NIP Chapter 492- Taking the Heavy Burdens in his Hand
Chapter 492- Taking the Heavy Burdens in his Hand
She made a sound.
A small, incredibly fragile sound, caught somewhere between protest and a barely suppressed sob.
Because the honest, devastating answer to that question was sitting in her throat like a stone, and she couldn’t make herself say it out loud.
Her hands, which had been pressing against his chest to push him away, slowly stopped pushing; instead, her fingers curled weakly into the fabric, holding on as another involuntary wave of arousal soaked her panties.
"Your body knows what it needs," he said, his voice dropping another register, becoming something dark and liquid and entirely inescapable. His large hand on her ass squeezed again, deliberately this time, kneading the full, soft flesh with a slow, expert rhythm. "Even if your mind is still fighting it."
His other hand slid down from her back, moving with quiet, unhurried purpose along the outside of her thigh, finding the hem of her cheap skirt and slipping beneath it without a single moment of hesitation.
"W-Wait—!" she gasped, her hips jerking backward instinctively. But his arm around her held firm, keeping her pressed against him, and his fingers found the soft, warm fabric of her plain cotton panties. The proximity to his body had done its work; her mound was already swollen and slick, the cotton clinging damply in a way that made her want to die of shame.
He pressed his palm flat against her, directly over her mound.
’Squelch.’
Even through the cotton, the heat and dampness were undeniable. Absolutely, mortifyingly undeniable.
She made a choked, entirely humiliated sound. "I—that’s not—I didn’t—"
"You know what a woman’s body won’t do?" Tianlong murmured against her ear, his fingers beginning to move in a slow, devastating circle directly over the soaked cotton. The chemical stimulation from his skin made every touch feel like lightning on raw nerves, her clit throbbing harder than it ever had in her married life. "It won’t lie. Not to this."
"Nngh—!" A broken, involuntary sound escaped her throat, her thighs clenching hard around his hand. The firm, rhythmic pressure of his fingers against her swollen, incredibly sensitive mound was sending sharp, unbearable sparks of pleasure firing straight up through her core. "P-Please... stop... someone will see..."
"No one is looking over here," he said simply.
And he was entirely right. The festival continued in its warm, oblivious chaos just beyond the bushes—the distant laughter of children, the crackling of the bonfire, the cheerful noise of families who had no idea that a woman was quietly, desperately falling apart mere feet away from them, her body hijacked by a stranger’s unseen hormonal gift.
His fingers pushed the cotton panties aside.
’Schlick.’
"A-Ahhhnn—!" She bit down hard on her own lip to strangle the sound, her entire body seizing as his thick fingers made direct, devastating contact with her bare, slick folds. She was mortifyingly wet. Genuinely, completely wet in a way that she hadn’t been in longer than she could remember, her body betraying every single rational protest her mind was trying to construct. The logical part of her brain still whispered that this was impossible—she had only just met him, she was loyal, she had a child waiting—but the chemicals flooding her system had already rewritten the narrative: this heat was real, this need was hers, and fighting it only made the ache sharper.
He worked her slowly. Deliberately. With a patience that was entirely, specifically designed to completely unravel her. His fingers circled her clit with a firm, agonizingly perfect rhythm, occasionally dipping lower to gather her flooding juices and drag them upward, coating his thick fingers in her own desperate arousal. His lips continued their quiet devastation at her ear—not kissing, exactly, just breathing, just present, just warm and close and inescapable, each exhale feeding her another dose of the pheromone haze.
"You deserve to feel this," he murmured, the words simple and low and hitting her somewhere deep and raw. "You deserve someone who actually looks at you."
"I—ah—~!" The sob and the moan arrived at precisely the same moment, tangled together beyond separation. Tears genuinely pricked at the corners of her eyes, hot and real, because his words were doing something far more devastating than his fingers were—they were hitting the exact, exposed wound of years of invisible, accumulated loneliness. "D-Don’t say things like that... please..."
"Why not?" he asked simply.
She had no answer. Her hips were moving now, entirely without her permission, rolling forward against his hand in small, desperate, highly ashamed little circles. Her wet folds clenched around his fingers as he pressed two of them directly inside her, the sudden, deep intrusion drawing a muffled, broken cry from her throat. The hormonal stimulation ensured the pleasure built faster than her mind could process—each thrust of his fingers felt like it was pulling her deeper into a current she could no longer fight.
"Mmmmph~! A-Ahhn—!" Her hands scrambled for purchase against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his robe. Her thighs shook violently around his hand, her hips stuttering forward as his thick fingers curled inside her, finding the tender, sensitive spot with a precision that made her vision blur.
’Schlick. Schlick. Schlick.’
The obscene, wet sounds of his fingers moving inside her body were mortifyingly loud in the intimate darkness of the bushes. She pressed her face desperately into his chest, trying to smother the sounds escaping her own throat, her heavy boobs squashed flat against him and jiggling with every helpless, involuntary rock of her hips.
"Nngh~! H-Haaah~! Please—I can’t—something is—" The warning came too late and far too fast. Her body had been starved of genuine pleasure for so long, and the chemical amplification made the climax inevitable, crashing over her like a wave she had no hope of swimming against.
The orgasm ripped through her without mercy.
"Hnngh~!! Ahhhnn~!!"
She cried out, the sound muffled desperately against his chest as her entire body seized. Her inner walls clenched violently around his curled fingers, flooding them with a fresh rush of hot, sweet arousal.
Her thighs locked around his hand, her spine arching sharply backward, her heavy boobs pulling away from his chest as she bowed—the soft, full globes bouncing freely with the violent shudder rolling through her frame.
He let her ride it out, his fingers moving slowly through the aftershocks, drawing every single trembling pulse of pleasure from her shaking body until she was completely, absolutely limp against him, her mind a haze of confusion and lingering bliss.
"Haaah... haaah..." Her breathing was ragged and entirely ruined. Her face was flushed a deep, burning crimson, tears of genuine, overwhelmed emotion tracking silently down her cheeks. She tried once more to pull back, but her limbs felt leaden, her body still humming with the aftereffects of his hormonal influence.
Tianlong slowly withdrew his fingers. He brought his hand up, and with a slow, deliberate, entirely cold-blooded calm, he pulled the lacing of her blouse open.
"W-Wait—" she started, but her voice had lost all of its earlier conviction entirely. It came out weak, barely a breath.
He simply reached in, his large hands closing around the heavy, natural weight of her breasts as he pulled them free of the blouse. They spilled out with a soft, generous bounce—full, naturally saggy with the weight of motherhood, the dark nipples already stiff and visibly throbbing.
His hands cupped them from beneath, lifting and kneading the soft, warm flesh with a slow, deeply appreciative pressure.
"Ahhhnn—~!"