CHAPTER 199: UNVEILING AN ALTAR

The old house held its breath. Sofia leaned against the familiar, scuffed leather sofa, chest heaving, limbs still trembling from the aftershocks I’d wrung from her with just my hands and mouth. My cum-coated fingers were proof.

But this? This was just the overture.

The air itself felt charged, thick with the scent of her release and the ghost of my childhood. Her eyes, wide and dark, tracked me like prey anticipating the final strike.

I didn’t touch her. Not yet. I stood back, letting my gaze devour her. Eyes traced the frantic heave of her breasts—black lace straining like a cage, nipples jutting like dark jewels against the fabric. Sweat beaded between them, rolling down her sternum to disappear into the lace valley.

Down the quivering plane of her stomach—muscles fluttering with each ragged breath—to the drenched scrap of lace clinging to her cunt. It wasn’t just wet; it was saturated, transparent, revealing everything: swollen folds dark with blood, the hard nub of her clit pulsing visibly beneath the silk.

Her inner thighs gleamed in the candlelight, slick with her own arousal, dripping in slow trails toward her knees. Innocent setting. Raw woman. The contrast was lightning in my veins.

"Look at you," I murmured, voice a low earthquake vibrating through the dust-choked air. "Flushed like a whore. Trembling like a virgin about to be deflowered. Already ruined and I haven’t even begun." My eyes locked onto the drowning lace between her legs.

"That little scrap of lace is the only thing holding you together. And it’s being devoured by your own greed." I took a step closer—slow, deliberate, the floorboards groaning under my weight. "Should I tear it off? Let your cunt breathe? Or make you beg me to rip it off while you watch yourself dissolve in my hands?"

She swallowed hard. A full-body tremor wracked her frame—breasts bounced, thighs clenched, lace stretched taut over her heat. "Peter... please."

"Please what?" I countered, circling her slow, like a wolf admiring wounded prey. My fingers brushed the back of her arm—feather-light, but she jerked like she’d been branded. "Please touch you? Run my hands over this dripping cunt until you scream? Please taste you—lap up this hunger until you forget your own name? Or please make you scream so loud the ghosts in this house wake up horny?"

Her breath hitched audibly. Hips shifted unconsciously—rolling, seeking, thighs rubbing together to ease the ache. "All of it," she whispered, words shredded, raw. "Please... all of it."

She whimpered—a broken, desperate sound. Her hands clenched at her sides, knuckles white. "Please..." Her voice cracked. "Please, Peter... ruin me."

I smiled—a slow, vicious curve of lips. "Good girl." My eyes dropped to the drenched lace between her thighs. "Now... show me how you beg with your body.

"

And Sofia obeyed.

Her hands slid down her stomach—trembling—to hook her thumbs in the lace waistband. She peeled it down, inch by torturous inch, revealing the slick, swollen folds beneath. Glistening pink flesh met the candlelight.

Clit—dark, engorged—throbbed visibly. She stepped out of the ruined lace, naked except for the bra.

Then she spread her legs—wide.

Offering.

Surrendering.

"Touch me," she sobbed. "Taste me. Fuck me. Make me forget everything but your name inside me."

The air crackled. The scent of her—musk, heat, wet satin—flooded my senses.

That was the cue. I sank to my knees before her—not grace, but descent. The floorboards groaned beneath me, cool wood biting into skin as my hands claimed the backs of her calves. Palms slid upward, thumbs pressing into the sensitive hollows behind her knees, feeling the tremors rippling through tendons.

Fingers gripped her outer thighs hard enough to bruise, thumbs hooking into the soaked lace at her hips.

No tearing. Slow. Torturous. The panties clung—silk suctioned to swollen, aching flesh. A soft, wet sound as I peeled them down, like skin tearing, exposing her completely. They pooled around her ankles, sodden lace shackles.

She stood exposed in the center of my childhood home. My breath caught—not just in admiration alone, but recognition. Perfectly smooth cunt, glistening under the dim light like spilled honey. Inner lips—dark, flushed, already parted—like a flower blooming in ruin. Clit: a prominent, glistening pearl, throbbing with every ragged breath she took.

The scent of her hit me — rich, musky, sweet, female — Sofia. Addictive. Intoxicating. A drug flooding my veins.

