Chapter 66: Claiming Natasha - Part 6 ( R18 )
A silent scream tore from Natasha’s throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated ecstasy that had no voice. Her entire body seized, every muscle locking in a rictus of overwhelming pleasure. It was a complete and total system shutdown.
Her mind, already fractured and remade by the ordeal, simply... stopped. There was no thought, no memory, no identity.
There was only the feeling, the all-encompassing, soul-searing bliss of Jax’s hot seed flooding her womb, marking her from the inside out, claiming her in the most fundamental way possible.
It was the ultimate act of possession, and she welcomed it with every fiber of her being.
Then, there was nothing, as she completely passed out due to the pleasure.
Her consciousness returned slowly, reluctantly. It was not a gentle awakening but a painful, groggy crawl back to reality. The first thing she registered was the ache.
A deep, bone-weary exhaustion that permeated every muscle, every joint. It was the pleasant, satisfying soreness of a body that had been used to its absolute limits and beyond.
The second thing she felt was the warmth. She was no longer on the cold stone floor of the dungeon but nestled in a bed, the sheets soft and clean against her skin.
The third thing, and the most shocking, was the fullness. There was something inside her. Something thick, hard, and deeply familiar.
Natasha’s eyes fluttered open. She was in a different room. Not a dungeon cell, but a lavish chamber, richly decorated in deep reds and blacks, with sunlight streaming through a tall, arched window.
She was lying on her side, and Jax was behind her, his powerful body spooning hers, one arm draped possessively over her waist. And his cock, still impossibly hard, was buried deep within her pussy, a warm, throbbing presence that felt like it belonged there.
A wave of heat washed over her, a slow, creeping blush of shame and a dark, thrilling pride. She remembered everything.
The toys, the degradation, the throat-fucking, the brutal, mind-shattering sex. She remembered begging him, screaming for him, calling herself his slut, his whore. She remembered the feel of his cum filling her, the ultimate proof of his ownership.
And she wanted it again.
A soft, breathy moan escaped her lips as she experimentally clenched her inner muscles around his thick shaft. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through her already sensitized body.
She was sore, yes, but she was also insatiably, unnervingly aroused.
The aphrodisiac was still in her system, a low, constant hum of lust, but it was more than that now. It was instinct. A new, primal need that had been carved into her soul.
She began to move, slowly at first, a subtle rocking of her hips. She pushed back against him, sliding her slick, swollen pussy along the length of his cock. It was a lazy, indulgent motion, a self-pleasuring act using his body as her toy.
She was still half-asleep, lost in a haze of exhaustion and desire, her actions driven by pure, unthinking instinct.
"Look at you," a low, sleep-roughened voice murmured in her ear. Jax was awake, "Waking up and already fucking yourself on my cock. You really are a natural-born whore, aren’t you?"
His words, crude and demeaning, sent a fresh thrill through her. He was right. She was. She was a whore. His whore.
"Yes," she breathed, her voice a husky whisper. She pushed back harder, taking him deeper, a soft sigh of pleasure escaping her lips. "I’m your whore. A real whore."
Jax chuckled, a dark, satisfied sound. He tightened his arm around her waist, his other hand coming up to cup her breast, his thumb flicking over her sensitive nipple.
"Good. You’re finally learning. Then you can forget about being a Hero. That’s over. From now on, you’re just my bitch. My personal, cock-hungry little bitch. Say it." Jax ordered her.
Natasha’s body trembled, a mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through her. This was it. The point of no return.
To say the words would be to seal her fate, to willingly abandon the last vestiges of her old life. But what choice did she have?
What did she even want anymore? The Hero was a stranger, a faded memory. The woman she was now, the woman who craved his touch, his cock, his dominance... that was real.
"I’m... I’m your bitch," she whimpered, pushing her ass back against him, grinding herself on his throbbing shaft. "Only your bitch."
"Good girl," he purred, his hand sliding down her stomach to her clit, his fingers beginning to circle the sensitive nub.
"But we need to set some ground rules. Your life is mine now. Your body is mine. Your pleasure is mine. But there is one thing from your old life that I might be interested in."
Natasha froze, a sliver of ice piercing through her warm haze of lust. "Killian," she whispered, her cousin’s name a prayer on her lips. She had tried so hard to protect him, to keep him out of this. Was this how it ended? With him dead because of her failure?
"I won’t kill him," Jax said, his tone casual, almost bored. "He’s no threat to me. A whiny, weak little nobleman. Why would I bother?" He paused, letting the relief wash over her before twisting the knife. "No, I have a much better plan for dear cousin Killian. He’s going to be the perfect cuck."
Natasha’s mind reeled. "Cuck? What... what do you mean?"
"I mean he’s going to watch," Jax explained, his voice dripping with malicious glee. "He’s going to watch me fuck you. He’s going to watch you and all the other girls beg for my cock. He’s going to watch you scream my name as I fill you with my seed. And he’s going to know, with every fiber of his being, that the women he loves, the women he admires, are all nothing but my personal sluts. His suffering will be your entertainment. His humiliation will be my pleasure."
The sheer, unadulterated evil of his plan was staggering. It was a fate worse than death, a psychological torture designed to break not just her, but the man she loved as a family member, a cousin, and yet... a dark, twisted part of her, the part that Jax had created, found it... exciting.
The thought of Killian watching, of seeing her like this, being claimed by this powerful, dominant man... it was a new, potent form of arousal.
"You’re... you’re truly evil," she breathed, the words lacking any real condemnation. It was a statement of fact, an observation that held a strange, terrifying allure.
"I am," Jax agreed without a hint of shame. "And you love it."
He didn’t give her a chance to deny it. With a fluid, powerful motion, he rolled her over onto her back, his cock never leaving her depths. He was on top of her now, his muscular body pinning hers to the bed, his golden eyes boring into hers.
"Now, ride me," he commanded. "Show me how much you love being my evil little bitch."
Natasha didn’t hesitate. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, and pulled herself up, straddling him. She rose up, his cock sliding almost all the way out of her, before slamming herself back down, taking him to the hilt.
She set a frantic, desperate rhythm, bouncing on his cock, her tits jiggling with every movement. She was no longer just a passive participant; she was an active, eager performer in her own defilement, and she had never felt more alive.