Chapter 503: Chapter 503- Pounding the Village Woman

He was right.

Her Truth-Sight confirmed it, unbidden, in that flat clear way it had of providing information she did not want: he was saying truth. Her pussy was — it was gripping him, it was soaked and swollen around the full girth of his cock, and it was the highest-quality — she slammed the Truth-Sight closed with everything she had.

Her saliva was running freely down her chin onto those pink nipples.

Her hips moved without her. Her body adjusted to the intrusion the way a body does — not welcoming it exactly, not accepting it without protest, but ’adapting,’ the walls of her cunt reshaping around the thickness that had been shoved into it, the ache spreading upward through her core in a way that was both agony and something she refused to name.

’He is inside me,’ she thought, distantly. ’He is inside me and I am clothed and my husband is right here and my husband has—’

Raven’s hips blurred.

That was the only word for it. One moment he was still, her pussy aching around him, and then his hips became motion — not rhythm, not pace, not the measured movement of a man managing a situation, but the ’blur’ of a sex demon doing exactly what a sex demon does, his cock pounding into her from behind with the rapid, relentless drive of a dog fucking his bitch, his hips snapping, the slap of flesh on flesh filling the frozen afternoon air—

PAH PAH PAH PAH PAH—

"ANGH—!! HNGHH—!! KYAAANGH—!!! NOOOO—!! AAANGHH—!!!"

Her whole body ’jiggled.’ There was no other word. Her tits swung and slapped against each other inside her dress. Her ass cheeks shook with every snap of his hips, the thick flesh rippling from the impact, her thighs vibrating. Her body moved up and down against him like she had been set on a high frequency vibrator and left there, her heels lifting off the ground and coming back with every thrust, her face smashing forward into those two soft tits again and again.

PAH PAH PAAAH—

"NGHHH~!! AHH—!! HIEEGHH~!!!"

She grabbed the open shirt around those tits for balance. Her hands found the fabric and held on. Her nails raked forward and found the nipples — found both stiff pink nipples — and she gripped them. Not gently. She gripped them hard, her nails digging into the soft areola, because her body needed ’something to grip’ and this was what was in front of her.

Raven, behind her, watched this.

He watched her claw at the frozen woman’s nipples. He watched her drag her nails down the soft small tits for purchase. He watched her unbuttoning the rest of the shirt with shaking, desperate fingers even while he was pounding her cunt from behind — not intentionally undressing, just grabbing, pulling, her hands acting independently of thought — and the shirt fell open entirely.

Below the tits: a waistband. Trousers. Pulled slightly loose by Rika’s frantic grabbing.

He watched Rika lurch forward.

She stumbled — his cock still inside her, her legs weak from the pounding, her body tipping forward with her hands full of the shirt — and as she fell, she grabbed the trousers.

The trousers went with her.

Down. Along with the underthings beneath them. All the way down to mid-thigh, the whole setup simply pulled down by the falling weight of a woman who grabbed the wrong thing for support.

Rika’s knees hit the grass.

Her face hit the grass.

Her hips stayed up.

He was still inside her. Still pounding. Her ass presented itself perfectly upward, her skirt torn at the seam, her pussy visible from behind around his cock where the fabric had been destroyed, her face pressed into the ground, her hands flat on the dirt, sobbing and screaming and begging in some combination of sounds that had lost their individual meanings—

"Please— please— too deep— please— I— haah— nhghh— PLEASE—"

He looked forward.

Above her face, level with his eyes, the statue that was not a statue was suspended in stopped time in her new configuration: shirt open, tits bare, trousers at mid-thigh, underwear pulled down, the full spread of her displayed in the afternoon light.

The tight, dark slit of a very hairy, very soft, very untouched pussy.

Hanging right there in mid-air in front of him.

He stopped moving.

Rika made a sound of confused, overwhelmed loss.

He stared at the pussy in front of him.

He licked his lips.

His cock, buried to the hilt in Rika’s sobbing cunt, twitched.

’’That,’’ he thought, ’is a tight one.’

He could see it from here. The way the lips pressed together. The untouched quality of it. A woman who had been bound flat for however long, maintaining a fiction, and beneath the fiction—

He looked between Rika’s crying face pressed into the grass and the perfect, unconscious, frozen display of that hairy pussy six inches from her nose.

He smiled.

He snapped his hips once — hard, one single driving stroke that sent his cock to the absolute depth that no one had reached before, pressing against walls Rika had never felt pressed against, his pelvis meeting her ass with the full report of flesh on flesh—

PHACK—

"AAAAAANGHHH~~!!!!!!"

The sound that tore out of her was not a word.

It was not a scream.

It was the sound a body makes when something reaches a place inside it that has never been reached, the sound of a nervous system completely overwhelmed, every signal firing at once—

Her back arched.

Her hips tried to escape upward and had nowhere to go.

Her eyes rolled.

The aheago came on her face like a wave: her eyes unfocused and sliding sideways, her tongue pressing forward past her lips, the tip of it visible and wet, her nostrils flared wide with the breath she was dragging in, her ears flushing deep red at the lobes, the tendons in her neck pulled taut.

Saliva ran down her chin into the grass.

She looked completely, totally, beautifully wrecked.

"Oh shit," she managed.

It was not the response she intended to produce.

She had intended to say something. She had had a sentence. It had been about waiting, or stopping, or the fact that she was a married woman, or the fact that she had not agreed to— to — to ’this depth’ specifically—

"No — no — I — she—" Her gaze drifted sideways, hazy, and found the hairy pussy six inches from her face, and her brain offered this information to her and she stared at it for two full seconds. "What is—"

Raven leaned over her.

His body pressed forward against her back, his cock still buried in her, his weight settling over her hips. His mouth found her neck — not kissing, biting, his teeth pressing into the junction of neck and shoulder, and then his tongue following, and then the press of his lips in something between a kiss and a brand.

She cried out.

"AAHN—!!"

His hands came around to her front and grabbed both tits through the remnants of her dress — his fingers digging into the soft flesh, gripping the full mounds like handles, her nipples pressing against his palms through the cloth.

He pulled her back onto his cock.

PHACK PHACK PHACK—

"ANGHHH~!!! HNGHH~!!! KYAAANGH~~!!!"

The air was nothing but the sound of it. The wet, relentless report of flesh on flesh, the obscene squelching of her soaked pussy gripping and releasing him with every stroke, the sound of her voice coming out in pieces — moans and screams and something that might have been his name or her husband’s name or just noise, her body reduced entirely to reaction.

PHACK PHACK PHAAAAACK—

"NIIEEENGHHT~!!! HAAIYAANGH~!!! AAANGH~!!!"