Fallon's fingers dig into the mattress and twist the fabric into a tight knot as she feels the girth of Koram's member stretch her opening, then fill that hot, hungry chasm that throbbed in her lower belly until, in a moment of fear and desperation, a shameful desire to feed that need of being filled and used and to use and fill in return, her body cannot accept any more.  Her supple, curvaceous ass dimples to his pressing hands and is warm, slightly damp from a desperate overlubrication where it meets the base of his shaft, and she fights a stinging tear at the pain that comes with this desperate act.  It's an immediate pain-- very real, not distant in the least, but it's good.  Sun's blood it's good too... and though her muscles grip involuntarily and Koram incautiously drives on and amplifies the pain, she's also using him.<br/><br/>When he thrusts again, her body like a knife-wrought carving of golden wood, with taut muscle and generous femininity, he's trying to destroy that which made her innocent, to break something deeper than her body's virginity. Why didn't she rage at him for this untender treatment-- the mechanical, animistic precision with which he positioned her and went to work at her?  Because she'd meant it.  She'd wanted this done and she wanted that animal in him loosed on her skin.<br/><br/>She goes rigid and exhales a moan like a woman dying of fever when he's ready and begins truly, deeply, and heartlessly fucking her.  His cockhead reaches a depth in her that she had only felt as a tingling ache before, massages the parts of her that are more animal than elf.  She sees stars at his deepest thrusts reach the limit of her body.  Her breasts dangle from her chest like full globes of fruit, swaying and bouncing with the rhythm of his thrusts against which she can only brace herself against the headboard, then push back-- and she does.  She thrusts her ass back into his thrusts, one hand braced high and the other steadying her against half-rended, twisted bone-white sheets.  Her coppery skin glistens with the faint mist of sweat from the exertion and she cries out in half-agony, half-bliss, and grinds back into him.<br/><br/>She feels a surge of electricity from his light smack, the sound is high like a broken twig.  She seizes the headboard with a fierce grip in reply, her arm taut and slender-muscled as she twists her upper body and stares into his eyes.  Her mouth hangs in an oval of dark desire, and she gasps back.  "That's it," she says with ragged exhales, between gasps again and again.  "Don't stop," she cries, and with her free hand she rakes her short nails down his pectoral valley, leaving white lines behind, before slamming her hand back onto the headboard with enough force to crack the wood where her knuckles meet.  She then grips it like a drowning woman and thrusts back in desperate counter-motion to his thrusts.