Chapter 48: 48. She’s Having Conflicted Thoughts If I Should Let It Out or In!**

By pulling her open so drastically, he removed any remaining friction that might have slowed him down. He was able to drive his cock into her with a terrifying, unobstructed velocity.

The impact was visceral. He pounded into her with such violent, unrelenting force that Petricia’s upper body was slammed flat against the mattress, her chest crushed against the sheets as he used her as a landing pad for his heavy thrusts.

"Is that what your boring ass husband does?!" he sneered, the insult punctuated by a sickeningly deep lunge that made her entire frame shudder. "Does he treat you like a cheap roadside motel?!"

"Or does he keep you tucked away like some dusty antique in a museum?"

"Ahhh! Nnnngh! Mike... please!" Petricia sobbed, her face mashed into the pillow, her voice vibrating through the fabric.

The sheer brutality of the movement was stripping her of her humanity, turning her into nothing but a receptacle for his rage and passion.

PLAP! PLAP! PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!

"He probably kisses your hand and tells you you’re pretty, doesn’t he?" Mike mocked, his hips snapping forward like a whip. "That weak, limp-wristed coward!"

"While he’s dreaming of being a gentleman, you’re here begging a real man to ruin you! You’re not a lady, Petricia, but you’re a fucking gutter wench, and you love every second of it!"

He grabbed her hair, pulling her head back just enough to glare into her glazed, teary eyes. "Tell me the truth!"

"Tell me you’re a dirty, cheating slut who belongs under a man like me!"

"Tell me your husband is a fucking joke compared to this!"

"Y-yes! Ahhh! He’s a joke!" she screamed, the honesty torn from her by the sheer, overwhelming sensation of being impaled. "He’s nothing! Everything... everything is you! AAAAHHHHH~~~!"

"That’s my bitch," Mike growled, his contempt fueling his stamina.

He redoubled his efforts, his thrusts becoming even more frenzied, more demeaning. He wasn’t just fucking her; he was verbally and physically desecrating the very idea of her marriage, smashing the image of the ’respected Mrs. Schneider’ into a thousand jagged pieces with every heavy, wet slap of his groin against her bruised thighs.

The air in the room grew heavy, charged with the static of an approaching storm. Mike’s movements changed; the violent, sweeping strokes evolved into short, grinding, incredibly deep pulses that seemed to vibrate through Petricia’s very marrow.

PLAP! PLAP! PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!

He was hovering on the precipice, his muscles coiled like springs, his breathing coming in ragged, predatory snarls. And then He leaned down, his sweaty chest pressing her face into the mattress, and whispered a dark, tantalizing promise into her ear.

"I can feel it, Petricia," he rasped, his voice thick with the approaching tide. "The dam is about to break!"

"I’m going to pour every drop of my seed into you... and then, once you’re completely soaked and ruined, I might just decide to pull out!"

"I might leave you sitting here, leaking my essence all over the sheets, wondering if you’ll ever feel full again."

The threat hit Petricia like a bucket of ice water. Even in her state of near collapse, a tiny, flickering spark of her former self, the woman who feared the scandal, the woman who dreaded the permanence of this transgression—flew up.

The thought of him finishing and then withdrawing, leaving her to deal with the messy, visible aftermath alone, sparked a sudden, desperate greed.

"No!" she gasped, her voice a frantic, muffled cry against the pillow.

She tried to reach back, her fingers clawing at his muscular thighs, trying to hold him anchored inside her. "Don’t... don’t pull out! Mike, please! Cum inside! Fill me up! Please!"

She was begging now, her dignity completely evaporated. The idea of being emptied felt like a desertion, whereas being filled felt like a seal of ownership.

’Hehhh... it’s this easy to cum inside, huh? But I’m going to tease her until her mind is having more of those conflicted thought that I love, hahaha!"

"Cum inside me!" she pleaded, her hips bucking upward in a desperate attempt to trap him. "Don’t leave me empty! Make me yours... make me carry it! Please, Mike! Inside!!!"

But Mike only laughed. It was a rich, cruel, melodic sound that vibrated through her as he intentionally slowed his rhythm, teasing the very edge of his climax without crossing it.

He moved with a maddening, agonizing deliberation, lifting halfway out before plunging back in just enough to graze her most sensitive spots. "This is so fucking funny..."

