Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 135

Natasha's POV

The sensation was overwhelming. His tongue, covered in those small barbs, scraped against my sensitive skin with each movement, leaving red marks across my breast. It hurt—god, it hurt—but beneath the pain was pleasure, intense and undeniable. The combination was intoxicating, addictive, made my head spin and my body ache with need.

He was being as gentle as he could, I realized. For a creature of his size and power, he was showing remarkable restraint. But his tongue was designed for tearing flesh, and even his careful attention left scratches across my skin, thin lines that welled with tiny droplets of blood.

I didn't care. The pain only heightened the pleasure, made everything more intense, more real.

He drank deeply, his throat working as he swallowed my milk, and I was shocked by how much there was. Even after Brennan had taken some, my breasts seemed to have an endless supply, the milk flowing freely in response to Mordred's suckling. It was as though my body had been waiting for this, preparing for this moment.

As he continued to drink, switching from one breast to the other and back again, I felt arousal building inside me. The pull of his mouth on my nipples sent sparks of pleasure straight to my core, made my pussy clench and grow wet, made my hips shift restlessly.

I wanted more. Wanted him to take me, to claim me, to fuck me while he drank from my breasts.

His suckling grew more intense, more greedy, as though he couldn't get enough. My milk flowed faster in response, my body giving him everything he wanted, everything he needed. The pleasure built and built, my breathing growing ragged, my hands moving to grip his massive shoulders for support.

God, being a wet nurse felt incredible. The sensation of nourishing him, of providing for him, of being needed in this primal way—it was better than anything I'd imagined.

Finally, my breasts were empty, drained completely. But I hadn't climaxed, hadn't reached that peak I could feel hovering just out of reach. My body was wound tight with unfulfilled need, aching for release.

I made a decision.

Slowly, deliberately, I sank to my knees on the cold stone floor, positioning myself on all fours. My heart raced as I looked back at him over my shoulder, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Mordred... I want you to mount me. Please."

A low growl rumbled from his throat, and I felt him move behind me, felt the heat of his massive body as he positioned himself. Then I felt it—the blunt pressure of his cock against my entrance, testing, probing.

I waited, my body trembling with anticipation and need, knowing what was coming, wanting it despite the fear, despite the pain I knew would follow.

This time, I released my mind completely, let myself sink into the experience without resistance, without holding back.

The Beast entered me.

The penetration was brutal, overwhelming, his massive size stretching me beyond what should have been possible. But this time, instead of fighting it, I surrendered to it, let my body accept him, let the pain transform into something else.

His arms braced on either side of me—one massive hand planted on the floor, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise, claws digging into my flesh. The position was primal, animalistic, exactly what it should be.

He began to move, his thrusts powerful and relentless, and my carefully tied hair came loose, falling around my face in waves. Deep, guttural sounds of pleasure rumbled from his throat, vibrating through his chest and into my body.

Then, without warning, an orgasm crashed over me.

I cried out, my voice echoing off the stone walls, my body convulsing around him. The pleasure was so intense it bordered on pain, stealing my breath, making the world spin and blur.

I gasped for air, trying to process the sensations, but before I could recover, another wave hit me. And another. The orgasms came in rapid succession, each one more intense than the last, until I couldn't tell where one ended and the next began.

I couldn't scream anymore. Couldn't make a sound. The intensity held me captive, locked me in a state of overwhelming sensation that I couldn't escape.

My eyes squeezed shut, my body moving in chaotic, jerky motions, convulsing repeatedly like I was having a seizure. Maybe I was. This was too much. Far too much.

Images flashed through my mind unbidden—fantasies of Mordred in his human form, of what it would be like to make love to him as a man instead of a beast. Would he be gentle? Would he be rough? Would he look at me with those mismatched eyes and tell me I was his?

The thought sent another wave of pleasure through me, and I felt myself fragmenting, coming apart at the seams.

Finally, I collapsed forward, my arms giving out, my cheek pressing against the cold stone floor. My vision blurred, shapes and colors bleeding together into meaningless patterns. Sounds lost their meaning, became distant and muffled, as though I were underwater.

My body felt heavy and sluggish, foreign, like it belonged to someone else. Aftershocks rippled through me, making my muscles twitch and spasm. The edges of my vision darkened, consciousness slipping away like sand through my fingers.

The last thing I felt before the darkness claimed me was Mordred's weight settling over me, protective and possessive, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my back.