Chapter 6: The Crystal Vice
Alya pushed Moritz onto the bed, her silver hair cascading over her shoulders like a metallic waterfall. The black silk sheets were cool against his back. She straddled his hips, her light blue eyes holding a predatory gleam. “I want you to sleep with me tonight,” she whispered, her hand already gripping his still-hard cock, which throbbed eagerly from their last encounter. “But I have a surprise.”
Before he could form a thought, she lifted herself and sank onto his shaft with a wet, greedy gasp, taking him to the hilt in one smooth motion. She was already dripping, her body eager. She began to ride him, a slow, deliberate roll of her hips that made his breath hitch. Then she smiled.
It happened without warning.
Her inner muscles didn’t just flutter; they seized. A crushing, telekinetic vise clamped around his cock, a sensation so sudden and so intense it was beyond anything anatomical. It was a perfect, brutal fist of pulsating pressure, squeezing from root to tip.
Moritz’s eyes flew wide, his back arching off the bed. A raw, guttural scream ripped from his throat, tearing through the quiet suite. The pressure was unimaginable, a ruthless milking that brooked no resistance. His control shattered instantly. His balls tightened painfully against her ass, and his orgasm was ripped from him, violent and premature.
A hot, thick jet of cum spurted deep into her womb, a forceful blast that made her gasp and shudder atop him. It wasn’t a release; it was an expulsion. Another pulse of her psychic clamp wrenched a second rope from him, then a third, each spurt a searing surrender as his cock twitched and throbbed helplessly inside her relentless grip. Seed flooded her, a sudden, copious deposit forced out by her will alone.
She slowed her hips, still impaled on him, her internal hold easing just a fraction. “What do you want?” she purred, watching the stunned agony on his face. “Do you want me to continue clamping you, or not? I need to hear your voice.”
He was drowning in sensation, the aftershocks of the forced climax mixing with the ongoing, threatening pressure. A low, ragged groan escaped him. His hands, which had been gripping the sheets, now clawed at her hips. “Fuck… yes,” he choked out, his voice strained. “Clamp me… don’t you fucking stop.”
She smiled, a bright, diamond-hard smile, and tightened her hold again.
“Oh, God! Christ!” Moritz screamed, his head thrashing against the pillows. The pressure returned, even tighter, a series of rhythmic, pumping constrictions that milked his oversensitive shaft for every last drop. He moaned, a continuous, broken sound. “You fucking witch… shit… yes, like that!” He cursed her and begged her in the same breath, his hips jerking involuntarily. He couldn’t think, couldn’t resist. The alien drive within him recognized only the brutal efficiency of it, the sheer potency of a mate who could command his very release. It was terrifying. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever known. He couldn’t resist her.
Alya rode him through it, her own breath coming in sharp pants as she felt the last pulses of his surrender. When she finally released the telekinetic hold, he collapsed beneath her, slick with sweat, his cock still embedded in her, softening slightly but still full.
She leaned forward, her silver hair brushing his chest. “You see?” she murmured, licking the sweat from his collarbone. “I don’t just take what you give. I take what I want.” She shifted, and he felt the warm, wet proof of his own capitulation leaking from her onto his thigh.
Moritz just stared at the ceiling, his gold-flecked eyes hazy. The human part of him was reeling, violated. The Breeder part sang with a dark, satisfied hum. This was a worthy vessel.
After a long silence, he stirred. The familiar, heavy pressure in his bladder was immense, more so than ever after such a violent emptying. Without a word, he slid out from under her and stood, his legs unsteady. He walked naked toward the bathroom, the city’s neon light painting stripes across his back.
Alya followed, not as crystal, but as flesh, her movements silent. She watched him stand before the toilet.
The stream was catastrophic. A powerful, roaring torrent that hit the water with a sound like a torrential downpour. It went on and on, a seemingly endless release that spoke of profound renal overload, of a biology working in overdrive. He braced one hand against the marble wall, his head bowed, as he pissed for a full ninety seconds, the bowl filling near to the brim.
When it finally ended with a last few spurts, he shuddered.
He turned, and Alya was there, on her knees already, her light blue eyes looking up at him. His cock, wet from urine and her fluids, hung heavy. She didn’t hesitate. She took the tip into her mouth, her tongue swirling, collecting the bitter, salty traces.
“Impressive,” she said again, her voice husky. Then she took him deeper, her mouth hot and demanding, and he felt a new, low heat begin to coil again in his gut. The cycle was already restarting. There would be no sleep tonight.