Show him who's boss by insulting both his height and manliness.

You explode into an indignant rage, forsaking your cool entirely and letting the imp know exactly what you think of your situation, and of him. As you put it, size may not be everything, but it's still the case that nothing as tiny as this runt has any claim to real manhood, and having to cheat your way to having a decent dick makes your point for you.

What you actually said may have been sprinkled with a little more profanity than that, but you can hardly blame yourself for getting swept up in the moment. You may, may, have called him an 'imp whore pussy', too, in oblique and perhaps unwarranted reference to his fixation on sex.

Whatever your actual words, they've had their effect. The imp is no longer teasing your diminished dick. The imp no longer looks cocky and self-assured. On the contrary, he looks frighteningly vengeful... Which from your current position of vulnerability and, you dare say, 'receptivity', is all the more unsettling.

"You really want to know what an imp whore pussy is like, you uppity mortal cunt?!"

The imp climbs atop your bed, which rocks and squeaks in dismay, and takes a few slow and deliberate steps forward. Paralysed with uncertainty and dread, all you're able to manage to do is to shrink back into the mattress and scattered bedding beneath you, until you find him glaring directly down between his hooves, planted on each side of your head, at your mortified expression. "We make imp whores in Hell, for when there are too few mortal sluts here on Earth to go around." At the words 'mortal sluts', he gyrates his hips from left to right, catching you unaware, and managing to slap you sloppily across each cheek with his cock, the implication of the gesture readily apparent.

Your humiliation and lack of meaningful resistance seems to improve his mood, just slightly, though he still glowers disgustedly down at you, like an ant. You wince as he lifts his left hoof suddenly, then passes it over your head; before he does the same with the other, such that he is now facing towards the edge of the bed, with full view of your quivering body. You thought he was going to kick you or something, but in a few moments, you will find that the reality is much worse.

He kneels down, holding your head in place with his coarse furry legs, and guides his dripping crimson cock down towards your trembling lips. He growls a command to you, and you believe you know better than to refuse. "Open up that filthy mouth of yours, pussy imp whore."

You gasp, taking in a lungful of fiery-tasting musk and the grungy, yet inexplicably erotic smell of his sweaty crotch-fur. When his swollen, dribbling red dick-head crosses tantalisingly over your tongue, your first **** instinct is to bite down to protect your last shred of dignity- but for reasons unknown to you, your jaws and teeth just won't make an impression. Perhaps whatever infernal occultism that augmented his genitals with your own stolen virility is also preventing you from causing direct harm to it?

"Imp whore sluts made in Hell suck." He giggles to himself, apparently amused by his unintended joke "They're hollow stand-ins for the real deal. They can give you your release, for a time, but they can never satiate a demon the way that exploiting a mortal soul does..."

He begins to rock his hips, invading the back of your mouth and usurping the first few inches of your throat for his pleasure (or your punishment). Those first few inches are quickly joined by more. With the imp now pounding your face deep into the distressed mattress, you don't quite notice that your legs- which have now begun to itch uncontrollably- are no longer touching the ground.

"I've always wondered, though... What if you had a mortal soul to work with?" At that comment, an icy chill runs down your spine, and you struggle to extricate yourself, yelling (or rather, whimpering and moaning) frantically around the throbbing, slick demon ramrod currently thrusting deep into your soft throat.

The imp, in response, simply slows his thrusts to a standstill, pausing with his entire meaty length buried into your cake-hole, blocking your airways. The itching has subsided now, and your oddly bent-seeming legs are entirely limited to an area of the bed a couple of feet from where your head is being held. These are the least of your concerns at this moment, of course.

The two of you remain like this for a few moments, with your garbled protests and wriggling slowly subsiding, until you're too exhausted to do anything but submit to his mistreatment. He then continues facefucking you with no further comment; in doing so, he grants you the few, opportunistic, precious sniffs of sex-saturated air that you need to remain conscious.

