Free Web NovelChapter 305: Chapter 305- Loosing Her Mind
He was fucking her belly.
Not inside her — ’over’ her. The specific obscenity of his cock sliding back and forth across the taut dome of her pregnancy, his hips working in short controlled thrusts that sent the belly jiggling with each forward press, her boobs swinging in the opposite direction from the motion, the dark nipples catching the shower water and flicking droplets with each swing.
He kissed her again in the middle of it.
Her mouth was already open — for the moans, for the protests, for the breathing that had become purely reactive — and his tongue pushed in immediately, finding hers, the French kiss resuming mid-thrust as his hips continued their work against her belly and his hand found her boob again.
Kneading.
The full slow squeeze of his palm pressing the breast flesh upward, the nipple trapped against his palm, the whole heavy warm weight of the pregnancy-filled boob working under his grip — and she felt it, the sensation she’d been dreading and anticipating in equal measure since he’d started touching them, the pressure behind the nipple, the fullness in the breast from months of untended accumulation.
"’MmNNGH—’"
He swallowed the sound.
His mouth left hers — moved downward, across her chin, down her throat, down the swell of her chest — and then his mouth closed over her nipple.
He sucked.
A full mouthful of breast flesh, the nipple pressing against the back of his mouth, his cheeks hollowing with the pull of it, the vacuum he created against her skin immediate and deep and ’thorough.’
Her back left the tub completely.
"’HAAIYAANGH~~!!’"
The cry hit every surface in the bathroom — tile and glass and chrome — and came back at her from every direction while her spine formed a perfect arch, her shoulder blades and the back of her head the only contact points with the porcelain, her pregnant belly raised in the air with his cock still pressed against it, her boobs pointing upward with one of them buried in his mouth.
The milk came.
Not a drip — a ’release’, the stored pressure of weeks finding the path his suction had created, flooding his mouth in a warm, thin rush that he swallowed without stopping, his tongue working against the nipple as if this were information he’d expected and had simply been waiting for the delivery of.
"’No — nno — STOP — it’s—’"
The sensation of it was not what she’d prepared for.
She’d expected to feel diminished. Exposed. The specific humiliation of having something extracted from her body without permission, without context, in the middle of everything else he’d already taken without asking.
What she felt instead was — pressure relieving. The specific physiological release of a body that had been carrying accumulation it had no outlet for, the sudden decrease in the tightness that had been building in her breast for weeks, the nerve endings there firing in a completely different register than pain.
He pinched the other nipple.
Hard.
"’NIIENGHHT~~!!’"
Her hips crashed down into the tub water with the reflex of her body jackknifing at the sensation, the splash enormous, water going everywhere — over the tub edge, across the floor, running down his back and soaking her hair flat to the porcelain.
Her chest was heaving.
The boob in his mouth was still releasing — slower now, the initial pressure spent, his tongue still working the nipple with the lazy, deliberate attention of someone who has found something interesting and intends to explore it thoroughly.
She was crying.
Actual crying this time — not the involuntary tear response, not the sensory overflow, but real tears, running from the corners of her eyes down into her wet hair, her face tilted toward the ceiling because if she looked at him she would have to acknowledge the full inventory of what was happening to her.
"’Hh — hhn — I — stop — I can’t—’"
Her hands had stopped pushing.
She’d noticed this at some point and had been unable to do anything about it — her hands were on his back, her fingers curled into the muscle there, her palms pressed flat against his shoulder blades while she cried and moaned and her hips moved against his cock on her belly and his mouth drank from her breast.
PAH— PAH— PAAAH— freёweɓnovel.com
"’AAANGH — NN — HAAANGH~~!!’"
Three thrusts in sequence, each one firmer than the last, the final one a deep, dragging forward press that pushed his cock the full length of her belly surface and pressed the head into the underside of her sternum while his balls rolled warm against the base of her belly.
Her inner thighs were slick.
Not from the shower water.
He released her nipple with a wet, audible sound.
Lifted his face.
Looked at her.
She was a complete disaster — swollen lips, wet face, tear-streaked cheeks, her boobs shining wet from his mouth, her nipples red-dark and hypersensitive, her pregnant belly flushed and trembling, her legs open in the tub water because at some point they had opened and she had no memory of deciding to open them.
