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There's a split second, between the moment that she stands up and the moment that the shadow of claws comes down upon her, where Marcille thinks that Falin recognizes her.
It could be her imagination. It probably is – there are so many bodies, so much blood, the sound of death ringing in the air, making ripples in the mana around them – but she thinks, she swears, that Falin looks at her. That Falin sees her.
"Falin!" she shouts, and the thing, the chimera, her friend, turns towards her, at the same time as Kabru's blade makes a wild cut towards her neck. There's a sound, a horrible, layered sound, a woman screaming in fury and a dragon's roar and a bird's screech, and Falin's – the chimera's – tail swings around, colliding with Kabru and sending him soaring backwards with a horrifying crunching noise. He lands in a crumpled heap and is still, but Marcille is frozen, terrified and awed and unfathomably sad, as the...as Falin takes a step towards her, and then another, her massive claws denting the stone, sending up clouds of dust and rock powder and pebbles. She's so large, not quite the same towering majesty as the red dragon, but the body that she's...that she's attached to is disproportionate to everything else, and Falin is still just...Falin. She's still wearing her nightshirt, now torn and bloodstained, and there's blood on the tips of her claws where she'd crushed Shiro's retainers into the roof tiles, and she's close, now, close enough to touch...
"Marcille!" she hears Laios shout behind her. "Marcille, run!" She knows that if Laios is telling her to run that she should, he would know, he knows so much about monsters, and hadn't he said once that he admired chimeras the most? But Falin is here, right here, amber-eyed and leaning down towards her, and Marcille's grip on her staff tenses...
"Marci," the chimera, Falin, it's Falin, it is, it is, says, and Marcille relaxes.
"Falin," she breathes. "You are in there! Falin, please, you have to fight it, whatever it is you have to fight!"
Falin smiles at her, so gentle. Marcille remembers that smile bolstering her during the hardest days at the magic academy.
And then a shadow falls over her, and she doesn't know anything else.
+++
Marcille wakes with a pounding headache and an awful twinge in her back. It's dark, and there's a thick smell in the air, like livestock but worse.
She wants to scream. She wants to sit bolt upright and look for someone, anyone – Laios? Senshi? Anyone? But she forces herself to hold perfectly, fearfully still. It's not livestock she smells, she realizes. It's predator.
Somewhere, very close, something huge moves, and memory comes rushing back. The red dragon. Falin. The mad sorcerer. The chimera.
Marcille bites her lip to stifle a whimper as the huge thing moves closer. She wants to think she knows what it is, but she can't see, and the last thing she remembers was Falin's claw coming down on her, and being utterly sure that she was going to die.
She tries to move her hand, to grope in the darkness for her staff, but the sound it makes when she moves is so loud that she stops immediately.
"Marci," something in the blackness whispers, and Marcille's eyes start to sting. She sniffs, holding still, staring straight up, keeping her fear caught behind her teeth. "Marci...hurt."
She's not as hurt as her friends were – spirits, she doesn't even know if all of them made it – but she does hurt. She wonders if she hit her head on something when Falin grabbed her, because it doesn't have the same feel as a headache. It's a sick, deep ache that throbs into bright red fire every time her heart beats. She licks her lips and tastes iron.
"Yes," she finally whispers. She has two choices here: either lie here and die of starvation, or do something. She doesn't know what exactly, yet, but she's not going to wither away slowly here in the dark. "Yes, I...it hurts. My head hurts, Falin."
"Help," she hears. It's Falin's voice, but there's that same layered sound beneath it, a rumble and a chirp that's wholly animal. Wholly monster. If she'd heard it but never seen its owner, Marcille can't definitively say she wouldn't assume it was a mermaid, or some other demihuman.
The massive thing moves nearer, shuffling, the sound of stones crunching and pinging off...are there walls? She can't tell. She moves her hand again, and this time feels the rough living-wood edge of her staff. She swallows.
"Falin," she says. "I'm...I'm going to cast light, okay? I need to see. I can't see you."
There isn't an answer, but the movement has stopped. Marcille shudders. She won't know if this will provoke Falin until she does it, but she needs the light. She needs to know what she's dealing with.
"Lux," she whispers, and light floods from her fingertips.
