MC Bookstore Chapter 513- Sabrina getting her Life’s Best Fuck
Chapter 513- Sabrina getting her Life’s Best Fuck
Not the earlier involuntary pulses — ’this’, the full coordinated clench of a first orgasm, walls gripping him in a rhythmic squeeze that ran from his head to his base and back, over and over, her body trying to draw something out of him through pure involuntary force.
Her voice was not words.
"’AANGHH~!! — AAAHH — AAANGHH~!!’"
The sound rang through the garden.
Off the stone walls.
Back to them.
He drove in and stayed.
Both hips flush against her, his cock pressed fully against her womb’s mouth, his hands leaving her hips to wrap around her — one arm across her back, pulling her shaking body against his chest, her suspended weight now resting against him rather than the binding, her petite breasts pressing against his skin, the leaking warmth of them smearing between them.
She was shaking so hard he could feel every individual tremor.
Her tail — autonomous, honest, already wrapped itself around his waist three coils deep without anyone giving it instructions.
Her arms — the binding had never said she couldn’t reach for him, only that she couldn’t escape — came around his neck.
Both hands.
Grabbed his hair.
Not gently.
The grip of a woman who has no composure left and has decided that if she is going to be destroyed she is going to hold on to what destroyed her.
"’Bastard—’" Her voice was against his throat. Wet. The tears and everything else. "’You — bastard — I’ll kill you — I’ll kill you — don’t stop—’"
The last two words arrived like a confession.
Quiet.
Said to his collarbone where no one else could see them being said.
’Don’t stop.’
He came.
The surge of it was long — the specific length of someone who had been inside something for the first time that warranted the full measure of what he had to give — hot, thick, in pulses that he felt from the base of his spine outward, each one pressing against her cervix, each one delivering directly into the warmth of her body with the unhurried authority of something that has decided it belongs there.
His groan was low.
Private.
The sound of a man surprised by the quality of something he had been anticipating.
Her womb filled.
She ’felt’ it — the warmth spreading inside her lower belly in a way that had no comparison, the weight of it settling in a place that had been empty an hour ago and was now occupied by something that radiated heat outward through her whole pelvis.
Her pussy fluttered around him in aftershock — small, rhythmic, milking — her body processing what it had received with the thoroughness of a first time, cataloguing every sensation with the heightened attention of something that was recording rather than repeating.
The garden was quiet around them.
The binding released, slowly — his cultivation withdrawing the qi threads, the constraint loosening from her wrists and ankles with the specific gentleness of something that had served its purpose and was done.
Her arms, freed, didn’t leave his neck.
Tianlong looked at her face.
Silver hair matted to her cheek. Amber eyes still blown wide, still carrying the echo of the orgasm, the pupils only now beginning to contract. Tear tracks drying. Canines still slightly showing — not in threat, just present, the way they always were, the tiger clan’s most honest feature.
Her tail still around his waist.
Three coils.
Loosening slightly now but not releasing.
He reached up.
Brushed the silver hair from her face.
She let him.
"This," he said, quietly, directly to her,
His hand resting open against her lower belly, over the warmth of where his seed had settled.
"is your first cream pie."
PAH PAH! PAAAH!
"Hnngh... Aahnn~!!"
A beat.
"My tigress."
She didn’t move for a long time.
Neither did he.
The garden held its breath around them — the lanterns swaying in their slow arcs, the silk beneath them warm and ruined, the women at the periphery doing the collectively polite thing of examining the garden wall with tremendous interest.
Sabrina’s face was still against his throat.
Her hands were still in his hair.
Her tail still coiled around his waist, three loops, the silver tip resting against his hip with the specific quality of something that had found a place it intended to stay for a while.
Then she inhaled.
A real breath. The kind you take when you’re deciding something.
And she bit his shoulder.
Not hard. Not the clan’s combat bite.
Just — teeth. Present. Registered.
"I still hate you," she said, into the bite.
"I know," he said.
She pulled back.
Looked at him — amber eyes still carrying the blown-wide residue of what had just happened, the pupils contracting slowly, the tears dried to salt-tracks on her jaw — and her expression was doing the thing it had been doing all evening, the thing the tiger clan probably had a formal term for.
’Too many things at once.’
Fury and heat and something underneath both that she was going to need several days alone to classify.
She opened her mouth.
To say something. Something with ’bastard’ in it, probably. Something with appropriate weight and haughtiness and the tiger clan’s seven formal vocabularies for ’I am not affected by this.’
He lifted her.
Smooth. Decisive.
Both hands under her thighs, turning her — away from him, her back to his chest, her ass settling against his hips, her legs hanging over his thighs — the reverse, the new angle of everything, and his cock still inside her found the new position and found it satisfactory and pressed deeper from this angle in a way that the previous angle had not managed.
"HIEK—"
Not a full sound. Half of one, the half that escaped before she could intercept it.
"What are you — I wasn’t — we weren’t finished—"
"We aren’t," he agreed.
PAH!
His hips drove up.
"AAANGHH~!!"
From this position, suspended on his cock with her back against his chest and her legs held open by nothing but his hands hooked under her knees, there was nothing for her to brace against.
Nothing to push against.
Nothing to anchor herself to except his body behind her.
Her hands found his thighs. Gripped.
Her tail, which had been displaced by the position change, thrashed once in indignation and then found his calf and wrapped around it with the resigned determination of something that had decided attachment was its permanent state for the evening.
PAH! PAH!
His hips drove up twice more — short, powerful, the angle sending him against the front wall of her pussy in a way that found the specific place immediately and pressed it on every return — and her head dropped back against his shoulder and her petite breasts bounced upward with each impact, swinging back down, the nipples still flushed and leaking their thin warmth down her sternum.
"Hnn~!! — Nnh~!! — you — you bastard — wrong angle — it’s hitting—"
"I know," he said again.
’PAH! PAH! PAH!’
"OUNGH~!! HAAHH~!! MNH~!!"
The sounds she was making had completed their evolution.
No more protest-sounds. No more the tiger clan’s combat-cry wrapped around pain.
Just — ’her’, making sounds, the sounds of a woman being thoroughly used in a position that left her entire front exposed and her entire weight supported by the man inside her, bouncing.
Her ass jiggled against his thighs on every downward impact.
Both cheeks, soft and firm together, the skin going pink where it met his hips repeatedly, the mark of contact blooming and fading and blooming again with every thrust.
Her breasts bounced.
Up on impact, swinging left on the way down, right on the return, a pendulum that didn’t quite synchronize with itself, the nipples tracing irregular arcs in the lantern light.