Not glasses. The white at the edges of her vision, the particular brightness that a full-body release produces in the peripheral field, the light-edges of a nervous system running at maximum.

She lay.

He looked at her.

He looked at the skirt — what remained of it, bunched around her chest where the tearing and the movement had relocated it, the fabric riding up to her ribcage, her pussy bare below and her tits half-covered above.

He reached down.

He grabbed the bunched skirt at her chest.

Like a handle.

Both fists in the fabric, his knuckles against the undersides of her tits where the skirt had gathered, the grip of a man who has identified the convenient thing and is using it.

He positioned his cock. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

The head pressed against her entrance — the spread, wet, open entrance of a cunt that had already been taken and was still adjusting to the fact of having been taken and was about to receive a reminder.

He looked at her face.

"You are becoming a woman," he said.

She looked at him from somewhere approximately three inches behind her own eyes.

"Hah—" She breathed. "Hah— what— hah—"

"These are the symptoms," he said, pleasantly, "of the awakening of a dragon heart."

She stared.

Her mouth moved.

"Hah— what— dragon— hah— heart— hah— dragon heart what is— hah— I am— hah— dragon— hah— wait what is— ’dragon heart—’"

PHAAAAACK—

The sound of his hips slamming home was not flesh on flesh.

It was deeper. The kind of sound that a twelve-inch cock makes when it drives through a cervix that is not cooperating and does not care and simply continues, the cartilage giving way, the passage opening on pure force, the head traveling past the gate and pressing against the womb wall with the blunt authority of something that has been here before and is returning to its address.

Her body lurched off the ground.

Not her hips this time.

Her entire body. Shoulders, spine, hips, calves — the full length of her going airborne for one full second before gravity reclaimed her, her back hitting the grass with the impact of a woman dropped from a height.

Her tongue formed an O.

Not her mouth. Her tongue — the muscle pressing forward, the tip touching her lower lip, the shape of it the shape of a woman whose jaw has gone slack and whose throat is processing something that the mouth cannot currently contribute to.

Her eyes were wide.

Not rolled. Wide. The particular wide-open terror-joy of someone who has just had their womb reached for the second time and has not yet built up tolerance.

"No— no— no— no—"

The words came out small and continuous and absolutely meaningless, her mouth producing them on autopilot while the rest of her nervous system was occupied elsewhere.

"No— no— hah— no— no—"

He started moving.

PAH PAH PAH—

"AANGH~!! HNGHH~!! NOOOO~!!"

Not the ground-covering pace of before. The horse-riding pace — the full, driving, vertical rhythm of a man using his entire body weight behind each stroke, his hips coming down and driving forward simultaneously, the angle of it pressing his cock not just inward but upward, the head dragging against the front wall of her womb with each thrust.

PHACK PHACK PHACK—

"KYAAANGH~!! AAAAANGH~!! HNGGHHH~!!!"

Her tits hammered her own chin.

The full, dense, heavy mass of them driven upward by each impact, the nipples striking her jaw and collarbones, her whole chest shaking with the rhythm of what was being done to her below. Her abs — the beautiful, carved, fifty-years-earned abs — were visible and invisible in rhythm, the muscles contracting hard on each thrust and releasing between them, the belly bulge of his cock pressing the surface outward on each deep stroke.

She watched the bulge.

Between screams. Between gasps. Her eyes tracking downward to the outline of his cock pressing through her own body, the shape of the head visible against her skin, moving with his thrusts.

"Hah— I— hah— I can see— hah— it is— hah— I can see it— hah— INSIDE ME—"

PAH PAH PHAAAAACK—

"HAAAAAANGHH~!!! KYAAANGH~!! AAANGH~!!"

"I cannot— hah— feel— hah— I cannot feel— hah— my body— hah— Dragon Lord I cannot— hah— feel—"

He grabbed her legs.

Both of them. His hands finding her calves and folding them — up and back, the full mating press, her knees pressing against the outsides of her own tits, her legs folded double, her hips tilted, the angle changing to the angle that has no mercy in it.

Her tits were sandwiched between her own knees and his chest.

The flesh compressed sideways, spilling out around the pressure points, her nipples visible above her own kneecaps, the pink flush of compression spreading across the dense flesh.

He pressed down.

His full body weight through her folded legs into her tits into her ribs into the grass beneath her, the compression total, the angle of his cock now pointing directly at the deepest reachable point of her interior.

PHAAAAACK—

The ground shook.

Not metaphorically. The grass around them flattened in a ring from the impact point — the shockwave of twelve inches slamming against the womb wall with the full weight of a demon behind it moving outward through the ground in a visible circle, the waterfall spray changing direction briefly, the two unconscious women five meters away shifting in their sleep.

"KKKHAAAAAANGHHHH~~~!!!!!~~~~"

The sound left her body and left the clearing and went into the forest.

Birds.

Every bird in the immediate canopy launched simultaneously, the dark sky above the treeline suddenly full of moving shapes, the sound of wings filling the air above the waterfall.

Her eyes.

Her eyes went completely.

The irises disappeared entirely — pure white, the full aheago expression achieving its final form, her tongue pressed flat out of her mouth to the base, saliva running off the tip in a continuous thin stream onto her own chin and neck. Her nostrils flared. Her ears had gone red to the cartilage. Every tendon in her neck stood out.

PHACK PHACK PHACK PHACK PHAAAAACK—

"AANGH~!! HNGHH~!! KYAAANGH~!! AAANGH~!! HIEEENGHH~!! AAAAAANGHH~!!!"

The ground shook with each thrust.

Not the first shockwave — the continuous vibration of a demon fucking a dragon slayer into the earth with the full commitment of someone who has been told ’do not be gentle about it’ and has taken the instruction seriously.

Her pussy.

The ring of her entrance — the tight, hydraulic, fifty-years-strong muscular ring of it — was fluttering. The walls clenching on each withdrawal and slamming open on each entry, her body trying to grip and release and grip and release in the rhythm of a cunt that has been comprehensively conquered and is responding to conquest with the only language it has.

The juices.

The juices were running.

Not dripping. Running — a continuous warm pour from the opened entrance, tracking down her ass crack and into the grass below her, the mixture of her arousal and the evidence of earlier pooling beneath her hips in a warm, spreading stain on the ground.

Her abs.

Her abs were pink.

The skin of her stomach flushed deep rose from the continuous pounding, the belly bulge pressing outward and releasing and pressing outward, the muscle underneath the flush still contracting with each stroke because her body did not know how to stop bracing.

She could not feel her legs.