10x God-Tier Stealing System: Pumping S-Rank SuperHeroines Daily!-Chapter 205 - Gasps for Rest

Then a lazy, thick trail, slipping down the valley between her bruised cheeks.

She couldn’t even speak.

Only gasp.

Cheek still mashed to the ruined pillow, face dazed and flushed. Her eyes were barely open, plump lips parted. Her tits lay squashed beneath her weight, rising and falling with shallow, wrecked breaths, the dark areolas peeking past the ruined corset.

Her back arched low.

Her hips stayed up.

And her hole stayed open—ruined, twitching, leaking the evidence of her submission.

His cum still oozed from the used, puffy ring, a creamy line trailing down to the soft backs of her thighs.

She whimpered once.

A weak, pathetic moan.

"Aaahhhhh....."

But he didn’t stop.

Didn’t even let her drop flat onto the messy bed.

Not when he saw the time.

Five minutes left.

His cock was still thick—slick with her ass juices, glistening and hard, bobbing with every heavy breath he took. And she... she was still on her trembling knees, arms limp, hips twitching involuntarily, that gaping, ruined hole weeping his seed.

He looked at her, breathing in the musky scent of their sex, and felt a fresh wave of arousal hit him.

Bent forward again, his large hands clamped around her bruised waist.

Her head jerked up weakly, bruised lips trembling. "W-wait... C-Cruxius—n-no more—m-my... m-my butt..."

Her voice cracked, reduced to barely more than a breath.

Tears welled in the corners of her unfocused eyes. She tried to crawl away—but her wobbly knees gave out the moment she shifted her weight. Her arms shook. Her sensitive tits dragged along the wrinkled sheets, her whole frame shivering from the intense overstimulation.

Cruxius said nothing.

Just wrapped a strong arm under her knees—

—and lifted her up.

"Ah—ahh!!" she yelped, arms scrambling blindly to grab onto his broad chest. "No—where—?!"

Her body curled instinctively into his hold—soft, sweaty, entirely breathless. His thick, unyielding cock pressed right against her bare stomach, still twitching hot against her skin.

He carried her to the bathroom. Step by heavy step. His chest heaving against her soft breasts, radiant heat still pulsing from his skin. She wriggled faintly, her weak arms pushing at his shoulders, her voice a total wreck.

"D-don’t—i-it hurts—I-I can’t—!!"

She sobbed again—but he didn’t stop.

The bathroom door swung open.

He stepped onto the cold tiles.

And the moment it closed—

Click.

Ytrisia entered the bedroom.

Her sharp heels clicked softly against the floorboards. Her long legs were sheathed in sheer stockings, the dark purple skirt swaying with the confident, rolling motion of her hips. She brushed a hand through her hair, violet strands falling elegantly behind her ears.

"Cruxius?" she called out lazily, rubbing a hand over her own sore thighs. "You still in here...?"

No answer.

The large bed looked empty.

She didn’t notice the wet mess.

Didn’t see the thoroughly stained sheets, the glistening, smeared trail of fluids left on the mattress.

Her own lingering soreness still throbbed between her legs from earlier—he had wrecked her already, made her fold, made her scream herself hoarse.

So she simply assumed they’d both left.

She gave a faint, satisfied hum.

Turned on her heel.

And walked right out.

Never knowing that just a few feet away, behind that locked door...

The water began to run.

And the soft, breathy moan of a girl echoed again—muffled barely by the bathroom wall.

A moan.

Followed by a heavy, wet slap.

Then another.

And another.

Pah. Pah. Pah.

The obscene sound resumed.

Again.

Even in the bathroom.

Even now.

He wasn’t done.

And her aching ass...

would pay the price for every last ticking second left.

But at least this was the shortest method he could think of to fast-forward everything.

"Aahh.... Ahhh...."

The shower water poured down like a soft hiss—thick steam curling around their tangled bodies, fogging up the glass in slow, heavy breaths of heat.

She stood, shaking uncontrollably, her bare, slick back pressed flush against his hard chest—skin to soaked skin. His arms were wrapped around her waist like bands of iron, keeping her upright when gravity tried to pull her down.

Her knees knocked faintly. Her calves trembled. Her bare feet slid slightly on the wet, soapy tiles, barely able to support her own weight.

"Haah... haah..."

Every breath she took came out ragged and broken. Her chest rose fast, fell slow, soft breasts heaving. Her body was impossibly slick—sweat, warm water, and everything else mixing and washing down the curve of her thighs.

The ruined corset clung to her, drenched and heavy, loose at the top with one sodden strap slipping half off her shoulder to expose a darkened, shivering areola. Her skirt had ridden up, bunched thickly around her waist, the soaked fabric sticking stubbornly to her hips and ass, dripping a steady stream of water.

And inside her—

His cock still sat deep.

Thick.

Heavy.

Pulsing relentlessly in the ruined, swollen heat of her ass.

She could feel the profound stretch with every minute twitch of her internal muscles. Her puffy rim hugged his base now—not in protest, not with any fight left, but in sheer acceptance. In total surrender.

She was opened.

Claimed.

No sharp pain now. Just raw, consuming pressure. An overwhelming fullness. The obscene, blunt weight of him still inside, buried to the very base, locked firmly in place.

Her delicate arms dangled at her sides, limp and useless. Her head lolled back lazily, resting against the crook of his wet shoulder. Her bruised lips stayed parted, tasting the steam.

"Haah... haahh... mmm..."

Each exhale was a mix of ragged breath and broken moan, her throat far too raw for actual words.

And then—he kissed her.

He turned his head just enough, the wet strands of his hair brushing her ear, and dragged his lips across her damp cheek. Down to the sensitive corner of her mouth. And then—

His hand slid beneath her chin, long fingers curling to lift her face up to his, and he kissed her full.

Mouth to mouth.

Slow.

Slick.

Starving.

Their tongues met and tangled, shower water pouring over their faces, drenching the kiss. His lips swallowed hers, teeth gently scraping the plush swell of her lower lip. It wasn’t clean. It was messy, dripping, utterly open-mouthed. His tongue mapped the back of her throat, claiming her taste while the hot spray rinsed their flushed, overheated skin.

And the entire time—

His hips kept moving.

Schlop.

A slow, dragging thrust upward against gravity. The thick ridge of his cock slid deeper, nudging bluntly at the very back of her swollen passage.

She gasped the breath right into his mouth.

"Mnhh—haaah... ahh..."

Her body jerked—not trying to escape, but purely reacting to the friction. His girth ground past the loosened, puffy grip of her stretched rim, impossibly wet and slick with their mixed fluids.

Schlop.

Another lazy roll of his hips. Another obscene sound echoing off the tiles. Another deep flutter in her stomach.

Her hands finally lifted, trembling fingers wrapping around the thick wrist that held her breast. Not to stop him. Just to hold on. To anchor herself in the storm.

He kissed her again.

Deeper.

His tongue stroked lazily against hers, drinking down her broken whimpers, while his lower half moved with slow, deliberate thrusts—fucking her ruined backdoor like he owned it.

Because now, he did.

Her body wasn’t fighting the invasion anymore. The abused pink flesh clenched and twitched every time he pulled back, the ring struggling only to suck him right back in. She could feel every contour, every ridge of him buried inside her—pushing her open, dragging along her most sensitive inner walls.

She was trained.

Molded.

Thoroughly ruined.

And she couldn’t stop moaning, even if her voice was barely more than a whisper. It came as soft, heated breaths, trembling out between her parted, swollen lips.

"Haah... haah... nnh... Cruxi...us..."