The first contact of his tongue—just the tip of one fork against my inner thigh—sends shockwaves through my entire nervous system. The texture is unlike anything human, ridged and flexible and warm. When he drags it slowly upward, I forget how to breathe.
“Four.”
The fourth peak builds differently, slower but deeper. He's not trying to rush me over the edge but to drag me there by increments, making me feel every sensation. By the time it crests, I'm sobbing with relief and desperation combined.
“Please,” I beg. “More. Please more.”
“You're learning. Good girl.”
The praise hits like a physical caress, making me clench on emptiness. He notices my response immediately, nostrils flaring.
“Your body likes being praised. Likes being told it's doing well.” His tongue moves higher, both forks now working in concert. “You're going to be so perfect for me once you stop fighting what you need.”
The fifth wave is different. Sharper. More intense. He's found some spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids, and he focuses there with devastating precision. The sensation is so acute it borders on pain, but I never want it to stop.
“Five.”
I'm beyond words now, just sounds. Animal noises that mean please and more and don't stop. He doesn't stop, but he changes technique, adding temperature variation that makes my nervous system misfire. One fork ice cold, the other burning hot, and my brain can't process the contradiction.
“Six.”
The sixth peak makes me lose time. I come back to awareness slumped against the stone wall, held upright only by his hands on my hips. Everything below my waist feels like it belongs to someone else.
“One more,” he says, voice rough with his own need. “Seven for luck. Seven to make sure you remember this.”
For the seventh, he uses everything. Both forks working at different rhythms, temperature changes that scramble my nervous system, pressure that walks the line between pleasure and overwhelm. When it finally crests, I scream loud enough that the sound echoes off the canyon walls.
“Seven. Perfect.”
He pulls back and I slide down the wall. He catches me before I hit the ground, cradles me against his chest. I'm twitching, whole body convulsing with aftershocks. Every nerve fires randomly. I can taste colors and see sounds and nothing makes sense except his arms around me.
“Why?” It's barely a whisper. All I can manage.
“Your body needed to understand what I can provide. What only I can provide. No other male can give you this. Your body knows that now.”
Through blurred vision, I see both his breeding organs fully emerged, swollen with need. The breeding cock is engorged, ridges standing out in sharp relief. The flow from him is constant now, creating a growing puddle. The pleasure cock writhes beside it, bioluminescent patterns so bright they hurt to look at.
“But you didn't—you need?—”
“Not yet. When I finally take you, you'll beg prettier than this.”
“Can't beg prettier. No words left.”
“You'll find them. Or you'll just scream. Either works.”
He carries me back to the pool, my weight nothing to him. Sets me in the shallows where mineral-rich water can soothe my overwhelmed flesh. Everything stings—I feel turned inside out, oversensitive to the point of pain.
“Khor?” My voice is destroyed.
“Yes?”
“Tomorrow?”
“Perhaps. If you run well.”
“Can't run. Everything feels broken.”
“Then you'll find a way. You always do.”
