The Spiders

The stale air of Otonari-san's apartment clings to my skin as I stand there, blushing a furious, incandescent red.

My reflection in the slight glass pane is a picture of indignity: a full-grown, voluptuous woman stuffed into a schoolgirl's uniform—pleated skirt grazing the tops of thick thighs veiled in blue knee-high stockings, the white blouse hugging my curves, pulled tight over my generous chest.

And my hair, a mass of red waves, is braided like a girl's—yanked back and tied in a style that has no place on a woman my age, much less in this sleazy setting. Each glance in the mirror is a hammer blow to my dignity.

"Let me repeat it for you," Mr. Otonari says, waving his black camcorder with a smugness that makes my skin crawl. "If you manage to satisfy me using YOUR techniques, I'll have the videos deleted. Without a trace. Also, I will never bother you again."

Otonari-san is sprawled in front of me, a grotesque Buddha lounging on his tatami mat, the folded futon behind him a makeshift throne for his repulsive reign. The black camcorder in his greasy hand is a gavel that condemns me to this humiliating charade.

"Is that clear?" His lips curl into a grotesque mimicry of a smile, his ugly, old face gleaming with anticipation.

"Clear, my ass," I spit out, my voice seething, "How can you have the balls to tell me that after raping me? After doing all those awful things? Are you a psychopath?!" My hands are balled into fists, the cheap fabric of the blouse stretching taut over my big, fat breasts, which heave with each ragged breath.

He holds the camcorder steady, his gaze never wavering from me. "I'll say it again. I'll have the videos in here deleted. You only have to keep it up for a bit more, then everything will be settled. You don't want your husband to suffer further, right?" His words are a blade, each syllable a cut deeper into my soul.

"Big words coming from you!" I retort, lip quivering with barely contained rage. "You think manipulating me like this is okay? You think you can just toy with someone's life and it's all going to be okay? You're sick! You're the worst kind of human being who doesn't deserve an ounce of respect!"

I'm pacing now, the pleats of the too-short skirt flaring with each sharp turn. My reflection taunts me from his TV screen, the braid down my back, the white blouse, the red tie — they're part of a mockery of the life I wanted to lead here in Japan. The stockings cling to my thighs, another layer of humiliation.

"And what's with this costume?!" I jab a finger at the skirt that barely covers my ass, my arms folding beneath my chest, elevating my indignation alongside my breasts.

"Well, I have to make you cosplay to compensate for your poor techniques, just to satisfy me," Mr. Otonari says, chuckling as if the mere idea pleases him to no end. "You haven't been performing very well. I've had to do everything myself."

"You make me sick," I hiss, my voice sharp as shattered glass.

"You look great, you know?" He's mocking me, the filth of his apartment a stark contrast to the forced purity of my outfit.

"Not happy to hear it!" I huff in reply, the heat in my cheeks battling the cool disdain I'm struggling to uphold.

The dim light of mid-afternoon barely penetrates the grimy windows of Mr. Otonari's apartment, casting a sickly pallor over everything within.

"But anyhow, this doesn't have anything to do with techniques at all!" I protest.

"Well, at least you know it," he grins, fat cheeks bunching up around his eyes. "You're a useless wife, after all."

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING USELESS?" I roar back, the sound harsh and raw. The accusation stings, venomous, even as my mind reels. My hands shake with fury.

"You leave me no choice," he sighs, mock sorrow lacing his tone. "I guess I'll have to teach your body the importance of techniques then."

"Hah?!"

—

The futon under me is a sodden mess, my own pussy-squirt staining the fabric. His hand hovers above me, coated with the evidence of my cunt-syrup. My body is trembling, my breaths come in tattered gasps, and my once full, proud breasts out and jiggling in the dim room.

"I guess that settles it," Mr. Otonari says, his grin splitting his face, grotesque glee in every syllable. "Do you understand it now?"

His question spins in my head, the room tilting on its axis as I try to grapple with the aftermath. My mind is foggy, unclear—did he just make me cum?

No… I was just on the brink… ugh…

"Feels great, right? Even if I'm only using my fingers," he taunts. His other hand, slick with my wetness, descends upon me again, the contact light and teasing.

"Don't touch me like that!" I whine, the plea rising from a place of deep vulnerability. My eyes are squeezed shut, tears threatening to spill.

"Also, I can stop it on my own, anytime," he boasts, a vile satisfaction oozing from his words like poison. "It's all about technique."

