Grind-to-Cash System: Buy SSS Skills to Spam them Infinitely with Cash-Chapter 43 - Asperia’s Frustration for Loving a Pervert

Chapter 43: Chapter 43 - Asperia’s Frustration for Loving a Pervert

"P-Please! Leave me, damn it! I’m injured! Emotionally! Spiritually! Physically!"

I flailed dramatically as Asperia dragged me into the room like a hunter pulling in her kill. My back hit the floor with a heavy thump, and I barely had time to breathe before the glowing menace stepped over me.

She looked down at me—arms folded, legs bare, dress still clinging damp to her thighs like a threat.

"Stand up," she said flatly.

My eyes twitched. "You’re going to hit me again, aren’t you?"

She tilted her head slightly, golden hair spilling over her shoulder, then calmly said:

"If you don’t stand, I’ll kill your lower region."

Instant clarity.

I shot up like a soldier who’d heard a gun cocked next to his testicles.

"Cough!" A sharp cough hit my throat from the sudden motion, and I hunched forward, one hand clutching my chest as I bowed deep—ninety degrees, perfectly formal.

"As you say... my princess," I rasped out like some court butler awaiting execution.

She stared at me.

Just stared.

Not angry. Not smug. Not even amused.

There was a pause—small, quiet. Her eyes roamed my posture, and then slowly up toward my face. Her fingers lifted to her own hair, gently pushing through it, ruffling the wild strands back over her shoulder.

Her gaze met mine—those molten yellow eyes glowing faintly under the lamp’s flicker. Her voice came soft. Low. Tired.

"...Why did I even fall for you?"

My brain didn’t register it at first.

My ears heard it. But it slid past like a whisper on the wind—one of those things you think you heard but immediately question.

I just stood there.

Looking at her.

Blank. Blinking. Breathing slow.

"...Huh?" I croaked dumbly. My brows furrowed. "What did you sa—"

But I never finished.

Because suddenly, without warning, her arms wrapped around me.

Hard.

She stepped forward, into me, and just hugged—crushing her body against mine like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

Her face buried itself into my chest. Warm. Real. She trembled just once—so faint I almost missed it.

My brain glitched.

Her soft breath soaked through my skin. Her hair tickled my collarbone, and her hands fisted the back of my shirt, clutching like she was afraid I’d vanish if she let go.

And God—her chest.

I felt it.

Through that damp dress, her nipples pressed softly against me—two hard, desperate points brushing my bare skin. Still sensitive from earlier. Still peeking, stiff and aching against the cloth.

Each breath she took made them shift just enough to feel like sparks.

I didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

I could barely even think.

Then her voice whispered against my chest.

"...I’ll kick you there if you move an inch."

Her breath was hot. Her words were serious. Her arms only tightened.

And I stood there.

Frozen.

As the world tilted on its axis until—

She pulled away from the hug, her breath hot on my collarbone as her eyes glared up—those yellow irises like glowing blades cutting through my haze.

She stared at me like I was prey again. Like I’d said something I shouldn’t have. Like I’d felt something I didn’t deserve.

Her fingers slipped down.

And grabbed my cock.

"Ur-urgh—" I groaned, my spine arching slightly from the raw jolt of her touch. Her hand—smaller than it should be to hold something this thick—wrapped around me with a firm, unflinching grip.

Her fingers didn’t even fully close around the girth; they just barely reached her palm, leaving thick veins exposed against her skin.

The contrast made my brain go blank for a second.

Her palm was soft—warm, delicate, yet commanding like a leash on fire. Just there, clamped around me like she owned it.

She gave one slow pull.

"Hgh—wait." I gasped, hips twitching, cock throbbing in her hand like it was begging her for more.

The veins swelled against her grip, the weight of me pulsing into her fingers as precum slicked over her thumb.

Then she yanked.

And I fell back onto the bed—I needed to, or else my dick would have cut apart—with a grunt, chest rising hard.

"Wait—are you going to do what I did?" I managed, panting out a crooked laugh as I looked up at her.

She didn’t reply.

Instead, she climbed.

On her knees.

No bra beneath that thin, half-damp dress—just the sway of her tits beneath the fabric, jiggling slightly as she moved.

The neckline slipped loose with each crawl, dipping lower, revealing the soft, sweaty swell of her cleavage with every shift forward.

She was crawling over me like a beast. Knees wide. Palms pressing into the mattress.

Her hair fell down around her face, wild and gold, sticking faintly to her skin.

And then she was over me.

Seated on my thighs.

Her ass sank against my skin—her weight grounding me, claiming me.

Her glare, sharp before, turned into a blank look. In a tone that banished my smile, she warned,

"If your filthy thing pokes me, I will cut it off," she hissed.

’!’

Instantly—I grabbed my own cock.

Not gently.

Like a man trying to shield his last will to live. My palm clenched it tight, pressing down on the shaft like I’d rather fracture it than lose it.

The pressure made my breath catch, pain mixing with panic as I curled slightly, tucking it down and away like some soldier diving on a grenade.

"Peace! I surrender!" I gasped, eyes wide, spine rigid.

Only then did she move again.

She shifted her knees.

Crawled forward with deliberate, slow menace—like a jungle cat circling wounded prey.

Her dress clung to her thighs, and as she mounted, her ass hovered over my trapped cock, that thin strip of cloth the only thing between my flesh and hers.

And then—

She sank.

Her weight settled, slow and merciless.

That ass. Fuck.

Soft. Round. Firm and warm and so much. My cock, still clenched in my own hand, was now pinned directly beneath the swell of her curves. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com

The thin fabric of her dress did nothing—I could feel the heat of her radiating down through it, molding to me as her cheeks pressed in, one on either side, clamping my cock between them like a vice of silk and sin.

I shuddered.

Every twitch of my length made her shift slightly—her ass adjusting around me, smothering the shaft between those soft cheeks and that damp dress, the friction maddening.

The fabric molded to her perfectly, bunched up and stretched taut between us, riding up the curve of her hips as she shifted one more inch down.

My hand was still there, trapped between us, gripping myself like a lifeline—my knuckles getting warmed between the heat of her softness.

But I was losing it.

She leaned forward, her hands planting against my chest again—hard, commanding—and pressed down until I finally let go, chest heaving beneath her as she took her seat fully, grinding into place.

I could feel everything.

Every breath made her press harder. Every heartbeat pulsed through my cock, still stiff and squished beneath her weight. My balls ached. My mind blurred.

Then, without a word, she leaned in.

Arms wrapped around my neck.

And hugged me.

Hard.

Her face pressed into my neck, breath hot, lips barely grazing my collarbone. Her tits mashed against my chest again, nipples sharp against my skin, and her arms held me close like a lifeline. Like she needed to cling or she’d collapse.

I didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

And then she whispered something again,

"Mother was right... you men cannot control your lust."