Ultimate Villain's Return as a Doctor in the Cultivation World-Chapter 242 - Continuing the Threesome
The sound that came out of her hit the chamber stone and came back.
"’—KYAAANGHHH~!!!!!!—’"
Not a scream — a ’rupture.’ The kind of sound that comes up through the lungs without asking because twelve inches arrived in a single stroke and her body’s entire history of receiving had been six, had been six for every minute of every session prior, and now six was a memory and twelve was a present fact buried in her belly up to the base.
She grabbed his wrists.
Both of them — her fingers wrapping around his wrists where his hands still held her ass open, holding on the way a woman holds something when there is nothing else to hold, knuckles blanching against his skin.
’Something enormous was inside her.’ She couldn’t think it in any more complicated terms than that — her mind had given up forming sentences and was just transmitting the sensation raw, unprocessed, the thick impossible fullness of him pressed against somewhere internal that had never been pressed, something deep that sent a signal up through her stomach and into her throat simultaneously.
He didn’t move.
Held himself there, buried to the root, feeling her internal walls convulse around the new dimension — the specific, fluttering, uncontrolled clenching of a body that had been given something it didn’t know how to hold yet and was trying anyway.
Her amber eyes were fixed on the ceiling.
Tears running sideways from the corners of them — not flowing, ’running,’ pooling in her hair against the stone, and her chest was barely moving because breathing required space that twelve inches of him had borrowed.
"’—breathe,’" he said.
She breathed.
A single shaking exhale that made her whole body tremble, her breasts shifting with the movement, the jiggle of them traveling all the way from sternum to tip, nipples hard and wet with milk still beading at the edges.
He pulled back.
Half out.
Then drove.
PAAH!
"’—AAAHNNNN~!!!—’"
Her back arched clean off the stone, spine lifting, her ass pushing up into the drive involuntarily — her body arguing the opposite direction from her mouth, hips rolling toward him while her hands pushed at his wrists — contradictory, honest, completely beyond her management.
PAH PAH!
"’—AAAHN~!!! AAAHNN~!!!—’"
The daughter was still on the stone beside them.
She had been lying there with her eyes at the ceiling and her thighs pressed together and her body doing the specific internal accounting that a body does after its first time — cataloguing the new geography of itself, the places that now had sensation where they didn’t before.
She heard her mother.
Those sounds.
She turned her head.
Brown eyes finding the scene beside her — her mother’s back lifting off the stone with each drive, both breasts bouncing with the impact of his hips, the specific dense-weight jiggle of them that the near-manifestation physique carried, the warm slap of his pelvis against the inside of her mother’s spread thighs audible even over the sounds her mother was making.
’He’s going to kill her,’ she thought, and didn’t move, because some part of her that had no name was watching her mother’s face and the expression on it was not an expression that belonged in the category of things being done against your will, and that specific contradiction had nailed her to the stone.
PAH PAH PAAH!
"’—AAAHN~!!! HAANN~!!! AAAHNN~!!!—’"
He looked at the daughter.
Over the mother’s body, driving, not breaking stride — just looked at her with the specific patience of someone who had already decided the daughter’s turn was coming and was not in a hurry because time was his.
"’—come here,’" he said.
Not a question.
The daughter’s throat moved.
She sat up — slowly, her body protesting the movement, soreness arriving in places that didn’t have names for soreness yet — and she moved toward them on her knees across the stone, closing the distance with the specific uncertain quality of a girl approaching something she already knows she has no real power to refuse.
He pulled out of the mother.
The mother made the sound she always made at disconnection — the soft, involuntary "’—Nnghh~...—’" of a body registering absence — and her hips dropped back to the stone and her chest heaved, both breasts falling sideways with the roll of her breathing.
He turned the daughter.
One hand at her shoulder, one at her hip — rotating her, positioning her — and she found herself on all fours over her mother, knees on either side of the mother’s waist, palms flat on the stone above the mother’s shoulders, her face directly above her mother’s face.
Their eyes met.
Amber and brown, inches apart — the mother looking up at the daughter looking down, both of their hair hanging loose, the daughter’s dark hair curtaining around both their faces like a room inside a room.
"’—I’m sorry,’" the daughter said.
The mother’s expression changed.
