The flames were licking at Melona's feet as she struggled to free herself from her bonds. Before her, she saw a woman in flowing robes reading from a scroll. One end of it was held in her hand, and the other end had fallen to the ground, leaving an untold number of yards of vellum for the man to read.
"Melona Pearsly," said the woman. "You are hereby condemned to burn for your many crimes. We, the people of all gods-fearing nations, charge you with
"Consorting with dark powers!
"Self-transformation to unite with infernal forces!
"Corruption of young women!
"Corruption of your teachers!
"Use of your school, your society, and your world as a toy for your desire for power and carnal lusts!"
The woman continued for what felt like hours, detailing a decades-long campaign of corruption and depravity. Melona tuned her out as she realized that the flames were remaining where they were. They didn't seem to produce any smoke, either. Wasn't that how burning at the stake was supposed to work? You died of smoke inhalation, then your corpse burned? Melona could swear that--
"Melona Pearsly!" shouted the woman. She was looking at the flames as well. Melona could tell that she thinking the same thing. That settled it, then. Everyone knew that Melona was supposed to have died hours ago, and yet hadn't. Though she tried to hide it, the woman was clearly afraid.
Melona felt a pleasant tingle as she registered the woman's fear.
"Melona Pearsly, spawn of all that is unholy, how do you plead?"
With a ripping of ropes and a splintering of wood, a pair of black leathery wings burst from Melona's back, freeing her. The world below rushed away as she flew--no, grew-- into the heavens. She towered above the assembled masses, who stretched for miles in all directions. Below her, she could see a valley of cleavage between breasts that could crush a nation.
"I plead guilty."
It came out as a whisper, not from Melona's mouth, but from her very being. It rippled through the air, silencing the cries of anger and outrage from the droning throng below.
"I have done everything you have said," said Melona. "And I have done more." She smiled. "Now, I shall pass my judgment on you."
The silence turned to cries of fear.
"I accuse you of having ideas above your station," said Melona. "Of calling yourselves people." The crowd began to raise off of the ground, and their screams of fear became louder, and, to Melona, more arousing. "Of trying to deny me my birthrights of pleasure, adoration, fear and power. Of lying to yourselves." The crowd rushed in towards her, like water flowing downhill into a bottomless cavern. They passed through her skin, becoming one with her as they ceased to be. "Of claiming that you don't want to be ruled, or enslaved, or drained of your souls." A rush sounded in Melona's ears as her castle-sized heart pumped faster, sending ichor through her still-growing body. "I accuse you of being nothing but toys for my lust." The screaming was within Melona now, the cries of millions sending vibrations throughout her body. Each cry of fear and agony filled her with enough pleasure to send her former self to her knees a million times over, but it still wasn't enough. "I judge you guilty and condemn you. I condemn you all!"
The final remnants of the crowd had been absorbed into Melona, and still she grew. She could feel her curves arcing out further and further as she towered taller still, her face rushing towards the sun. It offended her, cast a pall on the pleasure that surged throughout her. She would need to snuff it out. Smother it between her tits, or drown it in her soaking pussy, or just consume it entirely. With that, she could be momentarily satisfied, she could reach the orgasm she so desperately needed, the first of the infinite, nation-destroying climaxes that she deserved, and--
Melona woke up to find daylight flooding in through the window, her hand shoved down her panties, and the overwhelming feeling of guilt within her. She had the world-destroying orgasm dream again. The worst thing about it, she considered, was that she never got to finish. If she had to be history's greatest monster in her dreams, she'd at least like to get off. She couldn't do that now; in the light of day and under the stare of her own conscience, cumming seemed impossible. No, she'd just have to go to class pent-up and hopefully she'd either calm down after failing yet again, or she'd find the time and peace of mind to eke out a bland, disappointing orgasm.
It was then that--
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