She's lying on the ground...no, not quite on the ground. She's lying on top of something, some kind of platform that her light-dazzled eyes don't recognize at first. It isn't until she's blinked a few times, and groped at the edges of it, that she realizes it's a bed. A bed with no mattress on it, but a bed all the same. The rest of her surroundings slowly swim into focus: high, stone walls stretching up and up into darkness, huge pillars that do the same, wide open space in between. Her first guess is that she's in a cistern of some sort, except that, from what she can see, the floor is bone-dry. And there's the bed. There aren't usually beds in cisterns.
A flash of white catches her eye, movement, the shuffle of stone. Marcille knows what it is before she turns her head, but it still knocks the breath out of her, finally looses the whimper that she was holding in her throat.
Falin emerges from the dark between the pillars.
She's so tall that Marcille, even lying on her back, has to tilt her head, and the oddness of her proportions is so much worse from this angle. It doesn't look right, looks like someone's cut the top off a human-sized statue and plastered it haphazardly onto a ox-pulled cart. Bigger than that. The chimeras that Laios likes so much at least look like they're meant to be that way, but Falin is...
It's wrong. It's wrong, but it's...the feathers, the white, the ruby glimmer of her scales...it's beautiful, too. Marcille doesn't know if she wants to cry or scream or crawl on hands and knees and ask Falin to forgive her. She should have noticed when she left the bed. She should have noticed.
"Marci," Falin says again. She takes another step closer, snaking out from between the pillars, her tail whipping behind her like a snake. She comes closer and closer, and Marcille thinks, I could cast, I have the time, she's moving slow, she's...
She doesn't. She waits, heart fluttering like a bird in her throat, as Falin creeps up to her and then leans her whole upper body down. Her nightshirt has been reduced to rags at this point, and poking between the tattered shreds there are feathers, white and speckled red.
"Help," Falin says again, and then she cups Marcille's head in her hands. She'd seen the strength Falin has now, she'd watched her lift Shiro's friends like they were nothing, but now her fingers are light and careful, tapping against Marcille's aching skull. There's a dull thump somewhere in her head, like something being shoved back into place, and a flare of pain so sharp that it makes her moan, and then the pulsing stops. Her heart is still hammering in her ears, but not her head.
"Help," Falin repeats. Her fingers card through Marcille's hair, and a few clumps of dried blood flake free. She'd been so excited to bathe, to wash her hair, and to have Falin with her and to see her again and hold her and...and now...
Marcille winces when Falin's nails encounter a healing scab. "Yes," she says. "Yes, you've helped. It feels...a lot better."
"No," Falin says. She tilts Marcille's head up, their eyes meeting. Her neck cranes uncomfortably. "Marcille help."
"I..." Oh. Oh, she understands now, and her eyes are stinging again as tears flood them. She sniffs, and reaches up to rub her fist against her eye. Falin doesn't let go of her. "I don't know how," she says. Shame is like a knife against her throat. "I don't know how to fix this. I don't...I don't know how much of you is in there, or...or how much the mad wizard took out, or..."
Falin cocks her head to the side. If she understands, she doesn't give any indication of it; she's smiling very faintly, bemused but gentle. She still has the same smile. Her eyes still squint when she's happy or confused. Marcille chokes down a sob and reaches for her friend's face, touching the curve of her cheek, the sweep of her brow, and Falin lets her. There has to be some of the woman left inside the monster, or else she would be...she'd just be out of her mind with rage, wouldn't she? The way she was with the others.
Falin snorts. It's an animal sound, like a horse blowing, and then she leans down further and presses her nose against the top of Marcille's head. Scents down to the tip of her right ear, and Marcille feels something hot and velvet-wet flick out and touch it. She yelps, instinctive. "What!"
"Help," Falin says again. She sounds more frustrated, now. Her hands move from Marcille's head to her shoulders, patting at her robe, plucking at the hem of her collar. "Off. Off."
"Falin, please, I don't...I don't understand–" There's a hot lick of pain at her ear, sharper and sweeter than the sick thud of her head earlier, and Marcille squeaks. "Ow! What was that!"
Falin leans back. Licks her lips. Her pupils are huge, and her eyes look nearly black, just a slender ring of gold right at the edge.
"Help," she says, and then grabs Marcille's hands and drags them to her chest.