"Anyway, as I was saying... I've always wondered if you could get the best of both planes, if you had a mortal soul to work with." You have no recourse to this statement, as you well know. You can't move from this spot; you're completely at the mercy of this imp and his implement, and all you can see when you do have your eyes open is a pair of huge balls, straining within a dangling sack of matted fur, swinging downwards to slap your eyelids. You keep them closed. "Let's say it's a mortal soul that an imp has bonded with. Not too bright. One that's become pitifully **** for more 'masculine energy' in its hollow existence, and is in total denial of how much it yearns to be put in its place..."

You don't believe him... You can't believe him... But the longer this goes on, the more your body is responding to its harsh treatment, in spite of all his degrading euphemisms... In fact... You simply cannot acknowledge this, but as the moments stretch on, your body is responding directly to his sadistic and emasculating descriptions of you. There's a horribly significant sensation of pressure where your dick and balls are, and you can't help but feel a little grateful that you can't see what's happening to you. There are, similarly, quite disturbing sensations coming from your shoulder blades, and your temples...

... You distract yourself by suckling on the juicy, salty cock that's violently **** your throat (and doing so with a disturbing lack of resistance or discomfort in the form of gagging or ****). It does seem to help, a little.

"Don't get me wrong, though, I'd happily have staked my claim to whichever human mortal signed the contract, and probably kept 'em a 'real' human, whether a girl or... Ah, damn it. Hold on a second, I've gotta move..."

He spins around in place, uncovering your eyes but still deliberately preventing a direct view of what is... What has been happening to the rest of your body. He returns to a kneeling position, this time facing your head, and you simply can't deny that he's now... Bigger than you. Not only that; his slim figure and vaguely-girlish hips are gone, supplanted by firm, toned musculature across his whole body. You wonder, for a moment, what this signifies about your current state...

He flops his cock, still slick with a mixture of fiery pre-jizz and your own abundant saliva, onto your face while he gets comfortable again. An unfamiliar, smouldering warmth blossoms from your abdomen, giving rise to an irrefutable desire, and even accompanied by a dim flicker of adoration that flutters in your chest... When you think he isn't looking at you, you lap the shaft a little, smiling vacantly as you indulge yourself in its taste... And then blush uncontrollably, suddenly realising how absurdly futile it was to try and hide this act from him.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. Needy little imp-whore... Here y'go!"

He draws his hips back, his stiff dick waggling lewdly, and his hands travel upward, disappearing from view. You brace yourself to be pushed down onto his length by the back of your head... Instead, his hands clasp a pair of... What the actual fuck?... You don't feel what he's holding onto, but whatever they are, they protrude directly from your skull, like fucking handlebars!

The imp bears his manhood forward, pulling your head towards it with a firm grip on your... Horns... And you open your mouth receptively, encircling and scrubbing the head and shaft for just a few seconds with a thin, long, nimble, and sensitive forked tongue that was not there before. You take the change in stride, sinking into the scorching, spreading desire that emanates to your every extremity. He irreverently pleasures himself using your mouth and throat, his slick, fuzzy balls slapping lewdly against your chin, and you look up, blissfully, into his dreamy, devilish eyes.

"Ooh, yeah. You're absolutely loving this, aren't you? Guess I was right after all." His thrusts become harsher, and more urgent, and you detect a hearty panting rising in his voice. "All the irreplaceable sensations of a... Huff... Hah... Mortal soul... Squeezed in together with the burning need and... Oh, Satan... The will to serve of a mindless imp whore... Ahh-hah-haah... Are you ready for your first taste of eternal damnation?"

You moan your consent without hesitation or ambiguity, and the voice that rises up from your throat and reverberates through the imp's love-stick is one far sharper and higher-pitched than any noise you've made before. Without warning, the imp yanks your horns back, dragging you quite unwillingly off of his cock. When you see him begin to pump and squeeze his shaft manically with one hand, the other still holding your head back by one horn, you compliantly (and with no small measure of eagerness) open your mouth wide for him to finish inside.

"Y'know... I was definitely wrong... There's- unf- no way this could have worked- ha-hah- so well with just any mortal soul..."

On that final note, he blasts you with spurt after spurt of abundant, thick, gooey, imp jizz. The majority lands straight into your mouth, and you involuntarily let loose a girlish moan as the taste of it washes over you... Along with your first orgasm in this new state of being. Drunk with inhuman pleasure and male validation, you swallow it all eagerly, like you think a good imp whore would, and begin to greedily lap the rest off of your face, unwilling to let a single drop of the salty, smoky ambrosia go to waste.

