She was aware of them — the folded pressure of them against her chest, his weight through them — but the signal from her feet had stopped arriving. Her hands in the grass had stopped gripping. Her voice had stopped forming words.

She was producing sound.

Just sound. The pure, continuous, undifferentiated output of a nervous system at full capacity, the sounds running together into one long, broken, harmonically complex cry that the waterfall could not cover and the forest could not absorb.

"AANGH~!!! NNGHH~!!! MMNGHH~!!! AAANGH~!!! HAAAAAANGHH~!!!"

He kissed her.

His mouth came down and found hers — the open, tongue-out, saliva-running mess of her mouth — and he kissed it. His lips closing over hers, his tongue pressing in alongside her tongue, the full, deliberate, unhurried kiss of a demon who is inside a woman’s womb and is kissing her at the same time with his hips still moving.

PAH PAH—

"Mmph~!! Mnngh~!! Mmhhh~!!"

The sounds of the kiss filling the space that the screams had vacated, her mouth occupied, her tongue trapped against his, her saliva and his exchanging with the wet, obscene intimacy of two bodies that are as connected as two bodies can be.

He pulled back from the kiss.

One inch. His lips against hers.

"Congratulations," he said.

She looked at him.

From wherever she was. From the three-inches-behind-her-own-eyes place she had been occupying since the first mating press stroke. She looked at him with eyes that were not quite focused and a mouth that was wet and a body that had stopped being something she controlled approximately forty minutes ago.

He drove forward.

PHAAAAACK—

And he came.

The load that left him was not the load of a man.

It was the load of a dragon.

The first pulse hit her womb like a pressure wave — not liquid, not yet, the force of the ejection preceding the fluid, her womb walls pressing outward from the impact before the seed arrived. Then the seed arrived.

Hot.

Impossibly hot. Not painful — the warmth of something that belongs in a specific place, that has been sized for a specific place, conducting through the walls of her womb and outward through her abdomen.

The load did not stop.

The first pulse was followed by a second. The second by a third. Each one driving deeper into the space of her womb, the fluid accumulating, the enclosed space filling with no exit available because his cock was plugging her entrance with the full, pressure-seal fit of twelve adjusted inches pressed against the ring of her cunt.

Her belly moved.

Not the bulge of his cock. A different movement — the slow, inevitable expansion of a cavity receiving more volume than it contained, the rounded press of fluid filling her womb pushing her lower abdomen outward from the inside.

She felt it.

She felt the pressure of his seed accumulating in the space of her womb, the warm weight of it, the impossible volume of it, the belly below her abs beginning to round outward with the full, unmistakable silhouette of a woman three months gone.

Her tongue was still out.

Her eyes were streaming.

Her lower abdomen was visibly, impossibly, pornographically rounded in the moonlight — the tight abs above it unchanged, the muscular flat surface of her stomach untouched, and below the navel line the full, warm, seed-heavy swell pressing outward like a lie her body was now telling about itself.

She felt full.

Past full.

She felt the womb pressing against its own limits, the walls stretching to accommodate the continuous pour of his seed, her body receiving it with the particular helplessness of something that has been completely claimed and does not know how to process the claiming.

He kept coming.

Pulse after pulse. His hips still moving — not thrusting, not withdrawing, just the small, grinding forward pressure of a man keeping his cock buried while it emptied itself, each pulse driving the seed deeper, sealing the volume inside.

He leaned down.

His mouth at her ear.

His cock still pulsing.

Her belly still rounding.

Her tears still running.

Her tongue still pressed against her lower lip.

"I want a strong baby from you, Edda," he said.

His voice was warm.

Completely, entirely, terrifyingly warm — the warmth of a man who means every word he is saying, delivered against the ear of a woman whose womb is currently full of his seed and whose belly is pressing outward with the evidence of it in the moonlight at the waterfall pool.

She stared at the sky.

The moon.

The stars.

The birds that had not come back to the canopy yet.

"Hah," she said.

"Hah," she said again.

Her belly pressed outward one more centimeter.

She felt it.

"I-I... How..."

"Should I punch you a little?"

’W-what!?!’

She stared at him.

Her belly still rounded with his seed. Her pussy still plugged by twelve inches of crimson dragon cock. Her abs still twitching. Her tears still running.

"Hah— should you— hah— ’what—’"

He pulled his fist back.

Not far. Just the short, controlled wind-up of a man who has already calculated the force required and does not need a wide arc to deliver it.

He punched her belly.

Not hard. Not the full force of a demon’s arm. The precise, calibrated tap of a knuckle against the rounded, seed-filled swell of her lower abdomen — the exact pressure required to make the walls of her womb flinch inward.

The result was not small.

Her tongue came out.

Past her lower lip. Past her chin. The full extension of the muscle, the tip pointing at the grass below her head, her jaw dropping with the slack total loss of voluntary control in the lower face.

And then the scream.

"KKHHHAAAAAANGHHHH~~~!!!!~~~"

Not from her mouth. From her whole body — her spine arching, her heels driving into the earth, her hands slamming flat against the grass at her sides with the full, open-palm impact of every muscle contracting simultaneously.

The seed moved.

The punch had made her womb flinch inward and the inward flinch had compressed the volume inside it and the compressed volume had nowhere to go except past his cock, which was plugging her entrance with twelve inches of pressure-sealed crimson dragon cock — and the seed found the gap.

Not easily.

It found the gap between his shaft and her clenching walls with the force of something that has been compressed past its tolerance and is now pushing its way out through the only available exit regardless of the friction involved.

A thick white thread of it shot downward between his cock and her inner walls — the pressure-forced trickle of a womb that had been punched while full, the seed lubricating the passage from inside out, running down the full length of his shaft and collecting at the base, dripping from his balls onto the grass below in heavy, warm drops.

She felt it leaving.

She felt the internal movement of it — the warm liquid pressing through the channel around his cock, the sensation of something that had been sealed inside her now finding its way out through the friction of his girth against her walls.

"NNGHH— hah— it— hah— it is— hah— ’coming out—’"