She placed her hand on the side of Morro's face and forced him to look at her. Her grip was not cruel, but it was firm. He could not turn away.
She was beautiful. Her hair had a rich brown tint; her green eyes were magnetic. The breadth of her shoulders was massive—wider than Morro's, built for combat. She was bigger than him in every way that mattered. He could not look away. She did not let him.
Their breaths deepened.
The space between them narrowed. She closed the distance and kissed him, mouth to mouth, deep and deliberate. Once. Then again. She was sweet; he could not pull back. The pressure in his towel grew—his cock was already hardening, already betraying him. He could not control it. He had not been able to from the moment she stepped into the cell.
"I crave you," she said.
"You're so hot," she said too.
"I want to see it," she said again.
Morro's body was a mess of chemicals—he had never felt anything this strong. She was just too much.
She slightly unfolded the towel. His cock pushed the rest aside—it had a mind of its own. It stood for her. He had not told it to.
It was big. Nine inches. Pale, sensitive. And entirely out of his control.
Sara's reaction was instant. She was wet. Hungry. She had never seen one that big; she was only a mortal. Every fantasy she had nursed was coming true. She did not hide it.
Morro stayed shy. He felt the air on his skin. His body was not his anymore—he was thrusting, small involuntary movements, as if his cock wanted her without asking him. He could not still himself. He could not make it behave.
Sara's face flushed pinker. Her muscles relaxed. She was focused; her body was already ready.
She grabbed him by the widest part of his shaft and squeezed gently.
It felt so good. Morro's body reacted before he could think—he arched back, closed his eyes, and his mouth fell slightly open. A sound escaped him. He did not mean to give it.
Her eyes slightly teared. As if her dream had come true. She did not wipe them away.
She took her clothes off. Layer by layer. She left only white underwear, stark against her tan skin. The heat of the cell had already put a sheen on her. She was not shy. She stood in front of him and let him look.
She moved onto Morro. She sat on him. Her weight came down like a sentence—she was heavier than she looked, all muscle and density. He was pinned beneath her. He could not have shifted her if he tried.
His cock touched her ass. It slipped to the outside—not in yet. The contact was enough to make him jerk. His body did that on its own. She felt it. She smiled.
The moment was hot. Romantic in a raw way. The smell hung heavy in the air: sweat, heat, the steam of the sauna-cell. The room was thick with it. They were both slick.
They both wanted it. There was no question.
Morro's cock wanted to slide in. It strained against her. He was not choosing that—it was choosing for him. She had not let it yet.
Her muscles looked good in the light. Her breasts were full, dense—ready. She put her hands on his chest. Her weight was real. He felt it in his ribs, in his lungs. She was so much bigger. She could do whatever she wanted with him. She was doing it.
She started to move. Riding him on the outside—his cock was hard, standing up beneath her, not inside yet. It had not asked his permission. It never did. She sat over it so it ran under her, along her, the length of him right there. Sensitive and big; not easy to handle. She grinded. He leaned back under her because he had no choice. Her weight was powerful. She was a guard. She was built for this. He was not. He could only take it. Dominated by her body. By her size. By the fact that she was in control and his cock was in control and he was neither.
She kissed him. She was passionate. Energetic. Her body had decided; she gave herself to the rhythm. She rode his cock from the outside—up and down, the friction of her against him—and his vision blurred. Still not inside. Just the heat and the slide. She bit his lip. She did not ask. He did not refuse. He could not have refused. There was no refusing her. There was no refusing what his body was doing without him.
The wooden bench creaked. The steam rose. Her skin was hot against his. She was everywhere. He was under her—utterly. She took what she wanted. He gave it. Or his body gave it. He was not sure he had a say. There was no other outcome.
Her wet met his cock. The slide was obscene. He felt it. She felt it.
Morro gasped. A sound broke out of him. He could not hold it back.
She could not wait anymore.
Instinct took over—as if her life depended on it. She grabbed her underwear. She did not want to change position. She tore the top piece. Then the bottom. The fabric gave. She stayed on him.
Morro felt the rush. It was going to happen. There was no stopping it. Not her. Not his cock. Not any of it.
The tip touched her. It hooked. She started to sink down. Her cunt had to open for him. The cock was big. It got bigger the deeper she took it. She forced herself to take it. Thrust by thrust. Deeper. Deeper. She did not stop. He was locked under her. His hands could not move her. His hips could only follow what she did. She set the pace. She set everything.
Saliva spilled between their mouths. They did not care. His cock moved inside her—involuntary, insane. He was not directing it. It was directing him. She rode him. She was relentless. He was just the thing she was riding.