She's frozen. She can't move, can't think – the shapes of Falin's breasts are barely covered by her nightshirt, and it's not as if Marcille hasn't seen her friend naked before, but...but this is different. This is closer to the fantasies she'd had in the academy, when she'd imagined...she'd pictured sneaking out to Falin's dungeon, both of them giggling, she'd pictured lying down near the water and basking in the feel of all those healthy spirits, she'd pictured turning onto her side and Falin's mouth being right there, waiting to be kissed. She'd never gotten much further than that, wary of ruining a friendship far too precious to lose, and so she'd buried it deep and refused to think about it. And then, when they'd started adventuring together, there hadn't been time to think about it. There'd just been the constant background hum of her feelings informing every decision, big and small, but never at the forefront.
She'd never imagined that Falin might feel the same way. Falin was that way with everyone. She was kind to everyone. Is kind. Marcille hadn't been the exception.
She stares at her hands, her fingers spread wide over the softness of Falin's breasts. They don't feel quite right, like she's wearing an extra layer over them, maybe? The feathers, she thinks. She has feathers there, now. She bites the inside of her cheek.
"I don't...I don't know..."
Falin snorts again. Her hands around Marcille's wrists tighten until the bones ache, but stop just short of true pain. One of her back legs stomps, drawing Marcille's attention, and she understands.
The red dragon had been male. What's hanging, heavy and twitching, between Falin's back legs is definitely male. Marcille can't say she's studied monster reproduction in as much detail as Laios has, but even she's capable of recognizing a penis when she sees one, even if this one is...is very large.
"Oh," she says faintly. "Help."
Falin smiles at her. It's such a beautiful smile. It's always made her feel like she's got butterflies in her stomach, that smile. Now the butterflies compete with an awful sinking sensation, like she's falling down a very deep pit.
"I...I don't know how to help you with that, Falin," she says, even though she knows, she knows exactly what she could do, she could...she's had lovers, here and there, men and women both, she knows the process, and Falin is large but she has magic. Somewhere under the butterflies and the sinking and the horror and the sadness, warmth blooms.
Falin lifts her head. Sniffs.
"Breed," she says. "Marci. Breed."
"Falin, this isn't you, this is...this is the monster, the dragon, you can fight this..."
The hands around her wrists tighten again as Falin snarls, her smile becoming a row of too-sharp teeth. She pushes down, and Marcille doesn't have any choice but to let her arms be slammed back against the platform of the bed. Her stomach churns, but also...
Spirits, she wants. Shameful as it is, she wants, and she can feel a growing tightness between her legs, like a clock being wound. It's not the sight of the...of Falin's prick that does it, but she wants Falin, any way she can have her. She'd just never thought she could.
This isn't Falin, though. Falin would never...hurt her, would never force her, she'd always imagined that it would be her who took Falin into her arms, and guided her through making love for the first time. And maybe that had only been wishful thinking, but still, this isn't how Falin would want things to happen.
Yet she doesn't see how she has any choice. Falin is so much larger than her, so much stronger, and her magic is...there isn't anyone here for her to lie to. She doesn't have to pretend for the sake of the party. Her magic is weak, and she's weak, drained of mana and running on empty. The boost that Falin had given her while they'd bathed had been a reprieve, but a temporary one, sucked away in the course of the fight afterwards. And she isn't sure if she could cast against Falin, anyway.
A whuff of hot breath courses over her as Falin snuffles down her front, mouthing at the collar of her robes. Her front leg paws restlessly at the stone, tearing great rents in it and turning chunks of granite into dust. She smells like summer, like wheatfields, a little bit dusty, but warm. Marcille gulps.
Maybe, she thinks, maybe this is how I can bring her back. Maybe if I talk to her, touch her, maybe...It's as much an excuse as it is hope, but it's all she has. She sucks in a sharp breath as Falin's fingers hook into the button of her capelet, and then, in one swift motion, she wrenches it apart and flings it away. "Marci," Falin croons, "Marci, Marci. Breed?"
Heat rushes to her cheeks. Between her legs. Marcille bites her lip and crushes her thighs together, unsure if the desire or the shame is stronger. She knows which one will win, though.
"I...Let me just...Will you let my hands go?" Falin tilts her head, birdlike and suspicious. "So I can...touch you. Take your nightshirt off. I won't do anything else, I promise." There has to be something of Falin left, not just a mimic that can parrot words, but something that understands, because after a second Falin...lets go of her. Marcille sighs, and takes a second to rub feeling back into her wrists, and to sit up and look around.