"HUH???" I gasp, every fiber of my being recoiling at the thought.

His fingers slip back inside me, unrelenting, cruel. He bends me over his knee, and with the same mouth that has issued such revolting taunts, he latches onto one of my big breasts. His mouth is wet and slobbery, the feeling of his lips and tongue on my skin causing a shameful shiver to race through me.

-SCHLICK SCHLICK SCHLICK SCHLICK SCHLICK SCHLICK SCHLICK-

Each slick motion of his fingers inside me is a reminder of my powerlessness.

"AAH AAH AAH LET GO! STOP!!!" My cries are desperate, piteous—the voice of a woman pushed past the brink of endurance. I can feel everything, yet I'm detached.

Otonari-san just chuckles, a repulsive rumble from his fat-riddled chest. "Not yet, Elizabeth. You're almost there, just a little more."

"AAH augh... ah aahah..." My moans are ripped from my throat, a cacophony of high-pitched, desperate noises that reverberate off the paper-thin walls.

It's disgusting — the way he's got his fingers shoved up inside me, curling and uncurling them like he's searching for buried treasure in my sloppy, wet cunt.

"Ooohh... You're gonna make me cum... wait..." I pant out, my head spinning, my thoughts fraying, unraveling, as he coaxes my body towards a climax I don't want from him.

But then, when I'm teetering on the edge, he pulls back, his chuckle a sinister sound in the dim room. "Ha ha ah..."

Each time he brings me close, my hips bucking into his hand, seeking that final push. But he denies me, again and again, his amusement growing with my frustration.

My nipples harden to painful points as he pinches them, his other hand buried in my dripping folds. The futon beneath me is a patchwork of wet stains, evidence of my abject humiliation.

"Cut it out already..." I squeak, my voice a ragged edge of pleading. My ass is in the air, my skirt bunched up around my waist.

"You can't cum yet," he commands, his tone dictatorial.

I'm sobbing now, my body a tangled mess of need and loathing. His fingers move with a wet precision, each stroke driving me closer to madness.

"I'M gonna cum!!!" I cry out, a sharp edge of desperation slicing through the thick air.

But he pulls his fingers out immediately, leaving me hanging, aching, my entire body a quivering, squelching mess. The room spins, my senses overload, and I am utterly pathetic.

My mind is a broken carousel, spinning out of control with every denied climax. The sensations sparkle within me, rising and falling in a torturous wave that leaves my brain short-circuiting.

"Ahh... Ahh... I can't... Don't... Stop..." My voice is a litany of broken, breathless syllables, a testament to my unraveling sanity. He's making me senseless, the physical need overwhelming all else.

My back arches off the futon, limbs splayed awkwardly as Otonari-san's fat fingers relentlessly pump inside me.

"AAhh... AHH!" My tongue lolls out, eyes glassy, mind reduced to nothing but the need pulsing from my throbbing clit. The mantra in my head is deafening now, a singular thought drowning out all reason:

I WANNA CUM.

His grotesque form hovers over me, skin slick with sweat, the smell of his body—musty and malevolent—fills my nostrils. SCHLICK, SCHLICK, SCHLICK, his fingers churn inside my drenched pussy, each movement a calculated torment. With cruel precision, he edges me closer, only to leave me teetering on the brink of oblivion, my body shaking with the force of my denied release.

My skirt and blouse are haphazardly pushed up, exposing me. Breasts heave against the thin fabric, nipples puckered to aching points as my cunt gushes with each denied climax. SPLURT, SPLURT, my juices spurt, slicking his hand, my thighs, the fabric beneath me.

The world narrows down to that one, overriding command. My brain shorts out, synapses firing on one track only:

I WANNA CUM.

"Alright, enough fooling around," Otonari-san says, pulling away his hand. "Let's get to the main part."

He stands, his body a disgusting display of sagging flesh and hairs, a lewd smirk plastered across his ugly face. His grotesque cock flops out, landing on the futon with a wet slap, dribbling precum like a leaky faucet. It's thick, veiny, an animalistic protrusion that stands in stark contrast to the softness of his body.

"I'm already locked and loaded here," he boasts, his tone insufferable. "Handjobs or blowjobs. Everything's fine, as long as you satisfy me."

I lay there, panting, my mind broken, the insistent chant louder now, reverberating in every corner of my consciousness:

I WANNA CUM.

