CHAPTER 172: CLAIMING MY HOT NURSE (R-18)

Her hands flew to cover gleaming folds, already slick with arousal, but I caught her wrists—fingers circling bone like manacles.

"Don’t," I murmured against her inner thigh. "Every inch of you belongs to my eyes."

She shuddered and obeyed.

Her pussy was a masterpiece of desperate anatomy: swollen labia flushed dark rose, parting like dew-kissed petals to reveal the glistening entrance—a tight, clenching fuchsia hole already weeping clear fluid. Above it, her clit peeked from its hood, a taut pearl begging for attention, visibly pulsing with her frantic heartbeat.

The scent hit me—sweet musk, salt, and the primal tang of fertile hunger.

I blew a cool stream of air over her cunt. A visible ripple rolled through her inner thighs. "You’re vibrating," I whispered.

"I can’t—"

I sealed my mouth over her clit in a slow, deliberate kiss.

She arched off the bed, a guttural moan tearing from her throat as my tongue flattened against the sensitive bundle of nerves. I traced tight circles, feeling it swell under my touch. Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling—not to escape, but to anchor herself as I explored.

When I speared my tongue into her vaginal canal, she cried out. She was insanely tight—silken walls clamping rhythmically, milking my tongue. I curled upward, finding the roughened patch of her G-spot.

Her hips bucked wildly, thighs crushing my skull.

"More."

I sucked her clit while pumping two fingers deep inside her, crooking to stroke that hidden treasure. Her fluids gushed over my knuckles, dripping down my wrist. "Fuck, look at you," I growled against her flesh. "Dripping like a ripe fruit."

Her orgasm tore through her in seismic waves. Cervical contractions gripped my fingers like a fist as she screamed my name, spine bowed like a drawn bowstring. I lapped through every tremor, tasting her release—salt-sweet, metallic, and utterly hers.

Her body trembled beneath me—a living instrument tuned to violence and grace. I watched her not with mortal eyes but with the Eye: nerve endings firing like constellations under her skin, capillaries flushing crimson across her chest, the glow of arousal mapping her cunt in wet, pulsing light. There.

That spot just left of her navel—hypersensitive, craving pressure. There

. The bundle of nerves above her mons, throbbing like a second heartbeat.

I kissed the inside of her thigh now, teeth grazing the sweat-slick skin, tasting salt and desire. Moving upward, I hovered at her lips. Her pupils swallowed the light, wide and black, a silent plea in the locked space between us.

"You ready?" My voice was gravel and smoke. I dragged the flared crown of my cock through her folds—coated in her slick, already glossy. The head caught on her entrance, and she gasped, hips jerking like I’d electrocuted her.

"Please... Peter, I can’t— I need you—"

"Shh..." I palmed her waist, thumb pressing the hypersensitive ridge below her ribs where I’d seen the nerves glow brightest. She whimpered, spine curling off the bed. "You’ll get everything. But we do this my way."

Then I pushed in.

Slow.

Her walls resisted—a velvet vise clutching my shaft. I felt every ridge and pulse of her inner muscles as they yielded inch by brutal inch. She moaned—a high, shattered sound—as the thick head breached her deepest point, hitting her cervix with a dull, resonant pressure that made her arch like a drawn bowstring.

"Fuuuck..."

I bit her earlobe, grinding my hips to bury myself deeper to the size she could handle. My pelvic bone crushed her clit as I bottomed out. "Feel that, baby? How you’re milking me already?"

She whimpered, legs locking behind my ass. "Mhm... deeper. I can take it, please—"

I rolled my hips—deeper—until she cried out, her body rigid. And I stayed. Buried. Letting her feel the stretch of her tissues, the heat of my cock pulsing against her walls like a second heartbeat.

"You feel like heaven," I murmured against her neck, teeth scraping the pulse point below her jaw—eliciting a full-body shudder. "Tight fuckin’ heaven."

Then I moved.

Slow thrusts that dragged her inner lips outward with every retreat, glistening with our mingled wetness. Her hips rolled up to meet mine, instinctive, desperate. Each withdrawal made her vaginal walls clench like they feared I’d leave. Her slick coated my shaft in thick, creamy rings, dripping down my balls.

"Peter..." she whined, voice cracking. "Harder, please— I need—"

"No."

I pinned her wrists above her head, pinning her soul with my stare. "You get me. Not just the fuck. Every stroke. Every inch

. You feel it."