The capelet's landed a fair ways off, just a dim blue shape on the floor, but other than that nothing looks any different now that she's upright. It's chilly, though, made all the more obvious by the heat that Falin is giving off. Marcille thinks about chickens, snug and warm on their nests, and wonders of Falin's feathers would feel the same. She supposes she'll have the chance to find out.
Maybe...maybe she only needs to hold on. Laios, Senshi and Chilchuck are bound to be searching for her, right? They wouldn't leave both her and Falin here. Maybe Chilchuck would argue for it, but Senshi...but Shiro, Shiro would want to leave them. Shiro would argue that she's gotten what she deserves.
No. They'll come for her, and for Falin. They'll figure everything out, they'll fix Falin, they'll...they'll do whatever they have to. She'll do whatever she has to. And if she can keep Falin in one place, it will be easier for the party to find them.
She can do this. She can go through with this. It doesn't have to be...because she wants it or doesn't want it, it can be because she has to.
Marcille reaches up and touches Falin's cheek.
It's warm. Smooth. Soft. It gives slightly under the pressure of her fingers, and Falin stamps her hind leg. Her...she has a sheath, between her legs, like a horse or a dog, and the tip of her cock is poking out from it, now. It's tapered at the head, narrow, but there are bumps on it like...like scales, maybe? There's no sign of testicles, though. Maybe they're internal?
"Marci," Falin sighs, and it sounds so like her, so familiar, and no one else calls her 'Marci,' and before she can stop herself Marcille is leaning up and their mouths meet.
It's an awkward kiss. The angle, the height, the...everything about it is wrong, but Falin grumbles, low in her throat, a sound that turns into a rolling purr. Her tongue flicks out, hot, and pries at Marcille's lips until she opens for it, and then it sweeps inside; it's longer than a tallman-sized tongue ought to be, sinuous and wet as it explores Marcille's teeth and flicks at the back of her throat. She gags a bit, and then it pushes past the resistance and Falin's tongue is in her throat, pumping slowly. Spit coats her chin as she tries to catch a breath that doesn't come, and her hands scrabble uselessly at Falin's nightshirt until she manages to snag one of the tears. Her frantic clawing widens it, and there's a ripping sound as the cloth gives way. It's enough to make Falin back off, her tongue slipping wetly from Marcille's throat, making her gag again, and then suck in a deep, whooping breath.
It's okay, she tells herself. Her eyes are watering from the lack of air. It's fine. It's all right. She didn't mean to, she was just...enthusiastic. She whimpers as Falin's teeth close around her ear again, not nipping this time but...gnawing, very gently. It feels better than it has any right to; her ears have always been sensitive.
"Okay," she says, "okay, let me just..." Falin's nightshirt is hanging on by a thread, and it only takes a few quick tugs to tear it the rest of the way off. It falls somewhere to the side of the bed frame, leaving Falin entirely bare. It's...She's different. Shaped the same, the same heavy, soft breasts, now covered with feathers. The same rounded stomach, hidden under white down. Marcille can't tell if she still has nipples or not, which is...more upsetting than she expected it to be. Falin had always had lovely, large nipples. Marcille had envied them as much as she had wanted to touch them.
She has the opportunity, now. She grits her teeth, shoving down the shame that bubbles up at the back of her throat, acidic and awful. She's not just doing this because...because she wants to fuck a monster. She's doing this because it's Falin, because Falin needs her, because they need to stay in one place of Laios and the others are going to find them, and if part of her is...is intrigued, so what? This isn't any worse than eating monsters. It's arguably better, because no one has to get hurt.
She plunges her hands into the feathers on Falin's chest.
They're soft. Warm. They feel like feathers from any other bird, but Falin's breasts beneath are a more familiar shape; her rumbling purr kicks higher as Marcille touches her, kneading her fingers into hidden flesh. Between the prickly shafts of the feathers is skin, and Marcille searches it out, parting the down like hair. She cups the weight of Falin's breasts in her palms, thumbs searching for the pebbled flesh of nipples...finding nothing. Just more skin, more feathers. Her eyes are stinging again, not quite tears.
