Chapter 99: 15.1.3 x
The collar arrived a week later. It came not by post, but in a small, unadorned wooden box that appeared on Gabriel’s desk while he was reviewing a complaint from the Seraphim Choir about improperly filed hymnody permits. He set his quill down, wiped his fingers on a rag, and opened the lid.
Inside, nestled on black velvet, was a band of darkened mithril. It was deceptively simple: a perfect, seamless circle. The metal was dull, not shiny, and seemed to swallow the light from the window. Etched into its inner surface was a line of Enochian script, tiny and precise. Gabriel traced it with a fingertip, his lips moving silently. My claim, my keeping. He smiled, a private, satisfied thing.
He didn’t summon Koen immediately. He let the afternoon wear on, let the half-demon finish his tasks—cleaning his guns in the yard, chopping wood with violent, efficient swings. He watched him from the study window, observing the easy strength in his shoulders, the focused scowl on his face. It was a portrait of rugged independence. Soon, it would be a portrait of his.
When the sun dipped behind the pines, casting the cottage in long blue shadows, Gabriel called out, “Koen. Up here.”
Boots thumped on the stairs. Koen appeared in the doorway, smelling of gun oil and pine sap, a smudge of dirt on his cheek. “Yeah?”
Gabriel held up the box. “It’s ready.”
Koen’s orange eyes fixed on it. All his casual ease evaporated. He stood very still, his fingers twitching at his sides. The fluster was there, a pink warmth creeping up his neck, but beneath it was a steadier current of anticipation. He entered the room and closed the door behind him without being asked.
“Kneel,” Gabriel said, his voice quiet.
Koen did, sinking to the floor before the desk with a familiarity that was already becoming habit. He kept his gaze lowered, but his attention was riveted on the wooden box.
Gabriel lifted the collar from its velvet bed. In the dimming light, the etched script seemed to swim just beneath the metal’s surface. “This is not jewelry,” he said. “It is a statement. It will lock. There is no clasp. Once it is on, it comes off only by my will or my hand. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” The title came more easily now, a low rumble in Koen’s chest.
“It is also enchanted. It will not hamper you in a fight. It will not choke you if you transform. It is keyed to my grace. It will always feel like my hand is here.” Gabriel reached out and pressed his palm against the side of Koen’s throat, feeling the jump of his pulse. “Do you still want it?”
Koen leaned into the touch, his eyes closing for a second. “Yes, sir. I do.”
“Then receive it.”
Gabriel stepped around the desk. Koen tilted his head back, exposing the long line of his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. The submission was total, and it sent a sharp thrill through Gabriel’s veins. He brought the cool circle of metal to Koen’s skin.
The moment it touched him, Koen shuddered. As Gabriel fitted it around his neck, the ends meeting seamlessly, there was a soft, definitive click, like a well-made lock engaging. The collar adjusted itself, sitting snug against the base of Koen’s throat, not tight enough to restrict, but with an undeniable, constant pressure. The inner script flared once, a warm golden light that seeped into Koen’s skin before fading, leaving the metal dark and inert-looking again.
A full-body shiver wracked Koen. He gasped, his hands flying up to touch the band. His fingers explored the smooth, cool surface, the perfect join.
“How does it feel?” Gabriel asked, returning to his chair, watching him.
“Heavy,” Koen breathed. Then he corrected himself, his voice filled with awe. “Yours. It feels… like yours.”
“Good.” Gabriel picked up his quill again, dipping it in ink. “Now, you will wear it for the rest of the evening. You will perform your duties. You will feel its weight. You will come to understand that your autonomy is now a conditional gift, one I can revoke at any moment by my mere presence. Go and finish preparing supper.”
Koen rose, his movements slightly uncoordinated, as if learning his balance all over again. His hand kept straying to his neck. He left the study, and Gabriel listened to the sounds of him moving in the kitchen below—the clatter of a pot, the strike of a flint—all underscored by the new, silent reality of the collar.
During the meal, Koen was quiet. He picked at his stew, his focus internal. Every few minutes, his fingers would brush the mithril band. Gabriel ate leisurely, making casual remarks about the overly formal phrasing in a memo from the Department of Eternal Gates. He watched Koen’s non-answers, his distracted nods. The collar was working. It was pulling Koen into himself, into the role, wrapping his simple, direct mind around a complex abstraction: owned.
