Pounding Prehistoric Pu$$y raw in another world-Chapter 3: Transmigration

The air in the wine cellar had grown thick, heavy with the scent of aged oak, spilled Sauternes, and raw sex. Sophia was bent over the ancient tasting table, crimson lace torn aside, velvet cushions scattered beneath her knees. Her back arched perfectly, hands reaching back to spread herself wide open for him.

Welheim’s gaze burned into her exposed asshole—neat, smooth, untouched. The delicate creases winked as she clenched nervously, a silent, filthy invitation that made his cock ache harder.

He stepped close, the swollen head of his thick 8-inch shaft already slick with pre-cum, pressing firmly against that tight pucker.

Welheim looked at Sophia, eyes blazing with hunger. "Which cock do you like more, Sophia? Your pathetic husband’s tiny little thing or my big, thick cock?" His hand cupped one heavy breast, thumb circling her stiff nipple until she gasped.

Sophia’s gaze locked on his, dark with need. "It’s yours, Welheim," she said, smirking as she held up three fingers close together—an insulting gesture showing just how small her husband was.

She scoffed, voice dripping venom. "That loser can’t even get hard anymore. His tiny little cock is nothing compared to yours, Welheim. I need you to fuck me, to make me feel like a real woman again. His pathetic little thing could never make me feel the way you do."

As she spoke, she pushed her ass higher, knees spreading wider on the cushions, back arched like an offering.

Welheim’s eyes widened at the sight. He traced a finger around those perfect creases, teasing the untouched ring. "Sophia..." His voice was a low growl. "You’re driving me fucking insane." He pressed harder with his cockhead. "Are you ready to get this pretty little asshole destroyed?"

She hesitated—just a second too long.

**SMACK.**

His palm cracked across her ass, the sharp sound ricocheting off stone walls and glass bottles. Sophia jolted, a broken moan tearing from her throat.

"Aah—! Don’t be so— **SMACK** —hard—!" The sting bloomed red across her skin, heat flaring against the cool cellar air.

He didn’t stop. Another hard slap—**SMACK**—then another. "Tell me what you want," he commanded, voice dark and relentless. "Or I’ll make you beg for it."

**SMACK.**

"Fuck—!" Sophia’s voice cracked, body trembling. She looked back over her shoulder, lips parted, eyes glazed. "I... I want your hard cock..." She bit her lip, voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "To fuck my virgin asshole... Hmm... please, Welheim..."

His cock twitched violently against her. "You sure?" he taunted, pressing the thick head harder, letting her feel the impossible stretch to come. "Because once I start, I’m not stopping."

Sophia nodded frantically. "Yes... I’m ready. I need you inside me."

Welheim didn’t wait another second.

He pushed—slow, relentless pressure—forcing the broad tip past her impossibly tight ring. Sophia gasped sharply, body tensing, nails scraping the oak table as she stretched around him.

"Oh god—! Welheim, it’s—so big—!" Her voice pitched high, desperate, asshole clenching instinctively as he sank deeper inch by inch.

Fuck, she was impossibly tight—hot, gripping velvet squeezing him like nothing he’d ever felt.

Welheim gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, fingers sinking into soft flesh. "You feel so good, Sophia. So tight and warm."

Sophia moaned loud, eyes rolling back, body shuddering. "Aaaaaaaah, fuck... hmmm... it’s... aaah, it’s stretching me... wide... aaaaaaah. Yes, Welheim, just like that."

He drew back slightly, then pressed forward again—deeper this time—preparing to truly claim her.

And then—

The heavy cellar door creaked open with a slow, deliberate groan.

Both froze.

Standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the faint light from the corridor, was Dimitri—Sophia’s silver-haired shipping-tycoon husband. His face was stone, eyes bloodshot with rage, a compact matte-black pistol already raised in his hand.

Sophia’s breath caught in panic, body still impaled and exposed. "Dimitri, it’s not what you think! We were just..."

Welheim’s cock throbbed involuntarily inside her from the shock, pulling another helpless moan from her lips. "Aaaaaah... Dimitri, please, let me explain..."

Welheim’s heart hammered, but arrogance surged first. His family’s reach was long. "Uncle... we can talk about this. No need to overreact."

Dimitri’s voice was ice-cold fury. "Bitch... you dare moan his name while I’m standing right here? You dare fuck this little bastard in my own house, in my wine cellar?"

Welheim forced a nervous laugh, still half-buried in Sophia’s ass. "Hello, uncle... heh... just a bit of fun. No harm done."

Dimitri’s lip curled at the mockery. "You dare disrespect me like this in my own estate?"

Sophia tried to pull away, Welheim’s cock slipping out with a wet pop. She scrambled for the torn silk robe, voice pleading. "Dimitri, please, let’s calm down and—"

He ignored her completely, stepping deeper into the cellar, pistol steady. "I knew something was off at the party. That little wrist trick. The whisper by the bar. You think I’m blind? I excused myself early, checked the security feeds... and waited."

Welheim raised his hands slowly, still naked, cock glistening. "Uncle... it’s not that serious. Don’t forget who my family is. If anything happens to me..."

Dimitri let out a dark, humorless chuckle. "Shut the fuck up. You think I fear your aristocratic blood? Here’s what happens: this spoiled little prick tried to force himself on my wife in my cellar. In panic, she grabbed my pistol from the drawer upstairs and shot him. Tragic accident."

He swung the gun toward Sophia, voice deadly calm. "What do you think, whore? Does that story work for you?"

Sophia—terrified, tears already forming—nodded quickly. "Yes, Dimitri... it’s okay. I agree."

Dimitri’s finger tightened on the trigger.

Welheim’s eyes widened. "Uncle, don’t— Please, stop!"

The first shot cracked like thunder in the confined space, shattering an irreplaceable bottle of ’82 Petrus behind them. Welheim screamed as pain exploded through his chest.

Dimitri didn’t hesitate. He fired again. And again.

Glass exploded. Wine sprayed like blood across the stone floor.

Welheim crumpled among the velvet cushions and shattered bottles, vision tunneling, life draining fast.

The last thing he saw was Sophia’s horrified face—screaming silently now—as crimson pooled beneath him, mixing with the finest vintages in Europe.

Then—darkness.