"Oh," she says softly, "I'm so sorry, Falin. I don't...I don't know why that bothers me." Falin doesn't say anything, but she pushes her chest more firmly into Marcille's palms, so she kneads harder, like she's preparing bread dough. There's more muscle than there was before. Falin was always strong, but this is like touching a...a piece of iron wrapped in velvet. Underneath the layer of fat, Falin's pectorals flex and contract. Marcille couldn't hurt her if she tried.
She's still so soft, over all of it.
"I used to...to think about this," she says quietly. Her fingers walk a trail from Falin's breasts up to her collarbones, not quite so hidden by feathers, and then to her neck, where her pulse beats like a drumbeat under Marcille's thumb. It seems as good a time as any for confessions, and the chance that Falin understands nuance is...slim. "When we were at the academy together. But I thought if I ever asked you, it would ruin the friendship we had, and...and friends are rarer than lovers. I didn't want to risk losing you over what I wanted, so I never said anything."
"Marci," Falin murmurs. For a moment Marcille can almost imagine it's acceptance in her voice.
"Let's...let's try kissing again?" she says, and Falin blinks at her, heavy-lidded and languid. Her purring hasn't stopped, but when Marcille glances down she can see that the...that Falin's cock has gotten harder, slipping a bit further from its sheath and revealing more nubbed spots along the shaft. The head of it isn't as purely pointed as she'd thought; there's a little flat spot just beneath the taper, where there's a slit that presumably for, for...
She's not precious about these things. Anatomy is an important part of magic, and maybe she's a bit squeamish about things like monsters, but she's never shied away from getting her hands dirty when it's been necessary. Bones and fat and semen are all an important part of the magical process, depending on the spell, and again, it's not like she hasn't taken lovers before.
It's just that this is Falin. It should be better than this. There should be...candles, and soft music, and a box of chocolates that they've been sharing. Soft sheets. A bed, period.
She chews her lip, and leans up again.
This time, kissing Falin is...it's better. Softer. She can almost pretend that it's a woman under her hands, and not whatever Falin has become. Her mouth opens, and Marcille licks inside before Falin can respond, and inside it's wet and blazingly hot and the tongue writhing under hers is strangely-textured, not smooth but like...like running your fingers over velvet. It twines around her own tongue, tugging and rippling, and Falin groans, somewhere deeper down in her body, and pushes forward. It plows Marcille back onto the bed, which scrapes across the stone for a few inches before it settles again; Falin breaks the kiss, her tongue hanging red from her mouth.
"Breed?" she says, and Marcille flinches as one massive, clawed foot takes a step over her...and then the second foot rises, and Falin swings her hips forward. Her cock bounces against her belly, and then smacks down between Marcille's thighs, resting there, pulsing and so hot that it feels molten. It's almost fully out of the sheath now, huge and thicker than her arm, and all of it is a deep, deep red, so dark it's nearly black. A vein pulses along its underside, and as Marcille watches a bead of clear fluid wells at the tip, steaming as it hits the chilly air, and trembles for a second before falling onto her robe. The animal smell is more powerful, down here by Falin's belly, more pungent, and there's a distinct note of something burning beneath it.
Marcille rubs her thighs together, jostling the prick in her lap. "I...yes," she says. "Yes. If...if that's what you need." She doesn't want to take her robe off, not with the temperature as low as it is and only Falin's body heat to shield her from it, so she reaches for the hem and hikes it up instead; Falin makes a noise that could be encouragement, maybe excitement, as the head of her prick touches Marcille's torso. It smears another bead of clear fluid that rubs into Marcille's skin and then dries almost immediately from how hot it is. It leaves a tingling spot behind, like it's sunk into her guts somehow, and for the first time Marcille moans.
"Oh," she says. "Oh, it's...it's so warm." She shifts in place, her thighs rubbing together. Heat has been gathering steadily at her core, but there's no denying now that she's wet, too, and the clockwork tension that's been winding up in her belly has pulled all of her taut and vibrating. She hooks her thumbs into the band of her trousers, tugging them lower so that Falin's cock ruts against her belly, too, the head of it dragging through the thin trail of golden hair leading down to her mound. It's warm there, too, and leaves another tingling trail of fluid that soaks into her skin.
