Ultimate Villain's Return as a Doctor in the Cultivation World-Chapter 272 - Molding Her Pregnant Cunt to His Taste
The thrust hit her completely unprepared — her walls still hypersensitive from everything preceding, still swollen and tender, the clit piercing dragging against the base of his shaft as he buried himself to the hilt and immediately, without pause, began to move.
PAH.
The impact sent her whole body lurching, and the lurch sent milk spraying fresh from both nipples in stuttered, rhythmic pulses that matched his thrusting — each collision of his hips against hers forcing a fresh spray from her overfull breasts, the white liquid soaking the cave grass beneath her, running in streams across her belly, dripping from the swaying chains.
PAH. PAH. PAH.
"AHH—AHH—please—it’s—the milk—I can feel it—every time you—’AHH’—"
"I know," he said. He ’did’ know — he could feel it, the internal pressure of her milk-swollen breasts changing the tension on the chains with each bounce, each impact, each arching sob.
PAH. PAH. PAH—
He stopped.
Not from mercy. From intention.
His cock was still buried inside her as his hands released the chains, and before she could process the change he had grabbed her hip — one massive hand closing around the thick, soft flesh of her waist — and ’rolled’ her.
"W-What—wait—"
Onto her hands and knees.
The transition was not gentle. He simply turned her as one might turn a piece of furniture, her pregnant belly swinging with the motion, her hands scrambling against the wet cave grass to catch herself, her knees finding uncertain purchase on the damp ground. The chains swung freely beneath her chest, milk still running from her nipples in continuous thin streams, dripping straight down to the cave floor below her in a growing, white-stained puddle.
She had barely found her balance before his hands were on her hips.
"Immortal—wait—like ’this’—I’m ’pregnant’—I can’t—"
"Your belly is fine in this position," he said, with the clinical certainty of someone who has considered the geometry. His thumb pressed the base of her spine. "Back down. Arch."
"Please—I don’t want—"
His hand came down across her ass. Not a tap.
’SMACK.’
"’AAHH’—!!"
"Arch."
She arched. Her spine curving downward, her massive belly hanging beneath her, swaying gently with the curve of her position, her breasts hanging heavy and chain-adorned below her chest, milk running from both nipples in continuous white streams, dripping from her to the cave floor in a pattering, rhythmic fall.
He entered her from behind.
"’HNNNGGHH’—!!"
The angle was ’different’ — devastatingly, completely different, the geometry of it driving him against a wall of her she hadn’t known existed, a deep interior pressure point that lit up her entire lower body like a struck bell. Her elbows buckled immediately, her forearms dropping to the cave floor, her cheek pressing against the cold, wet grass as her whole upper body collapsed under the sensation.
PAH.
Her belly swung forward with the impact.
PAH. PAH.
Forward. Back. Forward. Back — swaying with his rhythm in a heavy, pendulum arc, the round weight of it pulling at her center of gravity, the chains below her chest swinging and clinking with each collision, milk ’spraying’ in rhythmic pulses with each thrust — her body producing it faster than it could escape, soaking the cave floor beneath her, soaking the chains, soaking her own thighs where the streams ran downward.
"AHH—’AHH’—too ’deep’—please—this angle—it’s too—’AAHH’—"
His hand reached forward.
Found the chains where they swung beneath her.
Gathered them in his fist and ’lifted.’
"’AAAAAHHHHNN’—!!"
Both pierced nipples dragged upward against their hooks as the chains went taut, her massive, milk-swollen breasts hauled upward toward his pulling fist, the flesh deforming into stretched, taut, obscene shapes as he used the chains as handles — as ’reins’ — pulling her chest up and back while his hips drove forward, using the opposing forces to pin her between them.
Milk ’cascaded.’
The forced pressure on her breasts from the chain-pull combined with the impact of his thrusting squeezed her like a vessel being wrung — twin jets of milk spraying outward in arcing streams, soaking the cave wall in front of her, running down her stomach, dripping from every hanging surface of her body in a warm, white curtain.
PAH. PAH. PAH.
"Please—the milk—it ’burns’—there’s too much—please let go of the—’AHH’—"
He didn’t let go.
He ’pulled harder.’
Her back arched further, her belly swinging, her whole weight suspended between his grip on the chains and his cock driving into her from behind — her body a bridge of shaking, milk-soaked, chain-adorned devastation between those two fixed points.
"I-Immortal—" Her voice was barely audible over the wet, rhythmic sounds filling the cave. "’Please’—my body—everything ’hurts’—please—I can’t—"
He released the chains abruptly.
Her breasts dropped, swinging heavily beneath her, their momentum carrying them forward and back several times before settling, milk still running freely from both tips. Before she could recover he had taken hold of her left ankle — his grip massive and completely certain — and ’lifted’ it.
Her whole body twisted involuntarily, rolling partially sideways, her pregnant belly lurching with the shift in weight as he repositioned her left leg high, opening the angle further, and drove back inside.
The new geometry extracted a sound from her that she didn’t recognize as her own voice.
PAH. PAH. PAH.
Through this position she could look down and ’see’ — see her belly swaying with his rhythm, see the milk running from her chains, see the dark hairy swell of where he was driving into her with absolute mechanical precision, see all of it with complete, horrible clarity. Her face crumpled.
"Please—I don’t want to ’see’—please—I can’t—"
"Then close your eyes," he said.
"I ’can’t’—" She couldn’t explain why. Something kept them open, some paralyzed, overstimulated thing in her nervous system that had forgotten how to perform voluntary actions.
PAH. PAH. PAH—
He moved again.
Without warning, without pause — his hands on her hips, rotating her once more, her pregnant body pivoting on his cock like a compass needle, her belly swinging with the motion, until her back was against the cave wall.
Cold stone against her spine.
His chest against her belly.
Her back against the wall, his hands under her thick thighs, lifting — ’lifting’ — her feet coming off the cave floor entirely as he pressed her against the stone with his body weight and drove upward.
’Mating press.’
"’AAAHH’—!! I-I’m falling—I’ll ’fall’—"
"You won’t fall," he said against her temple.
"My belly—the weight—please—I can’t—’AHH’—"
PAH. PAH. PAH.
The cave wall was cold and hard against her back. His body was scorching against her front. Her belly was trapped between them, pressed and swaying, the life within her safe and insulated by fluid while she herself was absolutely, catastrophically ’not.’ Her breasts were crushed against his chest, the hooks pressing against him with each thrust, milk soaking his skin, running down between their bodies in warm white rivers.
Her chin dropped to his shoulder.
Her arms hung useless at her sides.
She simply ’took it’ — each upward thrust driving the breath from her body in a short, sharp cry, her whole massive frame shaking against the cave wall with the impact, dust and water droplets shaking loose from the stone above their heads.
PAH. PAH. PAH.
"I’m going to—" She could feel it building again, absurdly, impossibly — her body preparing another release despite everything, despite the exhaustion and the pain and the aching fullness of her milk-swollen breasts. "Please — not again — please — I ’cannot’ again—"
"You will," he said simply.
"I ’can’t’—my body has ’nothing’ left—"
"Your body has plenty left." His hips drove upward. "That’s the point."
"’AAHH’—please—please, Immortal, ’please’—I’m begging you—everything ’hurts’—my nipples, my ’clit’, my pussy—every ’inch’ of me hurts—please—"
PAH. PAH. PAH—
Her body kept its appointment regardless of her begging.
"’HAAAAAHHHHNN’—!!"
