Sensation overwhelmed her, took her to the edge again. Her peak rose swiftly. It felt huge, able to crack her open and fill her up with fire.
Beating his wings, air whooshed around them while his pelvis moved with short humps, those muscled arms pulling her down while he thrust up. Mouth at her neck, his tongue stroked in circles. He held her so tight she couldn’t move her arms, his strength and size leaving her helpless.
Binda failed to lock her legs around him, rubbing herself urgent and desperate against his hidden nodule of flesh, her womb squeezing tighter and tighter as his cock thickened. She could only take what he gave, accepting waves of pleasure as they built. Refolded, reshaped right to the precipice, where she tipped over the edge with a scream and went up in fire.
Her inner door burst open under the explosion, the locks disintegrating. The rush was feral. His manhood grew until she couldn’t move, her center gripping him tight enough to feel the dull pulse of his answering release under the potent frenzy of her own undoing.
The male’s seed burned. Filling her up. The lava flowed into the cavity of her pussy and pooled into her hips, spreading through her torso and heading toward her mind. She shuddered with the shock of the invasion, her leg kicking out, her foot hitting the cold of Kore’s former bottle prison.
The cold pulled her out of their intimacy and back into reality.
“Binda Mine,” he said against her neck, opening his mouth, his teeth breaking skin.
“No. No. I am my own. Your hour is up. Go back in your bottle. You will not take my will.”
He stiffened with rage. Stuck in his embrace, Binda screamed as his arms squeezed. Wings beating in a storm, his hands opened on her back. His claws tore into Binda’s exposed skin, trying to anchor his shape to this world. But her command controlled him, forcing the transformation from black into green, to dark blue, to purple and finally red smoke.
Binda dropped to the ground with a teeth-snapping grunt, leaking pleasure and semen from between her legs and bleeding from her wounded back. Scrapes from his teeth burned on her neck and shoulders. Kore hadn’t time to yell or argue, so quick was his return to the prison of his bottle.
No onewould take what she did not give. Not ever again. Nothing could tempt her. Nothing. Not a male with an incredible body. Not the promise of respite from loneliness. Not momentary pleasure.
She was Binda, gardener of the Burn, and her soul was her own. She knew where she came from and where she was going.
For now, there was no wind at all. No birds. No sound but Binda’s heartbeat and panting breaths. The bottle, with Kore locked inside, sat beside her. There were loops attached to the blackened metal.
She would need a strap.