The Lustful Villain: Every Milfs and Gilfs are Mine! - Chapter 377. She Imagines The Real Masculinity Of My Body While Touching Herself**

Chapter 377: 377. She Imagines The Real Masculinity Of My Body While Touching Herself**

She increased the pace, her fingers sliding deep inside her, stretching her as she envisioned him replacing the violence of the dream with a slow, rhythmic devotion. The gap between the dream and the gorge was closing; in her mind, the Rex of the nightmare was dying, and the Rex of her longing was being born from the steam and the heat.

Her breathing became shallow, ragged gasps that echoed the frantic movement of her hand. The tension in her thighs became unbearable, a coiled spring of pure, unadulterated need.

’Come to me… in my mind… show me the Rex who cares…’

As the peak approached, the imagery became blindingly bright. She saw him leaning down, his lips brushing hers, his scent of earth and sun overwhelming her senses.

The sensation of her own fingers became indistinguishable from the imagined touch of his tongue and his length. With a final, desperate surge of her hips, Nerith let out a choked cry, her body arching out of the water as a wave of exquisite, transformative pleasure crashed over her, washing away the shadows of the past and leaving only the burning, beautiful reality of her desire for him.

’Please… cum… cum fast…! I want this to stop… it’s embarrassing to do it alone…’

“I’ve never done this before, but I learned by watching Aisella and Talyra touch this spot while Rex was ruining their mouths.”

But… to her surprise…

The waves of pleasure she expected to crash over her never arrived. Instead, they teased the surface of her consciousness, swirling around her like the lukewarm steam of the spring, only to dissipate before they could truly take hold.

’W-What…?’

’Why can’t I…? I-is it this hard to let it go…?’

She gasped, her hips arching upward, her fingers working with a feverish, desperate intensity. She pushed harder, her nails digging into the soft flesh of her mound, trying to force the climax to manifest.

’Why isn’t it happening?’ The thought struck her with a sudden, sharp pang of irritation. ’I thought it was going to end faster than I thought…’

’R-Rex did ruin my body… but not the real Rex… it’s the Rex from the nightmare where my body was siding with him.’

’But still… if I do it alone with a lot of force… it won’t come out…’

’Ugh…’

She was a druid; she understood the cycles of nature, the explosive release of a storm, and the bursting of a seed. Yet here she was, trapped in a stagnant pool of half-arousal.

“Nngh… ah! Come on…” she hissed through clenched teeth, her natural hair damp and clinging to her flushed cheeks.

She tried to conjure the image of Rex again, but the gentleness she had cultivated was becoming a curse. By trying to soften the memory of his power, she had inadvertently stripped away the edge she needed to break through the tension.

The mental image of the soft, reverent Rex that she hoped for was beautiful, but it lacked the raw, primal friction her body screamed for. Her clitoris was swollen and hypersensitive, throbbing with a desire that her own delicate touch couldn’t quite satisfy.

It was frustration, hot and bitter, that began to mingle with her lust. Her leaves, instead of the lush jade of blooming life, began to twitch with a jagged, unsettled energy, curling sharply as if stung.

Each stroke of her fingers felt too light, too superficial, like trying to start a fire with damp wood. She was building a mountain of tension, but she couldn’t find the peak.

’Urggghhh… whyyyyy…’

“It’s not enough…” she whimpered, her voice cracking. “It’s too… too gentle, and my body doesn’t want this kind of thing!”

“But… I have to put more force… By doing this… hopefully it worked…”

She increased the speed, her movements becoming frantic and uncoordinated. She abandoned the rhythmic grace of the forest and moved with a starved, animalistic desperation.

She shoved her fingers deeper, trying to mimic the sheer, overwhelming fullness of Rex’s massive cock, trying to find that blunt, heavy pressure that would force her body to surrender.

But even as she worked herself toward exhaustion, the orgasm remained a flickering light just out of reach, leaving her stranded in a state of agonizing, unfulfilled yearning.

She felt pathetic, because here she was, alone in the heat, trying to rewrite her own soul through masturbation, yet she couldn’t even command her own body to find peace.

The frustration was a knot in her chest, tightening with every throb of her unsatisfied core. She wanted the storm.

She wanted the weight. She wanted the Rex that could break her, because this gentle imitation was only leaving her hollow.

