Rise of the F-Rank Hero-Chapter 144: Putting on a show [1]

"Fuck... Isolde..." he gasped, his voice ragged and strained. "You’re... tight."

Isolde didn’t answer with words. She answered with action.

She was kneeling on the Persian rug, looking like a devoted priestess at an unholy altar. Her silver hair cascaded down her back in a shimmering curtain as her head moved with a hypnotic, sinful rhythm.

Slurp. Schlock. Gulp.

The wet, sloppy sounds echoed in the quiet room, loud enough to make Amy’s knees weak.

Isolde’s cheeks hollowed as she sucked him deeper, her throat working visibly to accommodate his length. She bobbed her head, taking him down to the hilt, her nose burying into his pubic hair, before slowly pulling back. As the purple, swollen head emerged from her lips, a string of saliva connected them, glistening like silver thread in the moonlight.

She swirled her tongue around the sensitive ridge of the glans, teasing the slit, making Oliver’s hips buck involuntarily.

"Nngh!" Oliver groaned, his hands tangling in her hair, not pushing her away but holding her there.

Isolde looked up at him through her lashes, her eyes glowing crimson with lust and triumph. She released his cock from her mouth with a wet pop, leaving it glistening and twitching in the cool air.

"Do you like that, Master?" she purred, her voice thick and husky. She ran her hand up his thigh, her nails dragging lightly against his skin. "Does it feel better than holding hands in a theater?"

"Shut up..." Oliver panted, his eyes squeezed shut. "Just... don’t stop."

Isolde chuckled darkly. "Beg me."

She leaned forward and licked the underside of his shaft, tracing the vein from the base all the way to the tip. Then, she opened her mouth wide and swallowed him whole again, plunging down with a ferocity that made Oliver arch his back off the sofa.

Amy felt her own breath hitch. Her face was burning—hotter than fire magic. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a war drum.

She stared at Oliver’s member—thick, throbbing, and monstrously large compared to anything she had read about in romance novels. The way it pulsed as Isolde worked her mouth around it... the way Oliver’s face twisted in pleasure...

A strange, heavy heat pooled in her lower belly. Her legs felt unsteady.

’This is... this is what adults do?’ she thought, her mind reeling. ’This is what she does to him?’

She watched as Isolde used her hand to pump the base while her mouth worked the head, creating a dual stimulation that had Oliver groaning non-stop.

"I’m... I’m gonna..." Oliver choked out.

Isolde hummed against his cock, the vibration sending shivers through him. She didn’t pull back. Instead, she sucked harder, tightening her throat, determined to drain him dry.

Amy’s hand trembled on the door handle.

She felt like an intruder. A pervert. But more than that... she felt a scorching wave of jealousy.

’That should be me,’ a dark voice whispered in her mind. ’I should be the one making him make those sounds. I should be the one tasting him.’

Unconsciously, Amy’s other hand drifted down, pressing against her own stomach, over the fabric of her dress. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, matching the rhythm of the act happening just a few feet away.

Isolde pulled off just an inch, her eyes flashing toward the door.

Amy froze. Did she see me?

Isolde’s lips curled into a smirk around Oliver’s cock. She didn’t stop. In fact, she seemed to perform with even more enthusiasm, swirling her tongue, making the wet sounds louder, wetter.

She knew.

And she was putting on a show.

Isolde’s eyes didn’t just flash toward the door; they lingered there for a split second, locking onto the sliver of darkness where she knew the intruder stood.

She knew. She had known the moment the latch clicked.

’See, little saintess?’ Isolde thought, a wicked delight curling in her gut as she tightened her lips around Oliver. ’This is what adults do. Watch closely.’

She decided to take it to the next step. With a mischievous smirk that was hidden by Oliver’s flesh, she brought her hands into play. Her dainty fingers wrapped around the base of his shaft, pumping rhythmically, while her other hand slipped lower, cupping and fondling the two heavy orbs beneath.

Amy’s heart raced at the lewd sight. She pressed her hand harder against her stomach, her eyes wide as saucers. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The coordination, the wet sounds, the sheer need radiating from Oliver... it was overwhelming.

"Tasty," Isolde murmured, pulling back slowly.

