The System Sent Me to Breed an All-Female Amazon Tribe-Chapter 131: “Hnnghghhksosdlkdhguyhgy” Is the Language of Intense Pleasure

Chapter 131: “Hnnghghhksosdlkdhguyhgy” Is the Language of Intense Pleasure

Whatever, we will deal with that later! Roselyn just got serious.

One hand kept stroking my dick—long, twisting pulls from base to tip, fingers squeezing rhythmically so the skin glided smooth and hot over the swollen head.

Her other palm flattened directly against the tip, cupping the sensitive crown while she rolled it in tight, deliberate circles.

The pressure was perfect—firm enough to make my thighs tense, but slow enough that every rotation dragged the slit across her palm, spreading fresh pre-cum in glossy streaks.

Each roll sent sharp jolts straight up my spine; the head throbbed visibly, flushed dark red, veins bulging as her hand twisted and squeezed in counter-rhythm to the stroking below.

Oh God! If I’m not careful, I’ll lose! And she’ll have my baby!

So when I decided to think of a comeback, something devilish occurred.

Though, Roselyn wasn’t holding back anymore. She stretched the front of my tunic breeches forward with one hand—fabric bunching in her fist—then leaned in so her small head pressed flat against my chest.

Her mouth opened wide above my dick; thick, warm saliva gathered on her tongue before she let it dribble out in a slow, deliberate stream.

The first line hit the head of my dick—hot, slippery, coating the slit in a heavy bead that clung for a second before sliding down the cock in a glistening trail.

More followed—thick strands rolling over the crown, dripping along the underside, pooling at the base where it soaked my balls in warm, viscous waves.

The liquid felt alive and heavy, sliding over every sensitive ridge and vein, making my sack tighten and twitch as it dripped off in slow, sticky drops that pattered onto the floor between us.

She didn’t wipe it away; instead she wrapped both hands around the now-slick length and started wanking at impossible speed—palms gliding up and down in blurring strokes, twisting at the head on every up-pull, fingers squeezing the base on every down-stroke so the skin bunched and released with wet, rhythmic schlicks.

The saliva acted like perfect lubricant—hot and thick, letting her hands fly faster than any normal grip could manage without tearing.

The friction built unbearable heat; my cock throbbed violently in her grasp, head swelling larger with each pass, pre-cum mixing with her spit until the entire penis shone glossy and dripping.

"Hey! Wai—! You’ll tear off the skin!"

Of course, I was ignored. Roselyn was finished with restraint—lust had taken her completely.

Is that so? Then I’ll show her how fast I can also go!

[Sys! Can you gather all my speed on my fingers? I want it to literally move past the speed of sound!]

{That is possible, if it’s only for Master’s reflexes.}

{Initiating burst of speed, for a few min. Three... Two... One.}

Oh boy!!

The world probably narrowed to my hand and her pussy.

My fingers—the three deep inside her—accelerated beyond normal limits.

They pistoned in and out at blinding velocity: full withdrawal to the tips, then slamming back to the knuckles in fractions of a second, the motion so fast it blurred.

Her walls couldn’t even fully clench before the next thrust arrived—hot, slick muscle spasming wildly around fingers that moved like pistons in an engine.

Each plunge stretched her entrance wide, lips gaping briefly before being filled again; each pull dragged my fingertips along every inner ridge, scraping the front wall so hard her hips snapped forward involuntarily.

Juice exploded out in continuous, forceful sprays—hot jets squirting around my knuckles in rapid bursts, soaking my hand, wrist, forearm, splashing across my thighs and pattering onto the floor in a steady rain.

The puddle continued to grow fast—shiny, spreading, rippling with every new gush.

Her shorts were drenched through, black fabric plastered transparently to her mound, outlining the swollen lips and the deep cleft where my fingers disappeared.

"Hnnghghhksosdlkdhguyhgy!!"

Hah! As you can see, I can’t understand a word Roselyn is saying!

Her tongue lolled out of her mouth, the long pink muscle hanging limp and dripping thick strings of saliva that stretched and snapped with every violent shudder of her body.

Drool poured in steady streams down her chin, soaking the front of my tunic in dark, warm patches that clung to my skin.

Her golden eyes had rolled up so far only the whites showed, pupils vanished somewhere behind fluttering lids.

Her entire frame trembled against mine—small, powerful muscles quivering uncontrollably, thighs clamped tight around my waist, bare feet dangling and kicking weakly in the air.

She was weightless in my arms now, held up only by my grip and the frantic rhythm of my hand buried inside her shorts.

My fingers had become something inhuman—a literal vibrator operating far beyond the speed of sound.

The vibrations ripped through her pussy at impossible frequency: every millimeter of her inner walls buzzed and thrummed as if struck by thousands of tiny hammers per second.

Her entrance gaped open around my knuckles, lips swollen to twice their normal size, flushed dark crimson and glistening with endless fresh arousal.

The vibrations traveled inward in relentless waves—clit pulsing visibly under the soaked fabric, hood peeled back completely from how engorged it was, the tiny nub jerking and twitching like it was being electrocuted.

Deeper inside, her canal contracted in frantic, irregular spasms; the ridged front wall fluttered wildly, trying to grip fingers that moved too fast to be caught.

Every internal fold and crease vibrated separately—hot, slick tissue rippling and quaking, sending shockwaves of overstimulation that made her hips snap forward in short, helpless jerks.

Juice didn’t just leak; it basically sprayed in fine, continuous mists around my wrist, hot mist that cooled instantly in the air before pattering down in a steady drizzle.

The shorts were ruined—black material turned sheer and plastered to her mound, every outline of her parted lips and throbbing clit visible through the drenched cotton.

The vibrations made the fabric itself buzz audibly, a low, wet hum that mixed with the obscene plup-plup-plup-plup of liquid being churned inside her.

Is her pussy going to be okay?

The thought flashed through the haze.

She was dripping so much—endless, clear fluid gushing out in rhythmic pulses, soaking my hand to the elbow, pooling on the floor in a wide, reflective lake—but she hadn’t cum. Not in the way that it should count as one.

I could tell.