The frustration boiled over, turning her blood into liquid fire. Nerith’s breath came in ragged, uneven hitches, the steam of the hot spring now feeling suffocating rather than soothing.

Her fingers were working frantically below the waterline, but the sensation was becoming duller with every unsuccessful attempt. It was too thin, too singular, lacking the multidimensional onslaught her body was screaming for.

’Damn it…’ she cursed internally, her eyes squeezed shut so tight that stars danced behind her lids. ’Why am I so weak?’

’Why won’t the release come fast…?’

Desperate to bridge the gap between her lonely fingers and the overwhelming need in her womb, she brought her free hand up above the surface. Her palm slid over the wet, slick curve of her massive breast, her fingers squeezing the heavy mound of flesh.

As she kneaded her nipple, sending jolts of electricity straight down to her core, she realized her mistake. She had been trying to tame the beast, but the beast was exactly what she needed to conquer the ache.

“Ahhhhnnnn…!” For the first time she let out a natural moan without any force.

’If the gentle Rex isn’t enough…’ she thought, her mind racing as her hand began to roll her nipple between her thumb and forefinger with increasing pressure, ’then perhaps the shadow of him is what will save me.’

She stopped trying to visualize him as a saint in a meadow. Instead, she allowed the darker, more potent memories to bleed into her fantasy.

She summoned the Rex from the dream, but she filtered the terror out of it, keeping only the raw, masculine power. She pictured him standing over her, his tanned skin glistening with sweat, his muscles corded and heavy with intent.

She imagined those large, calloused hands not just touching her but claiming her, gripping her breasts with a possessive strength that would leave bruises of pleasure.

’Hmmmmpppphhhh… yes… like that,’ she whispered to the empty air, her hips beginning to buck in a more rhythmic, demanding motion. ’Don’t go all soft on me, Rex…’

’Don’t be careful with me… I’m fine… you can… be the man who takes what he wants…’

She began to fondle her breasts with a newfound ferocity, her thumbs pressing hard into the sensitive peaks while her lower hand worked with a punishing, driving speed. The mental image shifted vividly.

She saw him looming over her, his gaze intense and predatory, his massive, thick cock pulsing with a life of its own as he prepared to bury himself inside her.

She imagined the sheer, heavy weight of him, the way his tanned chest would press against her natural hair, and the way his hardness would stretch her wide, filling every empty, aching corner of her being.

’Yes, Rex… Give it to me…’ she pleaded silently, her leaves vibrating so violently they created small ripples in the water. ’Don’t just visit me in a dream… crush the doubt out of me…’

’Break this tension that I’ve felt!’

The combination of the dual stimulation, the heavy, kneading pressure on her breasts, and the relentless, deep thrusting of her fingers below finally began to work. The “gentle” Rex was gone, replaced by a vision of a man whose very presence demanded her total surrender.

The friction was no longer polite; it was a battle. She could almost feel the phantom sensation of his enormous length sliding against her inner walls, a thick, hot-blooded invasion that made her toes curl against the smooth stone floor of the spring.

The tension in her abdomen tightened into a hard, pulsing knot. The frustration was finally transforming, melting from a bitter ache into a soaring, terrifying crescendo of pure, unadulterated lust.

She was no longer just playing; she was hunting for the peak, guided by the imagined, heavy rhythm of a man who knew exactly how to shatter her.

Just as the tension reached a fever pitch, just as the roar of the approaching climax began to thunder in her ears, Nerith suddenly froze.

Her hand, mid-squeeze on her heavy, aching breast, faltered. Her fingers, buried deep within her own slick heat, stilled.

The rhythmic splashing of the water seemed to grow deafeningly loud in the sudden silence of her own movement. The trance shattered like glass hitting stone.

’What… what am I doing?’

The thought pierced through her lust like a cold draft in a summer forest. She pulled her hand slightly from her mound, the sensation of her own wetness suddenly feeling jarring and strangely lonely.

A wave of profound, dizzying confusion washed over her, more potent than the arousal that had just been consuming her.

She stared blankly at the steam rising from the water, her natural hair plastered to her forehead, her chest heaving with shallow, embarrassed breaths. A deep, burning blush that had nothing to do with the temperature of the spring crept up her neck and flooded her cheeks.

’This act is… unforgivable,’ she thought, her mind reeling. ’To sit here, in the sacred waters, and try to conjure a man’s virility just to satisfy a craving…’

’Is this what a druid does?’

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