"Don’t worry," I murmured low against her ear as we hovered ten feet up, the cave ceiling close enough to touch if I reached. "You’re safe. I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you."
Her heart hamred wildly against my chest—fast, erratic, terrified, and exhilarated. Her breath ca in short, hot pants against my neck. "This... this can’t be happening... we’re flying... I’m flying... oh my god... oh my god, Dexter, how—how are you doing this? This isn’t real. This isn’t—"
"You should believe now," I said softly, voice calm and steady while her body trembled against mine.
Mira nodded—small, frantic, absentminded—eyes glassy and wide. "Y-yes... I... I believe you... I believe..."
I descended slowly, gently, setting her feet back on solid stone right beside Angela and Lisa, who were already tearing into their food as if nothing extraordinary had happened.
Angela looked up from her steak, lips shiny with butter, smirking. "Mira... you should eat too. It’s getting cold. And trust —once you taste it, you’ll understand why I call him a god in every way."
Mira sat—shaky, legs folding under her like they’d forgotten how to work. She picked up her chopsticks with trembling fingers, but her eyes kept sneaking glances at —wide, awed, hungry in every sense of the word.
Angela noticed imdiately. She leaned back against the wall, sipping her wine slowly, letting the red stain her lips.
"Mira... I know my husband is gorgeous and powerful and literally flies people around caves... but you don’t have to stare like that. You’re gonna make jealous~."
Mira’s face exploded into crimson. She jerked her gaze down to her ran, mortified. "I—I wasn’t—I didn’t an—"
Angela chuckled—low, warm, teasing—then softened just a fraction. "I’m kidding, sweetie. I know you’re shocked. It’s a lot. The food, the flying, the... everything. But trust ..." She leaned forward slightly, voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr.
"Once you accept it? Once you stop trying to explain it away? Life gets so much better. He takes care of everything. Food, safety... pleasure. Whatever you need. Whatever you want."
Mira swallowed hard, chopsticks trembling as she lifted a piece of salmon nigiri to her lips. "I... I still can’t believe... this is real. You’re real. All of this..."
Angela winked, taking another slow sip of wine. "Oh, it’s real. And the best part? He’s just getting started."
The cave felt smaller suddenly—warr, darker, heavier with unspoken promises and the faint, lingering scent of fresh sushi, grilled steak, and raw, building desire.
Three hundred thousand points were waiting.
And Mira—still blushing, still sneaking glances, still trembling—was already halfway fallen.
Mira beca super curious after the flight demonstration—her shock hadn’t worn off, it had only deepened into wide-eyed fascination. She kept firing questions, voice trembling with a mix of awe and disbelief, barely pausing to swallow bites of her ran.
"How does it work? The food, the flying, the... everything? Is it magic? Technology? So kind of... divine power?" She leaned forward, chopsticks forgotten, eyes locked on like I held every secret in the universe.
"Can you do it with anything? Can you make people... disappear? Or heal wounds? Or... read minds?" Her cheeks flushed as soon as the last question slipped out—she quickly looked down at her bowl, stirring the broth nervously. "I-I an... just curious..."
Angela watched her with a knowing smirk, sipping her wine slowly while her free hand rested casually on my thigh—possessive, teasing. Lisa, mouth full of burger, just grinned and mumbled sothing about "god-boyfriend perks."
I let Mira ramble for a minute, answering vaguely—"It’s a gift. Part of who I am. More than that... later."—while my mind turned inward.
Pervert Insight had already planted the seed with that 300,000-point "Sneaky Accident" plan, but seeing Mira like this—flushed, eager, hanging on my every word—sparked sothing faster. A new angle. Sothing imdiate.
I glanced at the three of them. All still in the sa clothes from days ago: jackets zipped over thin bras (no shirts underneath—the heat had forced them to strip layers long ago), jeans streaked with dirt and grass, boots scuffed and muddy.
The fabric clung uncomfortably now—sweat-soaked, grimy, starting to sll faintly of exertion and the jungle. Even Angela’s new pants from last night had a visible dark stain at the crotch, my dried cum mixed with fresh leakage, making the black material look almost glossy in places.
Perfect opening.
With a subtle ntal command, I opened the SUPER-MARKET STORE and browsed the clothing section. I didn’t want anything cute or innocent. I wanted sothing that scread danger, sex, submission—all wrapped in sleek, tactical allure.
I selected three identical outfits: female assassin-style bodysuits. Matte black, form-fitting latex-leather hybrid material—stretchy yet armored in key places, high-neck collars, long sleeves that ended in fingerless gloves, deep V-zippers down the front for easy access, reinforced thighs and hips, built-in holsters and utility loops.
The pants were skin-tight leggings that hugged every curve, ending in integrated combat boots with silent soles. Practical. Deadly. And obscenely erotic when worn right.
I materialized the three sets in my hands—folded neatly, still warm from whatever ethereal forge the system used.
"Here," I said casually, holding them out. "You all need new clothes. These should fit. Change into them."
Angela’s eyes lit up instantly—she recognized the vibe imdiately. "Ooh... husband, you spoil us~" She took hers with a wicked grin, already unzipping her jacket. "Black assassin chic? I love it."
Lisa snatched hers eagerly. "Hell yes! Finally, sothing that doesn’t sll like swamp ass. Thank you, Dexter!"
Mira took hers more slowly—fingers brushing the material like she was afraid it might vanish. The fabric was impossibly soft yet strong, cool against her palm, the black so deep it seed to absorb light.
"Thank you..." she murmured, voice soft, almost shy. But her eyes flicked up to mine—lingering a second too long—before dropping back to the outfit. "These are... beautiful."
Angela was already stripping without a shred of modesty—jacket off, bra unclasped, letting her heavy tits bounce free before she peeled off the dirty pants.
Cum-streaked panties ca last; she stepped out of them with a theatrical sigh, letting them drop to the stone with a wet slap. "God, finally. These new ones better not get ruined in five minutes..." She shot a teasing wink. "Though knowing you, husband, they probably will."
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