The chapel was a soaked, dripping temple of corruption. Puddles of girl-c*m covered almost every inch of the stone floor, the once-perfect pentagram now a slick, glistening mess. All five witches knelt or lay sprawled in various states of exhaustion and desperate need, bodies shining with sweat, spit, and demonic fluids. Small violet horns had already begun to sprout from their foreheads, their skin taking on a faint, seductive glow, and their eyes held a new, hungry crimson tint.
Lilithara stood at the center, her massive 14-inch futa c**k still throbbing and leaking, surrounded by writhing tentacles that pulsed with dark energy.
“Time for the final ritual,” the succubus announced, her voice echoing with power. “On the altar. All of you. Tonight you become true futa demons — my eternal
