Both hands. Both breasts. His fingers sank. He groped. He kneaded. He lifted. The heavy, massive mounds. He weighed them in his hands. The density. The fullness. The sheer, physical weight of the flesh. He pulled. The nipples stretched. The breasts elongated. He let go. The flesh settled. The ripple — the wave that traveled through the mounds — was visible.
"Hahh... m-my lord... your hands... they are..." she moaned. Her voice was low. The voice of a woman whose breasts are being groped and who is — enjoying it. Against her will. Against her reason. Against everything she has been for a hundred years.
His mouth found her nipple.
He leaned. His mouth went to the dark, large peak. His lips sealed. He sucked. The nipple — stiff, elongated, the flesh hot — was in his mouth. His tongue worked. His teeth grazed.
"Ahhh—!!" she moaned. Her hand went to his head. Her large, clawed hand. Her fingers — the scaled fingers — went to his black hair. She held. Not pushing. Holding. The gesture of a woman whose nipple is being sucked and who does not want it to stop.
"Hahh... that... feels... my lord... I have never... no one has ever..."
The words. The confession. The admission that no one — in a hundred years — had touched her like this. Had sucked her. Had kissed her. Had held her. The admission that she was — untouched. Untried. Despite her age. Despite her power. Despite everything. She was — a virgin. In everything but the cave. In everything but the one act that he had taken from her.
His other hand went down.
Between her legs. Past the scales. Past the thighs. To the hair. The bushes. His fingers found the pubic hair. The thick, long, silky strands. He pulled. Not hard. A tug. The way he had done in the cave. The sensation — the tugging, the pulling — reached her. Her body jerked.
"Ahh—! W-What are you—"
His fingers went deeper.
Past the hair. To the lips. The pussy lips. The labia. He parted. The lips — thick, full — opened. The inner flesh — pink, wet, the juice already flowing — was visible. The clit — the swollen, stiff nub — peeked from the hood. His finger found it. He pressed.
"AAAAH—!!"
She screamed. The clit — the untouched, unstimulated, century-old clit — was pressed. The sensation — the direct, focused, intense pressure on the most sensitive part of her body — was — overwhelming. The pleasure — the raw, unfiltered, unprocessed pleasure — hit her. Like a wave. Like a storm. Like the ocean that she commanded.
"Hahh... hahh... w-what... is... this..." she gasped. Her body was shaking. Her legs — the thick, scaled legs — were trembling. The muscles — the muscles that could crush stone — were weak. The strength that had held her up for a century was — gone. Her knees buckled.
He caught her.
His arm around her waist. He held. She leaned. Against him. Her massive body — the weight, the size — was on him. He held her. Easily. The strength — his strength, the mana strength, the strength that was not human — was more than enough.
"Your pussy is wet," he said.
His voice was low. Direct. The observation of a man whose fingers are wet. Whose fingers are covered in the juice. The clear, thin, slick fluid that was on his fingertips. The evidence. The proof. The biological, physical, undeniable evidence that she was aroused. That her body — despite her mind, despite her pride, despite her century of control — wanted this.
She looked down.
At his hand. At his fingers. At the wetness. The clear fluid. On his skin. The evidence of her arousal. The thing that she could not deny. Could not hide. Could not explain away.
"I..." she whispered. Her voice was barely audible. "I cannot... control..."
"You do not need to control," he said.
His voice was warm. The voice from the massage table. The voice that said ’relax’. The voice that said ’breathe’. The voice that said ’you are beautiful’. The voice that had broken Revaone. The voice that was now breaking her.
He pushed her.
Against the wall. The marble. The cold stone against her scaled back. Her breasts — massive, heavy — pressed forward. Her hands went to the wall. Her claws found the stone. The marble cracked. The claws dug in. The instinct — the grip, the hold, the need to anchor — was the response of a being whose body is about to be — taken.
He lifted her leg.
One leg. The scaled leg. The thigh — thick, muscular — was in his hand. He lifted. The leg went up. The pussy — the hairy, wet, swollen pussy — was exposed. Open. The lips parted. The inner flesh visible. The opening — the vaginal opening, the canal that he had entered in the cave — was wet. Ready.
He released his cock.
From his trousers. The cock — twelve inches, human-proportioned, the default state — was hard. Erect. The head swollen. The shaft veined. He held it. In his hand. He stroked. Once. Twice. The pre-cum leaked. The clear fluid on the head.
He pressed.
The head against her opening. The wet, hot, slick flesh. The contact. The heat — his heat and her heat — meeting. The cock head against the pussy lips. Against the inner flesh. Against the entrance.
"Wait—" she gasped. Her hand went to his chest. Not pushing. Pleading. "Wait. I... last time... it was... I was not... awake. I did not... feel..."
"You will feel it now," he said.
He pushed.
The cock went in.
"AAAAHH—!!"
The scream. The same scream. From the cave. The scream of a being whose pussy is being filled. Whose walls are being stretched. Whose canal — the large, dragon-sized canal — is being filled by a cock that is — growing. The size modulation. The system. The cock expanded. Inside her. To match. To fill. The walls — which had been loose, open, unstimulated — were suddenly full. Stretched. The cock — the growing, expanding, adapting cock — filled every inch. Every fold. Every crevice.
"Hahh... ahh... i-it is... growing... inside me..." she gasped. Her eyes were wide. The sea-green. The pupils dilated. The sensation — the stretching, the filling, the growing — was new. In the cave, she had been asleep. She had not felt this. The entry. The stretching. The filling. She had felt only the impact. The pain. The violation. Now she felt — everything.
The texture.
The cock — the shaft, the veins, the head — was inside her. She could feel it. Every ridge. Every vein. Every pulse. The cock throbbed — the heartbeat, his heartbeat, transmitted through the shaft — and she felt it. Inside her. Against her walls. The walls — which had never been touched, which had never been stimulated — were feeling for the first time.
"My lord..." she moaned. Her voice was broken. "I can... feel you... inside me... every... part..."
He pulled back.
The cock slid out. Halfway. The walls — wet, slick, the juice flowing — gripped. The friction. The suction. The walls did not want to let go. The muscles — the vaginal muscles, the muscles that had never been used — clenched. Held. Gripped.
He slammed.
PAAH—
"AAAAAHH—!!"
The thrust. The cock went deep. To the cervix. The head — the swollen, large head — pressed against the cervix. The opening. The gate that he had broken two days ago. The gate that was — still healing. Still sore. Still sensitive.
"AHH—!! T-There... that spot... it is... HAAH—!!"