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That's also why I didn't upload a fourth bonus chapter yesterday.
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"Has Daddy fucked you enough yet?" he asked, his thumb tracing her slick entrance, gathering their fluids and spreading them over her clit, making her jerk and gasp. "Has he filled this pretty pussy enough?"
"~No—" Paris whimpered, pushing back against him despite her exhaustion, her body instinctively seeking more even as her mind threatened to shut down. "~More—please ~~Daddy—fill me again—"
He entered her in one brutal thrust—
~~SCHLOP—sinking to the hilt in her oversensitive heat, her walls gripping him despite their exhaustion, her body somehow still hungry, still desperate.
"~~OH GOD—" Paris screamed, her back arching violently, her arms giving out so her face pressed against the pink tiles, her ass raised higher, taking him deeper. "~~DADDY—IT'S TOO MUCH~~~ AHHHH~~—"
He didn't wait for her to adjust. He couldn't. His nature was roaring, demanding he claim her completely one final time, that he fuck her into true unconsciousness, that he leave her truly, thoroughly broken.
He began to pound into her with abandon ~~SMACK~~ SMACK~~ SMACK~~ SMACK~~
the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing off the bathroom walls, sharp and wet and relentless. His hips became a blur, his cock drilling into her spasming hole, hitting her cervix with every thrust, making her cry out in pleasure-pain that bordered on too much for her young mind and body.
"You like playing adult games with daddy don't you!" he snarled, fisting her blonde hair, pulling her head back, arching her spine painfully.
"~~Ugh! UGH~~! UGH~~!!" Paris choked out, her body jerking with each impact, her pussy clenching around him, trying to milk him even as she sobbed from the intensity.
"Don't you!?" he demanded, pounding harder, his free hand reaching under to pinch her clit, sending lightning through her shattered nerves.
"~~OOOOAAAA YES~! DADDY~! YES~~!! UGHH~UGGH!!!!~~" Her back arched as she writhed on the floor, pinned down by his hands and his cock as he buried it once more into her pussy, grinding against her, his balls slapping against her clit with every thrust.
"~~UUUGH!! Haaaa~~…" he sighed, shaking in pleasure as he plowed balls deep into her spasming hole, feeling it tighten and squeeze as if trying to draw out his very soul. "~Haaa~…" His sack pulsated as his thick load sprayed inside her already-full womb, painting her insides, marking her completely. He ground his hips slowly, faintly slapping against her thighs, rotating to hit every spot, before he finally pulled out… and slammed back in immediately, not finished, never finished.
Paris's legs flopped to the floor, her arms giving out completely, her cheek pressed against the cool pink tiles as he continued to fuck her limp body. "~~Haa…~" she breathed, barely conscious, twitching as he got up slightly to change the angle, dragging her hips higher, positioning her like a doll to take him deeper.
"~~Haaaa… fuck me…~~" she whispered, the words barely audible, her eyes rolled back, her body convulsing with aftershocks even as he continued to pound into her.
He did. He fucked her through her third orgasm of this round, then her fourth, extending each one with his magic until she was silent, truly silent, her voice gone, only her body responding—twitching, clenching, milking him as he spilled inside her one final time, a flood of hot cum and love juices mixed together leaked out immediately, too full, overflowing down her thighs to pool on the pink tiles beneath them.
"~~Spoot-SPURT…" A dollop of cum gushed from her as she shuddered one last time, her body finally giving out, going completely limp beneath him.
Marvin pulled out with a wet ~squelch~, his cock still hard, still hungry, but her body was done. She lay there, well-fucked on the pink bathroom floor, her pussy oozing cum and arousal down her ass cheeks to pool faintly on the tiles, her breathing shallow, her eyes closed, unconscious at last.
He got and sighed, leaning against the pink counter… still naked and glistening. "Woo-wee…" he smiled, "I haven't felt this good in a long time…" he wrapped a hand gently around his hard length and stroked. Gooey, sticky, wet.
She wasn't like Beyoncé, who had trained her whole life dancing since she was eight and built high stamina that let her last for hours even when she was younger. Paris was still very much the Hilton heiress—raised in obscene wealth where she never had to push herself beyond some light yoga and occasional workouts to stay camera-ready. It was obvious she wouldn't last long… and she hadn't.
Even though he hadn't used that much of his Lust Magic, Pleasure Manipulation, or Sex Magic on her, Paris was completely gone—lost in dreamland, her body limp and twitching with aftershocks, utterly spent.
She was new, fresh, her eighteen-year-old body overwhelmed by the intensity.
Marvin stared down at her flushed, exhausted form with clear frustration, his cock still rock-hard and throbbing angrily between his legs. He wanted more. He "needed" more.
"Fuck… maybe it's time to start gathering more girls together," he thought, a dark spark of raw hunger flickering in his eyes. A few exhausted girls like Paris or Beyoncé weren't going to be nearly enough to satisfy the endless, burning lust inside him. He needed more — a whole rotating group of willing, beautiful women he could fuck nonstop.
When one got too tired and passed out, he could simply move on to the next, pounding her senseless before switching again. By the time he had gone through the entire group, the first girl would have recovered enough to take another round, letting him drain and fuck them all senseless until none of them could move or speak properly.
Unless, of course, he wanted to kill the girls. Their bodies couldn't take the sheer intensity of sex with his demonic nature and they ended up dying, just like this one was barely hanging on. A bigger group was better — at least nobody had to die from sex that way. Or he could remain frustrated like today, girls passing out into dreamland while he stood there with a painfully hard, throbbing cock that still hadn't gotten the release it craved.
Ba-thump! Hiss!
