Taming the Beast World with a Frying Pan

Chapter 317: Suds, Scales, and Scrubbing**

"I promise I will be quick," Syris whispered darkly against her ear.

And without giving her a second to brace herself, he roughly thrusted forward, burying his thick, slightly scaled shaft deep inside her dripping wet cunt.

"Ahhh!" Ren screamed, the force of his brutal entry slamming her chest flat against the cold, soapy table.

Her wet inner walls instantly stretched, greedily accommodating his girth. He filled her completely with a dull ache that sent a jolt of blinding pleasure straight down her spine.

"Holy shit, Syris!" Ren gasped, her soapy hands slipping uselessly against the wet stone as she desperately tried to find purchase.

"You feel so good," Syris growled, his voice vibrating with raw, primal hunger. He tightened his grip on her hoisted right leg, securely locking her knee in the crook of his elbow to open her up for his assault.

He pulled his shaft almost all the way out, the flared, blunt head popping wetly against her swollen pink lips, before he violently slammed his hips forward again. The sound of his groin colliding with her soft, wet ass cheeks echoed obscenely off the high ceilings of the scullery.

The scales of his shaft scraped exquisitely against her tight, slick passage. But the true, torture was the second one. Because he was only using one of his hemipenes for penetration, the rigid head of his second cock was trapped perfectly against the outside of her wet cleft. With every deep, punishing thrust, the textured head of his second shaft ground relentlessly against her sensitive clit.

"Oh, God! Right there!" Ren sobbed.

Syris’ breathing grew ragged. He reached his free hand around her waist to grab the bunched-up fabric of her emerald silk dress. He pulled the silk taut over her breasts, the fabric clinging perfectly to her hardened peaks. He pinched and twisted her aching nipples through the dress, pulling the silk tight enough to create a burning, good friction.

Ren shrieked, her hips bucking backward to meet his thrusts.

SMACK!

Syris suddenly released her breast and brought his large, pale hand down hard against her bare left ass cheek. The sharp, stinging slap echoed through the kitchen, instantly turning her flesh a bright, rosy pink.

"Ah!" Ren whimpered, the sudden sting sending a fresh wave of arousal pooling right between her thighs.

SMACK! He spanked her right cheek this time, his slightly extended claws leaving light, tantalizing scratches against her sensitive skin. "You are so wet for me," Syris hissed, his fangs extending just a fraction as he bit down on the junction of her neck and shoulder.

He jackhammered into her. The table shook under the force of his thrusts, making the stacked wooden platters rattle dangerously. But as the minutes of relentless, ruthless pounding ticked by, a very clear realization pierced through Ren’s lust-drunk haze.

Syris had lied. He had no intention of being quick at all.

"Syris," Ren whimpered, her left leg beginning to tremble beneath her. "You... you said you would be quick!"

"This is quick," Syris panted heavily.

Suddenly, Syris let out a low groan, his hips stuttering. The first hemipenis had reached its limit. He withdrew his slick, swollen cock entirely from her dripping entrance.

Ren gasped, slumping forward onto the soapy table, expecting it to be over. She panted heavily, trying to catch her breath.

But Syris was far from finished.

He firmly grabbed her bare waist and spun her around on the stone table. He pulled her all the way to the edge of the table, forcing her to sit upright in a puddle of cold dish suds. Her legs automatically flew open, wrapping securely around his narrow, muscular waist.

Ren looked down, her green eyes going wide. While the first hemipenis was glistening and slightly exhausted, the second one was completely rigid, fully engorged, and angrily pointing straight at her swollen pink folds.

"Again," Syris purred darkly.

He gripped her thighs, lifting her hips slightly off the stone, and plunged his erect second cock deep into her soaking wet core.

"Ahhh!" Ren screamed, throwing her head back. The new angle hit an entirely different, incredibly sensitive spot inside her.

Syris leaned over her, his large hands resting flat on the soapy table on either side of her hips to cage her in. He began to thrust upward, burying himself to the hilt with every stroke. The new position allowed him to visually enjoy everything. He stared hungrily at her bouncing breasts, occasionally leaning down to suck and bite at her nipples right through the clinging silk of her dress.