I spread her open with my thumbs. Slow. Reverently. Like unveiling an altar built for sacrifice. Her breath hitched—a choked gasp tearing through her throat as cool air hit her feverish flesh. I stared. Memorized. Every slick fold. Every quiver of muscle.

"Exquisite," I breathed—the warm gust making her flinch as if burned. "And all mine."

Then, I leaned in.

Not gentle. I flattened my tongue and licked—perineum to clit—one long, deliberate stroke. Her entire body jolted like live wire caught voltage. A sharp, raw cry tore from her throat. Her taste exploded—musky, sweet, intensely her—flooding my senses.

I did it again.

Slower. Harder. Painting broad, wet stripes over her most sensitive flesh. Her hands flew to my hair—tangling, pulling, roots screaming—holding on like she’d drown otherwise.

"Oh god... Peter... yes..." she moaned—voice high, thin, fraying at the edges. Her knees began to buckle —legs trembling, muscles failing.

I tightened my grip on her thighs, holding her steady, anchoring her. My tongue narrowed, becoming a weapon. I flicked the tip rapidly against her exposed clit. Her reaction was instantaneous – a guttural scream ripped from her lungs, her back arching violently, hips jerking forward, grinding against my face.

"Right there...! Oh fuck, right there!"

I sealed my mouth over her swollen bud and sucked. Hard. At the same time, I slid two fingers deep inside her, curling instantly to find that rough, sensitive spot high on her front wall. The combination was devastating.

"PETER!" She screamed, the sound echoing off the familiar walls. Her legs gave out completely. She collapsed forward, her weight suddenly heavy in my arms.

But I was ready. My hands flew from her thighs to grip her ass firmly, fingers digging into the soft flesh.

I surged upwards, lifting her effortlessly as I rose, using my shoulders and biceps to heft her. Her legs instinctively wrapped around my neck, thighs clamping tight against my ears, sealing me against her core. I carried her stumbling, gasping form the few feet to the nearest wall and slammed her back against it with enough force but not hurt her.

Her hands braced against the wall, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut.

Pinned. Trapped. Utterly at my mercy. And I wasn’t done.

My mouth never left her cunt. I feasted. My tongue delved deep, fucking her entrance with rigid thrusts, then swirling around her clit, sucking hard, then flicking lightning-fast. My left hand remained on her ass, squeezing, kneading, pulling her cheeks apart to give me better access, my thumb brushing perilously close to the tight pucker of her asshole.

My right hand slid up her torso, roughly groping her lace-clad breast, finding the straining nipple and pinching it viciously between thumb and forefinger, rolling it, tugging it.

"YES! FUCK! YES!" she shrieked, bucking wildly against the wall, grinding her cunt frantically against my devouring mouth. Her body was a live wire, trembling uncontrollably, coated in a fine sheen of sweat.

Her cries were constant now – primal, incoherent sounds of pure sensation. "Don’t stop! PLEASE DON’T STOP! I’M... I’M... FUCK!"

She tensed like a coiled spring, every muscle locking. A deep guttural groan built in her chest, higher and higher, pitch climbing towards a scream. Then she shattered. Not just an orgasm. An explosion. Her entire body convulsed violently against the wall. Hot liquid gushed into my mouth, flooding my tongue, my throat, spilling down my chin.

A sharp, clear scent filled the air – hers, pure and unleashed.

I didn’t pull away. I sealed my lips over her spasming core and drank it down. Gulping. Swallowing every drop of her release as she sobbed and convulsed above me, her thighs clamped impossibly tight around my head, nails scratching at the wall.

I tongued her gently through the waves, prolonging her agony, milking every last tremor from her spent body until her legs finally went limp, sliding weakly from my shoulders.

I lowered her gently to the floor. She slumped against the wall, boneless, utterly wrecked, eyes glassy and unfocused. Sweat plastered strands of hair to her flushed cheeks and neck. Her chest hitched with ragged, shallow breaths. mascara tracked down her face.

I rose slowly to my full height, looming over her ruined form. I looked down at her, then slowly, deliberately, licked my lips, savoring the taste of her surrender still coating my mouth.

The scent of her cum – pungent, victorious – hung heavy in the air of my childhood living room, a permanent stain on the memories. The ghosts weren’t just witnesses anymore; they were accomplices. Sofia didn’t move. Didn’t speak. She just lay there, conquered with just that.

But we were far from done