Edda walked naked.
The morning was still gray, the sun not yet over the ridge, the dew heavy on the grass. Her feet were bare on the wet ground. Her white hair was loose, falling across her muscular shoulders in thick, damp ropes. Her body was marked — the bruises of a week, the finger-shaped impressions on her hips, the bite marks on her shoulders and her tits, the faint, persistent redness of her anal ring that had become a permanent feature of her lower body.
She walked with the stiff dignity of a warrior who had been used thoroughly and had decided that dignity was still available to her regardless.
She found him at the edge of the clearing.
He was seated on a fallen log, his elbows on his knees, looking at the tree line. The other women were sleeping behind her in the grass and the roots. The fire had gone to coals.
She arrived in front of him.
She spread her legs and lowered herself to the ground. She sat. Her thick thighs spread wide on the grass. Her cunt was still leaking. It had been leaking all night — the accumulated seed of seven days running from her in slow, warm streams that soaked the grass beneath her. She reached down. Her fingers found the wet, seed-thick lips of her pussy. She rubbed. Not with arousal. With the absent, cataloguing touch of a body taking inventory of itself.
Her eyes found him.
She opened her mouth to speak.
Then her eyes moved downward.
His cock was out.
It hung between his thighs in the gray morning light. Half-hard. Glistening. The dark, heavy shaft that had rearranged her intestines and colonized her womb and broken her in ways she had not known she could be broken.
She looked at it.
She looked up at his face.
She pressed her palms against the grass and tried to rise.
Her waist seized.
The muscles — the deep, internal muscles that had been strained by a week of his cock pressing against organs that were not designed for twelve inches of demon — cramped. She sucked in a sharp breath. She lowered herself back to the grass. She pressed one hand against her lower belly.
"My apologies," she said. Her voice was steady. Warrior-steady. "Dragon Lord. It seems my body is not strong enough."
He looked at her.
He chuckled.
The sound was warm. Not mocking. The laugh of a man who found something genuinely amusing about the sight of a fifty-year-old dragon slayer trying to stand with the formal dignity of a soldier while her cunt leaked his seed onto the morning grass.
Especially, it was her who had arrived towards him with some expectations.
He stood.
He walked to her. He stopped. His cock hung in front of her face. The half-hard shaft was at eye level. The head was inches from her lips. The warmth of it radiated against her cheek. The smell — his smell, the dark and musky and overwhelming smell of a demon who had fucked six women for seven days — filled her nose.
She knew what he wanted.
Her cheek touched his shaft.
The skin was hot. The veins pulsed against her cheekbone. She turned her face slightly. Her mouth opened. Her tongue came out. She licked the underside of the head — a slow, steady drag from the ridge of the crown to the slit.
His hand rested on top of her head.
Not gripping. Not pulling. Just resting. The weight of his palm on her white hair.
"You have been trained well," he said.
She looked up at him.
From below. Her old eyes — the eyes that had killed drakes and fought bandit armies and watched her grandson grow up without a father — looked up from beneath heavy white lashes. Her mouth was open. The head of his cock was resting on her lower lip. She held his gaze.
She looked like a warrior.
A warrior who had been tamed like a beast. Who had accepted the taming and had not diminished. Who was kneeling in morning dew with a demon’s cock on her lip and was somehow still the most formidable thing in the clearing.
His cock twitched.
She felt it against her lip. The pulse of it. She licked the head again. She felt his hand tighten slightly in her hair — not rough, just responsive. She pressed her lips against the slit. She suckled gently. The taste of salt and the week’s accumulated seed filled her mouth.
He looked at the tree line.
"Let’s go," he said.
He grabbed her hair.
Not hard. But purposeful. She cried out softly as he pulled her to her feet. Her waist protested. She ignored it. Her muscular body unfolded from the ground with the stiff, determined motion of a woman refusing to let her body dictate her posture.
He grabbed her waist.
He pulled her against him. His cock pressed between her thighs. The thick shaft slid into the space between her legs — not inside her, but resting there. The heat of it burned against her inner thighs. The head pressed against her lower belly. She was sitting on it like a saddle. It was as thick as her forearm. It acted like a rod between her legs.
She gripped his shoulders.
She felt how hard it was. The girth pressing against the soft, seed-wet lips of her cunt. She was not penetrated. But the pressure was direct and warm and her body responded to it immediately — the walls of her cunt contracting, the entrance pressing downward against the shaft, trying to take it, trying to claim what had claimed her all week.
He walked.
She moved with him. Her feet barely touched the ground. He held her waist. His cock was between her thighs. She floated in his grip like something carried. Like something claimed.
She looked at his face.
He was looking forward. The tree line was ahead. The gray morning was lifting. The first light was touching the tops of the trees in pale gold. He walked with the unhurried authority of a man who always knew where he was going.
She looked at his profile. The clean jaw. The dark eyes. The beautiful, inhuman face that had been the last thing she had seen before losing consciousness every night for seven nights.
She felt her cunt twitch against his shaft.
She closed her eyes.
Memories arrived.
The first day, when he had fucked her over the training ground fence while she called the sword forms. The humiliation of it. The way her voice had cracked on the fourth count and the women had looked at her with wide eyes. The way her body had betrayed her — the sounds she had made, the way her hips had pushed back, the way the walls of her cunt had gripped him despite fifty years of warrior discipline telling them not to.
The third day, when he had taken her in front of the village water well.
She had not known anyone was there. She had been bent over the stone rim with his cock in her anal and her face against the cold stone and her tits swinging below her when she had heard footsteps. She had turned her head. A woman with a water jug had been standing ten paces away, frozen, her jug hanging from her hand, her eyes wide and fixed on the place where Raven’s cock was driving into the dragon slayer’s ass.
Edda had pressed her face back into the stone.
He had not stopped.
PAH PAH PAH—
"AAAAAANGHH~!! HNGHH~!! KYAAANGH~!!"
The woman with the jug had stood there for three full minutes before she had turned and walked away very quickly without looking back. Edda had heard her footsteps receding. She had felt the shame of it burning through her. She had pushed back anyway.
The fifth day. He had taken her face-up in the shallow river, the water running around them, her back on the smooth river stones and his cock driving down into her cunt at an angle that pressed against the front wall with each thrust. She had screamed at the sky. The birds had left the trees. The water had been cold on her back and he had been hot inside her and the combination had been the most overwhelming sensation she had experienced in fifty years.
She had called him master for the first time.
She had not meant to. It had come out between screams — not a word she had chosen but a word her body had selected because the concept of him had become too large for any other title.
"Master— hah— master— HAH— I cannot— hah— more— hah—"
He had not stopped. He had fucked her until the river ran pink with the seed he had pumped into her and then she had lain in the current for twenty minutes while the water washed her clean.
She opened her eyes.
The scenery was different.
She looked around.
The trees were gone. The grass was gone. The morning air was gone. The air here was hot. Not warm. Hot. The kind of heat that pressed against the skin like a flat iron. The rock beneath them was black and cracked and leaked orange light from the cracks. The sky above was the same pale gray morning sky but the ground was not the dead zone anymore.
It was a lava field.
’Wh-what am I even thinking?!~’ She was embarrassed to realize that she was daydreaming, recalling the memories that had transpired with her over the past few days.
’DAMN IT~~!!’