Chapter 2: The Throat Breeding
The hum beneath his skin was a constant now, a phantom reminder of her ship's pending return. He watched her, Zylara, as she stared into the fire, the light catching the subtle shimmer of her skin. “Seventy-two hours,” he said, his voice rough.
She turned, her violet eyes holding his. “Your body is already preparing. The need will return soon, more intense than before.” As if summoned, a sharp, hungry ache settled in his groin, his cock twitching against his thigh. He saw her nostrils flare, catching the scent of his building arousal.
He moved without thought, closing the distance, pushing her back onto the crimson velvet. The sofa groaned. He guided her, her shoulders sinking into the cushions, until her head hung over the armrest, that blonde ponytail spilling toward the floor. He stood over her, his fully erect cock jutting toward her parted lips.
“Open,” he commanded, and she did, her tongue laying flat in invitation.
He guided himself into the wet heat of her mouth, but only for a second before sliding deeper, past her lips, past any natural limit, into the impossible, seamless tightness of her throat. Her nose pressed into his pubic bone. He groaned, his hands gripping her massive tits, kneading the firm flesh as he began to move.
He fucked her throat in hard, shallow pumps, the wet, gag-less sounds obscene in the quiet room. Her hands came up to grip his thighs, not pushing him away but holding on, her violet eyes watering slightly as they stared up at him. “That’s it,” he grunted, “take it all, you perfect fucking whore.”
His balls slapped against her nose and cheeks with each thrust, a slick, rhythmic smacking. The pressure built, a torrential wave compared to the previous releases. He could feel his orgasm coiling at the base of his spine, immense and inevitable. “I’m gonna drown you in it,” he warned, his thrusts becoming erratic, brutal.
He came with a shattered cry, and the first thick pulse triggered her. Her body seized, a silent scream stretching her lips around his shaft as her hips bucked wildly off the sofa, her cunt clenching around nothing, milking the air in time with the scalding jets flooding her esophagus. He rode out his climax, pumping again and again into her swallowing depths, until he was empty, and she was limp beneath him, shuddering through the last waves of her own imposed pleasure.
He pulled his softening cock from her lips with a wet, final sound. “Turn over,” he rasped, his hands already guiding her limp form. “Prone. Keep your legs together.”
She obeyed, moving with a fluid grace that belied her recent convulsions, settling face-down into the velvet. Her thighs pressed tight, creating a hotter, tighter channel. He knelt behind her, his hands spreading her ass, and he saw his own spend glistening there from before. The sight made him hard again, impossibly fast, a deep, full ache that had nothing to do with fatigue.
“You feel that?” he muttered, guiding his tip to her slick, used opening. “It’s bigger.” It was, thicker and more rigid, a brutal instrument humming with that same unnatural energy. He didn’t wait, pushing forward into the clenching, simmering heat of her cunt.
She gasped into the cushion, her body arching. He sank deeper, past all previous limits, a shocking, internal penetration that made her cry out. “There,” she breathed, her voice muffled and strained. “The cervical barrier is breached.”
He felt it, a final, thin resistance giving way to a profound, forbidden depth. He was inside her womb, his cockhead nudging a space never meant for invasion. A jolt, like a static charge, traveled up his spine. The warmth in his veins became a burning wire. He began to move, short, grinding strokes that punched the air from her lungs.
Each thrust was a raw claim on her very biology, a monstrous intimacy. He fucked her womb with a focused, devastating rhythm, his balls slapping against her clit. “This is what you came for,” he growled, pistoning into that deep, clutching heat. “This is the breeding.”
His orgasm built not in his loins but in his marrow, a tectonic pressure. When it broke, it was silent and absolute, a flood of seed directly into her core. She screamed, a raw, tearing sound, as her body locked around him, milking the torrent, the dual pulses of their climaxes syncing into one horrific, perfect rhythm.