What can dragon semen be used for? She doesn't think anyone has ever been able to harvest any, for obvious reasons. She knows there are some monsters with venom that can induce hallucinations, and pleasure can be part of those, but...aphrodisiacs? Surely this heat can't be natural. Maybe it's all right if she feels this way, burning up inside, soaking through the crotch of her underwear, because if it's caused by some chemical that Falin is producing, then...then it isn't Falin's fault, and Marcille hasn't given into anything, and neither of them has to be ashamed.
"Breed?" Falin asks again, and tilts her upper body so that she's looking at Marcille upside-down, her eyes huge and lambent. Marcille's heart thuds in her ears.
"Yes," she breathes. "All right. Yes."
She shimmies her trousers down, kicking until she manages to shake them off her legs, leaving her in just her underwear. Falin's cock rubs against her thighs, leaking a trail of steaming pre across her skin before it skids upwards, skating across her belly and rutting over her chest. Marcille pulls her robe up a bit higher, a flush stealing over her cheeks as her breasts are exposed. The cool air makes her nipples pebble into hard little points, and Falin makes a noise of interest, twisting herself into an impossible curve to reach for them. Marcille's breath stutters into another moan as curious fingers pluck at her, tugging and twisting just to the point of almost-pain. The tightness in her core has turned into an ache, and no matter how much she shifts and writhes it only makes it worse.
"Falin," she whines, and gasps when the fingers pinch in response. "Ah! Falin! Please!"
"Mine," Falin says. "My Marci." Her fingers tug, pulling Marcille's breast into a sharp curve before letting go; there's scant flesh there to begin with, but Falin seems entranced, watching the way Marcille's skin has pricked into gooseflesh, and the cheery red color her nipples have turned. "Breed Marci."
"I already said yes! What else do you need me to–ah!" There's a hot, insistent nudge at the seam of her cunt, Falin's cock butting up against the barrier of her underwear. The pointed tip of it glances against her clit, sending a throb of heat through her, so strong it's almost pain, and she isn't sure whether she wants to spread her legs or cross them.
But she...she wants it. She wants it more now than she did when this all started, and that must mean something, right? Something about...pheromones or secretions or...spirits, she's never wished she had Laios' mind before, but now she finds she does, if only she could try and work this whole thing out through the overwhelming heat that's spreading through her.
Maybe...maybe after, maybe if she lets Falin...Afterwards, she'll have a clearer head? She's already decided she would. She...she owes Falin this much, doesn't she?
She's panting. She doesn't know when she started, but she's panting, her tongue resting against her bottom lip like a dog. Marcille snaps her teeth shut, almost biting herself.
"Okay!" she says. "Let's...let's do it. Okay." She isn't going to be able to take something that large inside of her without help, though. Marcille chews her lip, and then reaches for her staff, still glowing, giving a faint cast of light over the stone pillars.
"Fingunt figuram," she says, and as she feels the magic start to pour through her hand she seizes it, holds it, and then shoves her hand down inside her underwear.
It tingles, a buzzing like a cicada or a bee, as she hooks two fingers into her sopping cunt and lets the magic loose. She's never tried this spell in such a concentrated area before, and she shudders as every muscle from her belly to her thighs goes tense, and then eases all at once, and inside she flutters, and the walls of her cunt feel...smoother, maybe? Like they give more? Her clit throbs like a tiny second heart, and, curious, she touches it with the tip of her thumb as she pulls her fingers free. Pleasure spikes like a knife, the tension that's been building in her gut snapping all at once, sending rippling waves of relief through her whole body as her spine arches and a startled moan escapes her. Did...did she just come from touching herself once?
It isn't enough, though. As soon as her back hits the platform again the tension starts building again, and she's so, so wet, soaking through her underwear. Maybe she could take Falin even without the spell.
"Marci," Falin says, drawing out her name into a long, petulant whine. Falin's cock ruts against her belly, up between her breasts, leaving hot trails of pre behind. Marcille yanks her hand out of her underwear; she's panting again, and this time she can't seem to stop.
"Yes," she says, "I'm, I'm ready, I just needed to...but I'm ready for you, Falin." She grabs the waist of her underwear, indelicate and urgent, and shoves it down, the cool air hitting the heated lips of her cunt, all the way to the core of her. She's so open and wet, she's surprised all of her insides aren't just...spilling out.
"Okay," she whispers. "I'm ready. You...you can put it in."
