Villain's Breeding System: Evolving 999+ Harem into an SSS-Rank Legion-Chapter 290- Avriana’s Stuffed Insides

She bit her lip.

She did not cry. She had already cried. She turned her head — the deliberate, self-protective quality of a woman who has decided she does not want to watch anymore, her face turning to the side, her cheek against the sheet—

And then her eyes fell on the space between their legs.

The thick, driving, blood-wet quality of him moving in and out of Avriana above her — the visual arriving from directly below with , intimate, gravity-aided quality of seeing something from beneath — the flat, slap of his balls with each forward thrust, the dark, gleaming, blood-and-slick-coated quality of his cock, the sounds of it all.

Mira’s tongue touched her lip.

She didn’t decide to.

She simply did it, , reflexive quality of a body that had been so thoroughly conditioned by what he tasted like that it responded to visual information without waiting for permission.

She moved.

The slow, careful, extremely deliberate quality of a heavily pregnant woman repositioning herself — her hands pressing flat against the mattress, her center of gravity entirely unreliable, her belly making every maneuver a negotiation — sliding down, turning, her body reorganizing so that her head was where her feet had been, face-up, shoulders between the legs of both of them, her forehead entering the space just below where everything was happening.

Warmth.

Arriving on her forehead — the first drop, warm and complex, the layered quality of his precome and Avriana’s arousal and Avriana’s blood falling from the motion above with , gravity-pulled quality of fluids that have nowhere else to go. Hitting her forehead. Tracking down the bridge of her nose. Reaching the bow of her upper lip.

She opened her mouth.

His balls.

Swinging with each thrust — the heavy, full, rhythm-driven quality of them — arriving at the level of her mouth with the metronomic reliability of something being driven by force above. She lifted her chin.

Her tongue found them.

The slow, attending, flat-of-tongue quality of first contact — the warm, heavy, skin-tight quality of his balls against her mouth, the salt and heat of him, the taste of what he was and where he’d been — and she simply closed her lips around one and drew.

Pah. Pah.

"Hnghh~! Ungh~!"

Above — Avriana’s moans continuing, the rhythm maintaining — and then—

His hips stuttered.

The single, involuntary break in the rhythm — the quality of a body receiving unexpected sensation from an unexpected direction, the sharp intake of his breath above, the thrust that followed carrying three times the force of the ones before it—

PAAAH!

"AAANGHH~~!!! HIEKKK—!!!"

Avriana’s scream splitting the ceiling — her spine snapping into a full, helpless bow — her boobs swinging hard, the weight of them reaching the apex of their arc and reversing with the full, warm, bouncing quality of flesh that had been thrust into motion by a force neither gentle nor careful—

He felt her.

Below and above — Mira’s mouth at his balls and Avriana’s heat wrapped around his cock — the layered, impossible, specific quality of it, sensation arriving from two women simultaneously, the pressure building from the base and traveling upward with the flat, irresistible quality of something that had been accumulating since the alley.

His hand at Avriana’s hip tightened.

The grip changing — from control to anchor — his fingers pressing deep, the quality of hands that were about to stop thinking and start feeling, his other arm locking around her chest, pulling her back flush against him, her arched spine meeting his chest, her head falling to his shoulder with the heavy, boneless quality of a body that had stopped fighting the arc.

He bit her neck.

The flat, sudden, no-warning quality of his teeth at the curve between her neck and shoulder — not blood, the pressure of it, , intimate quality of teeth closing on skin and holding — and she made a sound.

Not a moan.

Not a cry.

, overwhelmed, helpless quality of a sound that had no category — the "Hn—hh—?!" of a woman whose nervous system had just received simultaneous input from pain and pleasure and the warm, animal pressure of his mouth at her neck, her body arching further into it before her mind had voted.

"Hmm~..."

His voice, low, against her skin. "I’m going to fill you up."

, warm, unhurried quality of a man who has made a decision about the next four seconds. His hand kneading her breast — the full, heavy, attending quality of it, his palm working the swollen flesh with the flat certainty of ownership — his hips driving once, twice, the full, punishing, final quality of two thrusts that had no interest in ceiling or threshold.

Pah. PAH.

"Hnghh~!! OUNGH~!!"

"Your first creampie, Miss Queen."

Below — Mira’s mouth, pulling, sucking, the warm, deliberate quality of her tongue working what she had in her mouth with the attending patience of a woman who had decided on the outcome she wanted—

He came.

The full, hot, thick, ’interior’ quality of it — releasing into Avriana with the force of everything that had been accumulating, the load of it arriving in a single, enormous, overwhelming rush that painted her walls and kept going, the quantity of it beyond what she had any architecture to prepare for—

"AAHN—!! Oungh~!! Hmmnn—!!"

Her body responding — the convulsive, full, undeniable quality of a woman whose nervous system had been brought to its limit and crossed it, her pussy clenching around him with the involuntary, rhythmic, milking quality of her own orgasm arriving against her will, her thighs snapping together with the force of it, her own liquid joining his in the interior, the combined release of it finding every available exit.

Gushing.

Down his cock. To his balls. From his balls — into the open, waiting, patient mouth of Mira below, the warm, complex, layered quality of what arrived at her tongue: his seed and Avriana’s orgasm and Avriana’s blood and everything that had happened in the last hour, all of it together, arriving with , undeniable quality of something she could either accept or refuse.

She accepted.

The slow, deliberate quality of Mira swallowing — the warm, present, entirely chosen quality of it, her eyes closing, her hand still at her belly, the tears still at the corners of her eyes, , aching, ungovernable quality of a woman who was jealous and still could not help what she did with her mouth.

’He would have undone me.’

She knew it.

Above—

Avriana’s womb.

Interior, warm-bloating quality of it — filling, his load beyond what she’d expected, the pressure of it spreading inward and upward, , swollen quality of a chamber receiving more than it had previously held, the sensation of warmth arriving not just at the entrance but ’deep’, the full, interior, hot quality of it expanding through her core.

"It’s—" Her voice, barely voice, her head rolled entirely onto his shoulder, her hair over his arm, her eyes at half-mast. "It’s too much — it’s warm—"

The words arriving with the low, hazy, thoroughly wrecked quality of a woman who was still present but barely, quality of someone whose body had just been through something her mind was still tabulating, the full impact of it not yet landed.

His hands.

Still kneading her breasts. The slow, attending quality of it — not frantic, not finished, claiming quality of hands that were still here, still present, still working the flesh of her with the unhurried attention of someone who had not rushed and was not hurrying now. His thumbs at her nipples. The slow, warm, circular quality of it.

Her eyes.

The glassy, overwhelmed, fully present quality of eyes that were looking at the ceiling of a Las Vegas hotel room and not seeing it, that were looking inward at something she was watching happen to herself with the fractured, helpless, specific quality of observation without governance.

She had done her research.

She had traced him. The island. The women. The evidence of what he was, assembled in her mind with the flat, investigative quality of a woman who had prepared herself with information before walking into his orbit.

She had thought the information would protect her.

Her mouth moved.

The words arriving not as decision but as discovery — the slow, low, bewildered quality of a woman hearing herself say something true before she had finished deciding whether to say it—

"No—" A breath. "I cannot—"

His thumb, at her nipple. The slow, attending pressure of it.

"—lose my mind—"

His mouth, at her jaw. The warm, unhurried quality of his lips against her skin. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

"—to his cock."