The light had been green for a while, but our car remained motionless, rocking with a very distinct rhythm.

Fortunately, the streets were quiet tonight—only the occasional passing car, and they all seemed too busy with their own affairs to pay attention to the luxury sedan with slightly fogged-up windows. Or maybe they were just pretending not to see.

"Charlotte," I grumbled, my hands gripping her sweat-dampened hips. "Come on, move. Don't make me do all the work."

Charlotte nodded, her face still bowed, breathing heavily. Trembling, she began to move her hips—rising slowly until only the tip of my cock remained inside, then sinking back down heavily, swallowing my entire length once more.

'Ah... damn it... this... this feels too good... This... is too much...' she thought, squeezing her eyes shut tightly, trying to fight the reality that her body was responding so wildly to this violation.

Up. Down. Up. Down.

Each movement produced a shameful, wet sound from her pussy, already soaked with our combined fluids. Each time she sank down, her deep-seated cervix slapped against the tip of my cock, sending electric shocks throughout her body.

"Look how eager you are, your hips are swaying wildly like a whore in a brothel," I taunted, my hands kneading her breasts, pinching her swollen, sensitive nipples.

"N-No...!" Charlotte denied in broken gasps, her breathing growing heavier as her movements sped up. "This... this is because you're forcing me... you're the one making me... making me like this..."

"Liar," I teased, slapping her ass hard.

SMACK!

"You're enjoying this. Look how wet you are—your juices are flowing freely, soaking my thighs. Your pussy is gripping my cock like it doesn't want to let go. That's the sign of a starving woman."

"I... I don't... nngh...!" Her protest was cut off by a gasp as I suddenly thrust upward, meeting her downward motion. Her body shuddered, her eyes widening momentarily.

I let out a short, cruel laugh.

"Your voice too, Charlotte. Listen to how loud you're moaning. Who knows if someone outside can hear? Maybe they'd recognize the famous Sacred Healer screaming in pleasure from being impaled on a cock."

"Don't...!" Charlotte's face paled momentarily, then flushed red with shame. Her eyes darted to the window, paranoid. But her hands gripping my shoulders only pulled me closer, her hips not stopping their motion.

"You say no, but your body says yes," I whispered, licking her ear, feeling the tremors racking her body. "Your face in the windshield—look at it yourself. That's the face of a woman drunk on sex. The face of a high-class whore who just received her best customer."

Charlotte turned her face away, trying not to see her own reflection in the glass. But I forced her by pulling her hair, turning her head back forward.

"Look!" I barked.

And she looked.

In the slightly blurred but still clear windshield, her own face was reflected—her usually neat brown hair now disheveled, strands stuck to her damp cheeks.

Her usually clear, authoritative brown eyes were now glazed, pupils dilated, filled with confusion and pleasure. Her thin, elegant lips were parted, heavy breaths fogging the glass.

And most shameful of all—the expression on that face was one of utter impurity, the expression of a woman submerged in the most primal lust.

That was when Charlotte became aware of her own sounds—long moans, short groans, uncontrolled pants—all escaping her own mouth uncontrollably.

"No...!" she suddenly cried out, and both her hands flew to cover her mouth, trying to stifle the embarrassing sounds. "I... I'm not like that... that's not me...!"

But her body kept moving. Her hips curved beautifully each time she rose, then fell back with weight, swallowing my cock to the hilt. Her pulsating cunt, still recovering from multiple orgasms, felt even hotter and tighter.

"Take your hands away," I ordered, pulling her hair harder, tilting her head back until her face pointed at the car ceiling. "Let the world hear your lewd voice."

Charlotte shook her head, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes. But her hands slowly fell, resting on her own chest. And once her hands were free, moans and groans immediately erupted again, louder than before.

"Ah! A-Adam... too... too deep...!"

"Don't stop!" I growled, starting to move as well, matching her rhythm. Now we moved together—she sank, I rose, colliding in the middle with full force. The sound of skin slapping skin grew louder.

Plap! Plap! Plap!

The car seat creaked in protest. The car rocked even more violently, as if it might tip over.