"Marci," Falin says, turns it into a chant as she readjusts herself, taking a step back so that her cock slides down Marcille's belly. "Marci, Marci, my Marci, breed Marci." Her cock falls between Marcille's legs with a terrifyingly loud thump and jabs forward, hitting Marcille's labia and making her wince. It's so big. She suddenly doesn't know if even the magic will be enough, but she also doesn't care. She wants it inside her, she wants...she wants Falin's seed in her, she wants her friend's cock so badly she can feel the craving in her throat. She's so hot inside.
She's still panting as she reaches between her legs, trying to help guide the thick heft of Falin's prick towards her cunt. She can barely lift it with both hands, but she manages to position it so that the pointed tip of it is at least in vaguely the right direction. It's the first time she's actually touched it, and under her fingers all the numerous little nubs and scales feel like the most exquisite velvet. She can't even begin to imagine what it will be like inside her. She can't wait to find out. She is desperate to find out.
"Here," she pants. "Here, right here." She doesn't know if Falin understands her, not really – is she truly speaking, or is she just parroting memory? – but she must understand this, because Falin makes a joyous, trumpeting sound, like an elk in summer, and swings her hips forward again.
It's huge. The tip of Falin's cock smashes against the opening of Marcille's cunt and braces there, pushing and aching and it's so much, she can't possibly take that much into her, magic be damned; it doesn't hurt but it aches, a throbbing, wonderful-horrible ache as her lips spread around it and just the tip of it bullies inside, and it's so hot. She'd thought that Falin's pre was hot, but it's nothing compared to the volcanic temperature of her cock. Marcille makes a high, thready sound, cut off into a moan as her cunt spreads wider and wider, trying to take in more. There's still no pain, just the sick-odd feeling of being stretched, which is a pleasure of its own, in a way. Marcille looks down at where Falin's prick is slowly shoving into her, black-red color of it a stark contrast to the paleness of her own thighs and the redness of her cunt. Her clit is so stiff that it pokes like a fingertip from its little hood, like a little berry in a curl field of gold. She's already stretched impossibly wide around Falin's cock and it isn't even properly in her yet.
"Falin," she pants, she wants, she wants but it's so much, it's going to tear her or... "Please, please, it's...it's too much, I can't take it, it's going to hurt–"
"Breed," Falin says, and her hips shove again, battering at Marcille's cunt. There's a popping sensation, not painful, but distinctly strange, and when Marcille looks down again the head of Falin's cock is in her, bigger than anything she's ever had before, bigger than fists or arms or...or anything. She moans, the muscles of her cunt so stretched and tight that she can't even clench down. All she can do is lie there and pant and moan as Falin howls in victory, her back leg stamping at the stone.
"Yes!" Falin says. "Yes! Marci! Yes!" She bugles again, and shoves forward with bone-splintering strength that sends the bed scooting backwards several feet, and pushes another few inches of her cock inside Marcille. There should be pain – nothing this large is meant to go inside another person – but there isn't, there's just mind-numbing pleasure as the first ridges and nubs of Falin's prick scrape against her inner walls. There's a distinct shape filling out her lower belly now, a bulge that Marcille puts her hand on, to...to check and see if it's real, maybe. It twitches under her touch, and at the same time she feels the twitch inside.
"Falin," she breathes. She can't think of anything but the heavy weight in her, the stretch of it, the unbearable, wonderful heat. Drool slips from the corner of her mouth because she can't stop panting, but she doesn't care because Falin is inside her and that's how it should be, she's meant to be here, with Falin's cock filling her up and keeping her open and wet and ready to be used. Had she been worried before? Had she thought it was too much? Clearly it isn't enough, because she still feels some emptiness inside herself that needs to be filled. "Falin, I...more! I need more! Please!"
Falin leans her huge body over, her smaller, human half bracing against the other side of the bed so that they're looking at each other upside-down. It keeps the bed from moving with the next teeth-rattling thrust, allowing more of Falin's cock to feed into her, the texture of it pulling another orgasm from somewhere behind Marcille's navel. Like the first one, it's not enough. There's something missing.
