Chapter 27: Primal instinct to breed
The chains held his focus. The iron was a cold, perpetual weight against his skin, a reminder of his absolute surrender. Sori moved above him, a pale rhythm in the shadowed alcove, her body taking his with a slow, devastating certainty. He was a well she kept drawing from, a deep, seemingly endless source she was determined to map to its bedrock. His world had narrowed to sensation: the slick clutch of her, the strain in his bound thighs, the dull ache of pleasure so profound it edged into pain.He wanted to touch her.
The desire was a sudden, sharp hunger cutting through the haze of spent climaxes. He wanted to feel the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip under his palm. He wanted to guide her, to meet her, to be something other than a bound receptacle.He tested the manacles at his wrists.A faint, metallic creak answered. The iron was bolted to the headboard, but the shackles themselves, the bands around his wrists, were the point of failure. He took a deep breath, the air tasting of sweat and sex, and focused not on breaking them, but on the need itself.The need to hold her.
With a guttural sound that was half groan, half effort, he twisted his left wrist, pulling against the metal with the raw, corded strength of his shoulder and chest. The velvet lining compressed.The metal groaned, a sharper protest this time.Sori paused, looking down at him. Her blue eyes were dark pools, seeing his intention.A faint, approving smile touched her lips. “Is there a problem, my prince?”
Instead of answering, he pulled again. The erotic fury of it fueled him—the image of her riding him while he was helpless had been the gateway, but this, the act of reclaiming a fragment of control to serve her better, to connect, was what ignited his strength.His biceps bulged, veins rising along his forearms. A sharp, final crack echoed in the chamber, and the left shackle snapped open, the mechanism shearing under the pressure.His arm was free.
A rush of cool air hit the sweat-damp skin.He didn’t pause. He twisted his right wrist, the motion more determined now, the need a physical urgency.This one broke easier, with a conclusive pop. Suddenly, both arms were loose, heavy and tingling, falling to the silk beside his head.
He was free, but not.His lower half was still locked up. His legs remained spread apart and sharply bent, ankles pulled back beneath his thighs, held in the velvet-lined cuffs. The modified spread-eagle, the frog-leg configuration, kept his hips high and open, a platform for her use.
He didn’t waste a second.His hands, clumsy at first, found her. They settled on the narrow cage of her waist, his big palms spanning her. He groaned at the feel of her, hot skin over shifting muscle.He slid them down to the swell of her hips, fingers digging in.
“Better,” he rasped, his voice wrecked.
“Much,” she breathed, and began to move again.Now he could participate. He held her, guiding her bounce, meeting her descent with an upward thrust of his own locked pelvis.The motion was limited by the leg restraints, but powerful. His enhanced body, fueled by a hunger that had moved beyond thought, pistoned up into her. The wet, slapping sound of their joining grew louder, more frantic.
“Fuck, Sori… yes,” he panted, his head thrown back. His cock, fully hard and excessively large, was glistening, a continuous stream of heavy precum making everything slippery. “Take it.Take all of it.I wanna fill you up.”
The feeling was apocalyptic. Every nerve was alive, screaming. The coil in his gut wound tight, too fast, too soon, but he didn’t fight it.He chased it.
“I’m gonna come,” he warned, his grip tightening on her hips, his thrusts becoming shallow, urgent jerks. “Oh, God, I’m coming!”
It hit. A sharp, blinding surge that wrenched a raw sound from his throat.“HMPH AHHHH!!”
The first spurt was strong, a hot jet inside her.He kept thrusting through it, milking himself deeper. “There it is… feels so good… gonna give you everything…” Another powerful pulse, then another. It wasn’t stopping. It was a continuous, spurting release, each upward drive of his hips forcing more out.He was flooding her, a nonstop overflow.
A slick, hot wave spilled out from where they were joined, dripping down his balls and onto the soaked sheets beneath them. The bed was becoming a mess.He didn’t care. He was a creature of pure function: thrust, release, repeat.The force of his bouncing and her riding finally dislodged him. On a particularly deep drive upwards, his slick, spurting cock popped out of her, gleaming and violently erupting.
It was a fountain. Thick ropes of cum shot into the air, arcing to land on his stomach, her thigh, the dark silk. He gasped, his body seizing, but the orgasm didn’t pause. He was spurting onto the open air, onto both of them, a helpless, spectacular release.Sori watched, her eyes wide, her lips parted. Then, with a quick, instinctive movement, she reached down, grasped him, and guided his still-pulsing length back inside her. She sheathed him fully, squeezing tight around the sensitive, erupting shaft.Ian cried out, a broken sound of overwhelming sensation. His hands flew back to her hips, holding her there, impaled, as the last few spurts fired directly into her core. He shook, collapsing back, utterly spent yet somehow still hard within her, twitching with aftershocks.They were both slick, glistening, covered in the evidence. The air was thick and humid, smelling sharply of sex. Sori leaned forward, bracing her hands on his heaving chest, and dropped her forehead to his.
