"No? Pity … I'll have to try again until I get it right."
And he did try again, this time flicking his tongue over her lips in little fluttering motions. She strained against the manacles but they were unyielding. Her body heaved and bucked as she tried to escape his persistent, knowing mouth. She lunged this way and that, felt more gossamer tear and knew that she was about to shred the robes right off herself but she had to get away, had to stop this now.
Varyk broke the kiss and stood over her, leisurely licking his lips. He paced in a slow course around the slab and studied her with an insolence that made Celestina blush and feel strangely weak, strangely watery, even as she hissed out another demand for her freedom.
"I'm afraid your gown is somewhat the worse for wear," he said. He plucked at it, wisps of fabric coming away in his curved black nails. Each pluck exposed more of her to his hungry gaze.
"I insist that you stop this at once!"
"In good time, my angel. In good time."
He stopped by her feet, slid first one and then the other sandal off and cast them heedlessly away into the fire and shadow. He ran a foreclaw up the sole of her right foot and her toes curled.
"Such soft skin," Varyk said approvingly.
Then, to Celestina's further shock, he brought his hips forth and rubbed his rigid organ against the soles of her feet. It was hot as a brand, pulsing with loathsome obscene life, and she could not move enough to kick him. Laughing, he pressed her feet together and worked himself into the slight gap between them, pushing in and out of this makeshift orifice.
She screamed then, shrieked fit to shatter glass, no longer caring about conduct but only wanting to get away from him, to put an end to this, to rid herself of the smoldering-velvet feel of him. Screamed and fought against her bonds until she had abraded her wrists and ankles. Yet no rescue came, and she was no closer to freedom.
Varyk stepped back from her and patiently waited out her tantrum, smirking in an arrogance that terrified Celestina. When she sagged back to the marble, her limbs aching from her struggle and shed feathers drifting on rising thermal currents like misdirected snow, he deliberately reached out and laid his hand full on the swell of her breast.
"So lovely," he crooned. "And such a hard little nipple. Is it fear that does that, Celestina, or something else? Either way, I cannot let it go untasted."
The devil bent and out flicked that forked, sinuous tongue. A galvanic jolt shook Celestina. She found new strength and still it was useless.
"Honey," Varyk mused. "Angels taste of honey. Interesting."
He paced around to the other side and repeated the tongue-flick. Celestina could not avert her eyes in time and saw the contrast, his dark tongue and crimson skin against her pearly flesh.
"Definitely honey," he concluded. He came to a halt by her feet again and stood there regarding her for a moment that seemed to last forever. "I wonder what else you taste like."
"Let me go." It came out a strengthless whisper, so faint she could barely hear it herself.
Varyk, if he heard, didn't pay heed. He bent down and did something at the base of the altar, something that made a grinding sound as of a lever being thrown, and then the lower half of the marble slab broke apart into two pieces that swung outward and away from each other into the shape of a Y, taking Celestina's manacled legs with them.
"You cannot do this!" Renewed terror as she was opened before him gave her back the strength to shout, but he still paid no attention.
He moved into the gap, and stroked her smooth thighs. She could lift her head just enough to see him standing between her legs, with the upthrust scarlet lance looming menacingly over the cloud-soft fluff of fleece visible through the tatters of her robe.
His hand settled over her, clawed fingers combing through the silken hair, the press of his palm hot against her. Celestina lurched and screamed again, drawing another laugh from her tormentor.
"Are you afraid of me, pretty angel? Just what is it that you think I'm going to do?"
"You dare not!"
"Dare not what?"
"Dare not do what you … what you intend!"
"Say it and I won't."
"I don't understand."
"Say the words. Tell me what it is that you do not want me to do. I want to hear it."
"And you won't?" She heard the hopeful tremor, reminded herself that they lied, all the minions of Hell lied, and that he was just toying with her. He only wanted to abase her further by making her voice such profanities.
"Didn't I say?"
"I don't believe you."
"So untrusting for an angel of Heaven," he chuckled. "But wise. I'll say it for you, how's that?"
"Is it a fuck that you're afraid of, Celestina? Are you worried that I mean to put this into you and give you a long hard fucking?" He illustrated by gripping himself and thrusting with his hips, his member sliding in and out of his closed hand.
