fantasy novels Chapter 542 - 541- Holding the Hips Of Mistress
Chapter 542 - 541- Holding the Hips Of Mistress
’But first... let’s soften their bodies...’He leaned forward.
Both breasts — Eliantra’s and Helviana’s — rose toward him with the motion, the full, heavy, milk-warm weight of them following the reduction of distance between his mouth and them. He took one from each.
Both at once.
His mouth opening wide enough to pull both nipples in simultaneously, the two stiff, leaking tips pressing together against his tongue, the full, fat, dark heat of them filling his mouth with the sweet-salt of their milk releasing immediately, running over his tongue in a thin, continuous stream.
Both women made the same sound at the same moment.
Not the same tone — Eliantra’s cry was higher, sharper, the sound of a territorial mistress who had been comprehensively dismantled but retained enough vocal architecture to express volume; Helviana’s was lower, more surprised, the sound of a woman who had not expected this specific thing at this specific moment and was experiencing it fully.
"HAHN~!! Mas—NGHH~!!!"
"AH~!! V—viktor—MMNGHH~!!"
Both together.
’"MASTER~!!! MASTER~!!!!"’
The word landing in the room from two separate throats in the same breath, the harmony of it entirely unplanned and entirely honest and carrying the very specific dignity-cost of two women from different stations in life discovering they had arrived at the same vocabulary.
Viktor sucked.
The milk came freely from both — the pressure of his mouth drawing it out, the dual streams mixing on his tongue, the full, warm, sweet weight of two women’s bodies giving him what they had. He could feel both of them shaking. Eliantra’s thigh trembling against his. Helviana’s hand on his arm going white-knuckled.
He bit.
Lightly. Both nipples together.
The sound from above him was comprehensive.
He released them.
Leaned back.
Both women fell forward with the disconnection — the small, lurching fall of bodies that had been braced against the contact and were now adjusting to its absence, their breasts swinging heavily with the motion, milk running freely from both nipples in thin, uninterrupted streams that ran down the curve of each breast and dripped from the underside.
Their tongues were out.
He noticed this.
Both of them — Eliantra and Helviana — with their tongues slightly extended, lulling, the specific expression of a woman who has been fed something and is not done wanting it. Their faces flushed. Their eyes half-closed and glassy.
’"Master~—"’ from Eliantra.
’"Master~—"’ from Helviana.
Same word. Same tone. Same precise instant.
Viktor looked at both of them.
The corner of his mouth moved.
He settled back.
Fully horizontal — falling back against the headboard, his weight sinking into the bed, pulling both women with him so they landed against his chest in a warm, soft, heavy arrangement of thick bodies and leaking breasts and warm, damp thighs.
Below, Rehana and the old maid crawled up.
The movement of them — coming up the bed on hands and knees, their heavy breasts hanging and swaying below them as they moved, the nipples grazing the sheets, both pairs of eyes finding Viktor’s face from below with the specific, devoted attention of women moving toward something with purpose.
His hands found Eliantra’s legs.
Spreading them.
She had recovered. Fully. He could feel it — the rebuilt tightness, the restored muscle, the halfs having done everything he’d given them to do. Her pussy warm and wet and present under his fingers, the inner thighs already soaking from the extended contact of sitting on his lap.
He moved her.
The adjustment was simple and deliberate — repositioning her from beside him to above him, turning her, aligning her so the thick curve of her ass was over his hips, her back to his chest, the heat of her settling over him.
His cock still in Rehana’s mouth for the moment — he reached down and took her head, pulling her off with the slow, authoritative withdrawal of a man repositioning his equipment. Rehana made a sound at the loss of it.
He aligned Eliantra’s anal against his cockhead.
She felt it immediately.
"V—Viktor—" Her voice. The mistress voice, attempting to reassert itself, cracking at the top of the attempt. "My — I just — it’s recovered — please—"
"You’re a good woman," he said.
The tone of it was not a question and not a command.
It was a statement of fact that also functioned as an instruction.
She trembled.
Her whole body — the full, thick, recovered weight of the Viscounty’s mistress, her heavy breasts hanging forward and trembling with her shaking, her ass spread across his hips with its warm, jiggling fullness — trembled from the inside out.
Her hands found his thighs.
She began to lower herself.
Slowly. The excruciating, teeth-clenched, small-voiced ’"Ngh~— ngh~— mnh~—"’ of a woman choosing to do something to herself that is going to overwhelm her, doing it anyway because a man’s voice told her she was good and her body had decided that was sufficient reason.
His cockhead pressed against her anal.
The ring of it tightening. Resisting. Then —
Rehana’s hands found her hips.
The old maid’s hands found her hips from the other side.
They looked at each other.
Brief. The wordless communication of two women who have been in this orbit long enough to understand coordination.
They pushed.
’Down.’
PHACKKK!
"KYAAANGHGHHH!!!♡♡!!!"
Nine inches.
All of it. In one shove. The full, devastating, complete occupation of her recovered anal by his cock, Rehana and the old maid’s combined weight driving her down until his balls were pressed flat against her and she was seated fully, completely, balls-deep on him without the option of gradual adjustment.
Her head dropped.
Forward. Down. Her chin hitting her own chest, her hair falling across her face, both hands flying off his thighs to grab the bed in front of her, gripping the sheets with both fists, her whole body locked in the sustained, full-body seizure of a woman who has been given all of something instantly.
Her breasts lurched downward with the impact — the full, heavy weight of them dropping and swinging, the milk releasing in two simultaneous sprays from the shock.
One arc went forward.
One arc went backward.
The backward arc landed on Helviana.
On her back. On the back of her neck. Warm and thin, running down her spine.
Helviana flinched.
Looked over her shoulder at Eliantra’s face — the completely destroyed, white-eyed, open-mouthed face of the viscounty’s mistress seated balls-deep on the man currently occupied with Helviana’s nipple between his teeth.
Viktor bit.
’"AAHHNN~!!! NGHHH~!!"’ — Helviana, at the bite.
’"NNIEEENGHH~!!! TOO—TOO DEEP—MASTER—MASTER IT’S TOO—"’ — Eliantra, at the depth.
Both simultaneously.
The room was not quiet.
Rehana and the old maid held Eliantra’s hips.
They had established the rhythm between them with the practiced efficiency of women who had been coordinating around this man long enough to understand timing. The old maid on the left. Rehana on the right. Both sets of hands gripping the thick, full flesh of the mistress’s hips with firm, unsentimental authority.
They lifted her.
Her body rose — the slow, reluctant withdrawal of something that had been filled completely and was now being unfilled — her anal pulling off him inch by inch, the stretch of it visible from the angle of the room, the rim of her dragging along his shaft, her hands tightening on the sheets with each inch.
"Ngh~— ngh~— ngh~—"
They dropped her.
PHACK!
’"AAANGH~!!! NGH~!!! NGHH~!!!"’
Lifted.
Dropped.
PHACK!!
’"HAAIYAAANGH~!!! MASTER~!!! MASTER~!! I CAN’T—NGH—IT’S TOO—NGHH~!!!"’
Her breasts bounced with each drop — the full, fat, milk-heavy weight of them lurching upward when she dropped and then slamming back down against her own chest, the impact of tit against ribs audible, the milk spraying from each bounce in thin, involuntary arcs.
Lifted.
Dropped.
PAAH!!
’"AAAHHHNN~!!!! KYAAANGHH~!!!! I—I’M—NGHH~!!!"’