Chapter 781 - 780 - Too Many Women Are a Big Problem

Chapter 781: Chapter 780 - Too Many Women Are a Big Problem

I fucked the first woman harder. My tail snaked around, found the second woman — the one who’d been on the railing — and pulled her close. My tail pressed against her pussy, the sensitive appendage sliding between her lips. She gasped. Then moaned. My tail pushed inside her — the prehensile flesh stretching her open, the dual sensation of my cock in one woman and my tail in another filling the night with wet, obscene sounds.

Pah Pah Pah Pah PAAAH!

"YES — LORD — OUNGH~!! — HAAANGH~!! — more — AH~!! — deeper — HIEEENGH~!!"

Olivia trembled violently like a fish. Her eyes were locked on the scene — my cock pistoning in and out of the first woman, my tail squirming inside the second. Her thighs were pressing together so hard they were shaking. Her nipples were visible through the dress — not just stiff now, but leaking. Milk. The passive field, combined with her pregnancy, combined with the overwhelming arousal of watching her Lord fuck someone else, was triggering her lactation.

"You cannot — do this — to me —" Her voice was hoarse. Broken. "I waited — for a month — I waited — I wanted your cock — I wanted —"

I pulled out of the first woman. Flipped her. Fucked her from behind. My cock — slick, dripping — slid into her ass. She screamed. Loud. Raw. Her anal stretched around my girth, the tight ring of muscle yielding inch by inch.

"AAANGH~!! Lord — not there — OUNGH~!! — it’s too — HAAANGH~!! — too big — AH~!! — my ass — HIEEENGH~!!"

I fucked her ass while my tail fucked the second woman’s pussy. Both women were screaming. Their bodies convulsing. Their pussies — the second one, the one on my tail — was squirting, the juices running down my tail, dripping onto the rooftop.

Olivia cried. Real tears. The tears of a woman who had spent a month building a church, converting women, spreading faith, and was now watching those same women get fucked by the god she’d created. The cock she’d worshipped. The man she’d devoted herself to. And she couldn’t have it.

"LORD — please — PLEASE — I’m sorry — I’ll stop — I’ll stop the church — I’ll stop everything — just — PLEASE — fuck me —"

I didn’t.

I fucked them for two hours.

Both women. In every position. On the rooftop, under the moonlight, their bodies bent and twisted and used. I came inside both of them — in their pussies, in their asses, on their faces, on their tits. They orgasmed so many times they lost count. Their bodies lay on the rooftop — twitching, broken, cum-drunk, their pussies gaping and leaking.

Olivia screamed the entire time. She yelled. She cursed. She begged. She threatened. She cried. She called me Lord, called me monster, called me hers. She pulled at her ropes until her wrists bled. She pressed her thighs together so hard the chair shook. Her dress was soaked — not with water, with her own juices, the arousal dripping from her pussy through the fabric, pooling on the seat.

"Don’t touch him — DON’T — he’s MINE — Lord — PLEASE — I waited — I WAITED —"

Finally, I finished. The two women lay on the rooftop, unconscious, their bodies covered in cum and sweat. I stood. My cock — still hard, still dripping — swung between my thighs. I walked to Olivia.

She looked up at me. Her face was a mess — tears, snot, mascara streaks she didn’t know she had. Her hair was wild. Her dress was ruined. Her eyes — those clear, scientific, blue eyes — were red and swollen and desperate.

"Why are you acting like this?" I asked. My voice was calm. Reasonable. The voice of a man who had just fucked two women into unconsciousness and was now having a conversation. "If you want, you can have it."

I pushed my cock head against her lips.

She cried. The tears came fresh — but different now. Not angry. Not jealous. Relief. Pure, overwhelming relief. Her mouth opened. She took the head in. Her tongue — soft, warm, desperate — swirled around the head. She tasted the cum, the pussy juice, the ass, the sweat. She didn’t care. She sucked.

Her head bobbed. Her mouth worked. Her throat relaxed. She took more — five inches, six, seven. Her throat bulged. She gagged. Kept going. Eight inches. Nine. Her nose pressed against my pelvis. She swallowed around me, her throat massaging the shaft, and I felt the pull — the suction, the desperation, the month of waiting poured into a single act of worship.

"Ah shit." I groaned. My hand found her hair. Ruffled it. "That’s my princess."

My tail moved. Found her chest — the gap between her bound arms and her body. The appendage slid into her cleavage, coiling around her breast, the sensitive length of it feeling the softness, the warmth, the milk that leaked from her nipple. She moaned around my cock as my tail squeezed.

I came.

Thick. Hot. Pumping directly into her throat. She swallowed — gulp after gulp, her eyes rolling back, her body convulsing, her pussy squirting through her dress, the juices hitting the chair, the rooftop, my legs. She came from the taste. From the feeling. From the simple, overwhelming joy of finally, finally, finally having her Lord inside her.

I pulled out. She gasped. Cum dripped from her lips. She chased it — her tongue extending, licking the corner of her mouth, swallowing every drop she could reach.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you, my Lord."

I untied her. She fell forward — into my arms, her body limp, her face pressed against my chest. I held her. Kissed her hair. Her forehead. Her lips — soft, cum-flavored, warm. She kissed back. Gently. Lovingly. Not with the desperation of before, but with the quiet, settled affection of a woman who had what she wanted.

I laid her on the rooftop. Beside the two unconscious women. The moonlight caught her blonde hair, her white dress — ruined now, soaked, transparent. Her belly — swollen, round, pregnant with my child — rose and fell with each breath.

I undressed her. Slowly. The dress came apart — I didn’t bother with buttons, just pulled. The fabric tore. Her body emerged. Pale. Soft. Her breasts — heavy, full, leaking milk. Her belly — round, taut, the skin stretched over the life inside. Her pussy — clean-shaven, the lips swollen, the entrance still dripping from her orgasm.

I fucked her.

Slowly. Gently. Not the brutal, punishing pace I’d used on the others. This was different. My cock pushed inside her — inch by inch, her walls parting, her body welcoming me. She was wet. Warm. Tight. The walls gripped me with the familiar, practiced ease of a body that had been shaped by my cock.

"My Lord," she whispered. "My Lord. My Lord."

I sucked her tits while I fucked her.