Chapter 892: Pride and Compensation 2(r-18)

She didn’t care.

"For the record," she said, voice steady despite the shaking, despite the way her pussy was already clenching in nervous, greedy anticipation against his tip, "this is what wounded pride looks like."

And before he could respond—before he could tease, or laugh, or offer that devastating gentleness that had ruined her last night—Sarah sank down.

One inch.

Two.

Three.

The stretch burned fresh and bright—her sore walls protesting, fluttering, stretching taut around his thickness all over again.

"Ahhhhh... Peter~"

A broken, breathless moan tore from her throat; she didn’t bother muffling it.

Fuck it.

She’d already given this man everything. Her head tipped back. Nails dug into his chest, leaving faint red crescents. Her pussy opened for him—slow, reluctant, desperately tight—every veined inch dragging against oversensitive nerves until the sound that escaped her was somewhere between agony and worship.

She didn’t stop.

Deeper.

Deeper still.

Until her hips met his. Until he was buried to the base inside her—full, claimed, hers.

Peter stared up at her—golden morning light haloing her wild hair, breasts swaying with each ragged breath, tears of overwhelmed pleasure pricking the corners of her eyes from the brutal stretch—and his expression shifted into something beyond lust, beyond amusement, beyond anything she had words for.

Pride. Awe. Love so fierce it looked like it hurt.

"Mom could never," Sarah whispered, voice cracked and triumphant.

Then she began to move.

Slow at first—testing, savoring the deep ache, the way her tender walls fluttered and gripped him like they never wanted to let go. Her hips rolled in small, deliberate circles, grinding down so the thick base pressed hard against her swollen clit.

A soft, shattered whimper escaped her.

She leaned forward—hands braced on his chest—hair falling like a curtain around them both.

Peter’s hands found her hips—fingers digging in just enough to steady her, not to control. His thumbs traced soothing arcs over the sensitive skin there even as his cock throbbed deep inside her.

Her thighs quivered uncontrollably where they framed his hips—inner muscles still spasming in tiny, helpless aftershocks.

Her pussy

gripped

him in slow, greedy ripples, reluctant to release even a fraction of him; each flutter sent fresh warmth leaking out around his base, trickling down the cleft of her ass in slow, tickling rivulets that made her shiver.

Peter kissed her temple—soft, lingering—lips brushing sweat-salty skin, tasting the faint sweetness of her exertion.

Then he murmured against, breath hot and velvet-rough against her ear: "I want to see you like this... all of you... open and taking me." The words vibrated through her skull, low and reverent, thick with care and barely-leashed hunger. "Let me turn you. Slowly. I’ve got you."

She nodded—small, shy, still dazed from the last shattering climax—her fingers clutching weakly at his shoulders, nails leaving faint crescent indents in his skin. He slid his hands under her thighs and lower back in one smooth, possessive motion, palms broad and scorching, lifting her without ever fully withdrawing.

The shift made his

cock

drag agonizingly slow along her front wall; the thick ridge of his crown scraped over every oversensitive nerve ending still raw from overuse.

She whimpered—high, fractured—fresh slick surging out around his base in a warm, slippery rush that coated his balls and dripped audibly onto the sheets.

He sat back on his heels—knees spread wide on the mattress, thighs powerful and steady—guiding her legs to wrap around his waist.

"Wrap around me, baby," he whispered, voice steady and soothing, a lifeline in the haze. "Arms around my neck. I won’t let you fall."

Her arms looped around his neck instinctively for balance; her breasts pressed flush to his chest, nipples hard and aching, scraping against the coarse hair scattered over his pecs with every shaky breath.

He kept one arm locked strong behind her back—forearm like iron, hand splayed wide across her shoulder blades—while the other hand

cupped her ass

, fingers digging into soft flesh, spreading her cheeks slightly so he could feel the slick heat where they joined even more intimately.

With careful, patient pressure he lowered her slowly onto his lap—letting gravity do the final, devastating work.

"Easy... breathe... take me deeper," he coached softly, eyes locked on hers the entire time, dark and molten. His

thick cock—still rock-hard

, veins standing out like cords under the taut skin, glistening with her glossy release—slid even deeper as her own body weight impaled her fully.

The new angle changed everything: the broad, flared head pressed directly against her cervix in a heavy, unyielding kiss; the shaft stretched her in a straight, unrelenting line from entrance to core.

