Chapter 110: Ceaseless Oppression

Iskanda’s colossal body covered mine completely, a living eclipse of muscle and heat, as she leaned closer, sweat-slick breasts dragging heavily across my back, nipples stiff and scorching as they carved twin lines of fire into my skin.

Her breath, hot and humid, spiced with crushed herbs and raw sex, blasted against the shell of my ear in ragged gusts that made me shudder, deep and full bodied.

“Shh, little lamb, breathe for mommy—just breathe.”

She drew her hips back with torturous leisure, letting me feel every veined inch of that monstrous cock dragging through my ruined insides. The wet, filthy churn of her earlier spend sounded obscene, a slow, syrupy squelch that curled my toes into the rug and drew a broken whimper from my throat.

Before I could finish the inhale she’d commanded, she surged forward again—one brutal, claiming thrust that seated her to the hilt. The lewd, wet slap of her hips against my ass rang through the chamber like triumphant thunder, while my cock, soft and spent, flopped uselessly beneath us, drooling thin strings of my release that pooled on the ancient rug in shameful little pearls.

A high, broken moan tore out of me—half-sob, half-prayer—as she bottomed out again, the fat head of her cock kissing something inside me that made my vision spark white at the edges.

My fingers clawed at the rug, nails raking furrows in the coarse fibers as though I could anchor myself against the tide of her oppression. Tears welled hot and relentless, soaking dark blossoms into the fabric that smelled of dust and desperation.

Each thrust was a fresh devastation, a deeper claiming, her heavy balls swinging forward to slap against mine with wet, rhythmic authority. Her musk flooded my lungs until I was dizzy with it, drunk on the thick, animalistic reek of her sweat, cum, and pure, unfiltered power.

“Look at you,” she growled, voice dropping into something feral, “crying so pretty while mommy rearranges your guts.” Another brutal thrust, another wet squelch, another pathetic spurt from my oversensitive cock that painted the floor in shame. “You love this, don’t you? Love being nothing but a whimpering cocksleeve for mommy.”

I tried to answer—tried to deny, to beg, to say anything—but all that came out was another needy whine as she angled her hips just right and punched a scream out of me that cracked halfway through.

Inside my head a frantic little voice was still screaming its warnings, but my body only arched back to meet her, desperate, shattered, starving for attention.

She was unraveling now; I felt it in the faltering rhythm, the way her breath fractured into feral snarls against my nape. The last shreds of that deceptive maternal tenderness burned away, replaced by something wild and rapacious.

“Take it,” she hissed, fingers bruising my hips, “take every fucking drop, you useless little cumrag—gonna flood this greedy ass until it sloshes when you walk—” Her voice splintered on a growl as her pace turned frantic, hips pistoning with wet, thunderous slaps that drowned the crackle of the fire and the beating of my heart. “Gonna—hnngh—gonna pump you so full you’ll taste me for weeks—fuck—here it comes—”

And then it happened.

She buried herself to the root with a roar that rattled the flames, her cock pulsing wildly inside me, and the first jet of cum hit so hot and hard I swear it scalded me from the inside out.

Wave after wave, thick and endless, painted my insides, flooding me until I could feel it pressing up under my ribs, until my belly felt warm and swollen under her oppressive release.

My cock gave one last pathetic twitch—nothing left, really, just a sad little dribble that pooled beneath me like an afterthought—while my bussy clenched and fluttered around her, milking her for every drop like the desperate whore she’d turned me into.

She pulled back with a wet, filthy pop, the last few ropes of her release splattering across my back in heavy, warm stripes that cooled instantly in the air and dripped down my sides like war paint.

For one heartbeat she was still, chest heaving, cock still half-hard and glistening. Her eyes flicked down to the pitiful puddle I’d made on the rug and something almost akin to pity flickered across her features.

“Oh, sweetheart… that all you had left? Poor little thing couldn’t even give Mommy a proper tribute.”

Then she laughed, low and smoky, before pushing herself up, thighs flexing as she sauntered over to the bed like a lioness who’d just devoured her fill.

She dropped onto the furs with a bounce that made her heavy breasts jiggle, then spread her legs wide, that monstrous cock lolling against her thigh, still twitching faintly in the lantern light, smeared with cum and my slick, glistening like a conqueror’s trophy.

I lay wrecked and trembling on the rug, every muscle melted to warm honey, every thought soaked in her scent and the throbbing ache she’d left behind. Run, the last sane part of me whispered again, weaker now, run before she decides to break you.

