My SuperVillain System: Building Legion of SSS-Ranked SuperHeroines

But her body… her ruined, loved, marked body… it wanted to stay.

He pressed closer, forcing her softness into his frame, her nipples aching now, her stomach fluttering like wings were beating inside her.

"I won't lie to you," he murmured, voice more flame than breath. "I'll still look. Still ache. Still fantasize. But if you let me fuck your mouth before I even say good morning—if I can use your holes without needing to ask—then I swear… you're the only one I'll beg for. The only one I'll kneel to. The only one who'll ever own my filth."

Her legs trembled. Her fingers curled in helpless surrender.

"I'm… I'm scared," she whispered.

Her heart screamed with it.

Her morals seemed to tremble.

His lips touched hers—soft, teasing, cruel.

"I'm worse than anything you fear."

And still, she didn't pull away.

Still, she held onto him.

Then, still carrying her, he stepped toward the bed—not to lay her down.

But to hold her on the edge.

Her legs spread around him, hips trembling as she stayed straddled on his body, unable to hide the broken flutter of her breath, the raw ache of last night still written in every inch of her skin.

His grip adjusted.

One hand stayed on her ass.

The other slipped between her thighs.

She whimpered—no louder than a gasp—as his fingers dipped into the slick heat, the mess of seed and slick making her folds flutter under his touch.

"You're scared," he murmured, voice dropping lower. "But your pussy's sucking air like it's lonely."

Two fingers slid inside.

Squish.

"W-wait—Anghh!"

She cried out softly, her forehead collapsing to his shoulder, her entire body flinching at the sudden stretch. It hurt. But it didn't stop her from clenching around him.

He pumped once. Then pulled out.

Let the mess coat his fingers.

Smeared it back against her slit, letting her feel the filth.

"You'll say yes," he murmured.

Her chest heaved, a sob of pleasure and shame trapped in her lungs.

"Haah... You will not hurt me… right?"

She just looked at him.

Eyes wide. Teary. Fragile in the way only a woman freshly broken could be. Her bottom lip trembled, glistening with spit, parted like she was still trying to catch her breath.

The raw swell of her breasts rose and fell rapidly, each inhale quivering, helpless. Her legs stayed open from how he'd held her, thighs trembling from overuse, still marked with the outline of his grip, his strength, his desire.

Cruxius didn't speak.

He didn't need to.

He moved with slow, terrifying certainty—lowering her onto the bed like she was porcelain. No rush. No violence. Just a deliberate promise that he still wasn't done.

Her back sank into the sheets, damp hair fanning out across the pillow, and she didn't resist. She couldn't. The sheets kissed the sweat still drying on her skin, and her whole body ached with the kind of soreness that didn't fade easily. Her eyes stayed locked on his face—searching, pleading, waiting.

The question trembled between them, soft and broken:

"...You will not hurt me… right?"

He stood there a moment, cock swollen, resting against the flat of his stomach, the thick shaft smeared with her slick and still twitching from the closeness of her mouth.

And then—he reached down.

Wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, thick fingers tightening slowly, veins bulging beneath his skin. He moved it toward her face, the weight of it undeniable, hanging like a sentence above her lips.

With his thumb, he gently pressed down on her bottom lip, parting it. Her breath hitched instantly.

Her lips opened—hesitant, trembling—accepting the unspoken demand.

"I will not," he said finally, his voice soft, but not kind. His eyes gleamed like a wolf's, knowing, patient, merciless. "But it totally depends… on how you perform."

Then he guided the heavy head of his cock forward.

And slowly, deliberately, slid it into her mouth.

Her lips stretched around the girth, the soft, swollen crown parting them with obscene pressure. The taste of him hit her tongue—salty, musky, still laced with her own slick and the echo of their last brutal coupling. Her jaw instinctively widened, her breath catching at the sheer thickness forcing her open.

He didn't thrust yet.

Didn't even move.

Just let her feel it.

Let her feel the weight of him resting on her tongue, sinking just far enough to threaten the back of her throat. His hand slid into her hair, cradling the back of her head, not pushing—but there.

Firm. Claiming.

Her eyes welled further, body frozen beneath him. Not in fear.

In surrender.

Her hands gripped the sheets at her sides, fingers curling tight, knuckles pale. Her nipples tightened visibly, hard points rising with the rush of her breath.

And all the while—she looked up at him.

Tears clung to her lashes. Her mouth full. Her body raw. Her soul trembling.

Cruxius gazed back down at her, eyes darker than sin. He cupped her cheek with his free hand, thumb brushing a tear from beneath her eye, slow and oddly tender.

"Good girls don't need promises," he murmured. "They need purpose."

He pushed deeper.

Inch by slow inch, letting the head slip past her tongue and toward her throat. Her lips sealed tighter around the shaft, mouth stretched wide now, wetness pooling at the corners. Her throat spasmed once, a soft gag reflex catching, and she whimpered.

He paused.

Felt her shiver.

"Breathe through your nose," he whispered, calm and cruel. "Let me in."

She did. Or tried to.

She drew in through her nostrils, slow and shallow, every breath trembling. Her throat fluttered as she adjusted, and her tongue moved helplessly beneath him, coating him with slick, warm pressure.

He slid deeper.

Her gag reflex triggered again, but she didn't pull back. She clenched her fists tighter, eyes wide as she took him further than she thought she could.

"Just like that," he growled, voice catching with the faintest tremor of pleasure. "You're doing so well, my love."

The tip of his cock bumped the back of her throat. She flinched—but didn't fight.

"Unghhh.... mmmmhhhh..." Her jaw ached already, and her lungs were tight from how little room he'd left her to breathe. Saliva built up fast, dripping down her chin as she tried to hold him in, to please him.

He groaned.

Low and dangerous.

His hand tightened in her hair, and this time—he moved.

A slow withdrawal, letting her feel the drag of every inch across her tongue, only to slide back in with a steady, thick push that made her eyes flutter and her breath catch in a gagged moan.

"That's it…" he hissed. "Take it. Show me you're mine."

She choked slightly—then sucked in through her nose again, adapting. Her thighs shifted restlessly, the ache between her legs intensifying just from how deeply he filled her mouth.

Her clit throbbed, untouched, desperate, as her shame curled through her chest like smoke.

She should've pulled away.

Should've resisted.

But she didn't.

She let him fuck her mouth.

Because he was still holding her heart.

Because she still wanted the promise.

Because in her humiliation… there was devotion.

And in his cruelty… there was ownership.

Her nails scraped against the sheets, her moans swallowed by his cock as he built a rhythm—slow, deep strokes that forced her to gag and breathe and swallow and stretch all at once.

And above her, he smiled faintly.

Not cruelly.

But like a man falling in love with the filth he'd made.