After they ate, Koen automatically began to clear the plates. As he leaned over the table to take Gabriel’s bowl, the archangel’s hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of his hair. It wasn’t cruel, but it was utterly controlling. Koen froze, bent over the table, his breath hitching.
“The service doesn’t pause for mundane tasks,” Gabriel said, his voice conversational. “It is the mundane task. You are not just cleaning. You are serving. You will learn to feel my claim in the scrape of a plate, in the washing of a cup.” He tightened his grip, forcing Koen’s head back a little. “Do you feel it now?”
“Yes, sir,” Koen whispered, his eyes glazing over.
“Finish. Then join me in the bedroom.”
Gabriel released him and stood, walking away without a backward glance. He left Koen trembling by the table, the dirty dishes forgotten for a long moment before the half-demon began to move again, his cleaning now infused with a frantic, worshipful energy.
Upstairs, Gabriel lit a single lamp. He shed his clothes, folding them neatly over a chair. He didn’t assume his true form. Tonight was about the symbol, not the scale. He stood by the bed, waiting.
Koen arrived minutes later. He’d shed his own shirt and boots. The collar gleamed dully against his tan skin in the lamplight. He stopped just inside the door, waiting.
“Come here,” Gabriel said. “Inspect your god.”
Koen approached slowly. His eyes traveled over Gabriel’s naked form—the lean muscle, the flawless skin, the already thickening cock. He dropped to his knees without being told this time, the movement natural, inevitable.
“Touch.”
Koen’s hands lifted. They were calloused and strong from handling steel and wood. They looked brutally out of place as they came to rest with exquisite tentativeness on Gabriel’s thighs. He mapped the skin, his touches growing more confident, moving up to his hips, his stomach. He leaned forward and pressed his face into the blonde trail of hair at Gabriel’s groin, inhaling deeply. A low, unbidden sound, almost a whine, escaped him.
“You want to suck me,” Gabriel stated, carding his fingers through Koen’s ashen hair.
“Yes, sir.”
“Do it.”
Koen’s mouth was hot and desperate. He took Gabriel’s length in eagerly, his demonic canines a tantalizing threat along the sides. He was unpracticed but fiercely attentive, his tongue working the underside, his head bobbing with a clumsy sincerity that was more arousing than any skilled technique. He gagged once, tears springing to his eyes, and pushed forward again, taking him deeper.
Gabriel let him work, watching the mithril collar press into the flesh of his throat with each movement. The sight of it, of his mark in motion, was profoundly possessive. He let the pleasure build, a tight coil in his gut.
“Enough,” he finally said, pulling Koen off by the hair.
A string of saliva connected Koen’s lips to Gabriel’s cock. He panted, looking wrecked and beautiful.
“On the bed. On your hands and knees. Present yourself.”
Koen scrambled onto the mattress, assuming the position with an eager submissiveness that made Gabriel’s blood pound. He was exposed, vulnerable, his head bowed between his shoulders. The pale lamplight caressed the lines of his back, the curve of his ass. Gabriel climbed onto the bed behind him. He didn’t prepare him. The collar’s enchantment, the week of psychological conditioning, the raw want—it was preparation enough.
He spat once into his palm, slicking himself, and then pressed the head of his cock against Koen’s entrance.
“This is your purpose now,” Gabriel growled, and pushed in.
Koen cried out, a raw, open-throated sound as he was filled in one brutal, steady thrust. It was tight, almost painfully so, but Koen’s body yielded, forced open by the invasion. Gabriel sheathed himself to the hilt, his pelvis slapping against Koen’s ass. He held there, buried in the clutching, searing heat.
“Fuck,” Koen sobbed, his claws tearing at the quilt beneath him. “Oh, fuck, sir…”
“You are a vessel,” Gabriel said, beginning to move. His thrusts were deep and punishing, each one driving Koen forward on the bed. “A tool for my pleasure. Your thoughts are irrelevant. Your wants are mine to interpret. Your body is mine to use. You are owned.” He punctuated each declaration with a savage snap of his hips.
The room filled with the sounds of it: the wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin, Koen’s choked cries, the creak of the bedframe. Gabriel gripped Koen’s hips hard enough to bruise, his fingers digging into the demon-strong muscle. He leaned over, his mouth close to the collar. “You feel this?” he hissed, thrusting deep. “You feel this ring on your throat and know what you are?”
