She's invited you in, for some reasons unknown - normally she's private, prude, demure and dainty. She does an offended gasp if someone gawks at her sideboob or looks for too long when she sunbathes with her top unfastened. She's been spending the week at the beach in a complete state of inactivity with a book and much free time. She said come in and she beckoned with her hand. She didn't explain why. She was naked. She was going for a quick shower after lunch. She stood a lovely dragoness of azure blue. She stepped into a bath-shower, briefly showing off the round curves of her rear, her tail lifted for a peek at her sexuality finally revealed. She's grown. She's different. Between leaving view and calling forward, she was no longer lanky and slim - and that memory was quickly fading away. She had a row of three immense breasts, much larger than her head. She had a second row of two - five jutting nipples capping aureolae that deserved a cupsize. A matte, darker azure blue among all the glimmering, opalescent background of her fine scales. All five breasts stood proud, refusing all support. Hugging the lower row would prove difficult. The upper one, next to impossible. Her legs were stronger, her hips wider, her sex contained no longer as a simple statement of girlfriend but as the one who would take charge. Two sheathes side by side, stuffed with a pair of cocks each, so large that they hung out when lip, resting on top of her prodigious balls. It was hard to believe she had just a pair per sheath, the fat pouches sideways, one testicle before and one after the legs, large enough to hang past her knees. Since the sheathes were not enough for her, she had some foreskin too - or rather forescales. But even now, even without much sexual thought, they struggled to contain each cock, the hugely flared glans already wanting to peek out. A throb would be all it would take to uncover these heads fully. Her tail reaches forward. She moves the curtain halfway towards her, guarding herself against the coming splashes of water, the tail's shadow moving onwards to operate the handle and begin the process. Hot, steaming water spills about her form - she closes her eyes and lets herself enjoy the sensation, the little drops and cascades making paths along her form, disappearing and splitting among her cleavages, outlining her curvy form before the flows gather between her legs. She gasps when the hotness reaches all the way down, tickling her sexes, her cocktips, the hard nubs of her clits... She leaves herself a minute to soak into the water, to let it spill front and back and render her wet from head to toe. She forbids you from moving. You are to stand and watch. Maybe sit. Do whatever you want to yourself as long as it does not involve her. She sits. She looks back at a silver rod that's been screwed into the wall, that curves upwards sharply such that it's nothing more than a rounded ninety-degree angle, thirty inches forward and twelve inches up. She sits on it. She brings out her butt so you can see the four tight, puffy cunnies between her legs, set about in a diamond. So much there's a small diamond stud between them all, at the very center. She's careful to slide the rod into her most forward sex, her rear brought out and her tail flagged. She showers this way. She takes a bar of soap and makes it travel all over her body, covering herself in a luxurious amount of lather, going from the top of her neck to each nipple in turn, to each cock, to each ball, down to every single one of the eight toes of her feet. The flow washes away most of the soap, but she returns again and again, until she's gone through all but a remaining speck of the bar. Her tail stops the flow. She leans back, against the wall, resting on the rod for only support. It takes in her whole weight, even as she folds her legs and seems to hang in midair. She moans to herself, her fat nipples beginning to leak, the trickle becoming a river and then a fountain. Each breath is a little chant, a catlike purr of satisfaction as her five breasts casually splash the far wall of the shower with her milk. She pulls her feet behind her, crossing them, crossing her hands behind them to hold them in place. The sensation makes her shiver in delight. The milk flow comes to an abrupt stop, and her cocks are next in line. All four of them stiffen at once, grow, grow, grow until she could titfuck them with ease, forescales pulling back and revealing each of those massive glans, those wide slits that promise thick ropes of cum like you've seen in photoshopped magazines. It takes just a few throbs, and then a long, long groan when they let loose with each just one jet of her cum, yet it goes on for... for fifteen seconds. For thirty. For a minute. For two whole minutes. She remains serene, concentrated, enjoying the sensations simply, uncharacteristic of a girl so immensely oversexed not overnight, but overminute. No, not even that. She's always been that way. Yes. Always. Lankiness had been an illusion, a self-denial, 'cause few can handle the sight of her. Yes. Yes. Yes. Her feet touchdown, her form stands. She leans forward, placing her hands on the far wall as the cum slides away. Four sexes, four puffy treasures that only become puffier, clits always peeking past those lush pairs of lips, almost running out of space. Without any effort, she gushes her honey like she'd been storing it up for a year, her moans much louder and clearer now, enjoying the feminine side of her body and for good reason. The relentless flow tickles each of her countless nerve endings, driving her to a powerful, daresay almost feral lust, a marked change from the controlled moans of before. It stops, she arches back, and she milks, cums and juices all at once all over again. She arches back sharply, her body flexible beyond belief - and when the flow stops and she's more than folded in half backwards and touching her own belly with the back of her head - flexible beyond reality. She straightens up, sits down, gives away for another two full minutes, squirming in place, almost dancing as she remains suspended on her lovely and minimalist seat. And she stands once more and helps herself a fourth time to her own body's impossible powers. Two, two, two each. Two, two, two at the same time. Twelve minutes of sheer visual torture, to make one want to touch in desperation, just to see if she were real. She turns the water back on. She takes the showerhead off its clamp and passes it all over herself, arms crossed above her head. She gives away her milk when she showers her five nipples up