thefictionvixens Chapter 512- A Strange Tightness of a Tigress
Chapter 512- A Strange Tightness of a Tigress
Not nine inches this time.
All ten.
In one motion, unhesitating, his hips meeting her ass with a sound that rang through the garden like a statement of intent, his hands on her hips pulling her onto him at the same moment he drove forward so the impact doubled — felt from both directions, inside and out, the deep interior pressure of him bottoming out against her womb’s door and the exterior slap of his body against the softness of her backside.
Her petite ass jiggled with the impact.
Both cheeks. A short, sharp oscillation, the muscle underneath the softness taking the hit and sending it upward through her whole suspended body.
Her tail lashed.
PAH! PAH!
"’Hnn~!! — Nng—!! — STOP—!!’"
The words were there.
The body underneath the words was doing something else entirely — her hips, which she had not instructed to do anything, had developed a counter-rhythm, a small unconscious roll that met his withdrawal halfway and then retreated, over and over, the body’s ancient arithmetic operating without consulting the mind.
She didn’t notice yet.
He did.
The inside of her was changing.
This was the thing about first times — the adjustment, the biological inevitability of walls that have been opened learning to accommodate rather than resist, the shift from the pain-tightness of entry to the yielding warmth of occupation.
Her pussy was ’warming’ around him.
Not literally — temperature was not the thing — but the quality of her grip on his cock was shifting from the desperate clutch of rejection to something that had a different name entirely, the rhythmic pull of a body that has started to want what it’s receiving even while the voice above it was saying the opposite.
’PAH! PAH! PAH!’
"’HIEKK~!! — Ahh—!! — B-bastard — stop — OUNGH~!!’"
He leaned forward.
The angle change drove him deeper — the geometry of her suspended position tilting her hips, the new vector finding places his previous thrusts hadn’t reached — and she made a sound that had no consonants in it.
His mouth found her nipple.
"’—HAAHH~!!’"
He sucked.
Not gentle. The full, drawing pull of a mouth that knows what it’s doing, his tongue pressing the hard peak against his palate, his teeth grazing just past the threshold of pain into the territory where pain and pleasure share a border and stop checking IDs.
Her back arched into it.
Against her will.
Against every remaining principle.
Her chest pressing ’forward’ into his mouth, the petite breast filling his palm as he gripped it from below, the nipple responding to the suction with a heat that she felt all the way down the inside of her thighs.
’’His mouth—’’ the thought in her head had stopped being sentences. ’’—it’s on my — why does it — stop — don’t stop — bastard — bastard — it hurts — it feels—’’
The two things couldn’t coexist and they were coexisting anyway, pain and pleasure running in the same channel, fighting for the same nerve endings, and somewhere in the middle of the fight her body had quietly picked a side and was now routing everything through the pleasure column while the pain column filed increasingly ignored complaints.
PAH! PAH! PAAH!!
"’Oungh~!! — Mnh~!! — HNGH~!!’"
The sounds she was making now were not the sounds she’d been making before.
Before: the shocked, overwhelmed, ’first time’ sounds of someone whose body was under assault.
Now: something else.
The sounds had gotten ’lower’, gotten ’rounder’, lost the sharp edge of protest and acquired a warmth underneath them that had no connection to pride or haughtiness or any of the tiger clan’s formal vocabulary for not making sounds like this in front of people.
He increased the pheromones.
Cultivation pheromones — a dual cultivator’s specific tool, the chemical language of a body that had been refined past the point where ordinary biological signals remained unaugmented — releasing from his skin in a wave that was invisible and immediate and hit her olfactory cultivation pathways the way a key hits a lock.
Her pupils blew wide.
Instantly.
The amber irises swallowed almost entirely by black.
’’What—’’ Her internal monologue registered the change in real time. ’’What is — why is everything — why does he smell like—’’
The pheromones didn’t create want.
They ’amplified’ what was already there — took the warmth that her body had been building despite itself and turned up every dial simultaneously, the flush spreading from her chest to her jaw to the tips of her ears, her thighs shaking with a trembling that wasn’t the pain-trembling of before but the pre-orgasm trembling of a body that has decided, without consulting anyone, that it is going to arrive somewhere.
Her nipples.
Both of them — already hard, already under the sustained attention of his mouth on one and his thumb on the other — began to leak.
Not milk. Not exactly. The clear, thin, warm fluid of a body so comprehensively stimulated that it had started producing ’something’, the hormones and the pheromones and the cultivation qi and the specific reality of a first time orgasm building simultaneously finding the nearest exit and using it.
It beaded at her nipples.
Ran in thin lines down the curve of each breast.
She felt it.
Her eyes — already rolled, already not fully present — tracked down to her own chest and registered what was happening with an expression that would have been mortified if mortification had any remaining bandwidth.
It didn’t.
"’Nnh~— hnn — haahh — I’m — something is — bastard — BASTARD — don’t look at —’"
’PAH PAH PAH PAH!’
"’AAANGHH~!! HIEKK~!! OUNGH~!! NNH~!!’"
His hips had found the pace that made her voice crack on every impact — not the slow thorough pace of before but shorter, faster, the full ten inches still but deployed in rapid-fire strokes that kept her walls in continuous stimulation, no recovery time between them, just the unending full-contact drag and return of his cock through her tightest place.
The wet sound of it had changed.
From the initial slight friction of entry to the completely obscene, unambiguous ’squelch-squelch-squelch’ of a pussy that had stopped resisting and started ’responding’, her arousal so thorough now that it ran down the inside of her thighs and met his moving hips on every thrust with a sound like rain on stone.
Then she pissed.
Not intentionally.
The cultivator’s bladder had its own meridian reinforcement, but the meridian reinforcement had not been designed to withstand the specific combination of a ten-inch qi-hardened cock against the cervix and peak pheromone saturation and a first orgasm three seconds away — the combination found the gap in the defense and the warmth came, sudden, immediate, running over his cock and down her inner thighs and soaking the silk below them in a flood of heat that she felt herself and made a sound she would never describe to anyone.
"’Mnh — HNGH — I — why — why did I — bastard — ’bastard—"’
He felt it.
The warmth flooding over him, different from her arousal, unmistakable — and he chuckled.
Actually chuckled.
Low, private, the sound of a man finding something endearing in a situation that was beyond endearing and well into territory that required new vocabulary.
He didn’t stop.
He ’increased.’
’PAH! PAH! PAAH!’
"’—HAAHH~!! STOP — DON’T LAUGH — BASTARD — I’LL—’"
The orgasm cut her sentence in half.
It arrived like the mountain had arrived — without subtlety, without the polite warning of a lesser thing building to completion — just ’dropped’, full weight, from ceiling to floor in one motion, and her body went rigid in the binding, every muscle she had locking simultaneously, her back arching until the curve of her spine was a bow string at full draw, her petite breasts pointing upward, the fluid at her nipples flying off in two thin arcs as her chest snapped taut.
Her pussy clamped around his cock.
’Hard.’