Chapter 128: 128. Without Any Foreplay In The Private Parts And She Already Squirts!**

He continues the teasing, the heavy, rhythmic sliding of his cock against her most sensitive parts, forcing her to endure the exquisite torture of being teased by a man who looks like he could conquer her entire world with a single thrust.

"Let’s see if your pussy is as honest as your tits." Mike grinned. "I can fucking bet that it’s not because we all know... a woman’s weakness is her pussy when it gets abandoned by her own partner."

The torture intensifies, a relentless assault on Marielle’s senses that leaves her mind spinning in a dizzying vortex of shame and ecstasy. Mike is no longer just teasing, but he is performing a calculated deconstruction of her entire being.

His hands become more aggressive, his grip on her massive breasts tightening until it borders on painful, his thumbs grinding relentlessly against her hard, aching nipples. "Let your body confess while your mind and mouth are still in the same boat... feeling all conflicted!"

"Urgh... don’t... squeeze them so hard!" Marielle groaned while trying to keep her voice low.

The sensation is a sharp, electric jolt that travels straight to her core, syncing perfectly with the increasing tempo of his cock. He is no longer sliding slowly, but he is moving with a rhythmic, heavy friction, the thick, veiny shaft slapping against her swollen pussy with a wet, slapping sound that echoes in the silent room.

As he works on her breasts, he leans in, his tongue tracing a hot, wet path from her jawline up to her earlobe. He licks the shell of her ear, his breath a hot, humid gale that makes her entire body shudder.

"S-stop...!"

"You’re soaking wet, Marielle," he whispers, his voice a dark, triumphant purr against her skin. "You can pretend all you want, but you’re dripping like a ripe fruit ready to be plucked."

"You’re practically begging me to stop teasing and just bury this inside you."

Marielle’s head lolls to the side, her eyes squeezed shut as she tries to maintain her mental fortress. "Please... don’t touch me there with your... thing..."

"What thing?"

’No,’ she thinks desperately, ’it’s just the friction.’

’It’s just the heat... It doesn’t mean anything...’

’It’s just a physical reaction to a massive object, and... it doesn’t mean I want him.’

But her body is a loud, wet traitor. Every time his heavy shaft slides against her, a fresh wave of slick, honeyed arousal gushes from her, coating his skin and her inner thighs in a glistening sheen of desire.

"Is it the first time someone other than your dear husband has felt your cunt? Mmm?" Mike keeps edging her with those words.

Her mind races, trying to find a way to reclaim her dignity by comparing this chaos to the stability of her marriage, but the comparison feels like a desperate, failing lie. "Urghhh... please... shut up with that...!"

’Oh no... I’m going to lose myself if I try to answer him... I need to focus my mind... remembering about my husband.’

’Arthur is a calm sea,’ she thinks, her inner voice trembling as she tries to cling to the thought, ’steady, predictable, and safe.’

’This... this is a fucking hurricane...’

’’A hurricane is supposed to destroy, not sustain...’

’This can’t be what a woman needs because a real woman only... needs the calm, not the storm.’

But even as the thought forms, the sheer, visceral pleasure of Mike’s massive cock caressing her entrance makes the "calm sea" of her marriage feel stagnant, cold, and utterly lifeless.

"I can already read your mind... trying to act strong while thinking about your dear husband."

"Is that what you’re thinking?" Mike asks, as if he can read the very fabric of her soul. He lets out a low, mocking chuckle, his teeth grazing her ear again. "Comparing me to that stagnant little pond of a man?"

"You think you need ’calm,’ Marielle? You think you need ’safety’?"

He thrusts his hips forward a little harder, the heavy weight of his shaft pressing deep into the opening of her pussy without actually entering, a brutal, teasing pressure that makes her cry out.

"Safety is for people who are afraid to live," he growls, his voice thick with lust. "You don’t need a calm sea."

"You need to be drowned..."

"You need to be swept away by something so big and so powerful that you forget there was ever a world outside of this bed."

"Stop lying to yourself because... the storm is exactly what you’ve been starving for."

’W-what...? How did he... n-no... this can’t be...! He read through it all...!’ Marielle can’t believe what she just heard. ’Is this man... really an expert at any manipulation thing...?’

’What a fucking... asshole...!’

Marielle lets out a broken, muffled sob, her fingers clenching behind her head as her body arches violently toward him. She is drowning in the sensation, her denial crumbling like sand beneath the relentless, rhythmic pounding of the man who is proving, second by second, that her "safe" life was nothing more than a beautiful, lonely prison.

