Milf Hunter: Seducing And Taming Beauties

Chapter 932: Can’t Piss With This Hard Dick

We took the first shuffling step toward the bathroom door. Then another. The linoleum was cold under my bare feet, but I barely felt it. All I could feel was her — the steady thump of her heartbeat against my ribs, the faint tremor in the arm wrapped around my waist, the way her fingers flexed and unflexed against my back like she was afraid I’d vanish if she let go.

Halfway there, I dipped my head until my lips were beside her ear.

"Sister Yuko..." I whispered, letting my voice come out rough and grateful. "Thank you."

She stumbled — just a tiny hitch in her step — and the blush that had started to fade roared back across her cheeks.

"It’s... " It’s my fault," she answered quickly, almost frantically. "Otherwise, you wouldn’t be injured like this. You don’t need to thank me. Please don’t."

Her voice cracked on the last word.

I let silence answer for a moment — let her feel the weight of my body against hers, the way I was trusting her completely.

"But I want to," I said softly. "You’re taking care of me now. That matters."

She didn’t reply right away. Just kept us moving — slow, careful steps — until we reached the bathroom doorway.

The fluorescent light buzzed to life when she nudged the switch with her elbow. Harsh white light spilled over the small space: white tiles, stainless-steel grab bars, the toilet just two steps inside.

I was standing facing the toilet seat. Then she hesitated — only for a second — before her hands moved to the ties at the back of my hospital gown.

"I’ll... hold it open," she said, voice so quiet I almost didn’t catch it. "Just... tell me when you’re finished. Or if you need anything else."

Her fingers worked the knot loose with surprising steadiness. The gown parted down the back; cool air brushed my skin.

She gathered the fabric carefully in her hands, holding it away from my body without looking — eyes fixed somewhere on the wall tiles, cheeks burning.

I glanced down.

My cock stood rigid, thick and unyielding, lifting slightly with each insistent heartbeat. It was fully engorged now—veins bulging prominently along the shaft like twisted rivers under taut skin, mapping out the length from base to tip in dark, pulsing ridges.

The thickest vein snaked up the underside, swollen and pronounced, throbbing visibly with every rush of blood.

The head was flared wide, a deep flushed purple, smooth and glistening with a bead of precum that caught the harsh fluorescent light and shimmered like dew.

It twitched upward involuntarily—once, twice—demanding attention, the full girth straining against the air, hot and heavy, easily seven inches of solid, veined muscle that made the thin hospital gown seem laughably inadequate.

I let out a small, embarrassed-sounding exhale.

"Sister... Yuko..." My voice came out low, rough, hesitant. "I can’t pee... like this."

She stiffened instantly. Still staring at the wall.

"What happened?" Worry flooded her tone. "Is it hurting there? Did I pull too hard? Should I—"

I shook my head quickly, letting my face flush—the perfect picture of shy mortification.

"No... It’s not hurting. I just..." I swallowed, made my voice drop even quieter. "It’s... hard. I can’t pee when it’s like this."

A tiny, startled sound escaped her throat.

"What?"

Before she could process it fully, Julie’s voice drifted in from the main room—calm, amused, perfectly timed.

"Are you two okay in there?"

I answered without hesitation, keeping my tone light and casual.

"Yeah, Aunt Julie. We’re fine."

Silence for two heartbeats.

Then Yuko finally—finally—let her gaze drop.

Her eyes locked onto it, and time seemed to freeze. Her pupils dilated instantly, blowing wide as saucers in the stark light. A sharp, involuntary gasp tore from her lips—half shock, half something she couldn’t name—as her free hand flew to her mouth, fingers pressing hard against her trembling lips.

Her cheeks ignited in a blaze of crimson, the flush spreading like wildfire down her neck, across her collarbones, disappearing under the collar of her blouse.

She couldn’t look away; her stare was transfixed, tracing the bulging veins that pulsed with raw, primal energy—the way they wrapped around the shaft like cords of steel under velvet, each one standing out in stark relief, feeding the impossible hardness that made the whole thing curve slightly upward in defiance of gravity.

"So... big..." The words tumbled out in a breathless whisper, unfiltered and raw, before she clamped down harder on her mouth. Her knees buckled just a fraction—she shifted her weight to steady herself, but I felt the tremor run through her whole body where she still held me. "Oh my god... those veins... why is it... hard like that? It’s... throbbing..."

Her voice cracked, high and disbelieving, as if she were seeing something forbidden, something that shattered the fragile illusion of control she’d been clinging to.

Her chest heaved with quick, shallow breaths, making her blouse strain against the rise and fall; her other hand tightened on the gown’s fabric until her knuckles went white, like she was anchoring herself to reality.

Shock warred with guilt in her eyes—widening them further as they flicked from the veined length to the slick, swollen head, then back again—as if memorizing every ridge, every pulse, against her will.

I turned my head just enough to catch her profile—the way her lashes fluttered wildly, the tiny beads of sweat forming at her temples.

I let a small, rueful smile touch my lips.

"Sister Yuko... It’s all your fault."

She whipped her head toward me, eyes huge.

"How is it my fault?" she whispered fiercely, voice cracking between embarrassment and indignation. "It’s obviously you... Who’s thinking dirty thoughts!"

I leaned in a fraction closer—just enough that my breath brushed the shell of her ear again.

"How can I not be like this..." I murmured, "...when you’re holding me like this? When you’re pressed so close? When can I feel every inch of you against me? When you’re being so gentle... so careful... taking care of me like I’m yours to protect?"

Her breath hitched audibly. The hand still clutching the gown trembled harder; the fabric rustled faintly.

"Hmph..." she managed—a weak attempt at defiance—but it came out more like a whimper. Her eyes darted back down, then away again, as though looking too long would burn her.