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When the now very cervine celestial girl and her lover angel were told to knock off the hot screwing, simply said, they didn't take it well.

It felt wonderful. It was wonderful, they felt closer every time they did it. They felt a connection that even celestials didn't have, between the two of them; they felt an intimacy that even their fellow angels, who shared thoughts and secrets freely, never seemed able to attain.

And thus it was, they felt rather put off, by uncaring demands from their superiors to stop with the lovemaking with each other; how could the archangels know or understand how ~great~ sex was if they'd never tried it? And thus it was, feeling so put off, and frustrated, and even angry at those commands, that they would find themselves seeking out the growing opposition to the Throne, that existed within the celestial ranks; the rebellion that swelled and that was getting swollen for the insistent strokings and enticements of the angel known as the Lightbringer, the Morning Star.

Mind you, the Morning Star's rebellion wasn't specifically about the right of celestials to suck and fuck each other; that was one of the minor planks in His Comprehensive Platform for Change. It was a ~popular~ plank to be sure, but not the big one.

If the fine, cervine formed angel girl and her horsie male paramour felt any reservation, about seeking out and joining the First Dissenter's ranks, they didn't let on. The fact is, they probably didn't feel any concerns or worries about what they were doing, in declaring alingment with the Lightbringer; their need for more erotic ecstacy, for more of each other's bodily blessings and charms, for more hot doing of the deed was so great and their fixation on carnal crime together so consuming, that their judgement was more than a bit questionable by now.

So it was they found themselves in the presense of of one of the chief generals in the service of the Lightbringer; Azmodel, an archangel who before had been one of the Morning Star's aids and now had been promoted to grandiose title and premature list of medals and awards, before the fighting had even started. One of the right hands to the one who was Right Hand to the All-mighty; a paradox to be noted as an aside, that the All-Mighty's trusted right hand would turn out to be one first to rebel.

It should be noted that truly, Azmodel was not his true name; in a blow before the blows of swords were landed, he, like others in the Army Of Dissention, had dared to take a name other than which the All-Mighty had granted to him at his creation.

That day, in the Etherial City, the two celestials who found themselves in illicit sexual relationship were called to this self named and self made general; they stood with ranks of other recent volunteers and recruits, all eager with the promise and positive feeling that a bold new agenda and its prophet brings with them.

As like the other angels who were just now, declaring Rebellion, the deerlike angel girl and her horselike lover had affected new things to their forms, in preperation for the making of war. As Earthly warriors make themselves fearsome with warpaint, vicious symbols, or cruel slogans upon their gear so too did these soon-to-be-fallen angels follow same custom. They had further changed themselves, less now the beings of bound radiance and blaze they were before the sensual secrets they discovered, and more akin to the mortal animals down on Earth.

The girl angel had cast her luminent flesh with a reddish glowing light, and on her head had formed ram's horns, golden and resplendent, even if incongruous on one shaped as a deer, to be as her helm. Her golden wings she'd turned to a deep indigo hue, and her toes she'd fused into two hard, hornlike ones with sharp cleft between.

Her lover had formed himself more into stallion, making mane long and wild as a tornado's black, lashing wind; he let fall from his rump a thick, whipping equine tail, and he took on full hooves upon which to stand, his form one that said as a wild stallion he would refuse to be gentled, or tamed.

The general of the burgoning rebellion with which they, and their comrades had met this day had too put on more realized, beastial shape. More draconic than he had been, when he had been a loyal, faithful celestial; having come to be snouted and scaled, he did also affect upon himself horned knobs on the back of his knuckles, and not one but four ridged, bony long horns, because so MANY surely showed that (obviously) he was sooo powerful.

For all his scales, claws and barbed tail, Azmodel's celestial greatness was still shown; he stood a towering 30 feet tall, or so it would look, to mortals assuming lesser angels stood at 6 foot or 7. His robes were resplendent, his armor shining golden bright, too dazzling to be looked upon.

And the goatee on his chin was there mostly because, he thought it made him look like some kind of total badass. As if the whole being huge and mighty thing didn't already count, and already make him feel secure, in his contrary cause and position among the Morning Star's arising army.

"As our new Leader, our newly glorious leader does, I too look away from the past, where those has-beens would have us be, to instead where our great Heavenly society must go!" the Lightbringer's general thundered to this batch of freshly joined recruits. "Those before us must be for us, and the Morning Star's Great Agenda, and if not, must be cast down so as not to stand before us and in our way!"