close and personal. She gives even more cum when she passes the jet underneath the sensitive head of each cock. She showers her own legs with her endless rivers of juice when she does the same to her clits, when she parts her lips to flood each wall. Then, she lathers up one last time, from neck to toes and each of her eight fingers, keeping the showerhead away until she is ready to rinse one last time, leaving her with just a faint aroma of sexuality about her, little traces, remainders of milk, of cum and girljuice combined together into powerful pheromones that take by surprise - for they've never been felt before. She steps out. She doesn't even pick up a towel. She walks out of the room and her tail tugs around your waist to motion you along with her. Water drips off her and onto the bedroom's carpet, laced with her potency. Holding you in place with her tail, she bends over and looks into the bottom-most drawer to fetch a swimsuit she didn't have before. A lovely navy blue one-piece. She'll never fit in it. But she does. She puts it on. Everything is explained. Her twin pairs of balls go right around the crotch. Her sheathes and her cocks too. She had chosen a model for five-breasted and twin-pussied girls. Because that was all it could cover. And just barely. Her outer nipples are the reason it's held in place. There's so much cleavage, so much squeezed together. It's tight, much too tight, much too small for her body. She'd taken just the large variant. Not the one meant for busty wonders of her form. She walks outside, and she carries you along. Balls jostle along with each of her steps on tiptoes. Cocks sway, foreskin partly covering them once more. Her outer two cunnies are in full view, and it's a mystery as to how the tight swimsuit can conceal the two others. It's like she's naked. They reveal so much about her swollen mounds, her hard, horny clits, each step a true pleasure as the soft fabric of her swimsuit teases her feminities, as nothing but a breeze pleasures her masculinities. She arrives at the pool, at this deep construction that connects to the ocean and the crystal blue waters of this improbable beach. The water is fresh, the algae absent, the fish colorful and playful, remaining at a respectful distance. The dragoness jumps forward, makes but a little splash despite her body, and she surfaces and beckons you in with a giggle. She had stripped you naked for the shower, and she'd forgotten to get you dressed up again. But it was just a detail. To follow her in the water is to race against all odds. She swims so quickly, propelled by her feet and her tail all at once, her outer pussies winking in and out of view with each kick she does. She giggles underwater while you are forced to surface now and then to catch your breath. She lets herself float. She lets herself sink. She swims and swirls and twists. She touches herself once in a while, and sometimes she goes a little far to offer some bubbles of milk and cum to the fishes, who all eat hungrily before swimming away. When she returns, she's got her swimsuit squeezed down, having uncovered her outer two breasts to hide the three innermost ones and nothing more. It hasn't shrunk. No, she's grown while she was in the far haze of the ocean, and you can still her hear giggle as the water's currents tickle her sensitive nubs and she hugs herself, squirming in place. She gasps, she draws a deep breath, she wonders about all the new sensations flooding her. She watches as her swimsuit parts open, as a third leg forms between her cocks and balls, as a fourth breast forms between three, as a third forms between two, as it becomes five and four. As she splits, as she separates - and there she is, staring into her own eyes and wondering what just happened. She falls in love with herself. Two identical dragonesses share a passionate kiss beneath the surface, nipples and cocks tickling one another, tongues exchanging a playful fight before she releases her grip on herself and gives loving glances and smiles. She brings her hips forward. She scissors herself with her outer pussies as form of greeting, lacing the ocean's waters with her joy. To your prods, to your pokes, to your attempts for attention, she would casually brush you away, shoo you, dismiss you without a second thought. She's forgotten you. She walks herself to the shallow end of the pool, conversing and getting to know herself, exchanging words that fly six feet around your head and never closer. She touches her cocks and her breasts, compliments herself on her lovely body and gives herself another kiss. It's the thunder strike at first sight, the knowledge that she will marry herself and eventually fade away from sight forever, enjoying her own company and satisfied with nothing more. She takes up a large deck chair near the pool just for herself, hugging herself, giving herself some small kisses, blushing when she's told her cunnies and cocks are showing, answering that it was to meet someone like her. Around you, no one. Just you, just her. The beach is empty. The hotel is empty. The town is empty. The planet, the galaxy, the universe. You are in her dream, be you condemned or blessed. Approach, and both of her will see you coming. Move away, and she will resume her conversation. With herself, she is two. With you, she is one. Quantum state of being, state of mind. Uncertainty. Shrodinger's soul, is she herself twice or is she herself once? Both. To look at the pool is to witness two more of her having doubled off in the pool, quite taken with her own body and courting herself all over again. The door is locked. The fence has no gate. The ocean is too wide, too deep. The waves wash everything and everyone right back. It is you, the beach, her. Finally, the sunset. The doors open. Going in, taking the elevator, getting a moment of privacy to do whatever. To compose, to think, to gather wits or act upon them. To get back in a room unlocked without any care about it, for this is the least of worries. To witness a lovely-looking azure dragoness with five breasts, four cocks and four pussies slowly undressing from her swimsuit, taking a full minute to slip out of it, welcoming you in and asking if you've had a good day at the beach. To see her walk past you, saying she'll enjoy just a quick shower after lunch. ...Look outside. It's daytime. It's noon. To see her stick her hand out beyond the door and beckon with all eight fingers, with a girlish and playful giggle that tell you might have a chance at her body amongst the blankets - or even sooner.. To hear her. "Come on in, please."