You take the moment to refill, recharge... and panic.

Your cock finally softens in something like defeat, and you withdraw, letting a tiny flood of white gush from her almost flower-like, well-fucked pussy. Your screaming muscles and stomach win the day, forcing you to roll off of her and take your place on the bed next to the thoroughly-fucked Devi Waltz, your head just inches shy of the discarded dildos from earlier. For a few peaceful minutes, you both lay in the heat, the stench, and the wetness that is the aftermath of what you've done. When at last she begins to sit up, apparently back to her senses, she's scooping her hand between her legs as she crab-walks into the adjacent bathroom, trying (and failing) to cup all the jizz that begins to pour out of her with the help of gravity. Despite her effort, it still drools out in giant glops, spilling down her thighs and pooling on the floor as she curses. You watch with an appreciative sigh and, when she silently closes the bathroom behind her, take to her kitchen to answer the most pressing hunger in you. No matter what happens from now... you're happy, and proud of what you've found with Devi. There was... a scratching worry in your mind, but you smother it.

You're a man, damn it. You will see this through.

(LITERALLY TWELVE MINUTES LATER)

You're pacing around her room after having packed your gut full with what stray foodstuffs you found. You've been throwing nervous glances at the door for the past few minutes, the same door behind which Devi continues to sequester herself.

Jesus-fucking-Christ! Did you just impregnate her?! Forget the passion, the love, the speed of it all... you aren't ready to be a father! You were barely holding on as it was before now! Your mind races about money. How much did a kid cost now? It couldn't be like... more than $200 a month, right? You barely had $200 a month to have fun, as it was. Some random voice from a television program pops in, from the recesses of your memory, with a four-digit figure, and you nearly faint in your panic. You finally decide to drop the smooth act and knock rapidly on the bathroom door. "Devi!" you call. "Devi, are you alright?"

Silence.

"Devi, I'm... I'm going to go pick up some Plan B, alright? We can fix this, don't... don't panic," you command her, trying to not panic.

More silence, save for some shuffling and a flush of a toilet.