As if to confirm my theory, my cock twitched, brushing against Kerry's navel. 100 points. A soft, surprised moan escaped her lips—"Hmm... Dexter..."—and I could feel the creases of her navel against the tip of my cock, the warmth of her skin, the way her body reacted to the contact. The system's notification flashed in my vision, confirming the points, and I nearly groaned at the thrill of it.
The real thrill wasn't just the points—it was the corruption, the theft, the sheer filth of taking what wasn't mine right under Mitt's nose.
The system was no longer about physical contact - it was about desecration, about taking possession of her in front of the man who assumed she belonged to him. Just thinking about it made my erection ache, pre-cum escaping, as I envisioned all the ways in which I could wreck her.
Nevertheless, I had to be certain. I had to verify it. With her. To pleasure her. To make her suffer for it.
