With every drag of her lips, with every desperate noise she made against him, Sol felt the old, weak version of himself dying a little more. The boy who begged for scraps was gone, replaced by this man who took what he wanted.

"Look at me," Sol commanded, his voice scraped like stone dragged across stone.

She strained to look up without breaking her rhythm, her silver eyes wide, glistening with tears of exertion and a hazy, drug-like devotion. The sight sent a spike of adrenaline through Sol's veins that was sharper than the lust. She was completely undone. Her cheeks were flushed a deep crimson, her hair sticking to her sweat-dampened forehead.

He leaned down, his free hand tracing the line of her jaw, his thumb pressing against her cheekbone. He felt the movement of her jaw, the heat radiating from her skin. He was the conductor, and she was the instrument, playing a song of absolute submission.

The sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of heat that threatened to pull him under. She was enthusiastic, almost frantic in her need to please him, her hands gripping his thighs, her nails digging in as if she were afraid, he would pull away.

Sol gritted his teeth, his head falling back as he stared at the rough wooden ceiling of the hut. He focused on the sensation, letting it fuel the fire in his gut. He thought of Vurok's face when he hit the mud. He thought of the Chief's daughter's dismissive gaze.

This moment was the antithesis of all that coldness. It was fire. It was life.

He felt the pressure building, a tight, coiling spring low in his belly. It would be so easy to let go, to let her finish him right here, to spill his seed and his rage into the mouth of the enemy's wife.

But the predator in him wanted more. He didn't just want release; he wanted conquest. He wanted to mark her, to fill her, to own the very core of her. Oral gratification was a tribute, but he wanted the kingdom.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to breathe. "Use your hand too," he instructed breathlessly. "Twist."

She obeyed, her hand working the base while her mouth devoured the head.

As the pleasure built, spiraling tighter and hotter in his belly, Sol looked down at her. He saw the way her cheeks hollowed, the way she worked to please him, the complete surrender in her body language.

He couldn't resist and began to fuck her mouth in earnest. His hips snapped forward in a jagged rhythm, driving into her wet heat. She met him thrust for thrust, making wet, desperate noises, her hands gripping his thighs tighter to anchor herself. Saliva spilled from her lips, slicking him, making the friction even more intense.

She stared up at him, her eyes wide and terrified and adoring, tears streaming down her face from the exertion. She was choking on him, worshipping him, completely at his mercy.

"You belong to me," he hissed.

He increased the pace, the friction becoming unbearable. He fucked her mouth with a jarring intensity, his hips snapping forward, driving into the wet heat of her throat over and over again. He felt the pressure building at the base of his spine, a coiling spring of liquid fire that threatened to snap.

But he held back. He gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead, forcing himself to ride the edge. He wanted her to break before he did.

He had intended to pace himself, to enjoy the moment for a bit longer. He had intended to be the cold, detached master, dragging this out until she was a sobbing mess while he remained an unshakeable statue of stone.

But the reality of her mouth was destroying that plan with every wet, suffocating slide.

He pulled back, his breath hitching, trying to reset the rhythm. He needed a moment to clear the white fog encroaching on his vision. But she didn't let him go. As he withdrew, she followed, her lips creating a vacuum seal that refused to break, dragging a groan from his chest that sounded pained.

Slow down, he commanded himself, his fingers digging into her scalp. Make it last.

He forced himself to stop moving, holding himself still in the wet heat of her throat. He gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached, forcing his hips to lock. He would wait. He would let the sensation subside.

But she hummed.

It was a vibration against his most sensitive skin, a guttural, involuntary sound of exertion from deep in her chest. That vibration traveled straight up his spine, bypassing his brain entirely.

His control finally fractured.

His hips snapped forward on their own, driving deep before he could stop them. The pleasure spiked, sharp and blinding. He tried to pull back again, to regain the upper hand, but his body was no longer taking orders from his mind. The friction was too intense, the suction too perfect.

He was shaking now, a fine tremor starting in his thighs and working its way up. The sweat on his forehead ran into his eyes, stinging, but he didn't blink. He couldn't look away.

He began to move again, but the deliberate, punishing rhythm was gone. It was replaced by something erratic, desperate. He was chasing the friction now, unable to stop himself. Faster. Harder.

"I... I can't..." he gasped, the words fragmenting.

He felt the pressure building up on his stomach, a tidal wave rising higher and higher. He tried to hold it back one last time, squeezing his eyes shut, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling, trying to think of anything else…the cold, the mud, the hunger.

But alas, It didn't work. The wet heat surrounding his cock was the only thing that existed in the universe.

He felt her throat tighten around him, a reflex as he went too deep, and that final squeeze was the catalyst.

The dam didn't just break; it completely disintegrated.

He groaned, a raw, animalistic sound that tore from his throat. He drove into her one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go, and held her there, refusing to let her pull away. He poured himself into her, releasing all his semen into her mouth, his body shaking violently, his vision going white as the pleasure overloaded his nervous system.

He held her tight against him, feeling her swallow his semen instinctively, feeling her throat spasm around him, milking him dry. She made a high, keen sound in her nose, her body trembling against his legs, but she took every drop, bound by his will.

He stayed there until the last tremor faded from his limbs, his breathing ragged and harsh in the silence.

Slowly, the world came back into focus. The sound of their ragged breathing filled the hut.

Sol pulled away, his legs trembling. She slumped forward, coughing, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked wrecked… her hair a mess, her face flushed and wet with tears and saliva, her body shaking.

But when she looked up at him, there was no anger. There was no regret. There was only a hollow, desperate need. She crawled forward, wrapping her arms around his legs, resting her cheek against his thigh like a faithful hound.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.