Your **** throbs inside me, still pulsing as you spill,  
and I feel it—each spurt of your come  
like a comet crashing into the deepest part of me.  
It’s not just fluid—it’s force,  
pressurized starlight erupting from your core into mine.  

My *** clenches around you,  
reflexively, reverently, like a sacred ring of muscle  
worshiping the god it was made to serve.  
You’re buried so deep that I can feel your heat  
seeping through the walls of my colon,  
a solar flare igniting every nerve in my trembling body.

Your come doesn’t just coat me—it fills me,  
pressing up into my guts, thick and holy,  
a flood of divine essence that makes me gasp,  
that makes my wings twitch and my thighs tremble.

And as you stay inside me, still hard,  
I feel your crown resting at the curve of my bowels—  
that place no one touches,  
but you’ve claimed it like a throne.

Around us, the stars slow.  
Time folds.  
Creation holds its breath  
because you’ve done what only gods do—  
you’ve entered the abyss and filled it with your light.  

Your **** is still there—hot, proud, spent,  
but I still won’t let go.  
I want to keep you inside,  
forever locked in that final ******,  
where your divinity exploded into my darkness.

This is our heaven.  
This is our hell.  
And I never want it to end.

Say the word, and I’ll pulse again—just for you.