“Yours!” Koen wailed, the word torn from him. “I’m yours, sir, please—”
“What do you beg for? You have nothing left to ask for. I am taking everything.”
“More,” Koen babbled, mindless. “Just… more. Use me more.”
Gabriel laughed, a dark, delighted sound. He fucked him harder, faster, the pace becoming merciless. Koen’s cries melted into a continuous, gutted moan. His own cock swung hard and leaking beneath him, untouched. The collar was a band of fire, a focal point for all the sensation, a physical anchor for his surrender.
Gabriel could feel his own control slipping. The sight of his property so thoroughly used, so completely broken into bliss, was overwhelming. He grabbed a fistful of Koen’s hair again, yanking his head back, arching his spine into a deeper, more vulnerable curve. The new angle made Koen scream.
“Cum for me,” Gabriel commanded, his voice ragged. “Cum untouched, like the obedient thing you are.”
It was an impossible order, and yet Koen’s body, wound so tightly around Gabriel’s will, obeyed. With a shattered shout, he came, stripes of release painting the bedding beneath him, his internal muscles clamping down in violent, rhythmic spasms around Gabriel’s cock.
The sensation tipped Gabriel over the edge. He drove in one final, crushing time, his own release pumping hot and deep into Koen’s clutching channel. He groaned, a long, low sound of pure satisfaction, as he emptied himself, claiming the interior as thoroughly as the collar claimed the exterior.
For a minute, there was only the sound of their labored breathing. Gabriel slowly pulled out, watching himself drip from Koen’s well-used hole. Koen collapsed onto his side, boneless and trembling, his eyes unfocused.
Gabriel lay down beside him, pulling him close. He ran his fingers over the collar, then gently around the reddened, sensitive rim of Koen’s ass. Koen flinched, then pressed back into the touch.
“You did well,” Gabriel murmured into his hair. The praise was simple, but it made Koen shudder anew.
“The collar…” Koen mumbled, his voice hoarse.
“What about it?”
“It… it felt like you were here,” Koen said, touching his own throat. “And here.” He gestured weakly behind himself. “Both. The whole time.”
“That’s the point.” Gabriel kissed his temple. “Sleep. You’ll wear it through tomorrow, too. You’ll wear it until I decide otherwise.”
Koen nodded, his eyes already closing. He nuzzled into Gabriel’s chest, a contented, animal sound rumbling in his throat. The weight of the mithril was a comfort, a boundary, a prayer. In the flickering lamplight, the enchanted script seemed to pulse once, faintly, in time with Gabriel’s slowing heartbeat: My claim, my keeping. Outside, an owl called from the pines. The world, with its bounties and its letters, its politics and its violence, waited. But in the cottage, a servant slept in the arms of his god, and the new shape of their world held firm.
Sunlight, sharp and judgmental, pierced the bedroom window. Koen woke to its insistent heat on his face and the unfamiliar, cool weight settled permanently against his throat. He blinked, the memories of the previous night coalescing: the click of the lock, the brutal claiming, the praise whispered in the dark.
Gabriel’s side of the bed was empty. Koen touched the mithril band. It felt less alien in the daylight, more like a part of his anatomy. He dressed slowly, his body humming with a deep, pleasant ache. Downstairs, Gabriel was at the kitchen table, a spread of celestial parchments before him.
“You’re up late,” Gabriel said, not looking up from a densely worded missive. “The sun’s been up for hours. I’ve dealt with three separate administrative crises from the Cloudburst Division.
“Sorry,” Koen mumbled, heading for the coffee pot. The word felt automatic, but the collar made it taste different. It wasn’t just an apology for sleeping in. It was an apology for his god having to handle things alone.
“Don’t be sorry. Be useful.” Gabriel finally glanced over. His eyes tracked to the collar, a flicker of satisfaction in the blue. “The stove needs ash cleaned. Do it quietly. My concentration is fractured enough by their execrable grammar.”
“Yes, sir.” The title slipped out, easy and right in the privacy of their kitchen. Koen set his coffee down, untouched, and went to fetch the ash bucket.
This was different. He knelt by the iron stove, carefully scooping the fine grey powder. There was no sexual charge in the air, just the quiet crackle of parchment and the soft scrape of his shovel. The submission was in the chore itself, in the deliberate care he took to not clang the metal, in the way he disposed of the ashes exactly as Gabriel preferred, dampening them first.
