Chapter 15 - A Second Round

The world narrowed to a tunnel of sensation: the heat radiating off him, the slickness of him against her tongue, the rhythmic thrusting that stretched and squeezed her until she felt raw and achingly full. His scent became overpowering – musk and sweat and something uniquely his own - mingled with the taste of salt and a strange metallic tang on the back of her tongue.

Her vision blurred around the edges, everything shrinking down to the overwhelming focus of his cock filling her mouth. The slapping rhythm of his balls against her nose was relentless – a constant percussion to his deep grunts that vibrated through her bones. It was almost painful, but she couldn't tear her gaze away from him, her eyes locked on the pulsing swell at the base of his shaft as it disappeared so far down her throat that his pubic hairs tickled the roof of her mouth with every thrust.

He seemed to take a perverse pleasure in the way he worked himself into her, finding new depths with each savage shove. Sarah barely had time to swallow before he'd be driving forward again, forcing her deeper still until she could feel the heat radiating from his very core against the back of her throat.

Then came another eruption - this one even more violent than the first. It seemed impossible that such a volume of liquid could exist within him, yet there it was – cascading down her throat, spilling into her stomach with a hot rush that made her gasp. Sarah choked on it, the taste acrid and metallic against the lingering sweetness of his musk.

He didn't pause to give her any reprieve. He simply pulled out with a final grunt, leaving her gasping for air on the rough floorboards. His cock slick with sweat and something else entirely unknown, throbbed insistently as it left her mouth before he let her lie there, chest heaving against the worn rug beneath her.

She was adrift in a sea of his warmth, scent, and taste; a dazed ache blooming in her throat where he’d plunged his way into her until she could barely remember who she was anymore. The world swam back into focus slowly – blurring and re-blurring with every ragged intake of breath - leaving her utterly spent.

She lay there, limbs scattered across the floorboards like a broken doll, struggling to reconcile the physical sensation of him within her with the utter helplessness he’d instilled. How could a man hold so much within himself? And where did it all go? It felt as if she was constantly being filled, refilled – a bottomless vessel for his relentless seed.

His shadow loomed over her as he leaned down again, hands still resting on her shoulders as he watched her with a strange intensity that sent shivers rippling through her bruised flesh. “Now,” he rumbled, “that’s two bowls of stew.”