The wyvern’s talons tore through her bodice, missing her vital organs by an inch. Surely the next swipe would be the death of her. Her lacey covering fell open, exposing her bosom, and although that tremendous sight would not lift her guards’ spirits enough to turn the battle, it did draw forth a great cry of approval from both sides. Still, though – the wyvern! Its great claw was raised as though to swipe down and through her, but the beast stayed for a moment, transfixed by those sumptuous knockers, and now it lost the momentum and was run through from four directions, ‘til it tottered and stumbled and, finally, fell to the ground on top of one of the enemy soldiers, drenching the hapless man’s jerkin with its final ejaculation and deafening him with its orgasmic groan-cum-death rattle.
The wyvern bore down on him. He knew that now was the time to strike, just as she dove in for the kill. He thrust his sword up and between two great scales on her chest, or rather tried to and failed dismally, his rubbish sword bending and breaking, the beast barely slowed by his puny efforts, her great jaws clamping through his throat easily and allowing her young, his erstwhile prey, to swarm in and tear him into digestible shreds.