Evil MC's NTR Harem

Ross didn't move. He held himself inside her completely, his massive cock pulsing with restraint.

Every inch of him throbbed with the need to thrust, to take her hard—but he didn't.

Not until she was ready.

He kissed her again—slowly, sweetly—his lips brushing away the tears from her cheeks.

Then he moved lower, nuzzling her neck, pressing kisses along the curve of her throat, down to her trembling chest.

His tongue swirled gently around one of her sensitive nipples, then the other, lavishing attention until her ragged breathing began to steady.

Joan's hands relaxed slightly, moving from the sheets to Ross's back, her fingertips trailing over the hard lines of muscle there.

She could still feel every pulse of his thick cock buried inside her, stretching her walls to their limit—but her body was no longer fighting it.

Instead… it was beginning to accept him.

The initial burn had faded into a deep, intense fullness—strange and unfamiliar, but not unbearable anymore.

She could feel the slickness inside her spreading, her own arousal returning, coating him slowly, making the stretch a little easier with every passing second.

Ross pulled back just enough to look into her eyes.

"You okay?" he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her damp forehead.

Joan bit her lip and nodded, her voice shaky but honest. "It still hurts… but… it's starting to feel different. Like my body is… adjusting."

Ross smiled gently. "Good girl. You're doing so well. Just tell me when you're ready for more."

She didn't answer right away, but her legs shifted slightly, spreading just a little wider as her hips rose in the faintest invitation.

Her eyes fluttered half-closed, and a soft moan escaped her lips as her pussy clenched around him involuntarily.

Ross groaned, the sensation nearly undoing him.

Her walls were gripping him like a vice, hot and wet and impossibly tight.

He lowered his head again, kissing her jaw, her ear, whispering praises into her skin.

"So tight… so fucking perfect," he murmured. "You were meant to be my slave. Don't worry, I'll take good care of you now."

"Yes, master." Joan purred in reply.

Joan's heart pounded at his words.

A new kind of heat spread through her—not just physical, but emotional.

She had never been touched like this, never been seen like this.

Ross wasn't just taking her body—he was claiming her completely.

She felt herself melting beneath him, giving in.

"You can move now," she whispered, almost afraid of how much she wanted him to.

Ross pulled back slowly, carefully, withdrawing a few inches.

The motion made Joan gasp sharply again—still sore, still sensitive—but this time there was a tremble of pleasure beneath the pain.

Then, with a slow, deliberate push, he slid back inside her, inch by inch.

Joan moaned, her nails dragging lightly down his back.

It was too much and not enough all at once.

The feeling of being filled so deeply, stretched so completely—it was like nothing she'd ever imagined.

Ross began to move in a slow, steady rhythm, drawing back and pushing in with exquisite care.

He never took his eyes off her, watching every flicker of sensation on her face—every gasp, every moan, every tremble.

And Joan… Joan began to change.

Her moans deepened. Her hips started to lift to meet his slow thrusts.

Her fingers gripped his arms, pulling him closer.

The pain was still there, but it was fading—bit by bit—replaced by a slow-building heat that started to coil low in her belly.

She felt full, stretched, dominated—but also safe, protected.

Every movement he made was for her.

Every kiss, every thrust, every whisper against her skin was filled with worship.

"D…" she moaned, her voice breathy and growing desperate. "I feel… something…"

He smiled against her neck, kissing her collarbone as his hips began to roll a little deeper.

"That's it, baby. Let it build. Let me make you feel good."

And as her body began to surrender to the rhythm, the pleasure finally started to take root—rising higher, sharper, hotter—with each deep, slow stroke.

Joan had never felt anything like it.

And she knew, without a doubt, that she would never forget the way he was claiming her—not just her body, but her soul.

"D!!!!!!!!!" Joan's cry of ecstasy rang through the room, raw and unrestrained, echoing off the walls as her body convulsed beneath Ross.

Her legs locked around his waist, and her nails scraped down his back, leaving angry red lines in their wake.

She was shaking—trembling all over—lost in the sheer overwhelming force of her orgasm.

A hot gush of fluid sprayed from her, soaking Ross's cock and thighs, pooling on the sheets beneath them.

Her pussy gripped him so tightly now, milking him with pulsing contractions that came in waves, each one squeezing him harder than the last.

Ross groaned deep in his chest.

The feeling of her tight, squirting cunt wrapped around his cock was mind-shattering.

"Fuck, Joan," he growled, voice rough and strained. "You feel too damn good… I can barely hold it…"

Joan was still gasping for breath, her vision hazy, her skin flushed and dewy with sweat.

She could barely speak—her orgasm had taken everything from her—but her body wasn't finished.

Even as her climax began to fade, her hips kept grinding against him, instinctively chasing the connection, needing to feel him moving inside her again.

And Ross didn't disappoint.

Once her spasms began to settle, he picked up the pace again—his thrusts deep, heavy, and relentless now.

There was no more holding back.

Her pussy was soaked, stretched, and ready to take him.

Her body had been broken open by pleasure, and he intended to fill every inch of her.

Pak.

Pak.

Pak.

The sounds of their bodies slamming together echoed in rhythmic waves, wet and filthy and perfect.

"Ahhhhh…"

"Ohhhhh…"

"Ughhhhh…" Joan whimpered, her voice soft now, breathy and high-pitched, as Ross's cock drilled deeper into her again and again.

The pleasure was different now—softer but still electric—rolling through her in rippling aftershocks.