Drek'thar paid little heed to the woman's outcries. The *quivering* flesh atop him, the *cries* of ecstacy, the perpetual orgasm *squeezing* the life out of his cock! The rest of the world may as well be dead to him. He snorted like a bull being tempted to charge, hot steam poured from his nostrils each time their bodies met. And as Lucille slowed down it only encouraged Drek to slam harder into her, his hands taking a more forceful, guiding grip of those hips, compensating to maintain the explosive heat of their passion. Very rarely was it that a woman would go a second round only minutes after taking one out of the chamber, and Drek was determined to make certain she remembered why.<br/><br/>As each thrust continued to slow, Drek'ther sheethed his mighty claymore in her tiny scabbard. Each time her body sat atop his, he rolled his hips placing more strain on her walls. His grunts faded to groans. His cock twitched and quivered hard. It cried, no, it *demanded* release! Summoning his last bit of strength, Drek'ther lifted and pounded into Lucille's very core. One... Two... Three..! Four.! Five!! A beastial cry claimed the room as every fiber of Drek'thar's being clenched, forcing Lucille upon him for one, final stroke. It was there he held her, his convulsing pole still deep inside. His seed poured forth from him like a fire hose spraying hot magma.