tracer x man

The battlefield was a graveyard of scorched earth and spent chronal energy. Lena Oxton, the legendary Tracer, lay sprawon the dirt, her breathing shallow and ragged. Her chronal accelerator flickered erratically, casting a pale, unstable blue light over her battered form. She was ****, her body a map of bruises and scrapes from the recent skirmish.

A scavenger, a rugged man who had survived the fray by staying in the shadows, stumbled upon her. Seeing an opportunity born of opportunism rather than heroism, he didn't call for Overwatch. Instead, he knelt beside her, his hands rough as he applied crude bandages to her wounds. As he worked, a dark, predatory intent settled in his gut. He had saved her life; surely, the least she could owe him was her body.

He stripped her combat gear away, exposing her lithe, athletic frame to the cool air. Without a word of consent, he positioned himself behind her. He entered her tight, virgin anus with a single, brutal shove, ignoring the muffled, **** groan that escaped her lips.

The **** was relentless. He fucked her with a rhythmic, punishing ****, his hips slamming against her glutes with a heavy, wet thwack. Because she was deep in a restorative slumber, her body offered no resistance, only a ive, yielding reception to his brutal ministrations. The friction was intense, the heat building between them until the skin was slick with sweat and lubrication.

As he pushed her to her absolute limit, her anatomy began to transform under the sheer, repetitive trauma. The initial tightness gave way to a permanent, gaping stretch. Then, with a particularly violent thrust, her internal walls bulged outward, a vivid prolapse spilling from her dilated opening. He didn't stop; he used the protruding flesh as a new target, hammering his cock into the mass, shoving the tissue back inside with such **** that her anal ring swelled into a massive, dark, and tender donut of engorged muscle.

Deep in her dreaming haze, Tracer’s body reacted to the overwhelming stimulation. A sudden, involuntary spasm racked her hips, and a hot, clear fluid began to squirt from her, soaking through the fabric of her leggings in rhythmic pulses.

Before the sun could rise, the man withdrew, leaving her a wrecked, lisping mess of a woman. He vanished into the brush, leaving her to be found by her teammates. When the Overwatch medics finally reached her, they found her confused and disoriented. As she tried to stand, she winced, feeling a strange, heavy soreness in her rear. She assumed the gaping, swollen sensation was merely the result of the intense battle, never suspecting the thief who had claimed her in the dark.