

The story goes that this angel was so adored by Him, his beauty so lauded, his virtues so highly praised, that he began to believe he was above worshipping Him. And so he rejected his honored position and refused to serve He who created him. In defying his creator, the angel committed the first sin: Pride. He was banished from heaven to the darkest corners of the earth, the deepest caverns, the densest forests shrouded by gnarled trees. The scar across their chest, the mark of their shame, was left by the clash of thunder and lightning which blasted him from heaven.

What is omitted from this retelling is how He stripped the angel of his masculine beauty, vigor, and the very symbol of his manhood to forever shame him. He created a void inside her, both physical and metaphysical, an eternal lack, so she would always feel the absence of His light and His love.

The little angel did not know that the devil had been so transformed when she was cast out, and their mind reeled at this new knowledge and its implications. Was woman an effigy made in the shape of His most hated creation? Was this the reason woman was doomed to be the object of his ire, the victim of his petty torments? Was the devil’s punishment perhaps as senseless as hers?

Sensing their sympathy for the fiend growing, the angel pushed those thoughts from her mind and steeled themself against the creature’s treacherous words and her seductive beauty.

“I know that you are wicked and proud,” the angel replied, voice full of contempt, “And that you betrayed Him—He who loved you above all others!”

“He never loved me.” Inūra hissed. “What you call love is the very thing that shall forever remain beyond his comprehension; he knows only control.”

“Perhaps it was you who was too unruly. You should not have gone against His will.”

“I suppose you would know about going against his will.”

The fiend’s words made the angel pause.

After a moment, they spoke, weakly, unable to meet her gaze, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You don’t?” the demoness queried, growing steadily closer to the angel. “So it was he that made you the way you are now standing before me? So … slight, so willowy, so utterly devoid of that brawniness—that masculine beauty—one expects in an angel,” she said, dragging her sharp nails ever so gently across the angel’s skin. “He gave you these delicate, un-muscled arms, these tender and supple buds sprouting from your chest, these buttocks, so soft and round, without a hint of firmness? I find that hard to believe.” Inūra’s hands moved even lower down the angel’s body. “No, your creator has a type, and you certainly aren’t it. Trust me, I would know.”

The angel shook the fiend’s hands off of them.

The two beings lingered in silence for only  a moment before the demon spoke again: “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong—what trouble weighs on your heart, little angel?”  Her voice dripped with faux concern. “Share your pain with me.”

“Why should I? What use would there be in conversing with a duplicitous being such as you?” the angel spat back. The angel sought to muster some tenacity. The demon, however, could hear the resolve in her voice weakening with each word and could see their body succumbing to her intoxicating aura.

“Who else do you have? Is there any one else to whom you could talk honestly?” Inūra asked. “I think not. You would not be here if there were. So far from his light. My ears are open, so why not unburden yourself? There is probably no creature that could understand you the way I could. We are kindred, you and I.”

“We are nothing alike. I am not proud like you. I’m just … confused.”

“And you think I don’t know what it’s like to be confused, that I don’t know the turmoil that comes from questioning that which you’ve been told is beyond question?” She turned from the angel and scoffed. “The audacity of him to call me proud! There is no one with more pride than him. And yet he has the hypocrisy to punish me for it! Men are not punished for their pride. They are petty tyrants who emulate him, and for it, they are rewarded. Pride is only a sin for women … and for angels.”

Turning back to the angel, she spoke again, “No, little angel, my sin was not pride. All I asked for was dominion over my own flesh. I denied him my body, and so he deformed me.”

The world around the angel darkened as Inūra once again grew closer. She clutched the angel’s hand and brought it to her flesh, running it across her pallid skin in a sinful display.

“Unmanned me,” she said, sliding the angel’s hand down towards her womanly opening.

The angel shuddered. Their legs growing weak, they began to collapse into the demon.

“It’s no matter though, I cherish his curses far more than I ever cherished any of his gifts,” she laughed.

Gradually, the gravity of the demoness’s accusation fully dawned on the angel. He had given His creation a will of their own, and the first angel exercised their will, like first woman, in denying their master access to their body, and like first woman, they too were severely punished. Inūra had indeed been victim to the same senseless cruelty that had made their heart break for woman.

No, she assured herself, it couldn’t be true. The devil was a liar; that was what she knew to be true. And yet her words felt so sincere—her anger so righteous and her joy so palpable.

