Chapter 50: 50. I Want Her To Go Crazy When There’s A Next Time So She Could Hear Us**

Beneath her, her anatomy remained a scene of chaotic abundance. Even in her stillness, her pussy wept; the sheer volume of Mike’s climax was too great to contain.

The thick, pearlescent ropes of semen spilled continuously from her overworked opening, flowing in steady streams down her inner thighs and pooling in the divots of the bed, a testament to the incredible amount of seed he had pumped into her.

Mike, however, was far from finished. He stood over her, his chest heaving, looking down at the wreck he had made with a look of supreme, predatory satisfaction.

Despite the massive expenditure, his cock remained formidable, a towering, furious pillar of meat that stayed impressively turgid, still glistening with her juices and his own retreating cream.

Instead of resting, Mike reached down and delivered a stinging, authoritative SLAP to her reddened buttock.

"Wake up, you lazy slut!" he barked, his voice booming in the quiet room.

He slapped her again, harder this time, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "You think you’re done? After all that?"

"I’m still hard, and you’re still empty! Get moving! I want more! I want to turn you into a puddle!"

Petricia groaned, but it wasn’t a normal groan. The neurochemical explosion of her climax had completely disintegrated her cognitive functions, leaving her brain fried.

She attempted to respond to his command, but the words came out in a garbled, nonsensical slurry of half-formed thoughts and erotic gibberish.

"Mmmph... ggggh... milky... stars..." she mumbled into the pillow, her voice sounding distant and drugged. "Big... heavy... splash... daddy... white... mmmnnh... juice... everywhere..."

She tried to lift her head, but it flopped uselessly back down. Her eyes flickered open, staring vacantly at the ceiling, unfocused and glassy.

"Whirr... pop... yummy... sink... inside... more... more... glug..." she chirped weakly, a tiny, vacant smile twitching on her lips as she lapsed back into a trance.

She was essentially a vessel of pure pleasure, her mind wandering through a psychedelic landscape of white noise and warmth, unable to form a coherent sentence, her spirit completely surrendered to the man who had just rewritten her DNA with his seed.

"Hahaha! Looks like I break her..."

...

The clock on the nightstand became a meaningless object, its ticking drowned out by the wet, rhythmic violence of their union. The first hour was a blur of frantic, desperate motion.

Mike had no intention of letting her recover; he treated her body like a piece of equipment designed for his sole enjoyment. He flipped her from her stomach to her back, her legs thrown over his shoulders, her heels digging into his lower back as he hammered into her with a steady, unrelenting force.

By the second hour, the room had become a sauna of sweat and musk. The sheets were soaked, a ruined mess of moisture and spilled seed.

Petricia’s mind had thoroughly checked out; she was no longer a woman, no longer a wife, no longer even a person. She was a collection of vibrating nerves, a receptive void that Mike filled and emptied again and again.

"You’re still open for me, aren’t you?" Mike grunted, his voice thick with exertion.

He gripped her hips, lifting her off the mattress so he could drive himself even deeper, his massive cock bottoming out against her cervix with every single stroke. "Still taking it like a champ?"

"I bet your husband never made you scream like this. I bet he never made you beg for it!"

Petricia couldn’t even form words. She could only moan, a low, continuous sound of surrender that blended with the slapping of their bodies.

Her eyes were glazed, her mouth hanging open, her tongue lolling as she drifted in and out of consciousness, anchored only by the brutal, rhythmic impact of Mike’s pelvis.

As the third hour rolled in, the pain and pleasure had merged into a single, blinding white light. Her body was bruised, her nipples raw from his teeth and fingers, her inner thighs swollen and tender.

But she didn’t care. She didn’t want him to stop. She wanted to be consumed.

Mike was a machine of pure lust. He changed positions again and again, dragging her to the edge of the bed, pinning her against the wall, forcing her into a kneeling position that left her backside exposed and vulnerable.

Every time she thought she had reached her limit, every time she thought her body couldn’t possibly take another thrust, he would find a new way to break her.

"Look at you," Mike sneered, his voice a low rumble of sadistic pride. "Look at how you’ve fallen apart."

