Submission

The otherworldly, fae-like persona she carried herself with couldn’t detract from the distaste permeating through her facial muscles. Ophelia watched as the beast devoured her prey, silently and without objection. Only once they’d been swallowed entirely - once her companion had been afforded the chance to let their meal settle - did she speak.

“Keeping well-fed then I take it, Yaretha?”

A rank belch stinking of meat squelched up and out of the plump, preening demoness, and she squished her fingers into her belly to elicit a duet of hellish screams. She was entirely naked, skin carrying not only the tight, translucent quality of an expectant mother, but the tone and hue of stereotypical red-skinned fiends from Satan’s deepest harems. Yaretha had always been lazy in her presentation, even before she fell.

“Times changed, I told you they would,” said the demon. She stretched out like a very fat cat before collapsing back, smothering the couple inside her with the same decorum as a gravedigger burying a thrashing corpse in flesh. “Duality got boring. People wanted nuance. Excuse me…braAAaurrph…”

“Excused,” sighed the angel. “Although I still believe you’re wrong.”

A yawn and a slow blink. Yaretha scratched her softening guts and made the liquefying meat inside swill between the grooves and valleys made by internal stretches of muscle. “You can believe what you like,” she said before, hefting herself up and around, she presented an arse bigger than a pair of bus seats and made it jiggle lewdly with a slap. “But if people weren’t interested in naughty, I wouldn’t look anywhere near this nice.” Light gleamed against her supple skin, giving her all the appearance of an overfilled balloon.

“People haven’t turned their back on the divine,” Ophelia said calmly, “they’re simply… ill-informed. I can prove it.”

Some gentle coaxing wrested Yaretha from her digestive indolence and, together, they travelled once again to the mortal realms as they had centuries past. On a small hill on the outside of town, overlooking the church and the narrow, gently babbling river beyond sat a man whose heart was stone. He hadn’t seen conviviality in weeks, lost in the tumults of families and occupations and existence. So now, he sat. And he waited. And he wondered.

“Your prayers have been answered,” Yaretha began, first as a mere whisper in his subconscious before congealing into a solid mass of femininity. She hid the weight. Ophelia would admit effortlessly that she was a beautiful creature in spite of her rapacious appetite. “You want to give up. You want to surrender to something greater than yourself and your faith has brought you to me.” A finger tipped in talons of jet hooked his chin and pulled him into a spiced kiss that inflated his capillaries with warmth. She sat on his lap, crossing her legs and leaning her breast into his own before cradling his head against her collarbone. “And when everyone belongs in hell anyway, you know you won’t be lonely. I won’t let you be lonely.”

The man dried his tears. Her scent intoxicated like the sweetest of whiskeys with the richness of a fine Bordeaux. She was a picture of all the sultry pleasures he knew the devil could offer and, as he tasted her flesh in a meaningful kiss, he near accepted.

“Or,” Ophelia chimed in with a voice like tinkling glass, “you can come with me. The luxury of evil is nothing in the face of captivity.” Weightless steps carried her. White was her hair, and her dress, and they billowed out behind her like smoke as if, at any minute, the wind would take her away from him. “The divine wants your loyalty; not your soul. You may seek your own pleasures,” she said, hooking a finger into her clothes and pulling away to reveal fair skin that glowed brilliantly like moonlight. Her form wasn’t exaggerated or tailored to his needs like the demon. She was real and imperfect. She was genuine.

He looked between the two women. He wanted, desperately, the monstrous and primal touch of the demoness. The angel looked harder to please, and harder to impress; it would be so much more work to find happiness on her path. And yet, he slipped out from under the witch’s weight, and towards the outstretched arms of divinity. Work makes the reward worthwhile, he thought.

And as he burrowed in, her clothes entirely unfurled into three pairs of full-bodied wings, white as doves and capacious enough to swallow their embrace comfortably. He surrendered readily to Ophelia’s demands as the hug wrapped around them both in a squeeze like a freshly built cocoon.

“Cheat…” whined the demoness, fattening visibly with her voracious endeavours without a need now to hide. “I was looking forward to him.”

The angel sighed contentedly. “Sorry, love; but I did warn you.” Ophelia allowed her skin to remain bare as she sat gracefully next to the demon. “Excuse me… hWooUUrhp. Ghhurph.”

“Excused,” Yaretha allowed begrudgingly. “But you definitely cheated.”

“Angels don’t cheat, how dare you,” Ophelia said, allowing for the first time the barest impression of a smirk to cross her lips as she daubed them. “Times may have changed. But blind submission?” She crushed her fingers into her distended stomach to elicit a few healthy growls. “I think that’s something we can always rely on.”