The Lustful Time Lord's Revenge-Chapter 204 - Mercedes’ Broken Pride

The world had transformed into a strange painting, where only a few elements moved: me, thrusting wildly atop Isabel; Delilah, swaying gently with her hands tucked in her dress; and Isabel herself, adrift between agony and ruin.

And I... I savored every second of it.

Isabel’s newly deflowered rear was a masterpiece of pain and conquest.

The sensation was incredible—hot, like a tight glove of flesh gripping my cock firmly from base to tip. Each time I drew my hips back, her still-spasming sphincter muscles tried to hold on, tried to prevent my cock from leaving, like a heavy, warm velvet curtain.

Then, as I pushed forward again, they resisted, tightened, offering equally strong resistance before finally yielding and letting me plunge back in deep.

I didn’t care about the hundreds of thousands of frozen eyes surrounding us, the statue-like cameras, the halted world. In fact, it might have been because they were there—my frozen, unblinking witnesses, eternal and silent—that made it even more satisfying.

I was indeed insane. Insane with revenge. Insane with power. And my madness found its perfect outlet within Isabel’s trapped body.

"Please... stop... I’m sorry... I’m truly sorry," Isabel kept whimpering, her voice now a broken, hoarse whisper. Her tears no longer flowed freely, just leaving damp trails on her pale cheeks and swollen, red eyes.

Seeing her like that—the once-so-haughty girl now lying helpless, begging for mercy with the last of her strength—only stoked the flames of my vengeful lust.

I smiled, a smile devoid of joy, filled only with dark satisfaction. While my hips continued their brutal, rhythmic thrusts, my left hand snaked forward between our bodies, finding another virgin territory—her pussy and clit.

My fingers found her already swollen, sensitive clitoris. I began to stroke it, with skilled circular motions, while my thumb rubbed her labia.

"Ah—!" Isabel gasped, her body shuddering violently. Her expression shifted—from pure suffering to deep confusion. "Nngh... no... don’t touch... there..."

But my [Lustful Touch] worked perfectly. My touch there wasn’t just physical. It was magic that transformed pain nerves into conductors of pleasure, that scrambled the signals in her brain, that forced her body to respond in ways she hated.

I felt the change in her body. The muscles of her ass, initially clenched tight from pain and fear, began to soften slightly, to adapt. Even now, as I pushed in, there was a bit more give, a bit more wetness.

Fuck, it felt so good.

On one hand, there was the physical sensation of my cock buried deep in her tight, hot ass—every scrape of skin, every throb of blood vessels, every touch of her smooth yet muscular inner walls. It was a rough, primal sensation, full of power and conquest.

On the other hand, there was the sensation from my fingers playing on her sensitive area—a touch that was softer, more skilled, more cunning. That touch sent waves of pleasure that contradicted the pain she felt from her ass, creating an inner conflict within her body that aroused me even more.

And above it all, there was the psychological sensation—the satisfaction of seeing Isabel Mercedes, the girl who always looked down on me, now lying beneath me, her body penetrated in two places at once, her face full of tears and suffering, her mouth uttering apologies I would never accept. It was the sweetest nectar of revenge, the most intoxicating poison.

I leaned down, bringing my lips close to her ear, damp with sweat and tears. "Do you see yourself, Isabel? How eager you are. Your tight ass clenching my cock as if it doesn’t want to let go. Your clit hard as a little pebble under my fingers. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Getting fucked in the ass in front of everyone? Your filthy exhibitionist fetish finally satisfied?"

"No... I’m not..." Isabel denied. Her own body betrayed her. When I deliberately rubbed her clit harder, she couldn’t suppress a small moan that escaped. "Ah! ...I hate this... I hate this feeling..."

I let out a short, cold laugh. "How does it feel? Getting fucked in the ass by the loser you’ve always looked down on? The one you deemed unworthy of being in the same academy? The one you made a laughingstock in front of everyone?"

Isabel didn’t answer. She just closed her eyes, trying to sever the connection with reality. But her body still responded. Her breath grew heavier. Small gasps escaped between her sobs.

Between her thighs, which I had forced wide open, I could clearly see how her pussy was now thoroughly soaked, glistening, and her lips swollen with forcibly conditioned desire.

