FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 173: Chapter 173: Releasing Inside A Goddess

“Say it,” Sol demanded, slowing the pace for a agonizing second, circling his hips to grind against her cervix. “Tell me how it feels.”

“It feels…” Isylia choked, her eyes flying open. They were wild, dilated, the solar swirls spinning frantically. “It feels… full. Too full. I am… stretching. I am burning.”

“Do you hate it?” Sol asked, driving back in with a sudden, violent thrust.

“Yes!” she shrieked, her nails digging into his shoulders. “I hate it! I hate you! Do it again!”

Sol grinned, a dark, feral expression. “As you command.”

Sol growled, a guttural sound of approval. He leaned down, pressing his chest against her breasts. The friction of his hair against her sensitive, swollen nipples sent fresh waves of shock through her. He captured her mouth in a messy, bruising kiss, drinking her screams, as he increased his pace further. forcing her to taste her own arousal on his tongue.

..

Isylia was drowning. The world had narrowed down to this. There was no Cosmos. There was no Void. There was only the obsidian throne beneath her and the heavy, relentless man on top of her.

Her insides were melting. The sensation was no longer pain or pressure; it was pure, blinding white light. Every time he hit that deep spot, a pulse of energy shot through her nervous system, rewriting her understanding of existence. She felt dirty. She felt debased. She felt glorious.

“Sol… Sol…” she began to chant his name, a breathless litany. “You are… breaking me… you are ruining the vessel…”

“I’m fixing it,” Sol mumbled against her lips. “I’m filling you up, letting you feel the pleasure of being a woman.”

He withdrew his hand from under her leg and reached down between their sweating bodies. He found the slick, swollen pearl of her clitoris, drenched in the golden nectar leaking from her.

And rubbed it hard.

In his past life, Sol had been a scholar of the “cultured” arts. He remembered reading about this… about the density of nerve endings in that singular, small pearl. He remembered reading that it was the only organ in the human body designed purely for pleasure.

If she has a body, Sol thought, his eyes darkening with obsession, then she has the wiring.

He wanted to test that theory. He wanted to see if a Goddess, a being who had watched stars die and galaxies form, could withstand the biological imperative of that specific, concentrated stimulation.

He wanted to give her the pleasure of eons in a single moment. He wanted to wipe the arithmetic of the cosmos from her mind and replace it with white noise. He wanted her to forget her name, her title, and her pride. He wanted her to forget she was Isylia and remember only that she was his.

He pressed his thumb down.

It wasn’t just friction; it was a demand for total surrender. He applied a rhythmic, relentless pressure, circling and teasing, using the knowledge of a world that had turned pleasure into a science against a being who had only known the cold silence of the Void.

Isylia arched so violently she nearly headbutted him, a high-pitched keen tearing from her throat that sounded like a violin string snapping.

“NO! Too much! Sensory overload!” she screamed, her body seizing up, her muscles locking in a spasm of pure, blinding intensity. Her solar eyes rolled back, the flares spinning into a blur. “Something is coming. Sol, stop!”

“Take it,” Sol roared, thrusting harder while his thumb circled her clitoris. “Take everything I have!”

Her insides squeezed him harder and harder, and he was losing control. The softness of her insides was unlike anything he had ever felt. It wasn’t just flesh; it was like fucking pure energy wrapped in velvet. It gripped him, massaged him, pulled at him. It was warm, sucking, and impossibly tight.

He felt the Vitality radiating from her walls. It wasn’t the slow trickle he had gotten from the widow Evara. This was a fucking firehose. With every thrust, he absorbed eons of power. His fatigue was gone. His muscles felt like they were forged of titanium. His senses were expanding, encompassing the entire room, feeling the dust motes dancing in the air.

But the pleasure was stronger than the power.

The pressure in his balls was building to a critical mass. It was a physical ache, a heavy, dragging weight that demanded release. He needed to breed her. He needed to pour himself into this perfection, to stain her purity with his seed, to leave a mark that eternity couldn’t wipe away.

The friction built, a rising heat that seemed to transcend the physical.

For Isylia, the world narrowed down to the heavy weight of his body and the rhythmic thrust that seemed to be shaking the foundations of her existence. The pleasure coiled tight in her belly, a golden knot of tension that grew tighter and tighter with every stroke.

She felt herself unraveling. The Weaver, who held the strings of fate, was losing the thread.

“Sol… I am… I am really breaking!” she gasped, her body arching off the throne, straining against him. Her skin began to glow brighter, the solar energy within her reacting to the biological overload.

“Let go,” he rasped against her ear.

And she did.

“AAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!”

Her body clamped down around him, spasms of pure, liquid light coursing through her veins and transferring directly into his skin. She cried out, a long, keen sound of ecstasy that seemed to make the very air shimmer and distort around the throne. Waves of golden energy rolled off her, washing over Sol, bathing him in her power and overstimulating every nerve ending he possessed.

