The Rewards of Virtue

Gremory appeared in a flash of black light and smoke, and before it had even cleared, she realized it was all going wrong. Typical summoners were teenagers equipped with half-memorized words they'd found on a forum, with not even a Seal of Solomon to protect them. Better prepared summoners had sigils they'd traced from library books and mispronounced words invented by the Golden Dawn; these folks were harder to enslave, but just as easy to trick. (Perhaps even more so- a little confidence is a dangerous thing.) What she had never, ever seen before was a nerdy goth girl passed out on the ground, and a beautiful winged figure who seemed to be carved from silver marble.

She hadn't even seen an angel in over a millenia. Even once more was too much.

"Ill-met, my adversary," Gremory said in as detached a tone as she could manage. "Do you serve as this foolish summoner's guardian angel? It seems a lowly job for a member of the heavenly host." She tossed her long chestnut curls, woven with golden thread and emerald beads, and held her head up high, baring her neck beneath its net of pearls and her bare shoulders gleaming above her wine-red velvet gown. Who was he to think he could intimidate her?

Admittedly, he wasn't a bad sight himself. Seven feet tall or so, with six wings lining his back, he looked so much like a work of art that it was a surprise when he moved and his silver-marble locks swayed over his shoulders. The light gleaming from his eyes was piercing even to a supernatural being, and his face was so beautiful that if he'd really been a statue, she would have assumed it was made in the likeness of the artist's lover. He was clad only in a white robe, which was draped around him in such a way as to preserve only the bare minimum of modesty.

"What would you have done to this poor girl?" he asked, indicating the prone summoner. His voice resonated in Gremory's bones, and she barely suppressed a shudder.

"Whatever she asked for, naturally," Gremory responded. "Was she really so wicked that divine intervention was needed to prevent her dreams from coming true?"

The angel's perfect face scowled, which made no dent upon his beauty.

"Duchess Gremory," he said, "chief procuress of hell. I know what you have done to those who call upon you in the name of love. You offer them slaves and call it romance, you twist them into mad libertines with borrowed power, and should another summoner or even a demon desire them in turn, you throw your foolish partners to them in chains as you feast on their suffering."

This wasn't entirely fair; Gremory had only done that last part once. When King Paimon, Most Beloved of Lucifer, desires a witch he sees through the scrying glass, it would be foolish for an enterprising demoness not to trick her, bind her, and deliver her to his harem. It wasn't as if it was her regular business practice.

"I do not seek to war with you over this fool," she said. "If you care for her so much, you may have her, and I shall be on my way-"

The angel had a hand around her arm before she finished speaking, and with a shock of pain that shook through her entire body but lasted no more than an instant, he yanked her across the boundaries of the summoning circle. Gremory landed ungracefully on the floor, completely uncoordinated in the face of the first physical pain she could remember experiencing in thousands of years.

"Truth follows after you," the angel said, "even if man's justice cannot."

That told her which angel he was- Emmett, Truth, bound to the earth until judgment day as punishment for speaking against humanity's creation. Rather than joining with Lucifer's legions, he continued to serve his god while living among the very beings he had warned against. Perhaps it had driven him mad, even more so than others of his kind.

"Shall I humble the demon who seeks to poison humanity," he asked, "or shall I destroy her altogether? Perhaps I should claim her, and let her know once and for all who rules in the kingdom of the lord. Does that frighten you, duchess of hell?"

Gremory looked up at him, at a loss for words.

The truth was, demons didn't really fuck unless they were specifically supposed to. If Gremory could fuck the lonely people who summoned her, there wouldn't be any temptation to lead them into. It was far more wicked to answer their pleas for love by forcing innocent women to fall for them; it muddied the summoner's ideas of consent, and resulted in furious and violent clashes when the love spell wore off.

But this was a bluff. Wasn't it? Could angels bluff?

When Emmett lowered himself to his knees and leaned over top of her, she had her answer.

"You can't do this!" Gremory gasped. "You're an angel!"

"Who are you to say what an angel may do?" said Emmett as he pinned her down. "What right has a demon to determine their own punishment?" He clutched the top of her gown in a fist and ripped it away, scattering beads every which way across the ground and baring the top half of her body- a beautiful body designed to entice men to sin- to his eyes. Gremory struck and flailed at him, but he hardly even seemed to notice.

"Hell can produce loveliness, it seems," said the angel. He groped at a large, bare breast while maintaining his infuriatingly calm expression. "Even if it is only a pornographic imitation of Eve." Gremory snarled and attempted to spit at him for that, but he stopped her with a kiss that electrified every nerve in her body. Bliss mixed with terror- Emmett would have made a good demon.

Gremory had almost decided to stop struggling when the angel cast aside his robes and she saw what was between his legs.

She'd heard of the sons of god finding the daughters of man fair, but by all that was unholy, how had they ever managed to do anything about it? That thing was as long and wide as her lower arm, even if it did taper off to a curved point at the end. At best, a mortal girl might be able to fit in the very tip. Gremory looked up at Emmett, planning on hurling some defiant insult, but none came to mind.

"How can you even walk?" she asked instead.

The angel gave her no response, but tore at her skirt, baring her long legs and the silken hair between them. She pushed up her knees to dislodge him, but her struggles were significantly weaker and more distracted than before. One of Emmett's knees forced her legs apart, and she felt the curved point of his phallus prod at her lower lips. When he made his first thrust, she prepared to be ripped apart.

It seemed, however, that heaven was merciful. Though Gremory was filled and stretched to a greater capacity than she knew was possible, the sensation was not painful. In fact, the curved tip pressed against a spot inside her that made her weep, and when he began to pull out again, she clutched at his shoulders frantically.

"Wanton creature," he said.

"Pious tyrant," she replied. Any further words of defiance were knocked out of her by the next thrust, sending her to the ground again with her back arched and her eyes dizzy. At first she tried to scratch at his arms with her nails, but what was meant to be a struggle turned into desperate grabbing, pulling him back down into her. Emmett's hands were all over her body, and his lips kissed along the side of her neck no matter how she twisted.

"Lucious," he sighed as he ran a hand over her thigh. "You paint the path to sin with such sweetness. What a beautiful creature our child would be."

That wasn't possible...right? Gremory felt a thrill of fear at the thought, but each rough thrust shaking her body made it harder and harder to think about anything clearly.

"Harder, you bastard!" she screamed. Each time he hit the sweet spot inside her, it pushed her nearer to shameful joy and, and she was seized with fury whenever he withdrew. The light of heaven- awful, awful heaven- and she screamed with pleasure as he at last pushed her over the edge.

A demon who came dancing on an angel's cock. She was never going to live this one down.

The angel continued to attack her now-limp body until at last he too collapsed in a climax. He pressed another kiss upon her forehead, and Gremory could only groan in response. She was a mess- her finery was strewn about the ground, her hair was undone, her skin was marked with heaven's touch and her insides still pulsed and ached. Even when Emmett lifted himself from off of her, she doubted she would even be able to rise to her knees.

Fortunately- or rather, unfortunately- she was spared trying. The angel of truth wove his fingers into her hair and pulled her, prone, after him.

"What do you think you're doing?" she moaned.

"Claiming the rewards of virtue," the angel responded, as he dragged her away.

***

Raven Levine, novice witch and first-time summoner, remembered only one thing about her attempt at goetia- the image of a man made of light dragging away a naked woman by her hair. She never touched a demonic seal again.