She screamed. The sensation — the head on the cervix, the pressure, the impact — was overwhelming. The cervix — the most sensitive part, the weakness that the system had identified — was hit. Directly. Precisely. The cock found the spot. The spot that no one had ever found. Because no one had ever been inside her. Because no one had ever — fucked her.
Except him.
PAH PAH PAH PAH—
He fucked her.
Against the wall. Her leg over his arm. His cock inside. His hips moving. The rhythm — fast, hard, deep. The sound — the slapping, the wet SCHLUK SCHLUK— of cock in pussy. The sound — her moans, her screams, her broken words.
"AAAAHH—!! HNNNGHH—!! KYAAANGH—!!"
"My lord—!! Hahh... y-your cock... i-it is... so... HAAH—!!"
"I-It is hitting... my... womb... again... AAANGH—!!"
"L-Like... in the cave... but... I can... feel it... now... HNNNGHH—!!"
The tears fell.
Down her cheeks. The dragon’s tears. The tears that she had not shed in a century. The tears that were — not from pain. Not from grief. From the overwhelming, devastating, annihilating pleasure. The pleasure that she had never felt. That she had never known. That she had never imagined.
"Hahh... my lord... is this... what it feels like... to be... fucked...?"
The question. Genuine. Sincere. The question of a woman who has lived for a hundred and twenty-seven years and who has never — never — been fucked. Who has never felt a cock inside her. Who has never felt the pleasure of penetration. Of friction. Of impact. Of the head against the cervix. Of the shaft stretching the walls. Of the balls slapping the ass.
"Yes," he said. His voice was low. Against her ear. "This is what it feels like."
PAH PAH PAH PAH PAH PAH—
"AAAAHH—!! HNNNGHH—!! KYAAANGH—!! HAAAAANGHH—!!"
She came.
The orgasm hit. Not slowly. Not gradually. Instantly. The way a storm hits. The way a wave hits. The cervix — the sensitive, healing, sore cervix — was hit. The pressure. The impact. The pleasure. The orgasm — the first real orgasm, the first conscious orgasm, the first orgasm that she felt — erupted.
"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH—!!!"
She screamed. The sensation — the head on the cervix, the pressure, the impact — was overwhelming. The cervix — the most sensitive part, the weakness that the system had identified — was hit. Directly. Precisely. The cock found the spot. The spot that no one had ever found. Because no one had ever been inside her. Because no one had ever — fucked her.
Except him.
PAH PAH PAH PAH—
He fucked her.
Against the wall. Her leg over his arm. His cock inside. His hips moving. The rhythm — fast, hard, deep. The sound — the slapping, the wet SCHLUK SCHLUK— of cock in pussy. The sound — her moans, her screams, her broken words.
"AAAAHH—!! HNNNGHH—!! KYAAANGH—!!"
"My lord—!! Hahh... y-your cock... i-it is... so... HAAH—!!"
"I-It is hitting... my... womb... again... AAANGH—!!"
"L-Like... in the cave... but... I can... feel it... now... HNNNGHH—!!"
The tears fell.
Down her cheeks. The dragon’s tears. The tears that she had not shed in a century. The tears that were — not from pain. Not from grief. From the overwhelming, devastating, annihilating pleasure. The pleasure that she had never felt. That she had never known. That she had never imagined.
"Hahh... my lord... is this... what it feels like... to be... fucked...?"
The question. Genuine. Sincere. The question of a woman who has lived for a hundred and twenty-seven years and who has never — never — been fucked. Who has never felt a cock inside her. Who has never felt the pleasure of penetration. Of friction. Of impact. Of the head against the cervix. Of the shaft stretching the walls. Of the balls slapping the ass.
"Yes," he said. His voice was low. Against her ear. "This is what it feels like."
PAH PAH PAH PAH PAH PAH—
"AAAAHH—!! HNNNGHH—!! KYAAANGH—!! HAAAAANGHH—!!"
She came.
The orgasm hit. Not slowly. Not gradually. Instantly. The way a storm hits. The way a wave hits. The cervix — the sensitive, healing, sore cervix — was hit. The pressure. The impact. The pleasure. The orgasm — the first real orgasm, the first conscious orgasm, the first orgasm that she felt — erupted.
"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH—!!!"
The scream. The dragon’s scream. The sound that shook the room. The windows rattled. The marble cracked. The tiles shifted. The sound — the primal, ancient, earth-shaking scream of a dragon in orgasm — filled the palace. Filled the night. Filled the city.
Her body convulsed.
The walls — the vaginal walls — clamped. The grip — the dragon’s grip, the muscles that could crush stone — clamped on his cock. The pressure was — immense. The squeeze. The contraction. The muscles that had never been used were now — working. Milking. The rhythmic, involuntary contractions of a being in orgasm. The muscles pulled. Drew. Sucked. The cock — inside, deep, against the cervix — was gripped. Held. Squeezed.
Her tail whipped.
The twenty-foot tail. The scaled, powerful appendage. It whipped. Behind her. The tail struck the wall. CRACK— The marble shattered. The stones flew. The impact — the tail, the dragon’s tail, the weapon that could level buildings — was uncontrolled. The orgasm had taken control. The body — the powerful, ancient, imperial body — was not hers. It was his. It was the orgasm’s. It was the cock’s.
"HAAANGH—!! HAAANGH—!! HAAANGH—!!"
The aftershocks. The waves. The contractions. Each one — a moan. A scream. A convulsion. Her body — against the wall, against him, the claws in the marble, the tail destroying the wall — shook.
She slumped.
Forward. Against him. Her face in his chest. Her body — the massive, powerful body — was limp. The strength was gone. The power was gone. The hundred years of control were gone. She was — a woman. A woman who had just had her first orgasm. And who could not stand.
He held her.
His arm around her waist. His cock still inside. Still hard. Still erect. He had not come. Not yet. He was — saving. Building. Enjoying.
"More," he said.
His voice was calm. The voice of a man who is not finished. Who is not close to finished. Who is — just starting.
Her eyes — the sea-green, the glazed, the dilated — looked up at him. The look of a woman who has just experienced something she did not know existed and who is being told that there is more.
"M-More...?" she whispered. Her voice was hoarse. The scream had torn her throat. "There is... more...?"
He lifted her.
Off the wall. Away from the cracked marble. He carried her. Across the room. To the bed. The imperial bed. The enormous bed — the size of a room, the silk sheets, the feather mattress, the bed of an Empress.
He threw her.
Onto the bed. Her body — the massive, scaled body — hit the silk. The mattress compressed. The bed creaked. Her hair — the silver-blue, the long, flowing hair — spread. On the silk. On the pillows. Her body — bare, exposed, the breasts heaving, the legs spread, the pussy wet, the hair matted — was displayed.
’Gods...’ she thought. Her internal voice. The voice that no one heard. ’He is looking at me. At my body. At my pussy. I am... spread. Open. Like a... like a...’
She could not finish the thought.
Because the word — the word that described what she was, what she was doing, what she was being — was a word that an Empress did not use. A word that a dragon did not think. A word that was — beneath her.
’Bitch.’