FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 313: Passion In the Balcony

Sol remained buried deep within her, a heavy, living anchor in the shifting sea of the white furs. The heat between them had transcended the simple warmth of skin. It was a weather system of it’s own, a humid, musk-heavy atmosphere that made every breath feel like inhaling liquid fire. Sol’s chest, a landscape of corded muscle and the red-raw maps of his recent scars, rose and fell in a rhythmic, heavy thrum that Kira could feel vibrating against her own ribs.

He felt the change before he saw it. Inside her, the slick, cooling pool of his seed... mixed with the unending tide of her own heat... began to feel like molten lead, and his seed beginning to seep out of her, joining the nectar she was still weeping, creating a slick, viscous mess that made the slightest twitch of his hips sound like a wet slap.

Sol didn’t feel the fatigue that should have come with a night of such visceral, seismic intensity. His body was like a perpetual motion machine that fed on the adrenaline and the pheromones flooding the air.

His cock, which should have been spent, was drinking in the warmth of her internal walls, the hyper-sensitive, swollen tissue of her virgin-passage, twitching with the aftershocks of her multiple collapses were acting like a furnace. He felt the thick, throbbing pulse of his length growing, swelling back to its full, angry girth while still deep in the absolute depth of her.

Kira’s eyes, usually so sharp and Storm-Warrior cold, were wide and glassy. She felt the shift, the way he was filling every microscopic gap he had just carved out. And couldn’t help whimper and let out a soft, moan of pleasure.

But as the night stretched on, the furs became too restrictive, too soft. Sol wanted something harder. He reached under Kira’s arms, his rough hands gripping her with an effortless, terrifying strength. He stood up from the center of the bed, keeping her impaled on his length.

Because they were still joined, the movement forced him even deeper into her pussy, drawing a broken shriek from her throat.

Kira was forced to wrap her long, athletic legs around his waist, her ankles locking behind his back as she clung to his neck like a drowning sailor. The weight of her body, combined with Sol’s own increased density, made his cock sink into her with a terrifying, absolute depth. The wet, suctioning sound of his cock sliding back through the thick froth of their combined fluids was loud in the quiet room, a raw, coarse sound.

Every step he took toward the balcony was a slow, agonizing plunge that made Kira’s head toss back, her mouth hanging open in a silent wail.

He kicked the heavy timber doors open again, stepping out into the cool, biting night air. The contrast was a physical assault... the freezing night wind of the Orrath clashing with the boiling heat of their skin. Sol marched her to the edge, slamming her back against the wide, petrified-wood railing that overlooked the Veynar settlement.

Below them, the fires of the village were tiny, flickering pinpricks of light in a sea of darkness. Above, the moons hung like judgmental eyes. Sol didn’t care. He sat her on the railing, her ass perched on the cold, hard wood, while he stood between her knees, his hands gripping the railing on either side of her hips to anchor her.

He entered her again in one devastating thrust.

"Look at them, Kira," Sol hissed into her ear, his tongue tracing the pointed tip of her ear. "Look at the tribe you’re supposed to lead. They’re down there shivering in the dark, and you’re up here, impaled on an outsider, screaming for more."

Kira’s forehead snapped back against his shoulder, her fingers clawing into his traps. The cold air made her nipples tighten into hard, tensed gems of desire, while the friction inside her was a searing, molten lead.

"I don’t... I don’t see them!" she shrieked, her voice carried away by the wind. "I only see you! Aaghhh, Sol! It’s too deep... I can feel you hitting the very bottom!"

Sol didn’t give her a moment’s mercy. He began a savage, vertical rhythm. Because she was perched on the railing, he could use the full force of his gravity to drive himself upward. Every time his hips slammed against her, the wood beneath her groaned. He was hitting her g-spot with a blunt, rhythmic motion that made her vision blur due to intense mixture of pain, pleasure and shame.

The sound was a sickeningly sweet, heavy squelch. The cold air on her back and the furnace-heat of him inside her created a sensory rupture. His hips slamming against the wood with a rhythmic, wet violence. Every time he hit the absolute depth, Kira’s body jerked, her fingers clawing into his traps, her feline canines grazing his shoulder as she bit back a scream.

He reached down while he hammered into her, his hands finding her breasts. He squeezed them, his thumbs catching the hard peaks and rolling them with a rough pressure. He wanted her to feel the duality of the night... the freezing wind on her back and the boiling, wet invasion between her legs.

"You’re a mess, Kira," Sol growled, his thrusts becoming short, violent jolts of power. "You’re leaking all over this wood. The Warchief’s daughter, reduced to a weeping pussy in the dark."

"Yes!" she sobbed, her tail lashing the air, wrapping around his waist in a frantic, desperate coil. "Make me... make me nothing else! Erase it all, Sol! Break me open!"

But soon, the cold was getting too much, fearing that she might get sick due to so much moisture, he pulled out with a wet, suctioning pop that left her gasping and reaching for him, her pussy gaping and red in the moonlight. And hauled her back inside, his hands gripping her waist so hard his fingers left immediate, pale bruises on her ivory skin.