Chapter 813 - 812 - Trying Hard to Please Her Son-in-Law

Chapter 813: Chapter 812 - Trying Hard to Please Her Son-in-Law

"Come on," he said. "Wouldn’t it be good if your mother got some happiness for herself?" He tilted his head. The gesture was casual. Conversational. The body language of a man discussing the weather. "Aren’t you a greedy daughter, keeping all the happiness for yourself?"

She shook her head. The motion was rapid, violent. "Don’t say that. Don’t... don’t say that."

He pushed her.

Her body hit the table. The wood was hard beneath her back. The plates rattled. The tea cup spilled, the amber liquid spreading across the wood. The sheet, tangled at her waist, twisted. Her legs, bare, dangled over the edge.

Beneath the table, his tail released the mother-in-law’s neck. The appendage withdrew, the scaled surface dragging across her skin. She gasped. Coughed. The cock, still in her mouth, slid from her throat as she pulled back. The head emerged from her lips with a wet pop. She collapsed. Her hands caught the chair. Her body, trembling, sank to the floor.

She could hear. Through the table. Through the wood. The sounds of her daughter being pushed onto the surface above her. The rattle of plates. The spill of tea. The gasp.

His cock, freed from the mother-in-law’s mouth, stood erect. Thick. Hard. Ten inches of veined flesh, the head dark and swollen, the shaft slick with saliva and pre-cum. It tented the tablecloth. The fabric rose, a visible peak, the shape unmistakable.

Vespera’s eyes, from her position on the table, could see the tent. Could see the shape. Could see the outline of the cock that she remembered, that she dreamed about, that had been inside her last night.

"Why is it hard?" she whispered. Her voice trembled. "Wait. What is wrong with... what is wrong with it?"

He grabbed her ankle. Pulled. Her body slid across the table. The sheet fell away completely. Her thick body, naked, was spread on the wood. Her breasts, heavy, settled on her chest. Her belly, soft and round, rose and fell with each rapid breath. Her pussy, bare and swollen, was exposed. Her thighs, thick and trembling, hung over the edge.

He groped her tits. Both hands. Each breast filled his palm and then some. He kneaded. Squeezed. The flesh oozed between his fingers. Milk leaked from both nipples, running down the sides of her breasts, pooling in the hollow of her collarbone.

"My meal," he said. "Let’s eat my meal."

"No. Wait. Don’t." She trembled. "What meal?"

He spread her thighs. Pulled her ass to the edge of the table. Her pussy, swollen and wet, was at the perfect height. The lips, puffy and reddened from last night, parted slightly. The interior, pink and glistening, was visible.

He spat. The saliva, thick and warm, landed on her pussy. The contact made her flinch. He rubbed it in. His thumb, broad and calloused, circled her clit. The nub, engorged and sensitive, throbbed under the pressure.

Her ass cheeks, thick and soft, were spread by his hands. The anal, still slightly gaping from last night, was visible. The pink interior, the muscle relaxed and raw, peeked from between the flesh.

He positioned his cock. The head, slick and dark, pressed against her pussy entrance.

"Wait. Viktor..." she gasped.

"Come on," he said. "You are my wife. You should serve me, right?"

"No. I... it is too..."

He slammed.

Pah PAH!

The penetration was total. One thrust. Ten inches. Her body seized. Her back arched off the table. Her breasts, heavy, swung upward with the impact. The flesh rippled. Her nipples, stiff and leaking, pointed at the ceiling. Her eyes rolled back. The whites showed. Her mouth opened.

"AAANGH...!!"

The scream was raw. Primal. The sound of a woman being split open by a cock that was too big, too thick, too deep. Her pussy, despite the preparation, despite the wetness, despite the wife package that kept her perpetually ready, was stretched to its limit. The walls gripped. The muscles clenched. The friction was incredible.

His balls buried in her ass crack. The heavy sack, full and tight, slapped against her with each thrust. The contact, wet and sharp, echoed through the dining room.

He pulled out. Slammed again.

Pah Pah PAH!

"OUNGH...!! ... HAAANGH...!! ... it’s... it’s too... AH...!! ... HIEEENGH...!!"

He fucked her. The pace was relentless. Fast, hard, deep. Each thrust drove her body across the table. The plates rattled. The teacup fell, shattering on the floor. The fruit scattered. She grabbed the table edge. Held on. Her knuckles went white. Her body, impaled on his cock, was being used like a ragdoll.

He grabbed her breasts. Both hands. His fingers sank into the soft flesh, the tissue yielding under his grip. He used them as handles. Pulled. Squeezed. The milk sprayed. Thin streams arcing from each nipple, hitting his chest, her chin, the table. The white fluid mixed with the sweat, the spilled tea, the scattered fruit.

Her body jiggled. Up and down. Each thrust sent a ripple through her flesh. Her belly, soft and round, undulated. Her thighs, thick and heavy, shook. Her breasts, in his hands, deformed and reformed with each impact. The flesh was in constant motion, the soft tissue responding to every force.

Beneath the table, the mother-in-law heard everything.

The moans. The cries. The wet, slapping sound of flesh on flesh. The shattering of the teacup. The rattle of plates. Her daughter’s voice, screaming, begging, moaning.

And through it all, through the wooden table that separated them, she could feel the vibrations. Each thrust transmitted through the wood, through the floor, through the chair she was clutching. The impacts, rhythmic and powerful, shook the table. Shook her.

She crawled. On her hands and knees. Through the space beneath the table. Toward the source of the sounds. Toward the legs. His legs. She found them. Her hands, soft and trembling, wrapped around his calves. She pulled herself forward. Her face found his thigh. She pressed against it. The muscle, hard and warm, was solid beneath her cheek.

His tail. The appendage, freed from her neck, lay against his leg. The scaled surface, cool and smooth, was within reach. She grabbed it. Her fingers wrapped around the tail, feeling the texture, the muscle beneath the scales.

She licked. Her tongue, broad and wet, traced the length of the tail. The taste was salty. Musky. The flavor of his skin, his sweat, his arousal. She licked again. Longer. From base to tip. The spade-shaped head, sensitive and erogenous, twitched under her tongue.

She sucked. Took the tip into her mouth. Her lips closed around the spade, her tongue swirling, the motion mirroring what she’d been doing to his cock moments before. The tail throbbed. The nerve endings, identical to those in his cock, fired.

’I also deserve happiness, right? My daughter gets to be fucked. Gets to scream and moan and cum. And I’m down here. On my knees. Licking his tail like a dog.’

’But I want it. I want it too.’

Her hand went between her own legs. Her pussy, wet and neglected, throbbed. Her fingers found the entrance. Pushed in. Two. Three. The walls, still loose from the morning’s fucking, yielded easily. She fingered herself. The rhythm matched the thrusts above. Each slam of his cock into her daughter was matched by a thrust of her own fingers into her own pussy.

’It is not wrong. It is not wrong. It is not.’