His hands gripped my thighs. Holding me open. I tried to close my legs reflexively but he was too strong. I was pinned there: back against warm stone, his mouth on my cunt, water running over both of us.
I came in under a minute.
He didn't stop.
The second orgasm hit before the first had fully faded. I was shaking, fingers scrabbling at the wet stone for any kind of purchase. He was relentless: tongue working my clit, one hand moving up to pinch my nipple through what remained of my suit, the other sliding two fingers inside me.
Testing. Stretching. Preparing me for something much bigger.
"Please stop?—"
"You don't mean that." His voice vibrated against me and I sobbed. Because he was right. I didn't mean it. I needed more even as my body insisted it was too much to handle.
Third orgasm. Fourth. I was begging now but I didn't know what for anymore. More? Less? Mercy? His cock?
I was completely incoherent.
"This is what it will be like when I breed you. Overwhelming. Inescapable. I'll bury myself inside you—the full length, the knot—and you'll be trapped there."
The words made me clench around his fingers. He felt it and laughed, dark and satisfied. "You want that. Your body knows exactly what it needs."
Fifth orgasm. Sixth. He added a third finger and I was stretching, burning, but it felt good. He curled them forward and found something inside me that made lights explode behind my eyes. I came again, harder, crying from the sheer intensity.
"That's where my breeding cock will reach," he said. His fingers still worked inside me, tongue still circling my clit. "Deepinside you. Pressing against your womb while I fill you. You're going to be so full of my seed you'll feel it for days."
Seven orgasms. Eight. I wasn't counting anymore. Just existing in continuous waves of pleasure-pain-pressure-release. My entire world had narrowed to his mouth, his fingers, the relentless stimulation that wouldn't stop.
Nine. Ten. My voice was hoarse from screaming. My body was shaking so hard I couldn't hold myself up anymore. He was holding me against the stone, keeping me in place while he made me come again and again.
Finally he stopped.
I went completely limp. Couldn't hold my head up. Couldn't speak. Couldn't think. He caught me before I slid under the water, pulled me against his chest.
"Not enough," I whispered.
"I know." He shifted and I felt it: both cocks hard against my thigh. Pulsing. Ready. He was as affected as I was, but he held back. "When you're ready for all of me, you'll ask. Until then, be content with this."
He carried me out of the water.
I couldn't walk. Couldn't stand. My legs wouldn't support my weight. He lifted me easily, one arm under my knees and one behind my back, and carried me to a nearby cave.
Soft furs. Dim light. Quiet.
He laid me down gently and I realized I was still shaking. Not from cold. From aftershocks. My body still pulsing with the memory of what he'd done.
"You're hurt." He was looking at my hands, my knees. I had cuts and bruises from seven days of climbing and deprivation. I hadn't noticed them. Hadn't cared.
He disappeared for a moment. Returned with supplies: a paste that smelled like herbs, clean water, strips of something that looked like membrane but felt like cloth.
He cleaned my wounds carefully. The paste numbed the pain where he applied it. The water felt cool and soothing. The bandages wrapped snug but not tight.
I watched him work. Studied him while my brain slowly came back online.
The copper undertones in his dark skin. The way his wings folded against his back in perfect geometric precision. The ridges along his collarbones that I wanted to lick. The absolutely massive cocks that were still hard.
"Does it hurt?" I asked. My voice was completely wrecked. "Being that hard for this long?"
"Yes."
