He came.
The thick, hot, flooding release of his royal seed into her broken cunt — the pulses filling her, the warmth spreading deep, mixing with her juice, with the blood he had made flow there, with the tears that still ran down her face.
He kept fucking through it.
His cock didn't soften.
The incubus bloodline, fed by her grief and her submission, kept him hard and hungry.
He pulled out.
The wet, body-clinging sound of his withdrawal.
He flipped her again.
Onto her stomach.
Her heavy tits mashed against the tile, her thick ass lifted, her hairy cunt dripping.
He entered her from behind again.
PAH!
"NGH~!!"
And kept fucking.
And kept fucking.
And kept fucking.
Hours passed.
Or minutes.
She couldn't tell.
Her mind was gone.
Only her body remained — the heavy, crying, moaning, submitting body of a woman who had been broken twice and was being rebuilt as something else.
Finally — finally — he slowed.
He lay over her.
His chest on her back.
