The water was cool silk against her untouched skin. Lysandra, a goddess of the dawn with wings like folded moonlight, had never felt anything so... physical. Her massive, pillowy tits floated on the surface, nipples like dark pebbles hardening in the night air. She was a virgin in every sense, her pussy a secret no one, not even her, had explored.

A slick, guttural chuckle shattered the silence.

From the reeds emerged Grubnok. Old, his gut a sagging barrel, skin slick with greasy filth. His tiny, bloodshot eyes locked onto her jiggling jugs. "Wife," he rasped, wading in.

Lysandra gasped, her wings fluttering uselessly in the water. "Stay back!"

He didn't. His fat, stubby fingers grabbed one of her colossal breasts, squeezing the soft flesh. A bolt of shocking sensation—not entirely unpleasant—shot through her. "So ripe," he slobbered, thumb grinding over her nipple. She whimpered, a traitorous heat pooling between her thighs.

He pushed her against the muddy bank, her wings pinned. His other hand dove between her legs, finding her slit. "Virgin cunt," he grunted, a thick finger probing her tight entrance. It burned, but then he found her clit, a nub of fire she never knew existed. He rubbed it in crude, greasy circles. "Gonna make this pretty pussy sing for me."

Lysandra cried out, not just in protest. Her body was betraying her, getting wet, opening up