As the hot fluid slides down your throat in great gulps, you feel something new. The heat spreads throughout your body once it reaches your stomach- a new kind of heat, like a sort of unearthly, unhealthy fizzling. Lost in the waves of the overwhelming, alien feelings that accompanied your ingestion of the imp's plentiful climax, you only gradually realise that he has moved out of the way, lying on the bed beside you, with his crotch level to your head.

His massive, softening member is still leaking its precious cargo, which dribbles lazily down his length, so you crane your head just a little bit to dutifully lap and suckle at it, cleaning him without need of direction, as your eyes gradually take in the features of your new body.

There can be no doubt at all that you are considerably shorter than him now. You're not sure by what margin he grew while making love to your mouth, draining the last of your masculinity for his own, but you yourself can't be much longer than a foot and a... Half? A Quarter? Less? You must admit, it's impossible for you to tell- the whole world is so much bigger than you now.

The unblemished skin of your soft, girlish arms; your exaggeratedly slim waist; your... Petite breasts(!)... They are all of a pinkish hue. Not a natural-looking pink, not quite, but more like a hyper-feminine alteration of your mast-uh- your imp's own rich, deep crimson colour. All of yourself, all of your body, seems to follow the same schema. It's as if you were a sexually-frustrated (and pretty misogynistic) teenage boy's re-imagining of your own- uh...- your benefactor's form.

... And the legs... Oh, sweet Lilith, mother to monsters... You have your very own impish goat-legs, with off-white, creamy fur that seems so much softer than your lover's coarse, dark, rough equivalent... Offset by your own shiny, obsidian-black cloven hooves. You boast none of the bestial, burgeoning leg muscles your beloved has. Instead, your fluffy, jizz-white rump and thighs are plump, soft, and sensitive; perfectly squeezable, and ideally suited for receiving the blissful impact of powerful, repeated thrusts...

You're robbed of your fleeting, foggy fantasy as the bizarre, inexplicably pleasurable fizzling sensation that engulfed you after you swallowed your master's load resurges. You feel a second orgasm coming on, as the sensation begins to condense and concentrate right about where your tail-bone should be... Just hidden from view... Beyond the almost-invisible twin peaks that mark the entrance to your welcoming imp whore pussy.

You come, shuddering and squeaking adorably, allowing your master's flaccid and now-glistening-clean cock to slip from your lips and rest across your small, sensitive breasts. At the moment of climax, the strange pressure in your tail-bone erupts and the fizzling sensation departs- your transformation complete, and your fate sealed- as your own devilish tail springs into view, bouncing from side to side above your still-parted legs. Rather than an arrow, your tail ends in a shape not unlike a heart, coloured a rich red, to match the imp who made you this way... Though you think it still looks like it would serve just fine for suggestively suggesting directions...

You nuzzle up to your creator's warm, furry thighs, and wallow in the blasphemous afterglow of your inception. He pets and squeezes your creamy-white furred butt affectionately, sending little electric shocks of delight through your body, and you mewl and coo gratefully.

"Atta-girl. Hey, not that this matters to you any more, but there wasn't quite enough room to squeeze in the entirety of an imp-whore's essence, even after I drained away all that redundant masculinity..." He slides a pair of fingers into your permanently-lubricated imp whore pussy, unnecessarily accentuating his point, and you begin to pant needily at his idle ministrations. "I tossed out a couple of memories and traits that might have caused some confusing ideas to bubble up a little down the line... I made sure that none of them were anything you'd miss, though: your last lingering interest in other girls, details of some recent business transactions, your name... Y'know. Just baggage..."

You don't understand the implications of everything he just said- far from it, in fact- but it all still sounds pretty nice to you... And you do feel much less conflicted than you remember yourself feeling a little while ago... Though there's a certain pitiful emptiness, a smouldering need to be filled being ignited from within your very essence as he teases your lust-tunnel...

... You only hope that your master will be willing to let you satiate that need, with him...