The sight of his monstrous fuck-stick, that bitch-breaker, triggers something primal within me. My body, that traitorous vessel, reacts with a wave of heat that's both revolting and magnetic.

My gaze is locked on his dominant tool, the sheer size of it awakening a raw, desperate hunger. It's repugnant, a symbol of everything I loathe, yet in this moment, my body sees it as the key to release, to the climax that has been brutally withheld.

I WANNA CUM.

I'm on autopilot, the chant in my head, I WANNA CUM, I WANNA CUM, it's like a rhythm that controls my limbs. My hand grips the fabric of my skirt, stupidly holding it up, as I mechanically move towards Otonari-san. Heat flushes my face at the realization of what I'm doing, but I can't seem to stop.

"Oh, so you wanna use your pussy, huh?" Otonari-san's voice is a greasy, mocking drawl. "I see. That would make me satisfied indeed."

He's sprawled there, a revolting mass of flesh and sweat on the stained futon, grinning up at me with a look that makes my skin crawl.

He chuckle as I squat over him, my hand trembling as I line up his massive, throbbing cock with my slick pussy lips.

Suddenly, I reel with self-loathing. Here I am, a beautiful young wife of a good, decent man, lowering myself willingly onto this ugly, fat man's grotesque cock.

JUST WHAT AM I TRYING TO DO??? The question screams inside me as I pull back, my body sobbing in disgust, my eyes welling with tears. HOLY SHIT, I WAS ABOUT TO SIT ON HIS COCK...

"That was close!" I gasp, desperate to pull away. "S-stop this crap! Why do I have to keep this up with you?"

But my legs betray me, trembling, giving out. I stumble, and with a gut-wrenching fall, I slam down.

SQUELCH!

The sound is obscene, wet, the sensation of him splitting me open, surging up inside me is undeniable. I'm stretched out, sitting fully impaled on his cock, my big, pale, jiggly ass crashing down onto his lap.

My eyes cross, and my tongue hangs out like some loathsome caricature, as Otonari-san laughs—a loud, mocking bellow that drowns out my mortified sobs. His cock fills me so utterly that I feel it might as well be lodged in my throat. I go cross-eyed as it pulses inside me, invading, conquering.

His laughter echoes, loud and mocking, filling the room as my body betrays my disgust, riding the unspeakable length of him, my juices splurting over it.

"IM CUMMINGGG!!!!!!" I scream, the orgasm ripping through me with all the subtlety of a freight train. My tits flop in his face, slapping to the rhythm of my involuntary gyrations.

I'm cumming like a total fucking gross bitch, gushing all over him, my mind a haze of panic and ecstasy. "Wait... no..." I puff, each attempt to regain control snuffed out as my squirting pussy drenches his cock, my body quivering uncontrollably.

"I shouldn't do this! I'm going crazy!!! I can't go on!!!" I gasp out, trying to summon the will to lift myself off of him.

I strain, muscles tensing, but my strength evaporates, and I fall back down onto him with a resounding SLAP.

He laughs, the sound ugly and victorious. "Just look at you, riding my cock like it's what you were made for." His hands grip my hips, guiding the motion, ensuring my fall from grace is as absolute as my despair.

It's the most degrading moment of my life, reduced to a spectacle of depravity, a beautiful American wife defiled by this repulsive, fat, old man. His repulsive face—a landscape of sagging skin and oily sheen—smirks up at me, eyes glazed in perverse delight.

"I-I'm trying to get off..." I gasp out between ragged sobs.

He chortles nastily, a rumbling laugh, "Seems like you just did!"

I have to pull out. Or it'd be bad—so bad, the words run through my panic-stricken brain. But my actions fail me, as my legs, trembling with exertion, slowly lift me from his corrupting girth. Every fiber in me is revolting against the act, against the vile sensation of his flesh within me. The sticky sound as my dripping cunt tries to free itself from his grasp is a chorus of defeat—wet, obscene, and pathetic.

"I need to pull out..." I whimper to myself, the words stuck in my throat. "Or it'll be bad for me..."

I tense every muscle, trying to lift myself, to end this nightmare. The slick, nauseating sensation of his cock entrenched inside me is putrid—like some vile, stupefying parasite. With a pathetic whimper, I manage to rise slightly, his wretched member slipping from my convulsing pussy with a lewd squelch.

