The single thrust had rearranged her understanding of pain.
Not the sharp kind — not the clean, blade-precise hurt she knew from fieldwork, from training, from the nineteen years of things her body had absorbed and catalogued and filed under 'acceptable cost' — but the deep, 'structural' kind.
The kind that went past the outer ring and kept going.
She felt his cock inside her the way you feel a fist pushed through wet clay — the walls of her anal passage parting around every ridge and vein of him, the dense, thick heat of nine inches seated where nine inches had never been seated in a single stroke — and the information her nervous system was receiving was too much volume for the available channels.
Her intestines knew about him now.