“Again,” she whispered, not a question, but a shared inevitability.
He could only nod, his blue eyes meeting hers, filled with a devoted, husbandly tenderness that existed perfectly alongside the utterly wanton, breeding hunger of his body. He was hers.In every way. And the night was far from over.
And the night was far from over.He didn’t stop. Even as the aftershocks of that last, messy climax juddered through him, Ian kept moving. His hands, now free, gripped Sori’s hips with a possessiveness that was both tender and desperate. He used the leverage of his chained legs, that locked frog-leg position, to piston his pelvis upward in a relentless, shallow rhythm. The chains at his ankles rattled a constant, metallic counterpoint to the wet slap of skin.“Can’t stop,” he panted, his voice shredded. “Don’t want to.” His mind was a fractured mirror. One shard showed the image of a devoted king, serving his queen, a lasting husband tending to his wife’s pleasure with a fierce, protective loyalty. The other shard was pure, base instinct: an experienced, hungry lover who knew exactly how good it felt to bury himself inside her and empty everything he had. The two impulses weren’t at war; they were fueling each other, creating a feedback loop of need.
He watched her face, her parted lips, the flutter of her pale lashes. Seeing the joy, the absolute absorption in her own sensation as she rode him, drove him wild. The bounce of her curvy breasts, the swing of her silver hair, the clench of her muscles around him—it was all a visual feast that fed the fire in his gut. He felt himself hardening further, an impossible feat, his XL cock swelling even thicker within her tight channel.His balls, already swollen and sensitive, tightened anew, preparing another deposit.
“You feel that?” he groaned, his thrusts becoming more deliberate, deeper. “Filling up for you again. Always for you.” His body was a machine designed for this single purpose: to mate, to breed, to ejaculate. The pleasure was a white-hot wire, singing from his core to his extremities.
“Show me,” Sori breathed, her own composure fraying at the edges.She matched his rhythm, dropping down onto him with punishing force. “Show me how much you have left.”
“Gonna come… gonna come so hard for you,” he warned, his words dissolving into a low, continuous moan. The pressure crested without ceremony, a sudden, violent overflow.“Ah! Fuck, here it is!”
The first spurt was a powerful, hot jet that made Sori gasp and clench around him. “Yes… take it,” he gritted out, holding her down, impaling her as his hips stuttered upwards. Another pulse, then another, in a rapid, unrelenting series. “That’s five… six…” He was counting through the haze, a soldier reporting his ammo expenditure. “Seven, eight… God, it just keeps coming…”
It was a deluge. Ten, twelve, fourteen thick spurts erupted inside her, each one a tangible, warm flood. He wasn’t just ejaculating; he was producing, his enhanced biology working overtime. It felt like liters, a shocking, impossible volume that had nowhere to go but to fill her and overflow. A hot trickle escaped their connection, painting his thighs and the already-soaked sheets.
He collapsed for a moment, breath sawing in his lungs, but his body refused to soften. The sight of her, slick with his release, her eyes dark and satisfied yet still hungry, coiled the tension right back. “You’re incredible,” he slurred, hands smoothing over her flanks. “My perfect… perfect girl.” The husband’s adoration was genuine, even as the gigolo’s body readied for another round.
“Again,” she whispered, not asking, and began to move once more.
He met her, thrust for thrust, a low groan building in his chest. “You’re gonna milk me dry… drain me completely.” The sensation was overwhelming, too much and not enough. “I can’t… I can’t hold it!”
Another climax tore through him, less voluminous but just as intense. A series of eight sharp, pumping spurts followed his ragged shout.“There! All for you!” Another few minutes of frantic motion, her breasts bouncing, her hips circling, and he was erupting again—six more hot pulses, a continuous pour. He was a dumpster of seed, tipping his entire contents into her, again and again, with no end in sight.
The room swam.His naked body was a map of sweat and spend, gleaming in the low light. He was hollowed out, yet perpetually full.His mind clung to one truth: her. Serving her, filling her, belonging to her. The chains held his legs open, a willing captive, as he kept pouring himself out, over and over, until the grey dawn finally, reluctantly, began to bleach the sky.