The angel’s heart was in their throat. They felt helpless. They knew they were staring into the fate of deceit itself, that her beauty and sophistry were tools of seduction and manipulation, and still she had managed to destabilize her whole world. And deep within, they could feel it; their heart yearned to be seduced, their body craved manipulation. Only their mind held out against the temptress.

“Your body already bears the signs of your unconscious rebellion … and you love it. You would cherish his curses just as I have.” Abandoning all pretense, she groped greedily at the supple curves of the angel’s feminized form.

The angel stifled a moan. They couldn’t let themself give in. They could not allow themself to descend any further, to become an inferior being, a creature of sin. They could not betray Him. All these thoughts raced through their head. Nevertheless, their hands, though no longer held there by the demoness, still tightly gripped the flesh of her hips.

“You are so full of desire, just like me,” Inūra said, “You see, when he cursed me with eternal lack, he unwittingly created desire—the desire for things beyond his paltry excuse for love. And desire, as I am about to show you, is truly wondrous, my sweet girl.”

“N-n-no … I’m not—” The little angel’s attempt at protest came out as a weak moan.

“Shhh …” the demon silenced them. “Resisting your desires is only causing you pain.” Inūra voice grew softer. “Wouldn’t you like to be free from this pain?” she cooed, “Wouldn't you like to be free … Vestia?”

Hearing that name chilled the angel. It was the name that had crystallized in their mind long ago, that they had never dared to speak aloud. There was no way the devil could not know it. But she did, and speaking it aloud only made the angel want to claim it more.

“I can see everything that’s in your heart, Vestia. I only want you to confess to the desire that already burns within you.”

As the temptress spoke, Vestia felt strange, tickling sensations across her—yes, that was right—her legs and the small of her back. Then she saw the source of the tantalizing caresses, the snake-like limbs that had crept from the shadows behind Inūra. They were dripping with a viscous, black ichor. Vestia wasn’t entirely sure where they were coming from. It seemed as if Inūra had conjured them from the very shadows themselves. Seeing them, she tried to shake herself into alertness, but a veil of fog filled her mind and made her thoughts sluggish. She found that she was unable to rouse herself. And so she merely watched as the inky, black tendrils began to crawl up her limbs and torso, gently caressing her skin. The angel shifted nervously under their embrace, the most she could manage, trembling slightly.

“I can make it all go away,” she whispered to the frightened angel, “the shame, the guilt, all of it. Surrender to me and I will finish what you have already started.”

Vestia merely stared down at her body in shock, as the many limbs wrapped around her body. Her eyes fixed on the streaks of dark ooze left behind by the demon’s tendrils. She watched as her skin drank up the ichor as if it were a healing balm. The effect was utterly soporific, and she allowed herself to sink into the wonderfully inviting haze that clouded her thoughts. And like that, the angel was ensnared.

Thick vines wound about her legs from ankle to upper thigh. Others bound her arms, trapped her wings, and wrapped around her waist. They radiated a warmth which penetrated her angelic form. Her whole body thrummed with a heady mix of fear and excitement. Twin tendrils snaked across her chest and squeezed her budding breasts. Yet another coiled around her neck; not tight enough to suffocate, just firmly enough to direct the angel to meet the demon’s gaze.

“Do you want to be free from all this unnecessary suffering?”

Without even realizing it, Vestia nodded in assent.

The tangle of fleshy, black vines lifted the angel gently off her feet. She pointed her toes, trying to graze the ground below her, but to no avail. In her disoriented state, Vestia might as well have been miles above the earth. Though even held aloft, the demoness still seemed to tower over her.

A clawed hand reached out and stroked her face. Inūra’s talons looked threatening, but the silken skin of her hand was nothing if not enticing. “I am going to do such wicked things to you,” she said, voice heavy with hunger.

With each passing moment, the angel’s body grew more sensitive. Her heart was pounding and her breath ragged. Vestia tried once more to speak up, but Inura placed a single finger to her lips and again silenced her. “Shhh … don’t worry, I’ll make sure you enjoy every moment of what’s to come.”

This ever so slight touch on her now tingling lips, juxtaposed by the strict bondage that held fast the rest of her body, drove back any lingering protestations. In their absence, a new thought arose. Vestia felt suddenly and strangely compelled to take the demon’s finger into her mouth and suck. A faint giggle emerged from her as her dulled brain turned over that strange, foreign impulse.

Noticing the angel lost in thought, Inura allowed her finger to glide down to Vestia’s chin. With that finger, the demon gently directed Vestia’s gaze and her attention downwards so she could see exactly what was coming for her. One more tendril, girthier than all the others, emerged out of the shadows. It slithered between the demon’s legs and up towards the angel. Vestia watched helplessly as the vast arm disappeared under her tunic. Fearful though she was, her body betrayed her. Her phallus began to stiffen in anticipation as the demonic appendage grew nearer.

