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I could have been frightened, but I was very pleased.
Enticing him with voluntary ripples of sucking muscles deep within, I found my vision going soft, certain I had the most perfect male in my nest.
19
I woke with a start. Draped over shifting strength, my back arched and my spine supple, I blinked at the ceiling and felt a deep invasion. My legs hitched obscenely over Cyderial’s thighs, bent at the knee, spread lewdly open so he could hold my hips and use me as he would, I bore down on a cock that tilted my pelvis downward, the pressure between my legs warning me not to dare resist.
He’d been fucking me while I slept.
Cock aggressively wriggling, burrowed deep, the panting male on the verge of a knot brought forth my unexpected climax.
I must have lost my plug as I dreamed, my stomach having gone flat—which only highlighted the shape of his cock, obvious beneath my flesh, working deep within my guts.
Breasts bouncing, body responding to his assault, I watched him jerk and strain under my skin until he spurted. Warm liquid began to fill me, each pulsating eruption expanding into a freshly distended belly.
With fluids to slake my thirst.
To give my body what it needed to produce more slick.
So he could fuck me somewhere else. Another part of my internal workings separate from the pocket where my addiction could be maintained. Another seizing, hungry passageway that led to my tender womb.
Preparing where my daughter would grow was strenuous work. Heady and instinctual, draining while offering a pleasure beyond description.
And we had not yet achieved whatever it was my body demanded.
I may have slept, but in the rut, he had not. Cyderial had been fucking me nonstop for days.
And if he wasn’t fucking me, he was feeding me, coaxing my lips to his cock to coat my tongue in his taste. My ability to speak in more than grunts and moans having long dried up.
But he still had the power of one word. No.
Should I crave greater violence—“No.”
Should I whimper and whine, begging with my body that he pummel me, stretch me, satiate the endless need—“No.”
Unashamed, he would restrain my hands, kiss me senseless, and be tender when I longed for ferocity. But even I could not heal at the rate my body wished to break.
Something deep inside me had yet to be breached, and it slowly drove me mad.
Just as his insistent thrusts stole my reason.
I might carry a fertilized sleeping embryo, but he had a part to play in priming my womb for life.
That was where I wanted him now, impatient for him to leave a fresh knot and worm his cock through the recently opened channel that ached for attention.
But there was no point in interfering with a male in the rut. I learned that in the first hour. He would do exactly as he willed, and I would either allow and enjoy or resist and be forced.
So I melted and accepted the pleasure of being filled, little aftershocks of orgasm brought to life when he ground into me, that knot rubbing against so many precious nerves.
Seated deep, he grumbled his approval at my waking submission, his large hands stroking my growing belly. The massage welcome. My abdomen was sore, my body bruised.
He had been on me, in me, fucking me for days.
I slept, and he penetrated me any way he wished.
I dreamed and woke with his cock playing in my slit.
I hungered, and he fed me from his dripping member, saving the meat the academy prepared and left for our use for himself.