Ren shattered into a blinding climax. Her cunt clamped down around his rigid, scaled shaft, milking him with a vice-like grip. She screamed, her fingernails scratching down his broad, pale back.

Syris drove his hips forward one final time, burying himself as deep inside her as physically possible. His muscular thighs locked up as he climaxed, shooting thick ropes of his seed into her. He pumped into her until she was overflowing with his release.

He held himself deep inside her for a long moment, his chest heaving as he panted against her neck.

Finally, Syris slowly withdrew his slick, cum-coated hemipenis from her entrance.

The second he let go of her, Ren’s legs turned to jelly. She slumped back onto the soapy table, groaning pathetically. She was completely spent, her lower half throbbing with a bruised, magnificent ache.

Behind her, she heard the rustle of fabric. Syris calmly picked up his luxurious snakeskin robe from the floor and smoothly shrugged it back over his broad, pale shoulders, re-tying the sash with aristocratic grace. He looked majestic, sated, and completely unbothered.

"I feel satisfied," Syris purred, gently brushing a wet strand of red hair off her sweaty forehead. He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. "I will go rest in the nest now. Do not take too much longer with your cleaning."

Ren’s green eyes snapped wide open. She slowly pushed herself up from the puddle of suds, her emerald silk dress falling haphazardly back down over her thoroughly thighs.

"The hell you are," Ren hissed.

Syris paused mid-step, looking back at her in genuine confusion. "Excuse me?"

Ren shakily turned around, gripping the edge of the table to keep her wobbly legs from completely giving out. She glared daggers at him.

"My legs are completely shot, thanks to you!" Ren growled, aggressively pointing a finger at his chest. "So, you are going to finish washing the damn dishes!"

"I do not want to do that," Syris stated slowly, emphasizing every word.

Ren held his defiant gaze with her own as she shakily hoisted herself up onto a rock, crossing her arms over her chest. "Get to scrubbing."

With a petulant scowl that, he slowly walked back over to the stone basin.

He stared at the mountain of dirty pots and platters with pure loathing. Very gingerly, he extended his arm. Instead of grabbing the sponge, he used the very tip of his index claw to poke a crusty, butter-stained crab shell, as if testing to see if it was still alive.

"Syris," Ren called from her seat. "Pick up the sponge."

Syris let out a dramatic, hissing sigh. He pinched the wet, soapy marsh-sponge strictly between his thumb and his index claw, holding it as far away from his robe as physically possible. He looked like someone holding a dead, rotting rodent.

He dropped a dirty cast-iron pot into the water. CLANG! The metal crashed loudly against the stone basin, sending a massive wave of dirty dishwater splashing onto the front of his snakeskin robe.

Syris froze. He looked down at the greasy water stain blooming across his royal attire. His upper lip curled with a hiss of annoyance.

"Less hissing, more scrubbing!" Ren commanded sharply. "Use circular motions! I want to see my reflection in that wood!"

Syris picked up a wooden platter. He dragged the sponge across the surface so lazily it barely even disturbed the grease. He glared down at a stubborn, baked-on piece of roasted garlic, narrowing his amethyst eyes as if he were trying to intimidate the food particle into magically disappearing out of terror.

When the garlic piece refused to submit, Syris growled. He violently attacked the plate with the sponge, aggressively scrubbing back and forth until a massive mountain of white bubbles erupted from the basin and covered his entire forearm.

"You missed a spot right there on the edge!" Ren shouted, pointing her finger. "Put some actual elbow grease into it! Don’t just tickle it!"

Syris shot her a murderous glare over his shoulder, a single soapy bubble resting perfectly on the tip of his nose. "I am scrubbing it!"

"Well, scrub harder!"

Ren sat there on the rock, her legs still trembling, a smug, entertained smirk plastered across her flushed face. She swung her feet lazily, watching Syris struggle with one of the most basic household chores.

Syris finally stacked the last, perfectly clean pot onto the table. He turned to glare at her. His chest was heaving, his dark hair was a frizzy mess, and his robe was completely soaked.

"I am finished," Syris gritted through his sharp teeth, looking thoroughly miserable.

Ren looked over the spotless, pristine scullery. She gave a bright, victorious smile and nodded happily. "Spotless. Good job, baby beast."