Chapter 393: [R18] Taboo Hours(3)

"... What in the world?" Nash murmured.

Victoria felt him go still under her.

She was still sitting on him, full, dripping, her cunt squeezing in small pulses and pulling another weak twitch out of a cock that had no reason to stay hard and stayed hard anyway.

Her palms were flat on his stomach, blonde hair falling around her face. She followed his gaze over her own shoulder, saw only the dark room, and came back to him.

She pressed him from the inside, hard enough to steal his breath.

"What?"

Nash blinked, then laughed.

"Nothing. Nothing."

"You said something."

He put both hands on her thick ass and squeezed, pulling her half a centimeter lower so the rest of his cock crushed against her. The first load was already starting to run. She was wet enough that the seal moved easy, and hot enough that every millimeter of him stayed glued to her walls.

"It’s you," he said. "You’re so intense I think we’re going all night."

Victoria looked at him a moment, then laughed too.

"You think? You were planning to do less than that? Poor thing... This is only the beginning."

She slid her hand between them, two fingers, scooped what had leaked around the base of his cock and pushed it back inside herself with a small irritated sound, like the leak was an error on a page. Then she clenched harder, and the laugh caught in her throat.

She sat up a little. Palms planted on either side of his chest. Feet still flat on the mattress. Her tits hung over him, heavy, golden, nipples dark and hard. And then she started moving again.

First a hard squeeze from inside her cunt, crushing Nash’s cock in a way that felt too good, then the hips. She rolled them in a tight circle, stirred everything, clit dragging the thick base, cunt pumping him in short wet pulls. Schlk. Schlk. The sound was ugly and close.

Nash felt it all the way down his stomach, that too-tight heat coating him on every drop, the weight of her ass on his thighs, the smell of sex and new leather stuck to his neck.

He took it and tried to read the quest. The window stayed hooked behind her shoulder while she worked him.

Internal mark, ten. One already counted. Anything that came out didn’t count. Reward locked at ten. Target: her.

Clear enough. The system wanted him to cum inside Victoria. Only... it was getting harder to understand. Why now? After the first time with her, nothing during the orgy with the girls—what was the System planning? He thought he knew it, but at this point it was like the old line: if someone explains the System and you understand, you didn’t understand.

He almost asked the empty air. Then he cut himself off. Since when did he interrogate the thing that built him? It suited him. It wasn’t like he had a habit of pulling out.

He smiled. Thanks for rewarding him for having a good time.

She took the smile for herself and took things in hand. Or rather, in pussy.

"Stay," she said. "Don’t thrust. I have you."

"I noticed."

She rolled again, clenched at the bottom, held, released, dropped a centimeter and took it back. There was no way this level of control was the same Victoria. Odds were she’d been practicing those kegel exercises Jaz talked about once.

Her thighs were already tired, but she didn’t show it.

"You’re eating me with your eyes. Did your heart... skip a beat?" she said.

"I can’t think with you."

"Then don’t think... feel." She smiled.

She spat in her palm, wrapped it around the centimeter of him that wasn’t inside, smeared it, then kissed him. The kiss was dirty on purpose. Tongue first, teeth. She talked into it, and he tasted salt, heat, the little water she hadn’t needed to drink earlier.

"All night. You said all night. Own it."

His hand moved, traveled down her side, over the curve of her waist, and around. His palm finding the swell of her ass again, cupping, squeezing, the flesh yielding under his grip. He kneaded slowly, his fingers mapping the territory, the curve, the cleft, the soft warmth of skin that rarely saw sunlight.

Come on. Nine to go.

Except this time, she didn’t get off him.

Feet flat, knees bent. The proud posture from before, except her thighs had started shaking and she ignored them. She kept him hard with contractions in series—squeeze, hold, pulse, roll—small snaps of her hips that made her tits move slowly, flesh against his chest, skin hot, a little salty. She spat again, not pretty, rubbed it on his lower stomach, then kissed him like she still ran the room.

"Stay. Don’t thrust. This is my bed. You’re not driving."

"Yes, ma’am."

She watched him a moment, then bit her lip and dropped onto his.

"Don’t do that." She bit his lip. "You’re not allowed to be cute while I’m working."

"You look a little tired, no?"

"I’m the elder. Your boss. I set the pace and I hate men who get too confident. You have the body of a problem and the face of a kid who just won something. I can see it. Stop smiling."

But he was only smiling because of a number she couldn’t see. For him, thinking about System logic had become the biggest joke in history. She thought it was her.