He finished and washed his hands at the pump. “It’s done.”
“Your coffee’s cold.” Gabriel waved a hand, and a curl of steam rose from Koen’s mug across the room. “Sit. Drink.”
Koen sat, cradling the warmed mug. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty. It was full of the new dynamic, settling into its corners. Gabriel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“This petitioner believes his allocated cloud shape—a bunny, apparently—is derogatory. He’s filed seventeen feet of scrollwork on the psychological impact.” He pushed the parchment away. “It’s enough to make one renounce divinity and take up blacksmithing.”
“You’d be a terrible blacksmith,” Koen said before he could stop himself. He froze, eyes widening.
Gabriel looked at him, his expression unreadable. Then a slow smile spread across his face. It wasn’t the cruel, possessive smile from the night before. It was lighter, genuinely amused. “Probably. I lack the patience for hot metal. I prefer shaping more… responsive materials.”
Koen’s face heated, and he took a gulp of coffee to hide it. The fluster was still there, a familiar friend, but it happened within the container of the collar now. It belonged to Gabriel, too.
“Today,” Gabriel announced, leaning back. “We explore the width of this. Not just the height. The boring parts.”
“The boring parts?”
“Service isn’t all kneeling and fucking, Koen. It’s anticipation. It’s tedious tasks performed with a specific mindset.” He gestured to the chaotic desk in his study, visible through the open door. “I require organization. A system. You will provide one.”
Koen stared at the leaning towers of scrolls, the loose sheets, the ink pots and sealing wax. “I don’t know your filing system.”
“I don’t have one. That’s the problem. You will create one. You will ask questions. You will learn what ‘Correspondence, Class VII: Inter-Dimensional Grievances’ looks like versus ‘Class III: Internal Hymnody.’ You will touch every paper in that room with the understanding that you are handling the workings of Heaven for me.” Gabriel’s tone was matter-of-fact. “It will be frustrating. You will get it wrong. I will correct you. That is the work.”
An hour later, Koen stood adrift in a sea of celestial paperwork. He held two nearly identical scrolls. “This one’s about a dispute over harp string tension. This one’s about… glow intensity for newly minted guardian halos?” He looked desperately at Gabriel, who was lounging in the doorway. “They sound the same. They’re both complaints about stuff that breaks.”
“One is Liturgical Supplies, the other is Celestial Infrastructure,” Gabriel said, not unkindly. “Your initial grouping by theme is not entirely inept. Now subdivide.”
Koen grunted, creating two new piles. The work was mentally exhausting in a way tracking a bounty through a swamp was not. It required a precision of thought that made his head ache. But he kept going, his fingers brushing the enchanted metal at his neck. This was his task. His god had set it.
By midday, a rudimentary order began to emerge from the chaos. Koen, sweating and with a smudge of dust on his cheek, looked at the neatened stacks with a surge of primal satisfaction. Gabriel inspected his work, walking slowly around the desk.
“You used the empty munitions boxes from the cellar as separators.”
“They were the right size,” Koen said, defensive.
“It’s pragmatic. I approve.” Gabriel stopped behind him, his hands coming to rest on Koen’s shoulders. The touch was electric, a jolt of pure connection. “You see? Your strength isn’t just in your limbs. It’s in this—seeing a problem and building a functional solution. Even if it’s with gunpowder boxes.”
The praise, for this, for using his head, sank into Koen deeper than any carnal compliment. He leaned back into the touch.
“The dynamic is only here,” Gabriel murmured, his lips near Koen’s ear. “Behind these walls. When we walk out that door, you are just Koen. I am just Gabriel. The collar comes off. This,” he squeezed his shoulders, “stays in. A private architecture.”
Gabriel’s hands lingered for a moment longer on Koen’s shoulders, then withdrew, the warmth fading into the room’s cool air. “The work is acceptable. More than acceptable.” He surveyed the newly ordered desk, the munitions boxes creating a strange, sturdy taxonomy of celestial bureaucracy. “You used your mind. I am… pleased.”
Koen stood a little straighter at the word. Pleased. It vibrated in the metal around his throat, a tangible reward. He wiped his dusty hands on his trousers, leaving grey streaks. “Wasn’t sure I could figure it out.”
