Her initial confusion followed by morbid surprise was just as tailored to his tastes as before. There was that surge in his stomach that could have been his moral self struggling just as Iris. And just like the angel in the shallow yet deadly water it was failing, close to exstinction. But it gave him pleasure, all the same. He was murdering himself, also, with her, again and again, and those parts of him didn't revive as cleanly as she did. Nonetheless he was very pulled by her fight through the noisy, beautiful tarp he'd dressed her in.<br/><br/>She was understanding her situation inside her tight dome, and her word of refusal filled the plastic prison to vibrate it, like she was some electronical being, singing at him to the beats of her writhing through the crackling curtain, made oppressive dress. Her legs didn't fight him, which should have told her a lot by what fetishes she was developing, herself. Her broken announcement of when her pushed into her was as scrumptious as he wanted, and he felt the almost painful hug of her inner again. He'd broken her once more. The forever virgin. She'd come to learn to apprechiate the pain before every union they would have in the future. How perverse, that she couldn't go through with love's expression without bleeding.<br/><br/>Her torso, however, wasn't as amicable as her legs, and made foam in the water as she multiplied her arms. Their eyes met when she was in the troes of her deathly frantic. It did well to give his cock pleasure. He understood her, she was frightened and her instincts were taking over. It made her cunt vice-like, and he took care to violated it harder. He read the slowing in her waving hands, and let them make their noise in the froth and with clattering plastic. At best, it was still just a formality. She couldn't fight him even if she'd had the power to burn countries before.<br/><br/>If he only held on, her body still struggleded hard enough for him to find pleasure. It was the sensation of her coming conclusion that moved over the sensitive flesh he'd stuck her with, like he was lancing her life itself. He let her violent gestures become more lethargic, and the water clear around her face. The implications around his member when she was still holding on hard, but not moving as much was almost unbarable, but he managed to keep himself from release as he stared at her face and its lessing production of bubbles.<br/><br/>Or would she show him something glorious from the angel she used to be?<br/><br/>Eventually, when she'd drank enough of the tap's luke warm wealth, and she laid still, her fingers floating rarther than swimming, he'd lift her sitting in his lap, too late, but then bounce her furiously by her hips. This close to consciousness, he was hoping to revive her, and push the water out of her lungs with his insistent cock, that he sunk her on over and over. He'd killed her before. Now he wanted to see if he could save her life. And when she woke, her salvation come, he'd arrive in her, so she'd feel the warmth of his acceptance when she got her life back. It was hubris in Roan, and this angel was perfectly designed to let him have it. How utterly human, to want to train her to connect his cock to her own life and death.<br/><br/>He'd kiss the coughing mouth to make it harder to recover, and hold her to him. "Good morning, darling." he whispered in her soaked ear through her hanging hair, his body still pulsing inside hers.