My Netori Life With System: Stealing Milfs And Virgins

Chapter 245: 245. She Was Fully Frozen Like Near-Close To Death! (But She’s Back)**

Mike didn’t rush to clean her up. He didn’t even move to cover himself. Instead, he sat back on his haunches, watching her with the satisfied gaze of a predator who had just finished a feast.

He let the silence of the bathroom settle, broken only by the heavy, rhythmic dripping of semen from her chin onto her chest and the ragged, wet sound of her struggling to find her breath.

Sabrina remained utterly motionless. She was slumped slightly forward, her eyes fixed on a random point on the floor tiles, staring with a hollow, vacant intensity.

To anyone else, she might have looked like a corpse, a beautiful, pale statue draped in the white, viscous remains of Mike’s climax. Her muscles were so spent, her nervous system so overloaded by the sheer violence of the sensation, that she had simply shut down.

She was a shell, a vessel that had been filled to the brim and left to sit.

"Hhh... hhh... hhh..." The only sign of life was the tiny, repetitive hitch in her chest.

Mike reached out, his large, tanned hand moving with a slow, predatory grace. He didn’t grab her this time; he caressed her.

He ran his fingers along the curve of her jaw, his thumb tracing the line where the semen was still leaking from the corner of her mouth. His touch was surprisingly light, but it carried the heavy, undeniable weight of ownership.

"Still there, Professor?" he whispered, his voice a low, vibrating hum that seemed to rattle her very bones. "Or did you leave your soul somewhere deep inside my cock?"

He leaned in, his chest pressing against her trembling shoulder, and began to whisper into her ear. His breath was hot, smelling of salt and musk, sending tiny shivers through her frozen frame.

"You’re so quiet now," he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "So obedient..."

"This is the real you, isn’t it? Not the one in the lecture halls with the books and the glasses..." Mike grinned. "This is the Sabrina who likes to be used..."

"The one who needs to be filled until she can’t think, until she can’t even breathe."

He moved his hand down, his palm sliding over the swell of her breast, feeling the frantic, uneven thud of her heart beneath the skin. He squeezed gently, a dominant, possessive gesture that forced a tiny, involuntary moan from her throat.

"Mmm... nnn..."

"That’s it," he purred, his voice dropping into a dark, seductive register. "Let it out..."

"Let me hear how much you loved being my little sink..."

"You were so fucking good, taking it all... Every fucking drop... You swallowed it like a good little bitch, didn’t you?" Mike kept whispering. "Even when you were choking, even when you were panicking... you just kept taking it."

He shifted his weight, pulling her slightly closer so her head rested against his muscular thigh. He began to stroke her hair, his fingers tangling in the damp, messy strands, but the gesture wasn’t comforting; it was the way a master might stroke a prized hound.

"You’re mine now, Sabrina," he whispered, his voice thick with a terrifying kind of certainty. "You can try to go back to your books, you can try to put on your little professional mask, but you’ll always know..."

"Every time you feel a breeze on your neck, you’ll feel my hands..."

"Every time you swallow, you’ll taste me..."

"You’ll always be the woman who let a man drown her in his own seed."

He leaned down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the side of her neck, right where the skin was still flushed and sensitive. He could feel the heat radiating from her, the sheer physiological aftermath of the trauma he had inflicted.

"You’re a mess," he chuckled against her skin, a low, vibrating sound. "A beautiful, dripping, broken mess."

"And the best part is... you’re going to want more... Because once you’ve tasted being owned like this, nothing else is ever going to be enough." Mike licks her face. "You’re addicted to the flood, aren’t you?"

He continued to caress her, his movements slow and deliberate, prolonging the moment of her submission. He wanted her to sit in this beautiful, humiliating limbo where she was neither fully alive nor truly dead but simply a creature that existed solely to be the recipient of his overwhelming, unyielding power.

The heavy, hypnotic silence was suddenly shattered. Mike, bored with her catatonic state, decided he wasn’t finished with her yet.

He didn’t want a statue; he wanted a reacting, pulsing creature. He shifted his weight, his eyes darkening with a renewed, predatory hunger, and his hands lost their gentle, caressing touch, becoming rough and demanding once again.

He lunged forward, his large hands grabbing her waist and pulling her sharply against his hard, sweating abdomen. He began to roam over her body with a frantic, uncoordinated intensity.

He wasn’t being careful with her sensitive skin; he was bruising it, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs and the curve of her hips as if he were trying to leave permanent marks of his possession.

"AH! NNNGH!"

The sudden, jarring movement acted like a lightning strike to her nervous system. Sabrina’s eyes snapped open, the vacant stare replaced by a frantic, wide-eyed clarity.

The shock of his rough touch, combined with the sudden friction of his hairy thighs against her sensitive skin, jolted her back into her own body. She wasn’t a corpse anymore; she was a woman being reclaimed by sensation.

"There she is," Mike growled, his voice a rough rasp. "There’s my little slut..."

"Come back to me!"

He didn’t give her a second to orient herself. His hands moved with a savage purpose, sliding up her body to squeeze her breasts with a strength that bordered on painful, his thumbs raking over her nipples until they were hard, aching peaks.

He moved lower, his fingers tracing the sensitive, swollen skin of her inner thighs, teasing the edges of her moisture with a ruthless, teasing pressure that made her hips jerk uncontrollably.

"AAAH! MMMM! HHH... HHH!"

The moans were no longer muffled or strangled; they were loud, vocal, and filled with a desperate, overwhelming need. The transition from the numbness of shock to the hypersensitivity of arousal was so violent it felt like a physical blow.

She was gasping, her breath coming in short, jagged bursts as the pleasure began to roll over her in waves, fueled by the lingering ache in her throat and the heavy, pulsing heat between her legs.

"God... Mike..." she finally managed to choke out, her voice trembling and thick with emotion.

She reached out, her fingers clutching at his massive, muscular biceps, her nails digging into his tan skin as if she were trying to anchor herself in a storm. "It was... so much... you almost... you almost killed me!"

She let out a sob that was half laugh, half gasp, her eyes brimming with fresh tears of pure sensory overload.

"The way you... the way you poured it in..." she stammered, her head tossing back as he bit lightly at the sensitive skin of her shoulder. "It felt like... like a dam broke... inside my throat..."

"I couldn’t... I couldn’t breathe, Mike! It was so hot... so thick... it felt like it was filling my entire chest, not just my mouth!"

She shuddered, a violent tremor running through her entire frame as she recalled the sensation of the deluge.

"I thought... for a second... I was going to drown," she whispered, her voice dropping to a breathless, reverent tone. "I was drowning in you..."

"Every time you hit the back of my throat, it was like a tidal wave..."

"I could feel it... sliding down, filling me up until there was no room left for air..."

"It was terrifying... and it was the most... the most incredible thing..."

"AHHH! NNNGH! MMMM!"

Mike let out a dark, triumphant laugh, his hands never ceasing their rough, demanding exploration. He loved hearing the way she spoke of her own near destruction as if it were a religious experience.

"That’s right," he whispered, his mouth hovering just over hers, his eyes burning into hers. "That’s exactly what it was..."

"You were drowning, Sabrina... In fact, you were drowning in my greatness, and you loved every fucking second of it!"

"You wanted to be consumed by it."

He increased the pressure, his hands moving with a frantic, rhythmic intensity that sent her into a spiral of pure, unadulterated sensation. The roughness of his touch, the vulgarity of his words, and the sheer, overwhelming memory of his climax combined to create a cocktail of arousal so potent that she felt like she was vibrating.

She wasn’t just back to reality; she was more alive, more primal, and more desperately hungry for him than she had ever been in her entire life.