Chapter 450 - 449- Lira’s Lubrication
He pulled out.
Not gradually. Not with care. A single, clean withdrawal — the full length of his cock dragging back through Gwen’s split, weeping walls in one slow, deliberate reverse stroke — and the sound it made was wet and obscene and complete.
Gwen’s entire body convulsed.
Not from pleasure. From the absence of the pressure. Her pussy, stretched and torn and bleeding and ’already trying to close around something that wasn’t there anymore’, clenched on nothing, and the sensation of that empty clench drew a broken, muffled wail out of her that Rihana’s breast barely contained.
Viktor looked at his cock.
Dark-flushed. Glistening. Streaked with the thin, bright evidence of what Gwen used to be — red threading through the slick of her arousal, coating the ridges of the shaft in slow, dark rivers.
He looked at Gwen’s face.
Still buried in Rihana’s chest. Still crying. Her pointed ears pressed flat against her skull, her slim shoulders shaking.
"Gwen."
She didn’t move.
"’Gwen.’"
He grabbed her hair.
Not Rihana’s. ’Hers.’ The full, dark mass of it, fingers curling at the root, and he pulled her head up — Rihana making a small sound of protest below — and directed her face downward.
Toward his cock.
Gwen’s eyes, streaming, red-rimmed, ’wrecked’, found the glistening length of him at eye level. Found the evidence of her own virginity coating it. Her lips pressed together.
"Clean it," he said.
Her face crumpled.
"’Clean it.’"
She opened her mouth.
Her tongue touched the shaft.
The taste hit her — her own blood, her own slick, the dense heat of his skin — and her face did something complicated. Something that moved through disgust and landed somewhere that had no clean name. Her tongue moved again. Slower. More deliberate.
Rihana sat up behind her.
Not ordered to. Simply moving — her thick body rising from below, heavy breasts swaying forward as she came up beside Gwen, her mouth finding the other side of his cock without ceremony.
Two tongues. Both sides.
The firelight caught the wet shine of them working up the shaft in slow, overlapping strokes.
Lira watched for four seconds.
Then made a sound in her throat and moved forward from behind, her mouth finding the base — the thick root of him, the underside where the vein ran most prominent — and sucked with the particular focused intensity of a woman who has decided to finish what she started.
Three mouths. One cock.
Viktor looked at the ceiling again.
His jaw set.
PAH — his hand came down on Rihana’s head. Not violent. ’Directing.’ Her mouth slid up to the head, hollowed her cheeks, and sucked the tip with the thorough, milking pressure of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing with a cockhead.
His thighs tensed.
’Not yet.’
He pulled Rihana off.
Found Lira’s hair.
"’Your turn.’"
Lira looked up from his cock.
Her face said: ’I heard you. My body is responding. I resent both of these things.’
He pulled her to her feet.
She was taller standing — almost his shoulder height — and she stood with the unconscious posture of a leader, spine straight, jaw level, which was somewhat undermined by the state of her clothing and the slick of his spit still drying on her lips.
He turned her.
One hand between her shoulder blades. Firm. Forward.
The table.
Low, heavy, wood-scarred from use. Rihana had cleared it when they’d entered — she’d done it automatically, the way a woman does when she already knows what a room is about to be used for.
Lira’s palms hit the surface.
"’Wait—’" Her voice came out steadier than she expected. She was proud of that. "’Wait, just— I haven’t—’"
"I know," Viktor said.
He rubbed his cock over her panties.
Just — ’rubbed.’ The length of him dragging back and forth over the fabric at her entrance, slow, back and forth, the heat of the contact bleeding through the thin material and the slick she’d been producing since the pond was absolutely, mortifyingly evident against his cock even through cloth.
"’No—wait—I said WAIT—’"
He pulled her panties aside.
Below the table level, Gwen and Rihana had already moved.
Rihana on her knees at Viktor’s left side, mouth finding his balls from the side angle. Gwen on the right, smaller and slower, her freshly-torn pussy aching between her thighs as she knelt, but her mouth opening and taking the other side of his sac with the dutiful, tear-wet determination of someone who has been assigned a task and is completing it.
Both women. His balls between their mouths. Rihana’s thick tongue working in long, slow laps, Gwen’s more tentative, more wet, occasionally making small involuntary sounds against the skin.
Viktor pressed his cock against Lira’s entrance.
Three inches.
"AAAHHHH~!! N-NO~!! IT’S TOO—HIIEEK~!!!"
Her scream cracked against the hut ceiling and came back down.
The blood came immediately — thin, bright, running down the inside of her thigh in a slow line — and both women below registered it with their cheeks and chins as it reached the underside of his cock and dripped.
Neither of them moved away.
Rihana lapped it clean from his shaft with a flat, slow stroke that was almost meditative.
Gwen’s eyes were closed. She was sucking his balls and crying quietly and her hips were pressed together over her own aching, freshly-ruined pussy and she was managing, with difficulty, to keep doing what she was doing.
Viktor held at three inches.
His jaw was tight.
Lira’s walls — virginal, clenched in shock and pain, shaking — were doing something to the head of his cock that the word ’tight’ wasn’t sufficient for.
His balls drew up.
’No.’
He pushed forward.
"OUNGHH~!! S-STOP~!! PLEASE~!! IT’S TEARING~!! AAANGHH~!!!"
His cock had other plans.
The clench of her. The absolute, merciless grip of a completely untouched pussy on a cock that had no business being inside it — the friction, the ’pressure’, the way her walls kept trying to push him out and only succeeded in pulling him deeper — it bypassed three separate layers of control and arrived directly at the base of his spine.
He came.
Not gracefully. Not at the time he’d chosen.
His hips locked, a single, involuntary forward thrust burying him another two inches, and his cock pumped — once, twice, three times — thick, scalding ropes flooding directly into Lira’s half-breached, bleeding, screaming pussy.
"’Shit.’"
He said it like he meant it. Low, genuine, with the specific frustration of a man who had intended to last considerably longer.
"’I thought I could hold it.’"
Below him, Rihana made a sound.
It was a laugh. Hoarse and quiet and completely unsympathetic.
She pulled his balls into her mouth — ’both’ of them, one rolling breath — and sucked hard, drawing a sharp exhale out of him before releasing them with a soft, deliberate ’pop.’
"Now her pussy is more lubricant," Rihana said, her voice wrecked but certain. Matter-of-fact. The voice of a woman giving practical information. Her tongue dragged along the underside of his cock where it met Lira’s entrance. "You can go easily now." A pause. "She’ll feel less pain."
Viktor looked down at her.
Rihana looked back up at him with the calm, exhausted authority of a woman who has been through this specific tunnel and knows the layout.
He did not pull out.
He pushed ’in.’
His seed — thick, still warm, coating Lira’s torn walls in a slick, dense layer — made the next inch effortless.
And the inch after that.
And the inch after that.
Lira’s scream changed register on the fifth inch. Something underneath the pain cracking open, her body’s response to the sudden slick filling the channel, her pussy which had been fighting him rerouting entirely and beginning to ’receive.’
PAH! PAH! PAH!
"AAANGHH~!! H-HNNGH~!! OUNGH~!!!"