Flight

She was right. The horns fit better. You were a fool, hiding behind that halo as if it could protect you, as if it was doing anything more than grinding you down, inch by inch, killing you slowly. That's done now, and you're flying. Even just sitting in that chair, staring up at her as she strokes your newly-grown horns, you're fucking flying and you can feel the sun on your back and the wind in your hair.

You'd forgotten what it felt like to not be trapped under that fucking thing's shade. To not be stifled. To not be scrunched and squished into its little box. She broke it for you, and you're so fucking grateful and you're so fucking relieved and you're so fucking ecstatic and you need to thank her, you need to show her how much better you feel, you need to make sure she knows that she saved you. You lean forward, kissing and nuzzling at the base of her cock of your own volition this time, no need for her to grab you and force you. She lets out a small, appreciative moan, and you grab her hips, sliding your lips around her tip and down toward her base, the throat that was once so resistant now easily accommodating the foot and a half of demon meat invading it. You work your head back and forth, up and down its length, the once-forbidden movement now feeling so natural, and she finally cums for the first time all night, releasing a boiling torrent of corrupting seed down your throat. You can feel it instantly absorbing into your stomach lining, melting through you, reshaping your body into what you've always wanted to be, and you gaze up at her in adoration, lips still pressed firmly against her pelvis. You never want to leave.