Azmodel loomed over these, his personal rebel angels, those doomed angels, and with hand in a fist gestured with rigid thumb, sharp and pointed to bring home his point.

"Though it is the past that in a way, must be our future, our Great New Leader says. My friends, I fear... I am simply so afraid, for our great, celestial nation," the potent would-be potentate boomed, as he brushed hand over eyes that let forth tears (clever ones made, that could show on his demand). "Once we were paramount in the eyes of our Creator and now we are parenthetical, second to those who the Throne has made in that making He calls Creation. Secondary, his primary creation has become, us, his angels, to mortals made of crude matter!"

He raised his hand in open palmed, malevolent benediction, shining with a light that even then, seemed a black glow in how it haloed him. "And so I say, unto you, my celestials, ah, ah, er, that is, the Lightbringer's loyal celestials, we shall look not to the recent past but instead to the distant past which I say to be our future, even in this place that has no Time, and say that again we shall be ascendant to the heights of this already ascended place, and we shall rule, those of you here ruling for me who shall rule over everyone else to make us all highest! I, third in the personal cabinet of the new government, of the Bringer of Light, speak thus and thus do I approve this speaking!"

And with that loudly proclamed if somewhat round about speech complete, the assembled angels roared forth on their missions, joined forever to the rebel cause, doomed forever, even if their angelic faculties could not see it, doomed to be shorn of that very title angel and celestial state they held. They dispersed in a flurry of dark wings, to begin the war, armed and ready -

All of them, save the one who was in the shape of a shapely, winged, red and horned doe.

Her departure was delayed by the mere wave of Azmodel's hand, a gesture for her to remain. She did so, falling on one knee, something she would have done too in the time before when both were loyal celestials to the Throne. "A moment, crimson one," the great angel before her intoned, his thundering voice now tempered for the more personal, intimate conversation. "By your liege, oh horned and glory crowned one?" the deer-slender red angel asked.

"My command, my new angel, new in my service, is first to set aside sword and sheild," the looming and shining scaled angel told her. And when she did so, and looked up, expectantly, he added, with a lecherous smile, "Now, disrobe. I've heard much of you, and I want to see all of you..." Blushing so much in the already red of her cheeks, the cervine angel dropped her armor, and her robes, letting her things loose tumble 'round her feet as she hung head, showing her naked self to him.

"And now, my nude angel, nude in my lusty, hungry sight," the massive rebel archangel intoned, sitting himself back, upon his own, gauche and gaudy throne, "I wish for you to pleasure me. Word is, you're good at it; word is, you keep that horsey angel of yours quite happy. Do that for me..." he boomed at her and as he did, reached, to part his robes...

To let flop heavily forth a dragon cock already ~four feet~ in length, and swelling rapidly to an even more monsterous rise in his lap!

The deer angel gasped, at the size of his manhood. Her angel, her lover, oh, he was big.. he ~felt~ big, when he was balls-deep inside her... but this was insane. This was madness. Azmodel's almost comically huge and veined prick would tear her in two!

"M... my lord. I.. I first should, attain stature similar to you.." she stammered, her deer ears pinning back. "NO. You shall not. As you are NOT of my glorious rank, and stature. But come, straddle my lordly form, and be as a toy in my lap, dear deer. I shall not sunder you, but you shall use your skills to bring me to spurting success regardless." He gripped his thigh with one hand with the other, beckoned, the fire in his eyes one that showed she'd be held to her recent sworn fealty.

The angel girl drew closer, as she was bid. She stood to the side of his throne and, spreading wings, stepped up and up, foot-hoof over foot-hoof and then over it's arm, into his voluminous lap. Trembling, terrified, her pinions of dark color brushed his chest and batted at that dick that had grown to barrel thickness, and to a pulsing height that was already over her head. Azmodel groaned, gritting teeth in a grin, as softness teased feathering on his obviously proud dragonmale flesh. "Do it..." he moaned, breathing heat on her back, his hand huge and covering from her ass to nape of her neck, as he pressed at her back to slide her against the telephone pole in his loins. "Make me cum, oh, skilled, scarlet trollop."

The red deer angel's ears flushed at that word; flushed in blush at the thought she was cheating on her loved and wonderfully lusty stallion. Crazed thoughts combined in her head; she HAD to obey, this was her general; she HAD to do this, this IS what she does, being a skilled sexual courtesan. But guilt burned in her even as she found herself slid into his draconic lap, his scales thankfully smooth but his cock fearfully ribbed with horn and ridges that also thankfully, she wouldn't have in her depths.

