**Chapter 2: The Predator and the Prey**
Martha Kent exuded raw, mature sensuality—a voluptuous goddess in her prime at 30s, with cascading auburn waves framing her flushed, inviting face.
Her piercing emerald eyes smoldered with a forbidden desire, her full crimson lips parted in a teasing pout, begging to be tasted. She boasted an intoxicating hourglass silhouette: massive, heaving breasts, wide hips, and thick thighs that promised endless pleasure.
Every curve of her flawless, creamy skin radiated heated lust, drawing anyone in for a sinful, unforgettable embrace. She currently worked under the Jotaro Enterprise, a subsidiary of my step-family's, which aimed to provide services related to journalism, modeling, art, asset management, and crypto trading. To me, she was the most valuable asset.
"Boss, I'm coming in." She announced, her voice a melodic purr as she entered my room. She was wearing a seductive secretary outfit, a tight white blouse straining against her chest and a pencil skirt that hugged her hips like a second skin.
"Jotar- What happened? Were you trying to sucid—" She was about to complain, but her eyes caught on my neck, where the faint red lines from the rope Jotaro had used were still visible. Her playful tone evaporated.
"Shhh!" I silenced her immediately, my finger pressing to my own lips. My gaze, however, dropped pointedly to her massive chest, a deliberate, shameless glance that made her breath hitch. "Sit. I want to talk."
She didn't resist, sinking into the plush armchair opposite my desk, her usual confident posture now stiff with concern.
"Don't interrupt me," I commanded, my voice low and steady as I leaned forward, locking eyes with her. She nodded, her emerald eyes wide and searching.
"I tried to kill myself," I began, letting a carefully constructed tremor enter my voice. "But then I saw a face… your face, specifically. And I stopped." I let the lie hang in the air, a perfect hook baited with her own ego. "The death of my foster parent took a toll on my mental health… and I have no information on my real parents." I opened up, channeling the pent-up emotion the body's original owner had felt, turning his pathetic grief into my most convincing performance.
"....I'm sorry for your loss," Martha said, her expression softening into one of genuine sympathy. "Just keep in mind I'm always with you." Her voice was thick with a maternal concern that was deliciously at odds with the lust I knew brewed beneath the surface.
"Martha, you have been with me for the past 8 months… I have not rewarded you enough." I reached across the desk, my hand covering hers. Her skin was warm, and she flinched slightly at the sudden contact, looking at me in confusion.
"So today I want you to help me. Rescue me from this grief and depression." I spoke, moving closer, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as I watched her expression shift from sympathy to alarm.
"...Jotaro, I'm twice your age." She spoke, her voice a strained whisper of conflicting emotion. The professional, the maternal figure, was warring with the woman.
"...I'm an honest boy, greedy too," I purred, my thumb stroking the back of her hand. "Also, I want you to take the responsibility." I held her hand firmly and guided it down, placing it squarely on my thigh. I pressed her fingers against my hardened flesh, letting her feel the heat and undeniable proof of my desire. "...Are you really Jotaro?" she asked in disbelief, her voice trembling as she tried to pull her hand back, but I held it fast. Perhaps this was too much, even for her.
"I know your search history, you pervert woman," I said, my lips curling into a smirk. The words were a bullet, and her eyes widened in shock as if I had just laid bare her deepest, most guarded secrets. The surprise on her face was all the confirmation I needed.
"So please," I leaned in, my lips brushing against the shell of her ear, my voice a needy, submissive whine that was the complete opposite of the control I was exerting. "Mommy Martha. Punish me~"
That was the key that turned the lock.
The maternal sympathy in her eyes vanished. The professional concern evaporated. In their place, a predator emerged. Her emerald eyes, once soft, now glinted with a hungry, dangerous light. A slow, predatory grin spread across her lips, replacing the worried pout. This was her second personality. The needy, hungry, and dangerous side she kept locked away from the world.
She squeezed her hand, the one I had placed on my thigh, her nails digging into my flesh just enough to make me gasp. The pain was a sharp, thrilling jolt.
"Oh, my poor, broken boy," she cooed, her voice dropping an octave, becoming a husky, dominant purr that vibrated through me. "You've been very, very naughty. Trying to leave Mommy all alone?" She stood up, her movements suddenly fluid and powerful. She loomed over me, her shadow engulfing me as I remained in my bed.
