nownovels Chapter 493 - You will turn into a bitch
Chapter 493 - You will turn into a bitch
A fresh moan escaped her, her hands flying up to cover her mouth in pure mortification.
He dipped his head, his lips closing directly around her left nipple. He sucked—hard, deliberately, his tongue swirling and flicking against the sensitive bud with a practiced, ruthless expertise.
His hand continued kneading her right breast, the thick fingers rolling the heavy globe with firm, slow squeezes that made the pliant flesh jiggle and ripple.
All the while, the constant proximity to his body kept the chemical stimulation alive, ensuring her arousal never fully ebbed, keeping her trapped in the slow, logical spiral of surrender.
He prepared her thoroughly.
His mouth worshipped every inch of her heavy, neglected breasts, his hands explored every soft curve of her waist and hips, his fingers returned between her thighs, stroking and teasing and building the heat in her core back up to a screaming, urgent pitch.
By the time he finally straightened, her body was shaking continuously, her thighs soaking, her mind a completely blank, desperate, single-minded thing.
She had stopped pretending she could escape; the combination of his words, his touch, and the invisible hormonal tide had made resistance feel not just futile, but foolish.
He reached down between them.
The living robe parted slightly, and his cock emerged—massive, nine inches of pure, throbbing, slick hardness, the thick head already glistening and flushed an angry, deep crimson with want.
Even beneath his controlled, predatory exterior, the evidence of his own enormous arousal was undeniable.
The thick, heavy shaft was wet with Yuna’s endless, devoted saliva, pulsing visibly with every heartbeat.
The woman stared at it. Her eyes went wide, a fresh, entirely involuntary gush of arousal flooding between her thighs at the sheer, terrifying sight of it.
"T-That’s—" she breathed, her voice barely sound.
He turned her, gently but entirely without room for argument. One large hand pressed between her shoulder blades, bending her forward slightly.
Her soft palms landed against the rough bark of a tree, bracing herself. Her skirt was lifted, her soaked panties pushed aside, and her wide, fertile hips were raised.
He stepped in behind her, the thick, slick head of his cock pressing directly against her drenched, swollen entrance.
He reached forward with his free hand, threading his fingers through her hair. He tilted her head back, turning her face toward his.
Their eyes met—hers wide, glassy, entirely broken open with a mixture of shame and raw, overwhelming want—his dark, entirely calm, and burning with the absolute, cold certainty of a predator who had already decided exactly how this ended.
His lips hovered over hers.
"I will make sure," he murmured, his voice barely above a breath, the words landing directly against her trembling mouth, "to make you a bitch."
She made a sound.
A small, incredibly fragile sound, caught somewhere between protest and a barely suppressed sob.
Because the honest, devastating answer to that question was sitting in her throat like a stone, and she couldn’t make herself say it out loud.
Her hands, which had been pressing against his chest to push him away, slowly stopped pushing; instead, her fingers curled weakly into the fabric, holding on as another involuntary wave of arousal soaked her panties.
"Your body knows what it needs," he said, his voice dropping another register, becoming something dark and liquid and entirely inescapable. His large hand on her ass squeezed again, deliberately this time, kneading the full, soft flesh with a slow, expert rhythm. "Even if your mind is still fighting it."
His other hand slid down from her back, moving with quiet, unhurried purpose along the outside of her thigh, finding the hem of her cheap skirt and slipping beneath it without a single moment of hesitation.
"W-Wait—!" she gasped, her hips jerking backward instinctively. But his arm around her held firm, keeping her pressed against him, and his fingers found the soft, warm fabric of her plain cotton panties. The proximity to his body had done its work; her mound was already swollen and slick, the cotton clinging damply in a way that made her want to die of shame.
He pressed his palm flat against her, directly over her mound.
’Squelch.’
Even through the cotton, the heat and dampness were undeniable. Absolutely, mortifyingly undeniable.
She made a choked, entirely humiliated sound. "I—that’s not—I didn’t—"
"You know what a woman’s body won’t do?" Tianlong murmured against her ear, his fingers beginning to move in a slow, devastating circle directly over the soaked cotton. The chemical stimulation from his skin made every touch feel like lightning on raw nerves, her clit throbbing harder than it ever had in her married life. "It won’t lie. Not to this."
"Nngh—!" A broken, involuntary sound escaped her throat, her thighs clenching hard around his hand. The firm, rhythmic pressure of his fingers against her swollen, incredibly sensitive mound was sending sharp, unbearable sparks of pleasure firing straight up through her core. "P-Please... stop... someone will see..."
"No one is looking over here," he said simply.
And he was entirely right. The festival continued in its warm, oblivious chaos just beyond the bushes—the distant laughter of children, the crackling of the bonfire, the cheerful noise of families who had no idea that a woman was quietly, desperately falling apart mere feet away from them, her body hijacked by a stranger’s unseen hormonal gift.
His fingers pushed the cotton panties aside.
’Schlick.’
"A-Ahhhnn—!" She bit down hard on her own lip to strangle the sound, her entire body seizing as his thick fingers made direct, devastating contact with her bare, slick folds. She was mortifyingly wet. Genuinely, completely wet in a way that she hadn’t been in longer than she could remember, her body betraying every single rational protest her mind was trying to construct. The logical part of her brain still whispered that this was impossible—she had only just met him, she was loyal, she had a child waiting—but the chemicals flooding her system had already rewritten the narrative: this heat was real, this need was hers, and fighting it only made the ache sharper.
He worked her slowly. Deliberately. With a patience that was entirely, specifically designed to completely unravel her. His fingers circled her clit with a firm, agonizingly perfect rhythm, occasionally dipping lower to gather her flooding juices and drag them upward, coating his thick fingers in her own desperate arousal. His lips continued their quiet devastation at her ear—not kissing, exactly, just breathing, just present, just warm and close and inescapable, each exhale feeding her another dose of the pheromone haze.
"You deserve to feel this," he murmured, the words simple and low and hitting her somewhere deep and raw. "You deserve someone who actually looks at you."
"I—ah—~!" The sob and the moan arrived at precisely the same moment, tangled together beyond separation. Tears genuinely pricked at the corners of her eyes, hot and real, because his words were doing something far more devastating than his fingers were—they were hitting the exact, exposed wound of years of invisible, accumulated loneliness. "D-Don’t say things like that... please..."
"Why not?" he asked simply.
She had no answer. Her hips were moving now, entirely without her permission, rolling forward against his hand in small, desperate, highly ashamed little circles.
Her wet folds clenched around his fingers as he pressed two of them directly inside her, the sudden, deep intrusion drawing a muffled, broken cry from her throat.
The hormonal stimulation ensured the pleasure built faster than her mind could process—each thrust of his fingers felt like it was pulling her deeper into a current she could no longer fight.
"Mmmmph~! A-Ahhn—!"