8mi Chapter 547 - 546 - Professional Cock Sucking Maid
Chapter 547 - 546 - Professional Cock Sucking Maid
Her voice had lost all structure. Pure sensation, spoken out loud without editing.He pulled out.
She made the sound. The small, wrecked, involuntary protest of a body that had reorganized itself around occupation and was now being asked to reorganize back.
"Nnh~—"
He reached for Rehana.
The dildo — still inside her, her hand on his arm, her tiptoed balance maintained through increasingly heroic effort — he grabbed the end of it.
Pulled.
’SCHLORP.’
The sound of it leaving her was vulgar and honest and comprehensive.
"NGHH~!! MASTER—MY PUSSY FEELS EMPTY—PLEASE~♡"
Her body jiggling with the extraction — her heavy breasts lurching, her thighs pressing together with the sudden, vacant ache of something removed, her eyes immediately wet with the , needy tears of a woman who had been full and was now not.
He looked at the dildo.
Slick. Coated. Warm.
He looked at Helviana.
At her pussy — gaping, twitching, his seed running from it, her walls still trying to close around something that wasn’t there.
He slammed the dildo home.
SCHLAAP!
"KYAAAAA~!!! IT’S SO DEEP—MASTER’S TOY IS SPLITTING ME—HAAANGHH~!!! NGH~!! NGH~!!"
Her body jolted forward with the impact.
The chains pulled.
Eliantra’s clit hook yanked upward hard.
"AAAAAANGHHHH~!!!! THE CHAIN—NGHH~!!!!"
Eliantra’s head came up, her face — destroyed, mascara gone, tear-tracked, flushed, her hair plastered to her cheekbones — looking directly at Helviana’s crying face from below.
Their eyes met.
Brief. Three inches apart. Both of them wrecked, both of them chained together, both of them covered in the other’s milk and crying for the same man.
Eliantra looked away first.
Helviana looked away half a second later.
Viktor raised his hand.
SMACK.
His palm on Helviana’s ass — the full, meaty, unhurried slap of a man making a point, the impact sending a visible ripple through the thick, full, soft flesh of her cheek, the fat jiggling outward in a wave that took a full second to settle.
"GIVE HIM ROOM."
She fell forward.
The chains pulled in every direction simultaneously — Eliantra’s nipples yanked toward Helviana, Helviana’s nipples yanked toward Eliantra, both clit hooks pulling each other, the old maid’s head below them being dragged forward by the motion, her face pressing harder between the two sets of thighs, her mouth losing its grip on his balls for a moment.
She found them again.
Immediately.
Viktor stood.
He looked down at the old maid.
At her face — upturned, soaked in the combined fluids of two climaxing women, the rejuvenation ongoing, the wrinkles having retreated to the point where the woman looking up at him bore almost no resemblance to the white-haired, dignified maid who had bowed at the front door this morning. A woman in her early forties now. Perhaps younger. Full lips. Clear skin. The eyes the same — the same sharp, composed, professional intelligence — in a face that had been given back several decades.
His cock.
Hard. Still. Slick with everything Helviana’s body had produced.
He held it.
Stepped over her. Seated himself — the , deliberate, completely unhurried placement of a man who has chosen a position and intends to maintain it — directly over her face. His thighs on either side of her head. Her white hair between his hands.
His cock at her lips.
She opened her mouth.
He pushed.
The sound she made was not the sound of surprise.
It was the sound of a woman receiving something she had been adjacent to all night and was now finally the direct recipient of — a long, comprehensive, "Mmmllpppnhhh~~~" that carried everything: the stretch of her lips, the thickness of him filling her mouth, the immediate, instinctive work of her tongue beginning before the rest of her had caught up.
"Mas....te—"
The word dissolved into the suction.
"SLURRRP.... mmnhnnggh..."
Her teeth grazed him.
Not harshly. The , controlled, very intentional graze of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing with her teeth and was doing it on purpose.
Viktor groaned.
Low. Genuine. The sound pulled from him by the texture of it — the teeth, the tongue, the suction, the combination of all three working in a rhythm that told him everything he needed to know about what this woman had been before household service had made her invisible.
He gripped her white hair.
Tightened.
Her head moved with his grip — not her choice, his — the slow, controlled bob he set with his fist carrying her up and down at the pace he decided on, the pace of a man who was not in a hurry because the night was not in a hurry.
He looked down at her face.
At her eyes — rolled, the whites showing, tears running sideways from the outer corners across her temples into the white hair he was holding. At the stretched fullness of her lips around his shaft. At the outline of his cockhead visible in her throat each time he pressed forward, the bulge traveling down and settling.
At the skin of her face, glowing faintly. Still working. Still taking.
"I bet," he said.
His voice was conversational. The voice of a man making an observation at a comfortable volume while his cock was in someone’s throat.
"I bet you were a popular bitch in your younger days."
Her eyes, already rolled, managed to respond — the , muffled, throat-full expression of a woman who has received a sentence she has opinions about and cannot currently express them because her mouth is occupied.
"Mmmhnnph~—"
"Look at you now." He pressed deeper. The bulge in her throat seated. Her hands — both of them, clutching his thighs — tightened. "Still sucking cock like a champion. While your face gets drowned in their squirt."
He pulled back.
Let her breathe for exactly three seconds.
"SLURRRP—" the sound of her recovery, the , wet, unashamed noise of a woman pulling air around something wet.
Then pushed forward again.
Her throat accepted it.
"Mmmllpppnhhh~~~"
The suction she applied was not amateur. It was not the desperate, unfocused suction of inexperience. It was the considered, targeted, suction of a woman who knew which part of a man’s cock was most sensitive and was applying pressure to exactly that part with exactly the right amount of tongue underneath and teeth above to create the combination that produced the most response.
Viktor felt it.
His hips moved involuntarily.
A small, forward press that he had not decided to make — his body making it on its own because the stimulus was that precise.
He looked down at her.
"Mm."
Above them both — the chained arrangement of Helviana and Eliantra, both still connected, the chains still taut, the dildo still inside Helviana, the tail still vibrating in Eliantra, both women running on the fumes of their last several orgasms in the , barely-conscious, still-generating state of bodies that have been taken past the point of stopping.
The milk from Helviana’s nipples ran down the chains.
Thin, warm, continuous.
Dropping from the lowest link of the X-chain onto the old maid’s face below.
She didn’t acknowledge it.
She continued what she was doing.
"Mnh~— SLURRRP~— mmnhnnggh~—"
Viktor tightened his grip in her hair.
Set a slightly deeper angle.
Felt her throat working around him — the swallow reflex activating, her body accommodating the depth with the practiced, committed efficiency of something that had once been very good at this and had not, apparently, forgotten.
"Good maid, I bet you must have sucked many noblemen’s cock as a maid," he said.
The temperature of the room hadn’t dropped.
The night outside the window was still dark.
The milk was still flowing.
The chains were still pulling.
Four women still crying, still gushing, still making the overlapping, continuous, honest sounds of bodies that had been occupied completely and were not done being occupied.
Viktor looked at the window.
At the dark territory outside it.
He pressed the old maid’s head forward.
She took it.
"The night is still long," he said.
To no one.
To all of them.
"Mmllpppnhhhh~~~♡"