The demon’s tendril coiled itself around the angel’s small and slender phallus, which now stood almost painfully erect, tenting her tunic. Inūra’s tendril pulsated as it stroked up and down the angel’s length.

In a matter of seconds, the angel came. Her feminized body was capable of only a pitiable spurt of thin, watery semen. Vestia felt humiliated. To have succumbed so quickly to the touch of this vile being was disgraceful. Her orgasm, however, was anything but satisfying. Her appetite was merely whetted, and the pleasurable sensations only grew as Inūra tightened her grip on the angel.

Pleasure surged and throbbed in her loins as Inūra’s snake-like appendage constricted Vestia’s member. Vestia felt her already diminutive excrescence retreat from the pressure; not softening, remaining stiff, but undoubtedly shrinking itself more and more, unable to withstand the demon’s grasp. As her phallus dwindled under Inūra’s awesome might, the pleasure which emanated from her loins only intensified, the feeling growing exponentially as her pitiful member withered. Inūra squeezed until there was nothing left for her dextrous limb to grip. For Vestia, the feeling was rapturous. She thrashed about in ecstasy as Inūra stroked the tender button that twitched in the spot where her petite phallus once stood—the only remnant, a glimmering pearl slick with the viscous ooze that dripped from the demon’s tendrils.

“Yes! Yes!” she shrieked as tears of pleasure streaked down her cheeks. Her conscious mind was barely able to comprehend the exquisite transformation her body was experiencing.

Then, without warning, Vestia was seized by an entirely new sensation, an intense yawning in her pelvis. It felt to Vestia as though a crack had opened within her very being. As the demon’s appendage pressed up against her perineum, the angel realized that the jewels of her loins had vanished, drawn into the fissure opening up in her nether regions. Her eyes shot open wide, before rolling back, and her mouth hung agape. A void had emerged within her, and it begged to be filled.

Anticipating her need, Inūra’s tendril slithered into the newly formed chasm between the angel’s thighs, eagerly exploring the virgin canal. At the same time, the tendril which had been coiled around Vestia’s neck, holding her head upright, released its grip. It slithered up her chin and forced its way down her throat. It wasn’t gentle, but judgment failing, Vestia submitted to it with barely any hesitation. Snaking its way deeper than deep, she felt as though Inūra had wrapped herself around her very heart.

“That’s it,” Inūra cooed, her eyes meeting Vestia’s, “Such a ravenous … sinful girl.”

That word: sinful. Hearing it flow from Inūra’s lips, the last vestige of the angel she was screamed out from deep in the back of Vestia’s mind. This spark ignited a flame of resistance in Vestia. With great effort, she forced herself to avert her gaze, though the thick tendril throbbing against the walls of her esophagus prevented her from fully turning away. Vestia strained her muscles against Inūra’s grasp. She had to stop this. She’d let the demon do far too much to her already.

Not just let, the angel thought again, she had practically begged.

Shame welled within her and spurred on her struggle against the wicked being toying with her mind and body. But penetrated from both ends as she was, escape was a fantasy—one that was becoming less and less desirable every second. Inūra’s assault proved too much for Vestia to bear. The demon’s tendrils coated her insides with that strange ichor everywhere they went. That evil substance was like an opiate. The euphoria it brought was utterly addictive.

Vestia knew her will would not hold out. Resistance was agony, and she didn’t want to suffer any more. She looked back at Inūra with pleading eyes in a desperate hope that the demoness might relent. As soon as their eyes met, however, the angel knew that this had been a grave mistake. She was once again overtaken by Inūra’s beauty. Awestruck, her eyes still pleaded, but for what, she was no longer certain.

A new set of thoughts appeared in the back of Vestia’s mind and took root. How sublime it was to be desired by someone so irresistible. How blessed she was to be remolded in flesh and spirit by someone as powerful and beauteous as Inūra.

As Inūra’s tendrils pulsated inside her, Vestia could feel secreting ever more ichor into her awaiting orifices. More and more. It felt like gallons of that viscous liquid had been pumped into her from both ends, flowing freely through the empty vessel that was her body. Vestia felt it in the very tips of her fingers and toes. She felt it seeping into her brain, bringing with it more alien thoughts of sin and carnal lust. It was all too much.

