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She pressed the button, again and again, hardly letting it rise again to its normal position before jamming her finger down on it once more. He couldn't support his own body, weak and limp, though her lips twisted into a vicious snarl that did not befit her face in the slightest.
"That's not enough, Sandor!" She growled, sounding more like a predator than a doe-taur in that moment more than any other. "Don't be lazy! Cum again! And again!"
She forced him through it, jamming her finger down, though the fox, weak and spitting out hardly any cum at all by that point, didn't notice. His head lolled to the side, not even able to hold it up of his own volition, grunting, drooling, moaning.
"Unnnngggghhhhh..."
Sandor's eyes rolled, dancing on the edge of consciousness, though he was not truly aware of what was going on around him. Finally, with his body being forced through too many orgasms, he had reached his limit. His nose trickled with blood, barely breathing despite the need for oxygen.
Alyssa sighed, looking down at the waste of a fox before her. What had she ever seen in him? Though it made her smile too, to see him so broken down, the shell of the fox that she had thought he was. It was how he was supposed to be, completely and truly, and she would not have changed a thing about how he had ended up after dumping her in such a vicious, cruel fashion.
He deserved his fate.
Half-turning to leave, the doe-taur paused as if remembering something. One more time, she pressed the button hard, hard enough to make the surrounding machine crunch a little with the rap of the button being pushed down with such force.
"Ah... Mmmm... Mama..." Sandor mumbled, drooling and slurring his words, if they could even be called that. "Mmmmmm..."
She grinned.
The fox's body heaved, though there was no more cum left in his balls, even with how his body was being forced to churn out more and more seed, to overproduce it for The Commission. Just a dry orgasm, leaving his body wanting, even as his mind blanked out, slipping fully into unconsciousness. Yet there would be no sweet relief for Sandor, not as blood trickled down his nose and muzzle, staining his white fur with evidence of his misdeeds, all in a way that he should have known he was broken so very long before.
