We moved to the dining room together. I sat between my parents, the sa seat I had occupied since I was a child. Victoria imdiately took charge, her eyes soft with maternal affection as she began piling food onto my plate with generous, loving portions.
"Eat more, Dexter. You look like you’ve lost weight," she said, placing another thick slice of salmon on my plate, followed by a generous scoop of mashed potatoes and a ladle of soup. "You’ve been working too hard lately, haven’t you? Don’t think I don’t notice."
I felt utterly pampered — cared for in a way no harem mber, no matter how devoted or broken by pleasure, could ever replicate. This was different. This was pure, unconditional love from the woman who had brought into the world.
Even my usually reserved father joined in, pushing the basket of warm bread toward with a small smile. "Your mother is right. You’ve been gone too much these days. Eat properly while you’re ho."
I smiled sweetly at both of them, the expression soft and genuine. To my mom and dad, nothing had changed. In their eyes, I had simply co ho after a normal day — maybe a little tired, a little emotional, but still their son.
They had no idea I had died screaming in another man’s house, awakened in the Stone Age with a perverted system grafted to my soul, built an empire of won through sheer dominance and lust, and just hours ago torn open the fabric of ti and space with God Speed to witness my own murder and cover-up.
For them, I had never left.
But for ... I had been away for so long. Centuries of subjective ti compressed into brutal, filthy, exhilarating years. I had fucked queens and slaves, tad beasts, broken minds and bodies, and beco sothing far beyond human.
Yet sitting here, watching my mother fuss over my plate with that worried-yet-proud look in her eyes, feeling my father’s quiet, steady presence across the table — it all ca rushing back.
The distance I had traveled made this mont infinitely sweeter.
I ate slowly, savoring every bite. The flavors exploded on my tongue — rich, comforting, perfectly seasoned — nothing like the primitive als or system-bought luxuries I had grown used to. Every ti my plate dipped even slightly, my mother was there, adding more food with gentle insistence.
"You used to love this mushroom soup when you were little," she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of nostalgia as she refilled my bowl. "You’d ask for seconds and thirds until your stomach hurt. Rember?"
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I rember, Mom."
She reached over and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from my forehead, her touch warm and familiar. "Then eat well tonight. No rush to go anywhere."
My father watched us both with quiet amusent, occasionally chiming in with light conversation about business and city matters, but mostly letting the comfortable silence settle between us.
The clink of silverware, the soft hum of the air conditioner, and my mother’s occasional loving scolding created a bubble of peace I hadn’t felt in what seed like forever.
As I ate, a quiet realization settled deep in my chest.
No matter how powerful I had beco — no matter how many won had knelt before , broken and dripping, begging for my cock — no matter how easily I could bend ti and reality with a single thought, this simple family dinner, this unconditional pampering, this pure feeling of being soone’s beloved son... it was sothing the Pervert Debauchery System could never replicate, never buy, never corrupt.
For the first ti since I had woken up in the Stone Age with that filthy system fused to my soul, I felt truly, deeply content.
And for tonight at least, I allowed myself to forget. Forget about Peter. Forget about Helena. Forget about the harem waiting for their master’s return across the folds of ti. Tonight, I was simply Dexter Williams — the son who had finally co ho.
After dinner, I excused myself and climbed the stairs to my old bedroom. The mont I stepped inside, a wave of nostalgia crashed over . Everything was exactly as I had left it — the king-sized bed with its dark sheets, the sleek desk in the corner still covered with old notebooks, the large window overlooking the garden. Even the faint scent of my childhood cologne lingered in the air.
I closed the door softly behind and lay down on the bed, staring up at the familiar ceiling. For a long mont, I simply breathed.
Then my thoughts drifted to Helena.
That greedy, beautiful slut whose tight asshole had cost my life. I didn’t know what Peter would do to her now. Would he kill her, too? Would he keep her as a terrified, blackmailed toy? The uncertainty gnawed at .
I couldn’t leave it like this.
With a single focused thought, I activated God Speed.
The vortex of ti and space roared to life inside my chest once again. The domain expanded instantly around , slowing the entire world to a glacial crawl. Dust particles froze mid-air. The distant sound of my parents talking downstairs stretched into low, drawn-out hums.
I leaped out of the window in a blur, my body moving so fast that the glass didn’t even have ti to register the motion. The night air beca a tunnel of streaking lights as I raced across the city, portals flickering at the edges of my vision like fleeting mories. In less than a heartbeat, I arrived at Helena’s upscale apartnt.
I slowed my domain just enough to remain invisible — a ghost riding the edge of hyper-speed — and slipped inside through the balcony door.
Helena was sitting on the living room sofa, trembling violently, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. She looked broken, terrified, nothing like the confident, cock-hungry woman who had once spread her ass for so eagerly.
Peter stood a few feet away, arms crossed, watching the late-night news on the large television. The anchor was talking about city traffic and weather — nothing about a missing person or a car crash yet.
"There’s still no news about his death," Peter muttered, voice cold and irritated. "Looks like we have to wait till morning."
He turned toward Helena, his expression dark and threatening.
"Rember this, bitch," he snarled, pulling out his phone and waving it at her.
"I already have the video of you cleaning up his blood. If you say even one word to anyone, I’ll pin the entire murder on you. They’ll believe — the husband — over so whore who was fucking her lover behind my back. Keep your mouth shut, and you might live."
Helena flinched at his words, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. She nodded weakly, too scared to speak.
Peter gave her one last disgusted look before turning and walking into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
User Comments
0 comments from readers