"I-I didn't tell it to do that!" Falin Touden yelped as the bedsheet she was wearing as bedwear twitched again. "Marcille, why is it...?" She gasped, her legs twisting back and forth in an awkward tandem.

They'd explained, no small amount of times, that the resurrection hadn't been perfect. Raising someone from the dead wasn't easy in the first place, but was nigh-on impossible when all you had to work with was a bundle of bones and a quarter-ton of red dragon offal. "I don't know either!" Frankly, Marcille Donato was used to such unusual things by now, though; her entire trip through the dungeon had been one freaky thing after another. To see her girlfriend — what was hopefully her girlfriend — sob from strikingly amber eyes, and cover her blushing cheeks with taloned hands, was something she'd almost expected, by now. Just another turn of odd luck, in an extremely odd adventure.

"I swear, I'm not doing it on purpose!" Again, and again, her outfit jerked and spasmed as it struggled to contain Falin's most draconic feature. Unfortunately, the red dragon that'd eaten her had been a male. Even more unfortunately, the resurrection rite had gotten a little confused, in that regard. "It just k-keeps..." She mumbled, her hips bucking as the beastly thing breathed out another gobbet of stuff, all along the inside of her cloak.

By now, the entire bottom-half of Falin's bedsheet-robe was stained a sickly, bloody red by an entire litre of drooling, feverish dragon cum. It hadn't even been long; only a few minutes since it'd started. Falin was even starting to stain the ground with it, as if she was bleeding from every orifice — when in reality, she wasn't even bleeding, and it was only coming from one.

"Just take it off!" Managing to fix her exhausted expression with a single shred of determination, Marcille pointed at Falin, and readied her staff. "I've got an idea!" Swallowing as she once again spied the sheer bulge that Falin's freshly-created cock was tearing in the sheet, Marcille was overcome by the temptation to step back, far away from such a violent thing. That, or just drop to her knees and get it over with.

Falin nodded, sure that if anyone had a real solution — that didn't involve cooking — it would be Marcille. Steeled by her girlfriend's assurance that there was some spell in her book that'd do something, she stripped bare, ripping the sheet off before her cock could do the same.

Marcille just swallowed. She full on gasped as the spined, nearly spiky thing came into view. Jolting away from such a devilish-looking appendage, Marcille was overcome by just how red it was. Chitinous, violent and curved; every reason she'd been told to steer clear of demi-humans. "A-Actually!" Almost telling Falin to just put the sheet back on and forget about it, Marcille's thought-train was interrupted by another distinct noise. The sound of her dress, tearing.

It seemed that Falin's body wasn't the only one being disobedient. Marcille's tummy had suffered dearly from her voyage into the dungeon. Now, it was a saggy muffintop, that stretched her dress so tight that you could see her navel through the fabric. Slightly less tightly now, though.

"I didn't tell it to do that, either!" Falin squealed, as she came again.