After several thrusts he was fully in. All of him. Deep.
So deep!, she thought.
When she had touched herself it had never been enough. Her body had always wanted more. This man gave her what she wanted. She was full. Full of him. Full of pleasure.
Morro could only make sounds—ah, ah—broken. She did not slow down. Some part of her did not care. She took what she needed. She kept going. He was pinned. He was used. His cock was so far beyond his control now that he had stopped trying to claim it. It was hers. She was riding it. He was just the body it was attached to.
Up. Then down. Her thighs drove the rhythm—those massive thighs, that combat-built lower body. She was on top. She was in charge. His cock was thick; her cunt fought it and took it and squeezed it. Heat built between them. They did not care if anyone heard. In this world, to be heard fucking a male would not be shame. It would be a badge.
Fucking a male was a status indicator. She knew it. She did not care. She was only supposed to guard him. Now he was ten inches inside her, fully erect. Her thighs were massive. Her lower back was pure muscle. She was built for war. She was using it.
She leaned back. She wanted to feel him—every inch. She looked up. She was fully there. Centered. Nothing else existed.
Then she came forward again. She hugged him. Her breasts pressed against his skin. Her hair tangled with his. Her thighs locked around him like bars—he could not have escaped if he wanted to. She had him. He was trapped under her big body, under her strength. He hugged her back. He had to. His hands were shaking. He needed something to hold on to. She was it. She was also the one who had him. The one in control.
They fucked for minutes. Someone was walking nearby—another guard. She caught the sound, the smell. She knew it was a male. Pheromones. Jealousy hit her. She wanted to feel it too.
They were close together. His cock kept thrusting—still not his to command. It was leaking, releasing small amounts of fluid. He had not finished yet. When he did, he knew he would have no say in that either. It would take him. It would empty into her. He would just be along for the ride.
Sara felt like she was in heaven. Like a queen. This was what it was like—what cultivators spoke of. Morro had given her this. A rare feeling. She would not forget it.
They had not even asked each other whether to do it raw. They had both wanted it. No discussion.
They kept going. She was floating. The tension was rising. She wanted his seed. She wanted to take it all.
But she could not go faster. He was just too big. She kissed him like she wanted to connect with Morro on every level—so they could feel everything, the best way. Her feelings had sparked for him. They did not fade.
Morro's breath grew deeper. Irregular. It caught and broke. His face showed it—a flicker of strain, of something building. A big load. It was coming. She could feel it in the way he pulsed inside her, in the way his hips stuttered against her massive ass and the curve of her lower back. The steam in the cell seemed to thicken. The wooden bench beneath them was slick. The air was nothing but heat and the sound of skin on skin.
Sara felt it too. The tension was a wire. She tried to take him deeper—to dig down so she could feel every ounce of the physical force about to release inside her. She wanted it. She wanted to be full of it. Her cunt clenched. Her thighs locked. She did not let him go.
Morro started to moan. Not a sound he could hold back. Powerful. Raw. It was going. There was no stopping it. His cock had decided. His body had decided. He was just the vessel.
He exploded.
He had no say in it. It happened to him. Cum burst into her. The first wave hit like a strike—hot, thick, relentless. It filled her. She felt it. Every pulse. Every jet. His cock was emptying itself. He was not doing it. It was doing him. Her body registered it before her mind could. Her eyes flew wide. Her mouth opened. A scream tore out of her—"AAAA!"—as the eruption poured into her, wave after wave, and she could not think, could only feel: the heat, the wet, the sheer force of him releasing everything he had deep inside her. Him—but not him. His body. His cock. Out of his control to the last.
His balls plunged. Another wave. Her ass jerked slightly to the right—involuntary—then another wave, and she twitched again. Micro reactions. Her inner walls fluttered. Her toes curled. Each pulse gave her a tiny, electric tick—a spasm of pleasure—and she could not stop them. She did not want to. Another wave. Morro's mouth was wide open. He was moaning like he was collapsing, like his whole body was giving way. Another wave. And another.
For thirty seconds the cum kept erupting. She lost count of the waves. She only knew the feeling: full. Fuller. Overflowing. When it finally stopped, she was packed with him. The fluid inside her was real. She felt heavier—in her chest, in her belly, in her cunt. She felt claimed. She felt motherly. She felt feminine in a way she had never allowed herself to feel before. The sauna-cell was a haze. The steam had swallowed them. She could barely see his face. She did not need to see it. She could feel him. Still inside her. Still hard. Still hers.
She grabbed his head and kissed him with all her might. Still sitting on his cock. Still full of his seed. She did not let go.