Please Lend Me 50 Million - Chapter 9

His voice—always composed, always slightly formal, always what she’d taken for the height of propriety—sounded different now. Perhaps because it was being dragged up from low in a man’s throat—it was heavy and dark, and it dripped with lust he made no effort to conceal.

His thick, knuckled hand parted her soft folds a few times, and her c**t recognized its owner—growing slick with shocking speed. She was so wet that every time his fingers worked into her opening, the slick, obscene sound of it spread across the tabletop.

Perhaps it was the particular indignity of the breakfast table—but the wet, squelching sounds that she might have let pass at night kept snagging mercilessly on her ears.

“Harriet, wait—just wait—”

“Shh, Asha.”

He cut off her attempt to refuse with a casual ease. Even as endeared to him as Asha was, she could not mistake his tone for anything other than a velvet-wrapped command.

It was only a single word—and yet Asha was helpless beneath his voice, capable of nothing more than opening and closing her lips.

It was nothing like the previous night’s imagination, in which she’d fantasized about him mercilessly ramming his c**k into her. His fingers moved slowly, sinking into her with a languid, unhurried pace that was leisurely to the point of torment. His knuckles were especially prominent, and each time her c**t swallowed up to one of those thick joints, her walls pulled taut around it—then went slack—over and over again.

The way her tender little hole opened and clenched with her every panting breath was unbearably, maddeningly sweet—and the sight of it straining wide around him before snapping tightly shut in an instant set fire to Harriet’s lust. Moving his fingers slowly to observe it up close was only natural.

“Eating so greedily like this—it seems the one enjoying dessert isn’t me at all, but you, my lady. Hmm?”

The more he kept up his delightful handiwork, the more Asha’s c**t went past merely wet—slick honey began to trickle from her in earnest. By nature she ran particularly wet, and no amount of clenching her p***y to stop the flow made any difference. If anything, the harder she squeezed, the faster the slick dripped down beneath her plump a*s in steady little drops.

“How lewd.”

“Nngh~!”

“What do you think you’re doing, dripping like this, Asha? The maids who clean up the tablecloth after such a wanton mistress will have quite a time of it.”

“I never—!”

“You’d do better not to spill. I’ll make sure to catch it all.”

His thick fingers scooped up what had dripped and shoved it back into her c**t. His tone was reproachful—as though genuinely scolding her for an infraction. And the motion of his fingers thrusting into her was considerably rough to match, so that the sense of having done something wrong made Asha clench around him all the more frantically.

But the more she panted, chest heaving under the weight pressing her down, the more her slick betrayed her and overflowed without mercy.

No matter how hard she tried to hold it, it kept spilling over—and before long her confused little hole was doing nothing but clenching open and shut, helplessly. When a long rivulet of arousal finally dripped down onto the tablecloth, Harriet’s hand came down sharp.

Smack—!

“Nngh~!!”

The palm striking her a*s made Asha’s whole body shudder. In an instant she thought of how he had sternly told her not to spill, and she frantically reached down to cover herself. But it was already too late—the clenching of her walls had only pressed out the pooled slick faster, leaving her thoroughly soaked.

“To think you can’t even control this one thing.”

The way Harriet spoke—as though she had failed to manage even the most basic bodily function—dragged Asha into a tide of humiliation. And as if to drive the lesson home, he ground his fingers mercilessly against the spot where she felt the most, and she collapsed without so much as a token resistance.

“Ha~Harriet! S~stop it—eek!”

It was unfair.

Asha shook her head wildly, tossing it back and forth, overwhelmed by the pleasure crashing through her from head to toe. She squirmed and bucked her hips trying to pull away from his hand, twisted her whole body trying to keep him from pressing that spot—but none of it worked.

Their s*x life had been conventional, yes—but Harriet had been her husband for a year and a half. He could find the place that drove Asha to the edge of pleasure with his eyes shut. Harriet smiled lightly and ground his fingers into the swollen spot inside her clutching walls, dragging across it as if to scrape it raw.

“My lady has so little patience—it seems a devoted husband must take it upon himself to help.”

“H-how… how….”

Harriet stopped thrusting his fingers and drew his nails lightly down through her dripping folds—and a flicker of anticipation crossed Asha’s eyes. Was the punishment finally over? But dashing those hopes entirely, what Harriet did next was something Asha could never have imagined.

His thick-knuckled hand reached out and grabbed a fistful of the dessert sitting on the table beside her. Under those hands, the cream cake—famous for its exquisite fresh cream—was crushed without ceremony.

‘No—!’

Realizing what he intended, Asha snapped her thighs shut in a panic—but his hand reached her c**t first. A cold sensation spread against her folds, followed by the feeling of something soft and yielding being smeared against her. A sensation she had never felt before.

“Hnngh~~!”