At one point, the expression on Isabel’s face began to change. The pain was still there, but now something else was mixed in. Her furrowed brow was no longer just from suffering. Her bitten lips weren’t just to hold back sobs.

She was beginning to feel pleasure. Small, faint, shrouded by pain and humiliation, but it was there. And as she realized it, and as she saw the cruelty on my face—the satisfied smile, the cold eyes looking at her like an object—she stopped begging.

She stopped speaking altogether.

She just let her body be rocked by my movements, trying to suppress every sound that might escape, every gasp, every moan. But it was impossible. Her body had been conditioned by [Lustful Touch]. Every touch of mine, whether on her ass or her clit, was a direct command to her nervous system to respond with pleasure.

"Bitch," I hissed, while increasing my pace. My thrusts became faster, deeper, harder. "Remember when you took a photo of me naked in the bathroom? And spread it all over the academy? You laughed seeing me humiliated?"

Isabel opened her eyes, looking at me. In those grey eyes, I saw a flash of memory—yes, she remembered. And behind the pain and confusion, there was a glimmer of what seemed like genuine regret this time.

"I... I’m sorry for that," she whispered, her voice utterly shattered.

"Too late!" I growled, and with a sudden surge of anger, I thrust in especially hard, making her scream in pain. "Now you’re the one naked! You’re the one humiliated! And this is just the beginning!"

I poured all my emotions into her—the hatred pent up for years, the deep shame, the anger over every insult, every condescending glance, every sharp word. I poured it all into every thrust of my hips, every grip of my hand on her thigh, every touch on her clitoris.

And it felt... incredibly relieving. Like a cork finally released from a high-pressure bottle. Like poison finally expelled from the body. With every thrust, part of that burden left. With every moan from Isabel, part of that old wound was covered.

I could feel the pressure building at the base of my stomach, the heat creeping up my spine. Orgasm was approaching—an explosion that would mark my victory over her.

"Ah... I’m almost..." I murmured, my breath growing ragged.

Isabel, feeling the change in the rhythm and intensity of my movements, opened her eyes. She knew what was about to happen.

"No... don’t... not inside..." she whispered, her voice now filled with a different kind of fear.

But I ignored her. My mind was made up.

I thrust in to the hilt, feeling the base of my thighs press tightly against her now hot and sweat-and-fluid-slicked ass. Then, with a hoarse groan torn from my own throat, I let everything go.

The first spurt was the strongest—hot, thick, full of the hatred and vengeance gathered over years. I pumped it deep into her ass, feeling how my hot fluid flooded that narrow space.

I kept pumping, a second, third, fourth spurt—so much, until I could feel how her tight ass slowly filled, expanded, accommodating the weight of my hatred.

Isabel screamed—a mix of pain, disgust, and something else as she felt that hot flood fill the deepest part of her. "NO! GET IT OUT! IT’S DIRTY! DISGUSTING!"

But I wasn’t finished. Even after my violent orgasm, my cock remained hard thanks to my maxed-out libido stat. And I still had time—the timer in my peripheral vision still showed [18:22...].

So, instead of pulling out, I kept moving. I started thrusting again, slower this time, savoring the new sensation—my warm, thick semen now served as additional lube, making the friction inside her ass slicker, smoother.

"Ah... ah... stop..." Isabel moaned, but this time her voice was different. There was exhaustion there, a surrender. She was too tired to fight, too broken to beg. She could only lie there, feeling my still-hard cock moving inside her ass, now full of my fluid.

I looked at her face. Her expression was empty. The eyes that once held arrogance and sharp intelligence were now vacant, like broken windows. She stared at the frozen ceiling of the arena, but wasn’t really seeing anything.

She was broken. And it was the most beautiful sight.

I kept thrusting, savoring every sensation, savoring every second of my victory over her. Isabel just lay there, occasionally letting out a small sigh or moan when I pushed too deep, but otherwise, she was silent.

In the distance, Delilah still stood with her phone, but now her hand was no longer moving beneath her dress. She just watched with shining eyes, her breath still slightly heavy, her face still flushed. But now there was something else in her expression—admiration. Admiration for her stepson who could do something like this.

I took a deep breath, savoring this moment. Isabel Mercedes had been defeated. And this was only the beginning.