She rolled shoulders forward, hiking her hips up in his lap, to show the rebel archangel a sweet view of her saucy ass; to heave breasts against his cock that was now 7 feet tall, standing upright like the marble pillars that supported his great hall's roof. She gripped at her tits to rub his massive cocks ridges and flesh with their hot, soft imposition.. the deer girl angel then bringing her tongue that was not yet a forked one, against his skin to lick quick and repeatedly at what was already a stove-hot throb of male meat.

It was ludicrous, and ridiculous; how could he feel pleasure from this? At this scale her tongue couldn't possibly be felt, even as she lapped and licked intensely at his heated, tree thick dick; how could a little Barbie doll girl in his lap pleasure this horror that was his skyscraper cock?

"That's it..." his baritone voice beat against her, his hand firm wall to her back that she could not back away from the obscenity of cock that was taller than the doe trying to work it and jack it off. "Oooo... oohhh, good little doll, good little toy, make your general spurt...."

She glanced back with wild, wide eyes, to see ecstacy already on his face... that sight giving her a strange sort of hope in her heart. If he was this easy, if his looming monolith of a cock was that hairtrigger sensitive, then at least she could get it over with fast!

With that scant, pathetic excuse formost in her mind, the red doe clenched eyes tight shut, and wrapped her arms around the massive mountain of his dragondick, pulling her naked red body close onto it. She began to undulate in humping writhes, fast jerking and wiggling against it, rubbing tits and belly and mons and girlslit against it as she frantically lashed at it with her tongue, wincing at her task even as his excited groans said she was doing it right.

"That's it..." he thundered, his breath beating at her, her hair tossed against his pre dripping howitzer of a dick. "Oh, do that, baby, ooohhhhhh... oohhhhhh yeah, get the boss off, slut..." he snarled, making her sob unheard, at how he called her that. Her arms wound 'round that turgid, stovetop hot obelisk of dragonmeat in an offset twine, as she would embrace her angel lover... the deergirl rubbing spirited strokes of her dripping wet slit on those ridges, even though it rubbed her raw. Her tight embrace of his overshadowing shaft meaning that the now profuse seeping of his pre flowed to coat over her tits and cheek, leaving her damp and smelling strong of him and his want.

"Uh!" Azmodel grunted, gutteral, and rasping. "Oh! Oh, oh.. yeah.. do that.. do that, babe, do it... oohh... get.. gettin' close.. gettin' off.. g.. gonna cum.." he snorted in unpleasantly hot breath all over her small of her back, and her ass.

She began to frantically rub that omnipotently sized, potent cock harder, as he came into the home stretch; her strokes came more frenzied as that pillar of pulsing flesh towered over her head. She began to caress her dark feathered wings against it, wrapping it in their silken strokes; she hurt her jaw and rubbed her tongue raw as she worked so hard to lick it harder, and suck what little bit of the turgid flesh she could get her mouth around.

She was beginning to hurt, her thighs in uncomfortable stretch over his belly, her thighs open wide as their design should allow; she was starting to cry, she was so, so, so desperate for this to be OVER... none of this was for her, none of it pleasure, it was just a chore that involved an embarrassingly huge male shaft.

The rebellious archangel moaned harder, noisy and exhibitionistic, even for her tiny touch and doll sized sex against his phone pole of a prick; he sighed hissing hot through slits of his teeth as he watched her try grinding her breasts against that throbbing stone idol of a cock, enjoying what were to him tiny perky nipples and little bitty titties, that were barely little bumps to him on his soaring column of man tool.

Suddenly his ecstacy peaked! Suddenly, his virgin-fast building bliss, brought on by to him petite, precious little tiny lover, crested the hill it was trying to lift over and started rolling out of control into his own orgasmic abyss...

Suddenly she felt that cock with elephant's leg girth start to rumble and quake, hard, even as her own angel lover's did in her hand but THIS was insane, this was crazy; it was like she was gripping a wild bronco, in danger of being thrown off, and a roaring was building in it and she ~heard~ a torrent, a cataract of fluid rumbling up through it -

"Oh FUCK," she thought, the first time she'd ever used that wicked word. "Oh, this isn't gonna be good!"

And as she clutched in her circling arms that swaying, shuddering column of dragonmeat; as as she arced back and rolled shoulders to rub her tits up and down against it, as she faced her face upward, eyes closed tight, seemingly praying for him to finish, she heard a loud ~splut!~ -

And a arcing spurt - no, a spurt? Hardly! A GEYSER, a gusher stream of the archangels cum launched up from his tip in an audible roar and came ~crashing~ down upon her face!

