Chapter 863 - 862- Sigh of a Man

Chapter 863: Chapter 862- Sigh of a Man

One leg on the mattress, the other planted on cold stone. That was the position I held as the morning light crept through the window slit, painting a thin blade of gold across the wrecked sheets.

My cock was buried inside Seraphina. The walls of her pussy, raw and swollen from hours of use, clenched around the shaft like a fist that refused to let go. Juices — hers, mine, a mixture of both — ran down her thighs in slow, thick threads that dripped onto the sheet below. The fabric, already soaked through, was dark and heavy with the evidence of the night. ℴ

She was trembling. Her body, which had been strong and proud and rigid when she first entered this room, was now a wreck. Her arms lay at her sides, limp as cloth. Her fingers twitched every few seconds, an involuntary response to the overstimulation that had been going on for hours. Her mouth hung open, a thin line of drool connecting her lower lip to the pillow. Her eyes were half-lidded, rolled back enough to show white. The moans that came from her throat were not words. They were sounds. Animal, broken, desperate sounds that a woman makes when her body has been pushed past every limit she thought she had.

"Mmm... mmf... can... cannot... no more... professor... please..."

I grabbed her hip with one hand, fingers sinking into the soft flesh of her ass. The cheek wobbled under my grip, the skin red from where I had been slapping it all night. I squeezed, feeling the meat yield and spread under my palm, and thrust forward one final time.

Pah.

The sound was wet. Heavy. The kind of sound that came from a pussy that had been fucked raw. My cock, buried to the hilt, twitched. The head, pressed against her cervix, erupted. The cum, thick and hot, pumped into her in ropes that filled what little space remained. The walls, gripping, milked. The fluid, mixing with what was already inside, overflowed. The excess ran out around my shaft, down her crack, and pooled on the sheet.

My tail, which had been inside her ass this entire time, vibrated one last pulse. The frequency, which had been steady for the past hour, sent a final shock through her body. She convulsed. Her back arched off the mattress, her tits swinging upward from the motion, heavy and full, nipples dark and stiff. The milk that had been leaking from them all night sprayed in a thin arc. The fluid, white and warm, hit my chest and ran down my stomach.

"AH...!! ... AAANGH...!!"

Then she collapsed. Flat. Limp. Her legs, which had been wrapped around my waist, fell open. The thighs, spread wide, trembled. The pussy, which had been clenching, went slack. The cum, which had been contained, poured out in a slow, thick flood.

I pulled out. My cock, slick and wet, emerged with a sound that was obscene. The head, dark and swollen, dripped. I looked down at her. At the body that had been the president of the women’s section. At the woman who had been proud and fierce and untouchable. At the mess that was now mine.

I turned to Sofia.

The half-cow beast-folk lay on the other side of the bed. Unconscious. Her body, smaller and thicker than Seraphina’s, was curled on its side. Her horns, which caught the morning light, gleamed. Her breasts, perky and full, rose and fell with each deep breath. Her pussy, which I had deflowered hours ago, was a mess of cum and blood and arousal. Her ass, which I had broken in, was red and gaping.

I grabbed her horn. The appendage, curved and smooth, was a handle. My fingers wrapped around the base and pulled. Her head, which had been turned away, came toward me. Her mouth, which had been slightly open, was at my cock.

I thrust. Gentle this time. The head, which was still wet, entered her mouth. Her lips, which were soft and full, closed around the shaft. Her tongue, which moved on instinct, licked. The motion, which was practiced, was the result of conditioning. She had been trained. In her sleep, her body knew what to do.

She sucked. The motion, slow and rhythmic, cleaned me. Her mouth, warm and wet, worked the shaft. Her tongue, which traced the veins, collected the fluids. The cum, which had been on the surface, was swallowed. The arousal, which had been mixed, was consumed.

I sighed. The breath, which was a release, was a satisfaction. My hand, which had been on her horn, moved. To her breast. I groped. The flesh, which was firm and warm, yielded under my fingers. I kneaded. One squeeze. Two. The nipple, which was stiff, pressed against my palm. The milk, which had been stimulated, leaked. The fluid, thin and sweet, wet my hand.

I pulled out. My cock, which was clean, emerged from her mouth. She did not wake. Her lips, which had been wrapped around the shaft, closed. A small smile, which was unconscious, played at the corner of her mouth.

I let them sleep. Both women, tangled in sheets and cum and each other, were spent. I stood. Stretched. The muscles, which had been working all night, were warm and loose. I walked to the bathroom.

The water, which was cold, hit my skin like a slap. I stood under the flow, letting it wash away the night. The fluids, which had coated my body, ran down the drain. The scent, which had been thick, faded. I toweled off. Dressed. The coat, which was clean, was buttoned. The mask, which was in place, was adjusted.

I walked out. Both women were stirring. Seraphina, who had been lying flat, was sitting up. Her body, which was marked and sore, moved slowly. Sofia, who had been unconscious, was awake. Her eyes, which were brown and dazed, found mine.

"Professor," Seraphina said. Her voice, which had been strong and commanding, was hoarse. "What should we do?"

I smiled. The expression, which was behind the mask, was invisible. But the eyes, which crinkled, showed it.

"You can help me with something," I said. "Especially you, Miss President."

She blinked. The confusion, which was visible on her face, was the confusion of a woman who had expected to be dismissed, not recruited.

"Have you ever asked a guy for help in studies?" I said.

"What?" she said. The word, which came out as a croak, was the word of a woman whose brain was trying to process. "No. I never. I am... I was always the one who helped others. I never needed to ask."

"You were smart," I said. "But now you are going to do that."

Her mouth opened. Closed. The protest, which she wanted to make, died before it reached her lips. The conditioning, which had been reinforced all night, held. She nodded. The motion, which was small and reluctant, was submission.

I turned to Sofia. The half-cow, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, was trembling. Her body, which was sore and marked, was a reminder of what had happened. Her eyes, which were wet, were on me.

"You have to spread a small rumor," I said. "Do you understand?"

She trembled. The word "rumor," which implied manipulation, was a concept that her gentle nature resisted. But the conditioning, which had been embedded, held. She nodded. The motion, which was small and scared, was obedience.

I left. The door, which closed behind me, was a barrier. The room, which held two broken women, was a tomb. The hallway, which was bright and clean, was a new day.