Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 76857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
But even that overburdened sensation? I loved it.
Grunting, he focused on what he was doing within me, his member flexing strangely. “Hold it in, every drop, my love. Do not spill my gift.”
As he spoke, something hot moved down the length of his cock, a wad that left the muscles in his neck straining as it stretched his girth through its descent.
Explaining as he strained, he rocked into me, groaning, “Do not be afraid when I pull out and you stay full. A waxy plug will remain, so your body can drink down all it needs. It might feel a little strange, but you’re safe. Just remember that. Just… remember….”
It burned where he spewed out the thick mass, yet there was no pain. Only a strange sense of relief that I had exactly what I needed.
Plugging my insides, bit by bit, his pulsating knot diminished until he withdrew, leaving more of that hot substance in his wake.
His spent cock popped free of my cunt to fall to the mattress. Not a drop had been spilled on the sheets.
Inflated with semen, bursting… so full I could hardly bear it, still I tingled inside as if every last drop was sacred.
Appraising his work, Cyderial’s hand came to gently stroke my large belly. To praise all he found, arrogant in his smirk as he saw me squirm. Every last trace of heat was gone, yet as he tickled his fingers over my distended abdomen, I grew crimson from heightening awkwardness.
Pressure inside made it difficult to draw a deep breath. Organs felt as if they shifted to make room, some complaining, others relieved the addiction had been satiated.
General Cyderial’s appreciative gaze never faltered. “Are you tired?”
It may have been dark, yet I had slept much of the day. Not to mention how fast my hearts were beating from our exertion. Breathless, I answered, “No.”
“Good.” He grinned, stretching out his extraordinary tongue as he crept down my body. Earning my cry when he began to kiss me passionately where I was already extremely stimulated.
I came almost immediately, corked full of his fluids and screaming for mercy.
He gave me none.
Over and over until sunrise.
There was no resistance left in me by the time he pulled me close to cuddle. My head on his shoulder, my belly resting at his flank, he stroked where I was swollen… and told me he loved me.
21
I awoke to midday sun, a soft breeze floating over my bare skin.
There was something so strange about the concept of open windows, in allowing atmosphere to enter a room without filters to suck out the fog.
So high above the city, there was no fog.
Clean air, cold enough to leave my scales prickling, blew over me… the discomfort of my heat gone, leaving me vulnerable to a chill.
No more aching burn, no more fever. Had it not been for the radiant warmth of the male with his chest pressed to my back and his legs tangled with mine, I may have even required a blanket.
Head pillowed on his bicep, I listened to the sound of his soft sleeping breaths, feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Where my abdomen poked out, his palm rested, a possessive embrace.
My swollen belly had shrunk but not completely diminished. It poked out, a very strange physical phenomenon I had no idea my body was capable of. I possessed an entire organ system nature designed to assure I would need the first male to ejaculate inside me as long as I might live, and there it was right under my skin all along.
A life mate who slept at my back.
Cyderial claimed that my body would absorb what it needed from that swollen pocket within. He even left me plugged to ensure no drop would be wasted.
But heat would return.
And I would have to be fucked again.
Twice it had happened now.
Once, fucked senselessly drunk on male tricks on his office floor.
Then, fucked with my mind clear and addiction riding me, in the very bed we would share from now on.
Both times had been so different, and both times, the general knew exactly how to play my body against my mind. The things he could do with his fingers. The taste of his lips, how they might pull at my nipples. That beast between his legs.
He could give me a kind of pleasure that was impossible to discount, the male shameless in wielding his power over me, utterly unapologetic. Cyderial could make my body sing, inspire reactions I would never know how to describe to another female. That journal—not a single one of the diagrams within it came close.
Sexual congress between hybrid mates was existential. Cyderial was more than eager to show me all the secrets he had memorized over the years. It was hard to grasp these were his first sexual experiences too. But he was so experienced in the theory and practice, where I knew nothing—nothing about my body, about his, about wriggling cocks, ballooning stomachs, waxy plugs, nor orgasms.