You are Nabeshima Shiori, a science teacher at the Pedersen College in the city of Southern Sun.

Oh, what a beautiful city it is! The peoples of countless nations coming together in harmony for the sake of moving past the Collapse, each bringing their own unique architectural cultures! A true haven of the sciences! Even when you were young, you wanted to be here, to see it all firsthand, rather than in magazine spreads from foreign correspondents and exported technologies and media! Oh, if only the world’s computer networks were once more connected from nation to nation, so you could all be one…

Of course, you grew up in Japan, on the beautiful (if extremely rainy) island of Yakushima in the Kagoshima Prefecture. Your earliest memory is watching an H4 rocket launch from the Tanegashima Space Centre! Oh, how beautiful it truly was! So wondrous, so dazzling! For as long as you can remember, you’ve dreamed of the stars!

Maybe it was inevitable that you’d end up in Southern Sun, then. In one of the cities leading the charge toward space. Not that it was easy, of course; you spent countless hours studying, trying to attend a good university, to become a scientist! You might even become an astronaut someday! It was your dream!

…well, maybe it hadn’t worked out quite like you hoped, but still. Being a teacher comes naturally to you, right? You’ve always wanted to share your knowledge and your passion! Er, maybe a little too much in the past, but still, now it’s your job…

And so, you teach various science courses as a junior teacher at the Pedersen College, including instilling the basics of spaceflight history and physics. After spending most of Golden Week grading, and the past two days doing prep work for next week’s cultural festival, you’re happy to be back where you belong, in front of your students.

“So as you can see, the use of mechanical counterpressure suits has greatly expanded the practicality of human spaceflight since their introduction! This here, with its shiny rubber-like coating composed of materials capable of protecting the human body from radiation hazards, is the first model created by Alphonse Industrial in 2032 – er, in Reiwa 14! It participated in the final missions of the ISS!” You’re particularly manic about this topic today, it seems! “Ohhhhh, I can feel my consciousness expanding through space just thinking about it!”

(You would never tell anyone you fantasize about how you’d look in one, of course. That would be improper.)

Yes, it’s a familiar crowd of faces. Bored, upset, snickering faces. You’ll do your best to express your passion for space to them today, too! Ah, but, that’s strange, who’s that in the back –

(“Don’t worry about me, Shiori. I’ll be right here 🖤”)

You feel a voice whispering in your ear, a loving presence embracing you, her breasts pressing into your back and her warm breath rolling over your skin.

Your brain tingles in delight, and opens gladly for the Demon Lord.

Oh, yes, of course! That’s Rita. Your greatest student. Your most wonderful student. She’s so beautiful, so tempting, you could almost call her a succubus! Why, you could practically fall for her, but that would be so deliciously improper. So you won’t worry too much, no matter how amazing she might be – you’ve got a whole class to worry about!

“The physics of a counterpressure suit are quite simple, actually,” you continue, pushing such things out of your mind. Pushing out the sight of how well Rita fills out her uniform, her accessories beautiful biomechanical chic, like the ones you’ve seen in pictures and videos of radical local fashion and body modification subcultures, yet more convincing than any of those you’ve seen, utterly longing to have some of your own. “But replacing all the functions of prior spacesuits for protection from all conditions of outer space was quite a challenge! The earliest designs were developed starting in Showa 34, but attendant protection from radiation and issues of cooling would only truly begin to be resolved starting in 2019, I mean Heisei 31, I mean Reiwa 1 – ack!”

Your face is peppered with objects blown from metal straws, as you attempt to shield it with your arm. But in your own awful clumsiness, you end up tripping over your own feet and clutching yourself to your desk in an attempt to break your fall as you stare at the tiny projectiles your students have been blowing at you.

Spitballs…

(“Spitballs? Really? How Heisei of them. How childish.”)

You lay down there, for a brief moment, as the laughter of the room overtakes your ears. Ringing and echoing. Just as it does every day.

