Chapter 860 - 859- Sofia got some soft little Hole

Chapter 860: Chapter 859- Sofia got some soft little Hole

My hand, which had been on Sofia’s breast, moved. Down. Over her belly. Over her hip. To her pussy. The hair, which was dark and coarse, was a forest. My fingers, finding the lips, parted them. The interior, which was pink and wet, was exposed. The entrance, which was tight and small, was visible.

I used telepathy.

The connection, which was a thread of mana, connected me to Seraphina. The link, which was silent and invisible, carried my command. Not words. Feelings. Instructions. The president, who was sucking Sofia’s breast, received the instruction.

Her hand, which had been at her side, moved. Down. Over Sofia’s belly. Over her hip. To her pussy. The fingers, which were guided by my telepathy, found the slit. The lips, which had been parted by my fingers, were open. Seraphina’s finger, which was tentative, pushed in.

Sofia cried out. The sensation, which was the feeling of another woman’s finger inside her, was a violation. The penetration, which was gentle, was still a crossing. Her body, which had been still, convulsed. Her legs, which had been together, fell open. Her hands, which had been at her sides, found Seraphina’s head. Her fingers, in the president’s hair, gripped.

"Ah...!! ... what...!! ... what are you...!!"

I kissed Sofia. My mouth, which had been watching, found hers. The kiss, which was deep and wet, swallowed her protests. My tongue, pushing in, found hers. The taste, which was salt and fear and arousal, filled my mouth.

Seraphina, who was being guided by my telepathy, added fingers. One became two. Two became three. Three became four. The walls, which had been tight, stretched. The entrance, which had been small, gaped. The fluid, which had been thin, became thick. Sofia’s arousal, which had been building, was now flowing.

"MMMM...!! ... MMMF...!! ... AH...!! ... what is... HAAANGH...!!"

Sofia’s eyes, which had been closed during the kiss, opened. Wide and wild. She looked down. At Seraphina, who was between her legs. At the president’s hand, which was inside her. At the fingers, which were moving. In and out. The sight, which was obscene and impossible, was a sight that she could not reconcile with her understanding of the world.

She pushed. Her hands, which had been on Seraphina’s head, shoved. The president, who had been sucking and fingering, was pushed away. Seraphina, whose hand was pulled from Sofia’s pussy, fell. Onto the bed. Her body, which was still weak from the earlier fucking, was limp.

Sofia sat. Her body, which had been lying, was upright. Her eyes, which had been wild, found mine. The brown, which had been warm, was confused. Angry. Ashamed.

"Do not," she said. Her voice, which was shaking, was the voice of a woman who was trying to rebuild a wall that had been demolished. "Do not touch me."

She looked at me. At the man who had kissed her and fingered her and made the president suck her breast. At the man who had orchestrated the entire scene. At the man who was looking at her with violet eyes that held no guilt and no shame.

"It is embarrassing," she said. Her voice, which was barely audible, was the voice of a woman who was fighting tears. "Why are you? Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?"

I looked at her. At the face, which was wet and flushed. At the eyes, which were brown and wide. At the body, which was half-undressed and trembling. At the woman, who was sitting on my bed, surrounded by the evidence of my depravity, asking me what I wanted.

"Do you not want to take revenge on Elena?" I said. The words, which were quiet and direct, were a key. A key that I had found in the research. The bullying. The mockery. The years of being called a half-breed commoner. The friends who used her. The isolation that had been imposed on her. All of it, the pain and the anger and the resentment, was a fuel. A fuel that I was offering to ignite.

She trembled. The name, which was the name of her tormentor, was a trigger. The mention, which was unexpected, hit her like a slap. Her eyes, which had been confused, went hard. The brown, which had been warm, went dark.

"I can help you," I said. The words, which were a promise, were a hook. The bait, which was revenge, was irresistible. The woman, who had been suffering for years, was being offered a way out. A way up. A way to strike back.

She trembled. The offer, which was tempting and terrifying, was a crossroads. The path, which led to me, was a path that she knew she should not take. But the alternative, which was more years of bullying and isolation and pain, was worse.

I turned her. The motion, which was gentle but firm, brought her body around. Her back, which had been facing me, was now toward me. Her ass, which was thick and round, was presented. The dress, which had been bunched at her waist, was up. Her panties, which had been pulled down, were at her thighs.

I lifted her skirt. The fabric, which had been bunched, was raised higher. Her ass, which was bare, was exposed. The cheeks, which were thick and full, were the color of warm cream. The slit, which was visible between them, was dark. The pussy, which was hairy and swollen, was visible beneath. The lips, which were pink and full, were wet.

I looked at her pussy. At the lips, which were pinkish. At the entrance, which was tight. At the hair, which was dark and coarse. The sight, which was a feast, was a temptation.

"This academy really has high-quality holes," I said. The words, which were crude and appreciative, were a compliment. The tone, which was warm and genuine, was the tone of a man who meant what he said.

I spat. The saliva, which was thick and warm, landed on her pussy. The fluid, which hit the lips, ran down the slit. The sensation, which was wet and warm, made her tremble.

I pushed my cock against her pussy. The head, which was dark and swollen, pressed against the lips. The contact, which was hot and wet, was a promise. She trembled. Her body, which had been still, tensed. The anticipation, which was a mix of fear and desire, was a coil.

I pulled my cock. Up. From her pussy. To her anal. The head, which had been at the entrance, was now at the other opening. The ring, which was tight and pink, was a different target. The contact, which was hot and dry, was a threat.

I spat again. The saliva, which was thick and warm, landed on her anal. The fluid, which hit the ring, ran down the crack. The sensation, which was wet and warm, made her gasp.

"Wrong hole," she said. Her voice, which was high and panicked, was the voice of a woman who understood what was about to happen. "Professor, that is the wrong hole. Please. Not there. I have never..."

I pushed. The head, which was slick with spit, pressed against the ring. The sphincter, which was tight and untried, resisted. The pressure, which was steady, was relentless. The ring, which was fighting, was losing.

"Shut up," I said.