"Like... you’re begging already?" he mocked, his eyes sparkling with sadistic delight as he watched her struggle. "Where’s that composed housewife now?!"

"The one who worries about decorum? She looks a lot like a thirsty dog to me now."

"I’m not... ahhh! I’m not joking!" she wailed, her frustration mounting as he played with her needs like a cat plays with a mouse. "Just do it! Stop teasing and just... ungh! ...just finish inside!"

"Maybe," Mike teased, his grip on her waist tightening until it almost bruised.

He gave a sudden, sharp thrust that made her entire body seize, then immediately eased up, prolonging the exquisite torture. "Maybe if you’re being a good bitch."

"Or maybe if you admit that you want to be my personal breeding ground!"

"And another maybe if you tell me that you’ll never, ever want to feel a man’s touch anywhere else but inside this room."

He laughed again, a triumphant sound that drowned out her protests, continuing to dance on the razor’s edge of his release, relishing the power he held over her desperate, craving body.

PLAP! PLAP! PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!

Mike took a perverse pleasure in the tug of war happening between her desire and her fear. He knew he had her right where he wanted her: teetering on the edge of total surrender, yet still clinging to the fraying threads of her old life.

"Alright~!"

"One more chance, Petricia," Mike whispered, his voice a velvet caress that masked the violence of his next thrust.

He paused, his massive cock hovering at the very threshold of her entrance, the head of it pulsing with the immense pressure of his nearing climax. "Give me more of you begging by saying it like the worthless bitch you are!"

"Tell me you want me to claim you!"

"Tell me you want to feel my heat flooding your womb, marking you so deeply that you’ll taste me for a week!"

"Are you ready to be mine? Completely? Permanently?"

Petricia lay there, her breath hitching in her throat. For a split second, the hedonist in her wanted to scream YES! She wanted to feel that volcanic eruption inside her, to be branded by him.

But then, a chilling thought pierced through the haze of endorphins.

’Wait... what happened to me...?’

’If he cums inside... if he fills me up like that...’ her mind raced, panicked. ’The evidence... it won’t just be a spill on the sheet...’

’It will be deep. It will be everywhere.’

’When I walk out of here, when I try to sit in a chair, when I try to dress... everyone will know...’

’My husband will smell it on me. And the doctor will see it if I accidentally get pregnant by him...’

’It’s too much risk...! It’s too damn permanent!)

The sheer weight of the potential consequence crashed down on her. The terrifying reality of the fallout suddenly eclipsed the thrill of the danger.

"Wait! Wait, Mike!" she cried out, her voice jumping an octave in pure, unadulterated panic.

She frantically tried to push his hips back, her hands trembling against his rock-hard abdomen. "Change of plans! Change of plans! Don’t! Don’t come inside!"

’There it is... I love it when a woman can’t make up their mind about this shit, hahaha!’

Mike paused, a brow arched in amusement, his eyes twinkling with mockery. "Oh? Did the little bitch lose her nerve?"

"Is the big, scary man too much for you after all?"

"No! It’s not that!" she stammered, her face flushing a deep crimson of embarrassment. "It’s just... it’s too risky! It’s too much!"

"Please, Mike, just... just pull out! Come outside! On the bed, on my face, hand, anywhere!"

"Just don’t... don’t put it in!"

She was practically weeping now, the transition from voracious lover to terrified socialite happening in the blink of an eye. The vulnerability of carrying his seed felt less like a prize and more like a ticking time bomb.

Mike let out a long, theatrical sigh, though the smirk on his face betrayed his amusement. He leaned down, his nose brushing hers, his voice dripping with condescension.

"So, you want the pleasure, but you want to keep your reputation intact?" he teased, his hips giving a sudden, sharp jab that made her gasp despite her plea. "You want to play the slut in private but pretend to be the saint in public?!"

"Typical. You want the storm, but you’re afraid of getting a little wet."

He laughed, a low, vibrating sound that rumbled against her chest. "Fine, fine!"

"We’ll play it your way for now, you cowardly little thing, but don’t think for a second that this means you’re in control!" Mike smirked, knowing that he won’t listen to her at all. "You’re just delaying the inevitable."

Even as he teased her, he didn’t slow down. He resumed his punishing rhythm, but there was a new, vengeful edge to his thrusts, as if he were punishing her for her hesitation, preparing to deliver his payload with even more dramatic flair just to prove that, ultimately, he was the one who decided when the conquest was truly finished.