He let her think that for thirty seconds, long enough to feel every squeeze climb his cock, long enough for the leftover of the first load to mix with what she was still making, hot, slick, too much.

Then he spread her ass and squeezed until the flesh spilled between his fingers. His right thumb slid inward, crossed the soaked mess of her cunt, climbed, and pressed the tight ring of her ass.

"Hng..." Victoria shook.

He pressed deeper, and the first knuckle went in.

It was hot, and horribly tight. She clenched on his cock and on the thumb at the same time, a double grip that locked his jaw. He worked it, pushing slowly to the second knuckle, out, in again, circling, while she tried to keep the cowgirl rhythm and missed by half a beat. He felt the inside of her ass pulse around the finger, drier than her cunt, more honest, and every time he pushed a little farther she closed on him by reflex, like her body hadn’t voted for it and did it anyway.

"Nash—"

"Keep going. You’re the one who wanted the top."

"That’s— nnh— that’s not—"

He pushed the finger in to the last knuckle and left it there. She pumped it in short strokes while she rolled on his cock.

"You don’t— you don’t get to— ahh—"

"Get to what?"

"Take it out."

He didn’t take it out, and she didn’t make him.

She slammed down harder instead, like she could beat the finger by taking more cock. Plap. Her cunt made a wet sound that filled the room. He added a twist of the finger and her whole spine went tight. Nash felt the spasm climb from his hips to his abs, the sudden weight of her pelvis, the way her tits crushed against him.

"Fuck..."

"There it is."

"You piss me off..."

Her thighs gave half a second too late. The snap in her hips died. And Nash used it.

He sat up to turn her, but she put her tits into his chest to shove him back down. Nash let her think she had him for a moment, then caught both her wrists, rolled his weight, and the fight for the top started.

She tried to hook a leg to stay on him, but he hooked her waist.

And she laughed. She was actually enjoying the fight. He slid a knee under himself, she grabbed his hair, he grabbed her ass, and the outcome was the finger still in, which he used for a better grip to dump her onto her back.

The mattress took her, and he followed without pulling out, and the change of angle drove the rest of him in at once, hot, too deep, her cervix meeting the head like a door that was too small. She tried to sit up. He caught her knees and folded them to her chest, opening her, the finger sliding out of her ass only because the new angle needed both his hands on her legs.

Missionary, folded, him on top. A giant’s body covering her.

She was already breathing too fast.

He sank to the base and hit her cervix. Her stomach jumped.

"Ah—!" she cried.

He didn’t rush the second stroke. He let her feel the size land again. Twenty-two centimeters long, sixteen around. She’d already taken it on the desk and on top of him and it still opened her mouth like her body hadn’t filed the information.

He pulled back until only the head stayed caught in that tight ring and pushed in. Schlk. Flesh taking flesh, no air left between. He felt the first load he’d left in her mix into the new stroke, hotter, slicker, a thick silk coating the whole length.

Plap.

The bed moved.

"Slow," she breathed. "Don’t move. Let me—"

He moved anyway, filling her again. All of him seated in a body that had to work to hold him.

"Nash—ahh—"

"I’m here."

Schlk. Plap.

She was wet enough that the slide was easy and tight enough that it still dragged. He felt her in pieces: the rim gripping the head, the middle hotter and softer, the end a closed heat that kissed the tip when he went too deep, and on every thrust Victoria’s flat lower stomach jumping under him, mature flesh against raw frame, sweat already between their skins.

"On my rhythm," she said. "I said on my—ahh—rhythm."

"You’re underneath now."

"I’m aware of the—nnh—positioning."

He laughed once and gave it to her harder. The mattress started bouncing. Her golden tits moved every time, nipples dragging his skin. He took one in his mouth because it was there, bit the edge, and felt her clench around him like her body had voted without asking her. The taste of her skin was salty, hot, a little perfume still stuck to her throat.

Plap. Plap. Schlk.

"Deeper," she said, right after telling him slow. "I don’t allow you to smile."

"I’m not smiling."

"Yes—uhn—you are." Her nails ran his back. "Do your job. Just—ahh—do your job."

And sure, he did.

Every thrust was heavy, wild. Infinite stamina with only one body to spend it on. She had years on him, more life behind her, but the gap between their two worlds started showing first in her voice.

Sentences got shorter, moans got longer. She tried to put her words back together, but the next hit against her cervix stole them, stole her breath, made her eyes go wide in a way she never would have let walk down those stairs.

