The Blood Of The Dragon (III)

He backed her toward the bed, predator stalking prey, until the backs of her knees hit the furs and she fell onto the mattress with a gasp.

She tried to scoot back, instinct warring with desire, but he caught her ankles and dragged her to the edge, spreading her legs wide and pinning them with his hips.

"Look at you," he breathed, towering over her, one hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly. "Spread open like a whore. My mother, reduced to this. Wet and desperate for her own son's seed."

"Please," she whimpered, and didn't even know what she was begging for—mercy or ravishment.

He gave her neither.

Instead, he notched the head of his cock at her entrance, pressing just enough to spread her lips, then stopped.

Let her feel how impossibly big he was.

Let the anticipation build into agony.

"Beg," he commanded. "Tell me what you want. Use the words."

Her face flushed scarlet with shame, but her hips bucked, trying to impale herself. "I... I want you inside me."

"Not good enough." He pulled back an inch, denying her. "Be specific. What do you want your son to do to you?"

The tears spilled over now, tracking down her temples into silver hair.

"Fuck me.

Please, Castor, fuck your mother.

Breed me. Knock me up with your baby.

I need it, I need you, please please please —"

He slammed home in one brutal thrust.

She screamed, back arching off the furs, nails raking his arms as he buried himself to the hilt in one stroke.

Her cunt clamped down like a vice, velvet heat so tight he saw stars, walls rippling as she came instantly from the shock of penetration.

She was weeping, sobbing his name, legs locking around his hips as orgasm wracked her.

Castor didn't wait for her to recover.

He pulled back until only the tip remained, then slammed in again, setting a brutal pace that shook the bed frame.

His hips pistoned like a battering ram, heavy balls slapping her ass, the wet sounds of her cunt squelching obscenely loud in the chamber.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groaned, hands mauling her bouncing tits, pinching nipples until she wailed. "Tighter than any whore I'd imagined. Father never fucked you properly, did he? Left this cunt neglected, wasted."

" Yes—gods yes—never like thi s—" She was incoherent, words broken by moans, body jerking with each savage thrust.

He angled his hips, searching, then found that spot deep inside that made her convulse. Her eyes rolled back, another orgasm slamming through her.

"That's two," he counted aloud, voice strained with control. "Let's see how many times I can make my mother come on my cock before I breed her."

He changed rhythm—slow, grinding strokes, pelvis rubbing her swollen clit with each roll.

One hand slid down, fingers finding that pearl and circling mercilessly.

She thrashed, oversensitive, trying to escape the stimulation, but he pinned her with his weight.

" Noo~ too much—can't—"

"You can. You will." Three fingers joined the assault on her clit, rubbing in tight circles as his cock continued the deep, grinding fuck.

Her cunt fluttered, tightening impossibly, and then she was coming again, squirting messily, fluids gushing around his cock to soak the furs beneath.

"There." He grinned, feral and triumphant. "My greedy mother. Insatiable."

He pulled out—his cock shining with her cream, streaked white with her cum—and flipped her onto her stomach.

Dragged her hips up, forcing her into a presenting position: face down, ass in the air, back arched.

From this angle, both her holes were exposed, her cunt still twitching, gaping from the pounding.

He mounted her from behind, hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, and resumed the brutal pace.

Deeper now, hitting her cervix with each thrust, making her scream into the furs.

One hand fisted in her silver hair, yanking her head back, forcing her spine into a painful arch.

"Whose cunt is this?" he demanded.

"Y-yours!"

"Whose womb am I breeding?"

"Yours! My son's! Gods, Castor, you own me!"

"Damn right." He released her hair to slap her ass, sharp cracks that left red handprints on pale skin.

She clenched each time, moaning like a bitch in heat. "Going to fill this womb. Knock you up with my child. Our child. The product of our incest."

The depravity of it—the sheer wrongness—pushed him closer to the edge. His balls drew up tight, cock swelling impossibly harder.

But he wanted more.

Wanted her completely broken.

He pulled out again, ignoring her whine of loss, and grabbed the silken ropes.

Before she could process, he'd looped one around her wrists, binding them together and tying them to the headboard.

Her ankles next, spread wide and tied to the bedposts, leaving her utterly helpless, unable to close her legs or protect herself.

"Castor, what—"

"Shh." He climbed onto the bed, straddling her chest, his cock—still slick with her juices—bobbing in front of her face. "Open."

Her eyes widened in understanding, but she obeyed, lips parting.

He fed his cock into her mouth, groaning at the wet heat, and began to thrust.

Not gentle—proper face-fucking, hands gripping her head, cock sliding over her tongue and hitting the back of her throat until she gagged.

"That's it. Taste yourself on your son's cock. Clean it." He pushed deeper, felt her throat spasm around his head, saw tears streaming from her eyes.

But she didn't resist, just went pliant, letting him use her mouth like he'd used her cunt.

When his cock was shining with spit, he pulled out, moved back between her spread legs.

She looked utterly debauched: wrists bound, legs spread obscenely wide, hair a tangled mess, face flushed and streaked with tears, lips swollen from use.

Her cunt gaped, pink and raw, still twitching.

Perfect

He positioned himself, cock nudging her entrance, and locked eyes with her. "Last chance to say no."

"Don't you dare stop," she whispered fiercely.

"Breed me. Now."

He slammed in one final time, setting a punishing pace, chasing his climax.

She came again—four—then five, her body wringing pleasure from the abuse.

His vision tunneled, balls tightening, and with a roar he buried himself as deep as physically possible, cock pulsing as he came.

Thick ropes of cum blasted her cervix, flooding her womb. Pulse after pulse, more than he'd ever produced, painting her insides white.

He ground deep, ensuring every drop stayed inside, one hand splaying possessively over her flat belly.

"Pregnant now," he breathed.

"Carrying your son's child. The ultimate sin."

She sobbed, but it was relief, completion. "I love you. My dragon. My lord."

He collapsed onto her bound form, still buried inside, still twitching.

They lay like that for long minutes, his weight pinning her, their combined fluids leaking slowly around his softening cock.

Finally, he pulled out with a wet sound, admired the cream pie gaping her cunt—his seed spilling from her used hole.

He untied her wrists but left her ankles bound, legs still spread.

"Finger it back in," he ordered, and watched as she obeyed, two fingers scooping his cum and pushing it deep inside her cunt, pumping it back into her womb.

The sight made his cock twitch with renewed interest.

"Good girl," he praised, finally untying her ankles. He gathered her against his chest, possessive, one hand resting on her belly. "Sleep now. Tomorrow, everything changes."

She curled into him, exhausted, marked, owned. "Tomorrow," she echoed dreamily.

Castor stared at the ceiling, mind already racing ahead.

Phase one complete

Now for phase two

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