Page 42 of Deranged Imposter

Kindness is long gone as he forces my pussy to stretch snugly around the base.

“Stay quiet for me,” he demands while rolling his strong hips.

His opened yukata drapes our rocking bodies, but even the dimness can’t fight the glistening wetness every time he pulls out to pummel inside again. It’s not enough. I want to see him while he works to breed my defiled pussy, so I tug on the fabric.

He takes it off and tosses it to the side without stopping his rough pace, yanking loud slapping sounds of my cunt sucking on his cock.

His tatted skin has a sheen, bulging muscles rolling in swelling strength as he thrusts deeper and bumps the tip to a squishy spot that has my legs kicking.

He’s so handsome but so mean to me.

“What?” he sneers, the devil peeking from the reflection of his eyes. “Not enough? Aren’t you being greedy?”

My fluffy lashes are clumped with tears, and my cotton mouth babbles for more. He chuckles and pulls out his cock, stained with cum as the connected slick breaks. He grabs my arm, hauling my pliant body to his lap as he sits on his yukata.

He’ll have to reimburse the inn for it.

Splaying his fingers on my hips and slowly lowering me down, his cock is so fat and heavy that it hits a new spot on my spongy walls. He hooks a sturdy arm around my waist and plows his big cock through my puffy hole.

The position is everything I wanted but didn’t know. He reaches so far, feels thicker, and perfectly rubs my neglected clit on his skin. My broken cries overshadow the obscene squelches as he bounces me on his lap with the sheer power in his arms.

“So full! It hurts…” I mewl as I dig my nails down his back.

It hurts to not cum when it’s right there, bubbling vicariously at the twitch of my swollen clit, and it hurts to not have his cum flood my sullied pussy.

“I’ll make it better,” he purrs, kissing my pouting lips.

His free hand dives between our undulating hips and finds my clit, calloused thumb crushing the little bud mercilessly and pinching it for laughs.

“Always together,” he murmurs, guttural grunts urging my cunt to tighten.

I swallow a sob and nod in agreement, cradling his face with shaky fingers to draw him in for a kiss. A constellation dots the white haze with black; I whine against his lips as my tiny hole clenches harshly around him, cum gushing cream on his rutting cock.

The tighter my pussy becomes as the sweet aftershock crackles under my skin, the harder he has to force himself between my fluttering walls.

His pace falters, shuddering hips shooting the first rope of cum with a low groan. A torrent of viscous cum gushing and defiling my sensitive hole pulls a smaller orgasm from me as I grind my hips. I can feel the cum sloshing inside, his cock stirring the creaminess as more spills out.

“Mikah?” I pant, blinking the tears away.

Always together. There was something in the way he said it, the way he looked at me so differently.

I look at him through blurry eyes and a heavy heart. But when he smiles with a whisper of my name on the thick purr of masqueraded kindness, the question diminishes to a faint sting in the center of my heart.

He’s Mikah.

He has always been able to read me, something he’s extraordinarily gifted at.

“Does it matter?” he asks, confirming he has heard my drunken thoughts.

Years ago, I had doubts that perhaps he’s not Mikah.

“I just don’t think it’s fair.” To his mother, who took years to find acceptance in her heart. To his father, who keeps his son at arm’s length. To everyone, who believes this man to be a victim of a tragedy.

He was—as a ten-year-old boy, that is.

But the cursed triumph in his eyes, when the adults turned away, spoke of evil secrets and ruinous bonds. It was brief, fleeting like the moment of eternal threads binding our lives together—but I saw, seven-year-old Isa saw, andMikahmade certain I knew he was aware of it.

I’m too scared to believe a suspicion.

---