Chapter 213: Chapter-213

She held him smothered through aftershocks. Thirty seconds. Forty. Only when the last tremor faded did she rise.

No pause.

Hands and knees. Back arched high. Knees spread wide. One hand reached back, fingers parting glistening folds in silent command.

Mahir rose behind her. Cock—still hard, still dripping—nudged her entrance. One powerful thrust seated him to the hilt. Deep enough to press against her cervix. He froze—waiting.

Elara pushed back. Hard.

Signal received.

Beast instincts surged within the collar’s leash. Hands clamped her hips—bruising force, fingertips digging deep. He began to fuck her with piston rhythm: deep, brutal, animal strokes that slapped skin against skin in perfect time. Tail lashed wildly. Harsh breaths rasped from his throat—the only sound he permitted himself.

She met every forward snap with a backward roll. Controlled depth. Controlled angle. Forced him to hit that spot over and over until another climax built—colder, sharper. When it hit she clenched deliberately, milking him in rhythmic pulses. Magic flowed again.

He did not come. Beast stamina stretched far beyond breaking. He simply kept going—harder when she arched higher, slower when she leaned forward to shift pressure.

**Hour 4**

Wall.

Elara’s back pressed to cool stone. Legs wrapped around his waist. Arms draped loosely around his neck—not for closeness, for leverage. Mahir held her effortlessly—thighs flexing, hips snapping upward in short, punishing strokes. Position forced impossible depth. Each thrust punched air from her lungs in silent exhales.

Nails scored long red lines down his shoulders and back. Blood welled in thin trails. He never flinched. Never slowed. Collar glowed steady azure.

She came again—body locking tight, inner muscles rippling coldly. Magic vented. Perfect.

**Hour 8**

Floor.

Elara seated on his face again—facing his feet this time. Palms braced on his abdomen for balance. She ground down in slow, deliberate circles. His tongue never stopped—lapping, probing, sucking. When she lifted slightly he chased, desperate suction on her clit.

Third orgasm of the night ripped through her—silent, clinical, efficient. She stayed seated, letting him clean her through aftershocks until his breathing grew too labored. Only then did she rise.

**Day 1 End**

Collapsed onto ruined sheets. Elara guided him onto his back, sank down onto his still-rigid length one final time. No movement. Just full, deep connection. She lay forward across his chest—breasts to sweat-slick skin, cheek against collarbone. His heartbeat thundered beneath her ear.

Collar pulsed slow, even rhythm.

Magic: stable.

Eyes closed.

Mahir remained hard inside her all night. Beast physiology. Collar enforcement. No softening. No relief.

Slept joined.

**Day 2: Mechanical Domination**

Dawn did not exist behind blackout curtains.

Mahir woke first—cock still buried deep, body conditioned to constant need. He flexed once—subtle reminder of readiness.

Elara opened her eyes. Looked down with flat expression.

She lifted hips an inch. Sank back. Once. Twice. Testing.

He began to lick—slow sweeps along stretched folds. Cleaning. Worshipping. Obeying.

She fisted his hair. Rode his face cold and hard—hips snapping forward and back in ruthless jerks. Clit grinding against his nose. Tongue forced deep. Came quickly—cold snap, magic discharge, collar flaring.

Pushed him flat.

Mounted his cock—reverse this time. Hands braced on thighs. Hips rising and falling in machine rhythm. Used the angle to force the head against her front wall with every descent. Friction built fast. Another orgasm. Another clean venting.

No eye contact. No murmured praise. Function only.

**Hour 12**

Bath.

Hot water. Steam rising. Elara in his lap, facing him. Legs draped over hips. Cock buried deep. She controlled pace—lifting, dropping, slow measured rolls. One hand on his shoulder. Other guided his fingers to her clit.

He circled. Pressed. Rubbed in trained pattern. Water sloshed with every stroke. Breasts floated above surface; nipples tight from temperature contrast.

Silent climax—head tipping back, throat exposed, collar reflected in rippling water. Magic pulsed outward in pale blue rings before vanishing.

