Chapter 280: Hang in There, Lyra

At the same time, on Cherry’s side, her three copies drop into position too, and she’s louder than Lyra, always has been, screaming into the empty air of the room the second they’re inside her, thick little bodies working her from three different angles, hitting spots that shouldn’t even be possible to hit with something six inches long, but I guess snake anatomy doesn’t play by normal rules, and honestly, why would it start now.

"Matt, Matt, oh fuck, Matt," she sobs, tail thrashing weakly against the sheets, completely lost to it now, any trace of coherent thought burned away by the overload of sensation.

Meanwhile, the copy that had been latched onto her nipple detached with a soft, wet sound, leaving the skin flushed and pebbled. It began its slow, deliberate ascent up the curve of her breast, a six-inch length of scaled muscle glistening in the low light.

Cherry’s head lolled to the side, her breath catching as it traced a path over her collarbone, its tiny forked tongue flicking against the hollow of her throat. She didn’t need a command; her lips parted on a gasp just as its blunt head nudged insistently at the corner of her mouth. A low, broken sound escaped her as she opened fully, accepting it. Her throat worked convulsively around the intrusion, a visible ripple under her pale skin, even as the three other copies continued their relentless rhythm below, each thrust drawing another choked, guttural moan from deep in her chest.

A heartbeat later, Lyra’s turn came. I watched, mesmerised, as the copy destined for her mouth slithered from where it had been coiled possessively around her thigh. It moved with purpose, its path a slick trail over her hip, across the tense plane of her stomach.

Her eyes, already wide and unfocused, tracked its movement for a second before she squeezed them shut, a single tear escaping to track through the sweat at her temple. The copy nudged at her lips, which were already parted around ragged pants. She flinched minutely, a last vestige of surprise, before yielding with a shuddering sigh. It slid past her teeth, and I watched the delicate muscles of her neck strain and distend as it pushed deeper, burying itself in her warmth. Her hands fisted in the sheets, knuckles white, and her eyes flew open again—glassy, desperate, completely undone.

More tears welled, sparkling at the corners before spilling over, tracing paths through the blissful ruin of her expression. The sheer sensory overload had stripped everything else away; there was only the feeling, and me watching it claim every part of them.

I’m just hovering there, main body intact, drinking in the sight of both of them completely wrecked, completely mine, every inch of them covered in some version of me, every hole filled, every reaction on full display for me to soak in like I’ve got nowhere else to be and nothing else to do.

Because honestly, I don’t.

The room smells like sex and sweat and that sharp metal tang that’s uniquely Lyra, mixed with the warmer musk that’s all Cherry, and underneath all of it, the smoke smell that’s just me, filling every corner of the space until it’s hard to breathe without tasting it.

Lyra’s the first to break properly, body seizing up around the three cocks working her, back arching so hard off the bed it looks almost painful, muffled scream around the copy in her mouth as she comes, hard, whole body shaking through it while my tiny selves keep going, not stopping, not slowing down, milking every last second of her orgasm out of her.

"That’s it," I murmur, mostly to myself, watching her fall apart, "there she goes."

Cherry follows maybe ten seconds later, tail smacking hard against the sheets one last time before going completely limp, body trembling through the aftershocks while the copies inside her finally start to slow down, giving her a second to breathe.

Both girls are gasping, wrecked, strung out on rope and pleasure in equal measure, and I finally let my main body drift closer, watching my miniature selves start to pull back, slow and careful, giving both girls a chance to come down before the next wave hits.

"You two good?" I ask, and it takes a second before either of them can actually answer.

"Good," Lyra finally manages, voice hoarse, "so good, oh my god, Matt, what even was that..."

The rest of the night belonged to us, with the world and its endless demands kept outside. By morning, both established bonds had received the replenishment the women needed, and I woke between them feeling no urge to turn the details into a public report.

Old Mate kept his own report mercifully brief, proving the drunk koala could occasionally leave a private morning alone without demanding applause for it. Two standard refills at 500 EXP each brought me to 22,000 out of 30,000, with my IP still at 140, and he managed the entire announcement without pretending a loving night required a parade.

If you start grading my performance, I’m finding a way to mute you before breakfast.

[System: Relax, champ, I left the scorecards in the pub; you remembered to stay for breakfast, which already puts you ahead of several blokes I know.]

I kissed Lyra’s hand while Cherry pulled the blanket back over us.

Breakfast arrived with Desmond’s quiet efficiency and a request that I stop balancing plates on expensive cushions. I promised nothing about the cushions but ate what he brought, while Lyra checked the harbour contact and Cherry told me the healthy food was non-negotiable.

The freight tag led to a buyer at a coastal service dock near the Drop Off routes. I had no reason yet to connect the whole harbour to Rusk, and Lyra warned me against treating one criminal’s delivery address as proof that every worker there belonged to him.

A courier arrived downstairs before I could answer. His envelope contained a photograph taken outside the tunnel entrance, showing a man with a familiar baton scar along his knuckles watching the taxis that came towards our casino.

I recognised the depot guard who had raised his weapon at Orin, and the note beneath the picture said he was asking which route I used when I travelled alone.