"Get up," she commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument. I obeyed instantly, a thrill shooting down my spine. "You think you can just dangle yourself in front of me like a piece of meat and I won't take a bite?" She grabbed my chin, her grip surprisingly strong, forcing me to look up at her. "You want to be punished? You want Mommy to make it all better?"
I could only nod, my heart pounding in my chest, a mixture of fear and ecstatic anticipation. Jin had spent a life being powerless. BUt Jotaro had just discovered the exquisite power of surrendering to the right kind of monster.
"Good boy," she whispered, her lips crashing down onto mine. It wasn't a gentle kiss; it was a claiming, a bruising, possessive act that stole the air from my lungs. Her other hand tangled in my red hair, pulling my head back to deepen the assault.
She broke the kiss, a thin strand of saliva connecting our lips as she pulled back. Her emerald eyes were blazing, devouring me. With a guttural growl, she grabbed the collar of my expensive silk robe.
*RIIP!*
The sound of tearing fabric was sharp and violent. She didn't just undo her tie; she shredded the material, exposing my chest and torso to the cool air. Her hands were in a frenzy, clawing and ripping at my clothes until they hung in tatters from my body. I stood before her, naked and exposed, my youthful body trembling not with fear, but with electrifying anticipation.
Her gaze was a physical weight, roving over my lean form, my smooth skin, the muscles tensed in readiness. It dropped lower, and a low, predatory hum vibrated in her chest. Her eyes were mesmerized by my body and the seven inches of hard flesh standing at full attention, pointing rigidly towards the ceiling as if in salute.
"Look at you," she breathed, her voice thick with lust. "All this for Mommy?"
She wasn't done. With the same frantic energy, she tore at her own clothes. The buttons of her silk blouse popped off, skittering across the floor. She yanked down her pencil skirt, kicking it away. Her massive, creamy breasts spilled from a black lace bra, and in moments, that too was gone. She stood before me, a voluptuous, naked goddess, her body a landscape of curves and soft flesh that promised both pleasure and pain.
Then, she shoved me. Hard. I fell backwards onto the bed, the mattress bouncing from the impact. Before I could even process it, she was on me, straddling my hips, her weight pinning me down. Her thick thighs pressed against my sides, a cage of warm, soft flesh I had no desire to escape.
She leaned down, her hot breath washing over my chest. Her mouth found my left nipple, and she wasn't gentle. She sealed her lips around the sensitive bud and bit down, not hard enough to break skin, but with enough pressure to send a sharp, jolt of pleasure-pain straight to my groin. I cried out, my back arching off the bed.
"Such a sensitive boy," she taunted, her voice a muffled purr against my skin. She alternated between rough, sucking kisses and sharp nips of her teeth, teasing the peak into a hardened, aching nub.
As her mouth tortured my nipple, her other hand wrapped around my shaft. Her grip was firm, possessive. She began to stroke, her movements slow and deliberate, her thumb smearing the bead of precum over the head. It was agonizing. A maddening, exquisite tease that built the pressure in my balls to an unbearable degree.
Then her mouth was on mine again. It was a bruising, hungry kiss, her tongue forcing its way past my lips, claiming every inch of my mouth.
She swallowed my gasps and moans, her hand stroking my dick in a steady, maddening rhythm while her other hand pinched and rolled my other nipple. The dual assault was overwhelming. The pleasure was so intense it was a kind of agony.
My lungs began to burn, screaming for air. I tried to turn my head to break the kiss, but her free hand shot up, grabbing my jaw and holding me in place.
She was suffocating me, dominating me completely, and the darkness that started to creep at the edge of my vision was tinged with a terrifying, ecstatic bliss. My body was no longer my own; it was an instrument she was playing with masterful, cruel skill, and I was hurtling towards a crescendo I was both terrified of and desperate for.
Just as my vision began to tunnel, a kaleidoscope of colors exploding behind my eyes, she pulled back. I gasped, my lungs sucking in a desperate, ragged breath. Air had never felt so sweet, so life-giving. I lay there, panting, my body a live wire of sensation, slick with sweat and trembling from the near-asphyxiation.
A triumphant, wicked grin spread across Martha's face. She loved it. She loved seeing me like this: breathless, broken, and utterly at her mercy. "Look at you," she purred, her voice a husky command. "So beautiful when you're desperate for air."
