Chapter 233 - Wanting to Rail Her Even More
His mouth stopped working.
Her breasts were flattened against the glass from the inside.
And she was screaming — muffled through the pane, audible anyway — not in a way that sounded like suffering.
"...Leave her alone." The words came out barely above a whisper. "You bastard."
His foot slipped.
A dog barked — then another, the sound carrying sharp and immediate from somewhere nearby — and Jake was already scrambling upright, mud on his elbow, when the garden gate swung open.
His cart — the little food cart he’d dragged here, the one he’d been leaning against for the last twenty minutes working up the courage to ring the bell — got yanked sideways by the lunge of the dog on the lead, wheels skidding, something spilling.
He missed.
The voice hit him like cold water.
Jake straightened, mud on his knee, dog still barking somewhere behind the fence. "Aunty — Jenny is with someone else — there’s a man in her room, I saw—"
Clean, open-palmed, loud enough that the dog went quiet for a second.
Her voice was not loud. It didn’t need to be.
"Please—" Jake said.
"Please, just let me explain—"
She pointed at the street beyond the gate.
The gate clicked shut.
His face was wet.
He looked up at the window.
And there, cast in shadow on the glass like a puppet theatre with no curtain — the shape of a woman on all fours, one leg lifted, a man’s hand wrapped full around her breast from behind, his hips moving in a clear, rhythmic, unmistakable arc.
Out.
Out.
Jake’s hands balled into fists at his sides.
He wiped his face with his sleeve.
Behind the gate, Jenny’s mother stood watching the back of his retreating figure for a long moment before she said to the guard, "If he comes back, call the police this time."
She turned toward the house, smoothing her nightgown with both hands, exhaling through her nose — the long, deliberate exhale of a woman resetting herself after an irritant has been removed.
At the window.
The light was still on.
She stood there.
She took a breath.
Pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took one long, slow pull.
Her eyes moved from the window to the middle distance and back to the window again.
"Better just be a one-night stand."
She exhaled — slow, unhurried — and let her eyes stay on the shadow a moment longer than was strictly necessary for judgment.
That much the silhouette communicated clearly.
"I hope he isn’t too hard on her." A pause. The cigarette moved. "...He looked hard. I might get some session too after Jenny is done with him."
PAH! PAH! PAAAH!
"Hhnn—!! AAAHH~!! CRUXIUS—!!"
She’d been thrown there — both wrists released, one clean twist of his hips spinning her from the window to the bed with a motion that had her breasts swinging hard enough to slap against the sheets on impact, the air punched out of her lungs before she could brace.
He watched it for exactly one second.
PAAAH!
She was going to break.
She was going to ruin herself on this man and she couldn’t find the part of her that cared.
"Mngh~!! Unhh— A—AANHH~!!"
All the way — slowly — until just the fat head remained inside, caught at her entrance, the rim of her pussy stretched around that single point, her walls rippling with involuntary clenching.
Then he slammed forward one final time — deep, full, the slap of his hips against her ass cracking loud and wet, his balls swinging forward to smack her clit — and Jenny came apart completely, squirting in a hard, continuous stream that ran down his shaft and her thighs and soaked through the sheets in a widening dark circle, her whole body shaking, her scream going half-silent with the force of it, as Jenny’s pussy was agaped. She squirted fountain while his seed painted her body.
His cock stood thick and flushed and dripping as he stroked it — two, three deliberate pulls — and came across her body in long, hot ropes, the seed landing across the small of her back, the curve of her ass, the spread of her inner thighs, painting her in slow, thorough strokes while she twitched and pulsed beneath him, pussy still clenching around nothing, gaping slightly at the entrance, too stretched to close immediately.
At the wet, ruined bed. At the fog still fading on the window glass across the room. At the faint shadow on the curtain where a man had stood and watched and had nothing to offer in return.
He’d heard her mother in the garden — every word, the cigarette, the laugh, the last thing she’d said before she walked back inside.
He rolled his shoulder.
’Seems another bitch wants to spread her legs.’
"Hey, wanna go for another few rounds within bathroom?"