Sylvie, the Slave Girl (Lily Futa) - Chapter 43 (pt. 1)

Sylvie processed her words slowly.

Her feverish brain felt sluggish.

Finally, a spark of joy rose within her, or rather, an overwhelming joy.

Her burning body made her feel like steam was rising from her skin, almost as if white vapor would escape.

It was strange.

She already liked this person so much, enough to never refuse any request.

Now, she somehow liked her even more.

The woman grieved for her.

Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her eyelids reddened.

After days, she looked more disheveled.

Her narrow, red-rimmed eyes were strikingly beautiful, exuding a decadent, captivating allure that thrilled Sylvie.

She felt unusually excited.

Her breathing quickened.

It was like the intense closeness she felt when the woman fucked her hard, her mind blank, as if the world contained only the other person.

This intimacy made her feel needed, giving her immense safety and satisfaction.

Was this person unable to live without her?

Would she grieve her death?

Sylvie felt happy.

Her weak legs rubbed against the woman’s waist.

Her voice, hoarse from the fever and laced with subtle excitement, spoke softly.

Her pvssy eagerly clenched the woman’s fingers, squirting a stream of liquid.

The scalding heat of her thighs passed through thin fabric directly to the woman.

“Wei Qing, do you want to fvck me? I’m so hot right now. It should feel good inside,” she says.

Her bent legs lifted weakly, clamping tightly.

The burning inner thighs trapped the woman’s half-hard but noticeably present c0ck between them.

The woman’s fingers, still inside her pvssy, were locked in place.

A faint, burning emptiness inside her ignited and grew, demanding more direct, rough filling and friction to ease it.

Fvck her, wake her, make her foggy brain active again.

The woman grieved, unwilling to let her die.

Sylvie didn’t know if she would actually die.

She wasn’t afraid of death, but she hadn’t expected her condition to make the woman so distraught.

Perhaps it wasn’t distress, just dishevelment.

Her eyes were so red, almost like she might cry, saying she liked her.

Sylvie felt the heaviness in her body wasn’t so bad anymore.

Her dizzy, swelling emotions had nowhere to go.

If she died, it wouldn’t matter.

She wanted to do it with the woman one last time.

She liked the woman.

Her body, honed over these days from initial gratitude-driven s3x to skillful use, was her weapon.

The woman used her knee to spread Sylvie’s legs, leaning down, forehead touching her sweat-soaked forehead.

“I’ll fvck you,” she says.

“… Like me a little more,” the woman repeats.

Of course, I like you. I’ve always liked you, Sylvie thinks.

She titled her chin, seeking her lips dependently.

The woman kisses her, pulling out the fingers gripped tightly by her pvssy.

Her movements lost the lingering softness of storytelling, now carrying an urgent need to confirm something and a soothing force.

Her teeth bit with urgency, occasionally losing control.

The pain excited Sylvie, her pupils dilating slightly.

God… really…

Slender fingers gripped the reddish-purple c0ck, stroking it roughly twice, making it harder, fuller.

Wei Qing got hard quickly.

She knew how hot the girl’s body was.

Anxiously, she tried to recall the moment affection hit 90.

The hard tip rubbed against the scalding, wet pvssy hole.

The liquids felt burning.

The tip slowly pushed in.

Entry was difficult; both let out heavy gasps.

Sylvie felt the c0ck cooler than usual, stark against her overly hot body.

“It’s so… tight,” Wei Qing says.

Her body felt like countless tiny electric currents raced inside.

Her feverish brain fogged, her passage abnormally tight and burning, resisting the invading c0ck.