"Ngghhh! Gggggghhhh!!!" Marielle could feel the pleasure that’s trying to come out from her mouth, but she muffled it more until Mike could hear it.

"What’s the matter? Your voice is getting higher!" Mike laughed. "Looks like your body is giving to me... more... and more..."

"Y-you’re being too rough...! That’s why I sound like that...!"

"Always have an answer, huh?"

The torment reaches a fever pitch. Mike is no longer content with mere surface contact; he wants to expose the very core of her vulnerability.

"If you can’t admit how horny you are..." With a sudden, dominant movement, he shifts his weight, his massive hands leaving her breasts for a moment to reach down between her thighs. "...I’ll just have to show you myself more!!!"

Marielle gasps, her heart leaping into her throat as she feels his large, warm fingers press against her most intimate folds. He doesn’t just touch her, but he uses his thumbs and forefingers to forcefully, brutally spread her pussy wide, pulling the sensitive, swollen lips apart to expose the raw, pulsing center of her desire.

"No! Gyugghhh! Mike, please!" she cries out, her voice a frantic, high-pitched plea. "D-don’t touch it...!"

The exposure is too much; she feels completely deconstructed, her most private sanctuary laid bare to his hungry eyes. "Ahh! Stop! It’s too much... please, stop, don’t look at me like that!"

But Mike only smirks, his eyes dark with a sadistic sort of pleasure. "Stop? We haven’t even started the best part, sweetheart."

"Noooo... please stooooppp... only my husband could touch it...!"

As she begs, he takes advantage of her forced openness. He drives his hips forward with a sudden, violent intensity.

Instead of sliding between her legs, he aims the heavy, blunt head of his massive shaft directly at her clitoris. He begins to grind his cock against her with a rapid, punishing rhythm, the thick, veiny head of his manhood slapping and rubbing against her engorged nub with unrelenting force.

"N-NOOOGGGHHH!" Marielle screamed hopelessly.

The sensation is catastrophic. It is too much stimulation, too much pressure, too much raw, unbridled masculinity hitting the exact nerve center of her pleasure.

"Ah—! Mmmph—!" Marielle’s plea turns into a strangled, guttural scream of pure sensation.

"NRRGGHHH!" Her back arches so violently it looks as though her spine might snap, her head throwing back as her eyes roll into her head.

"Your fucking pussy is sopping wet, and I can tell it’s going to—"

The dam finally breaks.

"NAAGGGHHHHHHH!!!"

The build up of months of loneliness, the tension of the last hour, and the brutal, rhythmic pounding of his cock against her clit culminate in a volcanic eruption. Her body convulses in a massive, uncontrollable orgasm.

SQUUUUUUUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTTT~!

"NOOOAAHHHHHH~!" A torrential, hot spray of her juices erupts from her, a veritable waterfall of feminine release that sprays outward with incredible force.

The liquid drenching the bed, the sheets, and most of all, Mike’s thick, pulsing shaft, as if her body is trying to wash away the very shame of her pleasure. "NNRRRRGGGHH!"

Mike lets out a loud, boisterous laugh, a sound of pure, triumphant dominance. He doesn’t pull away, but instead, he leans into the mess, watching the way her body continues to quiver and spasm from the aftershocks.

"Look at you!" he roars, his voice filled with amusement. "The dignified Mrs. Arthur, squirting like a common slut the moment a real man touches her!"

"You’re absolutely drenched, Marielle!"

As the initial wave of ecstasy fades, it is rapidly replaced by a crushing, suffocating wave of humiliation. Mike pushed Marielle until she lies on the bed, her breath coming in ragged, sobbing gasps, her body still twitching from the aftershocks.

"When a women cums just like that... it means you already fell, and of course... just by seeing you worn out like that makes me want to take a photo of you."

"Fuck you...! This is just... I’m a bit tired... I hardly felt a thing...!" Marielle responded.

"HAHAHA! You say that but your cunt was just begging for my cock!"

She feels the warmth of her own release coating her thighs and the bed, but most humiliatingly, she can feel the heavy, wet weight of her "love juices" slicking and drenching Mike’s massive cock.

The thought of it makes her want to crawl into a hole and die. She has lost everything her poise, her dignity, her secrets.

She has been completely unraveled by a man who mocks her, and she has done so in the most primal, unrefined way possible.

’If this goes on... I don’t know if my heart can take it...’