You thought you could get past it. You thought you could bury it, and rise above. You have to be the bigger person, after all.

But no. It still hurts.

Time stands still, as that wonderfully warm foreign influence seeps deeper into your brain…

And you don’t resist. Not even a little.

On that last day before Golden Week, you tried to confront _______. But that was cowardice, right? Students tease you all the time, but she appreciates you. She’s diligent with her work, she’s passionate, she was the only person who might actually listen and stop teasing. But that was cowardice, because everyone else would have ignored, insulted, or cajoled you. Even though…

well, you’re dodging the obvious, aren’t you? That what she said about those pictures of you…

She was right. Every single word.

It took some time for you to manage to get onto the relevant Solarflare groups for the school without getting spotted. (And didn’t it make you so nostalgic for the old days, when you would sneak online behind your parents’ backs, and lie about your age?) But manage it you did, and what you saw…

(“I knew you couldn’t just be a pretty face. I knew you had to be like me.”)

The quality was crude. Even seven decades ago, in the dawn of digital photomanipulation, it would be unlikely to fool anyone at all. But that wasn’t the point, was it? No, that was never the point. It was enough to humiliate your image by stripping you bare. Laughing, cajoling, bragging about the easy class and the pushover teacher and the doormat and…

that wasn’t the worst part.

The blackness of Lilith flows so easily into your thoughts and dreams, and brings out what you’d long since forgotten. Dragging your desires in sacrifice to the Demon Lord.

It was the privilege of youth to fall for a teacher. To lust for her. Oh, how you had dreamed of such things in your own youth! How you admired the romantic friendships of the Taisho era! Why, you even did a report on Yoshiya Nobuko in your favorite teacher’s class, laying everything frank and bare and saying you wish you could be adopted by your teacher-lover too, and didn’t that make your family and teachers concerned…

It’s a love that could never be requited in a modern world, a lust that was ill-conceived; but as you well knew, such a memory had long since been etched into your homeland’s collective consciousness, in a way even the Collapse couldn’t change. Oh, but the sweetest little genius of the rainy island Nabeshima Shiori was a good girl; you would never run away with a teacher and travel the world with her, just imagine the carbon footprint! If only you could run away into outer space! Ah, but if only you were an invincible super robot, that could survive it without anything in the way…if only it were nice and feminine, too…

That wasn’t the worst part, no. But that thought is much too wicked. Too improper. You’d be fired for saying it! You’ll just have to hide it…

(“How delicious. What a delightful meal for a succubus you are, Shiori. It won’t be long now…”)

So these thoughts should be pushed aside. Further pursuing this line of inquiry is foolish. You’re a teacher now – you have a responsibility to your students.

You stand yourself up and brush yourself off, the students acting like nothing happened, and you tap the smartboard remote. Maybe you should move on to another chunk of this lesson…

or simply, speak of what you’re passionate about.

“Of course, it helps to have modern materials,” you explain, licking your lips, bringing back those pictures of women in counterpressure suits. Those delightful, wicked images you used to dream of when you were young. “Why, it’s the Sunset Corporation that invented many of the materials used in the modern versions of these suits. Natural rubber latex is labour-intensive to harvest, and involves unsustainable agriculture…and of course, we can’t make it out of petroleum, now, can we? No, no…” The students look quite confused, but it doesn’t deter you at all. “Sunset’s research created engineered archaea that converted feedstock into rubber-like materials. And from here, countless other materials blossomed, that can protect us from cosmic rays! The shiny black rubber of these space suits is proof of humanity’s ingenuity. And yet still, the Earth itself suffers for our hubris…”

Yes…

They always told you the real world was different. You could never become what you truly wanted. What you dreamed of late at night. What you snuck behind people’s backs to crave. What your school, your teachers, your family told you that you could never have.

“What, spacesuits are made out of the same stuff as fetish gear? Get out,” one student says, and the class laughs.

“They look so creepy! Is that really what they make astronauts wear?” another says, and the class laughs again.

