Viktor's cock hit somewhere that the Count had never reached.
The deep, interior, 'this space did not previously exist on any map she had been given' impact of a man who is simply longer, thicker, and considerably more invested in the result — the comprehensive depth that made her vision blur at the edges and her hands claw the carpet and her mouth produce sounds that had no language in them.
"MASTERR~!! SLOW~!! IT'S HITTING~!! INSIDE~!! SOMETHING IS~!!"
The trained word again.
She heard herself say it.
'Master.'
She had not decided to say it.
Her body had decided.
The incubus chemistry — an hour of it, soaked into her skin, swimming in her blood, reorganizing her body's vocabulary with the patient, inevitable efficiency of something that does not need permission — had simply replaced the word she'd been reaching for with the word her body had been trained to produce.
She heard it come out of her own mouth and felt the 'I did not authorize this' shame of it.
