Chapter 81: Volume 1- [ - 82 ]
I sucked. The Tongue Mastery — every muscle, every movement, every millimeter — found her. The wine and her juices mixed on my tongue, the flavor complex, the alcohol sharp, the sweetness natural. I sucked her clitoris — the Pleasure Mapping had found it, a larger pearl than Mirra’s, more prominent, more sensitive — and the Touch Amplification turned the contact into a detonation.
“KUAAAANGH—!!”
Her back arched. Her hands found my head. Her thighs clamped around my ears. The sound she made was not a moan — it was a scream, the sound of a woman whose body had been detonated by a mouth that knew exactly where to touch and how hard to press and how fast to move.
I pulled back. My hand found her bra — the last piece of clothing, the thin cotton that held her breasts. I tugged it down. The breast emerged — full, heavy, the brown nipple stiff, the areola dark and wide. I groped. The flesh filled my hand, the Touch Amplification making every nerve ending fire, the nipple pressing against my palm like a bullet.
“From now on, this is mine,” I said, and took her breast into my mouth.
“AAAAANGH — HIIIIEENGH—!!”
The sound filled the room. Her hands found my head — not pushing, but holding, her fingers in my hair, her body arching into the contact. Her internal voice was a cascade of confusion and sensation and the slow, terrifying recognition that her body was responding to a man she had just met, a man covered in blood, a man who had killed three people and poured wine on her pussy and was now sucking her nipple with a mouth that felt like fire.
‘What is — his mouth — my — it feels — I have never — no one has ever — my body — I cannot — why is it — why does it feel so—’
I sucked harder. The brown nipple — stiff, swollen, the areola pebbled — was between my teeth, and my tongue was working the peak with the precision of a machine and the hunger of a man. My hand found her other breast — the free one, the one that was swelling with each gasp — and kneaded. The Touch Amplification made the dual stimulation — mouth on one nipple, hand on the other — a symphony of sensation that her body could not process.
“Please — not so rough — gentle — please — be gentle—”
She cried. The tears fell — not from pain, but from the overwhelming, uncontainable flood of sensation that was pouring through her body. Her hips ground against nothing — the air, the bed, the ghost of a touch that her body was craving and her mind could not name.
Her internal voice was a broken thing — a radio tuned between stations, the signal cutting in and out, the words fragments of a woman whose self was being rewritten by her body’s response:
‘Why — I do not — he is — a stranger — covered in — blood — but his mouth — my nipple — it feels — I cannot — my — between my — the heat — it is — I am — he is — I—’
She came. The orgasm — triggered by the nipple stimulation alone, the Touch Amplification and the Pleasure Mapping and the Pheromone Aura working together to make a breast orgasm possible — hit her like a thunderbolt. Her body seized, her back arching, her thighs clamping together, her pussy gushing through the wine-soaked hair, the clear fluid mixing with the red on the sheets.
“KUAAAAAANGH — HAAAANGH — I — WHAT — MY BODY — I CANNOT—”
I held her. My mouth on her breast, my hand on the other, my body pressed against hers. She trembled. The aftershocks rolled through her — small, continuous convulsions, the body twitching with the residual electricity of an orgasm that had been building since the moment I walked into her bar.
‘What did he do to me,’ her internal voice was a whisper, a fragment, the last coherent thought before the sensation took over. ‘What — I — my — he is — I — why — I cannot — I—’
The sentence never finished. The thought dissolved into the feeling, and the feeling was all that remained.
I pulled back from her breast. Looked down at the bartender — at Renna, the quintuplet, the woman whose name I had learned from her sister behind the bar. She lay beneath me, her body flushed, her chest heaving, her brown nipples swollen and wet from my mouth. Her dark hair spread across the pillow like a spill of ink, and the feather tattoo on her throat — the small, dark mark that identified her as one of seven — rose and fell with each ragged breath.
Her arousal meter glowed in my vision: 97/100.
“You are trembling,” I said, and my voice was low, the kind of quiet that fills a room more completely than shouting.
“You — you are touching me,” she whispered back, and her voice carried the bewildered tone of a woman who could not reconcile the sensation with the situation. A stranger. In her bedroom. In the moonlight. His mouth on her breast. His hand between her legs. “I do not — I have never—”
“I know.” I kissed her collarbone. Let my lips trail along the bone, feeling the pulse beneath — fast, frantic, the heartbeat of a cornered animal that had stopped running and did not know why. “Tell me to stop and I will.”
Her mouth opened. The word ‘stop’ formed — I could see it in the shape of her lips, in the breath that gathered behind her teeth. But it did not come out. The Pheromone Aura held her in its warm fog, the Dirty Whisper’s hypnotic residue suggested that stopping would feel worse than continuing, and the Touch Amplification made every point of contact between our bodies a source of sensation so intense that the thought of losing it was physically painful.
“I — ” she started.
“I will be slow,” I said. The promise was a blade wrapped in silk. “Tell me if it hurts.”
I positioned myself between her legs. My cock — ten inches, hard, the Infinite Torrent ensuring perpetual readiness, the head crimson and swollen — pressed against her pussy. The lips — dark-haired, thick, the wine still glistening in the curls — parted around the tip. The heat of her body radiated through the contact, and the wetness — the wine and her own arousal, mixed together — coated the head.
I pushed.
One inch. The head entered, and the tightness was immediate — the walls clenching, the muscle resisting, the tissue stretching around the girth with the slow, reluctant yield of a body that had never been penetrated.
“AAAHH—!” She gasped, her hands flying to my shoulders, her nails digging in. “Wait — slow — please — slow—”
I stopped. Held. Let her body adjust. The Touch Amplification was working in my favor here — every nerve ending in her pussy was firing at enhanced capacity, which meant the stretch was more intense for her than it would have been for a woman without the skill, but it also meant the pleasure was more intense. The pain and the pleasure were arriving simultaneously, and her body could not distinguish between them.
“Tell me when,” I said.
She breathed. In, out. Her internal voice was a tangle of panic and sensation:
‘It is — inside me — something is — inside me — it is big — too big — it is stretching — I can feel — every — the head — it is — the ridge — I can feel the ridge — and it is — it hurts but — it also — there is something — beneath the pain — something that—’
“More,” she whispered. “Slowly.”