Chapter 804 - 803- What a Buzz Kill

Chapter 804: Chapter 803- What a Buzz Kill

I threw her on the bed.

Her body hit the sheets. I grabbed her leg — the left one — and lifted it. Over my shoulder. The position opened her — her pussy and her anal both exposed, her thick thigh pressed against my chest, her ass angled upward.

I slammed. Into her anal. The passage — stretched from earlier, still loose, still slick — yielded immediately. My cock drove in. Seven inches. Eight. Nine. Ten. Balls deep in one thrust.

"AAANGH~!! — wrong hole — wrong hole—!!"

She screamed. Her hands clawed the sheets. Her body — bent at an impossible angle, one leg over my shoulder, the other on the floor — convulsed.

My tail moved. The appendage — finally free, finally deployed — snaked forward. Found her pussy. Pushed in.

She yelled. "You have a tail?! WHY?!"

The shock was genuine. Her eyes — wide, disbelieving — stared at the grey-black appendage disappearing into her cunt. But her body didn’t resist. The tail pushed deep. Found the cervix. Vibrated.

"AAANGH~!! — HAAANGH~!! — it’s — it’s vibrating — OUNGH~!! — inside me—"

I fucked her. Both — my cock in her anal, my tail in her pussy. The dual rhythm was devastating. Each thrust of my hips drove my cock deeper into her ass. Each pulse of my tail sent vibrations through her pussy walls. The two sensations merged — the anal penetration and the vaginal vibration creating a feedback loop that made her entire body shake.

Her breasts — heavy, full — swung violently. Up. Down. Apart. Together. The motion was rhythmic, hypnotic, the flesh responding to each thrust with increasing amplitude. Milk sprayed from the nipples — not in streams now, but in arcs, the letdown triggered by the overwhelming stimulation.

Pah Pah Pah Pah Pah Pah PAAAH!

"YES — OUNGH~!! — son-in-law — HAAANGH~!! — I — I like it — AH~!! — I like it — HIEEENGH~!! — fuck me harder — OUNGH~!! — do it harder—"

Her voice had changed. The maternal authority. The protests. The "wrong hole." All gone. What remained was the voice of a woman — a mature, thick, previously inexperienced woman — who had been broken open and was now drowning in sensation.

"My husband — I’ve never — HAAANGH~!! — I like it—"

She moaned. She wailed. She begged. Her body — impaled on both ends, her thick frame suspended between my cock and my tail — was a vessel. A breeding vessel. The sounds coming from her mouth — guttural, raw, animal — were the sounds of a woman who had forgotten her name, her position, her daughter, her husband. Everything except the cock in her ass and the tail in her pussy.

I fucked her against the wall. Lifted her — her thick body suspended, her back against the stone, her legs around my waist — and drove upward. Each thrust lifted her. Her breasts bounced against my chest. Her milk smeared between our bodies.

I fucked her on the table. Bent her over the vanity, her face pressed against the mirror, her breath fogging the glass. I tied her hands behind her back — with her own panties, the white cotton stretched tight around her wrists — and fucked her from behind. Her face — reflected in the mirror, contorted with pleasure — was unrecognizable.

I fucked her in mid-air. Lifted her by the hips, her legs dangling, her body weightless, and bounced her on my cock. Her breasts swung with each descent — heavy, violent, the flesh rippling from the impact.

The sun set. The moon rose. The enchanted windows shifted from gold to silver. The room — darkened, lit only by moonlight and the faint glow of the moonroses outside — was a ruin. The bed was soaked. The mirror was covered. The table was scratched. The air was thick with the scent of sex.

Against the balcony — the last position, the final act — I held her. Her back to my chest, her body facing the open balcony doors. The moonlight hit her. Her thick body — wet with sweat, with milk, with cum — glowed in the silver light. Her hands gripped the balcony railing. Her thick ass pressed against my pelvis. My cock — in her anal, ten inches deep — throbbed with each thrust.

She screamed. Not words anymore. Just sound. Raw, broken, the sound of a woman who had been fucked for hours and had nothing left.

"AAANGH~!! — HAAANGH~!! — OUNGH~!! — HIEEENGH~!! — I — I — AAANGH~!!"

I grabbed her head. Turned it. Over her shoulder. Her face — reflected in the balcony window — was a mess. Tears. Snot. Saliva. Cum. Mascara — she’d been wearing some, probably from the morning — ran down her cheeks in black streaks. Her eyes were rolled back. Her mouth was open. Her expression was the opposite of innocence.

A bitch. A thoroughly, completely, absolutely broken bitch.

The sight made me satisfied.

I slammed. Deep. My cock throbbed. My tail — still in her pussy — vibrated at maximum frequency. The dual overload hit her final nerve.

She squirted. The spray — thick, violent, arcing — flew from her pussy like a rainbow of fluids. It hit the balcony railing, the floor, my body. Clear fluid, mixed with white milk from her breasts, mixed with the cum leaking from her anal. Her body was completely wet. Drenched. The bed — twenty feet away — smelled like both of us. A combined, musky, primal scent.

I came. The orgasm hit — the final one, the one that had been building for hours. My cock erupted inside her anal. Rope after rope of thick cum pumping into her, the hot seed flooding her passage. Her anal clenched — milking, the walls rippling, drawing every drop.

Her body went limp. Her hands released the railing. Her head fell forward. Her legs — which had been locked around nothing, suspended by my arms and my cock — went slack.

She had lost consciousness.

The carriage sound came.

The rattle of wheels on cobblestone. The creak of a gate. The sound — distant but unmistakable — cut through the post-orgasmic silence like a knife.

Her eyes opened. Half. The pupils — blown, unfocused — tried to focus. "Wait," she whispered. Her voice was barely audible. "Carriage. Arrived. My daughter. She came."

Her eyes closed. Her body went limp. Unconscious.

I pulled out. My cock — still half-hard, still dripping — emerged from her anal with a wet pop. The cum — thick, white — leaked from her gaping hole. I lifted her. Princess carry — one arm under her knees, one behind her back. Her thick body — limp, warm, cum-filled — hung in my arms. Her head lolled against my shoulder. Her breasts — heavy, still leaking — pressed against my chest.

I turned. Walked toward the bedroom. Through the balcony doors. Into the room. I placed her on the bed — gently, carefully, the gesture of a man who had just destroyed a woman and was now tucking her in.

I walked to the window. Took a peek. The carriage — the Thorne family carriage, the one Vespera had left in this morning — was at the gate. A figure — brown skirt, glasses, hair pinned up — was stepping out.

Vespera.

I looked at the unconscious mother-in-law on the bed. At the daughter arriving below.

I smirked.

"Now. Arrange a fuck session with mother and daughter both together."

I entered the room. Closed the door.

I came down the stairs zipping my pants.

The adjustment was necessary. My cock — erect, insistent, operating on a timetable that defied biology — was pressing against the fabric, the outline visible, the bulge unmistakable. I tucked. Adjusted. The shirt — borrowed, too tight — went on. I buttoned it. The collar didn’t sit right. I didn’t care.

"Oh shit," I muttered. "What a busted thing."