"You’re nothing but a puddle of wetness and whimpers." Mike laughed. "You’re completely ruined, aren’t you?"

"And you love it."

"Yeeesss..." she whimpered, her voice a faint, broken, pathetic shadow of itself. "Please... more... don’t... don’t ever stop..."

He didn’t stop. For hours, he continued to plow into her, his cock never losing its terrifying girth, never losing its power.

He came again and again, each time filling her to the point of bursting, each time the white flood spilling out of her in a constant, dripping stream. He treated her like a toy, a vessel to be used until there was nothing left.

By the time the night had stretched on until midnight, Petricia was utterly destroyed.

She lay sprawled across the bed, her limbs heavy and unresponsive, her skin coated in a mixture of sweat and dried semen. Mike stood over her, still hard, radiating an aura of arrogant dominance.

He looked down at her, the broken, glistening remains of a woman, and smiled.

"You’re going to be sore for a week," he said, his voice calm and cold. "But I think you’ll find that the pain is the only thing that makes you feel alive."

He climbed back onto the bed, the mattress groaning under his weight. As he reached for her once more, Petricia didn’t even try to move.

She simply lay there, waiting for the next assault, her heart thudding in her chest, praying that he would never, ever let her go.

The atmosphere in the bedroom was thick, stagnant, and smelled heavily of sex, sweat, and the sweet, musky scent of spilled semen. Petricia was drifting in a hazy, semiconscious limbo, her mind floating somewhere between a dreamscape of pleasure and the crushing weight of total exhaustion.

Her body felt heavy, almost liquid, and her vagina was literally engorged, stuffed to the brink with several rounds worth of Mike’s warm, viscous seed. Every time she shifted slightly, a fresh trickle of his cream escaped her, sliding down her thighs in slow, sticky rivers.

Suddenly, the peaceful numbness was shattered. Without warning, Mike hauled her upright by her hair, forcing her slumped body into a seated position.

Before she could even register what was happening, he guided his massive, throbbing cock to her lips.

"Open up, sleepyhead," he commanded, his voice gravelly and dominant.

Even though she was half asleep, her instincts took over. Her mouth opened reflexively, and Mike drove himself deep into her throat.

The gag reflex hit her instantly, sending a jolt of wakefulness through her system as he began to pump into her mouth with a ruthless, driving tempo. He wasn’t being gentle, but he was treating her maw like a secondary receptacle, pounding her tongue and the roof of her mouth as if he intended to drown her in his virility.

While he worked her mouth, Mike reached for his smartphone. With a wicked, triumphant grin, he angled the camera.

Click!

He took a high-angle selfie, capturing his grinning, dominant face looming over a dazed, gagging Petricia, whose eyes were rolling back in her head as his cock disappeared into her throat. He scrolled to a photo of her wrecked, semen-soaked pussy and another of her glazed, euphoric expression.

"Perfect," he muttered, tapping the screen to save them to a special folder labeled Accomplishments.

He was building a digital shrine to his conquests, and Petricia was his greatest masterpiece thus far because she’s the first one, and the second is probably going to be Madison.

After a few minutes of mercilessly stretching her throat, he pulled out with a wet pop, leaving her gasping and salivating. He leaned in close, his sweat dripping onto her collarbone, and his eyes narrowed with a new, even more sadistic idea.

"Listen to me, you beautiful, broken slut," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "The next time we’re having sex again, make sure that you’re not being too quiet, like you’re still worried about someone hearing you."

He gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. "From now on, I want to hear you go crazy with it."

"I want you to scream every time I hit your spot, and I want you to wail like a woman who’s being possessed!"

"Because we aren’t just fucking in here anymore."

A predatory gleam entered his eyes. "I want the neighbors to hear. Especially that little neighbor of ours, Haruka."

"Imagine her, sitting in her quiet apartment, listening to every squelch, every slap, and every filthy moan you make while I ruin you."

"I want her to know exactly what kind of sounds a landlady makes when she’s being truly taken."

"Y-Yes... Mike... everything... you want..."

"Good... let’s do another round and I’ll let you sleep after it."