How dare they insult something sacred. You should –

You sigh, and swallow your pride. Patience, Shiori. Bury it and rise above. And wasn’t it _______, who first said those words, which you adopted as a mantra in English to protect your soul?

Because they were right, weren’t they? What you wanted wasn’t possible in this world. And a good genius, a good girl, wouldn’t need to dream of such things. Time and time again you turned back to them, and time and time again you turned away, fearing the consequences. The most you could do was gloves; the possibility of anything greater was lost to you. No matter how you lusted after things, no matter how you cherished that first memory, of seeking out these sacred shiny spacesuits of Alphonse Industrial – and that was already crossing the line in the eyes of those who held you dear – and, completely by accident, coming across that anime latex kigurumi of some old anthropomorphization of the unsinkable destroyer Shigure, of the twisted inhuman beauty of artifice that was refined over decades and decades to strike some deep-seated part of human desire to enslave them to the merchandise and the gacha, that buried itself so deep into humanity’s dreams that thousands of broken, dispossessed veterans of the East Sea War literally worship as divine imagery…

No, none of those things could be grasped. Not even in the Reiwa era.

So you gave it up.

(“So you surrendered to the banality of reality, you mean. I understand. But what if I told you you don’t need to anymore?”)

Your sexual desires, well, being so impossible to achieve, you didn’t mind leaving them behind. No one could possibly live up to them, and no one could maintain the way they are in intimate situations indefinitely.

Being a good girl suits you, so that’s what you became. And it made you happy, to be loved, to make others happy.

When you do what you’re told, you see the smiles of others. And seeing other people smile is important! As a teacher, it’s important to make your students smile; as a wife, or a girlfriend, it’s…

(“Does he smile for you? Do these students smile for you?”)

At that final crossroads, you chose an ordinary life with a man you’d come to have some fondness for. Omiai was nothing shameful if it was your choice to go along with it, no matter what your university friends said. No matter how many people told you that even if your parents were stuck in the past, you didn’t need to be. And if he’s a bit protective, a bit overbearing, it’s a natural way of acting around your future wife. If he should disdain your hobbies…

If he should cheat on you.

It might have looked like love, but it tasted a lot like blood.

If he should spend time with people who hurt you, violated you, and only tell you that they were his friends, so what did any of that matter?

What is it like to be the apple of your own eye?

If he should take away all the things you held dearest, and tell you it was for your own good.

Always loved, always seen.
Always gratified, always heard.
Always safe, always satisfied.

If he should tell you that a good person would never leave him, and the people you trusted most tell you the same.

An ugly song came from a ballad for a friend.

If, in the end, he tells you that everything is your fault. Your fault, for not being ‘normal’.

If beauty is in the eye of the beholder, it never ends.

If the only person willing to see through it, in the end, was _______.

..it’s all for the best.

You would have an ordinary life. Just like you always wanted.

No one would ever believe the words of your student, after all, who stares at you with lustful eyes. Someone with every reason to lie.

I was no sweet dream, but I was never a nightmare.

Yes, indeed.

That’s how it has to be…

…

(“…you don’t need to lie anymore, Shiori. So go on, show me what you truly desire. Bare your soul to me.”)

Time stands still before the Echidna.

You said you would, anyway.

You wanted to. You so badly wanted to. You wanted to be normal. You’ve wanted to be normal since you realized you weren’t normal, since your parents and teachers and doctors realized you weren’t normal, and did everything in their power to make you normal. You thought if you just tried hard enough to be a good girl, it’d all work out okay.

But you can’t! You can’t stop! Every day you’re on the verge of tears!

How pathetic can you be? You can’t be normal! You can’t be a good girl! And you’re reaching out for friendship to _______, a student to a teacher, someone nearly a decade younger than you, and you can’t even say it, just because she might understand you! And if someone truly understood you, into your very soul, then you’d never be allowed to teach! You’d lose the one thing you can kind of be good at, the one thing that makes you kind of normal!