Kept moving.

**Hour 18**

Desk.

Bent over polished wood. Papers scattered. Mahir behind—hands clamped on hips, bruising grip. Long, punishing strokes—nearly out, then slamming back in. Desk creaked under force.

She braced forearms. Pushed back. Controlled depth with spine arch. Climax built colder than before. When it hit she clenched deliberately. Forced silent shudder through him. Magic discharged.

**Hour 24**

Every surface.

Wall—legs around waist, nails in shoulders.

Floor—riding his face until thighs trembled.

Chair—straddled facing him, mechanical bouncing.

Window—palms to glass, ass presented, taken from behind while city lights blurred beyond.

Every position. Every angle. Every method deemed efficient. Multiple orgasms—each colder, sharper, more controlled. Magic venting in steady increments.

Day 2 ended on floor. Elara on back. Mahir above—still hard, still moving in shallow thrusts even as exhaustion tugged. Let him stay inside. Fell asleep with his weight pressing her down, collar pulsing like second heartbeat.

**Day 3: Total Utilization**

**Hour 36**

Woke to him moving—slow rocks from behind. Spooning. Arm banded around waist. Other braced beneath her head. Cock sliding in long, smooth glides.

Pushed back once—signal.

Increased tempo. Deeper. Harder. Reached back, hooked fingers around hip, guided exact angle. Climax hit—silent, ruthless. Magic flowed.

**Hour 42**

Face to face.

Missionary—clinical. Legs hooked over shoulders. Knees pressed to chest. Deepest penetration. Controlled depth with heels against his back. Measured strokes—long, even, relentless.

Came again. Silent. Efficient.

**Hour 48**

Oral rotation.

Face-sitting—forward, reverse. Grinding until soaked.

Riding cock—slow, fast, slow. Testing resistance.

Fingers—three, then four, stretching while tongue worked clit.

Toys from drawer—smooth glass, ridged silicone, thick plugs. Each used methodically. Each triggering cold peak. Magic venting through every channel.

**Hour 60**

Spooning again.

Slower. Deliberate. Reached back between bodies, wrapped fingers around base, guided him inside at exact angle that dragged over every ridge. Controlled every inch.

Climax rolled through in icy waves.

**Hour 72**

Final position.

Elara on top. Straddling hips. Hands braced on chest—for balance, not intimacy. Rode with ruthless focus—fast, shallow bounces slapping wetly, then long grinding rolls forcing him against cervix.

His body tensed beneath—muscles corded, tail thrashing, breath harsh pants through fangs. Collar burned bright.

Did not let him finish inside.

When final orgasm tore through her—coldest of all, magic draining until veins felt clean—she lifted completely.

Mahir’s hand wrapped around own length—permission implicit. Three hard strokes. Spilled across stomach and chest in thick ropes. Silent. Shuddering. Obedient.

Elara watched from above.

Assessed.

Stable.

Magic: nominal.

Threat neutralized.

Protocol complete.

Rolled to side. Lay flat beside him. No touch. No glance.

Mahir panted—chest rising and falling, cum cooling on skin, cock finally softening as collar imperative eased.

Three days.

Seventy-two hours.

Pure function.

No warmth.

No tenderness.

No emotion.

Just dominance.

Just obedience.

Just control.

Perfect efficiency.

.

.

’’Location:’’ Elara’s Private Chambers, Dawn of Day Four

—

Elara woke to pain.

Not the fire of magical overflow. Not the chemical burn of poison. Just physical soreness—deep, bone-level ache that radiated through every muscle. Her body felt like it had been used as a stress test for human endurance limits.

Which, technically, it had.

She tried to move. Couldn’t. Not properly. Just shifting her head on the pillow sent sharp protests through her neck and shoulders.

’Noted,’ she thought distantly. ’Three days of continuous physical exertion exceeds this body’s recovery capacity. Future episodes should be managed with shorter intervals.’

She assessed her condition systematically:

Like what else she can do.

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