Her hand, which had been stroking me with maddening slowness, tightened its grip. The sudden pressure made me whimper. She shifted her weight, pressing her slick heat against my thigh, grinding down slowly. The feeling of her, so close yet not where I needed her most, was its own form of exquisite torture.
"You wanted Mommy to punish you," she whispered, leaning down so her lips brushed against my ear. "But a bad boy who tries to leave doesn't get to cum so easily." Her free hand left my abused nipple and traveled down my stomach, her nails leaving faint red trails on my skin. She cupped my balls, rolling them in her palm with a possessive, almost clinical curiosity. "These are so full. You must be in so much pain."
I could only moan in response, my hips bucking involuntarily, seeking the friction she so cruelly denied me. My mind was a blank slate, wiped clean of everything but the overwhelming need for release. The old, the memories of a long, wasted life, were gone. There was only this moment, this body, and the goddess who was methodically taking it apart.
"Please," I choked out, the word barely a whisper. It was a surrender. A complete and total capitulation.
She laughed, a low, throaty sound that vibrated through my chest. "Please? Oh, I like that. But not yet." She released my shaft and my balls, and the sudden lack of contact was a cold shock. I almost cried out from the loss.
She rose up on her knees, her massive, heaving breasts casting shadows over my chest. She looked down at me, her emerald eyes glinting with a dangerous, hungry light. She was the predator, and I was her feast. She was savoring the moment, drawing out the anticipation until it was a palpable thing in the room, thick and heavy as the scent of our combined arousal.
"You're going to beg," she declared, her voice dropping to a promise. "You're going to beg for Mommy to take you. And only when I think you've suffered enough… only then will I give you what you want."
She lowered herself again, but not onto me. Instead, she positioned herself above my face, her knees on either side of my head. The scent of her, musky and intoxicating, filled my senses. She looked down her body at me, a wicked smirk playing on her lips as she lowered her hips, bringing herself within an inch of my mouth.
"Lick," she commanded. "And don't you dare stop."
My body, already on fire from her rough handling, responded to her command before my mind could catch up. I tilted my head back, my neck straining, and flattened my tongue against her slick, heated flesh. The taste was intoxicating—a salty, musky flavor that was pure, unadulterated Martha. I obeyed, licking a long, slow stripe, exploring her folds as she had explored my chest.
A sharp, pleased hiss escaped her lips. "Yesss, just like that," she moaned, her hips rolling slightly, grinding herself against my mouth. Her hands came down to rest on the headboard, her arms framing my head, caging me in completely. I was trapped, my world reduced to the taste, the scent, and the feel of her.
Her praise was a drug. I redoubled my efforts, my tongue finding the small, hard bundle of nerves at the apex of her slit. I circled it, flicked it, and then sucked it gently between my lips.
"Fuck!" she cried out, her thighs clamping down around my head. The pressure was immense, a thrilling, suffocating embrace. Her hips began to move in earnest, a rhythmic, grinding dance that used my face for her pleasure. I was no longer a person; I was an object, a tool for her gratification, and the thought sent a fresh wave of masochistic ecstasy through me.
Her hand snaked down her body, past her stomach, and I felt her fingers begin to work at her own clit while I continued to lap and suck. "You're a good boy, Jotaro," she panted, her voice strained with the effort of her impending release. "Such a good, obedient boy for Mommy."
The words were gasoline on a fire. I could feel her muscles tensing, her movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. Her moans grew louder, filling the room, a symphony of lust that I was conducting with my tongue. She was close. I could feel it in the way her body quivered, in the way her breath hitched in her throat.
With a final, guttural scream, she came. Her entire body convulsed, a powerful wave of pleasure washing over her. She pressed down hard, smothering me in her essence as her orgasm ripped through her. I held on, licking and swallowing as she rode out the storm, my own need forgotten in the sublime joy of being the one to break her.
For a long moment, she was still, her body limp and trembling. Then, slowly, she lifted herself off me, releasing my head from its fleshy prison. I gasped for air, my face slick with her juices, my heart hammering against my ribs.
She looked down at me, her chest heaving, her emerald eyes soft and hazy with satisfaction. A lazy, contented smile graced her lips. She looked like a sated predator, and I was her willing, conquered prey.
She shifted, moving down my body until she was straddling my hips again. My painfully hard cock was trapped between us, throbbing against her stomach. She leaned down, her breasts pressing against my chest, and kissed me. It was a slow, deep kiss this time, a kiss of ownership. She could taste herself on my tongue, and she moaned softly into my mouth.
She pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. "You've been very good, my boy," she whispered, her hand wrapping around my aching shaft once more. "Now it's Mommy's turn to reward you."
Her words were a promise, a lifeline thrown to a drowning man. Her hand, which had been a source of maddening tease, now began to move with a purpose. She gripped my shaft firmly, her strokes long and steady, building a friction that made my entire body tense.
"You've earned this," she murmured, her voice a low, seductive hum against my ear. She shifted her hips, aligning our bodies. I felt the slick, molten heat of her entrance brush against the tip of my cock, and I almost lost it right there. A desperate, guttural groan tore from my throat.
"Please… Martha… Mommy…" I babbled, the words a jumbled mess of need. I was beyond pride, beyond shame. I was a creature of pure, primal instinct, and my only instinct was to be inside her.
She chuckled, a dark, triumphant sound. "That's it. Beg for me." She sank down, just an inch. The head of my dick slipped inside her, and the sensation was so intense, so blindingly perfect, that my vision went white. She was impossibly tight, a hot, silken vice that gripped me, pulling me in.
"More…" I whimpered, my hips bucking upwards, trying to force myself deeper.
Her free hand slapped my thigh, a sharp, stinging crack that echoed in the room. "Ah, ah, ah," she tsked. "Mommy is in charge." But she didn't pull away. Instead, with excruciating, deliberate slowness, she lowered herself onto me. Inch by agonizing inch, she took me in, her walls stretching to accommodate me until she was fully seated, her hips resting against mine. I was buried to the hilt, sheathed completely in her overwhelming heat.
For a moment, we were both still, the only sound in the room our ragged breaths. The feeling of being inside her, of being so completely possessed, was more than I had ever imagined. It was a homecoming for a soul that had never known a home.
Then, she began to move.
She started with a slow, grinding roll of her hips, a circular motion that massaged every inch of me. It was a languid, possessive dance, designed to drive me to the brink of insanity. Her massive breasts swayed with her movements, a hypnotic sight that I couldn't tear my eyes away from.
"You feel that?" she breathed, her voice thick with lust. "You feel how Mommy's pussy is milking you? This is what you wanted. This is what you were made for."
Her words were filthy, degrading, and they were the most beautiful thing I had ever heard. She picked up the pace, her movements becoming more forceful, more demanding. She rose up until only the tip of my cock remained inside her, then slammed back down, taking me to the hilt in one brutal, fluid motion. The slap of our bodies echoed, a lewd percussion that marked the rhythm of our fucking.
I was completely lost. My hands gripped her thighs, my fingers digging into her soft flesh as I hung on for dear life. The pressure in my groin was unbearable, a coiling spring of pleasure so tight it was painful. I could feel my orgasm approaching, a tidal wave building in the distance, threatening to wash me away.
"Mommy, I… I can't…" I gasped, my voice breaking.
"Cum for me, my boy," she commanded, her voice a powerful, authoritative growl. She leaned forward, her hands on my chest, her nails digging into my skin. "Let it all go. Give Mommy everything."
That was all it took. With a strangled cry, I exploded. My back arched off the bed as my cock pulsed, spilling myself deep inside her in long, powerful spurts. It was a violent, soul-shattering release, a total and complete surrender. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me, wiping my mind clean, leaving nothing but the blissful, shattering emptiness of release.
She continued to ride me through my orgasm, her own body clenching around me, milking me for every last drop until I was a limp, spent, trembling mess beneath her.
She finally collapsed on top of me, her full, soft weight pressing me into the mattress. Her body was slick with sweat, her heart hammering against my chest. We lay there in a tangled, breathless heap, the air thick with the scent of sex and satisfaction.
After a long while, she pushed herself up, her hair a wild, tangled mess around her flushed face. She looked down at me, her emerald eyes soft, a lazy, satisfied smile on her lips.
"Good boy," she whispered, and then she kissed me, a deep, lingering kiss that tasted of victory and claimed me as her own.
I lay there, boneless and reeling, my mind a blank slate wiped clean by the sheer force of my orgasm. Every nerve in my body was still humming, a phantom echo of the pleasure that had just consumed me. But as the fog in my head began to clear, a new fire started to smolder in my gut.
Her words, "Good boy," should have been a finality, an end. Instead, they felt like a starting pistol.
