Slowly. Inch by inch. Six. Seven. Eight. The shaft slid deeper. Her walls parted. They were forced open. They clung to the shaft—tight, virgin, untrained. Every inch was a new sensation. A new stretch. A new fullness. She could feel him inside her. She could feel the head. She could feel the veins. She could feel the pulse of his cock against her walls.

"Hngh— ah— ngh—!" she moaned. Her eyes were closed. Her teeth were clenched. Her hands gripped the back of his coat. Her fingers dug into the fabric. "Please— slow— please— slower—"

He pulled out.

Slowly. The shaft emerged. Her walls clung. The friction was intense. She could feel every ridge. Every vein. The head caught on her entrance. Her lips pulled outward—convex, clinging, reluctant. The head popped free. Her pussy gaped. Open. Empty. Wet with blood and her own slick.

He slammed.

All twelve inches. In one thrust. The full length. The head drove through her pussy. Through her canal. Through her cervix. The barrier tore. It did not resist—not against twelve inches of demon-enhanced cock. It opened. The head entered her womb.

"AAAAAANGHH—!!!"

The scream was not human. It was the sound of a body being violated in a way that was not possible. It was the sound of a cervix being torn open. It was the sound of a womb being breached. It was the sound of a woman whose body was being reshaped from the inside.

Her belly bulged.

The shape of his cock was visible. Under her skin. Under the muscle. A thick, ridged column running from her pelvis to her navel. Her stomach distended. The skin stretched. The outline of the head was visible—a round, hard lump that pressed against her abdominal wall from the inside.

"AAAH—!! IT IS— IT IS IN MY— I CAN FEEL IT— IN MY— HAAANGH—!!"

He rubbed her boob.

His hand found her left breast. He squeezed. His fingers sank into the firm flesh. He found the nipple. He pinched. He twisted. The pain was sharp. The pleasure was sharper. The drug made them indistinguishable. She did not know if she was hurting or feeling good. She did not know if the sound she made was a scream or a moan.

He kissed her.

His mouth sealed her cries. His tongue was in her mouth. His cock was in her womb. His hand was on her breast. He was everywhere. Inside her. Around her. On her. She could not escape him. She could not escape the sensation. She could not escape the fullness.

He started to fuck.

Slow. Deliberate. He pulled back. Six inches out. Then forward. Six inches in. The rhythm was measured. Controlled. The rhythm of a man who has all the time in the world. The rhythm of a devil.

PAH... PAH... PAH...

"Hngh—! Ah—! Please—! Slow—! Please slow down—! Hngh—! It is— it is too deep—! I can feel it in my— aah—! In my belly—! HAAANGH—!"

PAH PAH PAH PAH—

The rain came.

It started as a mist. A fine, cold spray that drifted into the cave mouth. Then it grew. Heavy. Fat drops hitting the stone outside. The sound was a drumroll—a steady, increasing rhythm that matched the rhythm of his hips. The rain poured. It sprayed into the cave. The mist reached them. Cold water on hot skin. The contrast was maddening.

Pah pah pah pah pah pah pah pah pah pah pah pah—

"AAAANGH—!! HNNGH—!! KYAAH—!! HAAANGH—!!"

His arms went around her neck.

He held her down. Not roughly. Not violently. He simply wrapped his arms around her neck and shoulders and held her. Pinned. His weight pressed her into the stone. His cock was buried. His hips drove. The angle changed—deeper now, more direct, the head hammering against the back of her womb with each thrust.

He came up.

He drove her hips wide. He lifted. His hands found her thighs. He pushed them apart. He spread her. Wide. Her pussy was exposed. Open. The hair was matted with blood and slick. The shaft was visible—dark, veined, disappearing into her body. The head was inside her womb. He could see the bulge in her belly each time he thrust.

"AAAAANGH—!! MY BELLY—!! I CAN SEE IT—!! IT IS— HNNGH—!! IT IS MOVING INSIDE ME—!! HAAANGH—!!"

Her hand went to her boob. She grabbed it. Squeezed. Her fingers found her nipple. She pinched. The pain mixed with the pleasure mixed with the pain. She could not separate them. Her other hand went to her pussy.

To her clit. She rubbed. Not because she wanted to. Because her body made her. The drug made her. Her fingers found the swollen, aching nub and circled it. Fast. Desperate.

Her body was searching for release. For something. For anything that would make the fullness, the stretch, the invasion, the violation into something she could survive.

"Please—!" she sobbed. "Please slow down—! Hic— please— I cannot— my body is— I am— HAAANGH—!!"

’What is happening to me? My body is burning. Everything is burning. My nipples. My pussy. My skin. My blood. It hurts. It hurts so much. But it also— it also feels— no. No. It does not feel good. It cannot feel good. I am not— I am not that kind of— but my body— my body is— my fingers are on my clit and I am rubbing and I do not want to but I cannot stop— why is it so big— why is he so deep— I can feel him in my womb— I can see my belly moving— I will die— I will die like this—’

He fucked her.

For half an hour. On the cold stone. In the rain. The mist sprayed them. The water ran down their bodies—down his back, down her chest, between her breasts, over her belly, over the bulge where his cock was. The blood and the slick and the rain mixed into a pink froth that formed at her entrance. Foam. Small bubbles. The product of friction and fluid and force.

PAH PAH PAH PAH PAH PAH PAH PAH—

"AAAANGH—!! HNNGH—!! KYAAH—!! HAAANGH—!! NIEENGH—!! HIELKKK—!!"

His heavy balls slammed her ass. Each thrust. Each impact. The sound was wet. Fleshy. The sound of a body being used. She could feel them—full, heavy, swinging, hitting her ass with each deep stroke. The impact rippled through her cheeks. Through her spine. Through her entire body.

He grabbed her hands.

He took both her wrists. He pinned them above her head. One hand. His other hand went to her breast. He grabbed it. He massaged it. He squeezed the firm flesh between his fingers. He found the nipple. He pinched. He twisted. He pulled.

Her hand went to her vagina.

No—his hand moved her hand. He took her pinned hand—her right—and he moved it. Down. Over her belly. Over the bulge. To her pussy. To her clit. He placed her fingers on the swollen nub. He pressed. He made her rub herself while he fucked her. While his cock tore through her. While his balls slapped her ass. He made her participate. Made her touch herself. Made her feel the place where his cock entered her—the stretched, swollen, bleeding lips of her cunt.

"Feel that," he said. His voice was in her ear. Low. Rough. The first time his voice had changed. The first crack in the calm. "Feel where I am inside you. Feel how stretched you are. Feel how wet you are. Your body is making this. Your body wants this."

"No—!" she sobbed. "No— I do not— I am not— hic— please— sob—"