Sol tried. He really, truly tried to hold back.

He wanted to stretch this moment longer, to make it last for an eternity. He wanted to savor the feeling of a Goddess unraveling in his arms, to memorize the way her golden skin flushed with mortal heat. But, alas, her body was too perfect. Her spasming insides were a machine of wet, scorching silk, milking him with a rhythmic, supernatural precision that made it impossible to hold any longer.

Every contraction of her walls dragged him closer to the edge. The sensation was a white-hot wire pulling tight in his groin. His vision blurred, the pleasure spiking into something bordering on agony. He was burning up from the inside out.

“I’m close,” Sol grunted, his rhythm becoming erratic, desperate. He stopped thrusting, driving his hips forward and grinding them there, trying to ride out the wave without breaking, but the pressure was immense, too immense.

Sol grabbed her hips, his fingers bruising the soft divine skin. He pulled her deeply onto him, impaling her as deep as anatomy allowed, and held her there, grinding his pelvis against hers, crushing her clitoris between them.

He could feel the spasms start deep in his groin. The valve had opened. The great flood was coming.

He grabbed her face with both hands, his fingers digging into her soft cheeks, forcing her head up.

“Isylia… look at me,” he roared, his voice sounding like gravel grinding together. “I’m going to fill you. I’m going to put it all inside.”

Isylia forced her eyes open. They were swimming with tears and golden light, but they locked onto his.

She saw the madness in his eyes. She saw the vein throbbing in his forehead, the sweat dripping from his nose. She saw the beast… the raw, biological hunger of a man who was fucking a deity and was about to fill her up.

And for the first time in her existence, she didn’t know why she didn’t want to banish the beast. She didn’t want to purify it or reason with it.

She instead wanted to feed it.

The emptiness of the Void, the eons of silence, the cold perfection of her existence… she wanted it all displaced by his heat. She wanted the unholy stain. She wanted the evidence of her defilement. Because no matter what God’s are also living beings, and normally divine power may have fulfilled that void, but now without an ounce of divine power, she deeply felt that void, that emptiness.

“Do it,” she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them, trembling on her swollen lips. “Defile me. Ruin me. Fill the void, Sol.”

That permission was the final straw.

The last thread of Sol’s restraint snapped.

He locked his eyes with Isylia. Her face was a mask of ecstasy, tears of pure light streaming down her cheeks, her lips swollen and red.

Seeing the ruined face of that arrogant high and mighty goddess, Sol roared, his head thrown back, his entire body going rigid as the orgasm finally hit him like a freight train.

He pulled back one last time, almost leaving her, before slamming his hips forward with every ounce of strength in his enhanced body, into her, bottoming out, pressing against the gate of her womb.

And pressed even deeper, forcing his cock right at her womb..

And then, he erupted.

The release was cataclysmic.

He poured his seed into her, a hot, endless flood that seemed to draw from the very marrow of his bones. He pulsed into her, again and again, emptying himself completely into the glowing warmth of her womb.

At the same moment, Isylia’s body convulsed in a second, even more violent climax. Her inner walls milked him dry as her divine essence rushed into him in exchange.

FLASH.

A blinding explosion of golden light engulfed the throne. The physical world fell away. There was no temple, no throne, no body. Just two souls fused in a moment of absolute, blinding perfection.

Sol groaned, his vision going white. He was drained. Empty. The sheer softness of her insides, the intensity of her climax, the overwhelming feedback of the vitality rushing into him… it was too much, it filled the Charcoal cavity to the brim.

He collapsed forward, his forehead resting against hers, his chest heaving as he fought for breath.

For a long time, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the soft, fading hum of the energy that still crackled between them. Isylia lay limp against the throne, her body glowing with a soft, satisfied flush, her eyes fluttering closed. She was no longer just a Primordial. She had been touched by the mortal, and for the first time in eons, she felt heavy, grounded, and gloriously alive.

Sol lay there, his mind drifting in the afterglow. He was exhausted. Not the physical exhaustion of the deed, but a deep, spiritual fatigue. The sheer intensity of mating with a Goddess, of processing the Divine feedback, had drained his mental focus completely.

His grip on the reality of the Void slipped.

The image of the “Lock”… the mental construct he used to keep the dimension sealed… wavered in his mind. He relaxed too much. He let go.

CRACK.

A sound like a breaking glacier tore through the temple.

*****

A/N: Thank you so much for your support, even though we didn’t get any castle, but we still somehow were able to finish the contest as Number 1.

This wouldn’t have been possible without you guys support and as an encouragement I also did got other gifts and even greater number of Golden tickets and power stones.

You guys have my gratitude, and just a reminder, our adventure is just about to start.

So, buckle up for even exciting stuff.