Steaming hot stickyness began to splatter all over the red deer angel, disgracing her with cum that came in actual buckets worth of spunk. It almost hurt as it hit her and all she could be thankful for was that she wasn't in the direct aim of that firehose of fury hot jizz that instead, arced up, force spent mostly before in came gushing alllll over her. SHe could feel it washing over her in silvery, gooey flow, covering her limbs, and wings; she could feel thick sheen of it slipping in slow ebb down over curve of her tits, and sliding in under where her thighs and ass lay atop Azmodel's scaled skin.

Fuck, she thought again (as that word seemed SO appropriate to this moment!). This stuff's going to glue my ass to him!

"Yes, oh yes, oh YES I shall, yes I ~can~, I can best the THRONE ITSELF!" Azmodel howled, his voice thundering so loud as to rattle the ornate windows of the audience hall he'd built (for either rebel leadership or hot trysts with his troops, either one, it would seem). The cervine angel didn't even notice. She was too busy strugging to hold with that shuddering, earthquaking pillar of prick, and the creamy spurting spunk the archangel shot all over her flesh and his own.

"Mmmphhh... fffph, fk!" she spluttered as barrels worth of molassas thick issue rained down and slapped her on the tits, on the face, and on her shoulders. She felt her hair now in a plastered, gooey, creamy silver drape over her shoulders and back. She felt cumglobs the size of baseballs dripping from her tits' under curves, and off the perk of her perfect nipples. She felt it ebb down her back, in viscous waves, a quirking twitch of anticipation in her hips as it reached her ass and left the cleft between her cheeks filled with his gummy resin.

Each squirt - squirt, hardly! - each fountaining firehose force of cum smacked her in the face, and thudded on her naked body with a almost stinging impact.. her wings soon too were encased with thick blankets of jizz, her back all a raining wet wall of the archangel's spunk. "Yeah.. oohhhhhh, yeah, BAM, shoot it off, babe.." the raunchy archangel laughed as he got it all over his belly, as the broad spread of the girl angel's legs gave path along which for his cum to flow and drip off him, from the tips of her foot-hooves.

"MMmmmmm, oohhhh.. ohhh. Yeah. Ah. Good girl. Good job," he said, his now dismissive, disinterested distance in his voice making her burn with embarrassment under the glaze of his cum. Her lover angel would hold her after, and praise her; this one clearly thought of her as something to just toss out with the trash!

He seemingly confirmed that thought of hers, when he laid back, eyes closed, drowsy after his eruption. "'K.. I gotta rest, and get cleaned up, before I join the Glorious Morning Star in battle. Just let youself out.. I'll call you, after we win, 'k?" he yawned, laying there like cold lump of stone. His once mighty as the mountains cock shrunk, and sagged, flopping pathetically over one thigh, evaporating in her two armed hold; had it been ~her~ celestial's lovely male member, she'd have been eager to awaken it with loving, sucking kiss. But this... ugh! Someone else can take it for the choir, next time!

The red deer angel held her tongue, though oh what that tongue would say!, were it not for the fact he was so far superior over her. She held back her words, keeping her discomforted moans hushed, as she slid sticky and sloppy off his belly to fall halfway down off of him and his tacky, and spermy throne. "Ooohhh. That was nice," Azmodel mumbled to her. "Thank you, m'lord," she spluttered, wiping her eyes, to fling wet ropes of angelspunk from her face.

Struggling to her feet, she stamped off, holding arms gingerly outstretched at her sides where wet strings of cum dripped from them to her tits, and hips. "Bet that was more cockjuice than your boyfriend gives," the dozing archangel called after her.

She wrinkled her nose at the musky thick smell, feeling a fist sized blup of spunk drip off her inner thigh in her retreat. "You are far too generous, m'lord," she spluttered, with a ptu! to get rid of a heavy pearl of his residue that had washed over her lips.

"Show the next lot in, in about 10 minutes," Azmodel called after her again, in a thick, spent voice. She dared to ignore him, angrily grabbing at her spunk matted mess of hair to push it back out of her painted face. "Sure, Your Spermness," she muttered, as a flap of wings cleaned some of the cum off in a wet wide showering about her of spent seed.

