Villain's Breeding System: Evolving 999+ Harem into an SSS-Rank Legion-Chapter 318 - Ma’am, did you just pee on my hand?

Chapter 318: Chapter 318 - Ma’am, did you just pee on my hand?

And above — his fingers still pounded deep into the tight, soaked, trembling, completely overwhelmed interior of Frau Müller’s pussy while his thumb pressed firm circles against her clit with merciless attention, exactly as though he had located the perfect frequency and was now playing it at full volume.

Frau Müller was not forming words anymore.

She had stopped forming words some time ago. What she was doing instead was producing a continuous, streaming, hall-filling, wall-bouncing sequence of sounds that began somewhere in her chest and arrived in the air having passed through very little in the way of management or filter.

Her hips were rolling, working, grinding back against his hand with full commitment, as her body had taken complete control in total override.

Her fingers had ripped the towel from the foot of the table and were gripping it with both hands, holding on with white-knuckle force to something fixed while everything else moved wildly.

She was going to—

She was—

"AAANNHH~~!! NGH—!! NOOOO—!! AAHHH—!! I—!! IT’S—!! SOMETHING IS—!!"

The orgasm hit her like a wall.

It was massive and full-body, leaving nothing intact — her back arched completely off the table, her thighs clamped around his hand with involuntary, bone-crushing strength as though they had stopped consulting her entirely, her mouth wide open and the sound leaving it with total stripped honesty, the real cry produced by a body receiving its second-ever orgasm approximately ninety minutes after its first.

And then — something else.

The warmth.

It ran freely. Not the way arousal normally ran — this was different, warmer, faster, carrying far more volume than before.

Her body, already sensitized past the point of any management, already having had one orgasm and been finger-fucked straight through a second with no recovery window between them, already soaked through to the point where the towel on the table was wet — her body, receiving the full force of that orgasm, simply gave up on the distinction between what it was producing.

She pissed.

It came out hot, running, and unstoppable — completely involuntary, completely unmanaged, the warm flood pouring over his hand and down the side of the table and onto the floor with raw honesty, as though her body had no more filters left after being pushed so far past its capacity for control that the entire control system had simply stopped functioning.

His hand.

It felt warm. Wet. Coated now with the combined, layered mix where no distinction remained between her pussy’s arousal and everything else.

She was crying.

Loudly. These were full, broken, humiliated, overwhelmed sobs of a woman realizing what had just happened to her on a massage table in a private suite in Vienna while an unknown man finger-fucked her through her second orgasm of the afternoon. The tears carried a specific, comprehensive weight of everything being too much at once.

"I hate you," she said.

Into the towel. The words came out muffled and grinding — her face pressed hard into the ruined towel, her voice broken and wet and entirely serious. "I hate you, Veronica. I hate you."

Below him, Veronica had heard everything.

The sounds of her friend — the orgasm sounds and the other sounds and the crying sounds and the I-hate-you sounds — reached her with full attention, the way someone listens when she is fond of the person producing them and is, simultaneously, very much occupied herself.

His cock was lodged fully in her throat.

He released.

It came in full, pulsing, heavy surges deep in her throat — the first thick rope hitting the back of her throat with pressurized warmth from a load that had been building through the entire hall scenario and the bathroom scenario and the finger-fucking scenario and had arrived at this moment with considerable accumulated interest. The second. The third. Each pulse emptied into her throat with deliberate finality, the way a man finishes completely once he has decided exactly where he is spending this release.

Her throat worked steadily.

Muscle after muscle swallowed with practiced ease, taking every drop with committed hunger as though this exact event was something she had a strong and established relationship with.

He held her there through the last of it.

Then he released her hair.

She pulled back slowly.

His cock left her throat and her mouth and finally her lips with a wet, slipping motion, the way something that had been very thoroughly inside now departed. She exhaled deeply, the full breath of someone who needed air, drawing it in past her open lips.

A thin line of white tracked from the corner of her nose.

It ran downward slowly. Warm and thin — the small overflow from the volume of what had been delivered, the one drop that had found the alternate exit.

She did not appear to find this remarkable at all.

Her eyes went up to his face with warm satisfaction, the look of a woman who had just done something she considered worth doing and wanted him to know she knew it.

He looked down at her.

At the line running from the corner of her nose.

The corner of his mouth moved slightly.

"Clean yourself up," he said. His tone stayed warm and pleasant.

She wiped it away with the back of her hand.

He looked at the table.

At Frau Müller — still pressed face-down into the ruined towel, still crying, her hips still trembling with the aftershocks of what had just happened, her full, wet, warm, comprehensively spent state evident from every angle.

"Ma’am," he said.

She did not respond.

"You just pissed on my hand."

A silence fell.

It was the specific, particular silence of full-body horror from someone who had been hoping, on some level, that no one had noticed that part.

"I—" Her voice came out destroyed. Thin and broken and furious and mortified in equal parts. "I did not — I would never — I didn’t mean—" She stopped. She wanted to argue but could not.

She knew exactly what had happened and why and she could not argue any of it.