Chapter 312: CleanUp ( R18 )
Jax’s warning was firmly heard by Serika, and she trembled, her pussy throbbing as she readied herself to Jax to claim her entire being.
Jax giving her that warning was the only bit of preparation he gave her before he took control of the situation.
His hand, which had been resting gently in her hair, tightened, his fingers tangling in the soft, purple silk to form a firm, unbreakable grip.
He held her head in place, a silent, undeniable command that sent a fresh, powerful jolt of submissive thrill straight to her core.
Then, he began to move. His hips rose from the bed, his powerful abdominal muscles flexing as he drove his cock upwards. He wasn’t just letting her suck him anymore; he was fucking her mouth.
The first thrust was slow, deliberate, a test.
The thick, hard head of his cock pushed past her lips, sliding over her tongue, and nudged the entrance to her throat.
Serika’s eyes widened, a soft, muffled moan escaping around his shaft as she fought her gag reflex, relaxing her muscles to accept him.
"That’s it," he growled, his voice a low, husky whisper that was a constant, pleasing vibration against her skin, "Take it. Take all of me baby girl,"
He pulled back, allowing her a single, gasping breath before he thrust again. This time, he went deeper.
The wide head of his cock breached the tight, restrictive ring of her throat, sinking into the hot, convulsing channel.
The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect, invasive fullness that was both a challenge and a reward.
She could feel the thick vein on the underside of his shaft pulsing against her tongue, a frantic, desperate beat that was a constant, pleasing music.
He set a rhythm, a slow, powerful, and incredibly sensual pace.
Each inward thrust was a deep, possessive act, a claim on every part of her. Each withdrawal was a moment of relief, a chance to breathe before he filled her again.
The wet, slick sounds of her mouth on his cock filled the quiet room, a lewd, erotic symphony that was a testament to her complete and total devotion.
Serika looked up at him, her emerald eyes hazy with a pleasure so intense it was almost painful. She could see the fierce, predatory fire burning in his golden gaze, the raw, unadulterated lust that was a direct result of her expert, loving ministrations. S
he could see the way his jaw was clenched, the way his muscles were tensed, the way his chest rose and fell with each ragged breath.
He was a magnificent, powerful creature, and she was his to command.
He could feel the pleasure building within him, a slow, simmering heat that was a direct result of her expert, loving ministrations.
He could feel his cock throbbing in her mouth, a frantic, desperate pulse that was a constant, pleasing music.
He could feel the slickness of her own arousal, a wet, hot promise that was a constant, tempting invitation.
He knew he was close, so close to the edge. He could feel the frantic, desperate beat of his heart, a frantic drumbeat of life and excitement that was a testament to the effect she was having on him.
He could feel the familiar, tightening sensation in his balls, a sign that his release was imminent.
"Get ready, baby, here it comes," he growled, his voice a low, guttural snarl that was a final, ultimate command.
With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock punching deep into her throat.
He exploded, a thick, hot torrent of his seed flooding her throat, a scalding wave of possession that was a final, ultimate brand of ownership.
It was a massive, copious load, a testament to his virility and his desire for her. The sheer volume of it was staggering, a thick, viscous flood that was a constant, sticky reminder of his potency.
Serika swallowed, her throat working frantically to keep up with the deluge.
She could taste the salty, slightly bitter flavor of his cum, a potent, intoxicating cocktail that was a constant, pleasing reminder of their union.
But it was too much. Even as she swallowed, a small trickle of the pearly, white fluid escaped from the corner of her mouth, dripping down her chin in a lewd, erotic display.
He held her there, his cock buried deep in her throat, until the last, powerful spasm had subsided. Then, slowly, deliberately, he withdrew, his slick, spent shaft slipping from her lips with a soft, wet pop.
Serika gasped for air, her chest heaving, her body a limp, sated mess. She looked up at him, her face a beautiful, debauched picture of submission.
Her lips were swollen and glistening, her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and a thin, pearly trail of his cum traced a path down her chin.
He reached down, his thumb gently wiping the escaped seed from her chin. He brought it to her lips, his eyes dark with a fierce, possessive lust, "Clean it," he commanded, his voice a low, possessive rumble that was a final, ultimate command.
She didn’t hesitate. She opened her mouth, her tongue a soft, pink invitation, and slowly, deliberately, licked his thumb clean, her eyes never leaving his.
"Good girl," he rumbled, the praise a low, possessive caress.
Then, with a strength that was both gentle and unyielding, he moved.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, his body a magnificent, powerful silhouette against the morning light.
He reached down, scooping her up into his arms, her body a limp, pliant weight in his embrace.
She nestled against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder, her arms wrapped around his neck.
She could feel the steady, reassuring beat of his heart, a frantic drumbeat of life and excitement that was a testament to the effect she had on him.
She could feel the warmth of his skin, the solid strength of his muscles, a constant, comforting reminder of his possession.
He carried her across the room, his movements a fluid, graceful motion. He pushed open a door, revealing a small, private bath area the Witches had prepared for him.
The air was warm and humid, fragrant with the scent of exotic oils and flowers. In the center of the room was a large, sunken tub, filled with steaming, milky water.
He descended the steps into the tub, the hot water a welcome, soothing balm against their skin.
He settled her on his lap, her back resting against his chest, his arms wrapped around her waist. The water was a warm, comforting embrace, a liquid blanket that was a constant, pleasing weight.
He reached for a small, ornate bottle, pouring a dollop of fragrant, jasmine-scented oil into his palm. He warmed it between his hands, the scent a sweet, intoxicating aroma that was a constant, pleasing reminder of their intimacy.
Then, he began to bathe her.
His hands were a slow, deliberate, and incredibly sensual rhythm. He started with her shoulders, his fingers a gentle, probing pressure that was a constant, pleasing music.
He could feel the tension in her muscles, a lingering remnant of their passionate coupling, and he worked to ease it, his touch a loving, possessive brand that was a constant, pleasing reminder of his ownership.
He moved down her arms, his hands a slow, deliberate, and incredibly sensual rhythm.
He could feel the smooth, soft skin beneath his palms, the gentle curve of her biceps, the delicate fragility of her wrists. He was memorizing her, reclaiming her, ensuring that every inch of her was marked with his touch.
He moved to her chest, his hands a slow, deliberate, and incredibly sensual rhythm. He could feel the rapid, frantic beat of her heart, a frantic drumbeat of life and excitement that was a testament to the effect he was having on her.
He could feel the soft, pliant flesh of her breasts, the tight, hard nubs of her nipples, a constant, tempting invitation.
He washed her stomach, his hands a slow, deliberate, and incredibly sensual rhythm.
He could feel the soft, flat plane of her belly, the gentle dip of her navel, a constant, pleasing music. He could feel the slight tremor that ran through her body, a silent, desperate testament to the overwhelming power of the sensation.
He moved lower, his hands a slow, deliberate, and incredibly sensual rhythm. He could feel the soft, sensitive skin of her inner thighs, the slick, wet heat of her pussy, a wet, hot promise that was a constant, tempting invitation.
He could feel the way she shuddered, the way her breath hitched in her throat, a silent, desperate plea for more.
He was washing her, but it was more than that. It was a ritual, a ceremony of possession. He was cleansing her of the night, preparing her for the day, but he was also marking her, branding her, ensuring that she remained his, a constant, sticky reminder of his ownership.
"Enjoying this baby girl?" he questioned in a low, possessive tone.
"♥Of course master,♥" she replied, her voice a soft, sated whisper that was a final, ultimate promise.