Chapter 366 - Teleporting Her to Her Son
The sentence ended before it found a verb.
Her saliva hit the table.
Her thighs were shaking with the continuous effort of an involuntary muscular response she couldn’t turn off, the deep rhythmic clench of her inner walls working around his cock with the focused, single-minded dedication of a body that had decided this was the most important thing it had ever done.
The heat built from the base of her spine.
She knew this heat. Had experienced smaller versions of it over the years — managed, controlled, scheduled. The kind of release that arrived on time and left quietly and didn’t make demands.
This was not that.
This was the heat of a body that had been worked at a pace and depth and duration entirely outside its reference library, that had been full of something for ten minutes that filled it completely, that had been rubbed and stretched and driven against from the inside until every nerve ending in her pelvis had been individually introduced to the concept and had formed opinions.
’No.’
’I am not going to — in my own bakery — over a man I have known for forty minutes — I am not going to—’
PAH! PAH! PAH! PAAAH!
"AAAHH~!! Hnn— N-NOOOO~!! AAANGHH~!!"
She squirted.
The release hit her like a structural failure — not arriving, not building to a point, just happening, the way a dam goes, the whole thing at once — and her thighs slammed together around his hips involuntarily, her bound wrists pulling against his grip, her spine arching backward hard enough that her face finally lifted from the table and her mouth opened and the sound that came out of it was the most honest sound she had made in forty-four years.
Her cunt gushed around him.
Her belly clenched. The pink insignia pulsed once, warm and entirely unnoticed in the chaos.
Her eyes were gone.
He came.
He drove forward — full depth, the cockhead pressing the deepest wall of her womb with his full weight behind it — and held there, and the heat that followed was different from heat, was something she had no word for, the thick, heavy flood of him filling the space he’d spent ten minutes making room for.
He kept moving.
Short, grinding strokes. Not pulling out. Pushing it deeper. Each roll of his hips sending another rope of cum into her while her body convulsed around him, her pussy walls clenching in the aftershocks of her own orgasm, milking him involuntarily, her body finishing a transaction her mind hadn’t agreed to.
She just shook.
Face on the table. Cheek wet. Arms still locked behind her back. Thighs trembling. The warm flood settling inside her, the impossible depth of where it had been deposited something she would process later, much later, if she ever found the operational language for it.
His palm came down on her ass.
CRACK.
"HIIEEK~!!"
The spank hit the already heated flesh and the sensation ran directly into her still-twitching pussy — the clench, the flutter, the over-sensitized walls gripping around him in pure reflex, squeezing the last of him inside — and she made a broken, small sound into the table grain.
He released her wrists.
She stayed bent over the table.
She didn’t decide to stay. Her legs had filed a complaint and been denied. Her spine had a new opinion about verticality. She stayed because the table was there and she was on it and moving seemed like a problem for a later version of herself.
His hand rested on the small of her back — light, almost casual — and she felt his breathing above her, the even exhale of a man who had been working and had finished working and was not particularly taxed by having done it.
She hated him for that breathing.
She hated it the way you hate the one thing that most clearly illustrates the distance between two people’s experience of the same event.
His voice, warm and unhurried:
"I’m recharged."
She said nothing.
Her thighs were still shaking.
Jennifer’s mind was still floating somewhere above the table, detached and sluggish, when his words dropped into the quiet like a second, sharper thrust.
"Enough to teleport."
A pause. The rustle of fabric as he tucked himself away, casual as a man buttoning a shirt after lunch. "Let me take you to where your son is."
Her eyes snapped open.
The word ’son’ hit first—bright, jagged, impossible—then ’teleport’, which made no sense at all. Her body reacted before her brain could finish the translation.
A violent full-body twitch rolled through her, starting at the base of her spine and slamming outward until even her toes curled against the cold tile.
Her pussy, still stretched and fluttering helplessly around nothing, clenched hard enough to push a thick, warm trickle of his cum down the inside of her thigh. It slid past the ruined crotch of her panties and kept going, slow and obscene, painting a wet line toward her knee.
She tried to push herself upright. Her arms wouldn’t cooperate; they were jelly, still remembering the way he’d pinned her wrists. Her legs fared no better. The only thing that moved was her skirt—half-tangled around her hips from his earlier grip—sliding down in a defeated crumple to pool at her ankles.
"N-no—" The sound tore out of her raw throat, cracked and small. "Wait."
She twisted, trying to look at him over her shoulder. Her cheek peeled away from the wet smear of saliva and sweat she’d left on the table. The motion made her heavy breasts swing, nipples still painfully tight, brushing the edge of the wood and sending another unwanted spark straight down to her overworked cunt. She gasped at the sensitivity, eyes watering.
"No, wait—don’t— Why my son? What does ’teleport’ even mean—?"
He chuckled, low and warm, the sound vibrating through the quiet bakery like he’d just heard a good joke. One big hand closed around her upper arm and yanked her upright before her knees could remember how to lock. She stumbled back into him, soft and off-balance, and he caught her easily, pulling her flush against his chest.
Her bare breasts smashed into the hard plane of his torso. The sudden pressure on her sensitive nipples made her cry out—a broken, humiliated little sob that embarrassed her more than the dripping mess between her legs. He didn’t let her pull away. His other arm banded around her waist, palm sliding down to grope a thick handful of her ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh and spreading her cheeks apart without ceremony.
His cock—still heavy, still slick, only half-soft now—pressed hot and wet against the gentle curve of her belly. She felt the last slow drip of his seed leak from her fluttering pussy and slide down the string of her ruined panties, tickling the crease of her thigh before it fell to the floor with a tiny, wet sound.
He leaned in, mouth brushing the shell of her ear, voice intimate and calm, like a lover sharing a secret instead of a man who had just spent ten minutes rearranging her insides.
"To show you," he murmured, breath warm against her skin, "how much your spreading legs matters when it comes to saving your son."
The words landed like ice water dumped straight into her stomach.
Jennifer’s entire body locked up. Her pussy gave one last helpless flutter around nothing, a pathetic aftershock that made fresh tears spill down her cheeks. Fear—real, animal fear—flooded her so fast her vision tunneled. Her son. Her baby.
The only thing she had left that still mattered. The realization hit harder than any thrust he’d given her just now.
"No—" Her voice cracked into a sob. "Don’t—stop—please—"
She tried to push at his chest, palms sliding uselessly over sweat-slick muscle. Her thighs trembled so badly she would have collapsed if he hadn’t been holding her up.
Cum continued to leak out of her in slow, humiliating pulses, soaking the front of her bunched panties, dripping onto the tile between her bare feet.
He simply held her tighter, one hand still kneading her ass, the other sliding up to cradle the back of her head like he was comforting her instead of threatening everything she loved. His cock twitched against her belly, already stirring again at the sound of her panic.
She opened her mouth to beg again—"no, don’t, stop, I’ll do anything"—but the words never made it out.
"Then... just do it infront of your son."
’!?!’
SWOOSH