“You listened. You adapted.” Gabriel’s gaze was assessing, warm. “Such obedience deserves a reward. A specific one.” He didn’t elaborate. He simply turned and walked out of the study, his footsteps firm on the wooden floor. The command was implicit in his retreating back.
Koen followed, his pulse a quickening drum against the collar. They didn’t speak on the stairs. The cottage held its breath around them. Gabriel entered the bedroom and crossed to the space beside the large bed, where the lamplight from the previous night had long since died. He turned to face Koen, his expression unreadable.
“Kneel in the center of the room.”
Koen did, the floorboards cool against his knees. He watched Gabriel’s face, the familiar features he knew so well: the sharp jaw, the combed blonde hair, the arrogant tilt of his mouth. Anticipation was a live wire under his skin.
“You fantasized about service to my true form,” Gabriel said, his voice low. “You dreamed of the scale. The impossible size. You have proven your devotion in mind and in body. Now you will experience the testament of that form. You will see what it is to truly be filled.”
There was no blinding eruption of light this time. The transformation was a subtle, terrifying dilation of reality. Gabriel didn’t change shape so much as the space around him reconfigured to accommodate a greater truth. He expanded, his height stretching upward until his head nearly brushed the sloped ceiling. His shoulders broadened, blocking the window. His human disguise melted away into the luminous, perfect skin of his divine aspect, the one Koen had only seen in fragments of dream and memory. He was twelve feet of contained power, twice Koen’s height, monumental in the confined bedroom.
Koen’s breath caught. It was the exact scale from his fantasy, but the living presence was overwhelming. The heat radiating from Gabriel’s skin was like standing near a forge. The scent of ozone and amber intensified, clogging Koen’s senses. He had to crane his neck to look up at the face far above him, those light blue eyes now the size of his palms, watching him with divine focus.
“Stand,” the archangel rumbled, his voice a layered vibration in the air.
Koen rose on shaky legs. He felt profoundly small, not a toy, but a devotee before an altar. His eyes travelled down the colossal form, over the defined pectorals, the ridges of the abdomen, and further down. His mouth went dry.
Everything had doubled. Gabriel’s cock, hard and thick against his lower belly, was a formidable piece of flesh. At thirteen inches and twice the girth of his human form, it was a severe, intimidating reality. The head was broad and flushed, a plum-like curve that made Koen’s own cock twitch in sympathetic, daunted awareness.
“Touch it,” Gabriel commanded. “Appreciate the reward.”
Koen’s hands, so capable with a pistol, felt clumsy and childish. He stepped forward, the top of his head now level with Gabriel’s navel. He wrapped both hands around the shaft. His fingers didn’t touch. The skin was hot silk over a granite-hard core. He stroked upward, a worshipper at a monolith. Precome beaded at the slit, a clear, viscous pearl. Koen, acting on an impulse deeper than thought, leaned in and licked it away. The taste was sharp, electric.
“Good boy,” Gabriel murmured, the praise from above like a benediction. “Now, the bed. On your back. Legs open. Let me see the vessel.”
Koen scrambled onto the quilt, lying back as instructed. He felt exposed in a new way, his body a landscape laid out for divine survey. Gabriel loomed over the bed, one knee sinking the mattress beside Koen’s hip. The size difference was absolute. Koen was not a doll to be palmed, but he was undeniably, consumingly smaller.
“You will feel every inch,” Gabriel said, his hand—now large enough to span Koen’s chest—coming down to press against his sternum. It wasn’t a restraint, just a statement of scale. “You will feel where I end and you begin. You will watch yourself take me.”
He guided his cock down with his other hand, the broad head nudging against Koen’s entrance. There was no spit, no preparation beyond the dizzying psychological surrender. Gabriel pushed.
The breach was a slow, excruciating conquest. Koen cried out, a sharp, torn sound, as his body was forced open far beyond its natural limits. His demonic healing flared instantly, tissues screaming as they stretched and repaired, stretched and repaired, in a frantic attempt to accommodate the invasion. It burned, a blinding, full-bodied stretch that stole his vision in white sparks. He could feel the massive head pop past his rim, an impossible fullness beginning its deep, internal slide.
“Fuck! Fuck, sir, it’s—it’s too much—” Koen babbled, his claws shredding the sheets.
“It is exactly enough,” Gabriel corrected, his voice strained with his own effort. He pushed deeper, relentless, an unyielding advance.