She closed her eyes and turned her head away, shuddering. Her ears felt as if they'd burn from the words.
"Well, that wasn't my intention."
Celestina opened one eye a fraction, not believing him.
"At least," he amended, "not now. I want to taste you first, and see if it's honey down here too."
He knelt, lowering slowly from her view until all she could see of him was the top of his sable-maned head and the upper halves of his wings. She felt his breath like dragonflame on her inner thighs, felt it stir the fleece of her mound. Her screams pealed steadily, and she yanked against her bonds.
"I haven't even touched you yet," he chided, raising his head enough to peer over the pale contours of her body. "But scream and fight if you must. I like it that way."
A trick, she knew, a trick to make her think that if she quit resisting, he would lose interest. All he would do then was –
Her thoughts spun apart in a sudden shattering blast as his thin and agile tongue darted out and found, with unerring accuracy, a spot that sent a lightning-bolt of hitherto unknown sensation flashing through her.
"Delicious," he purred. His thumbs parted her down there, opened her, and he delved in again with quick flickering licks and long, slow passes.
Her sanity threatened to fracture. No one had ever suggested that it would feel good! Not even her horror and wretched shame could change the fact that his clever lips and tongue elicited sensations that she hadn't even imagined. Rather, on some level she could not even face admitting, the horror and shame of the forbidden act only added to the enticing allure of it.
She grappled for control of herself.
There was a way to stop this, there had to be. A way to stop him before he … before he did the word that she could not bring herself to say.
"Honey and sugared cream," Varyk said. "Do you like that, pretty angel? And remember, fibbers go to Hell."
He was going to do it. She knew that he was. He had risen up, and was standing close between her thighs, poised and at the ready. But the malicious, mocking light in his eyes told her something else – that he planned to make her want him to do it, to make her ask for it.
Resolve steeled Celestina and with blessed relief she remembered what she could do. She took a deep breath, and began to change.
Chapter Five –
Rose woke when she heard her door open on slow and stealthy hinges. She glimpsed a female silhouette in the dim glow of the hallway and immediately knew, to her disappointment, that it wasn't Isabella looking to continue where they'd left off the other day.
No, the shape in the doorway was shorter, and much more solid than Isabella's long lean frame. The breasts were heavier, the waist twice as wide, the hips flaring and round. And the face was as coarse-featured and stony as any idol's head.
Recognizing the headmistress, Rose feigned sleep. She wasn't alone among the girls in beginning to have disturbing ideas about what was going on here at Dame Agnes of the Hills. More than one of her classmates had been called away for private meetings and discipline, and all of them had returned from those meetings shaken and unwilling to talk about it.
She could guess, though. It had to do with Caleb. He'd always been snooping about, spying on them. Anne had caught him once in the laundry sniffing at their unwashed underthings, and Isabella swore she'd seen him crouching behind a boulder with his thing in his hand while some of the girls went swimming in the creek. Others, like Margaret, reported with winks and knowing looks that they'd had more than a little sport with the halfwit groundskeeper.
As far as Rose was concerned, if they wanted Caleb, they could have him. She had Isabella, with her languidly loving tongue and her promise to bring Rose the carved ivory device that an adventuresome aunt had given her. Rose could hardly wait, after hearing Isabella's tales of the wonderful pleasures the device afforded.
She had been reluctant at first, because of her pledge to Henry, but Isabella told her that most men wouldn't really know a virgin if one bit them. All she'd have to do on their wedding night was tighten her inner muscles, pretend that it hurt, and if she really wanted to be additionally convincing, contrive to have a bit of chicken's blood handy. Henry would be none the wiser, and Rose would have already been delightfully introduced to penetration by Isabella's gentle guidance.
Instead, though, here was the headmistress. Rose let out a small breath of a snore, trying to hide that she was awake and indeed unnerved by the silent, brooding presence whose shadow fell across her bed.
"Rose," came the harsh whisper. "Rose, get up. I must speak with you."
Resigned, she acted as though she were stirring to wakefulness. "Headmistress?"
"Shh, girl!" Elspeth hissed. "Come with me at once. Step lively, now."
It finally occurred to Rose that she might be in trouble for something. What it might be, she had no idea. She and Isabella had been circumspect to a fault, and she was obedient to the rules in all other ways. Was it something to do with her family? Bad news from home?
