My SuperVillain System: Building Legion of SSS-Ranked SuperHeroines

Five minutes later—

"H-Hah—!"

Lira's cry tore out of her throat, raw and broken. Her head slammed back onto the mattress, pink hair whipping around her damp face. Her mouth hung open, panting, drool glistening on her bottom lip, trembling from the brutal stretch her jaw had just endured.

A thick line of saliva still connected her mouth to the swollen, twitching tip of Cruxius's cock. It hung there, stretched thin and obscene… until—pat—it snapped, landing across her cheek in a warm splatter.

"Ahhh—" she gasped again, chest heaving like she couldn't breathe. Her throat jumped with every swallow. A tiny, whimpering moan escaped her without meaning to, and she clenched her eyes shut. One of her lashes stuck to her cheek where tears had smudged her makeup.

She was shaking.

Her corset had come undone. The laces were half-loosened, some pulled so violently they'd snapped. The fabric now rode up, wrinkled around her ribs, useless and damp. One breast had slipped free, bouncing faintly with each panicked inhale. The other strained inside, the lace edge digging in, nipple visibly hard and tinged rose from the cold air and contact.

Her legs were wide open.

One knee drooped limply outward, the other twitching with every ragged breath. Her panties—frilly and pale blue—had been yanked aside so roughly that the strap now cut into her hip, twisted into a crude knot. The fabric was soaked, the dark patch in the center shining. Her inner thighs glistened—slick and hot, trembling from leftover strain.

She let out another shaky moan, barely more than breath. "Nnnhh… s-stop…"

Her thighs trembled again.

And the stockings—god.

They were torn. Brutally.

The delicate white mesh had ripped down her right leg in a harsh, curling line — the tear clawed open from when she'd kicked, when he'd held her down. It exposed soft, pale thigh now marked with red fingerprints, his grip burned into her flesh like a brand. One garter strap had snapped and dangled loose, brushing her skin like a soft, taunting feather.

Cruxius stood above her.

Silent. Unmoving. His body slick with sweat, chest rising slow, steady — like he was in control. Like her cries meant nothing. His eyes didn't leer. They didn't soften either. Just stared. Cold. Steady. Watching her like prey already caught.

His cock glistened. Thick. Throbbing. The tip still wet with her spit. He ran a single slow stroke along it — fingers firm, sliding up from base to crown. A thick bead of precum welled, lazily, at the top… and slid down.

Shlk.

The sound was clear. Wet. Her breath caught.

Lira coughed weakly, eyes fluttering. Her hand reached up, feebly, palm barely lifting.

"Y-you're a… mon—nnnhaahhh—" she tried to curse him, but her voice cracked in the middle, ripped apart by the shudder running through her spine. Her thighs clenched.

He didn't speak.

He just knelt.

The bed dipped under his weight. One knee pressed between her thighs. She let out a small yelp—more reflex than resistance—"Ah—ahh!"

The heat of his body rolled over her. His presence felt like fire — suffocating. Overwhelming. She twitched hard, back arching an inch off the mattress. Her hips flinched. Her thighs jerked. A whimper caught in her throat and came out choked.

"D-don't—" she gasped. But it was breathless. No force behind it. Her limbs shook.

Cruxius slid his hands under her knees — slow, like he had all the time in the world. She let out a soft, cracked moan as her legs were raised again. Bent. Spread further. One leg lifted onto his shoulder. The other was pushed outward until her hips rolled up off the bed.

"A-ahh… n-no, don't—" she stammered, voice cracking. Her skirt was bunched up, frills pressing awkwardly into her waist. Her thighs quivered above the sheets, toes curling.

And then the cool air hit her backside.

Her whole body flinched.

"Haa-hhh…!" A sharp gasp punched from her lungs. Goosebumps exploded across her skin.

Exposed. Wide open.

She hissed, voice raw.

"F-Fuck—don't touch me like I'm yours—nngghh—!"

But then his hand slid in.

Not rough. Not fast.

Just a palm on her hip… and fingers spreading her. His thumb at her cheek, pulling. Tilting.

"Nnnnhhh—!" she moaned again, higher-pitched this time, like it got caught in her throat on the way out.

Her hole was twitching, the ring still untouched, still tight. But wet. Slick. Shining faintly from where he'd spit on it earlier. She felt him looking. She felt it.

Her breath came in hot, panicked puffs.

"Hhh-hhh-hhh—!"

She tried to close her legs — but he was too heavy. Her whole body jerked once, then sagged into the mattress again.

Helpless.

The only sound was her breath and the wet, slow rhythm of his strokes.

Shlk… shlk…

She could hear it now.

Each motion.

Each second of him sliding slick between his fingers.

