Chapter 502: Chapter 502- What a High Quality Hunt

Her Truth-Sight said something.

She closed her eyes.

Raven leaned down to her ear.

"A sex demon," he said pleasantly, "does not merely arouse. He ’invades.’"

She trembled. Her whole body trembled, her thick thighs pressing together over the soaked cotton of her bunched panty.

"Every inch of your skin," he continued, his lips brushing her earlobe, "becomes a nerve. Every point of contact conducts directly to that wet little cunt of yours. You are not choosing to respond." His hand flattened against her lower belly, over her dress, pressing inward — not low, not yet, just the pressure of his palm against her abdomen, the deep internal organs registering it and clenching. "Your body is simply ’behaving correctly’ in the presence of its stimulus."

"Unh—" The sound she made was humiliated and involuntary. "I — I don’t — I cannot — wait—"

His hand dropped.

Just below her navel. Still over the dress, still over the skirt, but the pressure of his palm now directly over the mound of her pussy, and her hips ’jerked’ forward into it without her permission, the full grind of her cunt against his hand, her own body betraying her in the most explicit way available to it.

"MNNNGHH—!!"

"There it is," he said.

Her saliva dripped.

She felt the drop leave her lower lip and land on the back of her own hand where she was gripping the cloth of Esvan’s chest, and she watched it happen with the detached awareness of a woman whose body has outpaced her ability to manage her presentation.

Her eyes were blurring slightly at the edges.

She was drooling over her husband’s chest while pressing his tits — her husband’s tits — while a dragon pressed his hand against her soaked cunt through her skirt and her panty had been riding her ass crack for the last thirty seconds.

She heard fabric shift.

She heard the distinct sound of a zip.

Her head turned.

She could not help it. Her neck turned on its own, her gaze tracking down over his hip, and she saw—

She saw it.

It hung free from his trousers — not soft, fully hard, the length of it projecting outward in the stopped afternoon air with the absolute confidence of something that has never been told no by a body that was paying attention.

It was the color of deep crimson. Not metaphorically. Literally the dark red of something that runs hot, the shaft thick from base to the flared head with a slight forward curve, the crown a deeper flush than the shaft, the whole length of it glistening faintly. The girth of it was — she looked at her own wrist, involuntarily, comparing — it was ’thicker than her wrist,’ and the length cleared her forearm measurement by what she estimated was three fingers.

"I," she said.

She looked at it.

She looked at it for a full second without speaking.

"I cannot," she said.

Her pussy clenched. She felt it clench around the gathered cotton of her panty and the sensation made her eyes momentarily cross.

"No, wait." Her voice was climbing. "I — I do not — it is too — that is ’too big’ — I—"

She looked down at herself. At her fully clothed body. At the long skirt, at the modest dress, at her completely covered form standing in a stopped street.

"And why—" She looked up at him. "Why am I still clothed? Why have you not—"

"Oh, I will not be removing your clothes," he said pleasantly.

She blinked.

"I will be ’tearing’ them," he said. "Making a hole." He tilted his head, looking at the long skirt. "Although—" Something that was not quite a smile moved across his face. "If the fabric is strong enough, it may simply act as a condom."

She stared at him.

"A — a ’condom,’" she repeated. "What is that. What does that—"

He moved his hips.

The word died in her throat.

His cock had pressed through the layers — skirt and panty and the gathered fabric between them — and she felt the full, blunt, impossible weight of the head pressing directly against her pussy over the cloth. Not inside. Not yet. Just the pressure of it finding her, with the unerring accuracy of something that ’knew,’ the way a sex demon’s cock apparently simply ’knew’ exactly where to press without searching, without adjusting, without trial — it simply found the soaked, clenching center of her cunt through two layers of fabric and settled there.

She stopped breathing.

"I—"

He pushed.

Not all the way. Just the first push — the exploratory shove, five inches forward, the cloth bunching and pressing inward, the shape of his cock outlining through her skirt like a fist pressing through silk, and her pussy, her poor soaked human pussy, tried to ’accommodate’ the pressure and couldn’t, the fabric pressing into the wet folds, her panty being shoved inward—

"AAAHH—!! NO— WAIT— I— IT’S—"

Her hips tried to rock away. Her hands scrambled at Esvan’s shirt. Her fingers found and gripped and she heard the fabric tear slightly and her nails were suddenly dragging across the binding at Esvan’s chest and the binding gave—

It gave entirely.

The full length of it unwound and fell, and what it had been binding — what it had been compressing, flattening, keeping respectable — swung forward into the afternoon air in front of her face.

Two small, very soft, very pink tits.

With very prominent, very stiff, very ’female’ nipples.

Right in front of her nose.

Her Truth-Sight opened.

She stared.

She stared for a full three seconds.

She did not close it this time. There was nothing left to close. The information was in front of her face, pink and peaked and indisputable.

Her mouth opened.

And Raven chose ’precisely that moment’ to snap his hips forward.

The cloth tore.

Her panty tore.

His cock — every crimson, cucumber-thick, absolutely real inch of it — tore through the gathered fabric and the destroyed panty and shoved directly into her cunt bare and sudden and ’deep,’ her pussy stretching around the girth of it with the helpless elasticity of a body that was not prepared, her skirt bunching at her hips from the force of it, and her scream came out through her open mouth aimed directly at the two pink nipples in front of her face.

"AAAAAANGHHHH~~!!!"

The whole world might have shaken. The frozen crowd might have trembled. In the stopped afternoon nothing moved except her body — her thick, shaking, overwhelmed body, her tits slamming forward in her dress, her head snapping backward before lolling forward again, her face landing directly between those two soft small tits as if she was burying herself in them, her hands clawing at the open shirt around them.

He grabbed her.

His hands came up from behind, over her dress, and found her tits like handles — both palms closing over the heavy mounds from behind, gripping them at her collar level, the full weight of her boobs filling his grip as he pulled her back against him.

She screamed into the other woman’s chest.

"IT HURTS— IT HURTS— IT—"

"Some tight, high-quality pussy," he said, directly against her ear. His voice was warm and deeply satisfied. "That’s what I found here."