Except I fail. Exhaustion overtakes me, strength buckling, and I fall back down, sheathing him to the root.. Fully sheathing him again inside me. Like a boulder rolling back down the mountain, my efforts are futile, and with a loud, depraved moan, I impale myself again on his vile flesh wand.

"Ah ack no!!!"

My moans are a constant, stupid symphony.

"I have to... pull out... Ah... why am I... pushing it... back in... ah... I'll... cum again... no..."

I lean forward in a feral bid for leverage, my large breasts dangling pendulously, hoping against hope that I can muster the strength to vault off his loathsome cock.

"FUCK!!!" The expletive is ripped from me as gravity and my muddled brain conspire against me once again; I slap back onto him with a mortifying sound. The jiggling of my E-cups is a fleshy metronome to my relentless, idiotic bouncing.

*Ahh jeez!!! What the heck is this?????*

My thoughts are a jumble of disbelieving horror as I ride him, mindlessly squeezing his dick with my sopping pussy.

He's leaning back now, a smug smile carved into his repugnant features, arms relaxed behind his head as if he's lounging rather than violating. He's just there, enjoying the sight of me, a cute little wife with big, floppy tits, riding him hard, my sopping wet pussy greedily squeezing his fat cock.

"You know," Otonari-san starts, his voice a leering drawl, "Ken-san works so hard, always talking about his lovely, faithful wife. What a shock, eh? To see you now, bouncing on this old man's dick. What do you think he'd say, hmm?"

"Stop it... please..." I whimper, a pitiful attempt to defend my husband's image and the love he has for me.

He chuckles, a sadistic rumble. "You should be ashamed. But you're not, are you? In Japan, we have words for women like you..."

My stomach churns, bile rising in my throat at his implication—knowing full well the derogatory terms he insinuates, what society would brand me as. "That's not true... ah... ah... I'm not like that!"

"Ah, but aren't you?" he taunts, his grin widening. "Ken-san believes his wife is at home, probably cooking or cleaning. But here you are, squirting all over your neighbor's cock like a cheap hentai character."

"N-no... ah... Ken doesn't... deserve this..." Tears sting my eyes as the words escape between labored breaths.

"Well, anyhow, don't hog all the fun by yourself, ma'am," he chides, pinching my nipple with a sudden flick.

"I told you not to touch me like that!!" I screech, but my plea gets lost in the suffocating torrent of shame. "You're cumming, right???"

My voice cracks into a desperate squeak.

"All of this means nothing if I'M not satisfied, you know?" Otonari-san's voice drips with condescension.

I try again, futilely, "Don't twist my nipples!"

"Or maybe you came here because you just wanna have sex?" His mocking is razor-sharp, dissecting my pride with every insidious word.

"Stop!!" I cry, but he doesn't. Instead, he wrenches a new orgasm from me, a staggering, mind-melting burst of sensation that radiates from my tortured nipples to the very core of my being.

The humiliation of my squirting cunt is a deluge, a heavy jet of pent-up release splashing over his fat, sweating belly.

And I collapse on top of him, a heap of broken resistance. My tongue hangs out like an idiot's, my face transfixed in a vacant expression, the ugly, corrupting cock still buried within me.

"Oh, what's this? You're already done?" he taunts. "I won't delete the videos at this rate," he says, the final twist of the knife.

My dignity shred to pieces, my willpower evaporated, I am nothing but a discarded toy tangled atop my own sexual ruination.

I'm lying on my side on the soiled futon, gasping for air, my braid undone and my schoolgirl skirt bunched up around my waist. Otonari-san's heavy, repugnant body shuffles toward me, his saliva-drenched mouth open in a grotesque grin.

"Look at you," he leers, his voice dripping with derision. "My goodness, you really are a clumsy wife..."

His fingers hook under the fabric of my skirt, dragging it down over my pale legs, revealing more of me to his lecherous gaze. His actions are slow and deliberate, savoring the act of undressing me.

Suddenly, he lunges, positioning his slick, filth-coated cock against me, and shoves into my trembling body. I can't contain the squeal that escapes my lips—part horror, part uncontrollable reaction to being filled so completely once again.

"There we go!" Otonari-san grunts, a satisfied snort escaping him as he spreads me wide with his engorged member. His body is a mass of jiggling flesh that seems to envelop me in its sickening heat.

"Hey! What are you doing!?" I cry out, my voice a mix of panic and fury.

