--- CHAPTER 8: (R18) Dawn's Relentless Embrace ---
The overwhelming stimulation left Priscilla trembling, her body on the edge; she'd never felt pleasure this raw and unrelenting. Compared to her ex-husband's lackluster efforts, this was like sunlight blasting away candlelight—faint memories obliterated by blazing reality.
My movements were crude and repetitive, but each full-length thrust ignited raw friction, nerves exploding with endless delight as her walls gripped my invading shaft. The ceaseless pleasure melted her body, limbs going limp in surrender to the waves. This tireless bull pistoned faster and faster, building to a frenzied rhythm, pounding her aunt-cunt like a savage beast claiming his taboo prize in a whirlwind of incestuous madness.
The big bed creaked louder and more frantically under our heaving bodies, protesting the assault. Priscilla's pussy clamped tighter, a vice of ecstasy, veins bulging on her neck from the effort to stifle her gasps. Enduring her nephew's relentless intimacy while feigning sleep was a torturous delight—pride swelling at stealing his innocence, joy in the explosive releases after her long drought, her body convulsing wildly from the vulgar, incestuous fucking!
Her panting grew louder, escaping despite her clenched jaw, the long-lost pleasure—absent for over a decade—overwhelming her completely. My tip battered her deepest spot, grinding mercilessly, the cycles of empty-full-empty-full repeating until she was utterly stuffed, senses drowning. Her ten chubby, sexy toes curled tight in rapture, jade hands clawing the sheets until her knuckles whitened. Her pussy tightened impossibly, locking my thrusting cock in a stranglehold of forbidden bliss, refusing to let go.
Papapapa! In the prince's opulent bedroom, adorned with Lordaeron's tapestries, a mature, intellectual beauty—feigning drunken slumber—was pinned beneath a young man over twenty years her junior, their forbidden union defying all norms. I hoisted her fleshy legs higher, spreading her wide for deeper, more savage penetration into her incestuous depths, rutting like a possessed animal.
Sensing another climax building, I lost track of time in the haze of passion—her pussy had spasmed violently at least three times already, each contraction a silent orgasm ripping through her. I lowered my head, capturing her "closed" lips in a deep kiss, prying them open to tangle tongues and suck greedily, devouring her essence. "It's coming... Wife... Aunt... Ah... fuck... I'm releasing for you... Aunt!" I murmured against her mouth, hips never slowing, ready to flood her with yet more nephew-cum. "Your pussy's clenching so hard... fuck, it's delicious, I'm going crazy cumming inside this taboo cunt!"
As release neared, my thrusts became massive, full-scale rams—powerful, deep, and unforgiving. Our connection was a slick, messy chaos, juices and cum frothed into viscous mucus, gleaming and reeking of fishy primal lust, the scent of our forbidden incest saturating the room like a depraved fog.
The pleasure at my tip intensified to a pinpoint blaze, the accumulated ecstasy cresting. I groaned deeply, burying myself to the hilt, my tip pressed against her deepest core as if sucked by a hidden mouth. Her pussy tightened volcanically, muscles squeezing rhythmically, demanding every drop, her aunt-womb begging for my seed in hungry convulsions.
I shattered, unleashing thick ropes of essence straight into her innermost depths. Her pussy trembled in response, convulsing wildly, her fluids washing over my tip in hot reciprocity, our essences mixing in vulgar harmony. "Oh fuck, Aunt... blasting my cum deep... it's so goddamn good, flooding your cunt with everything I've got—take it all, you incestuous slut!"
After the intense morning release, I lingered for a full five minutes, savoring the warmth before pulling my limp cock free with reluctance. Gazing at her swollen, red pussy—gaping slightly from the prolonged invasion, tender flesh twitching as my creamy seed leaked out in slow trails—I felt a twisted mix of concern and pride. For practicality's sake, I channeled holy light to heal her tender spot, the soothing glow mending the ravages. See? Guardian powers already proving useful.
But the sight—her beauty in "sleep," the inner release painting her pink walls—reignited my lust instantly. No sense wasting that healing; I mounted her again without hesitation, slamming back in and resuming the pounding, extending the morning's depravity into another round of forbidden fucking. "Look at your pussy leaking my seed, Aunt... fuck, it's turning me on so bad, need to pound this cum-filled hole even harder—gonna wreck you all over again!"
An hour later, I emerged in the meeting hall, dressed impeccably in my royal tunic, hair still damp but composure intact—the picture of the Pious Prince, though my legs wobbled slightly from the marathon session. I joined Paladin Uther to study troop deployments, preparing for departure against the encroaching orc horde, their dark fleet sailing north toward the Brad Hills for a pivotal southern defense.
With me gone, the door clicking shut, Lady Ashvane finally opened her eyes, exhaling a long, shaky breath. She inspected the teeth marks on her chest—tender bites slick with saliva—and the bright red handprints marring her skin, imprints of my possessive passion. Her body ached deliciously, sore and soft from the relentless intimacy, pleasures she'd never known—intense, multifaceted, and utterly consuming.
Especially in those final thrusts, my excitement drove me to hammer brutally, accidentally breaching her narrowest, deepest sanctum, lodging most of my tip inside. The unexpected pressure—tight, novel, and at my critical edge—shattered my control, flooding her core directly. That deepest spot, a woman's most delicate secret, had never been touched like this; the unimaginable stimulation stopped her heart for a beat. Only after I finished did it thunder back to life, her lingering peak layering into another, the double orgasm blanking her mind. It took ages to emerge from the afterglow, gasping like a beached fish, chest heaving in ragged breaths!
"Naughty boy, you released so much and don't even know how to hold back!" she whispered, a fond laugh-curse, her aunt-body still oozing my vulgar seed despite the exasperation.
Smiling to herself, Priscilla pulled the covers over her spent form and drifted back to sleep. As the queen's sister and my aunt, resting in the prince's chambers raised no eyebrows. Exhaustion from the hour-long tossing and multiple peaks demanded recovery, her body craving rest in the warm afterglow.
Meanwhile, across stormy seas on the distant continent, a towering green-skinned orc—nearly seven feet tall, wielding a massive long-handled iron hammer—stood at the port, gazing outward with imposing resolve. Orgrim Doomhammer, the great Warchief, commanded nearly a million ferocious orcs, the horde's elite in a desperate, all-or-nothing bid to conquer Azeroth. Failure meant extinction—no retreat possible.
His broad back radiated oppression, a rare orc blending muscle with strategic wisdom amid a race often ruled by brute force.
"Warchief, humans have discovered our tracks. We can't hide our sea assault from their spies," Marshal Eitrigg warned gravely, one of the few uncorrupted orcs retaining rationality, his green skin a mark of fel's dye rather than full demonic taint.
Orgrim grinned, tusks gleaming, eyeing the enslaved red dragons soaring overhead—proud beasts humbled as orc dragon cavalry, a humiliating twist!
"It doesn't matter; let them find out. Haha, our allies will handle it," he rumbled confidently, knowing the dragons' fire would be humanity's unsolvable doom, like unleashing nuclear fury on the battlefield.
--- END OF CHAPTER 8 ---