Villain's Breeding System: Evolving 999+ Harem into an SSS-Rank Legion-Chapter 186- Done with Her

She grabbed his thighs.

Both hands, her fingers digging in, the specific grip of someone who needs something to hold.

’This is — I’m — this is in my mouth. He is in my mouth.’

The thought, interior, running at the specific, half-panicked speed of a mind encountering a first experience and cataloguing it in real time.

’It’s — the size of it. It’s. There’s a person’s — this is what it tastes like. Salt and — warm. Hot actually. It’s hot. The skin of it is so—’

His mouth on her pussy.

The thought process stopped.

The specific, immediate, total interruption of rational thought produced by a warm, experienced mouth making full contact with every nerve ending she had.

"MMFGH~♡—"

The moan vibrated around his cock.

She felt him smile against her.

She felt it — the specific pull of facial muscles, his cheek against her inner thigh.

PAH. PAH.

Two inches now. Three. The cockhead pushing toward the back of her mouth, her throat making the specific, involuntary warning sound of a body encountering something it hadn’t been prepared to receive.

’He’s moving. He’s actually. It’s going deeper I can feel it going deeper why is it going—’

His tongue.

Flat, broad, moving through her pussy from bottom to top in one long, continuous drag.

"AAHNMFGH~♡♡—"

The sound she made was not a word. It was also not a protest. It was the specific, involuntary sound of a body that had received too much information simultaneously and had produced the only sound that covered all of it.

PAH! PAH!

Tears.

They came from nowhere — not from pain, not really. From the specific, overwhelming accumulation of too much at once. Her eyes squeezing shut and the tears running sideways, down her temples into her hair, the wet tracks of them in the moonlight.

Her boobs, she realized — his thighs were sandwiching them. The weight of his body above her, his thighs bracketing her chest, the soft, full flesh of her breasts pressed between the solid warmth of his legs. Every thrust made his thighs shift slightly, pressing the flesh of her chest and releasing it, pressing and releasing, her nipples grazing the inside of his thighs with each rock of his hips.

’My boobs are.’

The thought, incomplete.

’I can’t breathe properly. He’s going to. I’m going to—’

PAH. PAH. PAH.

Deeper.

She gagged.

The specific, immediate, total response of a throat that has been reached — her body arching, her hands clutching his thighs with everything she had, her eyes flying open and looking up through tear-blurred vision at his body above her, his abdomen flexing with each roll of his hips, his ass above her face, the base of his cock disappearing between her stretched lips—

And through the side of her vision—

The tree line.

Four shapes. Still there. Close enough now that she could see the faint, silver-lit ovals of their faces. Facing her. All of them. Not moving.

Watching.

Celia’s hand, she could see, pressed against her own mouth.

Gia standing straight. Her arms at her sides. The specific, statue-still quality of someone who has stopped breathing.

’They can see everything,’ Preet thought. ’They can see my — they can see his cock in my — they can see—’

His tongue found her clit.

"HNNMFGH~♡♡♡—"

The squirt that came out of her hit his face.

Not a small one. The full, immediate, uncontrolled release of a body that had been building since the shelter and had just received the specific, targeted stimulus it had been building toward. Hot, immediate, soaking his chin and dripping, her thighs clamping around his head with a strength that surprised her.

He pressed her thighs back open.

Kept going.

PAH! PAH! PAH!

The tears were continuous now. Not crying — not ’crying’, not the grief kind, the specific kind that happened when the body had too much sensation and needed a pressure valve.

’He is — I can feel the back of my throat. That’s the back of my throat. He’s touching the back of my throat with the tip of his—’

He shifted.

The movement was — she didn’t have time to track it. His knees bracketing her head. The specific, immediate realization that his thighs were on either side of her face now, not her chest. His weight moving back and settling and—

His balls pressed against her nose.

She felt his cock buried fully in her throat.

Not the slow inch-by-inch. All of it. The specific, total depth of the full length of him seated in her throat, her nose crushed against the warmth of him, the specific, immediate knowledge that she could not breathe.

She could not breathe.

Her hands flew up. Grabbed his hips. Scratched. The specific, panicked scratching of someone sending a signal—

The oxygen came.

She didn’t understand it. She felt it — the specific, immediate sensation of air filling her lungs despite the fact that the anatomy of the situation should have made that impossible. Magic. His magic, the same magic that had produced pepper from nowhere and dry wood from a dead tree.

She breathed.

Around his cock. Through some channel she didn’t have the biology vocabulary for. She breathed.

His hands found her breasts.

From above. Reaching down — she could feel the stretch of his arms — finding the full, soft weight of her boobs and grabbing them. The specific, groping grip of hands that knew what they were doing, the flesh of her compressed between his fingers, the brown nipples hard as the island-pebbles she’d walked over this morning.

PAH.

PAH! PAH!

"Nnghh—" The sound, throttled, barely sound at all, just vibration in the sealed, blocked column of her throat.

PAAAH!

He pinched her nipples.

Both of them. Simultaneously. The specific, sharp bite of the pinch against the already-sensitized peaks.

Her whole body arched.

"HNNGH—"

The women in the treeline — she couldn’t see them. Couldn’t turn her head. She could only see the sky, the stars, the base of his cock, the inside of his thighs on either side of her face. But she knew they were there. She could ’feel’ them watching. The specific, burning awareness of being observed, the same awareness that had made her squirt the first time, amplified now by the impossible vulgarity of what she knew they were seeing.

They couldn’t see her face.

Just her body. Her boobs in his hands, being groped and squeezed above the line of his thighs. Her throat — the specific, impossible bulge of it, rising and falling as he fucked into it, the outline of him visible in the column of her neck like something being demonstrated.

Her nipples leaking nothing but heat between his fingers.

"That," he said, above her. Low. "is what I want from a woman."

He came.

She felt it as a fact before she felt it as a physical reality — the specific, immediate swell of him at the base before the release, the pulse of it, then:

The heat.

The volume.

The impossible, specific volume of it — hitting the back of her throat and filling the space between the cock and the walls of her throat, thick and hot, the specific, immediate weight of it in her stomach as she swallowed. Once. Twice. Desperate.

Couldn’t keep up.

It came too fast, too much, backing up, flooding her mouth, pressing out around the seal of her lips, dripping down her cheeks — and then from her nose, she could feel it, the specific, terrible warmth of it finding the only other exit available.

She was drowning.

He pulled out.