That thought struck a worried nerve and she got hastily out of bed, reaching for her robe because her nightdress was thin and the air had a nip to it.
"Leave it," ordered Elspeth. "Hurry along."
The floor was cold on her bare feet but Rose made no complaint. She hurried to the headmistress, prickling with goosebumps and trying to keep her teeth from chattering.
Elspeth led her to the large office that abutted her quarters. There was a banked fire still giving off a welcome bathing of heat and Rose moved gratefully close to it. She hugged herself and turned to Elspeth.
"Is something the matter?"
The headmistress only looked at her with a strange, greedy, half-lidded gaze that set Rose's skin to crawling again, though not from the chill this time.
"Such a fair girl, aren't you, Rose? So petite, so pretty. That curly strawberry hair, those freckles and adorable dimples, and what a nice, slender figure. You must think you're quite the dish."
"I beg pardon?"
"How old are you?"
"Almost twenty, headmistress."
"You could pass for much younger. Let's have a look at those titties."
Rose gaped. "Beg pardon?" again was the most she could manage.
"You heard me, girl. Off with the nightdress."
"Are you disobeying me?"
Hesitantly, Rose grasped the ends of the laces that tied up the front of her cotton gown. Now she was remembering other rumors and dark whispers that had been going around the school for the past several days. Rumors she'd discounted as lies.
"I don't think I should," she said, folding her arms over her chest instead.
"You show them to Isabella, don't you?"
"How did you know --?"
"I've seen you. Both of you. Naughty little girls playing with each other. If you don't want your family to find out, you'll do as I say. Take off your nightdress."
Mortified, Rose did so and stood naked in front of the fireplace. She was very conscious of her small breasts, nowhere near as nice as Isabella's despite her friend's reassurance that they were perfectly shaped for all their lack of fullness. Conscious, too, of the sparse growth of downy red-gold between her legs while Isabella's was such a lush thicket. Compared to her, Rose often felt little more than a child.
The headmistress surveyed her with an evaluating expression that Rose found most unsettling. She started to cross her arms again but a preemptory gesture from Elspeth made her leave them at her sides.
Rose did so, feeling all clumsy and stiff-legged. When she completed the circle, she was shocked to see that Elspeth had removed her own garment and waited there just as nude as could be. She had a bottom-heavy shape and sagging breasts, and none of the lithe grace of Isabella.
"You're going to do as I say, aren't you, Rose?"
"What do you want me to do?"
"Why don't we start with what you do for Isabella?" Elspeth reclined into a low chair and spread her legs, one foot up on a hassock and the other knee thrown over the arm. She pointed to the floor in front of her. "On your knees."
"Or would you rather be sent home with everyone knowing why?"
Biting back a sound that would have either been a sob or an angry outburst – she might never know which – Rose got gingerly down on her knees. She could smell the musky scent of Elspeth's arousal rising from the damp, anticipatory cleft and shuddered.
"That's a good girl," Elspeth muttered. "Give it a good licking. Show me that you know how."
She bent to the task, shutting her eyes and trying to think of Isabella. It wasn't easy, especially when the headmistress' hands crept down to tweak and pinch at her breasts. Dutifully, she kept lapping until Elspeth seized a handful of her hair and hauled her head up.
"Do it like you mean it, bitch!" she snarled, and forced Rose's head down again.
Rose was on the verge of crying, but stifled it and determined to do as she was told. If she performed to satisfaction, she hoped to be allowed to leave. She went to work with a will this time, concentrating so hard that she didn't realize the door had opened until she felt the draft on her back and buttocks.
Elspeth's hand tangled in her hair again and prevented her from turning. "Keep to your business, Rose. Just do it. Yes, that's right, just like that."
Someone else was in the room. Rose could hear breathing, could sense a presence nearby. A floorboard creaked. She tried to sit up but Elspeth still held her.
Large hard hands grasped her by the hips. In an instant, Rose knew who it was and what he was preparing to do. But the knowing it did not help her prevent it. Caleb hoisted her by the hips and wedged the throbbing meat of his cockhead at the opening of her vagina.
"No, please!" she cried, muffled against Elspeth.
"Keep licking!" Elspeth punctuated it with a sharp pinch to Rose's nipple.
