Chapter 2: Animalistic Claiming
Her plea hung between them, sharp and desperate, cutting through the humid air thick with the smell of sex and ozone. Don't stop. Fuck me again. Right now.
Krillin’s eyes, which had been clouded with the soft, spent confusion of the aftermath, sharpened. The haze cleared, replaced by a dark, unnerving focus. He studied her face—the flushed cheeks, the swollen lips, the blue eyes burning with a hunger that had nothing to do with affection and everything to do with obliteration.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said, his voice low. It wasn’t a refusal. It was a warning.
“I do,” Videl breathed, her hips making another small, insistent circle against him. He was still half-inside her, a softening plug. She felt him twitch in response, a reflexive thickening that sent a jolt of savage triumph through her. “I want it all. Everything you’ve got. Isn’t that the point?”
A grim, humorless smile touched his lips. It was an acknowledgment. A surrender. The friendly neighbor, the devoted husband, the loyal friend—those personas were locked outside the sealed door of the gravity chamber. Here, he was just this: a vessel of boundless, physical want, and she had uncorked him.
Without a word, his hands tightened on her hips. He pulled out of her in a slow, slick slide that made her gasp at the sudden, shocking emptiness. Her wetness dripped, warm, down her inner thigh.
He didn’t set her down. He turned her in his arms, his strength making a mockery of her martial arts prowess. In one fluid, powerful motion, he bent her forward, guiding her hands to press flat against the cool metal floor. Her back arched, her huge ass presented to him, her torn gi trousers hanging uselessly around one thigh. The position was exposed, submissive, animal.
She heard the rustle of his own discarded clothing. Then she felt him, not at her entrance, but higher. The broad, wet head of his cock, already fully hard again with a terrifying swiftness, nudged against the other place. The tight, forbidden pucker.
A bolt of pure panic shot through her lust. “No, Krillin, not there, I—”
“You said everything,” he interrupted, his tone flat, devoid of its usual warmth. One hand came down to grip a handful of her spiky black hair, not pulling, just holding her head in place. The other guided his tip, slick with her own fluids and his spend, to press insistently against that clenched star. “You wanted to forget your name. This’ll do it.”
Before she could form another protest, he pushed.
It was a white-hot lance of pain, a tearing, impossible stretching that stole the air from her lungs. A ragged scream tore from her throat, echoing off the sterile walls. Her knuckles turned white against the floor. It was a violation so complete it felt surgical.
He didn’t stop. He fed himself into her, inch by brutal inch, his grunt of effort a vibration she felt through her spine. The stretch was astronomical, a burning fullness that redefined her limits. It wasn’t pleasure. It was a trial by fire.
When he was fully seated, he stopped, his body pressed against the backs of her thighs, his heavy balls resting against her soaked slit. They both panted, the air sawing in and out of their lungs.
“Breathe,” he commanded, his voice strained.
She tried. The pain was subsiding, not disappearing, but transforming into a deep, resonant ache, a feeling of being impaled and owned in the most primal way. She felt every vein, every pulse of him inside that impossibly tight channel.Then he moved.
The first withdrawal was agony. The second thrust was a revelation.
The pain didn’t vanish; it melted, blending with a sharp, shocking stimulation of nerves she didn’t know she had. A choked sob escaped her. It wasn’t a sob of sadness, but of overwhelmed sensation. His pace was slow, deliberate, each drag and push a meticulous conquest.
His hand released her hair and slid around her hip, his fingers finding the soaked, swollen nub of her clit. He pressed down, a hard, circular rub in time with his thrusts.
The combination was devastating. The deep, filling ache from behind, the sharp, direct friction on her most sensitive point. Her cries morphed from pain to a high, desperate keening. Her arms trembled, threatening to give out.
“You take it so good,” he growled, his breath hot on her neck. His pace began to quicken. The slap of his flesh against her ass was a percussive, wet rhythm in the room. “This what you needed? Huh? To get fucked in every hole like a cheap slut?”
The filthy words, so unlike anything Gohan would ever utter, were gasoline on the fire. “Yes!” she shrieked, the admission ripped from her core. “God, yes! I’m your slut! Just fuck me! Ruin me!”
He gave a hard, driving thrust that sent her sliding forward on the polished floor. He followed, his grip on her hip bruising, his other hand back in her hair, yanking her head back to arch her spine painfully. The angle changed, and he hit something deep inside that sent a blinding-white shock through her entire nervous system.
Her second orgasm wasn’t a wave; it was a detonation from a new epicenter. It erupted from that deep, violated place, a convulsive, clamping spasm that gripped his invading length with a brutal strength. She came with a sound that was pure animal distress, her body shaking violently, her vision gone to static.
The convulsions seemed to last for minutes, a relentless series of pulses that left her muscles trembling and weak. Krillin rode out the storm inside her, his own movements reduced to shallow, gritted-teeth rolls of his hips that drew out every last shudder. A thin, reedy whine was all she could manage as the world slowly pieced itself back together from fragments of white noise.
He leaned over her, his sweat dripping onto her bare back. “You still with me?” he panted, his voice rough from use.
Before she could form a word, the gravity chamber’s main door hissed open.
The sound was a sterile, metallic shock in the heated room. A sliver of brighter hallway light cut across the polished floor, then widened.
Standing in the doorway, backlit and perfectly still, was Android 18.
She wore her usual outfit—the blue jeans, the cropped denim jacket over a white shirt. Her blonde hair was impeccable. Her ice-blue eyes took in the scene with a single, sweeping glance: Videl on her hands and knees, gi torn, ass in the air, dripping. Krillin behind her, frozen mid-thrust, his cock still buried deep inside Videl’s other entrance. The smell of sweat and sex hit her like a physical wall.
Her expression didn’t change. It didn’t crumple in shock or twist in rage. It went perfectly, terrifyingly blank.
“Hey,” she said. Her voice was calm, conversational, as if she’d found them discussing the weather. “I finished the grocery shopping early. I thought you said you were doing maintenance.”
Krillin jerked back from Videl as if electrocuted, his thick length sliding free with a wet, obscene sound. Videl collapsed forward onto her elbows, a fresh wave of shame and panic tightening her throat. She scrambled to pull the torn fabric of her gi pants over her exposed backside, the motion futile and absurd.
“Eighteen… I… it’s not…” Krillin stammered, fumbling for his own trousers.
“It’s not what it looks like?” Android 18 finished for him, taking a single, precise step into the room. The door hissed shut behind her, sealing them all inside. Her heels clicked softly on the floor. “It looks like you’re fucking Gohan’s wife in the gravity chamber. What part of that am I misunderstanding?”