The First Patriarch: Streaming My Cosmic Harem

Azriel’s fingers closed around her thick white braid.

Vesperia knew what was coming.

She tilted her chin down fractionally, bracing.

He wrapped the braid once around his palm, gathering the slack, and then pulled.

Her spine arched like a bow.

Her head came up and back, her throat exposed to the cool air of the hollow, her golden eyes finding the dark canopy above as her whole body was reorganised by the angle of the pull.

The long, elegant line of her throat gleamed in the dim light, her chest heaving, her heavy saggy breasts swinging with the force of each thrust, the full, generous weight of them catching what little light filtered through the canopy above.

The stretch through her neck and back and the simultaneous, relentless depth of him inside her converged into something so overwhelming she heard herself make a sound she had no name for.

Something below language.

Something that had been living in her chest for longer than tonight and had finally found the only exit available to it.

"Ahhhh... Az... daddyyyyyyy—"

The word fell out of her without permission, torn loose by a particularly devastating thrust that buried him so deep she felt it behind her sternum.

She felt rather than heard his response, a low, rough sound that resonated against the back of her neck where he had leaned in, his chest grazing her arched spine, his lips brushing the nape of her neck just above where his fist held her braid in its unrelenting grip.

"Daddy is going to fuck you hard," he said against her skin.

Low and private and devastating and entirely, absolutely true.

She shuddered from the base of her spine to the very tips of her ears.

Slap.

He straightened behind her, and his free hand came down across the fullest, heaviest curve of her ass with a force that sent the impact reverberating through the abundant flesh in visible waves, the sound of it cracking through the hollow like a thunderclap.

CRACK.

"Ahhh—!"

Before the sound had finished leaving her throat, he spanked the other cheek.

CRACK.

Her inner walls clamped down involuntarily, and he felt it, she knew he felt it because his rhythm stuttered for exactly one beat before coming back harder than before.

Slap. Slap. Squelch.

He was not letting her breathe between thrusts anymore.

The measured, deliberate rhythm of earlier, the one that had been calculated and controlled and devastatingly precise, was gone.

What replaced it was something rawer and more urgent, his hips driving forward with a force that she felt in her teeth, that rattled her arms with the effort of holding position, that made the earth beneath her palms shift fractionally with every impact.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

His hand came down on her ass again, not one slap but a series of them, rhythmic and relentless, each one landing with enough force to leave her skin burning and hypersensitive, each one perfectly timed to coincide with the deepest point of a thrust so that the twin impacts of his hips and his palm arrived simultaneously and compounded each other into something that obliterated all distinction between pleasure and overwhelm.

CRACK. CRACK. Squelch. CRACK.

"Az—" Fractured. Barely a syllable. "Daddy, I can’t.... I’m going to—"

"You’re not," he said immediately, his voice rough and unsteady at the edges but utterly certain, his fist tightening in her braid and pulling back further so her spine arched past the point of comfort into something that felt like flight.

"Not yet. Hold it."

Slap. Squelch. Slap. Slap.

She tried.

She held it through the next thrust and the next, her inner walls fluttering in constant, desperate pulses around him, her arms shaking with the combined effort of supporting her weight and containing what was building in her core.

Her massive, heavy rear was flushed a deep, heated rose from his attention, every nerve ending in it singing, the warmth from each impact radiating inward and feeding the relentless build at her centre.

Squelch. CRACK. Squelch.

He spanked her again, one on each cheek simultaneously, the double impact sending her lurching forward before his grip on her braid yanked her back into position.

CRACK. CRACK.

She sobbed.

Not from pain, from the sheer, accumulating impossibility of holding what he was building inside her against the instruction to wait, from the specific devastation of being simultaneously restrained and overwhelmed, from a century of composure finally arriving at its absolute limit and discovering the limit was actually a door.

"Daddy—" The word was soaked through with everything she couldn’t say otherwise. "Daddy, please, I can’t hold it, please—"

Slap. Slap. Slap. Squelch. Slap.

The sounds filling the hollow were obscene and wet and continuous, his hips meeting the full, soft weight of her rear with a force that produced a sound like applause on every stroke, her flesh absorbing each impact and shaking with it, her voice reduced to a continuous, broken stream of syllables that were mostly his name and mostly unrecognisable.

His free hand found her rear again, not a slap this time but a grip, fingers sinking into the abundant, yielding flesh with bruising force, pulling her back to meet each thrust rather than simply driving forward, using her as an anchor against his own momentum so that every stroke hit its absolute deepest point.

Squelch. Squelch. Slap. Squelch.

"Look at you," he said, rough and ragged, his composure as thoroughly dismantled as hers, the words coming between breaths rather than before them.

"Look at Mommy taking everything Daddy gives her."

Her tail, which had been lashing wildly behind her, wrapped itself around his thigh and squeezed with a desperate, reflexive grip.

CRACK.

One final, devastating spank across her burning rear, landed with the full weight of his palm at the exact moment he drove to the absolute hilt and ground forward, pressing against her deepest point and holding there, refusing to pull back.

The pressure was impossible.

"Now," he said.

-x-

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