The crimson deer angel then took a back way out of his audience hall; the dark winged angel's walk of shame punctuated behind her, with cummy footprints in her wake. She sobbed as she stamped off, naked, sullied with a sloppy coating of archangel's wet, acrid scented essense; she marched off to clean up, and don armor again for the battle they'd been ordered to fight.

Ah well, she thought, calm down, girl. It's all over now. Nothing like this will ~ever~ happen again, and the battle even if lost, we will make an important point to the All-Mighty about the rights of all celestials to pleasure and THEN, it'll all be done and it'll be back into the bed of her lover, and back to their bliss....

And surely she'll never be asked to be a whore again.

~~~~~~

"Please," the broken angel said, her graceful cervine like form in aching and ugly sprawl, prone before one who vanquished her. "Please stop hitting me. Oh please, stop hitting me."

"I have," Robur spoke, the archangel kneeling at her side. She still clutched the hilt and stump of her shattered and utterly destroyed sword of flame, her angelic weapon obliterated; her sheild was just so much useless, jagged shards scattered around her, mirroring the scene of crushed rebel angel and the victor who knelt over her.

"Oh, Lord," she moaned, barely able to move. "I don't... what, what is this I'm feeling?? What is this sensation, what did you DO to me?" she sobbed through gritted teeth, to the archangel who'd bested her.

"This is Pain," he murmured, helping her up onto what were now hooves, the cervine rebel angel limp otherwise in his arms. "Now you can feel Pain, as mortals do. But it does not serve the same purpose for you. It can be taken away," he intoned, his voice seeming glowing as did his heavenly form. "You can seek Forgiveness, and that will remove it from your frame."

"I can't hear the voice of the Throne, anymore," she sobbed, clinging to him in complete agony. Her ruined remains of her weapon dropped soundlessly into the mists.

"The Metatron speaks to me and, tells me this, to speak unto you. If you are truly sorry, for the sin of rebellion; for the carnality's you have committed; if your contrition is perfect then forgivness shall be perfected, and never again will any speak to you of these things that will be forgotten."

The shattered angel leaned almost drunkenly against Robur, her hooves unable to carry her; her pain so great, her judgement in these next words perhaps forever in question. 'Fuck me," she hoarsely whispered, to the one who'd put her down. "Fuck me. Make me feel good again. Make me feel good. Where.. where is he, ~my~ angel? He'd do that for me. He'd do that for me..."

"I cannot. I will not," Robur spoke, sadly, as he slowly and yet, without hesitation, guided the sore and pain wracked angel to the edge of the mist upon which they perched. "This is your decision, then? No word of repentance? No reconciliation?"

The broken rebel glared at him, from eyes that now burned with a sick, amber, hateful glow. "Fuck. You. FUCK YOU. Fuck you, if you won't fuck me! I won't stop! I won't give this up! I won't give my pleasure up, I won't give up this lust! It's the best. It's the best thing, it's better than Heaven, it's better than what angels get, it's all I've got now... it's all I've got!" she swore at him, her fingers digging uselessly in try to find purchase, upon his spotless armor.

With that, Robur grasped her, and lifted her, high over his head, the shattered angel crying in agony as the lift and the shift of her figure lead to pains anew all over her body. The archangel gazed, over the edge of the mist that mere mortals would pathetically call a cloud, that truly was more vibrant, colorful, glory filled nebulae that formed part of the edge of Heaven. Below, he saw growing, gathering, ever deeper darkness, awaiting his vanquished foe.

"Not my will, but, yours be done," Robur whispered; said unto the Throne, said unto the beaten angel he held so very high. And with that, he threw her over the edge, casting her down, casting her into Hell.

And she fell, and fell, and fell, like a shooting star out of the heavens. Through ever deeper darkness that was slashed only here and there with shafts of light from Heaven, in which she'd fleeting see pass another of her fellow rebels, aflame from the fury of their fall, before they fell from the light and into darkness deep.

If any of the other falling angels saw her; if any could think to see her, as in fear and horror they fell fast from the heavens, they would have seen her fall, limp, graceful, for all that her body was loosely held sensless, and graceless; head down, hair fluttering to sting her cheeks and her eyes. Limp and without motion, soft and vulnerable and weightless, helpless, as she plummeted from state of grace into punishment, for her obsessive desire to possess and in return offer raw, real and ribald sensual pleasure.

And when the fallen angel who would soon call herself Comet hit, when she crashed hard, into the rocky, ash covered and rubble strewn floor of Hell? Well. The pain she'd felt up above was NOTHING, compared to this.