Chapter 31: Volume 1- [ - 32 ]
But the thought died. Smothered by the heat of my cock against her ass, by the oil still sensitizing her nerves, by the chemical and emotional cocktail that had turned her resistance to tissue paper.
I slammed.
The head popped past the ring of muscle, and Elira screamed — a raw, throat-shredding sound that echoed off the study walls. Her body convulsed, her back arching, her hands clawing the desk, her belly pressing hard against the edge. One hand flew to her stomach, holding it, supporting it, cradling the child within as though protecting it from the impact of the cock driving into her ass.
"AAAANGH — LORD — IT HURTS—!!"
I gripped her hips. Pulled back. Slammed again. Two inches. Three. The tightness was extraordinary — her anal clenching around me with the desperate grip of a muscle being forced past its limit, the walls pulling and sucking at my shaft with a heat that bordered on pain.
’He is in my — my — no one has ever — it is tearing — I cannot—’
"It is fine," I said, leaning over her, my chest against her back, my lips finding her ear. "You got another man, right? At least this. At least let me have this."
The logic was insane. The manipulation was transparent. But she was beyond logic — beyond reason — beyond anything except the overwhelming need to be held by someone who wanted her, and the devastating knowledge that the someone she had married did not.
"Yes," she whispered, and the word was broken, cracked down the middle.
I turned her face. Kissed her. My tongue pushed past her lips, found her tongue, and the kiss was wet and deep and tasted of grief and saliva and the chemical residue of my cock. She kissed me back — hungrily, desperately, her tears flowing into my mouth, her body surrendering the last fortress of her resistance.
I fucked her. Slowly at first, then faster, the rhythm building, the tightness of her anal making each stroke a study in friction and heat. Her hand supported her belly, her fingers splayed across the taut skin, and I could feel the child stirring beneath her palm — a flutter of movement, a kick, a life continuing its patient construction while its mother was bent over a desk and fucked in the ass by a man who was not its father.
"Hnngh — hahh — anhgh — Lord—"
Her moans were muffled by the desk, her face pressed against the wood, her tears pooling on the polished surface. I fucked her for half an hour — long, deliberate strokes that took her to the edge of pain and held her there, the pleasure building beneath the discomfort, the two sensations mixing into something that her oil-sensitized body could not distinguish between.
’Why does it feel — why am I — it hurts but — there is something — building—’
I was close. The Viagra and the tightness and the sheer perversion of the scene — the pregnant wife of the knight who had just left the room, ass-fucked over the desk where the treasury key had been kept — were combining into a climax that was building at the base of my spine with the pressure of a closed fist.
The door opened.
I did not stop. Could not. The climax was too close, the momentum too strong, and the person who entered — Martha, returned from her errand, her body still trembling from the vibrator and the bead, her uniform damp between the legs — stood in the doorway and watched.
Her eyes went wide.
She saw Elira — pregnant, bent over the desk, her belly pressed against the wood, her nightgown bunched around her waist, her ass presented, her face turned sideways with tears streaming and mouth open in a continuous moan. She saw me — behind Elira, my hands gripping her hips, my cock buried in her ass, my hips driving forward with the relentless rhythm of a man who was past caring about audience.
I grabbed Elira’s hair. Pulled her head back. Her back arched, her breasts lifting free of the desk, her belly swinging forward, and I fucked her harder — driving into her with the kind of force that made the desk scrape across the floor with a sound like fingernails on stone.
"HAANGH — HIIIEENGH — AHN — AHN — AHNNGH—!!"
"Come on," I growled, my voice rough, my hips slamming. "Take it. Take all of it."
She screamed. Her whole body convulsed — the anal clenching around my cock with a force that made my vision white, her back arching to an impossible degree, her hand crushing her belly against herself. And I came.
The climax hit like a detonation. Pulse after pulse of thick, hot cum flooding her anal, filling her, the fluid overflowing around my shaft and running down her thighs in white streams. Elira’s eyes rolled back — fully, completely, the irises vanishing beneath the lids — and her mouth fell open in a silent scream.
"YEEESSHH — HAAANGH — CUMMING — I AM — CU—’
Her body seized. Her pussy — untouched, unstimulated — erupted, a spray of clear fluid arcing from between her legs and splattering across the floor, the desk legs, my boots. She came from her ass. From the sheer overwhelming fullness of it, the stimulation of nerves she did not know she had, the chemical sensitization that had turned every inch of her body into an erogenous zone.
She collapsed. Her body fell forward onto the desk, limp, trembling, her arms splayed, her belly pressing into the wood, cum leaking from her gaping anal in a thick, continuous stream. She looked — and there was no other word for it — ruined. A pregnant woman, face down on a lord’s desk, ass in the air, cum dripping from her holes, tears on her face, drool on the wood, her body twitching with aftershocks she could not control.
I pulled out. My cock, still half-hard, glistened with cum and the thin sheen of her anal. I turned to Martha.
She stood in the doorway, frozen, her face pale, her thighs pressed together, the vibrator inside her still humming at setting four. Her internal voice was a single, repeating thought:
’How can he be so merciless — she is pregnant — he just — in her—’
I walked toward her. She did not step back. She had learned, over the past twelve hours, that stepping back did not help. I took her hand — her trembling, work-roughened hand — and brought it to my cock. Pressed her fingers against the head, still wet, still warm. I used her hand to clean myself — her fingers sliding over the crown, gathering the cum and fluids, wiping them onto her palm.
"Go handle her," I said, nodding toward Elira’s collapsed form. "Make sure she is good enough."
Martha nodded. Her eyes were on the floor. Her hand, wet with my fluids, hung at her side. She moved past me toward the desk, toward the pregnant woman lying there, and I heard her internal voice — quiet, broken, resigned:
’What has this house become. What has this lord become. What am I becoming.’
I did not answer. I pulled on my trousers. Tucked in my shirt. Walked to the door.
The system chimed.
[ Actions logged — Elira Thorne (anal, extended session, emotional manipulation during intercourse) ]
[ Points awarded: 45 pts ]