Chapter 509: Chapter 509- Piled up Pressure Valve

Her head lolled back against his shoulder.

Her hair fell across his face. Her neck was exposed — marked already from his mouth, the skin reddened where he had worked it — and her face was turned up toward the stopped sky, her lips parted, the muffled sounds leaving her open mouth with every impact.

Her expression had entirely left her.

The jaw that had been clenched for an hour was slack now. The controlled fiction of the face she had worn as armor for however long — gone. What remained was the raw face underneath: soft, young, open, every thought visible because there were no thoughts left to hide. Her eyes were closed. Her lashes were soaked. The tears that the temporal field had been holding against her skin were running freely now, tracking down her temples into her hair, her body having overridden even that final suppression.

Her snot ran.

She didn’t know. She had no capacity to know. The thin clear line of it leaving her left nostril and tracking to her upper lip was simply another piece of information her body was producing and her mind was not present to receive.

He bounced her harder.

PAH PAH PAH PHACK PHACK—

"Mmhh~!! Nngh~!! MMNGHH~!! Mmhh~!! NNGHH~!!!"

Her small tits bounced against his forearm with each impact — the soft flesh compressing and releasing, the nipples dragging against his skin, the whole weight of them shifting with the rhythm of his hips.

He bent his head.

He found the left nipple.

He sucked it into his mouth from the side — his lips closing around the stiff peak while her whole breast was still pressed against his arm, the suction pulling the nipple out from the flesh, his tongue pressing against the tip.

SLRRRP—

Her mouth opened wider.

"MMHH~!!! NNGHH~!!!"

He moved.

Carrying her. His cock still inside her, her leg still lifted, her weight still on his arms — he walked. Across the frozen grass, past Rika’s unconscious form, past the frozen crowd and the frozen child and the frozen dust hanging in the stopped afternoon.

He walked her into the alleyway.

The narrow passage between two buildings, the space where the stopped world grew dim, where the frozen shadows of eaves cut the afternoon light into bars. A dustbin against the far wall. The smell of old stone and shut-in air.

He pressed her against the dustbin.

Her belly against the cold metal lid. Her hips out. His hands finding them — both palms against the curves of her hips, pulling her backward onto him.

He fucked her from behind.

PHACK PHACK PHACK PHACK—

"Mmhh~!! Nngh~!! Mmhh~!! MMNGHH~!!"

The dustbin scraped against the stone with each thrust. The metal lid pressed cold against her belly, her tits dragging against the lid as her body rocked forward with each impact, the contrast of cold metal and warm skin producing an additional layer of sensation that her body registered in additional sounds.

"Nngh~!! Mmhh~!! NNGHH~!!"

Her pussy was producing continuously now.

The gush of it running down her inner thighs, soaking the trousers bunched at mid-thigh, dripping from the fabric to the alleyway stones in a small, steady fall. The mixture of blood and arousal that forty-five minutes of a sex demon’s cock had drawn out of a body that had been maintaining virginity for its entire existence.

He fucked her for the full half hour he had promised himself.

Position to position. The tempo varying — slow and deep for minutes at a time, the full length of him pressing against the ceiling of her canal and holding there while her muffled sounds climbed; then fast and shallow, the rapid slap of the final inches driving the muffled sounds into a continuous sheet of sound.

PAH PAH PAH PAH PHAAAAACK—

"Mmhh~!! Nngh~!! MMNGHH~!! Mmhh~!! NNGHH~!! MMHH~!!! NNGHHH~!!!"

The rainbow came from her cunt.

Not literally. But close enough — the gush that arrived forty minutes into the half hour was everything her pussy had: blood and slick and the particular output of a first-time body receiving a sex demon’s continuous stimulation, the flood of it running down his cock and down her thighs and onto the alleyway stones in a warm, continuous pour.

Her walls clenched.

Hard. The full muscular grip of a cunt in its first involuntary orgasm — not chosen, not understood, not experienced before — the walls closing around him in rhythmic, powerful pulses that were entirely outside her control.

"MMHH~!!! NNGHH~!!! MMNGHH~!!!"

He felt every pulse.

He felt it tighten around him and draw and he increased his pace through it — driving into the contracting walls, his hips maintaining rhythm through the grip, fucking through her first orgasm the way a demon fucks through it: without mercy and without pause, extending it past the point her body knew how to end it, drawing the contractions out past their natural duration by simple refusal to let them stop.

She was no longer muffled.

She was silent.

Her mouth was open. The sounds had gone past muffled and past audible — she was producing something below sound, the full-body shudder of a woman whose nervous system had crossed a threshold, her lips shaping words that had no voice behind them, her throat working without producing anything.

He came inside her.

The load was thick and hot and deliberate — not the release of a man overwhelmed but the deposit of a demon making a point, the full heat of it flooding her walls in three long pulses, filling the space his cock had spent half an hour carving out of her.

Her belly warmed from the inside.

He held her.

His hips still, his cock buried to the hilt, his chest against her back and both hands flat on the dustbin lid on either side of her hips. He held her through the pulses and the aftershock and the continuous small trembling of a body that had just been completely rearranged from the inside.

Then he pulled back.

Slow. The full withdrawal, the head of his cock leaving her with the soft, wet sound of separated flesh, the pour of his seed following his exit and running down her inner thighs onto the dustbin and the stones.

He stood.

He looked at the back of her.

The small tits hanging forward where her bent torso pressed against the cold metal. The dark hair fallen forward over her face. The fine shoulders shaking with the residual tremor of something that had gone considerably past anything she had built herself to handle.

The trousers still at mid-thigh.

The marks of his hands on her hips.

His seed on the backs of her thighs.

He leaned forward.

His lips found her spine — the back of her, the center of it, between the shoulder blades — and pressed there. Not a bite. Not a brand. A kiss.

His mouth against the skin of her back, warm and deliberate, the closest thing to gentleness he had offered in the entire afternoon.

He spoke against her spine.

"I hope," he said, quietly, "that you will become a woman after waking up."

A pause.

His lips still against her back.

"My tomboy bitch."

’!’

As he said that, he instantly snapped his fingers. Not to break the spell of this street, since Rika was lying there naked, well satisfied.

However, rather than in this small alleyway where he had brought this particular woman to see what her reaction would be.

The moment he did, a scream suddenly erupted from her as she reached orgasm.

"HIEEEKK~~~ ANGHHHHhhhhhh~~!!!?!!"