Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 121: By Your Hands **

Pull.

The slender silver hairpin had now become an instrument of torment, drawn back just a fraction within its tight, clutching sheath of Oathran’s little peehole.

"Mmmm—"

The sound that escaped Oathran was a muffled, low-pitched hum of protest, vibrating against the roof of her mouth where the other, rigid cock was nestled.

Puuuuush.

She guided the pin back in, slow, feeling the minute tremors that ran through the entire massive frame beneath her.

"Aaaaaaaaahhhh..." His exhale was a long, a surrender to the invasive fullness, his head thrown back against the ruined velvet of the armchair, tendons standing out along his throat.

Twist...

A subtle rotation of her wrist, the pin turning minutely inside that impossibly sensitive hole.

"Ngghh! Mmm! Rrrhhhh..." It was a guttural, animal sound, choked and raw. His hips jerked involuntarily, a helpless spasm.

Cecilia released him from her mouth with a soft, wet sound, looking down at the wrecked spectacle of him. Her voice was a breathy amidst the heavy panting. "Should I stroke it?"

"Yes... yes..." he begged, his words slurred, his eyes screwed shut as if to better feel the universe narrowing to the points of her contact. "Please stroke it... stroke it for me, Saintess..."

Her fingers, slick and sure, closed around the base of the bottom dick, the one adorned with the silver pin. She began a slow, firm rhythm.

"Should I suck the top one...?" she asked.

"Mm-hm... please... please suck the top one... ahhhhh... harder..."

She obliged, taking the weeping, iron-hard length back into her mouth, sucking deeply. The cock ring she’d placed earlier did wonders, keeping the base deliciously constrained, making the tip she sucked feel even more engorged, like tasting living marble wrapped in the softest, hottest silk.

Meanwhile, the bottom one, the one plugged and pierced by her hairpin, kept oozing a steady, clear precum every time she manipulated it. A push, a pull, a twist... Each movement encouraged a fresh, pearly bead at the tiny, violated hole.

Oh, how well it lubricated her silver needle.

It was amazing how far this ancient, prideful dragon would let her go. She wondered when he started to... let go of that control...

Was it... when she first put his cocks in her mouth?

"Cecilia..." His voice tore her from the thought. "Have at it harder..."

Ahhh. Her own breath hitched. How could a man’s low begging voice sound so devastatingly, heart-stoppingly beautiful?

Emboldened, consumed, she took him deeper into her throat, her fingers stroking faster, and her other hand began to work the hairpin in and out with a quicker, more insistent rhythm.

"Aaaaahhh... I can take it... I can take it more..." he chanted, a mantra of endurance and ecstasy.

CRASH!

The sound was explosive. Oathran’s hands, which had been gripping the arms of the heavy, ornate armchair, convulsed. The carved wood, centuries old and enchanted for durability, splintered under the force of his grasp, shards flying.

Cecilia pulled her mouth away with a loud, wet ’pop’, her eyes wide. "Are you sure?" she asked. She gently stilled her hands. "Really, really sure?"

The dragon before her was conflicted. Muscles locked in tension, yet trembling. A being of immense power, brought to his knees by sensation. His eyes flew open, grey and wild and unfocused.

"No. Don’t. I don’t know. Wait." The words tumbled out, chaotic, negating each other. "I think... aaaaahhhh... fuck my hole deeper... I can take it... Wait... slowly, do it harder, slowly..."

Cecilia stared. A heat flooded her chest. This was uncharacteristic of him. This was not Oathran the decisive, Oathran the all-knowing, Oathran who always had a plan and an answer.

This was a new creature. Oathran unraveled, Oathran uncertain, Oathran lost in a storm of pleasure so intense it had shattered his famed composure into a thousand pieces.

"You can take my cock deeper, and so can I take you deeper. I’m not a coward..." Oathran hissed between clenched teeth.

Cecilia chuckled. "Refusing won’t make you a coward, Your Majesty..."

"But I want to feel good..." he insisted, the admission raw and simple. He spread his legs wider on the ruined chair. "By your hands..."

By my hands...

He wanted to die by her hand, literally... and metaphorically.

And here he was, offering himself up to be dismantled by her touch, piece by exquisite piece.

"Mmm, His Majesty’s cocks are just too obedient now that it’s plugged and clamped..." she teased as she gave the hairpin a slight, testing tug.

"For you..." he breathed.

"For me?"

"For you, Saintess..." His voice dropped to a husky, desperate whisper. "Fuck me deeper..."

Who was she to deny such a beautifully broken plea?

Cecilia pushed the silver pin even deeper, feeling the tight, inner clutch of him around the intrusion. Her other hand stroked the clamped length in a firm rhythm, while her tongue darted out to catch the pearly precum that dripped incessantly from the tip, a taste both salty and sweetly metallic.

