Chapter 455: Chapter 454- Three Musketeers

Her hand arrived at her own entrance.

Two fingers pressed to the swollen, seed-soaked lips of her pussy, and spread.

His seed leaked out in a slow, thick river.

Her other hand found her breast.

Squeezed.

She was fingering herself before she’d made any decision about fingering herself, the motion starting slow and becoming desperate in the space of three breaths, her hips rolling up to meet her own hand, her face twisting with the specific, helpless shame of a woman whose body has adopted new management.

“What is happening to me?”

She said it again. Louder. Her voice cracking on the last word.

Looking up at him.

He looked back.

He bit Rihana’s nipple.

Rihana: “AHN~—”

He bit Lira’s simultaneously.

Lira: “HNGH~—”

Both women’s hands on his cock clenched in reflex.

He looked at Gwen over both their heads and his mouth curved.

“Act like a bitch.”

The purple energy ’moved.’

Not from him — ’through the room.’ A pulse of it, warm and invasive, traveling the hut like a pressure wave and landing specifically, ’personally’ in Gwen’s chest.

Her body responded.

Her hips lifted.

She turned.

Her face went down to the mat. Her knees found the ground. Her hands moved back between her legs from behind, spreading herself in the specific, animal presentation of something operating entirely on instinct, and the sound that came out of her throat was not a word and was not a moan and was ’both.’

“Yes.” Her voice was a wreck. “I’m a bitch.”

She said it.

And then she sat up.

And blinked.

And looked at her own hands.

“What—” Her eyes went wide. “What just happened? Why did I—why did my body—”

His tail moved.

It had been retracting from Lira — slow, deliberate withdrawal — and now it crossed the hut floor in a smooth, unhurried arc.

Found Gwen’s entrance.

And drove in.

“AAANGHH~!!”

The vibration started immediately.

Gwen’s elbows hit the mat. Her face followed. Her hands clawed at the floor with the desperate grip of someone trying to find something solid while the entire floor has become frequency.

Her breast.

She noticed it first as warmth. Then pressure. Then ’leak’ — a single, thin bead of milk welling from her nipple and dropping to the mat below her.

Then another.

Then a thin, continuous stream.

Her eyes went wide.

“I’m—” She looked down at herself. At the milk tracking down the underside of her breast. “I’m leaking—”

’[System Notification]’

’Subject: Gwen — Elf Lineage’

’Lactation Initiated: Breeding bond response’

’Conception: Confirmed’

’Status: Wife Position — Designated’

The tail pulled out.

Gwen’s body gave one long, full-body convulsion and went limp — her hips dropping to the mat, her knees sliding out, her whole slim, milk-leaking, seed-soaked form simply ’collapsing’ in a graceful, helpless heap.

Viktor’s tail curled back to him.

He looked at her.

Then he moved — one smooth slide forward — grabbed her ankle, and ’dragged.’

Her breasts dragged across the mat beneath her.

Her face, turned sideways, left a wet smear.

She made no attempt to stop him.

She arrived at his feet with her cheek against the mat, her chest still leaking onto the wood, her eyes hazed and heavy and looking up at him with the specific, rearranged expression of someone who has just had their entire internal catalogue revised.

Viktor looked down.

“Your body needs more training.” He said it the way someone notes a project is ongoing. Conversational. “Doesn’t it.”

Gwen looked up at him.

At the horns. At the eyes. At the two women on either side of him with their hands still on his cock and their milk-damp skin and their own completely demolished expressions.

She looked at his cock.

She looked back at his face.

Her voice, when it came, was barely breath.

“Yes.” A pause. The tears were still running. She didn’t bother with them. “It does.”

A pause longer.

“…Master.”

’[System Notification]’

’All three wife positions: Designated’

’Rihana — Siren-Cow Hybrid: Confirmed’

’Lira — Bandit Bloodline: Confirmed’

’Gwen — Elf Lineage: Confirmed’

’Warning: Host recommended to rest before departure.’

’Current state of all subjects: Non-ambulatory’

’Estimated recovery time: 6–8 hours’

’Host recommendation: Let them sleep.’

He drank from both of them.

Not ceremonially. Not gently. He simply reached out — one hand behind Rihana’s head, one behind Lira’s — and pulled both women’s chests toward his face simultaneously, his mouth finding Rihana’s leaking nipple first, sealing over it and ’drawing.’

The milk came in a long, warm, forceful pull.

Rihana’s back arched.

“AHN~—”

He switched. Lira’s nipple — still sore from bite marks that hadn’t fully faded, the dark skin around it bruised in the specific pattern of his teeth — received his mouth with the same unreserved suction.

Lira made a sound she bit down on immediately and unsuccessfully.

“Ngh—”

The effect on his cock was immediate and visible.

Both women felt it against their palms — the shaft thickening, the ridges sharpening, the whole length going from heavy-resting to ’fully present’ in the time it took him to swallow — and both their grips adjusted automatically to accommodate the growth.

Rihana felt it first and her thumb stroked once along the underside, slow, approving.

Lira felt it and her jaw tightened and her hand did not stroke and also did not leave.

Viktor released both nipples.

Looked across the hut.

At Gwen.

She was on the mat where he’d left her — curled on her side, green hair fanned against the wood, her slim body bearing the complete record of the past six hours in bite marks and handprints and the slow, lazy leak of his seed from both her holes.

She was looking at his cock.

Her face had the expression of someone watching an approaching storm with the full knowledge that they are in the path of it and the shelter they were standing in has recently been demonstrated to be insufficient.

Her lower lip trembled.

Her eyes went soft.

’Sorrow.’ The specific, helpless, completely irrational sorrow of a body that had been thoroughly ruined and was already, against every reasonable instinct, ’missing’ the thing that had ruined it.

She looked up from his cock to his face.

He watched her.

She looked back down at his cock.

Her throat worked once.

She crawled forward.

Slowly. On hands and knees, her breasts hanging below her and swaying with the motion — the milk-leak from both nipples leaving thin, white dotted trails on the mat behind her — her green hair falling across her face as she moved.

She arrived at his lap.

Looked up at him once, through her hair, with those ruined, steady eyes.

Then opened her mouth.

Her tongue found the tip.

One long, flat stroke. Base to tip. The full length of him, from the root where Rihana’s and Lira’s hands met to the dark, swollen crown that had spent the last six hours doing things to her body she’d need months to finish processing.

She licked him.

Slowly. Carefully. The way you lick something you’ve been told belongs to you and are still learning the shape of.

Viktor closed his eyes.

Rihana and Lira looked at each other over his lap.

The look was brief and contained several things.

It said: ’his cock is telling us something.’

It said: ’I know.’

It said: ’you go first.’ — ’No, you.’ — ’I said you.’ — ’I outrank you.’ — ’That is not relevant here.’

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