You’ve tried your whole life to be normal! And what has it come to?

(“Yes, exactly. You spent all these years doing what everyone else told you to do. And where did it get you?”)

…

…

(“Go on. I’ll always love you, Shiori. Because you and I are the very same…”)

The Demon Lord whispers, and kisses your cheek, and you feel her love blossom within you.

The kind of love you’ve always wanted, accepting you as you are and as you truly wish to be…

and you awaken.

You stare out. At your class of giggling, ignorant fools. Each and every one of them a reprobate, save one. Unworthy.

You said that them making those crude, pathetic nudes of you wasn’t the worst part. Right? No, no, that wasn’t the worst part at all…

No. The worst part. The absolute worst part, was that these insects didn’t even have the decency to masturbate to your image!

There was nothing sexual about it. Nothing resembling desire. Nothing resembling thought, really. Stimulus, response. Monkey see teacher, monkey bully teacher, monkey make humiliating nudes of teacher. What has the world come to that they can’t even treat you as worthy of sexual desire, that they objectified you just to laugh at you?

Youth truly is wasted on the young. Or maybe they think that humiliating you like that isn’t crossing a line, but Goddess forbid they masturbate to you, their teacher, that’d be wrong! Conventional morality and ethics clearly rots the brain.

(“Are you really willing to keep entertaining these insects, Nabeshima Shiori?”)

Insects.

“You know, I don’t even get the point of this,” a third student says. “People aren’t made to live in fuckin’ outer space! I’d rather die than spend my life wrapped in glorified plastic wrap!”

“Yeah! We can’t just leave the planet, all our stuff is here!”

“Every time I hear about this space bullshit, I think, ‘Sunset made progress on inventing the famous space colonies from that great novel, Don’t Fucking Build Space Colonies’!”

“They’re completely impractical. We should be focusing on the ocean instead. Why go up there when we can be down here? It’s so expensive!”

“And creepy! It’s like LARPing royalty for STEMlords!”

Insects.

(“You understand it. You’re better than them. It’s your right to decide their fate.”)

Normally, you would simply lightly chastise the students with some flimsy analogies and go on with your day. They’ll understand, someday. When their children have a future because they built the path forward in the present. Yes, that dream keeps you going. No matter what the insects have to say about it.

But today is different…

(“Go ahead. My treat.”)

“That’s right,” you say, struck by inspiration. “Human beings aren’t meant to go to space. We were never meant to leave. The galaxy is calling us to change…”

A sickly sweet taste fills your mouth. You truly can feel your consciousness expanding, this time. You can feel something far beyond you showing you an entirely new idea of the possible.

Your students can tell, too. The way your posture shifts, your expression, your motions. The way you realize that you’re above them. And you can see far more in their faces, their eyes, than you could before.

“Why, the Reiwa Accord contains provisions for the emergence of a novel class of space-adapted humans.” Your heart pounds in excitement, as you envision it. It’s beautiful! The insects could never possibly understand! “Oh, it’s buried deep, class. Waxing poetic about future possibilities. Someone’s attempt at making the document more hopeful. But of course, no one would support such human modification…”

(“But you do, right?”)

The students start to go quiet. They look scared.

Good.

“But they want to. It’s calling to us. A cosmic glow! Yes, love is the pulse of the stars!” You raise your hand to your lips, licking your fingers. “Oh, you might resist. You might resist the future. Fight it with all your might. But it’s so foolish. Space itself promises us eternal life, eternal love.

“All we need to do is abandon the idea of remaining ‘human’.”

You find yourself starting to awaken to something new. To a nature of a body that could be so much more.

(“You’re better than them. They should know their place.”)

Yes, they should. They should kneel and grovel before you. Kiss your feet. Their parents, too. You never had a private school education, you never had all this power. The only person here who earned her place is Rita.

They tear at you. They cajole you. And you take it.

But you’re better.

