Lord of the realm

Chapter 199: Back in her, in his woman

No one disturbed them here; the villagers knew better, giving the "widow" her space.

He kicked the door bar into place, sealing them in.

Rosaine’s kisses turned ravenous, tongue invading his mouth, hands yanking at his tunic.

"No words now. I need you in me. Your cock, Jaenor. Fill your mother’s belly like before. We don’t stop till noon."

His blood roared, the pervert lord surging alongside the son and lover. He devoured her mouth, tasting her desperation, and tore at her kirtle. The wool ripped easily under his strength, laces snapping, fabric parting to bare her glorious form.

No undergarments, Rosaine despised them. Her body gleamed in the firelight: heavy breasts swaying free, nipples thick and erect like ripe berries, freckles dusting her cleavage. A taut belly from years of labor, flaring to wide hips scarred faintly, and thighs thick as tree trunks, parted to reveal her core, a dense thicket of golden curls, wild and untamed, her lips puffy and slick, dripping already.

"Gods, look at you," he growled, shedding his own clothes in a frenzy—tunic over head, breeches kicked away, his cock springing free: long, girthy, veins bulging, head purple and weeping pre-cum.

"My mother. Ready to fuck her son all day."

She dropped to her knees first, eyes feral, blonde braids swinging as she engulfed him. Her mouth was a furnace, lips stretching wide, tongue laving the underside, and throat relaxing to take half his length. She sucked like a woman starved, cheeks hollowing, saliva drooling down her chin onto her tits. Hands cupped his balls, rolling them, nails scraping.

"Mmmph!!" She moaned around him, vibrations humming through his shaft. He fucked her face shallowly, hips bucking, watching her gag and drool, braids gripped in his fists.

But she pulled off with a gasp, strings of spit connecting her lips to his cock.

"Inside. Now."

She shoved him back onto the fur-covered bed, the mattress of wool and hides sinking under his weight. Straddling him lightning-fast, she positioned her hairy slit over his tip, grinding the coarse curls along his length, coating him in her juices.

"Watch your mother ride you, Jaenor. Like the first time."

She sank down, impaling herself fully in one go—her cunt a molten glove, walls rippling with muscle control honed from years of this. Inch by inch she took him, lips parting the bush obscenely, clit peeking from the folds.

"Fuuuuck!" she howled as she bottomed out, his cockhead kissing her cervix. Her ass cheeks clapped against his thighs, breasts bouncing wildly.

Jaenor gripped her hips, thumbs digging into hipbones, thrusting up to meet her. She rode like a shieldmaiden charging—hips circling, slamming, grinding. Her bush scratched his pubes, wet smacks filling the cottage.

"Yes, Mother! Milk me! Your son’s cock owns this pussy!"

Her screams echoed—raw, animal.

"Jaenor! My love! Deeper!"

To muffle them, she snatched a ragged cloth from the bedside—a spare shift—and crammed it into her mouth, biting down hard. The sounds turned to savage, cloth-muffled grunts and moans, but her body spoke louder: sweat gleaming on freckled skin, tits flopping hypnotically, and ass rippling with each descent.

He sat up, sucking a nipple into his mouth—biting, tonguing—while palming the other breast, squeezing until milk-white beads formed at the tip. She rode harder, the bed frame groaning, furs bunching. Her walls clenched rhythmically, chasing her first peak. He felt it build—her thighs quivering, muffled wail rising—and slammed up brutally. She shattered, cunt spasming, juices squirting around his base, soaking his balls and the furs.

The cloth was soaked with her saliva as she screamed into it.

Not pausing, she dismounted slickly, her cream-coated bush glistening, and turned.

"Reverse now. See your mother’s ass."

She backed onto him in reverse cowgirl, feet planted wide on the bed for leverage, guiding his cock back in. Her cheeks spread naturally—plump, muscled globes parting to show her puckered rosebud and the hairy lips devouring him. She sank fully, ass cheeks kissing his hips, and began bouncing—faster, wilder. The view was divine: blonde braids whipping, back arched, ass jiggling hypnotically, and bush visible from behind as it mashed against him.

Jaenor spanked her—one cheek, then the other—red handprints blooming on pale flesh.

"Ride it, Rosaine! Fuck your son like a whore!"

His hands roamed: one to her swinging tits, pinching nipples; the other diving into her bush from behind, fingers circling her clit buried in curls. She ground back, circling her hips, making his cock stir her depths. The cloth stayed in her mouth, muffling her roars as another orgasm built—her ass clenching, pussy fluttering.

