Chapter 509: Chapter 508- Kissing While Humping

Her fat ass clapped back against his pelvis in thick, generous waves — the full weight of it rippling outward on impact, jiggling in the physics of real flesh meeting real force rather than any decorative intent. The sound was obscene and wet and the carpet absorbed none of it.

Her hairy cunt stretched around him with obscene visibility — dark, swollen lips dragging backward on every pull, snapping forward on every push, creamy white froth building at the base where her body was producing faster than gravity could clear it. Milk hit the carpet in steady drips from both nipples, perfectly timed to his thrusts, the ’let-down reflex has synchronized with being fucked’ biology of a woman whose body had completely reorganized its priorities.

PAH! PAH!

"HNGH~!! HIIEEK~!! Master— it’s tearing me again— ’why does it feel good when it tears—’!!"

She didn’t expect an answer. Her body already had one.

Rihana pressed in from his left.

Her thick, chubby arm wrapped around his waist, that childless cow-tribe body flushed from collarbone to knee, heavy breasts flattened against his arm, the faint red mark on the underside of her left breast from where it had swung hard enough to leave an impression still visible against her pale skin. Her golden horn grazed his jaw.

"Master..." Soft. The barely-voiced patience of a woman who had been adjacent to this for too long and was done performing patience. "Fingers. ’Please.’"

He gave her two without adjusting his pace.

She buried her face in his shoulder and bit down.

"Mmmphhh~!! ’There’— yes— that’s the place you made— ’hngh’—!!"

Her recently deflowered cunt — days old in its experience, still learning the difference between ache and want and finding them increasingly difficult to separate — clenched around his fingers with the earnest, ’I was just opened for the first time and I intend to make up for the lost years immediately’ grip of it.

Senna watched from the floor.

Sixty-three years old. Thirty-five years in this house. Her saggy tits were still glazed from the earlier finish, the cum sitting in the creased warmth of her wrinkled skin, her throat still carrying the ’he was recently inside it’ ache of a passage used comprehensively. Her pussy — the neglected, wrinkled, ’not visited in eleven years since her husband died’ cunt that Viktor’s fingers had woken up approximately forty minutes ago — was still dripping on the carpet without her doing anything about it.

She watched her mistress get pounded.

Watched Eliantra’s fat, hairy ass clapping back with the ’I have stopped resisting’ enthusiasm of a woman who had lost the argument with herself. Watched the milk hitting the floor in thrust-timed rhythm. Watched Rihana biting Viktor’s shoulder with her eyes rolled back.

’Thirty-five years,’ Senna thought. ’Thirty-five years I folded her underthings.’

She looked at Viktor’s tail, curled behind him, spade tip still slick and leaking.

She picked it up.

It moved in her hands.

She stroked the spade tip the way she had learned — the slow, milking pull that drew the fluid out — and the sensation traveled back through Viktor like a secondary current. His next thrust landed measurably harder.

Eliantra felt the difference immediately.

"HIIEEK~!! WHAT— SOMETHING CHANGED— YOU’RE HITTING DEEPER—!!"

"Senna," Viktor said, voice level, between thrusts.

"Yes, Master?" Ragged. Grateful to be addressed.

"Bring that here."

Senna crawled forward on her knees, saggy tits swinging, wrinkled thighs spread, and guided the slick spade tip toward Eliantra’s upturned ass. Slow circles. The leaking tip traced that twitching, winking hole in deliberate, patient revolutions.

Eliantra went rigid.

"No— ’no’— not there— I can’t take ’both’—!!"

"You can," Viktor said.

It was not a reassurance. It was information.

"MASTERRR~!!"

PAH! PAH! PAAAH!

"AAAAAHHH~!! THERE’S SOMETHING AT MY ASS— YOUR COCK IS TOO DEEP— I CAN’T— I ’CAN’T THINK’~!!"

Her arms buckled. Her chest hit the carpet — the third time tonight — face turning sideways, cheek against the wet fabric, mouth slack, mascara dragged to her jaw, lips swollen and parted on a continuous sound that had stopped being words. Her ass stayed up, Viktor’s palm flat on the small of her back holding the angle, the tail teasing in its circles without entering, his cock doing all the internal restructuring on its own.

"HNGH~!! AAANGHH~!! MASTER— MY WOMB— YOUR COCK IS ’KNOCKING’ ON MY WOMB~!!"

Milk sprayed from both nipples in the full, ’orgasm is arriving whether you invited it or not’ jets of a woman whose body had made a unilateral decision.

Her walls clamped.

"MASTERRRRR~!!"

The rhythmic, helpless, ’I did not choose this but my body has chosen it for me’ pulsing of her cunt — squeezing him in waves, milking his shaft with the ’please do not leave’ grip of a woman who had given up the pretense of not wanting this about thirty minutes ago. The milk hit the carpet in synchronized bursts. Her thighs shook.

Her hips kept pushing back through all of it.

Viktor pulled out.

The wet, heavy pop of it — Eliantra’s cunt gaping at the sudden vacancy, twitching, leaking a small flood onto the carpet, the ’I was full and now I am not and I object’ spasm of walls that had reorganized themselves around him and were now reporting the absence.

Eliantra made a sound into the carpet.

Not a word. The pure, ’I did not authorize this withdrawal’ grief of a body that wanted him back in.

Viktor stood.

Stroked his cock — glistening, coated in the layered evidence of everything Eliantra’s cunt had produced tonight — and reached for Senna by her gray hair.

The old woman came forward immediately. Propriety had packed its things and left approximately forty minutes ago.

"How many years," Viktor said, his cock at Senna’s lips.

"Thirty-five, Master—" she started to say.

He shoved it in.

Stuffed her throat to the root — the full, ’there is no more room and I am putting it here anyway’ depth of it, his cock head pressing past her tonsils, throat bulging visibly from outside as Senna’s eyes went wide and watered and her hands grabbed his hips with the ’I need an anchor’ grip of a woman whose airway was occupied.

She did not pull back.

She swallowed.

The experienced, ’I may be sixty-three but I remember how this works’ pull of her throat — convulsing around him, drawing him deeper, her saggy tits swinging as she found the rhythm and committed to it. Saliva drooled down her chin in thick strings, dripping from her jaw onto her glazed breasts.

"’Gkhh— gkhhh—’"

Her throat bulged with every bob of her head, the shape of his cock visible from the outside each time she took him deep, her wrinkled face flushed dark red, eyes streaming, and absolutely not stopping.

Viktor reached for Rihana.

He found her nipple — the left one, the one that had already been pulled tonight, still sensitive and flushed — and ’pinched.’

Hard. The ’I am not asking’ grip of it.

"MMPHHH~!!"

Milk sprayed. A hard, pressured jet from her cow-tribe breast that hit his forearm and ran down his wrist. He pulled the nipple outward, stretching it, watching her face go completely undone — the childless cow-tribe woman’s ’my body produces this and being reminded of it does something to me I cannot explain’ response, her golden eyes rolling back, her thick thighs pressing together around nothing.

He yanked her close.

Her chubby, pillow-soft body pressed against his side — the full, generous, ’every part of this woman is soft and warm and she has no angles’ body of Rihana, recently deflowered, still learning what she was built for, finding out at an accelerating pace. Her heavy breasts flattened against his chest. Her horn grazed his jaw.

He kissed her.

"Slurrp... mhnn~~ Unghh~~"