“Stop!” I finally scream.
Everything stops. His tongue withdraws immediately. The coils loosen but don't release.
“That word I obey,” he says calmly. “Always.”
I float there gasping, pussy still spasming from aftershocks. Between my legs, I can feel myself gaping open, empty and desperate. “I didn't... I don't...”
“Want to stop? Or want to want to stop?”
“Both. Neither. Fuck, I don't know.”
“Then we continue until you do know.”
His tongue returns but different this time. One fork slides inside me while the other circles my clit. The internal fork extends further, impossibly long, reaching places fingers never could. It curls, finding spots I didn't know existed. The texture—slightly rough like a cat's tongue but more flexible—creates friction that makes me see stars.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh FUCK!”
“That's it,” he encourages, watching my face intently. “Let go of thinking. Just feel.”
His cocks have fully emerged now, both dripping steadily into the water. The pheromones are so thick I can taste them—musk and ozone and pure sex. My body responds by gushing more wetness, preparing for what it thinks is coming.
The third orgasm builds slower but deeper. Starting in my core and spreading outward like fever. His tongue pulses inside me, that alien rhythm my body has been craving. When I come this time, I actually sob. Not from sadness. From relief. From finally, finally getting something close to what I need.
“Still empty,” I whimper when it ends. “Need... need more...”
“Tongue can't breed you,” he says, vibrations carrying through his extended tongue into my pussy. “Can only prepare. Only promise. Watch.”
He demonstrates by curling both forks inside me now, stretching, testing. My body accepts it eagerly, pussy flooding with fresh wetness that has nothing to do with the water we're in. The stretch is perfect, just enough to satisfy without tearing.
“Your pussy grabs my tongue,” he observes. “Tries to milk it. Looking for eggs that aren't there.”
“Shut up and—ahhh!”
The fourth orgasm is almost painful. Too much stimulation on tissue that's been hyperactive for a week. But stopping feels worse. The empty ache screams louder when he pauses, demanding more, demanding everything.
“Please,” escapes before I can stop it.
“Please what?”
“I don't... just... more...”
His tongue withdraws completely. The loss makes me thrash in his coils, genuinely trying to escape now. Not from him. From the abandonment. My pussy clenches on nothing, actually hurting from the emptiness.
“No! Get back here! Finish what you?—”
He slides me through the water, coils repositioning. Now I'm facing him, still spread but vertical. His head level with my pussy. This close, I can see the heat patterns in his eyes, the way his pupils dilate as he tastes my scent directly. Can see his cocks fully—the primary thick and ridged, the secondary coiling in that pattern my pussy mimics.
“Four more,” he says. “Then rest.”
“Then breeding?”
“Then choice. Watch what wants to fill you.”
His cocks pulse, spurting pre-cum that makes the water between us cloudy with pheromones. My pussy responds by clenching in the exact spiral pattern his secondary makes.
His tongue returns with purpose now. Both forks inside me, pistoning at different speeds. The fifth orgasm breaks something in me. Some last wall of resistance. I stop fighting the restraints, stop cursing him, stop everything except feeling. My body goes limp in his coils, surrendering to sensation.
“There,” he murmurs. “Finally honest.”
