I kissed her again—slow, filthy, claiming—while I held perfectly still, letting her cunt ripple and milk and weep around those seven sacred inches.

Because this moment—this legendary, suspended claiming—was worth more than any thrust.

And I wasn't moving until she begged me to ruin her completely.

I stayed buried seven inches deep inside her—motionless, unyielding—letting those twenty-five years of starvation pulse and ripple around me like a living heartbeat.

Her pussy was still clenching in frantic, grateful spasms, walls fluttering wildly around the thick, veined length that had finally answered its decades-long ache.

Every tiny contraction sent fresh cream leaking out around my base, hot and slippery, dripping in slow, obscene trails down my balls to soak the sheets beneath us. Her clit throbbed visibly against my pubic bone—trapped, oversensitive, jerking with every frantic beat of her heart.

She was sobbing now—soft, broken, reverent—tears streaming sideways across her temples, pooling in her hair.

Her hands clutched my shoulders so hard her nails drew blood. Her hips twitched upward in tiny, helpless rolls—trying to take more, desperate for the rest of me, but I held perfectly still.

"Peter…" she whispered, voice cracked and trembling. "Please…"

I brushed my lips across her tear-streaked cheek—slow, tender—tasting salt and surrender.

"Beg for it," I murmured against her ear, voice low and rough with awe. "Beg your god to fill you completely. After… beg like you mean it."

Her whole body shuddered—pussy clamping down so hard around those seven inches that I hissed through my teeth. She swallowed once—throat working—then the words spilled out in a rush of desperate, holy filth.

"Peter—please—" she sobbed, hips lifting again, trying to impale herself deeper. "I need all of you… I've waited so fucking long… twenty-five long years of aching of empty nights, of touching myself and crying because nothing ever felt like this…"

Her voice fractured—tears falling faster.

"Fill me… stretch me… ruin me…"

"I'm starving—still starving—please don't make me wait anymore…"

"Give me every inch… claim me… make me yours forever… I'll do anything—anything—just fuck me deep…"

Her pussy spasmed again—violent, greedy—milking those seven inches like it was trying to drag the rest of me inside by force. Fresh slick gushed around my shaft, soaking us both.

I kissed her then—deep, slow, swallowing her sobs—while one hand slid up to cradle the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair.

"Good girl," I rasped against her lips. "That's it… beg like the starving goddess you are."

And then—I moved.

Slow. Deep. Loving.

I withdrew almost to the tip—her entrance clinging desperately to the flared ridge, lips dragging outward in wet, obscene folds—then sank back in with one long, deliberate glide. Eight… nine… until those inches disappeared inside her, balls pressed flush against her ass, pubic bone grinding against her swollen clit.

She cried—soft, beautiful, shattered—voice breaking into a long, trembling moan that vibrated through both of us. Her legs wrapped around my waist—heels digging into the small of my back—pulling me impossibly deeper, locking me there like she never wanted me to leave.

I moved again—slow withdrawal, slow re-entry—each thrust a vow, each drag a promise. The thick veins along my shaft scraped every sensitive ridge inside her; the flared head kissed her cervix in deep, claiming pulses that made her whole body arch and tremble.

"Peter… oh god… yes…" Her moans spilled out in broken waves—high and reverent, low and filthy—each one punctuated by the wet, rhythmic slap of our bodies meeting.

Her pussy loved me back—clenching in perfect time with every thrust, rippling around my length like it was trying to memorize every inch, every throb, every pulse. Fresh cream frothed at the base of my cock, coating us both in glossy white, dripping in thick strands every time I pulled back.

We moved together—slow, perfect, eternal. The bed creaked softly beneath us like an old hymn.

Moonlight poured through the half-open curtains, bathing her flushed skin in silver, turning the tears on her cheeks to liquid diamonds. The world outside ceased to exist.

There was only us.

Only the slow, deep glide of my cock claiming her starving depths. Only the way her medium tits bounced gently with each measured thrust, nipples dark and tight, brushing my chest.

Only the way her nails raked down my back—leaving red trails of possession—while her pussy fluttered and wept and clamped around me like it had waited lifetimes for this exact moment.

"I love you…" she whispered between sobs, voice wrecked and holy. "I love you so much…"

I kissed her again—slow, deep, eternal—swallowing her moans, tasting her tears, pouring every unspoken vow back into her mouth.

And I kept moving—slow, loving, relentless—until every inch of her felt claimed, filled, home.

I rolled us until she was on top, the sheets cool and crisp against my back, the faint scent of lavender and clean cotton rising from the linen as her weight settled over me like a claim.

The moonlight poured through the open windows in thick, molten silver, coating her skin in a liquid sheen that made every curve glow like polished marble kissed by starlight, every bead of sweat catching the light like molten glass.

Her thighs straddled my hips, scalding against my skin, the slick of her arousal already dripping down my shaft in a slow, viscous trail that cooled instantly in the night air, leaving sticky paths that clung and pulled with every breath, the scent of her—warm, musky, desperate—flooding my lungs until I tasted her on every inhale, thick and intoxicating, coating my throat like honeyed sin.

She settled, knees sinking deep into the mattress, the springs creaking softly beneath us, her pussy hovering just above my cock, the heat radiating like a furnace, the scent of her—raw, sweet, forbidden—thick enough to taste, to drown in.

Her hands braced on my chest, nails digging into muscle, the sharp sting of them carving crescents that burned and healed in the same heartbeat, her pulse racing against my skin like a trapped bird, her breath hot and ragged, fanning across my throat in shuddering waves.

She sank.

Agonizingly. Exquisitely. Eternally.

One inch.

Her walls quivered, a molten glove of slick and fire, clenching around the intrusion, weeping nectar that coated me in scalding silk, the wet sound of her cunt swallowing me a soft, filthy schlick that echoed in the hush, the heat of her burning me alive.

Two inches.

Her breath shattered, a shredded moan smothered by the weight of her own surrender, the sound thrumming through her chest, her womb, vibrating against my skin like a prayer.

Three.

Her hips swirled, a languorous corkscrew, pussy stretching, devouring, molding to her son in a vice of velvet agony, the slick gushing around me, dripping down my balls, soaking the sheets in a pool of ruin, the scent of her mother-juice overwhelming—sweet, salty, sinful.

She didn't rush. Didn't bounce. Didn't fuck.

She rode.

Slow. Masterful. Cataclysmic.

Her waist worked like a goddess—the kind of movement that belonged on a stage, in a temple, in my bed. Each rotation was deep, deliberate, her cunt sucking me in, releasing me, claiming me again in a rhythm that felt like prayer and sin intertwined.

Her ass—flawless, plump, shrouded in shadow—flexed with every roll, the soft clap of flesh against flesh muffled by the blanket, the heat of her cheeks radiating against my thighs, the scent of her sweat and arousal thick in the air.

Her tits swayed—heavy, perfect, motherly—nipples dark and straining, begging for my hands, my mouth, my teeth, the faint sheen of sweat making them glisten like forbidden fruit.

I watched her—couldn't stop—the way her tits bounced with every grind, the way her stomach flexed, the way her thighs trembled with the effort of controlling the pace, the scent of her filling the room—jasmine, sweat, pussy, need—thick enough to taste, to drown in.

The sound of her cunt fucking me—wet, sloppy, relentless—was a symphony of sin, each schlick a note, each moan a chorus, the wet slap of her ass against my thighs a drumbeat of devotion.

Her waist was a masterpiece—narrow, strong, rolling in slow, hypnotic circles that made her pussy grind down on me, clenching in rhythmic pulses that milked every vein, every ridge, every throb.

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