"Do you really hate it?" he asks, a mocking, cruel smile stretching his flabby cheeks as he looks down at me, his saliva trailing from his mouth as he eyes my flushed face, my beautiful blue eyes, the freckles that stand out against my pale skin.

"Of course, I do!!" I protest, my breasts flopping as he leers above me, looming like some grotesque puppeteer controlling me with his horrific appendage.

"Even though you were really into it and shaking your hips like crazy earlier?" he taunts, pushing my legs back over my head. He thrusts heavily, the sound of his body colliding with mine is obscenely loud, his movements opening me up further, the squelching wetness of our coupling filling the room.

"Nghhh, that just was... um..." I struggle to find an explanation, an excuse, anything to deny the truth of my body's betrayal. "Just get off me!"

"You're already in love with my dick, right?" he mocks, his ruthless pounding forcing squirt to spurt noisily around his shaft, filling the air with its lewd scent.

"That's not true!" I deny through gritted teeth, my sobs turning into moans as he continues his brutal assault.

"Come on now. Let's be honest. This dick feels great, right? Your pussy is allowing me to shove it in easily, you know?" He's relentless, and my tits, my big, floppy E-cups, they jiggle and sway with each of his barbaric thrusts. I'm sobbing now, my wrists pinned by his greasy hands.

"No, I'm not... this doesn't feel good... at all..." I lie. "Hnnn, ghhh, nggh, ngghg…"

"You really squirt so easily," he remarks with a cruel chuckle.

"No, I'm not squirting— AAH, OOH, AHH!!!! AAH!! AUH!!!!" SQUIRRRRTTTT, another forceful jet of release proves me wrong. "This isn't... part... of the deal... you're just..."

"Well," Otonari-san smirks. "If you keep on staying still, then I will never be satisfied. Your time is up for today; try to keep up with me tomorrow."

"Y-you're awful..." I gasp, struggling to regain my senses.

"Don't worry, I'll be sure to keep my promise," he assures me with a sardonic grin. "If you're willing and voluntarily want to satisfy me, then I'll let you go properly. For now, let's just have fun by heating up our passion for sex..."

He licks across my mouth, his tongue a revolting invader that tastes of salt, grime, and malevolence.

"Th-there's nothing heated up in here..." I protest weakly, disgust fighting against the overwhelming tide of sensation.

"What are you trying to say?" Otonari-san retorts. "Your pussy is hot and dripping wet. Here! Come on! You're squeezing and jerking my dick inside you!" His pounding is relentless, my legs flailing helplessly in the air.

"Hey, jeez, stop shoving in your dick like that!!"

"Ha...," he grunts loudly, his pleasure mounting. "Lemme blow a load inside you..."

"No... not... inside... me..."

"UGH!!! I'm cumming!!!!!"

The declaration echoes in my ears as I feel it — a sudden swelling of his disgusting cock, followed by the forceful surge of his putrid release. His cum hits my cervix with a heat that's both revolting and undeniable.

"AHH! NOT INSIDE AGAIN!!! NOT INSIDE, YOU OLD BASTARD!!!" But my screams go ignored, my protests swallowed by the deafening squelch of his spewing monstrosity.

I feel it then, the first hot gush of his putrid seed, a rush of warmth that fills me up, making my stomach churn. I feel so dirty, so violated, my mind filled with images of my husband, Ken, his trusting smiles, his earnest love... and here I am, being filled with this decrepit man's filth.

His cock pulses, and a second SPLURRRRTT of old man cum floods my already overstuffed pussy, the grotesque warmth of it a stark reminder of my disgusting capitulation. Cum squirts up around his dick, the thick, viscous fluid seeping out around him.

"Ugh… stop… too much…" I whimper. I feel the thick, wretched jizz squishing inside me, a hot, sticky mess that coats my insides.

With a gut-wrenching gasp, he pulls out, and I feel the last globs of cum glorp out of his deflating cock, landing with a wet plop on my twitching pussy lips.

"Look at you," he sneers at me, his cum leaking out of my ravaged pussy. "You're a fucking mess. I'm not done with you yet."

I watch in horror as he rises, his aging, fat body slick with sweat and other fluids. His cum-dripping cock swings heavily between his thighs, a monstrous sight that makes my stomach roil. As he approaches me, I feel more of his putrid sperm leak out of me, a slow trickle of despair that stains Otonari-san's futon beneath me.

