Chapter 348- Cruxius in Playboy Mode

Chapter 348: Chapter 348- Cruxius in Playboy Mode

He didn’t repeat the question.

Her silence had answered it. The way her dark eyes dropped from his face to the floor, the way her thick arms tightened around her pregnant belly, the way her enormous tits rose and fell in a breath that carried no words. The way she trembled.

He moved.

His hand closed around her upper arm. Not gentle. The grip of a man who had already decided the architecture of the next hour. He pulled her forward, her body stumbling against his side, her pregnant belly pressing against his hip, her enormous, milk-swollen tits dragging across his coat.

"What—" she gasped. "What are you doing?"

He walked her toward the throne.

The platform at the back of the hall. The seat carved from ice and bone, draped in furs, the armrests wide and cold. He pushed her toward it. His hand between her shoulder blades, pressing her down.

She bent.

Her pregnant belly hit the armrest first. The cold stone against the tight skin of her eight-month dome. She cried out, her hands flying to the throne, gripping the bone-carved edge. Her enormous tits hung downward, the thin dress falling open, the dark nipples visible and leaking thin streams of milk onto the furs.

"What are you doing?!" she screamed. Her voice was high, broken, echoing off the stone walls.

Vekar moved.

The fat Zone Master had crawled to his knees. His pig-like eyes were wide, his face purple again, his broken ribs making him wheeze. He saw his pregnant wife bent over his throne, her ass raised, her thin dress bunched, her thighs spread.

"LEAVE HER ALONE!" he roared. His voice cracked, the fat in his throat shaking. "YOU BASTARD! LEAVE HER ALONE!"

Cruxius looked at him.

He chuckled.

The low, warm, completely dismissive sound of a man who had already won. He lifted one hand. Kinetic Control activated. A violet-white pulse fired from his palm and struck Vekar in the chest. Not a killing blow. A push. A concentrated wall of force that lifted the fat man off his knees and threw him backward.

Vekar hit the wall.

He slid down, his furs torn, his face bloody, his legs splayed. He tried to rise. His arms trembled. He couldn’t. The kinetic force had pinned him against the stone, pressing his fat body flat, his arms pinned to his sides, his mouth open and gasping.

"Stay," Cruxius said. He didn’t look at Vekar again. He turned back to Ryna.

She was trembling.

Her hands still gripping the throne, her pregnant belly pressed against the cold armrest, her dark hair falling around her face. She looked back at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were streaming, her lips parted, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

He grabbed her skirt.

The thin white dress. He bunched it upward in his fist, pulling it over her wide, pregnant hips, gathering it around her waist. Her ass was exposed. Enormous, pale, thick with the weight of pregnancy. Her thighs were wide, the dark hair of her pussy visible between them, the swollen lips already wet from fear and pregnancy and something else.

"Keep down," he said.

His voice was flat. Direct.

"Don’t move. Or your husband might get hurt."

She trembled harder.

Her hands came off the throne and pressed against her pregnant belly. She cradled the dome, her fingers white, her thick arms shaking. She looked at Vekar pinned against the wall, then back at Cruxius.

"Please—" she whispered. "Please, I’m eight months—don’t—"

He unbuttoned his pants.

The fabric fell. His cock emerged.

Twelve inches.

The full, thick, dark length of it, hanging heavy between his thighs, the head crimson and swollen, the veins pulsing along the shaft. It was bigger than anything she had seen. Bigger than Vekar. Bigger than any man on the ice floor. The size of a weapon, not a man.

Her eyes went wide.

"No—" she gasped. Her voice came out thin. "No, that’s—it’s too—"

He pressed against her.

The head of his cock found the entrance of her pussy. The swollen lips, wet and dark and pregnant-hot, parted around the crown. He pushed.

The stretch was immediate.

Her pussy, tight from eight months of pregnancy and disuse, stretched around the twelve-inch girth. The walls of her cunt parted, the heat of her pregnancy making the grip wet but the resistance fierce. He drove forward.

"HAAAAAAIYAANGH—MNGH—STOP—"

She screamed.

The head popped through. Then two inches. Three. Her pussy was being torn open, the pregnancy making her walls swollen and sensitive, every nerve firing at the intrusion. Her hands gripped her belly harder, her nails digging into the tight skin.

"It’s too big—" she cried. Her voice was raw, cracked, tears streaming down her face onto the throne. "Please—it’s too big—"

He chuckled.

The warm, low sound of a man who had heard this before and knew it was never true.

He thrust deeper.

Four inches. Five. Six. The shaft dragged through her pregnant cunt, the walls gripping him, the wet heat of her body making the friction slick but the stretch agonizing. Her enormous tits swung beneath her, hanging heavy from the position, the dark nipples leaking milk in thin streams that dripped onto the furs below.

"HNNGH—AAANGH—HAAANGH—"

He began to fuck her.

PAH—

"HYAAAK—"

PAH—PAH—

"HNNGH—PLEASE—SLOW—"

PAAAH—

"HAAAIYAANGH—MNGH—GOD—"

Each thrust drove him deeper. Seven inches. Eight. Her pussy was stretched to its absolute limit, the walls of her cunt clinging to his shaft with desperate, rhythmic pulses. The pregnancy had made her inner flesh swollen, each ridge of her channel dragging against his cock with a friction that made him groan.

Vekar watched.

Pinned against the wall, his fat body trembling, his pig-like eyes fixed on his wife. He saw her face—turned sideways, her mouth open, her tongue lolling, her eyes rolled back and streaming. He saw her enormous tits swinging with each impact, the milk spraying in arcs. He saw her pregnant belly pressed against the throne armrest, the dome of it shaking with each thrust, the skin rippling.

"STOP—" Vekar screamed. His voice was raw, broken, carrying the particular helplessness of a man who had commanded everything and now commanded nothing. "STOP FUCKING HER! SHE’S MY WIFE! SHE’S PREGNANT!"

Cruxius didn’t stop.

He grabbed her hands.

Both of them. He pulled them off her belly and gathered them behind her back, pressing her wrists together in one of his hands. The position arched her spine, lifting her ass higher, making her pregnant belly press harder against the cold throne. Her enormous tits hung lower, the dark nipples dragging through the milk puddles on the furs.

He fucked her harder.

PAH—PAAAH—PAAAH—

"HNNGH—AAANGH—HAAAIYAANGH—PLEASE—SLOW—DOWN—"

She begged.

Her voice came out in broken gasps between the thrusts. But beneath the begging, something else was rising. The moans. The low, involuntary, guttural sounds that came from deep in her chest and poured out of her mouth despite her words.

"HNN—AH—HNN—"

Her pussy was gripping him. The walls of her pregnant cunt, despite the pain, despite the stretch, were clenching around his twelve-inch shaft in rhythmic, desperate pulses. The pregnancy hormones had made her sensitive, and the brutal depth of his thrusts was hitting nerves that Vekar had never reached.

"You hear that?" Cruxius said.

He looked at Vekar. His voice was even, conversational, carrying over the wet sound of flesh slapping flesh and his wife’s broken moans.

"She’s moaning. Your pregnant wife. On your throne. While I fuck her with twelve inches."