Chapter 550: Chapter 550 - Open That Damn Mouth
She trembled.
"Please," she whispered. Tears were in her eyes. "It is embarrassing. Please..."
"Your tits," he continued. He ignored her plea. He cupped her heavy breast. He lifted it. He let it drop. The flesh slapped against her chest. "So saggy. So full. Made to feed. Made to squeeze around a cock. I want to fuck these tits. I want to slide between them and cum on your face."
His hand moved to her ass.
"And this ass," he said. He gripped both cheeks. He spread them. The panties pulled tight against her crotch. "So thick. So wide. I want to see these cheeks ripple when I slam into you. I want to hear them slap against my hips. I want to bury my face in this fat and eat your cunt until you scream."
She was crying.
The tears were silent. They ran down her cheeks. She was holding her torn bra. She was holding her panties. She was trying to keep them on. Her hands were trembling.
"Please," she sobbed. "It is embarrassing. I am a mother. I am not... I am not..."
He chuckled.
He looked at her face. The tears. The red cheeks. The blood still drying on her hair. He smiled.
"Then tell me," he said.
His voice changed. It became sharp. It became a blade.
"Why do your son have the signs of the royalty?"
She froze.
Her eyes went wide. The trembling stopped. Her breath caught in her throat. She stared at him. The blood drained from her face. Her lips parted.
"How—" she gasped. "How do you know that?!"
She was caught off guard. The question was a hook. It pulled her mind away from her shame. It exposed her secret. The royal mark. The hidden blood. The child that was not her husband’s.
Before she could say another word.
He moved.
His hand was at her waist. He grabbed her white panties. He pulled.
The cotton tore down. But it did not just slide off. The fabric was tangled. The elastic was tight. Her pubic hair was thick. Dark. It was caught. He pulled harder. The panties ripped away from her hips. But the hair— Her pussy hair was pulled with it.
A handful tore out.
The roots ripped from the skin. The flesh tore. Blood welled instantly. A dozen spots of red appeared on her mons. The pain was white-hot. It was not gradual. It was a detonation.
She screamed.
"AAAAAANGHHH~!! HIIEEEENGHH~!! KKKHAAAAANGHH~!!"
Her scream filled the bathroom. It bounced off the walls. It tore her throat. She fell. Her knees hit the floor. Her hands flew to her crotch. She pressed her palms against the bleeding flesh. The blood was warm. It was wet. It ran between her fingers. Her pubic hair was in his hand. The torn panties hung from the wad of dark curls.
"It hurts," she sobbed. "It hurts— it hurts— it HURTS—"
She was crying. Wailing. Her head hung down. Her tits swayed. Her bloodied crotch was visible. The red drops fell to the floor. The torn hair was scattered. The pain was making her dizzy. She was sobbing like a child.
He looked at his hand.
The panties were in his grip. The dark hair was wrapped around his fingers. Blood speckled the cotton. He looked at it. He looked at her bleeding cunt. The lips were swollen. The hair was patchy. The blood was bright against her pale skin.
"Ah," he said. "My bad."
He tossed the panties and hair into the corner. He crouched. He looked at her face. The tears. The agony. The confusion. He smiled.
"That at least," he said. "Your crotch is now clean for me to eat, right?"
She looked up at him.
Through the tears. Through the blood. Through the pain that radiated from her torn crotch. She looked at his smile. The handsome face. The demon eyes. The cock that was still hard and pointing at her like a spear.
She was crying.
She was wailing. Her body shook. Her hands were still pressed against her bleeding pussy. The blood was warm. The floor was cold. She felt broken. She felt ruined. She felt completely and utterly lost.
And she asked.
Her voice was a whisper. A sob. A plea.
"You’re not a human," she said. "Are you?"
She knelt in her own blood.
The bathroom floor was cold stone. The blood from her torn cunt had pooled in a thin, warm smear beneath her knees. Her hands still pressed against her mons, fingers trembling, trying to cover the raw, bleeding flesh where her hair had been ripped out. Her tits hung heavy and bare, swaying with each ragged breath. She looked up at him through a curtain of tears and matted hair.
Raven stood over her.
He tilted his waist.
His cock hung in front of her face.
It was a monstrous thing. Twelve inches of crimson, veined meat, thicker than her wrist, the head a blunt, dark crown that wept a clear, slick bead from its slit. The shaft pulsed with his heartbeat. The weight of it was obscene. It cast a shadow across her tear-streaked cheeks.
He reached down.
His hand wrapped around the base. His fingers could not fully close around the girth. He lifted it. He aimed it at her face. The cockhead pressed against her cheek. The wet bead smeared across her skin. He dragged it slowly over her cheekbone, her temple, her jaw.
Then he pulled back.
He slapped her.
Not with his hand. With his cock.
The heavy, wet meat struck her face with a solid *THWAP*. The impact snapped her head sideways. Her cheek stung. The smell of him filled her nose — musk and salt and something dark. She gasped. Her hands left her bleeding cunt and flew to her face, pressing against the spot where his shaft had struck.
"Do you really think," he said, his voice warm and cutting, "a woman like you can be satisfied with a mere human cock?"
She stared at him.
Her eyes were wide. Red. Swollen. Blood and tears mixed on her chin. She did not answer. She could not.
"Huh?" He slapped her again with the shaft. *THWAP.* The cock landed across her other cheek, leaving a wet trail. "A bitch who stole the child of royalty? A cunt who ran from the palace with a prince in her arms? Did you think a village cock would ever fill this hole properly?"
The shock hit her eyes.
Her pupils dilated. Her mouth opened. The breath left her lungs in a single, choked gasp. She shook her head. Her hands trembled against her face.
"What—" she whispered. "How do you— how do you know that?"
He chuckled.
The sound was low. It vibrated through his chest and into the cock that hung before her face. He gripped the base tighter. The head swelled. The bead of precum grew larger.
"As I thought," he murmured.
His cockhead was tight. Thick. Big. The description was unnecessary because the reality was pressed against her lips.
He dragged the blunt crown across her lower lip, smearing the precum, painting her mouth with his scent.
He positioned it like a pointing gun. The slit stared at her. The heat of it radiated against her trembling lips.
"Open your mouth," he said.