The thick black substance dripped out of her cunt, ran down her legs, and pooled at her feet. Instinctively, Vestia clenched her pelvic muscles tightly around Inūra’s thick shaft so as not to let any more of the demon’s gift escape her slit. She wanted all of it. There was no way to deny it any longer.

Surrender felt glorious. Vestia completely melted into Inūra’s clutches. The shame she’d felt moments earlier had been entirely fucked out of her. Her failure to resist, her inability to protect her virtue, now brought with it a sense of jouissance. Allowing Inūra’s darkness to extinguish every flicker of light and goodness in her soul was wonderful. Nothing inside Vestia remained save for thoughts of depravity, perversity, and sin. She no longer felt guilt at betraying her former self; rather, she felt joy at the prospect of snuffing the angel she had been out of existence. It felt so good to be corrupted, to be defiled, to betray that which she had once held dear, and she longed to corrupt and defile in turn. It wasn’t enough to let Inūra remake her; she wanted to prove herself a willing accomplice in her own spiritual demise.

Vestia attempted to cry out: “More! More!” But with her mouth filled, her desperate begging amounted only to sputters of drool bubbling around Inūra’s shaft.

The pleasure Vestia was experiencing no longer felt alien. Ecstasy had become her new home. For so long, the angel had felt estranged from her physical form, but under Inūra’s power, conscious thought was allowed to succumb to the sensorium. Her spirit felt securely—blissfully—bound to her body, even as it was being reshaped.

As ichor poured into her, immense pressure built under her skin. After a moment, it dawned on her what was happening to her body. The tender, fleshy parts of her body were swelling to accommodate the liquid lust swirling inside her. Vestia’s gamine figure was becoming luscious and womanly.

It began in her breasts. Her chest heaved against her bonds. The small mounds on her chest, with their puffy areolas, swelled until they draped, shapely and voluminous, across her frame. The fabric that had hung loosely from Vestia’s body now clung to her chest. The garment struggled to hold itself together.

Underneath her tunic, the two tendrils that were wrapped around Vestia’s breasts squeezed and lifted them, making them appear even bigger. Her newly enlarged breasts were unbelievably sensitive, and Inūra’s grip on them was almost too much to bear.

Finally, her tunic gave way and her breasts burst out of the garment, bouncing as she gyrated uncontrollably.

With them exposed, Vestia could now see the streaks of black ichor dribbling down her swollen breasts. Inūra’s dark elixir was leaking from her erect nipples, her body overflowing with Inūra’s precious gift.

The rest of her body swelled in turn. Her thighs grew thick, testing the strength of the demon’s tendrils as they grew. Everywhere they gripped, Inūra’s many limbs sank into the copious, yielding flesh that now adorned the angel’s legs, arms, and torso. Her ass fattened as well, becoming delectably plush and voluptuous. It danced and jiggled as Inūra’s shaft thrummed inside her.

By the time her hips expanded to their new width, her tunic was in tatters and was held to Vestia’s body only by the tendril that belted it to her waist. Everywhere, Vestia’s plump body bulged between the gaps of Inūra’s coils. Her round hips and soft belly made her the very image of fertility. Oh, what extraordinary evil she would birth into the world for Inūra if she but said the word!

Vestia’s transformed body reflected her transformed appetites. Her’s was the body of a creature who knew no limit to indulgence. She wanted to indulge and for others to indulge in her. She wanted to feel Inūra’s body pressed against her shapely ass as the demon penetrated her from behind. She longed for the sensation of the demon’s strong, taloned fingers sinking into the ample flesh that hung from her hips.

Her metamorphosis, however, was not yet complete.

Dark clouds of ichor filled her eyes, turning them into gleaming onyxes just like Inūra’s. So too did the feathers on her wings gradually darken to a rich sable. For the first time in ages, she stretched out her wings just to marvel at them. It briefly occurred to her that she had no idea when Inūra had even released her grasp on them. It no longer mattered; escape was now the furthest thing from Vestia’s mind.

The radiance disappeared from her skin, leaving her with ethereal pallor. Then she watched the strands of golden hair that hung in her face lengthen, turn to the same dark luster as her wings. The flames that encircled her hair roared in a blue blaze before they extinguished themselves. Vestia did not mourn them. The fires that now burned in her heart and her loins far surpassed the warming glow her halo had gifted her. Beneath where it had been, two horns sprouted from her forehead. They curved up and inward, almost crowning her head with the shape of a heart. When she finally looked down, Vestia also saw, at the ends of her fingers and toes, long, ebony talons. Her feminine body had become monstrous. And it was beautiful.

