He pulled the panty fully aside and held her hips and looked at the geometry of her—the full open display of her, the spread of the vine's positioning, the thick wet warmth of her completely visible at his eye level—and the physician's assessment was concurrent with the Shadow Devourer's resonance and both arrived at the same conclusion, which was: 'yes.'
He pressed against her.
The tip of him at the entrance of her.
"'—don't—I'm telling you—don't—'"
He pressed in.
The first inch was—warm and tight and honest about exactly what it was, the body's response to stimulus completely unmanaged by the cultivation that should have been redirecting it, the full mortal-baseline honesty of a woman whose suppressed stage meant that every biological process was running without the subtle cultivation-layer modifications that Nascent Soul practitioners applied without thinking.
"'—AAAHN~—!!'"
She cut this one off at the 'AA' and got approximately none of the remaining sound suppressed.
