Guiding her to stroke him, a bead, a pearl of cum, bubbled from that swollen crown, milky white, sticky enough to stretch when it caught her hand. Thick and gelatinous, it clung in a fat string, trembling under its own weight as it grew into a thicker strand before snapping when bunched foreskin dragged down as he guided her fist into a measured stroke.
What pulsed in her grip and dribbled down her fingers was aberrant, yet he invited her to feel all of it.Guiding her deliberately up and down his bumpy length, pumping his cock through her nervous grip, drooling more gluey strands of seed.
Her face said it all, the wide-eyed confusion as she realized he’d done that to himself,deformedhis own body.
Exploring those rings on another downward thrust of her fist, hard ridges moved against her palm… functional. Engineered. Sculpted into his flesh for female gratification.
His purr changed pitch, grew much louder as he spurted a bit of that globby semen on her belly. It was clear what came next as he maneuvered out of his trousers.
Brenya’s following panicked inhale was laced with the pungent scent ofmate… and disgust was overridden by the ravenous slut inside her that needed to be fed. A slut he’d carefully bred into existence—through calculated exposure, fleeting touch, and hypersexualized biological confusion. Thedeliberate timing of Jacques knotting Lucia, the setup flawless. Every domino falling in perfect precision.
His hand went back to her neglected sex. Rubbing slow, firm circles around her clenched opening, teasing tight, resistant flesh, a soft smile came to devious lips. “That’s it, Brenya. Deep breath now. Good. Another.”
Jules slid the tip of his finger just inside her, and her swollen walls cramped so tight she hissed, “Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch…” Back arching violently against the uncomfortable red floor. Brenya’s velvety insides clutched desperately at his invading digit, gushed in hot pulses as his finger curled inside her, searching with mechanical focus. Not thrusting through the cramping muscles. Not finger fucking her tight hole.Locating.
He knew exactly what he sought.
The place where a knot would set and pulverize. That swollen patch of nerves behind her pubic bone begging to be battered with mindless force. Yet Jules didn’t crush. He pressed the pad of his finger into spongy flesh. Circled. Hooked his touch until her open legs jerked and her pussy began to relax its grinding contractions and soften.
Success was instant. A wail rang off the ceiling, Brenya shouting, “Yes, yes!” over and over as the coiling nightmare in her guts unfurled into the most perfect bloom of climax.
Two more fingers slipped in, knowing just what to do to ease Omega need.
Pain bleached out of her bones in the light that followed glittering relief. Muscles unwound into syrupy aches, and her cunt’s spasmodic rhythm milking him with drooling slurps.
“That’s my good girl.” A sloppy flood poured into his palm, Jules purring his encouragement, fingers orchestrating every twitch, every little death. “Nice and easy. Come all over my hand while I make it all better.”
He did make it better, manipulating her insides like some sort of God.
Her pussy wept for him. Her clit throbbed even while untouched, nipples peaked to painful hardness, and still…
She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.
There was no knot.
Only this.
And it wasblinding.
3
Atwist of his wrist, a curl of his fingers, and he stroked places inside her that made her vision white out. Squelching and succulent, the tangled, cramped sheath twitched against Jules’s scissoring fingers. Unfurled like a flower blooming, opening… inviting more attention, no Alpha growl required.
“Does it feel good when I touch you here?” Jules pressed firmly against that spongy, needy Omega place that begged for a knot. A masterful thumb moving to work her clit in time with his fingers’ magic, smearing slick, exposing, loving, caressing until Brenya planted her feet on the floor and arched as if electrified.
The sloppy, hungry sounds of a starved animal being fed. The mews of a woman who’d never been touched with such skill.
Jacques did not know how to do this. His fumblings always for his own benefit.
Georges had not done this. Not a single male she’d submitted to for mental hygiene could come close.
In Jules’s full power, her eyes saw nothing. Her brain grew silent. Her body jerked like a puppet on strings. But her little island… it glowed.
She existed in the storm. Cognizant yet submitted. Knowing only touch, some tiny part of her analytical mind unable to imagine how Jules could reach so many places with fingers alone. How knuckles could find new secrets, how fingertips could tease out zings, how he taught her to take, and then…
The bastard grinned. It was not a soft smile or one of kindness. It was evil. Menacing. And with it came another husky, murmured question. “Or is this more to your liking, Brenya?”
Her breath hitched, a choked sob escaping her lips, as he slid a fourth finger inside, stretching her further. The burn was exquisite, her body yielding as if she had never been torn.
