Sherry had, of course, felt many young men inside her. But the sensations she felt when Ryan made love to her aroused something she hadn't experienced since her husband died. Ryan combined the passion of a young man with a deep humility and reverence toward the middle-aged woman's body.  His touch was not that of a trainee, repeating by rote what he had learned. It was the touch of someone who cared deeply about pleasing her, and derived pleasure themselves from being surrounded by her passion, her orgasm, her release. 

Sherry remembered Ryan caressing her perineum and singing one of the hymns to the goddess and MILFsex that choirs of tiny men performed in her worship centers. "Ass of ages, cleft for me, let me hide myself in thee." 

And, oh goddess, the way he tasted! Sticking Ryan's body inside her mouth and licking all of the chocolate-flavored sweat and cum from his skin was so, so sweet! Sherry felt the agony of wanting to devour him and knowing the GOL would strike her down if she so much as bit down too hard. For some reason, the ban on vore was one of the few ways of taking unfair advantage of men that the Goddess consistently cracked down on. Was she afraid we women might grow to like it, Sherry mused. 

Ryan's devotion to physical affection felt to Sherry like the best and noblest form of masculinity. A knight driving all of his body and soul into her with singularity of purpose. That kind of fucking made her feel energized and focused afterward. It made her want to get out in the world again, and take part in some of the great things that women were doing, sexually and otherwise. 

It also made Sherry want to refocus her toy training curriculum. The reduction of men and resulting transfer of power to women, not to mention women's vastly increased sex drives, had caused some to forget that men needed intimacy as well, even as they were beneficiaries of an enormous increase in sexual availability, as they were now experiencing women as much larger creatures with two vaginas and many places that could serve as outlets for their sexuality. Now that men had all the sex they could handle, she wanted to help men to find love in whatever pair of panties they ended up living in... and she wanted women to remember how important connection and emotional availability are for them. 

Ryan was still clinging to Sherry's clitoris when he heard her voice rumble around him. Coach Butterfly immediately fell mute, as dildos and vibrators are prohibited from revealing their sentience to women, and shrunken and bornsmall men aren't allowed to tell them that dildos can talk.

Ryan's megasm was utter ecstasy, but the battering he had taken inside Sherry had left him sore and bruised. The all-powerful embrace  of Sherry's vaginal walls had pushed her juices deep inside of him, penetrating him to the core. He was compelled to love and obey the woman whose essence filled his lungs, stomach and skin. 

Still, Sherry's voice commanded not only respect, worship and obedience, but also tenderness. Ryan was compelled to obey her, not just because of her physical effect on him, but because of his feelings for her. 

But Sherry knew that love isn't just what one feels, it's what one does. She knew too well about Ryan's pro contract. She realized that if she tried to keep him as her own toy, it would at the least void his deal and wreck his future, not to mention hurt his family. Sherry realized the megasm was a bell that couldn't be unrung. 

Ryan's clitoral attention had awakened Sherry from an erotic dream in which Ryan had climbed into her back-vagina. Sherry knew that Ryan had already been saturated in the oxytocin-encouraging juices of her backdoor. Part of her wanted him to stop and allow his head time to clear of her secretions of seduction. Part of her just wanted Ryan to go on touching her until he was so caught up in her pleasure and response that he forgot his own name. 

It was probably inevitable then, that Ryan, by now just grown back to half an inch, without the coach to warn him away, would crawl down toward her backdoor, kiss her back-clitoris, slide inside and be pulverized by another, smaller set of vaginal muscles. A half hour passed before Sherry's back-orgasm pushed Ryan out onto the bed. 

Ryan was now very sore and somewhat bruised. It was hard to tell how hurt he was, but Sherry could hear Ryan's tiny screams. There was one thing she could do to make him better. But she feared to use it. Women could make fruit trees grow in bare ground and heal men just by peeing on them. But the urine that could make Ryan's pain away, and possibly save his life, would compound with her other fluids to make it physically impossible to fall out of love with Sherry, without tremendous pain and symptoms resembling physical withdrawal. 

Sherry agonized as Ryan's tiny screams filled her pussy ears. Finally, she realized that whatever happened, there might not be a Ryan to love if she didn't do something. Sherry sat Ryan down on a flat surface, squatted over him and let a yellow stream fly. After a few moments, the screaming stopped, and within two minutes of being drenched in womanly pee, Ryan was as good as new.  He shakily stood to his legs, then got on his knees before the life-saving genitalia looming overhead. "I love you, I love you, I love you Sherry," he chanted over and over again. 

Now comes the price of love, Sherry thought. A price one of us will pay. Or both of us.