Chapter 147: +18 Wake Up- Lisara, Euphemia.

You close the distance between you in two steps, hands finding her waist as you pull her into a slow kiss. Lisara melts into it immediately, her mouth opening against yours with familiar warmth, tongue sliding against yours as her fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt. You taste the faint sweetness of morning tea on her lips.

Your hands move downward, gathering the hem of her simple morning gown. Lisara lifts her arms without breaking the kiss, and you draw the fabric up over her head in one smooth motion. The gown falls away to reveal her bare body beneath, confirming your discovery that she wears nothing underneath. Her breasts are full and soft, nipples already peaking in the cool morning air, and her hips curve generously above toned thighs.

You hoist her up by her thighs, and Lisara wraps her legs around your waist instinctively, arms looping around your neck. She gasps against your mouth as her bare skin presses against your clothed body, the contrast of fabric against her nakedness drawing a shiver through her frame.

"No undergarments this morning?" you murmur against her lips.

"Not yet," she breathes back with a grin. "Or maybe I just like being ready for you."

Your clothes vanish in an instant, stored away into your inventory. Lisara's brown eyes widen briefly at the sudden skin-on-skin contact, her breath catching as she feels your hardness press against her bare stomach. You shift your grip on her thighs, adjusting her position until your shaft slides between her folds, not entering but grinding against her slick heat.

Lisara's head falls back, a low moan escaping her as you begin moving her up and down with slow deliberate strokes. Her wetness coats your length, the friction building heat between you with each pass. Her breasts press against your chest, nipples dragging across your skin with every movement.

"Making you moan's a fabulous idea," you tell her, voice low against her ear. "I'd love to make My Lisara moan as I fill her with cum every morning. Is she ready?"

Lisara pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. Her cheeks are flushed, brown eyes dark with desire, but that familiar mischievous spark lights her expression. She reaches between them, fingers finding the neckline of nothing because she's already naked, and instead she cups her own breasts, lifting them slightly as she watches your reaction.

"You love watching these jiggle," she says, squeezing them together before releasing them to bounce freely. "So yes. I'm ready. I've been ready since I heard your footsteps in the hall."

She kisses you hard, tongue aggressive and hungry, and you feel her hips roll against yours, grinding her slick folds along your shaft with deliberate pressure. Her legs tighten around your waist, pulling herself closer, trying to angle her hips to take you inside.

"Stop teasing," she whispers against your mouth. "Fill me up like you promised."

You adjust your grip, one hand sliding from her thigh to her hip, positioning her precisely. The head of your cock finds her entrance, pressing against that slick opening. Lisara's breath hitches, her fingers digging into your shoulders as she anticipates the moment of penetration.

Her body is warm and eager in your arms, completely trusting, completely ready. The morning light catches the copper in her auburn hair as she tilts her head back, exposing the line of her throat in invitation.

You thrust into her in one smooth stroke, burying yourself to the hilt. Lisara's mouth falls open in a silent gasp, her fingers digging into your shoulders as her body stretches around you. The wet heat of her envelops your shaft completely, her inner walls clenching in welcome.

"Oh," she breathes, the single syllable carrying more than any elaborate declaration. Her brown eyes find yours, pupils blown wide, that mischievous spark now burning into something rawer. "There you are."

You begin moving with slow strokes, each one deep enough to press against her furthest reaches before withdrawing almost completely. Lisara's legs tighten around your waist with every thrust, her hips rolling to meet yours in a lust that builds gradually. Her breasts bounce with each movement, exactly as she intended when she displayed them, and you watch them with open appreciation.

You carry her toward the bed as you fuck her, each step punctuated by another deep thrust that makes her whimper against your neck. Her nails rake down your back, leaving trails of heat that contrast with the cool morning air. Three steps. Four. Five. Each one draws another sound from her throat, breathy moans she doesn't bother containing.

"Slower," she whispers, though her hips contradict her words, grinding harder against you. "No, don't slow down. I didn't mean it."

You reach the bed and lower her onto it without breaking your rhythm, her back meeting the mattress as you follow her down. The new angle lets you drive deeper, and Lisara arches beneath you, head thrown back against the pillows. Her auburn hair spreads across white linen, copper highlights catching the strengthening dawn light.

Her hands find your hips, pulling you forward on each stroke. "Fill me up," she repeats your earlier promise, voice ragged now. "Like you said. Every morning."

You give her exactly what she asked for. The pace remains unhurried but thorough, each thrust bottoming out inside her with a wet sound that fills the quiet room. Lisara's thighs tremble against yours, her body climbing steadily toward release. She doesn't try to hold back, doesn't attempt composure or dignity, simply surrenders to the sensation with open sounds of pleasure.

Her first climax hits her in waves, back bowing off the mattress as her walls clamp around you in rhythmic pulses. She cries out your name, fingers twisted in the sheets, hips jerking against yours in involuntary spasms. You don't stop, working her through the peak with steady strokes that extend her pleasure into something almost unbearable.

