Even that hadn’t been as tight as this cunt. He wanted now to kiss her tears away, to beg her forgiveness… but instinct warned him against this. He glanced down at his chest and saw the skin torn beneath the hair… two long furrows left by her desperately digging fingernails. Odd, he thought, it hadn’t hurt a bit. He glanced even further down and saw his black pubic hair tangled with the golden strands down between her widespread thighs. That was a mistake, for he felt his penis twitch uncontrollably.

“No… don’t,” she begged.

He remained still for a moment, but when he felt her smooth trembling legs against his bare shoulders he consciously made his prick twitch again.

“No… you’re hurting me,” she complained. Then, sobbing, she asked, “Haven’t you taken the photographs yet?”

“I can’t without moving you around a bit,” he lied.

Sylvia, feeling the cruel impalement between her thighs, wanted desperately to have him take it out, but she was afraid withdrawal would be just as excruciating as the fiery entry had been. She had never before in her life been so filled up there. It seemed as if her stomach was being stretched upward and outward from his instrument of maledom. As for the vagina itself, she knew beyond a doubt that it had ripped and was bleeding… she could even feel what must be blood trickling down the crevice between her buttocks. Had she looked, however, she would have realized as did Shelton… that the viscous fluid came solely from the tortured walls of her vagina pouring out lubricant… a defensive lubricant that would permit the sheath to accommodate the sword.

Sylvia took a deep shuddering breath, and Shelton felt her abdominal muscles involuntarily pull upward with the expulsion of her breath. Her cervix dipped in reaction and scraped across the throbbing head of his cock. He twitched. She moaned again. Then, miraculously, Shelton felt the vaginal lips themselves… clasped tight like elastic around the end of the penis… move slightly.