The locker room door had barely closed behind the last exhausted football player when Asmodea’s voice slithered through Emily’s mind like molten honey.

*Such a good little futa whore… but your hunger is nowhere near satisfied. The Westfield Wolves’ cheer squad is right next door, all those pretty, stuck-up rival bitches who thought they could out-cheer you tonight. They’re in the showers now, laughing about how “pure” and “wholesome” you used to be. Go show them what pure really means.*

Emily’s crimson-glowing eyes narrowed with wicked delight. Her massive twelve-inch futa cock still slick with cum and spit twitched hard against her toned stomach, already leaking fresh precum. Beneath it,...