Chapter 620: The Couch-Twerk (r-18)

The couch—where she kissed me nights ago, my lips soft in sleep, her tongue tasting me, her pussy aching—was our sacred altar. I carried her to it once more, never pulling out, her pussy clenching my cock, the wet squelch deafening, and sat, her ass settling on my thighs, my cock buried to the hilt, the head kissing her cervix.

She

moved

.

Her hips began a

slow, filthy twerk

, a

professional dancer’s rhythm

, her

ass

popping

and

rolling

, the reddened cheeks jiggling with precision, the slick heat of her come smearing my thighs, the texture of her bruises rough under my gripping fingers.

Her waist twisted, the silken curve shimmering with sweat, the muscle beneath rippling like a strip-club goddess, her pussy milking my cock in tight, rhythmic pulses, the glistening lips stretched to ruin, juices dripping in obscene streams, coating my balls, pooling on the couch.

I froze, stunned—she twerked like a fucking pro, fast, lethal, her ass bouncing, clapping, the slap of her cheeks against my thighs a wet crack, her pussy gushing with every pop.

Her twerk was a professional dancer’s assault, her ass popping and rolling, the reddened cheeks jiggling with lethal precision, the slick heat of her come smearing my thighs, the rough texture of her bruises scraping my fingers.

Her whispers were cute, filthy, taboo daggers, breathed against my ear, each one a blasphemous vow:

"I Learned to twerk... mmmh... for my son’s cock... my baby’s monster... two weeks ago, I have been practicing since... For this. For you baby.

"

Her ass popped faster, clapped harder, the slap a wet gunshot, her pussy gushing, spraying.

’Practiced for my boy, my beloved, twerking on his dick, my son, my god, no shame, fuck the world."

"Gonna ride my son’s cock... HNNGH... every day... my pussy’s his... my womb’s his..."

Her breasts bounced, nipples raking my chest, her stomach rippling, the stretch marks shimmering, her legs locked tighter, thighs trembling, calves carving my sides, nails shredding my shoulders, blood hot.

"I kissed you here...

GRRRH...

my son’s lips... wanted you to wake and fuck your mother..." she purred, her ass twerking lethal, the rhythm hypnotic, her pussy clenching, spraying, the couch drowned.

Her first orgasm detonated, cataclysmic, her pussy convulsing, gushing a violent torrent, spraying the couch, the fabric ruined, her scream a primal wail—"YEEEAAAH—MY SON’S COCK!"

Her walls strangled me, spasming in relentless waves, her juices flooding, her whisper a taboo blade.

"Ahhh... My baby’s dick... splitting his mother... no shame... I’ll fuck my son forever...

" Her

thoughts

roared:

Twerking for my boy, my womb, orgasms breaking me, I’m his, fuck everyone else!

She twerked through it, never stopping, her ass bouncing, clapping, the slap deafening, her second orgasm erupting, harder, her pussy spasming, gushing a deluge, spraying my thighs, her moan a cute snarl—

"Mmmh—GRRRH—MY BABY!"

Her ass slapped down onto my thighs in a wet, vicious rhythm, cheeks clapping so loud it echoed off the walls like gunshots.

Every time she dropped, her ruined pussy swallowed me to the root with a filthy SCHLURP, thick cream foaming around my base, dripping in heavy strings from her stretched lips to my balls.

I gripped those bruised, crimson cheeks with both hands, spread them wide, and slammed her down harder, forcing her to take every inch while I bucked upward like I was trying to split her in half.

CRACK!

My palm cracked across her right cheek, leaving a fresh white handprint that bloomed red instantly.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Left, right, left again—hard, stinging slaps that made her ass jiggle and ripple like waves, her skin burning under my hands. She screamed through it, voice raw and broken:

"HRRRH—YES—SPANK YOUR MOTHER’S ASS WHILE SHE RIDES YOU!"

"HNNGH—HARDER—MAKE IT HURT, BABY!"

I obliged, slapping her ass mercilessly, each hit sending a shockwave through her body, her pussy clamping down in response, milking me with violent spasms. Her back arched, golden sigil flaring on the small of her back every time she dropped, the freshly burned mark glowing like a brand of ownership.

She twerked like a woman possessed—ass popping, bouncing, grinding in perfect filthy circles, then slamming down so hard the couch groaned beneath us. Her tits thrashed wildly, nipples scraping my chest, leaving red trails.

Her stomach rippled, stretch marks shimmering with sweat as her abs flexed to ride me harder.

CRACK!

Another brutal slap across both cheeks at once. "FUCK—PETER—BEAT MOMMY’S ASS RAW!" she howled, throwing her head back, hair whipping across my face.

I grabbed her hips with bruising force, lifted her until only my cockhead kissed her entrance, then yanked her down while I thrust up, spearing her so deep her entire body jolted. Her pussy gushed around the invasion, spraying hot streams down my shaft and over my stomach.

"UNGH—TOO DEEP—YOU’RE IN MY FUCKING WOMB!"

CRACK!

"GOOD—STAY THERE—LIVE IN MOMMY’S CUNT!"

Her third orgasm exploded. Her whole body seized, back bowing, ass clenching under my palms as her pussy convulsed in violent waves. A torrent of clear juice jetted out around my cock, soaking my thighs, the couch, the floor—drenching everything in her release. She screamed, voice cracking into a guttural roar:

"I’M CUMMING—MY SON’S MAKING HIS MOTHER CUM SO HARD—HRRRRRH!"

I didn’t let her rest. I slapped her ass again—CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!—and forced her to keep riding, hands gripping her waist, bouncing her like a fucktoy, slamming her down onto my cock over and over while she screamed through the aftershocks.

Fourth orgasm hit immediately—no recovery, just obliteration. Her pussy locked down so hard it almost pushed me out, then sucked me back in with a wet SCHLOCK. Another flood of cum sprayed from her, this one thicker, creamier, coating my balls and running down my ass crack. She sobbed through it:

"YEEEAAAH—KEEP BEATING MY ASS—KEEP FUCKING ME—DON’T STOP!"

I growled, grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanked her head back, and slapped her ass again with my free hand—CRACK!—while pounding up into her, helping her ride me with brutal, punishing force. The golden mark flared brighter with every thrust, searing into her skin like it was feeding off our sin.

She twerked through her fifth, sixth, seventh orgasms—each one harder, wetter, her ass clapping in a blur, pussy gushing in endless arcs, the couch now a slippery, ruined swamp beneath us.

Every time she came, I spanked her harder, lifted and slammed her down, fucked her through it, never letting the rhythm break.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! "MARK ME RED—MAKE MOMMY’S ASS MATCH THE SIGIL—SHOW THE WORLD WHO OWNS THIS CUNT!"

I did. I beat her ass until it was swollen, purple, throbbing under my palms, then yanked her down one final time and held her there, grinding deep, cock buried in her convulsing womb as her final orgasm tore her apart.

She screamed, body shaking, pussy milking me in violent, endless pulses, spraying one last torrent that soaked us both completely:

"BREED ME—FILL YOUR MOTHER—GIVE ME EVERYTHING, PETER!"

The golden sigil blazed like a supernova on her skin, the bond sealed in sweat, cum, and the ruined, clapping flesh of the woman who birthed me—now riding her son like damnation itself.

And we burned.