A Beautiful Luna After Rejection

Chapter 87 - Coming On Me

Chapter 87: Coming On Me

Michael didn’t say anything. He just kept pushing his crotch forward and into me.

I could hear the embarrassing sound of my crotch being penetrated. He probably went in and out a hundred more times. I was constantly having orgasms. The fluid flowed out of my body as if all the water in my body would run out.

I was in a trance.

Suddenly, Michael’s penis started throbbing. I looked at Michael in a daze and realized that this was a sign that he would ejaculate.

He couldn’t ejaculate in there.

I suddenly regained some consciousness and was about to remind him when Michael suddenly pushed me away. My legs were lifted.

“Ah!” I screamed.

Michael’s actions threw me off balance, and I fell onto the bed.

I felt Michael pull his wet penis out of my body and raise my hips with his hands. Then, I was forced into a position where my legs were wide open, and my private parts were facing him.

I looked at him blankly. Michael looked down. I couldn’t see his face. Instead, I could feel his burning gaze on the open space between my legs, a position I was more ashamed of than the moan I’d just had on Michael.

I saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down, and his breath grew heavy.

‘Mark me, mark me,’ I screamed inside.

During sex, my desire for Michael reached new heights. At this point, I felt aggrieved. We had done the most intimate thing. Why did Michael still refuse to mark me?

I watched Michael grip his nearly-exploding penis and jerk it a few times before a thick, white liquid spurted out of it.

He shot it at me.

My mind was still a little hazy, and the white fluid from Michael’s body was concentrated at the base of my thighs, and some splashed onto my lower abdomen, filling the air with a fishy smell.

I froze for a moment, and it took me a moment to react, and then my face began to turn red rapidly.

I instinctively wanted to reach out and wipe it. But lying on the bed with my waist hanging in the air was not a good position to apply force.

Michael blocked my hand, and I could feel his bodily fluid on my thigh. It was thick and sticky, a layer of it on my body, piled up and trickling down slowly, along with the warm, slimy liquid from my body.

I felt a terrible heat on my cheeks, embarrassed by Michael’s lewdness, and my body moved with shame.

Michael’s gaze lingered on me for a long time as if he were admiring something wonderful. Finally, he wiped the semen from my thighs and let them dry up on me, soaking me in his scent.

I covered my eyes with my arms, unwilling to imagine it.

The rest I got was short.

After a while, Michael pulled me up again and held me. I was like his big doll, and I felt exhausted by what I had just done, but Michael was not done yet and was in high spirits.

He kept touching my neck with his lips, and as he did so, he placed his palm on my chest again, touching my back and belly.

I had initially tried to avoid Michael’s touch, and the repeated orgasms had consumed too much of my energy, but my shameless body could not resist Michael’s touch at all, and once again, it felt natural.

It was as if we had never argued. I had never been locked up. I had never escaped.

Michael had created the illusion that we had always been in love. We were just making out.

He still hadn’t marked me. I looked at Michael in a daze. Was it because he didn’t want to?

Soon, I was back in the throes of passion. My gaze was glued to the bedside lamp. My body was full of joy, but my mind was blank.

For the next three days, I was bedridden.

My feet hadn’t touched the ground since I opened my eyes.

These days, Michael said nothing, but we had nonstop sex.

In the beginning, I could enjoy the pleasure of my body and tried to cater to him. But in the end, I didn’t have an ounce of strength left, and I would fall asleep as soon as I was allowed to lie on the bed. Then, whenever I woke up, Michael was still f*cking me endlessly.

I first begged him to mark me and forgive me; then, I started begging him to stop, but he ignored me completely; finally, I just gave up and became a doll at his mercy.

I tried apologizing, begging, crying, and moaning, but I couldn’t get a single ounce of sympathy or pity from Michael. Instead, I was like a cheap b*tch, a toy that only gave Michael pleasure and release of desire.