Lady Rhelgar was gone.
Not dead—though her twitching legs and drool-soaked chin made a convincing case—but spiritually, mentally, emotionally? Wiped clean. Whatever shreds of pride she'd clung to were now sloshing inside her, mixed with Allen's last load and a steady stream of humiliation.
Allen looked down at the noblewoman he'd utterly dismantled, his cock still buried deep inside her quivering cunt—now swollen, stretched, and leaking like a busted wineskin.
"Still breathing, huh?" he muttered, watching her chest rise in ragged, twitching gasps. "Good. I'm not done rearranging your floor plan yet."
He rolled his hips forward, and—
SPLRCH-GURGLE!
Rhelgar screamed, a high-pitched wail that bounced off the stone walls like a banshee in heat.
Her stomach bulged.
Not metaphorically—literally. Allen's cock was a monstrous silhouette, snaking beneath her skin like a living, throbbing beast trying to burst through her belly.
