Chapter 76: Erotic Sex III R18+

Destiny held him like that for what felt like an eternity, her thumb tracing idle patterns along the underside of his shaft. Occasionally she’d lean down and press her lips to his inner thigh, his hip bone, the sensitive skin just below his navel. Never where he wanted her. Always adjacent.

His cock stirred.

"There we go," she breathed against his stomach. "Good boy returns." Just like kickstarting a car engine.

By the time she straddled him again, he was fully erect. Sheer willpower overriding biology. She positioned herself above him, one hand bracing on his chest, the other guiding him to her entrance, and this time there was no condom.

Nothing between them at all.

She sank down.

The sensation was unrecognizable from before. wetter, hotter, more immediate, every ridge and contour of her inner walls transmitting directly to his nervous system without the dulling barrier of latex. Xavier’s mouth opened. No sound came out.

"That’s what it’s supposed to feel like," Destiny whispered, her own voice slightly strained. "Raw. Real. Do you feel that, Daddy? Do you feel me?"

He couldn’t answer. Language had abandoned him.

She began to move, and the absence of the condom transformed every stroke into something devastating. The friction was different. More texture, more heat, more grip. When she clenched around him deliberately, he felt it in his teeth. His bound hands fisted uselessly against the chains, metal clinking with each spasm of his fingers.

"Look at me."

He forced his eyes open. Hadn’t realized he’d closed them.

She was magnificent above him. Small breasts swaying with each roll of her hips. Sweat tracing a path between them and down her stomach. The muscles in her thighs flexing as she rose and fell. Her face was no longer the warm, approachable mask she’d worn at the door. This was someone else entirely, someone fierce and focused and utterly in command.

Her pace quickened.

She rode him raw with a rhythm that bordered on punishing, and Xavier’s senses began to fragment. The sound of her breathing, ragged and rhythmic. The smell of sex and sweat thickening the air. The visual of her taking him, again and again, flesh meeting flesh without any barrier. The chains rattled. The bedframe creaked. She said his name. Not "Daddy," but Xavier, the first time she’d used it since the scene began and something about hearing his real name in her mouth pushed him closer to the edge.

"Not yet," she warned, feeling him swell inside her. "Not until I say."

A keening sound escaped his throat.

She laughed. That same low, promising laugh from before and slowed her pace to something torturous, a crawl of sensation that kept him balanced on the knife-edge without letting him fall. Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Time had become irrelevant.

"Now," she finally said. "Come for me."

He shattered.

The orgasm was a white-out, a complete erasure of everything except the pulse of his release inside her, bare, nothing catching it, nothing containing it. His shout cracked and broke. His body arched against the chains, every muscle drawn tight, and Destiny rode him through it with short, grinding strokes that prolonged the agony into something transcendent.

When he finally went limp, chest heaving, she unchained him without ceremony.

The cuffs fell away. His arms dropped to the mattress, tingling with returning circulation. She rolled off him and stretched out beside him, one hand resting on his stomach, her breathing still uneven.

"You okay?" she asked. The professional warmth was back, but softer now. More real.

He nodded, unable to speak. I just went three rounds but the pleasure won’t make me stop.

"Good." She propped herself up on one elbow. "Because we’re not done."

Xavier turned his head to look at her. "I don’t think I can..."

"Yes, you can."

Her hand slid down his stomach, past his navel, finding him soft and spent. She cupped him gently, no pressure, just the warmth of her palm. And then she kissed him. Not on the mouth, but on the shoulder, the collarbone, the hollow of his throat and something about the tenderness of it reignited a spark in his exhausted nervous system.

By the time she guided him on top of her, he was hard again. Xavier didn’t even knew he had this supernatural ability.

No chains. No blindfold. No restraints of any kind.

Just Xavier positioned between her thighs, her ankles hooked behind his back, her hands framing his face. She looked up at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read between affection and challenge.

"Now fuck me," she said. "Like you mean it."

He entered her in one smooth stroke. Glancing at her curved round soft ass from behind.

The heat was familiar now, but no less staggering. He set a pace that was slower than before, deeper, each thrust a full withdrawal and return, and Destiny’s eyes fluttered half-closed. Her nails dragged down his back. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts against his throat.

They moved together without the formal roles of the earlier scene. No "Daddy." No commands. Just two bodies finding a rhythm that belonged to both of them equally.

His forehead pressed to hers. Their breathing synchronized. The pressure built. That same tide, that same swelling and this time when he came, she came with him, her internal muscles clamping down in rhythmic pulses that milked him through every last spasm.

He collapsed beside her.

The ceiling spun for a moment before settling.

Beside him, Destiny let out a long, satisfied exhale. One hand found his and squeezed briefly before releasing.

"Not bad," she said.

Xavier laughed a genuine laugh, cracked and breathless and utterly spent.

The amber lights flickered. The room held its silence.

The mattress shifted beneath Xavier as Destiny rose from beside him. His limbs felt liquid, boneless, every muscle still humming with the aftershocks of three orgasms. The amber light caught the curve of her spine as she walked to the foot of the bed, and he watched her through half-lidded eyes, too drained to form a coherent thought. It was at least now 2hrs after the previous round.

She opened the cabinet again.

This time she emerged with something he hadn’t seen before. A spreader bar — polished wood, maybe two feet long, with leather cuffs attached at either end. She set it on the mattress and climbed back onto the bed, positioning herself on her hands and knees facing the headboard.

"Up," she said. "Kneel behind me."

Xavier’s body protested as he pushed himself upright. Every joint ached. His knees complained against the mattress. But he moved into position, his chest brushing against her back, his thighs bracketing hers.

Destiny reached forward and wrapped the leather cuffs around her wrists, securing them to the headboard’s wooden slats with practiced efficiency. The chains clinked as she tested the restraints, leaning her weight against them, and the muscles in her shoulders flexed beneath her skin.

"The bar," she said, not turning around. "Attach it to my ankles."

He fumbled with the clasps. His fingers felt thick and clumsy. The first cuff clicked around her left ankle, then the right, and the spreader bar locked her legs apart at a width that made his breath catch.

She was completely open to him.