A vessel for his pleasure. A vessel for his seed. A vessel for his divine qi. She was not a person. She was a tool. A breeding tool. A cultivation battery. A thing.
Her body gushed.
The pussy juice, the thin, clear, involuntary fluid, ran. Into the pool water. The sensation, the overwhelming, reality-shattering vision of her own future, of the world's future, of his future, was too much. Her body responded. The arousal, the divine, pre-ordained, inevitable arousal of a woman who had seen her destiny and found it was to be fucked, was there.
She grabbed her boobs. Her small mounds, the soft flesh, were kneaded. Her nipples, the pink nubs, were pinched. She rubbed her breasts. The stimulation, the self-stimulation, the desperate, instinctive attempt to process the overwhelming vision through physical sensation, was there.