“Let’s not be ridiculous, class,” you say, feeling your brain expanding from the confines of the limited capacity of your skull. You feel things melting, and it’s the most wonderful feeling in the world. “Obviously, there’s no way that they would make a spacesuit out of the same substance of common fetish gear. Any visual similarities are merely superficial, though Sunset’s work in bioengineered materials certainly paved the way.

“I mean, why don’t we compare the differences, class?” You gleefully switch to the next slide, and, oh dear, how did that get in there? What a silly mistake for you to mix up your lesson plans and your animegao kigurumi collection! “Can you see here? This is fetish wear. Consider this your assignment for today: please study this carefully and remark on the differences between this and modern space activity suits in long, exhaustive detail.” It’s that very first picture you fell in love with – Japanese destroyer Shigure, loving and demure, smiling placidly in that anime mask that completely hides the insect inside behind the beauty of human artifice and applied memetics, body wrapped neck to toe in black rubber, with a rubber skirt, cuffs on the arms and legs, a collar around her neck…

“What the fuck?!”

“That’s…that’s an anime mask?! And she’s wearing latex all over…”

“Eew! How can people stand this stuff? I bet it’s way too hot inside!”

“Gross! I bet there’s a guy inside –”

“Shut up.”

The class immediately goes silent, for once. Obedient insects are much more pleasing…and you lick your lips, grinning brightly as you slide your hands lovingly against the picture on the smartboard screen. “Deary me, you students really don’t know anything, do you? What are they teaching you these days? Why, you went as far as to place my head on a random picture of a naked woman, and you seriously don’t know anything about this? Has the state of things truly descended to the point where you can never think outside the narrow spaces the Sunset Corporation network has deemed acceptable to you?”

A good chunk of the class freezes on the spot, as they realize you know. Those insects really never imagined they’d be caught, did they? Even if they were, they’d probably just get a slap on the wrist, but you won’t settle for that…

They need to be taught. You’re their teacher, after all! These insects’ ignorance reflects directly on you.

“That’s such an old fashioned reaction, you know? ‘A guy inside’. As if such a thing meant anything. It’s the twenty-first century, class! Don’t settle for such simplistic and hidebound concepts.” You lick your lips, twirling around as you taste blue, openly reaching between your legs and stroking beneath your panties as you feel yourself leaking and melting from your deliciously wet cunt. “This photo was taken just before the Reiwa era, you know. I found it when I was looking for those sacred space suits you saw earlier, as if drawn to it by divine intervention! It made me addicted, you know. It turned me perverted. I obsessed over it, over kigu, over latex, over artifice. Over corruption. I knew right then and there that I loved girls, and wanted to corrupt them and be corrupted by them, and that I longed to be as beautiful as this, no matter who tried to stop me. No matter who told me I had to be so disgustingly normal. As if they aren’t trapped in want themselves…

“You know, that’s what people told themselves back in the Heisei era. Behind this…” You kiss the smartboard over Shigure’s lips. “beautiful mask was a ‘man’. Such a binary, hidebound, old-fashioned way of looking at it! Tossing such things around, when the people who said it were sacrificing themselves to the gacha, spending thousands and thousands of dollars on a JPEG, turning their entire life into an obsession over beauty created and refined over decades specifically to call to their squishy, vulnerable little brains. They could never look perfect, so they aren’t even going to try. They’re going to mock the people who try, and simply masturbate and roleplay to such imagery, turn it into their religion, their political affiliation, their very way of life, without ever even trying to claim it for themselves. Sacrificing to artificial goddesses, the most beautiful thing created on this Earth…” You kiss Shigure’s picture again. “They fell to memetics. They let it conquer them. They let themselves become slaves to merchandise. Why, even becoming merchandise would be better than that. Why not? Why not take on the face of something more beautiful than humanity? It’d be much better, wouldn’t it? As if being born a ‘man’ is something that can’t be changed. As if they aren’t jealous of the beauty they created through lines perfectly calculated to suck money from their pockets. Through words made to manipulate their thoughts. Humanity is addicted to moe, myself included, and that is why it will destroy us.

