Her cheek pressed against the floor and she stared at the wall with the rigid, full-body focus of a woman trying to convince a room that she was simply lying there casually and had not been watching with her mouth slightly open for the last several minutes.
He chuckled.
The sound came from deep in his chest, low and warm.
He reached back.
His hand found her ankle.
She felt it and made a sound — "No—" — and started to move backward on the floor, her palms pressing against the wood.
He pulled.
The drag was smooth and immediate — her body sliding across the floor toward him, her pregnant belly lifting slightly from the surface as she moved, her boobs bouncing once from the motion of the pull, her dark hair spreading behind her.
"Wait — WAIT—"
He pulled her up from the floor in one motion — the grab under her arms, the lift, the slam of her body against his chest that made her boobs compress against him with a warm, full impact, the pregnant belly pressing into his lower abs from below, the heat of her skin immediate and everywhere.
She made a sound.
Not protest. Not entirely.
"I’m sore—" Her hands found his chest, pressing there with the flat-palmed contact of someone who has been pressing there all night and keeps ending up there anyway. "I am very sore, you can’t just—"
He kissed her.
Not softly. The full, immediate press of his mouth over hers, his tongue pushing in before she’d finished the sentence, his hand finding the back of her head to hold her there while his other hand went to her breast.
"Mmph — MNGH—"
He grabbed both.
Both boobs in one sweeping motion of his hands — palms pressing from below, lifting the full warm weight of each breast, the flesh yielding upward under the grip.
He broke the kiss.
Looked down at them.
Both dark nipples stiff and pointing toward him, the undersides still damp from the earlier milk, the skin there flushed and swollen from everything they’d been through.
He put both of them in his mouth.
Together — his jaw stretching to take both nipples simultaneously, his tongue pressing flat against both at once, the suction of his cheeks hollowing pulling milk from both at the same time.
"HAAAIYAANGH — HAAHNN~!!"
Her hands flew to the back of his head.
Not pushing — the involuntary contradiction of her body completing the gesture in the wrong direction again, her fingers pressing him harder into her chest while her voice cried for him to stop, the milk flooding his mouth in a warm, thin rush from both sources simultaneously.
He swallowed.
"W-wait — they’re too sensitive — I can’t — AANGH~!!"
He bit.
Gently. The edge of his teeth against both nipples at once, the pressure just past the threshold of purely soft, and her whole body shook against him.
Her thighs opened.
He felt them open against his legs — the involuntary spread of a woman whose body has made a unilateral decision — and then close again immediately as she felt what was between them and recalibrated.
"I’m too sore," she said.
Her voice came out against the top of his head, muffled in his hair, small and genuine.
"I know," he said.
He released her boobs.
Both of them swinging free, bouncing once from the release, the nipples dark and wet from his mouth.
He turned back.
The succubus was still on the floor.
Her face sideways against the wood, her ass still raised from where he’d left her, both enormous cheeks red and trembling, his cum visible at the base of her anal — the thick white load filling the stretched opening, running in slow warm rivulets down the inner curve of her ass and collecting in the hollow between her thighs.
She was breathing.
In the specific way a being breathes when it has been taken somewhere it didn’t expect to go — long, measured, the controlled breathing of something recalibrating.
He moved behind her.
Soha, still against his side, looked at what he was about to do and made a sound of comprehensive disbelief.
"Again—"
He grabbed the succubus’s hips.
Lifted.
Her ass came back up from where it had drifted toward the floor, the cheeks rising, the red surface of them catching the lamplight as he repositioned her.
She made a sound against the floor.
"Hnn—"
Not protest. The sound of a body being moved that has been recently destroyed and is simply reporting the movement.
He squatted behind her.
The full squat — his thighs wide, his heels flat, his back straight, every muscle in his lower body visible in the position, his cock at exactly the right height for where he was pointing it.
His balls hung between his thighs in the squat.
Heavy. Visible from multiple angles in the squat position — the full sac hanging low, the coarse skin catching the light.
He pressed his cock against her pussy from behind.
The succubus’s head came off the floor.
"You’re going for—"
"Come on," he said.
He pushed in.
The sound of it — the wet, immediate entry of a cock into a pussy that had been building its own flood for the last forty minutes of watching and participating and wrapping its tail around him — was obscene and unambiguous and filled the apartment.
"HAAAIYAANGH~~♡~!!"
Her pussy clamped.
The walls of it closing around his shaft with the full strength of a demon’s arousal, the grip tighter than Soha’s had been in a different way — not the virgin tightness but the arousal tightness, the clenching of a body that has been waiting since the moment he’d arrived.
"FUCK — OUNGH~!! — NINE INCHES — NNNGH — HITTING MY—"
PAH—
"HAAHNN~!!"
He thrust from the squat — the full drive of his lower body from the crouched position, his thighs extending into each thrust with the muscle of them fully engaged, the angle from below sending his cock upward through her at a different trajectory than the anal had used, the fat head pressing against the top of her inner walls with each thrust.
Her pussy was flooding.
Immediately. The slick running down her thighs from the first thrust, coating his balls on each forward press, the wet sound of the fuck obscene and continuous.
PAH— PAH—
"AANGH~!! — HNNGH — HAAAANGH~!!"
Soha moved.
She hadn’t meant to. She was watching his back — the broad muscle of his shoulders, the movement of his spine in the squat-fuck, his balls visible swinging forward on each thrust, the whole architecture of him working.
She moved forward.
Her knees finding the floor. Her face going low.
She didn’t think about it entirely.
Her hands found his ass — pressing against the muscle of his glutes, feeling the flex of each thrust — and then her face went lower.
Her mouth found his balls.
The hanging sac, swinging forward on each thrust, finding her lips on the upswing with the warm wet press of her mouth, her tongue pressing against the base of the sac and running upward.
He made a sound.
"Hh—"
She licked again.
The underside of his balls, the base of his shaft where it connected — her tongue working the junction of him and the succubus, tasting both of them, the slick of the succubus’s pussy and the pre-cum from his shaft arriving on her tongue simultaneously.
"AAANGH — she’s — NNNGH — she’s licking—" The succubus’s voice cracked somewhere in the middle of the sentence, her face going back to the floor, her enormous boobs dragging across the wood with each thrust.
PAH— PAH— PAAAH—
"HAAAYAANGH — AAANGH~!!"
Soha’s mouth followed the motion — her lips and tongue staying in contact with his balls through each thrust, the rhythm of it pulling her forward and back in time with his hips, her dark hair falling around her face.
Her tongue found the crease of his ass.
She froze.
Then — because her body had clearly decided that her brain’s editorial oversight was no longer relevant tonight — she licked it anyway.
He laughed.
The genuine, short, completely unperformed laugh of a man who has been surprised by something he finds genuinely funny.
"Hh — there she is," he said.
Soha made a muffled sound against his ass that contained the energy of several complete sentences and the vocabulary of none.
He kept thrusting.
PAH— PAH—
"HAAAIYAANGH — NIEENGHHT~!!"
The succubus’s tail had come back online.
The pink tip of it snaking backward and finding Soha’s face — pressing against her cheek while she worked at his balls, curling around her jaw with a light, directive pressure, guiding.
"Suck them," the succubus said.
Her voice came from the floor, muffled, entirely demolished in register but still carrying the instructional authority of something old.
"Both of them."