Koen could see it. He looked down his own body, past the collar, past his heaving chest, and watched the thick, veined column of Gabriel’s cock disappear into him. And he saw more. As Gabriel sheathed another impossible inch, a distinct bulge began to distend Koen’s lower abdomen. It was a rounded, obscene protrusion, the outline of the archangel’s cockhead pressing out from the inside, making Koen’s stomach swell unnaturally.
“Oh my god,” Koen whimpered, horrified and rapt. He spread his legs wider, a mute plea for more, his hand fluttering down to press against the bulge. He could feel the solid, hot shape of Gabriel inside him, stretching his very core.
“That’s it,” Gabriel groaned, his hips meeting Koen’s ass finally, fully sheathed. He was buried to the root, his pubic bone grinding against Koen’s ravished hole. The distension in Koen’s stomach was pronounced, a firm, pregnant curve. “Look at that. Look at what you’re taking for me. You’re so fucking deep on my cock you’re wearing it.”
He began to move. Withdrawing was a long, dragging agony of reversed fullness that made Koen sob. The thrust back in was a claiming, a brutal re-occupation that jolted his whole body and made the bulge in his stomach reappear with every deep drive. The rhythm was punishing, each stroke a conscious, devastating act of possession.
“You’re remaking me,” Koen choked out, his eyes rolling back.
“I am defining you,” Gabriel grunted, his control fraying with each wet, slapping impact. His larger hands pinned Koen’s hips down, holding him open for the brutal piston of his hips. “This is your shape now. Hollowed out for me. Stretched for me. Mine.”
The friction was unbearable, a fire lit along every nerve. Koen’s own cock, neglected and trapped between their bodies, leaked steadily onto his own stomach. The visual of his own distorted abdomen, rising and falling with Gabriel’s thrusts, undid him. His climax ripped through him without a single touch, a silent, convulsing eruption that painted his chest and chin with stripes of white. His channel clamped down in vise-like spasms around the massive intrusion, which only drove Gabriel harder, faster.
“Gonna fill you,” Gabriel snarled, his divine composure shattered. “Gonna pump you so full of my cum you’ll taste it for days. You’ll carry the proof.”
His thrusts lost rhythm, becoming frantic, deep, jarring slams. With a roar that shook the windowpanes, Gabriel slammed home and held, his huge body shuddering.
Koen felt the first jet. It was hot, volcanic, a flood of liquid claiming him internally. The second pulse made him gasp as the already distended bulge in his stomach swelled further, rounding out, pushing outward. Gabriel kept cumming, a seemingly endless reservoir, each powerful spurt adding to the volume stuffed inside Koen’s confined space.
When it was over, Koen looked three months gone. His lower belly was rounded, taut, and full, the skin stretched shiny. The weight of it was immense, a sloshing, hot pressure that pinned him to the bed. Gabriel, breathing raggedly, slowly pulled out. The withdrawal was a gushing, messy affair, followed by a quiet, continuous leak that soaked the bedding beneath him.
Gabriel shrank back to his human form, the process quicker this time, a sigh of released power. He collapsed onto the bed beside Koen, his skin sheened with sweat. He stared at the pronounced curve of Koen’s stomach, his expression one of raw, awestruck possession. He laid a gentle hand over the swell.
Koen could only breathe in shallow, careful pants. The internal pressure was astounding, a constant, heated reminder. His healing factor was already working to absorb the inhuman volume, but it would take time. He turned his head, his eyes meeting Gabriel’s.
“Reward,” Koen whispered, the word a mangled, satisfied thing.
Gabriel’s arrogant smirk returned, softer at the edges. He leaned over and kissed Koen’s sweaty temple, his hand still resting on the filled, rounded proof of their union. “The first of many,” he promised, his voice already slipping into the casual tone of the morning, though his eyes remained dark with the aftermath of power.
koen finished organizing the papers. gabriel decides to reward koen by allowing him to service his true form. he leads koen to the bedroom and then transforms. when gabriel is in his true form he’s twice as tall as koen. gabriel is not gigantic, he can’t pick up koen with one hand. everything from gabriel’s human form to his true form doubles, for example his cock is 6.5in in his human form while in his true form it’s 13in and twice as thick. when gabriel fucks koen in his true form his cock distends koen’s stomach from how big it is. when gabriel pumps his giant load into koen it makes koen look three months pregnant from how much cum there is stuffed inside him