“Humanity is cursed, you see? That’s the truth of it. You became slaves to ‘want’…

“And that’s why you’re all insects,” you say, with a sultry purr to your voice, rolling your tongue over that last word, watching your class lose their nerve through your eyes turned glowing pink, little hearts inside your pupils forming as you realize the truth.

“Ufufu.” You lick your fingers some more, tasting something blue. Melting. “You see, class, I’ve already chosen to abandon my humanity.” You say it as you realize it, as it’s so deliciously simple. “The Demon Lord has come. I have joined her. Here to deliver us from our sense of self, tear apart a world based on such hidebound facades.”

“Look, it finally happened!” one of the insects finally yells. “Nabeshima-sensei is going off the deep end!”

The class laughs, but nervously. They can see it.

You feel your cells shifting, you feel the very nature of what you are becoming unbound. You look down at the melting shiny blue that composes your body. Slowly coating your limbs, flowing in your insides that lose cohesion. Yes…

Undifferentiated cells, each one an independent drop of yourself, straight from the source of love. Only a few tiny fragments inside you make up your soul, and the rest is whatever it needs to be. To an outside observer, they can see you being made of slime…

(“I didn’t think you’d be so compatible. Celina almost went mad. It takes a strong soul to stay intact when your entire self can be a brain. You’re so wonderful, I’m so glad I put my faith in you, Shiori. I knew you didn’t deserve to be a mere insect~”)

Yes. You’ve been gifted a new form by the Demon Lord! You’re a monster! A slime! Oh, you might look human enough from the neck up thanks to your new machine cells’ powerful mutability, but your entire form is made of them, able to reform into whatever is needed. It’s just as you’ve fantasized about for well over a decade, what you always knew was impossible, granted to you by the grace of the Demon Lord herself 🖤

The class tries to run, but…

Ufufu. The shiny, bright blue that coats your body beneath your clothes from the waist down is already melting onto the floor. As your students try to get out, they’re glued to the spot. Your body can easily spread this far, ensuring none of them try to escape. Their movements slow, their screams quickly turning hoarse as the Demon Lord’s charm flows through you as it has since you awakened, empowering your words to ensure no one decides to get any funny ideas. Even if they tried to call out, the Demon Lord controls information and electromagnetism as a technopathic machine organism, for whom magic and science are one and the same!

“Now, remember the tenets of contolism, class!” you yell, flashing a V-sign with your blue-coated hand, taking a moment to lick it before you twirl about and stare out with glowing pink eyes. “First, Ere-ism: that the Earth is sacred, and it’s our destiny to leave it! Second, Side-ism, that our space colonies are to be independent from the Earth and autonomous nations unto themselves! And third, the Newtype theory: that when humanity leaves the Earth behind, we shall evolve into new forms, adapted to space and capable of perfect communication and understanding!”

(No one in the class understands. Tch. Cultureless insects.)

You walk up – or rather, you slide up, gliding over the thin, translucent coating of slime that prevents those insects from escaping, and you stride up to the student sitting in front of Rita‘s chair. Some nondescript mass of raw materials. All the insects came here because this class was ’easy’, like those boys who used to gawk at you at school because you were ‘easy’, and so none of them are worthy of your personal attention.

But still. You want to give a demonstration.

“All those moderate contolists are completely wrong! It’s not enough to simply open the door of possibility, class! Our ideal future lies over the rainbow, and anyone who resists it needs…” You lick your lips and raise your hand over that insect, the blue slime drooling down from it, pouring over, just inches from the top of its head… “To be pushed.”

and you drip.