"Too much," she gasps, but her legs lock behind your back, refusing to let you pull away. "Don't stop. Don't you dare stop."

You feel your own release building, that familiar tension coiling at the base of your spine. Lisara senses it too, her brown eyes meeting yours with knowing anticipation. She reaches up, cupping your face with both hands, pulling you down for a breathless kiss.

"Give it to me," she murmurs against your lips. "Fill me up like you promised."

You bury yourself completely and let go, spilling into her with a groan that she swallows with her mouth. Lisara moans into the kiss, her body shuddering through a second smaller climax as she feels the warmth flooding her insides. Her legs finally relax from around your waist, falling open as the tension drains from her frame.

She lies beneath you, chest heaving, a satisfied smile curving her swollen lips. "That," she says, "is how every morning should start."

You remain inside her, neither of you in any hurry to separate. Her fingers trace lazy patterns across your shoulders, and she looks up at you with those warm brown eyes, genuinely contentment.

You cast the cleaning cantrip with a casual flick of your fingers, pale blue light washing over both of you and removing every trace of the morning's exertions. Lisara stretches beneath the effect, her naked body gleaming briefly before she reaches for her discarded morning gown.

"Same time tomorrow?" she asks with that warm grin, pulling the fabric over her head.

"Every morning," you confirm, leaning down to press a final kiss to her lips. She returns it softly, fingers brushing your jaw before releasing you.

"Go on then," she says, shooing you toward the door. "I heard the twins chattering down the hall. Breakfast won't wait forever."

You leave Lisara to dress, making your way through corridors now alive with early morning sounds. The enchanted windows have brightened considerably, casting warm amber light across stone floors. Faint voices drift from the direction of the main hall, the clatter of plates and the excited chatter of children rising to meet the day.

Euphemia's door stands closed, but a soft glow seeps from beneath it. You push it open without knocking, finding the Britannian princess already awake and seated at her vanity, brushing her long pink hair. Wearing the open-cup maid outfit with the strapless bra and tight shorts, having apparently adopted the same morning preparation routine as Milly.

Her blue-violet eyes meet yours in the mirror's reflection, and a serene smile crosses her delicate features. "Good morning, Blank. I wondered when you might come."

She sets her brush down and turns on the vanity stool, crossing her legs with practiced elegance. The maid outfit frames her exposed breasts perfectly, nipples covered by the strapless bra. Already carrying herself with the composure of someone who has accepted her place in this household with quiet grace.

"I've been thinking about what the girls talked about last night," Euphemia says, rising from the stool with fluid grace. "About how you visit everyone before dawn. Making sure we all start our days properly." She tilts her head, blue-violet eyes holding yours with that particular blend of serenity and warmth that is uniquely hers. "It's rather romantic, in its own way. Even if the romance involves virgins being eaten alive before breakfast."

She crosses to the bed, settling onto it with deliberate poise. Her fingers find the waistband of her tight shorts, thumbs hooking beneath the fabric as she watches you with open invitation.

"Shall I remove these, or would you prefer to do it yourself?" she asks, that serene smile carrying just a hint of mischief. "I know you enjoy the unwrapping."

Euphemia lies back against the pillows, pink hair fanning across white linen in a cascade that catches the morning light. Her hands rest at her sides, waiting with patient expectation. The strapless bra provides her modesty while leaving her breasts bare above it, and the tight shorts cling to her hips in a way that emphasizes the curves beneath.

"The princess deserves a proper morning," you tell her, approaching the bed.

"Then come," she replies softly, blue-violet eyes half-lidding with anticipation.

You approach the bed where Euphemia lies waiting, pink hair spread across white pillows like spilled rose petals. Her blue-violet eyes track your movements with that particular blend of serenity and anticipation that only she manages, the composure of a princess layered over genuine hunger.

"I'll do it myself," you tell her, settling onto the mattress beside her legs.

Your fingers find the waistband of her tight shorts, hooking beneath the fabric. You pull them down slowly, deliberately, revealing inch after inch of pale skin. Euphemia lifts her hips to help, a small smile playing across her lips as she watches your face. The shorts slide past her thighs, over her knees, off entirely. You toss them aside without looking where they land.

She lies before you now in nothing but the open-cup maid outfit and her strapless bra, her lower body completely bare. The morning light catches the fine down on her thighs, the subtle curve of her hips, the glistening evidence that her body has been preparing for this since before you walked through the door.

"You really do enjoy the unwrapping," she observes, voice carrying that gentle amusement.

"Every layer is worth savoring."

You lower yourself between her thighs, pressing your mouth against her inner leg first. Euphemia's breath catches as you trail kisses along the sensitive skin, moving higher with agonizing patience. Her fingers find your hair, simply resting there as though grounding herself.