She gasped as I slammed home—once—hard enough to make the bed frame shriek. Control.

The rhythm deepened. My hips crashed into hers—thwack—thwack—thwack. The headboard hammered the wall. Her moans weren’t sounds; they were songs of ruin. Melodies torn from her throat, each one naming a new level of surrender.

I leaned in, sweat slicking our chests as they slid together. Say my name."

"Peter—!"

"Again."

"PETER! GOD—DON’T STOP—DON’T EVER—"

God, her cunt... It clenched like a fist when her orgasm hit—violent waves that made her thighs tremble violently against my ribs. White-hot silk rippling up my shaft, dragging my orgasm from my core. I growled into her neck as I emptied myself—ropes of cum flooding her, triggering another spasm that made her sob my name.

I kissed her—deep—tongue claiming her mouth as my hips kept grinding, lazy circles, because I wasn’t done. My cock stayed hard, aching, buried in cum-slick heat.

"I’m gonna make you come again," I breathed against her lips, teeth nipping her swollen bottom lip. "And again. Until your body forgets anything but mine."

She didn’t answer. She just held on.

Tighter.

Her nails clawing my back like she wanted to crawl inside my skin.

Exactly where she belonged.

She trembled beneath me—not the aftershocks of orgasm, but the seismic tremors of a body being dismantled and rebuilt around my cock. Her moans had dissolved into whimpers, high-pitched and broken, the sound of a mind unraveling where her cunt ended and I began.

I didn’t stop. Didn’t speed up. I owned her.

My grip iron on her hips, pinning her to the sweat-drenched sheets while I rolled into her—slow, grinding strokes that dragged my cock through her like a blade carving flesh.

Each withdrawal dragged her inner lips outward, slick and swollen, clinging to my shaft like a second skin. When I thrust back in, the thick, flared head of my cock stretched her opening wide—a visible bulge in her lower belly as I buried myself balls-deep.

"Look at me." My growl vibrated through both our chests, lips brushing hers as she struggled to focus. Her eyes fluttered open—glassy, unfocused, pupils blown wide with submission. "You don’t look away from the man who’s rewriting your pussy’s memory."

I slowed further, grinding in deep circles. Her breath hitched as I flexed inside her—my cock pulsing against her cervix, the thick vein along the underside throbbing against her G-spot. Her hips jerked, trying to lift, but I slammed her back down.

"Running, princess?" My teeth scraped her cheekbone, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass. "This cunt has new owner now. Every drop of you drips with my claim."

I wrenched her wrists above her head, pinning them with one hand while the other slid between us—two fingers pressing alongside my cock, stretching her wider as I continued grinding. Her wetness coated us, thick and milky, dripping down my shaft onto the sheets.

"Say it," I hissed against her ear, tongue flicking the pulse point. "Whose woman are you, Luna?"

Her breath caught—then shattered: "YOURS! Fuck, Peter—I’m yours! Only you—never again—"

That was it. The breaking point.

I released her wrists, palms sliding under her ass to lift her bodily onto my cock. Her legs wrapped around my waist as I lifted her hips slightly, changing the angle to hammer her anterior fornix—that hidden pocket of nerves behind her cervix.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

Her eyes rolled back. "OH GOD—PETER—!"

Thwack. Thwack.

Her back arched into a perfect bow, spray of squirt gushing from her cunt, soaking my balls and thighs. "Good girl," I snarled, nails marking her hips. "Drown for me."

I flipped her onto her stomach in one fluid motion—knees shoved wide, spine arched. Before she could catch her breath, I buried myself to the hilt from behind. Her scream was muffled by the pillow as my heavy balls slapped her clit with every ruthless drive inward.

This wasn’t sex. This was possession.

I was balls-deep, grinding in short, brutal jabs that made her whole body convulse. Each time she clawed at the sheets, I whispered devotion wrapped in filth:

"Feel how deep I mark you? Tomorrow you’ll sit and ache where I tore you open."

"Dream of this cock splitting you open while you sleep."

Her answer was a choked sob—and another violent orgasm that clenched my cock like a vise. Ripples of cum-squirt flooded my shaft as I pinned her writhing body flat.

Her scream became a ragged gasp as I drove forward with savage finality—one last brutal thrust that sent us toppling off the bed in a chaotic tangle of sweat-slicked limbs and tangled sheets. We hit the hardwood floor with a bone-jarring thud, knocking the breath from her lungs in a choked sob.

But momentum was my weapon—I never stopped.