boyutpedia Chapter 613 - 612- I Beg You
Chapter 613 - 612- I Beg You
Her voice was barely audible. The words were not a protest. They were an observation — the clinical, terrified, honest assessment of a woman who was looking at the geometry of what was about to happen and was calculating that the math did not work."The head," she said. "It won’t fit. It seems too thick. It didn’t appear, sir—"
He slapped her.
SMACK!
The flat-palm strike across her left tit — the heavy, dense flesh rippling, the stiff, dark pink nipple absorbing the impact, the sound sharp and wet in the quiet forest. The pain was brief, stinging, the kind that arrived and departed but left behind a warmth that spread.
She gasped.
Her mouth opened, her body jerking, her tits swaying. The gasp did something — the surprise, the pain, the sudden, involuntary relaxation of muscles that had been clenched in fear — her cunt loosened.
He dropped.
PAH!
Not a thrust. A drop — his full body weight descending, his hips slamming downward, his cock driving into her in a single, gravity-assisted, balls-deep penetration that began at her entrance and ended against her cervix.
The head broke through.
The thick, broad, ridge-crowned head pushed past her virgin lips, past the tight, resisting ring of muscle at her entrance, past the never-penetrated walls that clung and tore and bled. The hymen — the thin, membranous barrier that had marked her as a virgin for thirty-two years — shredded.
Blood came.
Not a trickle. A gush. The warm, bright, copper-scented flood of virgin blood pouring from her torn hymen, running over his shaft, pooling on the moss, staining the white hair of her pussy dark red. The sight of it — the thick, wet, violent evidence of her defloration — would have stopped a gentler man.
Viktor was not a gentler man.
His cock didn’t stop at her cervix.
The head pressed against the tight, muscular barrier — the cervix, the gate, the thing that was never meant to be breached from this direction — and pushed through.
"AAAAAIIIIIEEEE~~~!!!!"
Her tongue came out.
The full, involuntary, grotesque, animal protrusion of a tongue that had been forced out by a scream too large for a mouth to contain. Her eyes rolled back, showing white, her neck straining, the tendons in her throat standing out like cables.
Her scream echoed across the pond.
The sound hit the water, bounced off the trees, scattered the birds from the canopy. It was not a moan. Not a cry. The raw, throat-tearing, blood-curding scream of a woman whose womb had just been entered by a cock for the first time and whose body was telling her, in the loudest possible voice, that this was not what it was designed for.
"IT HURTS!!" she screamed. "IT HURTS!! WHERE — IT HURTS!!"
Her tears came.
Not the delicate, pretty tears of before. The thick, hot, flooding, snot-running, face-distorting tears of genuine, overwhelming, unmanageable pain. They ran from her eyes in streams, soaking her temples, her hair, the moss beneath her head. Her mouth was open, her tongue out, her body convulsing around the cock that was buried in her womb.
Blood and juice mixed.
The red and the clear, running together, creating a pink, frothy fluid that bubbled around the base of his shaft where it disappeared into her cunt. The sight was violent, obscene, medical — the kind of thing that would make a healer faint and a coroner nod.
A flashback hit her.
Not gently. Not as a dream. The memory slammed into her mind with the force of a door being kicked open, filling her skull with the image of a room she had stood in three days ago.
The room was stone. Clean. The particular, austere, military efficiency of a Catorian family office — weapons on the wall, a map on the table, a woman behind it.
Lady Evriana Catorian sat behind the desk.
She was younger than her sister. Softer. But the amber eyes carried the same authority, the same weight, the particular, inherited certainty of a woman whose family had ruled for centuries.
"Commander Berenga," Evriana said. "I have a task for you."
Berenga stood at attention. Her armor — the strip of cloth, the ceremonial plates, the barely-there uniform of a bull-kin warrior — felt suddenly inadequate under the princess’s gaze.
"Viktor Redwood will arrive here," Evriana said.
The name landed. Berenga’s eyes widened — not with recognition, but with the weight of a name she had been briefed on. Redwood. The count’s son. The half-demon. The one whose carriage had been tracked, whose route had been calculated, whose arrival at this demon hunt had been orchestrated.
"You will catch him," Evriana continued. "Seduce him. Do whatever you need to do."
Berenga’s mouth opened.
"My lady," she said. "How can I — I am a commander. I am not a — I have never—"
"Never what?" Evriana’s voice was flat.
The question was not a question. It was a wall.
"Never seduced a man," Berenga said. The admission came out stiff, embarrassed, the confession of a thirty-two-year-old virgin who had spent her life in armor and had never learned the other kind of combat.
Evriana leaned back.
"If you cannot," she said, "you will be stripped of your title."
The words hit Berenga’s chest like a mace.
"Your knighthood will be revoked. Your position dissolved. You will return to the common ranks. A former commander. A woman who failed."
The silence that followed was the particular, heavy, suffocating silence of a woman being given a choice between two things she did not want.
"My lady, please—" Berenga started.
"Commander." Evriana’s voice was final. "Do this. Or lose everything."
The flashback ended.
The forest returned. The moss. The pond. The cock in her womb. The blood on her thighs.
"IT HURTS!!" she screamed again.
The sound was raw, torn, the scream of a woman whose body was reliving two traumas simultaneously — the memory of being ordered to sell herself, and the reality of being bought.
Viktor began.
PAH PAH PAH PAH PAH PAH PAH!!
The barrage was immediate. Not a build. Not a rhythm. The full, brutal, machine-gun rapidity of a man who had decided to fuck like a rabbit — the short, fast, shallow-to-deep-to-shallow thrusts of a creature designed for reproduction. His hips became a blur, his cock a piston, his balls swinging with each thrust, slapping against her thick ass with the wet, meaty, continuous sound of flesh on flesh on blood on juice.
PAH PAH PAH PAH PAH!!
"AAAAAHHH~!! IT HURTS~!! IT HURTS~!! STOP~!! PLEASE~!!"
She screamed.
Not the controlled, performative screams of a woman performing pain for a man’s pleasure. The real ones. The ugly, honest, broken sounds of a woman whose virgin cunt was being destroyed by a twelve-inch cock and whose body was producing the blood and the tears and the mucus and the saliva of genuine, overwhelming agony.
Blood poured.
With each thrust, the pink, frothy fluid was pushed out around his shaft — the air being forced from her cunt, the blood and juice being displaced by his cock, the wet, vulgar, squelching sound of a virgin being fucked open.
He leaned down.
His mouth found her tits — both of them. He sucked them together, the massive, dense flesh of her breasts compressing against his face, both stiff, dark pink nipples in his mouth at once. He sucked while he fucked — the wet, greedy, devouring sound of a man feeding while breeding.
PAH PAH PAH PAH!!
"AAAAAHHH~!! STOP~!! I BEG YOU~!!"