A thick, glistening trail of saliva connected her reddened lips to the underside of Oliver’s twitching cock. It hung there for a moment, catching the moonlight, before breaking.

Amy held her breath. Is she done?

She was not.

Isolde didn’t hesitate. She parted her plump lips once again, her eyes glazing over with a mix of lust and performance. She leaned forward and engulfed the mushroom tip, then pushed further. And further.

Amy watched in horror and fascination as Isolde’s throat visibly bulged, swallowing length after length of the monster until her nose was brushing against Oliver’s pubic hair.

"Ugh!" Oliver threw his head back, his toes curling into the rug. The sensation of Isolde’s warm, tight throat milking him was indescribable.

Isolde placed her hands on his thighs for leverage. She began to bob her head, starting a rhythm that was fast and punishing. Her silver hair whipped around her face, a chaotic halo of beauty and sin. Her lips slid up and down the veiny shaft, bottoming out at the base every single time, polishing him with a hunger that seemed insatiable.

"I’m... I’m close!" Oliver groaned, his hands gripping the velvet cushions of the couch so hard the fabric tore. "Isolde!"

Isolde glanced up, her eyes locking onto his for a brief second, before she squeezed her eyes shut and doubled her efforts. She didn’t back off. Instead, she sucked harder, vibrating her throat, determined to wring every drop out of him.

That was all it took.

"Fuck!"

Oliver’s hips bucked uncontrollably. He exploded, his body convulsing as jet after jet of hot seed blasted down Isolde’s throat.

Amy slapped a hand over her own mouth to stifle a gasp.

’What the fucking hell kind of abomination was that?!’ her mind screamed. ’How can she take such a monster in her mouth? Where did it all go?’

Her mind spun dizzily. ’Is this what she meant by exercising the whole night?’

’In what world is this exercise?!’

But even as her mind rejected it, her body betrayed her. A strange, burning heat was pooling between her thighs. She felt... itchy. Aching. Unconsciously, the hand she had pressed against her stomach slid lower, rubbing the fabric of her pajamas against her own wetness.

Inside the room, the storm quieted.

"Mn."

Isolde made a loud, deliberate swallowing sound. She looked incredibly pleased with herself as she expertly gulped down Oliver’s seed, running her tongue over her lips to catch a stray drop.

Oliver’s body went limp, sliding further down the couch, a goofy, dazed smile of pure happiness painting his face. He looked like his soul had left his body and gone to a better place.

Isolde lifted her head, causing the thick shaft—now softening but thoroughly glazed in her saliva—to pop out of her mouth with a wet sound.

"Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?" Isolde purred.

She stood up, wiping the corners of her mouth with the back of her hand. She stretched her back, arching her spine like a satisfied feline, causing her large chest to push outward prominently in the moonlight.

Oliver blinked, trying to regain his ability to speak.

"Well... you seemed more energetic today," he rasped, his voice shot. "Is there something special going on?"

Isolde chuckled—a low, throaty sound that carried all the way to the door.

"Ho~ Ho. There is something special," she said, her crimson eyes sliding subtly toward the little opening in the doorway where a frozen, red-faced Saintess was standing.

She licked her lips one last time.

"But you don’t need to concern yourself with that, Master. Some shows are best enjoyed by the audience."

Oliver didn’t understand what she meant by that—he assumed she was just being her usual cryptic, ancient self—and currently, he was in no mood for solving riddles. The sight of her slick lips and the lingering sensation of her throat had him completely turned on, and he certainly didn’t want to stop at just a blowjob.

Seeing the hunger in his eyes, Isolde smirked. "What? Want to continue?"

"Is this something that needs to be asked?" Oliver groaned, his hand reaching down to stroke his hardening shaft, the vein throbbing against his palm.

"It seems someone is going to catch a cold tonight," she said cryptically, her eyes flickering toward the door again.

She reached for the hem of her top and pulled the fabric up in one smooth motion, causing two huge, heavy bags of flesh to bounce free into the open air. No matter how many times Oliver had seen her jugs, he was still amazed by how lewd they were—pale, heavy, and tipped with perfect, puffy nipples that stuck outward in a vulgar, demanding manner.

"Damn," Oliver breathed, his eyes glued to her chest. "It looks more amazing every time I see it."