No, not just drip. A whole river of your slime pours itself over that student’s face, sealing it in smoothness as you melt individual features, screaming quickly silenced as you convert the student’s cells to machine slime. Carefully tagging each individual cell as part of a new individual slime colony mass to use as materials for future monsters. The neurons that connect to that former insect’s soul are carefully sealed away in a new core, protected from being corroded, for the sake of the Demon Lord…

and then, when your cells have entirely coated the insect, the student behind it strikes, her tail expanding to envelop the slime mass entirely, storing it within a latex-coated sac and compressing it for further processing.

“You really are wonderful, Nabeshima Shiori,” glorious, perfect, wonderful Rita says, her horns resonating so deeply with your slime machine cells. “What a good girl you are,” she whispers, and your entire body vibrates with pleasure you’d hardly imagined possible. S-she was right, how…oh, gosh, it’s like your brain is an erogenous zone, and her words reach in and can almost make you come just from the way her memes caress your slime core…but, then, you’d expect that much. From your greatest student. From your most wonderful student. From the person who saw right through the lies you told yourself because the world considered you inferior, and who ensured that you’d never suffer from a mere insect ever again.

This is…

this is the Demon Lord, after all –

Ah, of course! Now you remember!

Your Queen, Rita Sternbach, this world’s Lilith, the Demon Lord who deigns to remodel the putrid insects on this planet’s face…she snuck up on you today, before you arrived in class, and pushed her tail down your throat, filled and stretched it, and deposited her warm, sticky love deep inside your belly! It took root inside you, turning to blue slime and undifferentiated machine cells! And it grew within you over class, making you a monster! Becoming one of the Demon Lord’s devotees, followers, children was inevitable!

And…

You loved it, every second! 🖤 All those things that you were told weren’t real, as if you didn’t know already, Rita made real! It took mere seconds for you to stop resisting and to swallow deep! If it were your Queen’s will, you would gladly have offered everything to her, but she deigned to grant you this…

You can feel Rita’s thoughts, her desires, and how they so easily awakened your own! Why, what a perfect fit~ You could never have imagined that you had such a kindred spirit before now!

…though, even if you weren’t, she could have just changed that, couldn’t she? Infect you with that toxic meme called love…

It’s so erotic.

“You don’t mind that I brainwashed you a little here, do you, Shiori?” Your Queen’s tail compresses and pushes against the slime-mass, forming a cocoon, that she slowly compresses into place as her eyes glow, the screams and struggles of the other students fading as they remember that Rita is their Queen, too. “I thought you’d enjoy this. And you exceeded my expectations, you know. Not even trying to turn away from this when you finally got the chance…”

“I could never, my Queen,” you say, as the compressed slime flows down into Rita, and starts to make her belly grow. Her moonlight-tinged skin grows as she embraces her expanding belly, which quickly gains a heavily pregnant appearance, her breasts looking engorged, as if she’s carrying child! Which, in a way, she might be! Aah, she’s storing it inside her womb…how wonderful! Oh, you want to do that too, you want to ride along inside her machine womb for a while, maybe do some reprogramming of the slime-mass inside, shape it into something more beautiful than the insect that came before…“You gave me everything I ever wanted, and more. I almost wish you brainwashed me more, just so I could properly experience it…”

Your Queen grins, and pulls you in for a kiss. Your blue-coated tongue dances with hers eagerly as you embrace your student, and feel that pleasing tingle in the back of your core at getting to fulfill all of your childhood dreams. Already thinking of how you’ll deal with that insect you once disgustingly called a fiancé.

How deliciously lewd. How perfect 🖤 Part of you kind of wishes your Queen had asked you…not because it doesn’t feel amazing to have been pushed like this, not because you don’t want her to brainwash you, but because you’d love to have seen the look on your face when she told you all of this was real.

It’s real…

Yes, indeed. What you wanted with all your heart wasn’t something that could exist, but now it can. It’s real! It’s real! Diabola vult, Rita wills it, and so it shall be. And this school will be your Queen’s first stage. You have a perfect part to play as part of the school’s faculty, in providing legitimacy to your Queen’s plans…keeping the facade going a little longer, so the Demon Lord can gain a critical mass of followers before anyone outside of Southern Sun even realizes she exists. Setting a honeytrap for souls like you to walk into and surrender themselves to their ideal future, far beyond what the insects dreamed of. A foundation to build upon, of loyal monsters and devotees of this world’s Echidna.