"Cecilia..." Oathran groaned, "Cecilia..."

Deeper.

And that was when Cecilia, guided by instinct and a cruel, loving curiosity, began to angle the pin downward, seeking a different path within that impossibly tight heat.

"Mmph!" Oathran’s eyes flew open, wide and shocked, the grey blazing hot. That spot—"Oh—Oh, Saintess—!"

"Mmm?" Cecilia responded, her own breath quickening at his reaction.

"Aaaa—" A vowel torn from the core of him. His toes curled violently against the inside of his shoes, and both powerful legs tensed, muscles standing out like cables. "My prost—"

"Yes," she whispered, biting her lip as she felt the subtle, internal shift, the way his body seemed to guide the pin to a new, perfect fulcrum of pleasure. "This is where to poke, right...?"

"MMMMM!" The sound was muffled, guttural, a roar trapped behind his teeth. Oathran felt a convulsive shudder seize him, a sensation so intensely good it bordered on annihilation. "Saintess—!"

Emboldened, she began a new torture. A slow twist, then a gentle nudge, another twist...

"AAAAAHH—!" The dam broke. A torrent of searing blue flame spewed uncontrollably from his parted lips, blasting upward toward the high ceiling in a roar of pure ecstasy.

He barely managed to clamp his jaw down violently a second later, cutting off the stream, leaving only dissipating smoke and the scent of ozone in the air.

"Cecilia!" he cried out, the name ripped from a place of utter unraveling.

"Again...?" she asked, her own body thrumming with the power of his reaction.

"Yes! Again—" he begged, past pride, past thought.

She obeyed, twisting the pin slower this time, sinking it deeper, applying a more sustained pressure against that miraculous spot.

"MMMHH!"

SPLURT!

His body convulsed. The top cock, still firmly clamped by the silver ring, spasmed violently against the constraint, a frantic, fruitless pulse. But the bottom one, the one being so intimately violated... it could not be contained.

It erupted around the slender silver hairpin like a geyser around a stake, a hot, thick rush of semen that overflowed the makeshift plug, soaking her fingers and dripping onto the already-ruined fabric beneath him.

Cecilia pulled the pin away in one quick, slick movement, withdrawing the source of that exquisite, unbearable pressure.

And immediately—

"AAAAHHHH!!!"

What followed was a violent, liquid punctuation.

SPLURT! SPLURT! SPLURT!

Everything that had been pent-up, contained, and teased to a fever pitch now spewed forth in uncontrollable pulses, a hot torrent that painted his stomach and the ruined velvet beneath him.

CLINK!

The Silver Horn Ring, strained by the spasms of the top cock, was finally forced to loosen its magical grip. It sprang open with a sharp, metallic sound and fell to the stone floor with a loud clink, rolling away like a discarded crown.

SPLURT!

One last, heavy surge followed the ring’s surrender.

Ahh... 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Cecilia watched, a tender pride blooming in her chest. As expected of a Five Stars item. It had endured, it had performed its duty perfectly, and it had released him without a scratch. It hadn’t broken, and more importantly, it hadn’t hurt her husband.

Gently, she bent her head. She lovingly licked and sucked both spent, oversensitive cocks, cleaning them with soft, soothing strokes of her tongue, easing them gently from their rigid, throbbing state into limp, wet peace.

She looked up, "Did you enjoy it... Oath—"

The words died on her lips.

He passed out.

Slumped bonelessly in the splintered armchair, his head lolled to one side, his magnificent chest rising and falling in deep, slow draughts. The sight of him, legs splayed wide, his cocks limp and glistening against his thigh, the evidence of his ruin, liquids pooling on the floor around the fallen ring...

If only I could save this sight to see again in the future...

Right.

That new technology she’d heard whispers of in the capital... photography? Yes, that was it. The magic of fixing a moment in time onto paper. She must get her hands on it. Fast.

"Mmm..."

A low groan. Oathran stirred, his lashes fluttering. He came to slowly, his mist-grey eyes blinking open, then narrowing as full consciousness returned.

The man looked... ashamed. A faint, high color tinged his cheekbones. His gaze darted from her kneeling form to the mess between his legs, to the fallen ring, and then away. The dazed, humiliated aftermath of it. Of being dragged beyond the brink of one’s own control.

Another... post-nut clarity...? Cecilia mused internally, hiding a smile.

"Your Majesty..." she said aloud. She was still kneeling before him. "You’re so hot."

The growled response was rough with spent passion and a defensive edge. "Come here." His hand, still trembling slightly, reached for her wrist. "It’s your turn to have your cunt filled."