Chapter 365- Enslavement of Second Slave
PAH! PAH! PAH!
"HAANGH~!! NNN— AAAHH~!!"
The table moved again.
Not two inches this time — four, the legs scraping tile in a raw, ugly sound that mixed with the wet, dense slap of his hips driving into the full softness of her ass, and Jennifer’s face dragged across the table surface with each forward thrust, her cheek pressing the wood, her saliva making a slow, honest smear on the grain.
Both her wrists were locked in one of his hands behind her back.
The other hand had hooked into the bunched fabric of her skirt and panties — both gathered in his fist at her hip like reins — and he was using that grip to pull her back into each thrust, two points of leverage working in opposite directions, her own weight becoming part of the mechanism that was taking her apart.
’Ten minutes.’
The thought arrived with the clarity of a woman who tracks time automatically, who spent nineteen years where time was the variable that decided whether you lived.
’It has been ten minutes.’
PAH! PAH! PAAAH!
"OUNGH~!! H-HIEKK~!! AAANGHH~!!"
Her husband — she hadn’t thought about her husband in years, hadn’t needed to, had filed him in the category of completed Chapters — had lasted, on his most ambitious nights, perhaps ninety seconds.
Two minutes if she was generous with the count.
She had never needed more than that because she had never known more than that was possible.
’Ten minutes,’ her mind said again, very quietly, with the tone of a woman revising her entire reference library.
’He has not slowed down.’
PAH! PAH! PAH! PAAAH!
"EEK~!! Mmmngh~!! A-AAAHH~!!"
She could feel her cunt.
Not as a concept — as a place, a warm, specific, brutalized place that was currently doing things she had no operational vocabulary for. The wet sound it made with each thrust was obscene in the quiet of the closed bakery, a slick, gushing noise that her body was producing without her authorization, and the heat of it — the friction heat, the body heat, the heat of him moving inside her in long, grinding strokes that ended with the head of his cock meeting something she could only identify as the deepest it was possible to be — was spreading outward through her pelvis and up her spine and she was, she noted with the flat detachment of a woman whose analytical faculty was fighting a losing war, sweating.
Her hairy cunt fluttered around him.
She felt it happen — the involuntary clench and release, clench and release, her inner walls gripping the shaft of him on every withdrawal like hands that hadn’t been told to let go — and the shame of it sat directly on top of the sensation and somehow made the sensation worse.
’Stop doing that.’
Her pussy did not stop doing that.
PAH! PAH! PAH!
"NNN~!! M-MMPH~!! HNGHH~!!"
Her breasts.
She was aware of her breasts in a way she hadn’t been in years — the full, heavy drag of them across the table surface with every thrust, nipples dragging wood grain, the weight of them swinging back on the withdrawal and slapping forward again on the plunge.
The friction had made them warm.
The warmth had made the nipples do something she would categorize later, when she had the emotional resources to categorize anything.
’My nipples are — on a table — and I am — ’
PAH! PAAAH!
"AAANGHH~!! S-stop — your cock is — it’s in my — hnngh — "
The words disintegrated mid-sentence.
Because the cockhead had pressed into the deepest wall of her again — the place that had no name in her anatomy vocabulary, the place she had not known was reachable, the place that when struck sent a signal directly up her spine and bypassed the entire analytical layer and delivered something wordless and white directly to the base of her skull.
Her belly.
She would not have known to look, but if she had looked — if she had lifted her face from the table and looked down between her own body and the table surface — she would have seen the faint, obscene outline of him in her.
The belly bulge.
The slight, undeniable displacement of flesh caused by something inside her that was large enough to show through.
She didn’t look.
She was crying into the table grain and her saliva was running freely and she no longer had the coordination to collect it.
The blue shimmer arrived without announcement.
She didn’t see it. She was face-down on her own bakery table being railed at a pace her body had never experienced and could not stop experiencing.
The light settled on the soft, chubby belly pressed against the table — just above the place where his cock was making itself known from the inside — and inscribed itself there with the quiet, permanent patience of something that had been waiting for exactly this moment.
Pink.
Not the crimson of Kira’s mark. Pink — softer, warmer, the color of something claimed with a different intent, the insignia settling into the skin above her womb like a signature at the bottom of a contract she hadn’t read.
[ Slave Bond: Initiated ]
[ Host: Jennifer Luo ]
[ Status: Taming — Stage 1 ]
The warmth that followed spread through her pelvis and she gasped at it — thought it was him, thought it was the friction, thought it was her body continuing its program of betrayal — and did not know it was a mark that would not wash off.
PAH! PAH! PAH! PAAAH!
"HIEEK~!! Aah~!! AAANGHH~!! NNN—!!"
’How is he still going.’
The thought was genuine. Not rhetorical. She needed to know, on some operational level, what she was dealing with — because whatever it was had been in her for ten minutes without losing pace and her legs had stopped holding opinions about their own position and her spine had developed a curvature it hadn’t had this morning.
’Sex demon.’
She had filed that under delusional when he said it.
She was revising the filing.
’He said he needed to recharge. He said power comes from sex. I thought that was manipulation.’
PAH! PAH!
"Mnngh~!! A-aaahh~..."
’It may not have been manipulation.’
’Because a normal man’s body would have finished. A normal man’s body has a — there is a biological mechanism — it has been ten minutes and his pace has not — ’
He yanked her wrists higher.
The angle changed.
His cock found a path it hadn’t found in the previous ten minutes and she made a sound that was not a word and not a moan but something in between — the raw, vowel-shaped output of a body meeting something entirely new — and her eyes went sideways.
Not rolled. Sideways. The genuine, involuntary lateral drift of a woman whose visual cortex has received an input it doesn’t know how to process.
PAH! PAAAH! PAH! PAH! PAAAH!
"AAAHH~!! H-HAANGH~!! OUNGH~!! HIEEEK~!!"
Her pussy was gushing.
She could feel it — the slick, excessive warmth of herself running down the inside of her thighs, dripping from the join of them to the tile below, and the wet, filthy sound of his cock moving through all of it had passed the point where she could pretend she wasn’t hearing it.
Her hairy cunt lips pulled inward on every thrust — stretched around him, gripping, fluttering — and the friction had generated a heat that she could feel in her hip bones, in the inside of her knee, in the base of her skull.
’I don’t know what is happening to my body.’
’I don’t know why I feel this in my teeth.’
’I don’t know why my—’
PAH! PAAAH!
"AAANGHH~!! M — MMPH — hnngh — pl— "