novelapdf Chapter 496- Husband is Too Quick
Chapter 496- Husband is Too Quick
The whisper hit her like cold water thrown on a brazier.
Her whole body locked mid-moan.
’Husband.’
That single word from Tianlong’s lips dissolved every clouded thought, every surrendered nerve ending, every white-hot wave of pleasure still rolling through her lower belly — and replaced it with a cold, collapsing dread that somehow made her nipples harder.
She went rigid against him.
His cock was still buried inside her, still thick, still mercilessly full, plugging her so deep she could feel the ridge of his head pressed flush against her womb’s mouth.
She didn’t move.
Neither did her pussy — it just kept squeezing him, traitor thing, fluttering in little involuntary spasms around his shaft while her mind screamed.
She turned her face — slow, like a woman checking if the snake was still there.
And through the gap between Tianlong’s shoulder and the rough tree bark, framed by lantern-flicker and distant drumbeats from the festival, she saw him.
Her husband.
Standing not twenty paces away in the tree shadows, face half-lit by a paper lantern swaying in the breeze.
He was watching.
Not her face — he hadn’t recognised the torn clothes, the loose hair matted with bark dust and sweat, the woman pressed against the tree with her skirt hanging in rags.
He was watching ’it’.
His mouth was slightly open. His robe was loosened at the waist.
Her stomach dropped.
’What is he—’
Then she saw his hand move.
Slow. Deliberate. He’d pulled the front of his robe aside and his fist was moving with that same mechanical, desperate rhythm she knew from the rare nights he’d come to her with wine on his breath and finished before she’d even settled her breathing.
She knew that rhythm.
She’d spent years politely pretending it was enough.
A sob tried to crawl up her throat but Tianlong shifted his hips — just barely, just a slow grind, his cock pressing that spot inside her that her husband’s had never been long enough or wide enough to find — and the sob came out as something else entirely.
"Mmmh—!"
She smashed her palm over her mouth.
Tianlong’s lips curved against her ear. His voice was low silk, unhurried, the voice of a man who had all night and knew it.
"Your husband isn’t enjoying this ’for’ you." A pause. His hips rolled again, barely — just enough to make her toes curl inside her sandals. "He’s enjoying it for ’himself’."
She shook her head.
It was the only answer she could manage.
Her palm was still pressed flat over her mouth and her eyes were still open, still watching her husband through the gap, still cataloguing every humiliating detail — the way his shoulders hunched, the way his breath came visible even from here in little white clouds, the way he stroked himself faster now as Tianlong’s hips resumed their slow, deep roll.
’He doesn’t know it’s me.’
The thought arrived with a sickening, heat-soaked clarity.
’He is watching a stranger’s wife get ruined against a tree and he is—’
Tianlong pulled back until only his swollen head remained inside her entrance, teasing, stretching just that ring of her — and she felt every ridge of him there, felt the obscene fullness disappear and leave her aching — before he pushed back in.
Slow.
’All the way.’
PAAH—
The sound was wet, deep, her body sucking him back in with an audible, shamelessly greedy ’schlick’ even as the impact made her hip fat ripple and her unbound breast swing out and slap back against her ribs.
"Hnnggh~!"
Muffled behind her own hand. She bit the heel of her palm.
Her husband’s rhythm quickened.
She watched him watching ’her’ — not knowing he was watching ’her’ — and something inside her chest cracked open like a clay pot dropped on stone.
’Four years. Four years of lying still in the dark. Four years of being a good wife.’
’And he’s — he’s doing this — for a stranger.’
The anger arrived with the next thrust.
PAH! PAH!
"Oughh—! Nnh—!"
She stopped trying to muffle it. Not loud enough for her husband to identify — the festival drums swallowed most of it — but she let it ’out’, let the sound scrape raw from her throat, let her hand fall from her mouth to grip Tianlong’s arm instead.
Her nails dug in.
He made a low, approving sound.
Tianlong shifted his angle, tilting her hips with both broad hands, and the new depth made her vision white at the edges.
’That — that thing pressing up against the inside of her belly — her husband’s cock never—’
She couldn’t finish the thought.
Her pussy clenched so hard around him her own thighs shook.
He kept that angle and shortened his strokes, quick and punishing —
PAH PAH PAH!
"Hiekk~!! Oungh~!! Ahhnn~!!"
Each thrust lifted her half an inch off the ground, her heavy breasts bouncing up and smacking her collarbones, milk beading at her nipples and flicking off in tiny arcs with every impact.
The bark scraped her shoulder blade through her ruined top and the pain was just another sensation layered on top of everything else, she couldn’t separate them anymore.
Through streaming eyes she saw her husband’s shoulder hitch.
His stroke went ragged.
His head dropped back.
’No.’
’Already?’
Four, maybe five minutes from when she’d first spotted him.
She watched him shudder, watched his knees buckle slightly, watched the seed — ’her seed, the seed that should have—’ — spill uselessly onto the festival ground while he gasped like a drowning man.
And then he just... stood there.
Catching his breath.
Chest heaving.
Watching the stranger’s woman still getting railed against the tree.
’Her.’
Still getting railed.
Tianlong felt her reaction — the way her pussy convulsed around him in a sudden, furious flutter, the way her whole body went rigid and then immediately went soft, the way a wet heat rushed down around his shaft that had nothing to do with another orgasm and everything to do with something breaking loose inside her.
He slowed.
He pressed his lips to the hinge of her jaw, just below her ear.
"He always finishes first, doesn’t he."
Not a question.
She didn’t answer.
She turned her face away from her husband’s silhouette.
She buried it in Tianlong’s neck.
And she cried — quiet, ugly, the kind of crying that comes from somewhere older than grief — while her hips, without her permission, rolled back against him and pressed him deeper.
Tianlong let her cry.
He held her with one arm hooked around her waist, the other hand spread flat against the tree beside her head, and he moved with her — slow, thorough, each stroke a long drag and a full return, his cock painting every ridge of her inside walls in a way that made thought impossible.
He didn’t mock her.
He just kept going.
’He’s still here,’ she thought, distantly.
’He didn’t finish and pull away. He’s still—’
PAH. PAH. PAAAH—
"Nnghh—! Aah—! ’Ahhnn~!!’"
The last one punched the air out of her lungs entirely.
Her face went into his shoulder, her teeth found cloth, she bit down to muffle the sound climbing her throat as her sixth release hit — real, ripping, nothing polite about it, her pussy gushing so hard the sound changed, the ’squelch’ becoming something messier, something that hit the tops of her thighs and the dirt below them.