Something in it broke slightly and reformed — amber eyes reading every feature of the face above her, the face she’d watched grow from nothing, and her arms came up not to push but to hold, hands at the daughter’s jaw, thumbs against her cheeks.
"’—Don’t be—’"
He drove into the daughter from behind.
PAAH!
"’—KYAAANGHHH~!!!—’"
Her arms buckled — both of them — and she collapsed forward onto her mother, face landing in the curve of her mother’s neck, chest against her mother’s chest, everything pressing down.
Her mother received the weight.
The impact of her daughter’s body crashing onto hers — the warmth, the wet hair against her face, the daughter’s chest pressing against her own with the specific contact of two bodies that shared a bloodline and had now shared considerably more.
"’—Aaahn~...—’" The mother. Not from the impact — from something else. Something the contact produced that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the specific warmth of her daughter’s body pressed fully against hers while he drove the daughter from above.
PAH PAH PAH!
"’—AAAHN~!!! AAAHN~!!!—’"
Each thrust drove the daughter forward — which drove the daughter’s pelvis down into the mother’s — which drove the mother into the stone below — a chain of force from him through the daughter to the mother and into the stone, the whole architecture transmitting every stroke down through two bodies in sequence.
The mother felt every single one.
Not through him — through her daughter. Through the daughter’s hips pressing into hers with each drive, the daughter’s body being used as the mechanism, and something about that specific geometry — her daughter being the instrument through which she was being moved — was doing something to the mother’s body that she had no ethical framework to address.
She pulled the daughter tighter.
Arms going fully around her back, hands pressing between the daughter’s shoulder blades, holding her close the way you hold something you love and are terrified of — and the daughter’s face was in her neck and the daughter’s sounds were warm against her pulse.
"’—M...ama—’" Broken, stammered, the word fractured across a thrust. "’—Mama I can... hnngh... I can’t—’"
PAH PAH PAAH!
"’—AAAHN~!!! AAAHNN~!!! HAANN~!!!—’"
He reached down.
His hand threading between their two bodies — between the daughter’s stomach and the mother’s stomach — fingers finding the mother’s cunt from above, pressed between them, and he began using his fingers there while his cock drove the daughter above.
Both of them simultaneously.
The mother’s hips came off the stone.
"’—AAAHN~!!!—’"
She had not been ready for that. The whole architecture of the thing — her daughter’s weight on top of her, his fingers below the daughter, working her while he drove the girl above — was something her brain hadn’t assembled fast enough to brace against, and it arrived full and without warning and her body answered at full volume.
The daughter felt her mother’s hips rise beneath her.
Felt her mother’s body shuddering under hers, felt the arms around her back tighten, felt her mother’s breath go jagged against the side of her face — and she knew what that meant now, knew the specific architecture of what that meant in a way she hadn’t known this morning, and somewhere underneath the pain and the fullness and the sounds she was making she understood she was feeling her mother’s body do what her own body had done on the stone earlier, and the bewilderment that produced had no name.
PAH PAH PAH PAAH!
"’—AAAHN~!!! AAAHN~!!! AAAHNN~!!! AAAHNNNN~~~~~!!!—’"
He pulled both of them upright.
His arms going under them from behind — under the daughter who was on top of the mother — lifting, pulling the whole tangled arrangement up off the stone until the mother was sitting in his lap from in front with the daughter in his lap from behind, both of them seated in the specific impossible geometry of two women sharing a lap, their backs to each other, the mother facing him, the daughter’s back against the mother’s back.
He reached around the daughter.
Fingers at the daughter’s chest — kneading, pulling — while he drove up into her from below.
PAH PAH!
"’—AAAHN~!!! HAANN~!!!—’"
His free hand at the mother’s hip, guiding her — positioning her over him, the specific, come-here quality of a hand that was directing rather than asking — and she understood, hips shifting, adjusting, sinking down.
Taking him while his cock was still inside the daughter.
Not possible.
And yet.
His cock buried in the daughter from below, and his fingers — three of them, pushing into the mother from the front, curling upward — and the mother sank onto the fingers while the daughter rode the cock above, the geometry somehow existing in the specific limited real estate of his lap.
"’—wait — what are you — that’s — AAAHN~!!!—’"
His thumb at the mother’s clit.
"’—AAAHNN~!!!—’"
PAH PAAH!
"’—AAAHN~!!! AAAHNN~!!!—’"