"Come on, I'm still gonna fuck you," he says, his voice a disgusting rasp. "But first, clean it."

"No, no no no..." I stammer, my heart pounding in my chest as he approaches me with his cum-smeared cock. But my pleas fall on deaf ears, and the revolting head of his penis makes contact with my lips.

"Open up," he orders, and I'm too broken, too shattered to resist.

I'm shaking, my body recoiling at the sight of his cum-covered dick hovering in front of my face. The stench is nauseating—a sharp, bleachy odor mixed with a musky tang of old man smegma and the sour stink of my own pussy juices. His semen is a sickly, off-white shade, thick and goopy, clinging to his wrinkled flesh like some horrific paste.

"Open up, it's clean-up time," he grunts again, and before I can protest, he's pushing that vile thing into my mouth.

"Ugh—ubh—uuhk—" I gag as the head of his cock breaches my lips, the taste instantly flooding my senses. My eyes water, my stomach churns in revolt. The flavor is appalling, each note of rancid sweat, the bitter tang of his cum, and the taste of my own violation melding into a grotesque symphony on my tongue.

"I'm gonna fuck you until my balls are empty!" Otonari-san declares with a triumphant sneer.

Before I can recover, he's flipped me over, forcing me onto my hands and knees. The sound of flesh meeting flesh fills the room. Slap slap slap slap... His heavy belly smacks against my ass with each brutal thrust, the force pushing me further into the futon. My hands grip the sheets, knuckles white, as I brace against his relentless pounding.

"This position really makes it easy to knock on your womb, it feels great ma'am!" he exclaims, his voice disgustingly jovial. "Are you listening?"

My response is an incoherent moan, my eyes crossing as my body absorbs the violent rhythm of his thrusts. Each slam sends a jolt through me, his cockhead battering at the entrance to my womb, threatening to breach with every motion.

"Get knocked up!!!" he barks, the command a vile declaration as I feel him swell inside me once more. His cock pulses and then...

"GET!"

-SPLURTTTT-

"KNOCKED!"

-BLURT!!!-

"UP!!!"

-SQUIRTTTTTTTTTTTTHPTH-

The sounds are carnal, primal, disgusting. I can feel it—the hot, repulsive jets of his cum shooting deep into me. It's a barrage, a relentless series of wet, squelching spurts that fill me to the brim.

"Phew, this is fun!" He laughs, a sound devoid of any human warmth. "Creampie-ing a young wife feels so awesome."

The words are a mockery, a cruel, heartless joke at my expense. I've become nothing more than his plaything, a vessel for his perverse delight.

I can't hold back the tears, the sobs that wrack my chest as another wave of his semen floods my insides. It's hot and degrading, the sensation of being filled with something so vile, so unwanted.

I can feel the cum leaking out of me, the sickening squelch of it as he continues to fuck me through his climax. It's a mess, a horrible, demeaning mess.

My eyes, glazed and unfocused, dart around violently, betraying my attempt to find some anchor in the storm of debauchery I've been tossed into.

"Come on now ma'am," Otonari-san's voice rolls over me, a lumbering growl of perverted encouragement.

"Cut it out..." I manage to gasp, my words strangled between the hot gusts of my rapid breaths.

"Wait-" But there's no waiting — no cessation on this runaway train of degradation. He flips me over, and I'm locked under him in a mating press. The weight of his bloated body bears down on mine, squeezing the breath from my lungs. Every shift, every adjustment of his hulking form on mine is a prelude to the hideous act of copulation that leaves me a mangled, weeping wreck on what was once my wedding futon.

"SPLURT! SPLURT! SPLURRRRT!" His cum invades me like hot molten lead, pouring into places that quake under the assault. Each ejaculation from his odious cock brings a new wave of shame crashing over me, each rope of jizz more demeaning than the last.

"Seems like you can still go for more!" He bellows, and my soul crumples under his victorious howl. His cum, now a putrid porridge of chunky, curdled seed, dredges from the depths of his corpulent balls and blasts into me, coating my insides with its odious filth.

"OHHH OH…" The sounds escape me without my consent — moans and whimpers of a creature so far removed from the woman I was. His seed fills me, each SPLURT a damning punctuation to my defeat. The thickness of this round is nauseating; it's like he's excreting the dregs of his despicable virility directly into my vulnerable womb.