He reached forward and pulled her lower lip with two fingers.
Just — pulled it outward, the soft flesh stretching slightly, and then released it.
She gasped.
"’Hhhah—’"
"From now on," he said, "you listen to me." ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom
She stared at him.
Her lip was tingling.
Her breast was still dripping the last thin threads of milk down the curve of the underside. Her clit was still pulsing from his fingers earlier with the specific, persistent, maddening throb of something that had been brought to the edge and then abandoned there.
"’I don’t—’" Her voice came out completely wrecked, the threat-delivery register entirely gone, replaced by something ragged and raw that she’d never heard herself produce before. "’I don’t listen to—’"
"Before that." He cut across her. He reached past her to the soap. "Let me deal with your hair. You look too dirty."
She blinked.
The non-sequitur hit her with the same force as everything preceding it — the flat, practical pivot from ’you will listen to me’ to ’your hair is dirty’ delivered in exactly the same register, the same informational tone.
"’My — you — what—’"
Her hands started gathering energy.
Not consciously — the reflex of a woman whose mouth had run out of options and whose body was defaulting back to the only weapon it had. The ambient energy of the bathroom beginning to stir again, attunement beginning, the steam starting to shift frequency at her skin.
He leaned down.
His mouth closed over her other nipple.
The full vacuum. No warning. Both cheeks hollowing, the suction immediate and complete, his tongue pressing the stiff nipple against the roof of his mouth and ’pulling.’
"’HAAH — HAAIYAAANGH — AAHNGH~!!’"
The energy scattered.
Every gathered thread of conversion dissolving simultaneously as her back arched so hard her shoulders left the tub surface again, her hands flying to the back of his head — pushing, she was ’pushing’, her fingers pressing against the back of his skull while her palms tried to shove his mouth away from her breast and produced instead a pressure that held him there, her contradictory body completing the gesture in the exact opposite direction from her intention.
The milk came from this side too.
He swallowed.
His hand pinched her left nipple — the one he’d just released, the one still swollen and slick — rolling it between his thumb and forefinger with a precise, controlled pressure that made her hips slam forward into his cock on her belly.
PAH!
"’OUNGH~!’"
The belly jiggled from the hip-slam impact.
Her boobs swung forward from the motion and then back, the one in his mouth dragging against his lips with the swing, the other swinging free and bouncing back to rest with its dark nipple pointing directly at the steam.
Her internal monologue had been trying to reassemble itself throughout all of this.
It was not succeeding.
’Who is he.’
The thought came through clearly between the sensations — the one coherent thread she had left, the single functional question that had survived everything since the warehouse floor.
’Who is he.’
He knew about the synergy. He knew about the hymen. He moved her from the warehouse to a bathroom while she was unconscious and cleaned her body with his hands while she slept. He put his balls in her mouth as an opening conversational move. He was naked and his cock was nine inches and he’d been rubbing it against her pregnant belly for the last several minutes like she was a perfectly acceptable surface for this.
’Stop. Don’t.’
The thought came next, barely managing coherence.
’I’m losing my mind.’
His mouth released her nipple.
His hips gave one last slow, dragging forward thrust against her belly — his cock sliding from the base all the way to the top of the dome, his balls trailing warm across the underside, the motion deliberate and final-feeling, a period at the end of a sentence.
He straightened.
Looked down at her.
She was — comprehensively undone. Everything she’d built in four months of isolation — the posture, the voice, the threat-delivery, the cold flat informational affect of a woman who had made herself into a weapon because the alternative was not surviving — all of it lying somewhere at the bottom of the tub water with the soap and her dignity and the last several organized thoughts she’d had.
Her boobs were rising and falling with her breathing.
Her belly was still trembling.
Her nipples were swollen and one of them was still producing a thin bead of milk that ran down the curve of the breast and dripped into the tub water in a slow, steady rhythm.
She looked up at him.
He was looking at her the way he’d looked at her from the aperture in the null medium — the assessment look, the specific clear look of someone who has found exactly what they came for.
"’What,’" she said.
Her voice came out small. She hated that it came out small.
"’What is happening with me.’"
