Chapter 6: Seeds of Ecstasy and Ruin

Lena’s body quivered like a live wire, every nerve alight with the fire of endless thrusts, her skin slick with sweat that gleamed under the dim living room lights like oil on marble. The air hung heavy, saturated with the primal cocktail of their mingled scents—her sweet, fertile musk rising like steam from rain-soaked earth, the salty tang of their precum and sweat weaving through it, erasing any whisper of the outside world. The cream leather couch bore the marks of their frenzy: dark wet spots from her squirting orgasms, indentations where hands had gripped and bodies had slammed. The heavy oak coffee table creaked faintly still, as if echoing the memory of her spread-eagle form, holes stretched wide by dual cocks plunging in unison.

She was on her back now, sprawled across the plush rug in front of Mark’s bound chair, legs hooked over Victor’s broad shoulders in a deep mating press that folded her nearly in half, her ass lifted off the floor, pussy presented like a chalice overflowing with need. Her black lace teddy was in tatters—straps snapped, mesh ripped across her heaving tits, the crotchless opening framing her ruined holes like a cruel portrait. Nipples stood rigid, red from slaps and pinches, her full lips swollen from gagging on their shafts, mascara streaking down her cheeks in black rivers of bliss-tears. Her long dark hair fanned out around her head like a halo of sin, tangled from yanks that had arched her neck in submission.

Victor loomed over her, his salt-and-pepper chest heaving, muscles taut under a sheen of sweat, his thick eight-inch cock buried to the hilt in her fertile cunt. The vein along its length pulsed against her walls, each thrust a deliberate grind that kissed her cervix, stirring the ovulating ache deep in her womb like a storm brewing. “Feel that, slut?” he growled, voice rough as gravel scraped over silk, his hand wrapping lightly around her throat again—squeezing just enough to make her pulse thunder in her ears, her vision blur with that intoxicating edge of surrender. “Your womb’s begging for my seed. Tightening like it knows I’m the one to claim it.”

Lena’s moan shattered the air, raw and desperate, her green eyes rolling back as another orgasm built from the pressure. “Yes ... oh fuck, yes—breed me, sir! Flood my egg with your cum—make me swell with your baby!” Her hands clawed at his back, nails leaving red trails on his skin, hips bucking up to meet his slams, the wet schlick-schlick-schlick of their joining a filthy symphony that drowned Mark’s sobs. Juices squirted around his shaft with every deep plunge, hot sprays arcing onto the rug, splashing Mark’s bare thighs where he sat tied, his caged dick twitching futilely, leaking clear and useless.