Chapter 876 - 875- What a trash to leave his Woman

Chapter 876: Chapter 875- What a trash to leave his Woman

I grabbed my cock. The head, dark and flushed, found her entrance. The lips of her pussy, slick with arousal, parted around it like a mouth opening. I pushed.

She was tight. Tighter than Sofia, tighter than Seraphina, tighter than anyone I’d had in this world. The walls gripped the head like a fist, and I had to push harder to get past the first inch. She gasped. Her hands found the sheets and gripped, knuckles white.

"Your pussy is still tight," I said. "Even after eight times."

"Professor, don’t say that—"

I slammed.

My hips drove forward. The full length of my cock buried itself in her with one stroke—ten inches, base to tip, no pause, no mercy, no adjustment period. The head hit her cervix and she screamed. Her back arched off the bed. Her breasts, small and firm, swung upward with the force. Her eyes rolled back, showing white.

"AAAH—!! PROFESSOR—!!"

The clench was immediate. Her walls, which had been tight, became a vice. The pressure around my shaft was so intense I could feel her pulse through the walls—her heartbeat, transmitted through the flesh of her cunt, drumming against my cock. I groaned. My hands found her waist and gripped, fingers digging into the soft skin above her hips. I pulled back until only the head remained inside, then slammed again.

Pah! Pah! Pah!

The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room. Wet, heavy, the kind of sound that soaked into walls and stayed there.

"OUNGH—!! ... AH—!! ... HAAAH—!! ... it’s too deep—!! ... Professor, please—!!"

I didn’t slow down. I pounded her with the kind of pace that turned beds into wreckage. Each thrust drove her into the mattress, the springs screaming beneath us. The headboard hit the wall—BANG BANG BANG—a rhythm that anyone in the adjacent rooms could hear. The sheets, which had been neat, bunched beneath her, pulled free of the mattress by the force of our movement.

"Tell me," I said between thrusts, my voice barely winded. "When you and Aldric had sex. How long did he last?"

She stared at me. The question, delivered mid-fuck, was too much. Her face, which had been twisted with pleasure, went red.

"What—why are you—"

"Answer me."

"He... two minutes." The words came out between moans. Broken. Gasped. "HAAH—!! ... he was... he was always quick... AH—!!"

I laughed. The sound was dark and low, more breath than voice. "Two minutes. And did he make you come?"

"No." The admission was a whisper. A confession. The kind of admission that costs something. "He never... OUNGH—!! ... he never did... AH—!!"

"But I did. With my mouth. In five minutes."

She cried. The tears, which had been falling since the balcony, came harder. The truth, which was ugly, was also freeing. Her body, which had been tense, relaxed. The walls, which had been gripping, softened. I went deeper—another half inch that I hadn’t been able to reach before, and the new depth made her whole body shudder.

Pah Pah Pah Pah PAAAH!

"AAANGH—!! ... Professor—!! ... I can’t—!! ... HIEEENGH—!!"

I grabbed her waist and lifted. The motion was smooth—one arm under her back, the other on her hip. I stood, carrying her, my cock still buried inside. She weighed almost nothing. Her legs wrapped around my waist on instinct, the kind of instinct that bypassed thought entirely. Her arms found my neck.

I walked to the balcony. The doors were open. The evening air, cool and damp, hit our bodies like a splash of water. Below, the courtyard was lit by lanterns that swung gently in the breeze. Students were walking in small groups, heading to dinner, to dormitories, living their ordinary lives in their ordinary world.

I saw Aldric. He was standing near the fountain, talking to another student. His body language was tense. His hands moved as he spoke, gesturing broadly.

"I can’t find my sister or Yuki anywhere," he said. His voice carried in the quiet evening, bouncing off the stone walls of the courtyard. "Damn it. Where did they go?"

I smirked. My hips, which had been still, resumed. Short, deep strokes. Each one drove my cock to the hilt, the head pressing against her cervix with a firm, insistent pressure. Yuki, who was impaled on me, bit her lip hard enough to leave teeth marks. The sound that escaped was a whimper—high, thin, barely audible.

I reached down. Found her panties—the white cotton ones, discarded on the floor earlier, still warm from her body. I balled them up and pushed them into her mouth. She gagged. Her eyes went wide. The cotton, which tasted like her own arousal, muffled the sound.

"Quiet," I said. "He’ll hear you."

I lifted her right leg. The position shifted her angle—her body tilted, one leg up, one around my waist. My cock, which had been hitting her cervix, found a new depth. She trembled. Her hands, which had been on my neck, gripped my shirt. The panties in her mouth muffled her moans, but her body spoke for her—every muscle taut, every nerve firing, her walls clenching and unclenching around me in rapid pulses.

I tilted her toward the balcony railing. Her face, which was visible from below if anyone looked up, was pointed toward the courtyard. Toward Aldric.

"Look at him," I said.

She shook her head. Her eyes were squeezed shut.

"Look at him."

She opened her eyes. Looked down. Saw Aldric, standing by the fountain, talking. Unaware. Oblivious. Not looking up. Not searching for her. Not worried about where she was. Just... talking.

"He looks happy without you," I said. The words were poison. Each one was a needle, inserted precisely. "He’s not looking for you. He’s not worried. He’s talking to his friend. Moving on."

"No," she moaned through the panties. "No, he’s not—"

"You’re here. Getting fucked by another man. And he doesn’t even notice you’re gone."

She cried. The tears ran down her cheeks and into the cotton in her mouth, soaking it. Her body, which had been rigid, shook. Her pussy, which was full of my cock, clenched. The walls, which had been soft, tightened.

I grabbed her hand and fucked her harder. The pace, which had been controlled, became brutal. Each thrust was a statement. Each impact was a claim. The balcony railing rattled.

Pah Pah Pah Pah Pah PAAAH!

"Hmmf—!! ... mmf—!! ... HMMF—!!"

I pulled the panties from her mouth. She gasped. Her mouth, freed, opened. The moans came out—raw, unfiltered, the sounds she’d been swallowing for the last five minutes.

"Professor—!! ... I can’t—!! ... AH—!! ... it’s too deep—!! ... HAAAH—!!"

I tilted her face toward mine. Kissed her. My mouth found hers and the kiss was hard, invasive, claiming—my tongue pushed past her lips and found hers. She tasted like cock and tears and cotton. I swallowed her moan, took it from her mouth and kept it.

When I pulled back, a string of saliva connected our lips. I broke it with my thumb.

"Did he ever kiss you after you sucked his cock?" I asked.

She stared at me. The question, which was intimate and cruel in equal measure, found its mark. Her face crumpled—the kind of crumpling that happens when someone is confronted with a truth they’ve been avoiding.

"No," she whispered. "Never."

I chuckled. "Of course he didn’t. He’s trash."

I kissed her again.

"Ggmmhnnnn~~!?"