The futon is a cataclysmic scene, a canvas of carnal transgression marked by the hours of our sordid congress. It's soaked with the evidence of his relentless violation — squirts of my release, dribbles of his foul ejaculate, and the cloying, sickly-sweet aroma of sex. The stains will never lift; they're the tapestry of my downfall.

He mounts me again, his enormous girth thundering into my already overworked pussy. My tits flop back and forth, limp pendulums keeping time with each vicious thrust. My moans are animalistic, a soundtrack of debasement.

"Eek… Stop… Nooo… Ack augh…" The words are lined with pleasure that disgusts me. They shouldn't be sounds of enjoyment, of rapture, but they are. I sound like someone else, someone empty and broken, a husk being rammed over and over by that thick, veiny meat rod of his.

The wet, sloppy sounds of his massive cock plunging into me reverberate throughout the room, thick and obscene. It's a vile symphony, composed of my slurping pussy and the vulgar smacks of his flesh hammering into mine. He grinds down, his hairy gut a hot, moving barrier that confines me under him.

My mind recoils with each new thrust, each fresh gush of odious sperm that cements his domination over me. I'm lost in an abyss, staring up at the ceiling as my body is pounded into oblivion, each slam of his hips against my own a nail sealing the coffin of my spirit.

It's over; I'm nothing more than a vessel for his disgusting pleasure. I'm gone, torn away by the tide of my own betrayal and the sickly hot floods that continue to SPLURT inside me.

—

"Come on now, ma'am," Otonari-san says, his tone dripping with depravity as my eyes unfocus, crossing under the relentless onslaught of his pulverizing thrusts.

The glutinous warmth inside me is repugnant, his cum filling me up with each violent pump. It's a revolting feeling, being so thoroughly filled with old man jizz, the thick, chunky consistency of it suggesting it's dredging the depths of his big fat hairy balls.

"C-cut it—out," I gasp, my voice a feeble whisper against his domineering presence. "Wai—"

My protest is cut short as he shifts, flipping me onto my back and pressing me into the mating press. His weight crushes me, his brutal pace never waning as he drives his cock deep inside once more, his groin slamming against mine.

"Seems like you can still go for more!" he roars above me, and with a triumphant bellow, he inseminates me for a third time, his cock twitching as it vomits another torrent of his grotesque semen into my ravaged pussy.

"OHHH—OH..."

I can't contain the moans and whimpers that escape my lips as he fills me with yet another filthy creampie. It's even thicker now, if possible, a vile sludge of his most base fluids that spreads through my womb, painting my insides.

Beneath him, I'm crushed into the wreckage of what was once a futon, now nothing more than a crime scene of our sordid acts. The fabric is soaked through with the evidence of our hours-long session—his cum, my squirt, the sweat of our bodies all combine into a sickening tapestry of off-white, sticky stains.

He keeps fucking me, mindless of the ruin, his colossal meat rod ramming me into oblivion. My tits flop wildly with each thrust, undignified in their dance of despair. The sounds of our coupling are obscene. Squelch-squelch-squelch, his fat cock parting the sloppy, sticky mess of my pussy, the slick noises echoing off the walls.

My voice is breaking, the words coming out in pleasure-soaked cries despite the anguish clouding my mind.

"Eek—"

"Stop—"

"Nooo—"

"Ack—"

"Augh—"

Each plea falls on deaf ears as he pounds away, his grunts of pleasure a counterpoint to my cries. His perverse girth stretches me, a relentless battering against the tattered shreds of my will.

Squelch-squelch-squelch—there's a rhythm to my degradation, a cadence to the wet, vile music we make with our bodies. With each savage thrust, I can feel my sense of self slipping further away, lost in a mire of forced ecstasy and humiliation.

I am broken, utterly defeated, a mere vessel for his primal urges—a plaything bobbing helplessly on the tides of his carnal whims. My body betrays me with every involuntary moan, a symphony of despair as I'm used and filled over and over again.

The world narrows to the raw, flesh-slapping impact of his hips against my upturned butt, the heavy slap of his gut against my thighs, the rhythmic jostling of my breasts. I am reduced to nothing but the sum of these sensations—a debased, cum-filled husk in the aftermath of Otonari-san's lecherous appetite.

His exertions continue, unabated even as the slick, sickening sensation of his mouth covers mine. His tongue, wide and wet, reeks of decay as he licks across my lips grotesquely, coating my face in his slobber. The drool cascades down, mixing with the sweat and tears already streaking my cheeks.

