adbindia Chapter 480- Sucked her Off
Chapter 480- Sucked her Off
His free hand — the one not holding her wrists — moved to her face.
Two fingers pressed to her lips.
She bit him.
Immediately — the instinct of someone reaching for the nearest available weapon, her teeth closing on his fingers with the full force of her jaw, the sharp pressure of a woman who had very strong feelings about what was happening.
His eyes closed.
For a moment she thought — absurdly, because she’d watched him shatter boulders with his sternum and scatter three armed women like smoke — that she’d hurt him.
Then she felt his cock throb.
Hard. A pulsing, urgent throb that registered against her walls with the warmth of a body responding to stimulation, and she understood, with a cold and furious clarity, that she had not hurt him.
She had given him something.
"Mm," he said.
His hips began to move faster.
Pah! Pah! PAH!
"NGGHHH— HAAA—! S-stop—aahnnn—it’s—too deep—" Her teeth were still on his fingers. She bit harder. He drove deeper. "AAANGHH~~!!"
The bulge of him was visible.
She could see it — when she had the presence of mind to look, which was becoming less frequent — the thick outline of his cock pressing against the skin of her lower belly with each deepest stroke, the obscene, impossible visibility of something that had no business being that present, that physical, that undeniable. Her womb received each knock of his head against it with a jolt that registered in her sternum, in her jaw, behind her eyes.
Her thighs were trembling.
What there was of them — the cut-off left thigh, the prosthetic right that had slid half-loose from the bracket in the last several minutes — pressed against his sides and shook with a fine, continuous vibration that she could not stop and had stopped trying to.
Her teeth were still in his fingers.
Her arms were above her head.
His mouth was at her throat now, dragging upward along the line of her jaw, and the combination — the teeth-in-fingers, the cock-in-womb, the mouth-at-throat — was building toward something she recognized in her blood before her mind caught up to it, a gathering warmth, a tightening at the base of her belly, a heat with a specific architecture, a specific destination.
"Nhh— nhhh— I—" She was not saying words anymore. The words had left several thrusts ago. What was coming out of her now was pre-verbal, involuntary, the raw phonetic output of a nervous system past its thresholds. "—Ahhnn— haa— haa—HAAA—"
He lifted her higher.
Both hands releasing her wrists — they fell, her arms dropping around his neck — and moving to her ass, gripping the curve of it fully in both palms, her remaining flesh and the absent architecture of what wasn’t there, lifting her up off his cock by a deliberate half-inch and then driving her down.
Using her weight.
Using gravity.
The deepest stroke yet — his cockhead punching through to a place that made her vision white at the edges—
PAH—
"AAAHHNNNGGG~~!!!"
"—ANGHH— STOP— IT’S TOO— HAAA~~!"
He bounced her.
Not fast. Not violent. Just — rhythmic, using the dead weight of her, the gravity of her body working downward against each upward thrust of his hips, each descent finding the same point, each impact registering in her womb with a blunt, pulsing force that was no longer just pain—
There it was.
The heat that had been building since the pheromones, since the panel, since his thumbs had pressed over her nipples — reaching its collected destination, everything her body had been processing arriving at the same moment. Her walls clenched around him, the involuntary clutch of a body past the edge, and the sensation of her own walls gripping that thickness—
"Haa— haaa— HAAA—!"
She gushed.
The squirt of it hit his hand where he held her ass — warm, clear, abundant, her body releasing its accumulated arousal in a rush that ran down her inner thighs and dripped from the curve where his hands held her, spattering against the mechanism room floor in the amber screen-light—
"NGH— I— AHH— NOOO—AHHH~~!!"
Her back arched in the full, bilateral way of a spine that has discharged everything it was carrying — her shoulders going back, her head falling, her neck completely slack, the orgasm moving through her from the point of contact outward in waves that found the edges of her body and returned.
He drove into her.
Three more times — each one finding the orgasm mid-wave, each one pressing through the clenching of her walls with the unhurried force of a man who was not yet finished, whose body had its own schedule — and on the third—
He buried himself.
All the way. Every inch. Seated fully, his hips pressed against her, his cock pressed against the deepest point of her, and the throb of his release arrived—
Throb. Throb. Throb.
Dense. Scalding. The specific heat of a man whose vitality reserves made ordinary descriptions inadequate — the flood of him filling her in surges, each pulse pushing further, the warmth registering in her womb with a intimacy that reached somewhere pre-rational.
She shuddered.
Her eyes, already rolled, went further — the bilateral white of someone whose body had accepted two overwhelming inputs at once and had simply closed its operational register to process.
He held her there.
Both hands on her ass. His cock still throbbing inside her, the last of his release still arriving in thick, continuous pulses, her walls still gripping around him with the post-orgasm clench that had no particular interest in stopping.
The mechanism room was quiet.
One hundred screens reflected the image.
A young woman suspended in a man’s hands. Her arms around his neck, loose now, boneless. Her black hair hanging. Her face tilted back, jaw open, something running down her cheek — tears, or sweat, or both. The cut-off left thigh pressed against his side, her prosthetic half-detached, the asymmetry of her body no longer a source of armor but simply the shape of someone being held.
Her blood, and her release, and his release — all three, combined, running down the inside of her remaining thigh, dripping from the cut edge of her left leg, falling in thin, warm threads.
He lowered his face to her chest.
She made a sound that wasn’t a word when his mouth found her nipple — not a protest, not language, just the raw sound of a body registering one more sensation against an already-overloaded system, her arms tightening weakly around his neck.
He sucked.