"Slower— no— wait— Nash— it’s too—"

"Too what."

"Too deep. It— uhn— it hits—"

"I know."

He hooked her legs higher, almost to her ears, and used the fold to punch the same spot over and over. The flat stomach jumped. She slapped a hand on it, fingers spread, checking the shape of him from the outside like she needed proof the pressure was real. Nash felt that hand between them, the heat of her palm, the small hardening of her lower belly on every knock.

"It’s a lot."

"You already said that."

"It’s a lot— ahh— I’m starting to —hhn— get used to it... you especially don’t pull out. I want it where I can keep it."

Nash felt her go. First the flutter, then the hard clamp. She came on his cock, knees to her shoulders, mouth open, a broken sound that tried to be an exhale, her cunt milking him in filthy pulls.

That was enough. He buried himself and let the second load go.

It hit her like thick heat, packed, a delicious strike against the place he’d been knocking. She gasped, hand still on her stomach, eyes wet at the corners, and Nash felt every jet leave him in pulses that were too long, too hot, too much, the overflow already trying to run around the seal while she shoved it back with her own fingers, breath shaking.

"Hahh— it’s— it’s a lot—"

He stayed buried while he pulsed, filling her on top of the first mark.

The window flicked where only he could see it.

Progress: 2 / 10

Nine had become eight. He said nothing. For him it wasn’t a quest. It was the flavor of tonight’s dessert.

Victoria laughed, wrecked, still folded under him, still full.

"... Again."

Nash laughed. At least she understood the assignment.

He lowered her legs without pulling out. The change of angle sent another thick line running. He pushed back in to stop it. She hissed, then laughed at herself, forehead against his, and he felt her hot breath on his mouth, the fine tremor of her thighs around his hips, the warm mess trapped between them.

"You’re too funny," she said.

"What now?"

"You look like you’re in a fourth quarter." She kissed him while she talked, words wet against his mouth. "Too serious... Too focused... Don’t be so tense, I’m not going anywhere. You have me all night."

"You sure it’s not the other way around?"

She laughed.

"Look at him, he learns fast... but you still need it explained slowly. Yes. I have you all night. And the night is just starting." Another kiss, her tongue dancing on his, and she nipped him. "So why are you going easy? Scared you’ll break me?"

Nash blinked, a little thrown. Victoria wriggled on him, her huge tits pushing forward.

"The girls were talking about a challenge the other day. Whoever knocks you out in bed. I’m hoping I manage tonight, but since you’re an actual freak..." Her pussy clenched around him on purpose. "and you don’t break. That’s the problem. That’s the whole problem. You’ve got this—" she dragged her nails down his chest "—this dumb young stamina and I’m the one soaking my own sheets."

Nash’s hands went back to her ass and squeezed, slow, not a thrust, just the weight she was proud of, the hot flesh coming back into his palms.

The more he listened, the more he started to realize something.

Her sexual preferences, according to his System. He didn’t even need to check to confirm. She liked that feeling of being dirtied, ruined. The overflow pushed back in. Being used and keeping the proof inside like a secret the house didn’t get.

Without his System, he could see it, feel it. Somewhere, she was the only woman he’d managed to understand without the System stepping in.

Victoria kissed the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, still talking, and every word vibrated against his skin.

"A little respect for your elder. I’m supposed to set your pace."

Yeah. That was a kink too.

He pulled her to the edge of the bed.

She went, legs shaking, then he settled between her thighs, hooked her knees, folded them into a mating press that put her ass at the edge of the mattress and her cunt straight up at him. When he pushed in, gravity and angle gave him all twenty-two at once. The head hit her cervix and stayed there, and Victoria opened her mouth with no word, shoulders already trying to leave the sheet.

He started a devastating rhythm. Plap. Plap. Plap. His hips slammed hers. The bed walked. Her tits slapped toward her chin. He held her legs in the fold and used his weight. 198 cm of muscle that didn’t get tired when Victoria’s thighs had already given out, and every impact climbed his forearms, the heat of her ass against his lower stomach, the wet sound thickening as the two loads already in her mixed into the slide.

She tried another order.

"Slow— slower—" 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

But he didn’t slow down. He went deeper, faster, the cock too long hitting her cervix on every stroke, the girth opening her more than she could close. She tried to put a hand on her stomach to slow him. He folded her knees harder into her chest and the next hit stole her air.

"Nash— wait— I can’t— UHN—"

"Yes you can."

