bookandnovel Chapter 621 - 620- If she can take it then...
Chapter 621 - 620- If she can take it then...
Evriana saw it happen — the gradual, inch-by-inch, slow-motion disappearance of Viktor’s cock into Dara’s mouth. The shaft vanishing between her lips, the head pushing past her tongue, into her throat. The bulge appeared in Dara’s neck — the visible, external, undeniable outline of his cock through her skin, the shape of the head moving downward.’Can it fit inside of her mouth?’
The question was not about whether it could. It clearly could. Dara was doing it. The question was about the how — the particular, physical, anatomical impossibility of a twelve-inch cock fitting inside a woman’s throat and the woman surviving.
’Her throat bulged.’
Evriana saw it. The visible, external, undeniable ridge of his cock through Dara’s neck. And then — lower — she saw something else. Dara’s chest.
It bulged.
Slightly. The particular, subtle, barely-visible distortion of the skin below Dara’s collarbone, the outline of the cock’s length visible through her upper chest. The cock was so long, so deep, that it had passed through her throat and into her chest cavity.
’Her boob pressed against the tree branch.’
Evriana looked down. At herself. Her own tits — the heavy, mature, Catorian-built flesh — were pressed against the rough bark of the tree she was hiding behind. The stiff nipples — aching, stiff, the dark peaks pressing against her thin undergarment — scraped against the bark with each breath.
The friction was maddening.
The particular, grinding, constant, inescapable stimulation of a nipple against rough bark, combined with the visual of a woman deep-throating a twelve-inch cock, was producing a response that Evriana was not prepared for.
Her pussy was wet.
Not damp. Not slightly moist. ’Wet’ — the particular, comprehensive, soaking, undeniable wetness that her body was producing in response to a stimulus that her mind had not approved. She could feel it. The warmth between her legs. The slick, slippery, hot evidence of her arousal running between her thighs, soaking through her undergarment, dampening the inner fabric of her trousers.
She breathed.
The long, shaky, controlled breath of a woman who was trying to maintain composure while her body betrayed her.
’It is strange,’ she thought.
’Strange that I am — that this is — that he is —’
She thought about it.
The thought she had been avoiding. The thought that had been circling her mind like a bird, refusing to land. The thought that was now, under the weight of the visual evidence, the wetness between her legs, and the particular, overwhelming, undeniable reality of Viktor’s cock — landing.
’Is this how a woman serves a man?’
Not the diagrams. Not the clinical descriptions. Not the blushing tutor with the wooden model. ’This.’ A woman on her knees. A cock in her mouth. The wet, devoted, worshipful sounds of service. The particular, beautiful, vulgar, transcendent act of a woman giving herself to a man through her mouth.
’She serves,’ Evriana thought.
The word was not clinical. It was not educational. It was the particular, hot, heavy, loaded word that carried with it the weight of devotion and submission and the particular, devastating recognition that Evriana — princess, sword, thirty-nine-year-old virgin — did not know how to serve.
Then Dara moved.
She climbed.
Her body rose from the water, her wet shift clinging to her frame, her heavy tits visible through the transparent fabric. She climbed onto Viktor — who had lain back on the moss, his body stretched out, his cock standing vertical — and straddled him.
Evriana was confused.
The position was unfamiliar. The diagrams had shown the man on top. The face-to-face, missionary, purpose-driven position that was considered proper for reproduction. This was — Dara was on top. She was above him. She was ’riding’ him.
’What is she doing?’
Dara’s hips moved.
She lowered herself. The head of Viktor’s cock — thick, dark, wet — pressed against her pussy. The hairy, swollen lips of her cunt parted around the broad head, the flesh yielding, stretching. And she took him in.
Inch by inch.
The slow, deliberate, gravity-assisted descent of a woman who was impaling herself on a cock. Her hips dropped. Her pussy swallowed. The shaft disappeared into her, the walls stretching, the lips pulling tight around his girth.
"You got good hips," Viktor said.
His voice was calm. Conversational. The voice of a man who was lying on his back and watching a woman ride him and was offering commentary.
He slapped her ass.
PAH!
"Ah~!" Dara gasped, her body jerking, her hips stuttering, the impact making her clench around him.
"Hump," he said.
The word was a command.
Dara obeyed.
Her hips began to move — the rolling, grinding, forward-and-back motion of a woman who had learned this particular rhythm through practice and was now executing it with the fluid, automatic, trained precision of a body that knew what it was doing. She bounced.
Her heavy tits — swollen, fucked-out, the nipples stiff — swayed with each motion. The up-and-down, forward-and-back movement of her body made the dense flesh move — lifting when she rose, falling when she descended, the dark nipples tracing arcs in the moonlight.
"Oh," Dara moaned. "I am having sex with you, Lord Viktor."
The words were breathless. Devoted. The particular, hot, full-volume, unashamed moan of a woman who was announcing her pleasure to the night and did not care who heard.
Evriana was completely shocked.
She trembled.
The particular, full-body, mind-breaking, paradigm-shattering trembling of a woman who had just heard a commoner cook announce ’I am having sex with you, Lord Viktor’ while riding a twelve-inch cock in the moonlight and was processing the information through a brain that had no framework for it.
She did not understand what was happening.
She was a virgin. She had received clinical education. She had been told that sex was something that happened between a husband and wife, in a bed, in the dark, for the purpose of producing children. The man did his business. The woman endured. It was brief. It was functional. It was not ’this’.
This was — Dara was ’riding’ him. She was on top. She was moving. She was ’moaning’. She was — her face — the expression on Dara’s face was not pain. Not endurance. Not the grim, stoic tolerance that Evriana had been told was a woman’s role in the act.
It was pleasure.
Raw, visible, undeniable, full-face pleasure. The rolled eyes. The open mouth. The flushed cheeks. The particular, devastated, beautiful expression of a woman whose body was being stimulated in ways that Evriana had not known existed.
She remembered the word of Viktor.
’Once I’m done with you, I’m going to fuck that Evriana. Just like I fucked Aunt Celestia.’
The name. Celestia. The elder sister. The woman who had saved her. The woman whose baby she had delivered.
’Does he have sex like that?’ she thought. ’With Celestia? With all women?’
She imagined it.
The image arrived unbidden — Celestia, her elder sister, the dignified, powerful, legendary sword of the Catorian family — riding Viktor’s cock the way Dara was riding it. Bouncing. Moaning. Her massive tits swaying. Her face twisted in pleasure. Her mouth open, screaming, ’I am having sex with you, Viktor.’
The image was devastating.
’Does he fuck every woman like that?’
She looked at Dara’s body. At the cook’s frame — thinner than hers. Smaller tits. Narrower hips. The particular, commoner build that lacked the dense, heavy, bull-kin mass that Evriana carried.
She was ’thinner’ than Evriana.
And yet she was taking the full twelve inches. Her pussy — visible from behind, the hairy lips stretched around Viktor’s shaft, the swollen, dark flesh pulled taut — was accommodating him completely. The cock that was thick enough to bulge a throat was fitting inside a cunt that belonged to a woman thinner than Evriana.
’If she can take it,’ Evriana thought, ’then I—’