When your tongue finally parts her folds, Euphemia's serene composure fractures beautifully. A gasp escapes her, sharp and uncontrolled, her back arching slightly off the mattress. You begin with slow broad strokes, mapping her with deliberate thoroughness, learning the exact geography of her pleasure.

She is sweet against your tongue, her body responding with generous wetness that coats your lips and chin. Euphemia's thighs tremble on either side of your head, her hips rolling in small involuntary movements as you find the rhythm that makes her breath come in short desperate bursts.

You reach up while your mouth works her, fingers finding the clasp of her strapless bra at her back. The garment loosens and you pull it away, tossing it somewhere behind you without breaking your rhythm. Your hands find her breasts, palms cupping the soft weight, fingers circling her peaked nipples.

Euphemia moans openly, the sound filling the quiet room. Her composure has dissolved entirely now, replaced by raw honest sensation. "Your hands," she manages between breaths. "Don't stop either of them."

You oblige, kneading her breasts while your tongue pleasures her most sensitive flesh. The stimulation proves overwhelming. Euphemia's fingers tighten in your hair, her hips lifting off the bed as her body climbs toward release with visible urgency.

"Blank," she whispers, then louder. "Blank, I'm going to"

She breaks with a cry that carries genuine surprise at its own intensity, her entire body shuddering beneath your hands and mouth. Her breasts heave against your palms as waves of pleasure roll through her, inner walls clenching around nothing while your tongue eases her through every aftershock with gentle slowing strokes.

When you finally pull back, Euphemia lies sprawled and breathless, the maid outfit framing her semi-naked body. Her blue-violet eyes find yours, glazed and wondering.

"That was considerably more intense than last time," she says, voice trembling slightly.

She reaches for you, fingers brushing your jaw with tender gratitude. "Thank you for unwrapping me properly."

You press soft kisses along Euphemia's jaw, her neck, the curve of her shoulder. She sighs contentedly beneath each one, fingers trailing lazily through your hair as though memorizing the sensation. Her skin still carries the flush of release, warmth radiating from her like sunlight through stained glass.

"You spoil me," she murmurs, turning her head to catch your lips in a slow tender kiss. "The other princesses must be terribly jealous."

"They'll get their turn."

"I know." Her blue-violet eyes hold yours with quiet certainty. "That's what makes it feel genuine rather than obligatory. You never rush past us."

You kiss her forehead, her temple, the bridge of her nose. She giggles softly at the last one, a sound so unguarded it would shock anyone who knew only her public composure. The cleaning cantrip washes over both of you in a ripple of pale blue, removing every trace of the morning's intimacy. Euphemia stretches beneath the effect, already reaching for her strapless bra.

"Go," she says, waving you toward the door with drowsy affection. "I can hear the twins arguing about something through the hallway. You don't have much time to visit the rest."

You leave her pulling on her tight shorts, that serene smile following you out.

The corridor carries the growing sounds of a manor waking fully. Plates clattering from the main hall. Nemu's bright voice somewhere below asking about pancakes. The enchanted windows have shifted from amber to full morning gold, flooding the stone passages with warm light.

Villetta's door is closed, but you open it without hesitation. The room beyond is dim, curtains still drawn against the brightening day. And there on the wide bed, tangled together in sleep, lie two women.

Villetta Nu occupies the center of the mattress, her dark skin striking against white sheets. She lies on her back, one arm draped across the smaller figure beside her. Her expression in sleep is peaceful, the amnesia-sealed soldier's perpetual alertness finally at rest. Her body is bare, athletic curves on full display.

Shirley Fenette curls against Villetta's side, orange hair spilling across the darker woman's shoulder and chest. Also naked, her pale skin pressed flush against Villetta's, one leg hooked over her companion's thigh. Her face is nestled into the crook of Villetta's neck, lips slightly parted in deep contented sleep.

The arrangement from last night. You had pleasured Shirley orally while taking Villetta, the two women holding each other throughout. Shirley had climaxed twice before falling asleep in Villetta's arms, while Villetta had received you with quiet intensity until exhaustion claimed her as well.

You approach the bed. Villetta's eyes open first, dark and alert despite having just been asleep. She sees you and a slow knowing smile crosses her features.

"Good morning," she whispers, careful not to wake Shirley. Her hand strokes absently along the orange-haired girl's back. "She's still out. Climaxed herself unconscious last night, the poor thing."

Shirley stirs at the sound of voices, amber eyes blinking open with confusion before focusing on your face. A deep blush floods her cheeks as memory returns.

"Blank," she breathes, then buries her face against Villetta's shoulder in embarrassment. "I forgot you do mornings."

"He does mornings," Villetta confirms, amusement coloring her voice. She shifts, turning slightly so both women can see you properly. Her free hand reaches toward you. "Come join us. Shirley was saying last night she wanted to feel your mouth again before breakfast. Weren't you, Shirley?"

"Villetta!" Shirley squeaks, face burning crimson. But she doesn't deny it, amber eyes peeking at you over Villetta's shoulder with unmistakable want.