Chapter 894: Like Mom (r-18)

He thrust upward to meet her next drop—hard, deliberate—driving his cock even deeper. "You’re so good, Sarah," he rasped, voice raw and reverent. "Tighter now... wetter... hungrier... you take me like you were fucking made for it... just like mom does, but you’re mine now... only mine..."

The words shattered her control. She rode him like she was possessed—fast, sloppy, relentless—hips snapping, ass clapping and rippling wildly against his thighs, breasts bouncing with every brutal plunge.

Her

clit ground

frantically against his pubic bone with every downstroke; her inner walls fluttered and clenched around his veined length, stretching and releasing in obscene, glossy detail—puffy lips dragging outward on the upstroke, swallowing him whole on the downstroke, slick shining on his shaft in thick, glistening strands.

When the orgasm hit it was violent—her whole body locking, back arching sharp, head thrown back in a raw, animal scream that echoed off the walls.

Her pussy

clamped

down like a fist—rhythmic, powerful spasms milking every inch of him—fresh floods of slick squirting out around his base in hot, messy arcs that splattered his abdomen, soaked his balls, dripped in thick rivulets down his thighs.

Peter groaned—deep, guttural—hips bucking once, twice, holding her down as she shook through the aftershocks, cock throbbing hard inside her spasming heat. He didn’t come—not yet—but the sight of her riding him to ruin, looking so much like Linda yet so perfectly, possessively his, nearly

undid

him.

She collapsed forward—chest heaving against his—sweat-slick skin sticking together—still clenching weakly around his cock in sleepy, possessive pulses.

Her breath came in ragged sobs—half pleasure, half overwhelmed shame at how far she’d gone, how fast she’d ridden him, how the comparison to her mother had only made her come harder.

He wrapped both arms around her—holding her close—kissing her temple, her cheek, her tear-streaked lips.

"You’re perfect," he whispered, voice thick with awe and possession. "So fucking perfect."

He didn’t give her time to come down.

The moment her aftershocks faded to trembling whimpers, Peter’s hands clamped harder on her hips—fingers sinking deep into the soft, sweat-slick flesh just above the swell of her ass—and he delivered a sharp, resounding

slap

to her right cheek.

The crack echoed through the room like a whip, the impact making her plush flesh jiggle violently and bloom instant pink.

Sarah yelped—high, startled, almost shocked—her pussy clenching

violently

around his buried cock in instant, greedy response. The sudden spasm milked him from root to tip, fresh slick surging out in a hot rush that coated his balls and dripped audibly onto the sheets.

"YES! Again," she gasped, voice wrecked and wild, eyes glassy with fresh hunger. "

Harder.

"

Peter obliged.

His palm cracked down on her left cheek—harder this time—the sound wetter, sharper, the sting blooming bright and immediate across her skin.

Her ass rippled outward in soft,

hypnotic waves

from the point of impact; the flesh quivered, flushed deeper pink, and she cried out—raw, needy—hips snapping forward in a frantic grind that slammed her swollen entrance down onto his thick base with a filthy, wet

slap

.

The sound of her ass meeting his thighs was immediate and obscene—sharp, rhythmic claps that filled the room—followed by the slick, sucking squelch of her pussy swallowing him whole again.

She rode him like she was trying to break them both.

No more teasing circles.

Pure, desperate, savage bounces now.

She lifted high—almost pulling off completely—her stretched outer lips dragging outward along his veined shaft in glossy, clinging rings, exposing every thick, glistening inch coated in her shining arousal—then dropped

hard

, ass clapping against his thighs with a resounding

smack

that made her breasts bounce wildly and her clit grind brutally against his pubic bone.

Each downstroke punched the broad, flared head of his cock against her cervix—deep, punishing—sending dark, aching pleasure radiating through her lower belly in heavy, throbbing waves.

Her inner walls

fluttered and spasmed around his girth

on every brutal plunge, stretching taut and releasing in obscene, glossy detail: puffy pink petals clinging desperately to the veined length on the upstroke, then folding back in as she slammed down, swallowing him to the hilt with a wet, sucking sound that echoed wetly between them.