"You’re— ahh— you’re not human—"

"No. I’m a rat."

That landed harder than a thrust and the laugh that escaped her broke immediately into a moan she couldn’t cut off, voice too high, too open, too far from the stairs. He doubled down in the same position, the same angle, let her contractions hit him and rode them. Victoria’s body was still trying to hold a rhythm and losing to a drive that wouldn’t stop.

She came the first time in the press, shoulders trying to leave the mattress, back arched so hard the line of her throat stood out, and he didn’t pull out, he fucked her through it, through the clamp, through the broken sound.

She tried to say stop and it came out "again." She tried to say slow and it came out "Nash." The third wave hit faster, filthier, her cunt pinning him in wild pulls and trying to milk him before he was ready.

"I can’t— I can’t finish a— Nash— don’t—"

"Don’t what."

"Don’t stop. You— ahh— you don’t stop. I hate you. I— shit... you’re going to kill me..."

She didn’t even know what she wanted anymore.

The aphrodisiac was in her blood now, a heat she couldn’t name. Her eyes went glassy, her mouth stayed open. She was past instruction. One word at a time, cut by breath. Nash. There. Fuck. Wait. Shit. There.

She clawed his forearms, nails in, holding onto the only solid thing in the room while he took her like the night she’d announced and couldn’t run anymore, and Nash felt all of it: sweat running from his sternum onto her tits, the stronger smell, the slap getting uglier, the way her stomach hardened under the knock.

He felt her tighten differently.

Not an orgasm clamp. Pressure. Lower. Her whole pelvis locked and her eyes went wide, surprised at herself, a flash of awareness that tried to climb back and failed.

"Nash— I— something’s— wait I can’t—"

He kept the angle and rubbed her clit with his thumb, breaking what was left of her control.

She squirted.

It came out of her in a hard wet jet, splashing his stomach, his cock, the sheet, the inside of her own thighs. She made a sound that had nothing left of dignity, of Victoria Graves. A weird sound, like a high cry, shocked, stunned by her own body. Her shoulders left the mattress. Her cunt fluttered and gushed again around the thick stretch of him, soaking the place they were joined until the slap of his hips went loud and filthy.

Nash felt the hot liquid run down his abs, clearer than the rest, and half a second of shame cross Victoria’s face before he folded her tighter and drove through the wet, through the aftershocks, through the embarrassment, fast, deep, the girth keeping her from closing. She came again on the next three thrusts, wrecked, dripping, trying to shut her knees and failing because he had them.

"Stop— no, not stop— I... I don’t know anymore... Nash... you’re going to break me..."

That was when he let the third load go.

He buried himself at the end of a thrust and came hard, pulsing against her cervix, packing it in on top of the first two while her cunt was still spasming from the squirt. She felt every jet. Her hand slapped onto her stomach, more to hold on than to give an order.

"Hahh— Nash— it’s... it’s too much... I can’t... it’s... it’s still going in— shit—"

He kept it in.

He stayed locked against her, hips flush, cock twitching through the last kicks, the overflow already trying to run and finding no gap because he wouldn’t give it one. Victoria’s legs shook in the fold. Her mouth was open against his shoulder.

No more Boss. No more Ma’am. No more orders. Just a woman at her limit, crushed by a body that wouldn’t quit.

A single line flickered in the air behind her hair.

Progress: 3 / 10

Nash saw it. Breathed. Said nothing. He was on a mission.

He lowered her legs around his waist and followed her onto the mattress without pulling out. They sank together. She ended up under him then half on her side, one thigh hooked over his hip, his cock still buried to the hilt, three marks sitting in her, the squirt cooling on their skin. He felt her pulse around him, tired, still too tight, and the heat he’d just left had nowhere to go as long as he stayed there.

Victoria’s fingers found the back of his neck, then missed his collar, too soft for the usual correction. They just stayed there, holding on.

She was panting.

"Wait... a small break..."

"No."

"Shit..." she swallowed, then a little voiceless laugh. "I’m... the intense one?"

Nash put his hand in the small of her back and held her there, still inside her, still hard enough that the next round was already set. She clenched around him once, too weak to match her earlier strength, enough to feel like she still wanted to keep going.

""All... night," she breathed against his throat, more like someone who’d lost the match than someone who’d called it. "But... slow. One second. Just... one second. You’re going to... kill me if you start again right now."

He stayed in her.

She had nothing left but breath, and then she lost that too when he started another round.