I pulled Charlotte's hair hard, forcing her to look back at me over her shoulder. Her innocent, almost angelic face was now completely transformed—tears, snot, drool all mixed together. Her lips trembled, but from that gap came short gasps each time I pounded against her cervix.

"You... you're going to... destroy me..." she whispered, her voice hoarse.

"Already have," I answered coldly. "And you love it."

With a hard pull on her hair and a frantic thrust, Charlotte's body convulsed again. Her eyes rolled back, her mouth opened wide but no sound came out—as if choked by overwhelming pleasure.

[You have successfully made Charlotte climax.]

[Charlotte's Sexual Arousal automatically drops to 46.]

But it wasn't over. While her fourth orgasm still shook her body, I kept moving, kept hammering into her now hypersensitive pussy.

Charlotte screamed—a long, broken scream full of release and despair. Her body went limp, but I, still holding her waist tightly, kept moving her, forcing her to keep riding me.

[Charlotte's Sexual Arousal increased to 47 (+1)]

Notifications like that had been popping up for a while now.

"Stop... please... I can't take anymore..." she pleaded, her voice almost inaudible.

"Liar," I scoffed, chasing my own climax that was already at the edge. "Look, your pussy is still gripping tight. Your juices are still flowing. You still want more."

"No...!"

"Be honest, Aunt Charlotte. Tell me you like this. That you enjoy being fucked like an animal in a car by your best friend's stepson."

Charlotte shook her head hard, her tears flowing more freely. But her face—oh, that innocent face—was now truly like the face of a sex-addicted whore. Red cheeks, dazed eyes, swollen lips, a shattered yet satisfied expression.

And her hips... even though she said she couldn't take it, her hips still curved beautifully with each movement, still seeking deeper contact, still pushing her ass back to accommodate every inch of my cock.

I was close again too. My stomach trembled, heat gathering at the base. But I held back, wanting to hear her confession first.

"Say it," I urged, slowing my movements to frustrate her. "Say you like being fucked like a bitch."

Charlotte bit her lip, conflict clear in her eyes. The part of her that was educated, professional, the Sacred Healer, screamed in refusal. But another part... the part already corrupted by the pleasure I'd introduced, already addicted to my touch, my size, my rough treatment of her...

"I... I..." she whispered, her voice almost gone.

"WHAT?" I barked.

"I... I hate you... so much!" it finally burst out, like a dam breaking, but she still denied it to the very end. "I hate being fucked by you! I-I'm not a whore! You damn sick bastard! I don't like your big cock! I don't like you treating me like this! Happy now?! You're the worst?"

And with that admission, she seemed to release all her defenses. Her hips moved wildly, uncontrollably. Her moans came out without shame. That innocent face of hers was now completely transformed—an expression of profound, pure, unmasked orgasm.

"You're such a terrible liar!" I said, seeing Charlotte's state. I thrust in as deep as I could and released everything I had into her already-full womb. Hot, copious, filling every corner.

We went still, only heavy panting filling the cabin. Charlotte went completely limp, her body leaning forward, her face pressed against the windshield again. I was still buried deep inside her, feeling the last of each pulse.

Then slowly, I pulled out. A mix of semen and her vaginal fluids gushed out, dripping onto the already thoroughly soaked and messy seat.

Charlotte didn't move. Only her heavy breathing indicated she was still alive.

The light turned red again. Our car stopped right at the intersection, while from the left side, another car with its window down pulled up beside us.

I glanced at that car—the driver was a middle-aged man, looking tired, his eyes empty as he stared at the road. Behind him, maybe his wife or a friend, but clearly, the driver's window was wide open.

A new, depraved idea just occurred to me.

I unbuckled my seatbelt with an audible click in the silence of the cabin.

"Huh?" she turned, her eyes glazed and confused. "What—"

Before she could finish, I shoved her body roughly. Charlotte tumbled into the passenger seat, her limp body falling sideways. But that wasn't enough.

I grabbed her waist, flipped her body over so she was now on all fours—hands on the passenger seat back, her plump, still-wet ass raised high, facing me.

"W-What are you doing?!" Charlotte tried to look back, her voice panicked. Her eyes glanced out the window, and instantly her face paled. "There's... there's someone in the car next to us! Adam, don't—"

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