"Guh—NGH—NGAAAAHH!"

His grunts escalate, each revolting exhalation spitting hot, fetid breath all over my face, my exposed neck.

"That's right," he rasps between licentious licks, his voice oozing. "Let's continue to melt together."

My limbs lie strewn beneath his colossal, quivering mound of flesh. The weight of him is claustrophobic, an oppressive blanket that smothers my every attempt to wriggle away.

"Mmh—nnhh—"

I'm trapped, my whimpers muffled by the perverse seal of his mouth against mine. My mind is floating in a fog, a thick haze that smothers thought and will. I can barely summon the energy to feel disgust anymore.

With another sloppy kiss, he continues to desecrate my lips, his tongue a conquering slug that leaves a trail of sickly heat in its wake. The sour, vile taste is an anchor that holds me fast in this debased reality.

"OOH! I'm cumming! Cumming again!!" His declaration is triumphant, a grotesque salute to the sinful act he commits.

My legs dangle high, twitching limply in the air as he delivers another disgusting payload deep inside me. This time, it's a smaller gush—yet still ample enough to curdle my insides. His whole body shakes, a seismic tremor of release that transfers directly into me.

"HMFH!!!!"

The world dissolves into a swirl around me as I spiral into empty ecstasy. My back arches against him as he fills me again, our conjoined squelches a vile cadence beneath the storm of his orgasm.

Underneath his voluminous, flabby body, I'm barely a note in the symphony he orchestrates—a small quiver against the tremble of his bass. Each convulsion travels the length of his throbbing rod, driving home his final claim.

My senses dull, thoughts still while my flesh betrays me in rippling jolts. I'm awash—with him, his unwelcome seed, the monstrous enormity that is both my violation and resident nightmare.

Lying here, in the wreckage of a futon drowning in our secretions, ensnared in the carnal stench—of sweat, of sex, of him—I am reduced. Reduced to an object, a receptacle, a creature lower than I ever imagined I could sink.

It's over. I'm spent in every way a person can be, my body nothing more than a canvas for his twisted artistry, my mind a silent scream caught in the back of a crowded, gasping mouth. He withdraws with a final plop, leaving me hollow but overflowing, a vessel filled beyond capacity with the awful fruit of his loins.

Here I lay, hardly alive, merely existing in the now — spaced out, used up, and so utterly, disgustingly inseminated.

—

As the sky outside begins to dim, the evening birds of Nagoya—the white-eye with its persistent chirp and the starlings in their murmuring flocks—sing their twilight songs. Their melodies are a stark contrast to my situation, where time seems to have stretched and contorted under the weight of my sin.

"I CAN STILL DO MORE!! I CAN STILL CUM!!!" Otonari-san's bellowing proclamation rings out, his fervor unabated by the waning light. His body, a leviathan of flesh, crushes me beneath him in the mating press, his bloated testicles clenching with a grotesque vigor.

With a nauseating surge, he fires another vile payload into my depths. It's the thickest yet, a sludge that seems to dredge the very dregs of his being. As he suckles greedily at my breasts, I can only lie there, a broken doll.

Outside, the dusk deepens.

"Aww... I'm sorry..." His words come after, a hollow attempt at contrition following the carnage of our countless couplings. "I got way into the heat of the moment and went overboard."

I'm a portrait of ruin, splayed out in the aftermath. My previously pert breasts are now streaked with saliva and sperm, the latter bubbling from a well that seems to have no end. My thighs, slick with his seed, are stained with the yellowish trails of his numerous releases, a map of our sordid journey.

The stench is overpowering—a miasma of sex, sweat, and the rank musk of Otonari-san that clings to every inch of me. My breaths come in shuddering gasps, each inhalation laced with the foul scent of my defilement.

"Sorry if you get pregnant," he murmurs, his tone almost contemplative as he gazes down at the mess he's made of me.

"S-stop this... already..." My voice is a whisper, a feeble plea from lips that no longer remember how to form words of resistance.

"Well, that being said... our deal is not yet settled..." he declares, using my thigh as a rag to wipe his now flaccid, grotesque cock. It's an insult added to uncountable injuries.

The schoolgirl outfit is now nothing more than tattered rags, the fabric marred with splotches of his semen, now drying to a crust that pulls tight against my skin.

"If you don't wanna be exposed to your husband, then you better put your back into your techniques..."