Her eyes squeezed shut. Her thighs trembled. Her moans started leaking again—soft, breathy, confused by her own body's heat.

Then she felt it.

His fingers.

They slipped between her cheeks like silk dipped in fire — slow, firm, wet. He dragged them through the slickness, tracing a line from the base of her folds upward. The motion made her body stiffen with a violent twitch.

"AH—! D-Don't—!" she yelped, legs kicking once, but his palm came down on her thigh and held her in place. Not hard. Just certain. Solid.

"F-fuck, don't touch me there, not there—" she sobbed, the panic cutting through her voice, but her hips bucked again — not away, but toward.

His fingers circled again.

That place.

The ring clenched instinctively, tight and twitching, still untouched, but glistening under his slow strokes. He was smearing his precum across it now, marking it, coating it in heat.

"Ahhh—nnngh—" she moaned again, this one deeper, from somewhere stuck between her gut and her lungs. Her body jolted in tiny, helpless jerks.

He leaned forward.

She felt the shadow of him first—his weight, his breath, the simmering heat of his cock hovering low.

Then it touched her.

The tip.

Right there.

It kissed the ring of muscle, warm and slick and huge — pressing just enough to make her gasp aloud, a short, high cry:

"Hhhhaahh—!"

Her toes curled.

The crown of his cock rubbed in a slow, slow circle, never forcing, just gliding, teasing. Back and forth, wet and deliberate, letting her feel the heft of it. Letting her squirm.

She was already panting, every breath broken with sound.

"Haa… hhhnn… fff-fuck… n-no—stop teasing me like this—"

But her voice shook like it didn't believe itself.

Sklch. Tch. Pah.

The sticky sounds of wetness echoed each time his cockhead dragged across her twitching hole. Every pass left more slickness, more friction, and more shame.

Her moans kept spilling, sharp and erratic.

"Ah—ahh… Cruxius, y-you—fuck, please—!" she half-screamed, not even sure what she was begging for anymore.

Still, he said nothing.

His hand slid up her belly now, fingers splayed wide, pressing her down — claiming every inch of slick skin under her ruined corset.

His palm grazed her ribs, grounding her there as if her writhing meant nothing. He was positioning her, not soothing her.

The tip pressed again.

But this time—it didn't just rub.

It pushed.

Just a little. Enough to make the outer ring quiver. Enough to spark that burst of fire inside her belly, the one that made her scream:

"Ah—Aaaahhh—hhhaaaghh—!"

Her body arched — back lifting off the sheets, heels digging into the mattress. Her mouth opened wide, but no words came, just moaning breath and a shaking cry, her throat too raw to form anything coherent.

"Hhh-hnnnnnghh—!"

His cock was just there — not inside, but on the edge of it. Heavy. Immovable. Tempting.

Lira couldn't stop trembling.

Her panties were still jammed under her thigh, twisted and tight, cutting into her skin like a rope.

Her stockings had slid further, one torn wide open at the thigh, the edge curled like a peeled fruit skin, brushing her damp leg.

The corset had sagged completely — a mess of limp, wet lace clinging to her waist. One breast hung bare, the other just barely inside, its soft mound rising with every gasping breath.

Her nipples were flushed red now, wet from sweat and friction, brushing against loose fabric with each jolt.

Her body was lit like a furnace, every nerve strung up and vibrating. She bit her lip so hard it left a faint bite mark, her eyes rolling back for a second as the pressure built against her hole.

Still he didn't thrust.

Still he waited.

Cruxius just watched her unravel.

His hands curled slightly into the dip of her waist, thumbs pressing firm circles — not to hurt her, but to hold her, feel her, remind her she was his to take when he chose.

Lira tried to scream something again—anything—but her lungs gave her only another helpless moan.

"Hhhahh—ahhh… nnnnnhh—!"

And then—he began to push.

Then he moved.

The pressure deepened — slow, unrelenting — as the slick crown of his cock began to push forward, breaching her with a steady, suffocating force.

"Nnnghh—A-Ahhh—!"

Lira's voice cracked like something inside her tore loose. Her spine arched. Her fingers clawed at the sheets beneath her, hips jolting in wild confusion. Her mouth opened wide, and all that came out was breath, raw and choked and trembling with sound.

"Haa—hhhaaahh—s-stop it—it's too—nnnnhh—!"

But her body was giving way. Slowly. Shamefully.

The tight, twitching ring of muscle began to stretch — slowly, so agonizingly slow — around his cockhead. It pulsed against her, warm and firm, parting her inch by inch, forcing her open like her body wasn't even hers anymore.

"Ahhh—AHHH—fuck it's—haaah—it's stretching—nghh—!"