Reborn

Angelina sensed the passage of time. Emptiness. Nothingness. Time was an illusion in the inky blackness of her world. There was no sound, she couldn't feel anything, not even temperature. She couldn't smell anything even with her enhanced senses. This was it. This was the dreaded afterlife for a demon; the eternal nothingness, a consciousness that was aware of its surroundings that had no control, no autonomy, and nothing to do but wait.

She had no body to sit down on anything to think, not there was anything to sit on.

She had no pussy to play with to clear her head, and when she thought about all of the twisted things she'd done over the decades to men...women...hermaphrodites...anything and everything with a cock or pussy...she couldn't even feel her body getting excited.

She existed. That is all. And she would until the end of time.

Her life flashed through her eyes; most of it was fucking. Her life as a Roman citizen went through her mind. The ritual that summoned an incubus to fuck, found by traders in Jeruselem who went under the ruins of Herod's Temple built on the foundation of Solomon's Temple. She and her four coven sisters; closer than family and bound by blood, they completed the ritual to fuck a demon into this world. A sapphic, bordering on incestuous orgy of flesh and as the demon came into this world, so did they. They weren't even aware of the carnality of their act. Kisses turned to bites. Sensuality turned to savagery.

Angelina's soul orgasmed out of her body like so much pussy juice being gushed out of her. Over and over and over again. Drop by drop, pint by pint until there was nothing of her body but a husk. Nothing of her sisters except empty husks. All of them trapped in the summoning circle that once broken by their mindless, soulless bodies fucking through the ceremony, fused into a single, powerful soul that was sucked down through the summoning as the demon they had conjured was set free.

Priyael was free. The lord of lust. The dark god of orgies. The demonlord of debauchery. The king of Incubi loosed upon the world by five sisters that fucked their souls out of their bodies.

Angelina was born.

And now she was dead.

Except...she isn't....she's aware of every memory she's ever created. The memories of her coven are still in her head. And she's experiencing her whole lives simultaneously while experiencing being a demon simultaneously with that. Experiencing the existential dread of infinity at the same time. A singularity of consciousness; infinite but finite.

This was actually hell. Not the fucking, not the sadism, not the blood and cum and **** and pleasure and pain and orgasming and the constant state of unceasing, ever-building, never-satisfied arousal. This.

And then a crack appeared. A golden, jagged sliver of light ahead of her. Was it an inch and tiny or was it miles away...leagues....and huge? She had no way of knowing. All of the spinning imagery stopped in her head and a curiousity almost as insatiable as the burning of her pussy for the past 1000 years hit her mind.

And then the crack widened. Lengthened. Throbbed and pulsed like something alive as it consumed the blackness, and then the blackness was no more. And everything hurt.