Freya jolted upright, her full, heavy tits swinging wildly as she stumbled back with a sly smile.
She shot me a look that was equal parts exhaustion and mischief, her cheeks flushed a deep, rosy red, her hair a tangled, sweat-dampened mess clinging to her neck and shoulders. "He.. he.. hee.." she chuckled, her voice hoarse from all the screaming, the begging, the way she’d cried out my name like a prayer.
"I-I’m gonna... feed my daughter..." She let out a breathless, almost drunken giggle, the sound throaty and thick, before snatching her bathrobe from the floor and tying it around herself with trembling fingers.
The silk did little to hide the glisten of sweat on her skin, the way her nipples still pressed against the fabric, hard and aching from all the attention.
Then she was gone, bolting out of the room, her bare feet slapping wetly against the hardwood, the sound echoing down the hall like a promise of more to e.
I stayed where I was, sprawled across the bed, my cock still half-hard, twitching with the aftershocks of how tightly she’d clamped around me. The sheets beneath me were a mess—rumpled, damp with sweat, and stained with the evidence of what we’d just done.
I could still feel her, the phantom clench of her walls around me, the way she’d trembled when I’d bottomed out inside her, the desperate, needy sounds she’d made as I’d fucked her into the mattress.
My fingers curled into the fabric, my nails biting into my palms as I forced myself to breathe through the lingering arousal. Fuck. She was going to be the death of me.
The shower’s scalding water hit my skin like a thousand tiny needles, but it was a wele pain, grounding me. I tilted my head back, letting the spray sluice over my face, my chest, my still-sensitive cock.
The heat couldn’t wash away the scent of her—it clung to me, inside me, the musky perfume of her arousal, the sharp tang of my cum mixing with hers, the faint, almost coppery hint of her piss from when I’d had her riding my face.
I soaped up my hands and dragged them over my body, my skin prickling under the friction, but no matter how hard I scrubbed, I could still smell her. Still taste her. The memory of her body—how she’d arched beneath me, how she’d begged—was branded into my skin, stubborn as a fucking tattoo.
I stayed under the water until my fingers pruned, until the last of the stickiness had been rinsed away, but the hunger in my gut only grew. More. I needed more. And I knew exactly where I’d find it.
The dining hall was alive with warmth and noise, the rich, dark aroma of coffee mingling with the buttery, flaky scent of fresh pastries and the faint, smoky sweetness of caramelized fruit.
The chatter of the others—Julie’s warm laughter, Kasumi’s soft, melodic voice, the occasional sharp burst of Haruna’s excitement—filled the air, but it all faded into the background the second I stepped inside. My eyes locked onto Stella like a heat-seeking missile.
She was already seated, her black maid uniform hugging every curve like it had been painted on. The fabric clung to her tits, the deep valley between them a shadowy promise, the skirt riding so high up her thighs that I could see the glisten of her arousal already beading there, her pussy lips swollen and needy even from across the room.
She didn’t look at me at first, but I felt her awareness like a physical touch, her body tensing just slightly, her fingers tightening around the cup of coffee in her hands.
I took my time crossing the room, my gaze raking over her, over all of them—Julie’s knowing smirk, Kasumi’s demure but hungry eyes, Tomiko’s subtle shift in her seat as she pressed her thighs together. They knew. They could all smell it on me. And fuck if that didn’t make my cock twitch.
Stella finally turned her head, her dark eyes locking onto mine with a slow, predatory smile. The air between us crackled, charged with something electric, something dirty.
She didn’t say a word, but her thigh pressed against mine as I sat down beside her, the heat of her skin searing through the fabric of my pants. Her fingers traced idle, teasing circles on my arm, her touch light but possessive, like she was staking a claim.
"You look... very satisfied," she purred, her voice a low, velvety whisper that sent a shiver down my spine. The way she said it—like she already knew exactly what Freya and I had been up to, like she could taste it on me—made my pulse spike.
I leaned back in my chair, stretching my arms behind my head, letting my biceps flex, watching the way her gaze flicked down to the movement. "Just... a good night," I said, my voice rough, my cock already stirring at the hunger in her eyes.
She didn’t buy it for a second. Her smirk deepened, her lips parting just enough to let her tongue dart out, wetting them in a way that had my stomach tightening. "Mmm, I’m sure," she murmured, her fingers trailing up my arm, her nails scraping lightly against my skin.
"But I think you’re forgetting something..." Without warning, she scooped up a bite of whatever rich, buttery dish was on her plate—some kind of decadent pastry, flaky and golden—and held it to my lips. "Open," she manded, her voice dropping into a low, unyielding growl.
I didn’t hesitate. I parted my lips, and she slid the food inside, her fingers lingering, her thumb brushing my bottom lip as I chewed. The flavors exploded across my tongue—creamy, buttery, sinful—but it was the way she watched me, her breath hitching as I swallowed, her eyes darkening with every second that passed, that had my cock straining against my pants.
The pastry was rich, almost too rich, the kind of thing that should’ve been illegal; it was so good. But it was nothing pared to the way her thumb dragged across my lip, smearing the last of the filling, the way her gaze dropped to my mouth like she was starving.
"Good?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper, her thumb pressing just a little harder against my lip.
I caught her wrist, my grip firm, and pulled her finger into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it, tasting the faint salt of her skin, the lingering sweetness of the pastry. I hollowed my cheeks, sucking hard, before letting it go with a wet, obscene pop.
"Mmm... Very Good," I growled, my voice rough, my eyes locked onto hers. The hunger in her gaze was palpable, like a physical weight pressing down on me, and I loved it.
Her pupils dilated, her lips parting on a sharp inhale. A slow, wicked smile spread across her face as she leaned in, her breath hot against my ear.
"You’re lucky I like taking care of you, my husband..." she whispered, her voice dripping with promise, with need.
"Otherwise, I’d let you starve... and we both know how much you hate that." Her fingers trailed down my chest, her nails scraping lightly over my nipple through my shirt, the sensation sending a jolt straight to my cock.
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