Chronolust Temptation [18+] High S*xual Content
Ch.4 Secrets (I)

A slow, predatory smirk curled his lips as he shifted his weight, the mattress groaning beneath him. In one fluid, deliberate motion, his legs snapped shut, clamping around her head with a force that made her gasp—a sharp, startled sound swallowed by the press of his thighs against her ears. His sister’s hair tangled between his fingers as he seized it, his grip unrelenting, yanking her head closer until her lips brushed against the throbbing heat of his cock. She froze for a heartbeat, her breath hot and uneven against his skin, and he relished that fleeting moment of resistance—the last fragile thread of her autonomy before she surrendered to him entirely.

“Keep going,” he ordered, his voice a low, guttural growl that reverberated through the room. It was a command steeped in authority, edged with a cruelty that sent a shiver racing down her spine. “You’re not done yet.”

His loving sister’s hesitation dissolved as she parted her lips, taking him into her mouth once more. The warmth of her tongue slid against him, tentative at first, then with the practiced rhythm she knew he demanded. Hayao’s head tipped back slightly, his eyes drifting shut as pleasure coiled through him, sharp and electric. But passivity wasn’t in his nature—not with her, not now. His hips surged upward, driving his cock deeper into her throat with a roughness that bordered on violence. She choked, a wet, strangled sound escaping her, her hands flying to his thighs in a desperate bid to steady herself. Her nails dug into his flesh, leaving faint crescent marks, but his grip on her hair only tightened, anchoring her in place as he took control.

“Take it, sis,” he snarled, his voice raw and ragged, thick with lust and dominance. “Take all of it.”

Her muffled whimpers vibrated against him, a sensation that sent jagged bolts of pleasure tearing through his core. He could feel her struggling—her throat tightening around him, her body straining against the relentless pressure of his legs locking her head in a vice. Yumi tapped his thighs weakly, her fingers trembling as they pleaded for reprieve, but Hayao’s world had narrowed to the intoxicating rush of power surging through him. He ignored her silent begging, his hips pistoning harder, faster, each thrust a brutal assertion of his will over hers. The bedframe rattled beneath them, the headboard slamming against the wall in a staccato rhythm that echoed through the room, a violent percussion underscoring their twisted dance.

His breaths came in harsh, uneven gasps, his chest rising and falling as sweat slicked his skin. The tension built within him, a molten coil tightening low in his abdomen, urging him toward the edge. With a final, savage thrust, he buried himself deep, his cock pulsing as he came, spilling hot and thick down her throat. The poor girl convulsed beneath him, gagging as the flood overwhelmed her, her hands clawing at his legs in a futile struggle to breathe. Tears streamed down her face, carving glistening tracks through the flush of her cheeks, her wide, glassy eyes darting upward in a silent plea. But Hayao held her there, his legs unyielding, his grip ironclad, forcing her to endure every shuddering wave of his release until he was utterly spent.

Only then did he relent, his thighs slackening as his body slumped back against the mattress. She wrenched herself free with a ragged gasp, coughing violently as she sucked in air, her chest heaving with the effort. Her lips were swollen, glistening with saliva and the remnants of him, her face a mess of tears and flushed skin. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her movements shaky and uncertain, before lifting her gaze to meet his with a weak smile. Her voice, when it came, was a fragile, hoarse whisper, barely audible over the sound of her labored breathing.

“Am I a good sister?”

The young man regarded her from beneath heavy lids, his chest still rising and falling as the aftershocks of pleasure ebbed away. A slow, satisfied smirk spread across his face, dark and cutting, as he reached out to brush a damp strand of hair from her forehead. His touch was deceptively tender, a stark contrast to the brutality of moments before. “You’re the best whore,” he said, his words dripping with a venomous pride, each syllable honed to wound and exalt in equal measure.

His sister flinched, a subtle twitch of her shoulders, but then her lips curved into a faint, weary smile—an acceptance of his judgment, however degrading it might be. It was a sick kind of solace, a tether to the only approval she’d ever sought from him. After all, it was her fault that things had led to this.

Continue the story