She slapped her own ass—twice in quick succession—left cheek, then right—hard enough to leave stinging red handprints that matched the blooming marks from his earlier strikes. The sharp sting shot straight to her clit; she moaned louder—high, broken—hips snapping faster, ass rippling and jiggling with every frantic bounce.

"Fuck—yes—harder—"

she sobbed, voice cracking into desperate, pleading cries.

Peter growled—low, feral—matching her savage rhythm. His hands alternated slaps—right cheek, left cheek, right again—each one sharper, louder, the impacts making her ass ripple in rolling waves and her pussy clamp vise-tight around his thickness.

The sting twisted into blistering pleasure so intense her vision blurred; tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with sweat that dripped from her brow onto his chest.

"Just like MOM,"

he rasped again, voice rough with memory and dark possession. "She rides me like this—fast, filthy, slapping her own ass while she takes every inch—but you...

you’re fucking wild today.

"

The words detonated inside her.

Sarah’s pace turned completely savage—lifting higher, dropping faster—ass slapping his thighs in rapid, wet

smack-smack-smack

bursts that echoed like applause.

Her breasts bounced frantically—nipples hard, flushed dark—slapping softly against her ribs with each brutal plunge.

Her pussy stretched obscenely on every upstroke—inner lips clinging to his shaft in glossy, puffy petals, dragging outward in slick, shining strands—then slammed back down, swallowing him to the root, the head battering her deepest spot with punishing force.

Slick poured out in hot, messy spurts—splashing against his balls, dripping in thick, viscous ropes down his thighs, soaking the sheets into a dark, ruined puddle beneath them.

She reached back—slapping her own ass again—harder—then slapped his thigh—then grabbed his hand and forced it to her cheek.

"Slap me—please—make it hurt—"

He did.

Palm cracking down—once, twice, three times in quick succession—each strike making her cry out louder, ride faster, pussy clamping vise-tight around his cock. The pain twisted into pleasure so sharp and bright her whole body trembled; tears streamed freely now, mixing with sweat, dripping onto his chest.

"You’re gonna come again,"

he growled, thrusting upward to meet her next drop—hard, deliberate—driving his cock even deeper, the head kissing her cervix with brutal precision.

"Come on my cock—

scream for me

—let me feel that greedy cunt milk me dry—"

She shattered.

Her whole body locked—back arching violently—head thrown back in a raw, animal scream that tore from her throat and echoed off the walls.

Her pussy clamped down like a fist—rhythmic, powerful spasms milking every thick, veined inch—slick squirting out around his base in hot, forceful jets that soaked his lap, his balls, his thighs, the bed in messy, glistening arcs.

Her ass cheeks jiggled wildly with the force of her final, frantic bounces—slapping wetly against him one last time before she collapsed forward, shaking, sobbing, utterly ruined.

Peter held her down—hips bucking once, twice—groaning deep in his chest as her walls fluttered and rippled around him, drawing out every tremor, every pulse.

He didn’t come—not yet—but the sight of her riding him to absolute destruction, ass red and stinging from slaps, pussy stretched and dripping, looking so much like Linda yet so completely, possessively his, nearly pushed him over the edge.

She lay draped over him—chest heaving against his—sweat-slick skin sticking together—still clenching weakly around his cock in soft, exhausted pulses.

Her breath came in ragged, hiccupping sobs—half pleasure, half overwhelmed shame at how far she’d gone, how hard she’d ridden, how the slaps and the comparison had only made her come harder, wetter, louder.

He wrapped both arms around her—holding her close—kissing her temple, her cheek, her tear-soaked lips.

"You were fucking incredible,"

he whispered, voice thick with awe and raw possession. "So wild... so perfect...

so mine.

"

She whimpered—soft, needy—already rocking in tiny, trembling circles again, chasing the lingering sparks despite her exhaustion, her sore, swollen pussy still clinging to him like it never wanted to let go.