nagpurpolice Chapter 612 - 611- It’s Too Thick
Chapter 612 - 611- It’s Too Thick
His hips rolling, grinding, the slow, rhythmic, shallow thrust of a man fucking a pair of tits. His cock slid between her pressed-together breasts — the warm, soft, dense, heavy flesh creating a tight, warm, enveloping channel that was different from a cunt, different from an ass, different from a mouth.The friction was warm.
Soft.
The particular, enveloping, pillowy sensation of fucking a pair of massive bull-kin tits — the flesh yielding, compressing, surrounding his shaft with the warm, dense, heavy softness that only a bull-kin woman’s body could provide.
She looked up at him.
From below. The angle — his body above hers, his face in the moonlight, his chest bare, his hips moving — was devastating. He was beautiful. The pale skin, the lean muscle, the violet eyes looking down at her with the calm, appraising, hungry gaze of a man who was using her body and enjoying it.
’He is so handsome,’ she thought.
’In the moonlight. So gorgeous. What is happening to me? I was sent to seduce him. He is seducing me. I am holding my own tits together while he fucks them. I am wet. I am crying. I am terrified. I am aroused. What is happening?’
His shirt came off.
The lean, defined, hard muscle of his chest — the pale skin, the defined stomach, the narrow hips. The moonlight caught the surface, highlighting the planes and angles, the body of a man who was not large but was dense, hard, powerful in the way that dangerous things were powerful.
He chuckled.
The low, warm, private sound that she felt in her chest.
His tail emerged.
From his back, under the discarded shirt, the thick, dark, demonic appendage slid out with the patient, sinuous, aware motion of something that had its own intelligence. It curled behind him, the tip lifting, finding its target without her noticing.
She was looking at his face.
At his chest. At his abs. At his cock between her tits. She was not looking at his back.
The tail found her vagina.
The tip — warm, smooth, the textured surface pressing against her hairy, swollen, wet lips — rested on her pussy. It did not enter. Not yet. It simply lay there, the warm, heavy, demonic appendage covering her cunt like a hand.
Then it vibrated.
The low, constant, devastating hum — the incubus power running through the tail, the resonance traveling through the tip, through her lips, into her clit, into her walls.
She cried out.
The sound was raw, uncontrolled, the first fully honest, fully voluntary, fully uninhibited sound she had made since the binding. Her back arched — her massive tits lifting, her hands losing their grip, her body bowing off the moss.
"AAAH~!!"
But she couldn’t lift.
His weight on her belly — his full body, sitting on her, pinning her — held her down. Her hips tried to rise, her back tried to arch, her body tried to escape the vibration, but his weight kept her pinned. The tail stayed. The vibration continued.
She came.
The orgasm hit with the sudden, violent, explosive force of a woman who had never been stimulated like this — the vibration against her clit, the blood rushing to her cunt, the swollen lips and the engorged clit and the untouched, virgin walls all responding at once.
Her juices erupted.
The thick, clear, pressurized stream of her squirt shooting from her cunt, around the tail, into the air. The arc was high — the angle of her hips, the force of the orgasm, the particular, bull-kin physiology that produced copious fluid — sending the stream upward and outward.
It fell on the pond.
Like rain.
The droplets hitting the still, dark surface of the water, creating ripples that expanded outward in concentric circles. The sight — a woman’s squirt falling on a moonlit pond like rain — was beautiful, in the way that pornography could sometimes, accidentally, be beautiful.
She fell.
Gasping.
Her body collapsing onto the moss, her hands falling to her sides, her massive tits settling on her chest. Her mouth was open, her eyes were wide, her chest was heaving with the desperate, ragged breathing of a woman who had just been vibrated to orgasm without being penetrated.
His cock was hard.
The tit-fucking, combined with the tail’s vibration feeding back through his body, had done its work. His cock stood fully erect between her tits — the full, thick, twelve-inch length of it, the head dark and swollen, the veins prominent, the shaft rigid and pulsing.
He slowly stood.
On his knees, rising above her, his cock leaving the channel of her cleavage. The heavy, hard length of it stood out from his body, casting a shadow across her face in the moonlight.
She looked at him.
From below. At his cock — the full, erect, terrifying length of it. At his balls — the heavy, egg-sized, seed-filled sac hanging beneath, the dark hair dusting the skin, the weight of them visible even in the moonlight.
He looked down at her.
At the tears. At the trembling. At the massive, exposed, vulnerable body of a bull-kin captain who had been sent to seduce him and was now lying on the moss with her squirt on the pond and his cock above her face.
"So," he said.
His voice was calm. Patient. The voice of a devil who had finished his preparation and was ready for the main course.
"Should we now impregnate you?"
She couldn’t speak.
The word ’impregnate’ hung in the air above her — heavy, warm, absolute, the kind of word that rearranged the furniture inside a woman’s skull and left her sitting in a room she didn’t recognize. She lay on the moss, her massive tits heaving, her white-haired pussy dripping, her amber eyes locked on the cock that hovered above her like a sentence.
Viktor aligned himself.
The thick, dark, swollen head of his cock descended — slowly, with the patient, unhurried precision of a man who was positioning a key in a lock. The tip found her entrance. The wet, hairy, swollen lips of her virgin cunt parted around the broad, blunt head, the flesh yielding, stretching, the first contact of cock on virgin pussy sending a visible tremor through her entire body.
She tightened.
Just from seeing it.
From seeing the head of his cock resting against her opening, from understanding with the full, comprehensive, unavoidable clarity of a woman who was about to be penetrated exactly how large this man was. Her cunt clenched — the involuntary, defensive, muscular response of a body that had never been entered and was attempting to seal itself against the intrusion.
Viktor looked down at her.
At the tight, clenching, resisting entrance. At the white hair matted with her juice. At the swollen, dark lips that were trying to close around nothing.
He looked at his cock.
At the twelve-inch length of it. At the head — thick, broader than the shaft, the particular, blunted, ridge-crowned shape that was designed to push past resistance. The head was the problem. Not the length. Not yet.
The head — the thick, dark, swollen, impossible head that was currently being denied entry by a virgin cunt that had never encountered anything wider than a finger.
"It’s too thick," she whispered.