She gasped—

sharp, high, almost a sob

—nails raking down his shoulders as the fullness bloomed deeper than before, a dense, aching pressure that made her lower belly flutter and her vision white at the edges.

"Breathe, baby," he soothed, lips brushing the shell of her ear, hot breath sending gooseflesh racing down her spine.

"You’re doing so good. Look down—see how perfectly you take me."

She obeyed—eyes

dropping,

glassy and wide, pupils blown black. The sight was obscene, graphic, undeniable: her swollen outer lips stretched taut and dark pink around the thick base of his cock, clinging desperately to every veined inch like they were trying to pull him back in.

A glossy ring of her own slick coated him where they joined—shiny, slippery, stretched thin by his girth until the delicate skin looked almost translucent.

Clear arousal leaked steadily from the seam, dripping in slow, viscous strings down his heavy balls and onto his thighs; each tiny shift of her hips made her inner lips drag outward along his shaft in glossy, slippery petals before folding back in, framing the impossible stretch with wet, obscene precision.

Peter groaned low in his throat—raw, approving, the sound vibrating through his chest and straight into her nipples. His hands slid to her hips—thumbs pressing into the soft hollows above her pelvis—guiding her in the smallest, slowest rocks.

"Just like this," he murmured, voice thick with pride and barely restrained hunger. "Rock for me, sweet girl. Feel every inch."

Not

thrusting

up.

Just

rolling

her forward and back in tiny circles on his lap so the thick ridge of his crown ground relentlessly against that spongy front wall while her

clit rubbed firmly at his thick rolling root

—wet, electric friction that made her toes curl and her breath hitch into tiny, broken gasps.

Every forward roll dragged her swollen clit along his bone—slick, swollen flesh sliding him in a maddening glide that sent bright, white-hot sparks shooting up her spine and exploding behind her eyes.

Every backward roll pulled her inner lips outward along his veined length—exposing the glossy pink ring of her entrance gripping him before she sank down again, swallowing him with a wet, sucking sound that filled the quiet room.

The motion was

hypnotic,

filthy:

her pussy visibly stretching and releasing around him, slick shining on his shaft with every slow rise and fall, the obscene squelch of her arousal punctuating each tiny movement.

His mouth found her throat—open, wet kisses trailing down to her collarbone, tongue flicking out to taste the salt on her skin, then lower.

He captured

one nipple between his lips

—

sucking slow and deep

—tongue circling the stiff peak in lazy, wet spirals that matched the rhythm of her hips. The dual sensation—hot mouth on her breast, thick cock grinding deep inside her—made her whimper turn into a continuous, pleading keen.

His other hand roamed her back—fingers tracing the delicate knobs of her spine one by one, then cupping her ass again, spreading her cheeks slightly so he could feel the slick heat where they joined even more intimately, the cool air kissing the exposed skin and making her clench harder around him.

"Look at us," he rasped against her breast, voice wrecked with want. "See how your little cunt opens for me... how wet you are... how deep I am inside you."

She whimpered—high, needy—hips rolling faster now on pure instinct, chasing the building pressure.

The new position let her control the depth, the angle; she could grind her clit harder against him, feel the head nudge her cervix on every downstroke with a dull, delicious thud that radiated through her core, feel every flex of his cock thickening inside her stretched, fluttering walls.

He flexed deliberately—slow, powerful—making his shaft swell thicker mid-grind. Her pussy spasmed hard in response—clenching vise-tight around him—fresh gushes of slick flooding out to coat his balls and drip in warm, tickling rivulets down his thighs.

"Fuck... that’s it... milk me just like that," he growled softly, pride and hunger thickening his voice until it sounded like gravel wrapped in velvet.

"You’re so beautiful

riding

me... so open... so mine."

Her moans turned continuous—soft, pleading, turning into breathless, shattered sobs as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in her belly.

The slow, rocking grinds kept her right on the edge—never rushing—drawing the climax out until her whole body trembled violently, thighs shaking, toes curling against his lower back.

When it finally broke, it was devastating: her pussy

clamping down in long

, rhythmic pulses around his thickness—milking every veined inch with desperate, greedy contractions—slick flooding out in hot, slippery waves that soaked his lap, his balls, the sheets beneath them in a warm, spreading puddle.

She cried out—raw, shattered—head falling back, breasts thrusting forward as waves crashed through her in long, rolling surges.