Semen, Marcille thinks, and realization dawns. "Falin," she pants, "I need you to finish in me, please, I need it, breed me, please!" Breeding. Yes. That's the only thing that will quench this terrible heat in her, is if Falin fucks her like she means it, like...like a monster. Breeds her like a monster. Falin smiles at her, upside-down, that same lovely, gentle smile, and she shoves forward again; Marcille wails as the bulge of Falin's cock inches up towards her navel. There's barely any of her inside at all; it still doesn't hurt, but she wants more, needs more.
"Preg...nant," Falin says. It sounds horrifically loud, even over the wet slide of her cock plunging into Marcille's cunt. "Get...pregnant! Breed! Marci!"
Pregnant? But as soon as she thinks it the thought wicks away, absorbed into the overwhelming pleasure of being so full and so warm. Yes, she thinks, yes, she wants Falin's seed in her, she wants to be even fuller, she wants to be bred. Like monsters do, she wants Falin's cock spurting heat into the deepest parts of her, and she imagines it filling her up and soaking into her womb, getting her...yes. Pregnant. Bred.
"Yes!" she shouts; it becomes a scream when Falin thrusts again, the bulge in her belly large enough for her to feel out the shape with both hands. "Yes! Please! Falin, please, more! More more more!"
"More!" Falin echoes, and this time when she thrusts in there's something different, there's a...a catch. The comparatively narrow tip of her cock hooking into something deep inside, something that throbs and aches and has the same pleasure-pain sensation as massaging a deep muscle. My womb, Marcille thinks. Her tongue hangs from her mouth as Falin rocks against her, too big to fuck her properly, her cunt stretched too tight to clench. Her...her cock is against my cervix, which means if she comes, she'll come right into my...! The ache of it intensifies, Falin's cockhead widening that narrow part of her, prying her open so it can reach directly into her womb, and Marcille's eyes roll back into her head. Yes. Yes, that's what she needs, that's what will finally satisfy her, will make the terrible heat go away!
"Yes!" she urges, wishing that she could wrap her legs around Falin's waist, take more into herself, something. "Yes! Inside! Inside, Falin, I want it! I need it!"
Falin makes a sound, then, like the bugling call of earlier, like a dragon's roar and a woman's shout and a bird's high scream, all of those things together, ringing through the echoing, dark chamber until it's all that Marcille can hear, and at the same time she gives one last, forceful thrust, wedging the head of her cock firmly into Marcille's cervix. Then she holds very, very still as a flood of warmth starts pulsing from her, sloshing into Marcille's cunt and fountaining directly into her womb, hot and sticky and vital. It bloats her out, makes the bulge of Falin's cock disappear in the sudden pouch of her stomach, and still more of it comes, spurting into her, leaking out around the imperfect seal of her shaft and running in hot, thick trails down Marcille's inner thighs. It's what she'd wanted, what she'd needed, and her vision whites out as her cunt flutters uselessly around Falin's prick, too stretched to be able to squeeze down as her orgasm floods through her.
More come founts from Falin, and Marcille puts both hands over her middle, panting and groaning as her belly grows tighter and rounder. She already looks like she's three months pregnant, and Falin shows no signs of stopping, her long, red tongue hanging from her open mouth like a ribbon, breath thundering in her huge, alien lungs. She's putting off so much heat that she rivals a furnace, but Marcille doesn't really feel it – the come that's bathing her cunt is the most soothing balm she's ever felt, and every drop that leaks out of her feels like a terrible lost opportunity. There's rivers of it, almost, forming a puddle underneath her behind, soaking her thighs...she can't tell what's her own wetness now and what's Falin's seed.
She comes again, and then a third time, and then she loses track as her belly gets tighter and tighter, and her voice grows hoarse from wailing her pleasure up into the unyielding darkness, and there's nothing but the feeling of Falin filling her up, breeding her, soaking her in come until there's no chance that her womb doesn't quicken, and the last thing she sees before the pleasure overwhelms her is Falin's gentle smile, and the last thing she hears is her friend's voice, rough with monstrous triumph, crooning, "Pregnant, my Marci, breed Marci, mine, mine, mine."
They'll come for me, she thinks, in the instant before her mind goes blank. They'll come for me, I just need to hold on...!
And then there's nothing. Just Falin's cock, bulging out her womb with its seed, and the sloppy, wet sounds of their fucking, and the echoes on the stone pillars, and the darkness as the light on Marcille's staff flickers and then winks out.