’Am I a whore?’ The thought again. Her own thought. And beneath it, below the outrage and the shock and the fifty years of warrior dignity, something that was not outrage. Something that was the opposite of outrage and that she had absolutely no name for and was not going to name right now while his foot was on her face.

His cock pressed against her entrance from above.

The angle delivered by her raised hips — the full top-down view of her cunt and, above it, the spread of her ass, the tight ring of her anal visible and wet from the juices that had been running all evening, the moonlight catching everything.

He looked at her anal.

She felt his gaze.

She felt his gaze the way you feel a flame — not touching, but present, the awareness of being seen in a configuration that a woman does not expect to be seen in conducting directly to every nerve ending in the area being observed.

Her anal twitched.

Involuntary. The ring clenching and releasing in the reflexive response of tissue that has been looked at too intently.

He spat.

The sound of it — the deliberate, unhurried gathering and release — and then the warm impact of it landing directly on her anal, the saliva hitting the twitching ring and spreading, mixing with the juice already running across it, the sudden wet warmth of it making her clench harder.

"HNGH— HAH— WHAT— HAH—"

Her internal monologue did not have words.

It had sensation. The layered, simultaneous sensation of his sole on her face and his gaze on her anal and his spit cooling on the ring and twelve inches of dragon cock positioned at the entrance above her and the full comprehension of what all of this added up to arriving in her nervous system as a single, complete signal.

’He is treating you like a hole.’

’You are a hole.’

’You have never been a hole before.’

’You are one now.’

PHAAAAACK—

"KKKHAAAAAAANGHH~~~!!!~~~~"

The slam drove downward with the full weight of gravity assisting — not horizontal, not angled, straight down, the cock driving through the entrance and through the channel and through the cervix and against the womb wall with the impact of something that has been dropped from height.

Her body absorbed it.

Her spine compressed. Her tits absorbed the weight of her own knees driving down from the impact. Her face pressed harder into the grass under his sole.

Her eyes went.

The aheago expression again — the tongue, the whites, the jaw, the neck tendons, all of it deploying simultaneously with the practised speed of a body that has been through this multiple times tonight and has streamlined the process.

PHACK PHACK PHACK—

"AANGH~!! HNGHH~!! KYAAANGH~!!"

He fucked her harder.

The rhythm establishing from the second stroke — not building, already at pace, the full vertical driving of a man who has his weight and gravity both working for him and has decided to use them. Each stroke driving down with the sound of a fist hitting a wall. Each withdrawal pulling her entrance outward with the suction of a cunt that has gripped and does not want to release.

His foot pressed harder against her face.

Her cheek against the grass. His sole against her cheek. The warm weight of it pressing her sideways, her mouth opening from the pressure, a thin thread of saliva pressing out from the corner of her lips into the grass.

"Hah— hah— AANGH~!! HAH— HNGHH~!! HAH—"

The sounds coming out around his foot. The moans escaping through the gap between his sole and the grass, muffled and deformed by the pressure against her cheek, the quality of them changing — lower, more broken, the sounds of a woman whose head is being held down while the rest of her is being used.

Her internal thoughts had become a single, repeating signal.

’I am being fucked like a warrior should be fucked.’

The thought arrived without her permission and settled without her consent. The particular register of it — not the shame she expected, not the outrage she had been pre-loading for fifty years against the theoretical occasion of someone treating her this way — but something else. The recognition. The body-deep recognition of a woman who has spent her life fighting things at the ceiling of her capacity and is now encountering something at the ceiling of a different capacity she did not know she had.

He was not fighting her strength.

He was fucking it.

He was taking the fifty years of muscle and endurance and Viking-built density and using it — her cunt tighter than anything he had used it on because every muscle surrounding it had been trained to maximum, her body taking the impacts that would have folded a softer woman because she had the frame to absorb them, her thighs holding the position because her legs were built to hold positions.

He was fucking her like a warrior.

PAH PAH PHAAAAACK—

"AAAAANGHH~!!! KYAAANGH~!!! HNGGHHH~!!!"

His foot moved.

From her cheek to her tit.

The sole pressing down against her right breast — the full, dense, heavy flesh of it compressing under the ball of his foot, her nipple pressing against the arch of his instep, the flesh spreading sideways under the weight like something being kneaded.

The tit went red.

The flush of compression spreading from the point of pressure outward, the capillaries in the soft tissue responding to the weight with the immediate, visible bloom of a body part being squeezed by something it was not designed to be squeezed by. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

She felt it.

The pain-warmth of compression on an already-sensitized nipple was a distinct, specific signal that conducted from her tit directly to her clit with a speed that bypassed every intermediate stop, the connection between the two conducting as if they were the same nerve.

Her clit pulsed.

"HAH— MY— HAH— TITS— HAH— DRAGON LORD— HAH— MY— HAH—"

PHACK PHACK PHAAAAACK—

"NGGHHH~!!! AANGH~!!! HIEEENGHH~!!!"

He leaned his weight into his foot.

The tit compressed further. The nipple grinding against his instep. The flesh spreading under the full body-weight distribution, turning from rose to red to the deep, vivid crimson of tissue being thoroughly worked.

"AAAAAANGHH~!!!"

Her other tit was unsupported.

Her knee still pressing it from above, the compression from both directions — her knee from above, the grass from below — the nipple trapped between the surfaces, her whole chest a site of simultaneous stimulation that her nervous system was managing badly.

She was crying.

Full, open, streaming tears — both eyes running continuously, the drops falling from her cheeks into the grass beneath her face, her lashes soaked.

She was also moaning.

Both simultaneously. The crying and the moaning running together in the same continuous output, her throat producing them in the same breath, the sound of a woman who is in pain and is in pleasure and cannot tell them apart anymore because they have been running in the same channel for too long.

"Hah— hah— Dragon Lord— hah— it— hah— it is red— hah— my— hah— my tit is— hah— Dragon Lord— hah— it HURTS— hah—"

PHAAAAACK—

"KYAAAAAAANGHH~~~!!!"

He pulled out.

The final pull — her body’s grip releasing with the wet, obscene sound of an entrance that has been used thoroughly and is now releasing its occupant under protest, the trailing thread of seed and juice following the head of his cock out into the moonlit air.

Her hips dropped.

The grip on her waist releasing, her body falling back to the grass, her back hitting the ground with the soft impact of a woman landing on wet grass after being held upside down, her tits falling to her chest, her legs spreading sideways with the boneless outward fall of a lower body that has lost its structural brief.

She gasped.

The full, open, desperate gasp of a woman whose diaphragm had been working at a difficult angle and has just been returned to horizontal and is celebrating.

"Hah— hah— hah—"