He pulled her down onto his chest, flipping them without dislodging—now prone bone, her on her stomach, him pounding from above. Legs trapped between hers, he drilled deep, balls slapping her clit through the bush.

"Every way possible, Mother. All day."

She bucked up, cloth-gagged cries vibrating. Sweat slicked their bodies, her braids tangled in his fingers as he yanked her head back, kissing her neck.

Climax hit her again, body convulsing, cunt vise-tight, milking him toward edge.

But he held back, rolling them sideways into spooning. Arm under her neck, hand mauling a tit, other hand between her thighs rubbing her clit furiously. He thrust languidly at first, then hammered, her ass grinding back.

"Cum for me again; you’re mine. Flood your boy’s cock."

She did—a third orgasm ripping through, juices puddling beneath. He kept going, stamina god-touched, flipping her to missionary.

Face to face now, her blue eyes locked on his, cloth discarded momentarily as she gasped, "Breed me, Jaenor! Fill Mother’s womb!"

Legs hooked over his elbows, he folded her nearly in half, pounding at a new angle—cockhead battering her g-spot relentlessly. Her bush mashed against his pelvis, coarse hairs tangling with his trimmed patch. Breasts crushed between them, nipples dragging on his chest.

The bed shook violently, hearth embers scattering. He kissed her savagely, tasting cloth and her, tongues dueling. She came twice more in this position—once screaming cloth-free until neighbors might hear, then stuffing it back, body arching off the bed.

Shifting: he pulled out, cock gleaming with her froth, and flipped to her on top again—normal cowgirl, but facing away partially for variety. No—full reverse again, but he guided her feet to his chest, her hands on his knees, turning it into a piledriver squat. She bounced vertically, ass slamming down, pussy gaping open between cheeks.

"Look at that hairy cunt swallow me!" he roared, spanking, fingering her ass—first one digit, then two, stretching her ring.

Her muffled screams peaked as she squirted again, drenching his torso. He couldn’t hold—flipped her to all fours, mounting doggy. Gripping braids like reins, he railed her, ass rippling, tits swinging pendulously.

One hand yanked the cloth from her mouth; she bellowed, "Cum inside! Knock up your mother!" He exploded—ropes of thick seed blasting her depths, overflowing around his shaft, bubbling into her bush.

But noon was hours off. They collapsed panting, but she rolled atop him immediately, grinding lazily.

"More. All day like before."

His cock hardened inside her cum-filled pussy. She rode slow now, savoring—hips rolling in figure-eights, clit grinding his pubes. He suckled her tits, tasting faint milk from exertion.

Next: standing fuck against the wall. He lifted her, legs around waist, slamming up into her dripping hole, cum leaking down his thighs. Her back scraped timber, nails in his shoulders. Then bent over the table—him behind, pounding while she gripped table legs, cloth back in mouth for the screams. Dishes rattled, bread crumbs flying.

They migrated to the hearth rug—her on hands and knees, him rutting doggy, then switching to her sitting on his face. He ate her ravenously—tongue plunging through bush, lapping their mixed cream, sucking clit until she squirted on his chin. She sixty-nined next, her throat taking his full length while he devoured.

Positions cycled: lotus, her in his lap facing, rocking intimately; then her on side, one leg high, him thrusting sideways; missionary with legs on shoulders for depth; even anal—her ass lubed with their juices, tight ring yielding after fingering, her riding reverse anal while fingering her own pussy through the bush.

Orgasms blurred—hers countless, soaking everything; his three more loads, painting womb, ass, tits, and face. She scooped cum from her folds, fed it to him, snowballing kisses. Sweat pooled, bodies bruised from grips and slaps, voices hoarse.

By noon’s slant, golden light piercing shutters, they lay entwined on the ruined bed—furs sodden, air thick with sex musk. Rosaine nestled against him, hand stroking his spent cock, bush pressed to his thigh, leaking his seed.

"Never leave so long again, my man. Mother’s cunt needs her son daily."

Jaenor kissed her forehead, God-Spark humming content.

"Never. You’re my first, my always."

Outside, the village stirred, oblivious.

Inside, their world pulsed with forbidden rhythm.

Demons and princesses paled; this was home.

-

The warning came at dawn.

Scouts from the militia positions rushed into the village, breathless and alarmed. Movement from the south, a force approaching with military precision, banners flying that bore the imperial crest.