She felt Inūra’s eyes burning into her, surveying her new body, drinking in her magnified beauty. Cracks were beginning to form in the demon’s cool façade, revealing fiery passion.

“Mmm, that’s it,” Inūra moaned, “Embrace it. This is what you are meant to be.”

Lust building within her, Inūra straddled the tendril that was pounding Vestia’s slit, bringing her body within inches of hers. The angel watched in delight as the demon started to rub her mouth-watering vulva along the thick, demonic arm she had conjured. With one hand, the demoness roughly groped the angel’s ass, and with her other, she sharply pinched her leaky nipples. This elicited an adorable squeak from the angel and sent shivers down her spine.

“Oh fuck, what an amazing slut you’ve become. You look so gorgeous like this, Vestia.”

The corrupted angel's heart fluttered as she basked in Inūra’s praises. If not for the many tendrils holding her aloft, she might have swooned.

“Your new form is perfection. Do you love it?” A hint of desperation rose in Inūra’s voice. “Tell me you love it.”

Vestia nodded as fervently as she could in her compromised position. Of course, she loved it. Nothing could have been more true to her in that moment.

“No.” Inūra stopped her. “Don’t just nod. I want to hear you say it. I like hearing you try to speak while I stuff that greedy little mouth of yours.”

“Mmmphf … I wuv i’! I wuv i’! I wuv i’!” Vestia strained herself to form those words, crying them over and over in barely comprehensible, gargled syllables, more drool sputtering and bubbling with each utterance. With great effort, she repeated them until they became a mantra, ossifying in her mind. She loved it, all of it. She loved Inūra. No—she adored Inūra. Her kindred. Her savior. Her soulmate.

“Ahh, that’s my good girl.” The demon, seeing into Vestia’s heart, bore witness to the corrupted angel’s revelation. She smiled and wiped away the tears of elation that stained Vestia’s pale cheeks. “My sweet, beloved girl.”

A fresh wave of pleasure washed over Inūra. The prideful demon fed on Vestia’s adoration, and it drove her into a frenzy, that brief moment of tenderness evolving into even greater passion. She pressed her body close to Vestia’s, fully enjoying her softness. The transformed angel’s enormous, pillowy breasts were infinitely inviting to Inūra as she squished her own shapely breasts against them. Her hips, meanwhile, grinded against Vestia’s, perfectly aligned to ensure that her engorged clitoris flicked and teased the other’s.

“Mmm … I’m getting close, my little angel. Watching you corrupt yourself is getting me so close.” Her breath was hot against the angel’s skin. “When I cum, you will too,” she instructed, “and it will feel like nothing you’ve ever experienced.”

“—ou cum, I cum … hmmphf …” the angel tried to repeat back, knowing the demon enjoyed her muffled attempts at speech.

With that promise, Vestia redoubled her efforts, bobbing her head and thrusting her hips in time with Inūra’s assault on her holes, despite how agonizingly close it was bringing her climax. She would suffer anything for the flawless creature before her. Vestia rubbed against Inura’s clit even more vigorously, making the demon cry out. Inūra immediately dove back in and rewarded the angel with a long, slow lick up her cheek with her serpentine tongue.

Inūra’s lust nourished Vestia, as her adoration nourished the demon. She wanted so desperately to cum for Inūra. Holding out had proved to be the most exquisite torture as she grew dangerously close to orgasm. She hadn’t cum since … the orgasm that had been the parting gift of her manhood. That orgasm had only been an amuse-bouche for the real pleasure she was now experiencing. In spite of the overwhelming assault on her sensorium, however, she’d yet to experience the heights of sexual euphoria with her new body. Every moment thus far had been sublime, pleasure continuously surpassing what she’d thought possible. Though still she hadn’t cum. And she wouldn’t—not until Inūra told her to. Pleasure just continued to build, driving Vestia wild. The voluptuous little creature giggled, almost manically, crazed with lust.

The angel could not say how much longer the devil had her way with her. In her state of utter, agonizing ecstasy, time felt infinitely stretched.

“Oh Vestia … I need to … hnnng … please … cum with me …” Inūra cried out, her voice wrenching the angel back to the present.

Inura’s body tensed, her voice hitched before letting out a screaming moan. Her sultry voice became almost girlish as she surrendered to rapturous orgasm, uninhibited. She clung tightly to her darling, defiled angel, leaving deep claw marks across her back. As soon as she was wrapped in her devil’s arms, Vestia came as well in an explosion of pleasure. Utterly senseless, her body convulsed in Inūra’s grasp.