This is your most holy purpose, as the Demon Lord’s Machine Princess, one of the generals of her small but growing empire. And of your own free will, you’ll help her enact the remodeling of humanity, until the Earth itself is but a distant memory.

Your Queen calls out to you, and you respond:

“We were born to share this rage(joy)…”
“With everyone who isn’t us!”

---

You emerge from between your Queen’s legs, slowly reconstituting yourself into a feminine form as your body mass separates from the former insect’s. Oh, you could stay in there forever…

Your Queen’s hive smells of love, of steel and rubber, of pheromones and drugs, and this small chamber already has a mold coated with a dry layer of latex within. She walks over to it as you make yourself knees so you can kneel to her, kneel before…

ah, what is that?

Cables and wires part, showing the vague impression of a woman embedded inside. Faint moans can be heard from her, delicious moans, that make you almost jealous of what must be happening to her…

“This is Noriko,” your Queen whispers as she approaches, her tail stretching as she walks behind you, hands on your shoulders as she continues to pour slime into the mold. “My dearest mother, my Eve. She’s lovely, don’t you think?”

It’s a woman with purple skin and massive, curling horns like Rita’s, with wires and cables and tubes embedded within her. Her breasts are massive, engorged, and her nipples have turned to fuckable holes that machine-tentacles seem all too eager to pull milk from. She’s blindfolded and her nose is turned up with hooks, her mouth briefly freed from suckling on a flesh-machine tentacle to lick her lips and show the Demon Lord’s seal on her tongue as well as her mound of Venus. Her cunt spreads open and a huge toy emerges from it, twitching as it’s followed by a tentacle from her pregnant belly. Ah…

it looks so inviting…

“She’s an astrosociologist, you know. And a vital part of the hive’s network, managing it though her brain. Her body is a seedbed for tentacles and monstrous transformations – the slime I used on you came from her womb!” Rita licks her lips, and she walks over to give Noriko a deep, passionate kiss, the woman not showing any sign of discomfort from her status as being literally a component of the hive…to the point where her arms and legs end in cable tentacles rather than limbs, no doubt easily replaced by robotic appendages should she ever deign or need to move. “I think you and her would get along wonderfully. Doesn’t her womb look like an amazing place to sleep?”

O-oh dear. Your Queen knows all your fetishes…well, you should’ve expected as much. Not simply kindred spirits, but it must’ve been so effortless for her to rifle through your data, even your mind and soul. When you offered no resistance to her, because you knew this was what you wanted the most.

You don’t answer with words.

Instead, your body loses cohesion, and your slime simply runs along the floor, flowing up the cables and wires toward Noriko’s demonic skin, licking up the toxins over it before you push inside her cunt and into her womb, taking up residence in the warmest and safest place you can find, finding solace among the tentacles and cables within yet to be born from Noriko’s flesh.

And you go dormant, letting yourself fully relax inside a warmth comparable to the Demon Lord’s herself. You have much to do, after all. Next week is the cultural festival for the Pedersen College, and you need to ensure your Queen has a booth ready to show the glory of monsters to the insects, and offer them a chance to join you in abandoning humanity for the sake of outer space.

As the slime drooling from Rita’s tail fills the mold, and is covered with a featureless non-face of a head, you entirely reside within Noriko’s machine womb, and your core interfaces with her very thoughts.

As the two of you show your souls to one another, you feel comfort at finding a kindred spirit, and decide right then and there that Noriko will be your own personal bed. Your Queen rubs Noriko’s belly as cables fill her holes once more, and finally, you are both content.

Glory to the Demon Lord.

And glory to her future banner, the Machine Empire. 🖤