ebookslot Chapter 590 - 589- Viktor’s Acting skills are off the Charts
Chapter 590 - 589- Viktor’s Acting skills are off the Charts
’Where have I been caught?’The scream lived inside her skull, tearing through the silence of her own mind with the jagged, desperate pitch of a woman who had walked into her own trap. Naro knelt on the wet tile, her heavy knees spread wide, the coarse bar of soap melting in her thick fingers. The steam rose around her, thick and hot, plastering her hair to her forehead and making her blouse cling to the heavy, dense weight of her tits.
His feet were pale and narrow before her, the toes long and untouched by labor. She scrubbed them with the cloth, her broad shoulders hunched, her eyes fixed on the floor because she was terrified to look up. But the shadow fell across her anyway. The thick, blunt, unmistakable shadow of his erect cock stretched over her bowed head, dark against the wet tile and her own heavy thighs, twitching slightly with each pulse of his heartbeat.
She gasped.
The sound was small, pathetic, the involuntary exhale of a woman who had a man’s erection hovering directly above her face. She could see the base of it from the corner of her vision—thick, rooted in dark hair, the heavy balls hanging low and dusted with the same coarse hair. The shaft rose from that base like a weapon, veined and brutal, the head swollen and dark with blood.
"I cannot," she whispered.
Her voice cracked. Her hands trembled against his ankle. The soap slipped, skittering across the tile, and she fumbled for it with the desperate, clumsy motion of a woman whose dignity was unraveling.
Viktor moved.
His hand shot down and closed around her wrist. His grip was warm, firm, the fingers long and strong. He pulled her hand upward, away from his foot, guiding it with the patient, inexorable insistence of a man who had decided where her palm would go next.
"Mother used to rub it," he said.
His voice was soft, wounded, the tone of a boy confessing a shameful secret. "And of course, it had become bigger. Uglier."
Naro’s lips parted.
Her eyes lifted—traitorously, helplessly—finding the full length of his cock mere inches from her face. The head was dark, the slit at the tip already leaking a clear, glistening bead. The veins ran along the underside like raised ropes, pulsing with the obscene health of him.
"No," she said.
The word came out thick, choked, dragged from the deepest part of her chest. "It is not ugly."
She didn’t know why she said it. The moment the words left her mouth, she felt her face burn with a shame so hot it could have boiled the bathwater. She had called a young man’s cock beautiful. She had knelt before him and praised the very thing that was casting its shadow across her submission.
Viktor’s hand kept pulling.
Her palm, still slick with soap, found his thigh. Then higher. The coarse hair at the base of his cock tickled her wrist. Then her fingers—thick, strong, scarred from kitchen work—were closing around the shaft.
"Rub," he whispered.
The command was gentle. It was devastating.
Naro’s whole body shook. She started to stroke him, her soapy palm gliding up from the base, over the thick veins, to the swollen head. The soap made her grip slippery, vulgar, the wet sound of flesh on flesh filling the small bathroom with the unmistakable audio of a handjob.
"Ah," Viktor breathed.
His head tilted back, his eyes closing, his hips pushing forward into her grip. "I can feel enjoyment. What is this feeling?"
Naro’s eyes went wide.
Her hand froze around his cock. The heavy, hot, throbbing reality of him pulsed against her palm, demanding more motion, more friction, more of her shame.
"What?" she gasped. "Have you not done that before?"
Viktor looked down at her.
His violet eyes were half-lidded, confused, innocent—the perfect mask of a boy who had never touched himself. "No," he said. "What?"
Naro flushed.
The heat rushed from her chest to her neck to her face, a deep, mortifying crimson that made her heavy tits feel tight inside her soaked blouse. She realized, with a sickening clarity, that she was the pervert here. She was the mature, heavy, lonely woman kneeling before a young man and stroking his cock with her soapy hands while he looked at her with those wide, supposedly ignorant eyes.
"I—" she started.
She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t admit that she was corrupting him, that her pussy was wet and her nipples were stiff and her body was on fire with the need to keep pumping her fist around his shaft.
She stroked faster.
Her palm worked him with the desperate, guilty enthusiasm of a woman trying to finish something she had started. The soap squelched between her fingers and his hot flesh. His balls swung slightly with each upward pull, heavy and full, slapping gently against her wrist.
"Ah," Viktor groaned.
His hand found hers again. But this time he didn’t guide. He gripped. He wrapped his fingers around her thick wrist and began to move her hand for himself—faster, harder, using her fist to masturbate his cock, his hips snapping forward into her grip with the wet, relentless sound of a man fucking a woman’s hand.
"Wait—" she gasped. "Wait— don’t—"
"Ah," he said. "It feels good."
His hips sped up.
The head of his cock swelled in her grip, the vein on the underside pulsing violently, his balls drawing tight against his body. She could see it happening—the approach, the inevitable, the thing she had started and could not stop.
"Wait—" she cried again.
But he threw his head back.
And came.
The first rope of thick, hot seed blasted across her face with shocking force. It hit her cheek, her nose, her lips—a heavy, warm, salty splatter that made her flinch and gasp. The second rope followed immediately, landing across her forehead, running into her eyebrow, dripping down her temple. The third hit her mouth directly, filling the seam of her lips, forcing her to taste the bitter salt of him.
She gasped.
"Wh— what—" she sputtered.
Viktor looked down at her.
His face was a mask of shock—eyes wide, mouth open, the expression of a boy who had just broken something precious and didn’t know how it happened. "What is coming out of it?" he asked.
His voice was breathless, bewildered, the perfect performance of innocence.
"It feels strange. Ah."
He swayed.
He fell.
His body collapsed forward, his cock still hard and wet and pressed against her face as he tumbled over her. She caught him—her arms going around his back, his weight pressing her down onto the wet tile, his cock mashed against her lips, his balls against her chin, the remaining seed smearing across her cheeks as he landed on top of her heavy body.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
His voice was muffled against her hair.
Naro lay beneath him, her face covered in his cum, her mouth open, her body pinned to the cold floor by his naked weight. The heavy, dense mass of her tits flattened against his chest, her thick thighs spread under him, her skirt bunched around her waist.
"What are you doing?!" she yelled.