My hands, which had been limp at my sides, came up to rest on her hips. I could feel the soft, pliant flesh, the heat still radiating from her skin.
"Again," I said, my voice a rough, raw thing. It wasn't a question. It was a demand.
Her smile widened, a predator's gleam in her emerald eyes. "Oh?" she purred, a teasing lilt in her voice. "Does my boy have another load in him for Mommy?" She ground her hips down, a slow, deliberate circle that made my spent cock twitch with a renewed, almost painful, interest.
"You're a greedy little thing, aren't you?"
"Please," I breathed, the word barely a whisper. "I want more. I need it."
Her expression shifted. The teasing softness vanished, replaced by a dark, hungry intensity that made my blood run hot. "More," she repeated, tasting the word. "You want *more*? You want it rougher? Harder?" She leaned down, her face inches from mine, her hair curtaining us in a private, sweaty world. "Beg for it, then. Beg Mommy to ruin you."
"Please, Martha... Mommy, please," I babbled, the shameless need pouring out of me. "Please, fuck me. Use me. I want you to be rough. I want to feel it tomorrow."
That was what she was waiting for. With a sudden, sharp movement, she grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head to the side and exposing the line of my throat. Her other hand shot out, her fingers wrapping around my neck. She didn't squeeze, not yet, but the threat was there, a possessive brand that stole my breath. Her mouth descended on the sensitive skin of my neck, and she wasn't gentle.
She bit down, hard, a sharp, stunning pain that bloomed into a throbbing pleasure. She sucked, marking me, and I knew with a certainty that thrilled me to my core that she was leaving a hickey, a purple-black brand of ownership.
"You're mine," she growled against my skin, her voice a low vibration that I felt more than heard. "Every inch of you."
Her hips began to move again, but this time there was no slow build-up.
There was only a brutal, relentless rhythm. She slammed herself down on me, her weight and her force driving my cock deep inside her with each punishing thrust. The sound of our bodies colliding was loud, wet, and obscene. My hands flew to her ass, grabbing and kneading the firm flesh as I tried to meet her thrusts, to drive myself even deeper into her welcoming heat.
She tightened her grip on my throat, the pressure cutting off just enough air to make my head swim, to heighten every sensation. The world narrowed to the feeling of her pussy clamping around me, the painful pleasure of her teeth on my neck, and the dizzying lack of air.
"You like that, don't you?" she panted, her own control starting to fray. "You like Mommy choking you? You like it when I pound your little cock?" Her free hand snaked between us, her fingers finding my nipple. She pinched, hard, twisting the sensitive nub between her thumb and forefinger. I cried out, a strangled gasp that was half-pain, half-bliss. She did it again, harder, a sharp, jarring counterpoint to the pounding rhythm of her hips.
The pressure was building again, impossibly fast, a furious storm gathering in my groin. I was raw, overstimulated, but I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop. I was a piston in the engine of her lust, and she was driving me toward a cliff.
"Look at me," she commanded, her voice tight with her own approaching climax. I forced my eyes open, my vision blurry, to meet her gaze. Her face was a mask of fierce concentration and raw need, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed. "Cum with me this time. When I tell you, you give me everything. Do you understand?"
I could only nod, my throat constricted by her grip.
"Good boy." Her movements became erratic, her grinding hips losing their rhythm as she chased her own release. Her nails raked down my chest, leaving red, burning lines in their wake. "Now," she gasped. "Now, my boy! Cum for Mommy!"
The command broke me. I came with a silent scream, my body arching, my vision exploding in a kaleidoscope of color. My cock pulsed, a second, more violent eruption spilling what little I had left deep into her clutching heat. At the same time, I felt her convulse, her inner walls clamping down on me like a vise as a guttural moan was torn from her throat. She shuddered, her entire body trembling with the force of her orgasm, and then collapsed.
This time, the collapse was total. She released my throat, and I sucked in a ragged, desperate breath. Her full weight pinned me, her face buried in the crook of my neck. We were both shaking, slick with sweat and the aftermath of our violent coupling. My body ached in a dozen places—my neck, my chest, my nipples—but it was a sweet, satisfying pain. I was marked, claimed, and utterly spent. I could feel her heart hammering against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat slowly calming into a steady rhythm.
In the quiet that followed, there was only the sound of our breathing and the profound, unspoken knowledge that I was completely and irrevocably hers.