But my body was already moving, knees scraping the rug as I pushed myself up on shaky arms, cum trickling down my thighs in thick rivulets that made me shiver with aftershocks.

I crawled—actually crawled—across the floor toward her, drawn like a moth to a flame. Every inch was humiliation and hunger intertwined, my spent cock swaying soft between my legs, my hole clenching on nothing, weeping her seed in slow, pitiful drips.

When I reached the bedside, she reached down before patting my head like a lost puppy. “There’s my sweet boy,” she crooned, voice syrupy and dangerous once more. “Knew you couldn’t stay away.” The praise hit me like a punch to the gut; a high, mortifying whine slipped out of me before I could stop it, and heat flooded my face so fiercely I buried it against the warm muscle of her thigh.

Her cock twitched right in front of my eyes, rising to center between her thighs, still glossy, still impossibly huge even half-hard. I couldn’t help myself. I lifted one trembling finger and touched the tip, watching in dazed fascination as the fat bead there stretched into a long, silvery thread between us.

Iskanda giggled—rich, dark, and delighted. “Go on. It’s all yours,” she purred.

Something in me snapped. I surged up on wobbling legs, turned my back to her, and straddled her lap before my brain could scream at my stupidity.

Her hands immediately moved to spread my cheeks wide, cool air kissing my gaping, cum-slick hole. She let out a deep, approving grunt that vibrated straight to my core. “Such a pretty little cunt,” she murmured, guiding the blunt head of her cock to my entrance. “Come now, sweetheart—sit.”

I sank down slowly, savoring—gods help me—the stretch, the burn, the way her previous load squished wetly around her shaft and oozed out to coat our conjoining in a lewd, creamy mess.

And then I began to move.

Strings of her release stretched between our thighs, snapping and reforming with each shift of my hips, the wet sounds lush and intimate in the quiet chamber.

I bit down hard on my knuckle to muffle the moan that wanted to rip out of me, but it escaped anyway. My cock, traitor that it was, started to stiffen again, rising valiantly despite everything, a bead of precum already pearling at the tip.

Iskanda’s hands settled warm and steady on my hips, thumbs stroking soothing circles that made my eyes roll back in my head. I melted—sagging back until my head rested between the plush weight of her breasts, her heartbeat a steady, possessive drum against my spine

She began stroking my hair, fingers carding gently through the sweaty strands, and the tenderness after all that brutality broke something open inside me.

Fresh tears pricked warm and steady against my cheeks. I turned my face into the curve of her neck and inhaled the salt of her skin, the lingering spice of her sweat, until the world narrowed to nothing but her scent, her warmth, the impossible fullness of her cock filling my insides.

I couldn’t take it anymore—the affection, the care, the way she held me like I was something precious. Without thinking, I tilted my head back, seeking, and she met me halfway—lips crashing into mine in a kiss that was all teeth, tongue, and desperate, sloppy hunger.

I moaned straight into her mouth—loud, broken, grateful—and my cock chose that exact moment to betray me completely—one thick, shocking spurt arcing high through the air before splattering wetly on the rug.

She swallowed my cry, kissed me deeper, and I felt her throb once, twice—then flood me again with one last creamy gush that overflowed instantly and ran in warm rivulets down my balls.

We collapsed together onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, sweat, and cum, her arms wrapping tight around my waist as I was draped over her chest.

She eased out of me slowly, deliberately, and the motion sent an arc of her semen flying through the air to land with a soft patter on the sheets.

I whimpered into the crook of her neck, clinging like a child, gentle aftershocks rippling through me in endless waves. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled against her skin, voice small and raw. “For—you know—”

She shushed me softly, one hand cupping the back of my head, the other tracing idle circles on my stomach. “Shh, I forgave you the second you took my cock down that pretty little throat of yours.” A pause, her lips brushing my temple. “Besides,” she added, voice dipping into wicked amusement, “I’m the one who slipped the aphrodisiac into your tea. You never stood a chance.”

I should have been furious. I should have scrambled off the bed and run screaming into the night, dignity in tatters but at least intact.

Instead, a soft giggle bubbled out of me—high and helpless. The sound surprised us both. Her chest rumbled with a laugh of her own, and then the world tilted, colors bleeding together as exhaustion finally dragged me under.

The last thing I felt was her pressing a kiss to my forehead, murmuring something soft and possessive. Something I was already too far gone to hear. And then there was nothing but warmth, her scent, and the gentle thump of her heart lulling me to sleep.

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