The thought sent a cold shiver through him and his hard cock. Drawing a slow, steady breath, he looked down at Paris's limp, ruined body. Not getting full satisfaction was becoming far too aggravating and frustrating, and it was starting to weigh on him. A bigger group was clearly the solution.
With another sigh... he had to work with what he had for now. The rest could wait for the future.
Pushing those thoughts aside, he lifted her. She was tall, yet surprisingly light in his arms. Carrying her back to the pink bed, he laid her down gently before settling beside her, resting her head against his chest. One hand came to rest on her silky ass, absentmindedly molding it to his palm, while the other reached for the blanket and pulled it over the two of them.
"Marvin..." she mumbled in her sleep, the word escaping her lips in a dreamy, exhausted murmur.
"Daddy," he corrected gently, a faint smile touching his lips.
"Daddy... I love you," she murmured again, still lost in her dreams, her voice barely more than a whisper.
"I love you too, my Paris," he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.
Like this, he closed his eyes, falling asleep in the pink palace, surrounded by the scent of juice, sex, and her.
…..
…
..
.
The afternoon sun had shifted across the pink velvet canopy, casting long shadows through the floor-to-ceiling windows when Marvin's eyes fluttered open. For a moment, he lay still, disoriented by the softness of the bed and the weight of the pink silk sheets tangled around his waist. Then he felt her—the long, languid warmth of Paris pressed against his side, her breathing deep and even, her body completely surrendered to exhaustion.
She was magnificent in her sleep. The bratty heiress persona had dissolved entirely, leaving only the young girl, her face flushed with the aftermath of their marathon coupling, her blonde hair a tangled halo across the pillows. Her lips were slightly parted, swollen from his kisses, and her eyelashes—those famously thick, blonde lashes—rested against her cheeks like delicate fans. Even in sleep, she clung to him, one arm draped possessively across his chest, her long legs tangled with his shorter frame, her height making her seem both dominant and vulnerable simultaneously.
Marvin shifted carefully, extricating himself from her embrace without waking her. She murmured something unintelligible—his name, perhaps, or "Daddy"—and rolled onto her back, the pink sheets slipping down to reveal the marks he'd left on her skin: faint bruises on her hips where he'd gripped her too hard, reddish patches on her breasts and neck where his stubble had abraded her softness, the swollen redness between her thighs that spoke to hours of relentless possession.
He stood beside the bed for a moment, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the way her breasts—those breasts he had worshipped for hours—settled with each breath. She was utterly spent, her body pushed beyond its limits, and he felt a surge of possessive tenderness he only felt for a few in his past life.
Leaning down, he pressed a feather-light kiss to her forehead, lingering there to feel the heat of her skin. "Sleep, my love," he whispered, his breath stirring the fine hairs at her temple. "Sleep and heal."
He moved quietly through the pink palace of the suite, gathering his discarded clothing from various locations—the bathroom where he'd taken her against the counter, the lounge where he'd pounded her into submission, the floor where he'd claimed her in a mating press. He dressed quickly but neatly, smoothing his trousers and buttoning his shirt with efficient precision, though his eyes kept drifting back to the sleeping girl in the bed.
Once dressed, he went to the bathroom and ran warm water over a plush pink washcloth—the Hilton's signature color, of course—wringing it out until it was damp and steaming. He returned to the bedside and gently, so gently, began to clean her.
Paris stirred slightly as the warm cloth touched her inner thighs, but she didn't wake, too deep in her restorative slumber. Marvin worked with tenderness, wiping away the dried evidence of their passion—the mixture of his seed and her arousal that had leaked from her well-used pussy and ass, the sweat and juice that had dried in the valley between her breasts, the stickiness that coated her stomach and thighs. He lifted her legs one by one, cleaning her thoroughly, his touch intimate, lovely in its care.
When he reached her sex, she whimpered in her sleep, her hips bucking slightly at the contact. "Shh," he soothed, his voice low and calming. "Just cleaning you, baby. Making you pretty again."
He used a fresh cloth for her face, wiping away smeared mascara and the tracks of dried tears that had spilled from her eyes when he'd taken her virginity. He brushed her hair away from her face, working out the tangles with his fingers until it spread like golden silk across the pillow.
Once she was clean, he repositioned her comfortably, arranging her long limbs so she wouldn't wake with cramps, tucking the pink sheets around her naked form like a cocoon. He placed a glass of water on the bedside table with two Advil—she would need them when she woke—and then turned his attention to the suite's kitchen.
The kitchen was small but well-appointed, stocked with high-end appliances and a refrigerator that contained the basics for luxury hotel living: champagne, mineral water, imported cheeses, fresh berries, organic eggs, smoked salmon from Petrossian, crème fraîche, and a loaf of crusty baguette from a nearby boulangerie. Marvin moved with the confidence of someone who knew his way around domestic tasks, cracking eggs into a bowl with one hand while he sliced smoked salmon with the other.
He prepared a frittata—something that would keep well in the refrigerator but provide the protein and sustenance she'd need after their marathon session. He sautéed shallots in butter, added the eggs with a splash of cream, folded in the smoked salmon and fresh dill, and let it cook slowly until it was golden and firm filled with mana.
While it cooled, he prepared a side of mixed berries—strawberries, raspberries, and blueberries—washing them and arranging them in a crystal bowl. He squeezed fresh orange juice into a carafe and prepared a small pitcher of strong coffee, though he left it unbrewed—she could make it fresh when she woke.
He found a porcelain plate in the cabinets and arranged a generous portion of the frittata, covering it with cling wrap, then placed it on the top shelf of the refrigerator with the berries and juice beside it. He left a small note on the refrigerator door: *Eat everything. You need your strength.*
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