The high‑tension wire finally gave way, but the collapse didn't end the pressure—it redirected it, coiling tighter into a new phase of raw, unrelenting gravity.
This is the part where I'm supposed to stop, right?
I thought, but my hips didn't get the memo.
The muscle memory simply played out.
I pulled out with a wet, obscene squelch—splurt—my cock still twitching, veined and glossy with our mixed fluids, ropes of cum dripping from the tip in slow, hypnotic strings.
Her pussy gaped momentarily, a creamy flood spilling from her stretched lips, clit still pulsing visibly like a beacon in the dim light—throb, drip, worship it.
I watched it like I was watching code compile.
Except the output was a human body, not a simulation.
If it's this real, how do I reboot after?
Kyouya's chest heaved, body limp and quivering on the sofa, eyes half‑lidded in post‑orgasm haze, but her thighs trembled apart on instinct, offering the mess like an altar.
