He could feel a new texture of skin as he thrust it deeper than ever before - so distinct, unlike anything he had felt in the past days. Her eyes rolled back, revealing only the pure white texture, as if her soul had momentarily left her body. Her lips hung breathless in a parted manner, while her gaze got fixed on her own trembling belly, as if witnessing the waves of pleasure ripple through her from within.
The once flat skin of her lower abdomen, soft and slightly curled inwards like someone who hadn't eaten in days, now began to stretch. Her stomach rose subtly with each movement, as if something deep inside was pushing outward — like pressure building from within, expanding her from the inside out.
Her cries grew sharper, louder—so intense they seemed to rattle the air itself. Each scream slammed against the walls and echoed through the room like a clash of knives. Their force was so raw it felt like the glass windows might crack under the pressure.
Her body reacted violently—like a cornered lion ready to take on a pack of hyenas. Upon every deep thrust, the curled-in skin of her lower belly continued to tighten, as if her core was bracing for impact. What she felt wasn't just pain—it was a sharp, overwhelming force that bordered on torture, stealing the breath from her lungs and tightening every muscle in her body.
"Ahhh!"
Her scream tore through the room, raw and unfiltered, like she had crossed some invisible threshold—no longer tethered to the ordinary world. To him, it didn't sound like pain anymore. It echoed more like worship, like every cry was a chant thrown in his direction, feeding his ego with every sound.
"Pah… pah… pah…"
He rocked his hips hard and fast, driving into her with the relentless force of a hammer striking wood. The rhythm was brutal, almost wild—so intense it felt like his rod could burst through her throat, even through her gasps and moans. Yes, that's how hard he was.
With every thrust of his hips, she moaned again and again, her sounds shifting—like she was becoming someone else with each powerful strike. Her body rippled as if caught in a sudden rush of water—not from pure joy, pain, or calm, but from a tangled mix of all those feelings crashing together.
As he drove into her glorious pie like a forceful storm, his hands never left their spiraling path over her breasts—gripping them hard, rough, almost desperate. The rhythm of his squeeze was fierce and hungry, like a man sucking every last drop from an orange.
Her skin softened beneath his touch, almost like rubber, yielding more and more with each thrust. When he caught sight of the reddened skin on her belly where he had reached deep inside, his arousal spiked even higher.
A cool shiver ran through him, like the fresh rush of a cold shower, as he placed his hands on the round, smooth curve beneath her. He could feel the slickness of the foam clinging to her skin, warm and sticky against his palms.
Then, the air in the room thickened, filled with a heavy, sweet scent—no ordinary perfume, but a mix of their own fluids lingering between them.
He released a powerful surge inside her, the warmth rushing deep as if aimed straight for her intestines. The heat was unlike anything she had ever felt before. Her hands moved weakly over her skin, like someone drained of energy, simply absorbing the overwhelming sensation of him releasing inside her.
Even her own fluid had no chance—no space or path to flow. It was as if her body tried to push back against him but got trapped beneath his presence.
A gentle breath of air brushed over her skin like a feather as he slowly withdrew. But even after pulling out, his rod stayed hard—harder than before—showing just how much load and energy were still left inside, waiting to be released.
Seeing the couch soaked with wet, creamy fluid and her motionless body, he dashed forward again. This time not thrusting, instead, he grabbed, raised, and laid her—carefully but firmly—across his broad shoulders. His strong arm, thick with veins, supported her swollen belly as he moved toward the door.
He felt her shallow breaths beginning to steady, the soft, big, rounded skin, which seemed like the oily part of a meat pressing gently against him. Drops of fluid from her thighs left damp trails on his chest with every step. But he wasn't even at the middle of the game. He could feel her heart pounding wildly against his shoulders, like it was about to burst free.
As he reached the inner door, a clingy, eerie sound pierced the silence. She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear, and whispered. Her voice was soft—like the breeze that follows after a heavy rainfall—but carried a weight he couldn't ignore. Whether it was a plea, a surrender, or a subtle stop, he couldn't quite tell.
His facial expression shifted, turning into almost a fading smile, as he turned the handle of the door. The air around them grew thick, almost tangible, as if the very atmosphere had absorbed their shared heat. He could feel the texture of her lingering fluid clinging to him—warm, slick, and alive.
'Is he a beast… or what?'
The thought echoed in her mind, thick with disbelief and wonder. Confusion wrapped around her like mist as her heartbeat raced again. She could feel the soft, foamy bed beneath her shifting—like a spring being wound tighter with every breath she took. Her thoughts swelled, mixing dread and desire, unsure whether to flee or surrender again.
Thinking he had finished, her body instinctively shifted—half rising, with her soft melons and face pressing into the mattress while her hips arched upward, exposed and trembling in a doggy style. Frustration flashed across her features, a mix of exhaustion and anticipation. But deep inside, a quiet flame still burned—untamed and hungry. She wasn't finished. Not yet. Something within her still craved more. Then she felt it-—a cool sweep of air across her bare skin, followed by a warm texture of his presence drawing closer.