"Don't let him –"
Her plea was too late. Caleb plunged deep, his girth monstrous to a place that had only known the careful insertion of Isabella's fingers. Elspeth clamped her thighs shut on Rose's head, smothering her pained shriek.
Caleb was in her, buried to the hilt. Her abused tissues sobbed in expectation of the withdrawal and then the second brutal invasion, but he stayed where he was. He groped beneath her and found the little nubbin that Isabella had taught her about, and loved so well. His callused thumb toyed with it.
"You're not finished," Elspeth said, cuffing Rose on the ear.
She was in an aching storm of misery, but had to continue. The headmistress sighed and moaned lasciviously as Rose applied her mouth for all she was worth.
Meanwhile, Caleb remained as he was, his immense cock stretching her insides while his thumb coaxed her into a state of distracted, dismayed heat. She felt herself adapt to the fullness, welcome it.
He sensed it too, and commenced a steady back-and-forth rocking that moved him in and out only an inch or two at first, gradually extending it until he was pulling out to the very tip and then driving all the way back in.
Rose was hardly able to keep her mind on what she was doing, but Elspeth seemed not to care. It was as if she derived just as much satisfaction, or more, from witnessing the girl go from victim to willing participant. Soon, Rose abandoned her task altogether because she was shaking in uncontrollable spasms, hurtling headlong toward the peak. Elspeth laughed wildly.
"Yes, Caleb, fuck her good and hard now," she called, busily masturbating herself while Rose, on hands and knees, pushed her bottom back to meet each of Caleb's increasingly urgent thrusts.
He was snorting and puffing, and Rose thought of dogs, of bulls, and wondered how she must look. For a moment she saw them as if through Elspeth's eyes, the small red-haired girl and the huge man, hunched over her with his hips driving, driving. The image seared into her mind and sent her over the edge. She came in a desperate, wailing frenzy. And still he kept going, relentless, an unstoppable machine.
"Stop, Caleb," Elspeth said. "That's enough."
Caleb ignored her. He hefted Rose up, one arm around her slim waist because she could hardly support herself, and kept pounding into her. She was in an incoherent daze, aware only that she was about to climax again and not sure if she could stand it. But before she could assemble the words, let alone voice them, she was swept away again.
"I said enough, Caleb!" The sharp crack of a switch on flesh cut through the air.
Rose tumbled to the floor, dropped by Caleb and unable to catch herself. She landed on her side, stunned, and could only look on in detached amazement as Elspeth lashed Caleb again. He turned to his sister, face furrowed in confusion, cock still jutting. Elspeth's angry demeanor changed when she saw that mighty weapon, bloodied from Rose's innocence. She took hold of it.
"Poor little brother," she said in a sing-song tone that spoke of insanity. "Is this what's troubling you? Well, I'll make it all better, shall I?"
Caleb nodded fervently. Elspeth bent over him and swallowed up as much of his cock as she could fit, smearing her lips and cheeks with streaks like warpaint. Her head went up and down, and Caleb's back arched. His cry was an ape's gibbering howl. Rose saw him convulse, saw the pumping jets of his fluid spurt out and overflow Elspeth's mouth. It ran down her chin in gluey white strings and dripped onto the slopes of her breasts.
Chapter Six –
The transformation rippled through the body bound to the marble slab. Flesh shifted over bone, muscles pulled into new configurations, and when all was said and done, Celestian opened his eyes and they flashed in sapphire triumph.
Varyk, still standing posed between the angel's thighs, raised an eyebrow sardonically. "And male and female He created them," the devil observed in a dry tone. "Tricky of you, very tricky."
"Now you shall release me," Celestian declared, his voice a resonant baritone.
Breasts had been replaced by firm pectorals, his abdomen was taut and flat, his pelvis narrower above lean, long legs. At his groin, the opening that Varyk had threatened was gone in favor of a penis resting on a bed of curls, pale marble on gold. His shoulders had broadened, and his arms were those of a warrior who might brandish a blazing sword while leading the hosts of Heaven into battle.
"Impressive," Varyk said. "You have, however, made one slight misapprehension."
"What's that?" the angel demanded.
Placing one hand on either side of Celestian's waist, leaning over him so that the sheaves of dark hair tickled on milky-smooth skin, Varyk whispered, "That I would lose interest in you once you were no longer female."