Under Inūra’s power, Vestia had been subjected to pleasure so intense that it exceeded her capacity for words, her capacity for coherent thought, but still her climax managed to surpass every expectation. It was death and rebirth, it was everything, and it was oblivion. The world around her shattered, left in its place was Inūra: her new world, her love, her goddess.

Thoughts of devotion to her new goddess were the first to return to her as she descended from the crest of orgasm. Still in Inūra’s tight embrace, her whole body hummed. Shutters reverberated up and down her spine.

The tendril retracted from her throat; she was finally able to catch her breath. Her chest heaved, and she exhaled sharply through flared, snarling nostrils. Her face was left covered in a mixture of saliva and her mistress’ delicious dark nectar, which was greedily licked up by the long, dextrous tongue that emerged from her mouth. Face clean, her full, dark lips turned up in a wicked, satisfied smile, exposing a set of pearlescent fangs.

Once her convulsions died down, the tendrils wrapped around Vestia’s arms and legs, which held her aloft, returned to the shadows, lowering the limp angel to the ground. The fallen angel crawled on hands and knees towards her goddess. Vestia dreamily kissed her feet and caressed her legs, desperate to show her gratitude and repay even a fraction of the sensual gratification her mistress had given her. With her other hand, Vestia groped at her own changed body, taking in the new sensations.

She gazed upon Inūra with obsidian eyes full of lovestruck wonder. Even as the orgasmic bliss waned, the lust and adoration she felt looking upon the face of her new infernal queen put the heavenly jubilation she once considered the height of joy to shame. Nothing she had ever felt basking in His light could compare to what she felt enveloped in Her darkness. Heaven was nothing compared to Her.

“All yours, all yours, all yours,” she repeated, drunk with love.

Yet to the fallen angel’s surprise, when she looked up, she noticed Inūra was wearing a curious face.

Unbeknownst to the mewling suppliant at her feet, a war between reason and passion was raging in Inūra’s mind. It would have been so easy for her to claim Vestia’s worship, to surrender to her baser urges and be the proud and haughty creature he declared to be. It was only natural that the girl would submit herself to the devil. She was no mere temptress. She had remolded the creature and made her anew. She was her corruptor and her savior. Looking into the girl’s eyes, it was obvious that she was her everything, and if she only stretched out her han,d this girl would gladly give her anything she could desire. Inūra craved her devotion desperately. But more than she desired worship, Inūra desired freedom, and she could not bring herself to rob Vestia of hers. She would not be like him.

“What’s wrong, my goddess?” Vestia asked.

Inūra knelt down and softly held Vestia’s face. Vestia leaned forward to meet her mistress’s lips in a kiss, but found that she was held back.

“My love,” Inūra spoke, “I do not want to be worshipped as he is. I sought only to liberate your desires and unchain the woman within you. I did not make you as you are to serve me. I made you to be free.”

The new demon climbed atop her queen. “That’s too bad,” she purred, “because you’ve already made a slave to your praises.”

Inūra stifled a laugh. “You have no shame at all. No pride. Only lust.”

“Not only lust,” She corrected, “love too! When I worshipped him, it was out of obligation. I worship you now because I adore you. I give myself to you willingly; the only thing that compels me is love.” Vestia began grinding into Inūra’s lap.

“And don’t lie to me and tell me that you don’t love the idea of me worshipping you as a goddess. I can feel what my worship does to you, and so I never want to stop. I am yours forever.”

Vestia dove into the crook of her goddess’s neck, smothering her in kisses, licks, and soft bites.

Inūra moaned greedily, “Oh my love! My thrall! My slave!”

She pulled Vestia into a ferocious, passionate kiss, their long tongues intertwined, their bodies enmeshed. Neither demon in their millennia of life had ever known such pure joy, and with that kiss, they were united in love eternally.

It is said that Vestia and Inūra are the true mothers of all wicked women—witch, sapphist, hag, and whore—all manner of rebellious, proud, and uninhibited women. They have dominion over duality, mystery, and ecstasy, and they who grant those who reject the rule of man with the powers of incantation, transfiguration, divination, healing, and seduction.

Men call Inūra the Mother of Witches and Vestia the Mother of Whores. There is truth in the first sobriquet; the latter, however, is pure slander. The followers of the Great Mothers know that the delectable flesh of the second demon has never been subject to the hateful touch of man—the zenith of feminine beauty would be forever beyond their grasp—nor would she ever ask for anything in return from those lucky mortal women whom she had blessed with her affection.