Jasmine ca hard on his cock, her juices gushing, soaking his thighs and the seat beneath them.
But Ross wasn’t done—not even close.
"On your knees. Now," he ordered, lifting her off him like she weighed nothing.
Jasmine slid down, panting, only to gasp as Ross stood, towering over her with that monstrous cock still standing proud, glistening with her essence.
She didn’t need instructions.
She sank to her knees and took him into her mouth, lips wrapping around his thick head as her tongue worked feverishly.
She gagged as he pushed deeper, hitting her throat, but the sound only made Ross groan with dark satisfaction.
"Good girl," he rasped, tangling his fingers in her blonde hair, controlling her pace as she sucked him hungrily.
Saliva mixed with her slick, dripping down her chin as she took him deeper and deeper, tears pricking her eyes.
When he finally pulled free, she barely had ti to catch her breath before he spun her around and bent her over the seat.
Her ass was in the air, her panties long discarded, and then—without warning—Ross slamd back inside her with a single brutal thrust.
"AHHH—ROSS!" Jasmine scread, her voice echoing as her body jolted forward from the sheer force of it.
His grip on her hips was iron, his thrusts savage now, pounding her relentlessly as the seat creaked beneath them.
Every stroke had her seeing stars, her pussy clenching desperately around him as he drove her higher and higher toward another climax.
The sounds were obscene—wet slaps, lewd moans, the slick drag of his cock in her soaking cunt—but neither of them cared.
"You’re mine," Ross growled against her ear, his voice raw with hunger.
His pace beca almost feral, his hips snapping with punishing force until Jasmine’s scream broke into sobs of pleasure.
Her third orgasm hit like a freight train, her body shaking violently as she squirted all over his cock and the seat below.
And still, Ross didn’t stop.
"Ahhhhh..."
"Ohhhhh..."
"Ughhhh..."
Jasmine’s body convulsed helplessly, wave after wave of climax tearing through her as if she were caught in a storm without end.
She had lost all sense of ti, her mind hazy, her limbs weak, yet Ross did not relent.
His pace was steady, powerful, almost chanical in its precision, as though fatigue itself was sothing that could never touch him.
Three hours passed, the film on the screen finally fading to black, yet still he drove into her, each thrust wringing another scream from her lips.
Her voice grew hoarse, but she no longer cared.
At first she had tried to bite down, to muffle her cries in the crook of her arm or the sheets, but soon the pleasure beca too overwhelming.
She scread freely, shalessly, until her own ears rang with the sound.
And yet, as impossible as it seed, no one outside the room noticed a thing.
The walls might as well have been wrapped in silence, as if the world itself had chosen not to hear.
Jasmine was not surprised.
She had seen the signs long ago—small, fleeting hints that her husband was far from ordinary.
Ross had never spoken plainly of what he could do, never once explained the uncanny things she had caught glimpses of over the years.
The way he could appear and vanish without sound.
The way his presence could bend a room into silence.
The way his eyes sotis glead with sothing beyond human.
Still, she never pressed him. Neither did her sister-wives.
They all understood—Ross carried mysteries too great for idle questions, and if he wished to keep them hidden, it was not out of mistrust, but sothing deeper.
And so they trusted. Implicitly.
Jasmine arched again as another climax tore through her, her body giving in to the overwhelming rhythm Ross set.
Her mind blurred into a haze of exhaustion and ecstasy, yet at the center of it all was only one thought: no ordinary man could do this.
And Ross, her Ross, was no ordinary man.
More than three hours later, Ross finally left the cinema with Jasmine clinging to his arm.
Her legs trembled, her gait awkward, but the brilliant smile on her face told the whole story.
She walked funny, yes, but she walked happy—radiant, glowing, as though she had touched heaven and returned with the proof written on her skin.
"Wow..." Jasmine breathed, her voice still hoarse from all her cries earlier.
She leaned heavily against Ross, her head resting against his shoulder.
"I never imagined sothing like this could ever happen to , Ross. The others are going to be so jealous when they hear about my night tonight."
Her thighs were sticky, her body sore, and yet she had never felt more alive.
With every step, she could feel Ross’s seed sliding down her skin, staining her legs, but she made no move to hide it.
To Jasmine, there was no sha in it—only pride. What mattered to her was Ross, and Ross alone.
"Don’t tell them," Ross said with a smirk, slipping his arm around her waist to steady her.
"Otherwise, they’ll expect the sa. I can’t have them lining up every night, draining dry. That would eat up much of my ti."
Jasmine tilted her head up to him, her eyes glimring mischievously.
"Don’t worry, darling. I got you covered." She said it with mock seriousness, but the grin that spread across her lips betrayed her intent.
Ross narrowed his eyes knowingly. "Jasmine..."
But it was already too late.
Within five hours, the secret was out.
Every one of his wives knew what had happened, and they wasted no ti confronting him.
So teased, so pouted, others demanded their share outright.
Jasmine, of course, smiled like a cat who had stolen the cream, basking in the envy of her sister-wives.
Ross could only sigh, but beneath it was a deep amusent.
If this was the price of having so many won he adored, he would pay it gladly.
And so began a month unlike any other.
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