Chapter 169: Witchy Fun ( R18 )

Willow watched the exchange with a knowing, almost maternal smile as the witches’ relief washed over them in a palpable wave.

She saw the way Jax’s gaze softened when he saw what the Witches had been working on for him, and the way his posture relaxed from that of a king assessing a tribute to a man accepting a heartfelt gift. Her work here was done. The initial welcome, the grand reveal, was her domain.

What came next was theirs. She knew what would happen, and was eager to hear all the stories from her Witches when this was over.

“Alright, you hooligans,” she called out, her voice light but carrying an undeniable note of finality, “He’s all yours. Try not to break him. Or the new furniture. The latter is more expensive.”

She gave Jax a final, lingering look, a silent promise of ’later’, before turning and walking back towards the path, her robes whispering against the glowing moss.

She didn’t look back, leaving the clearing to the electric anticipation of the dozens of witches and the one man they had all been waiting for eagerly since the last time Jax was in this dimension.

The moment Willow was gone, the atmosphere shifted. The formal, slightly anxious energy dissolved, replaced by a thick, palpable lust that hung in the air like perfume.

All of the Witches immediately closed in around Jax, a sea of soft bodies, eager hands, and shimmering eyes locking onto his body.

“Time for some fun,” Jax repeated, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the very ground. The simple phrase was the spark that ignited the tinder.

“Come with us, my King,” one of the older witches, a woman with silver hair braided with glowing runes, said, her voice a husky command.

She took his hand with a very confident touch

Another witch took his other arm, a younger one with vibrant purple hair, and soon he was being escorted, mobbed and guided, towards the grand entrance of the living estate.

They led him through the breathtaking main hall, its high vaulted ceiling arching like the ribs of a great beast, the mana conduits in the crystal roof pulsing with a soft, inviting light. They didn’t pause to admire the architecture, however. Their destination was clear.

They ascended a grand, spiraling staircase woven from living branches, their hands never leaving him, stroking his arms, his back, his chest, as if reassuring themselves that he was truly here.

They arrived at a set of immense double doors carved from the heart of a ironwood tree. The doors swung open silently, revealing the master bedroom. It was a cavernous, circular room, the far wall a seamless curve of crystal looking out over the bioluminescent gardens.

The floor was covered in a mosaic of soft, pelts from unknown magical creatures, and the centerpiece was a bed that was less a piece of furniture and more an altar. It was massive, circular, and piled high with what looked like clouds of spun silver and deep green moss.

The moment they were inside, the doors swung shut, sealed by a soft wave of mana from one of the witches. The outside world ceased to exist. There was only this room, this bed, and him.

The atmosphere became charged, a silent agreement passing between the sixty women. They began to undress.

It was not a hurried, clumsy process, but a deliberate, sensual ritual. Robes of every color and material, silks, linens, woven leaves, slipped from shoulders and pooled on the floor. One by one, they revealed themselves.

A breathtaking mosaic of feminine beauty. Skin in every shade, from pale moonlight to rich earth, dotted with glowing freckles or intricate tattoos of constellations and sigils.

Breasts of all shapes and sizes, some small and pert, others heavy and full, their nipples pebbling in the charged air.

Hips flared from toned waists, and between their legs, a garden of neatly trimmed curls or glistening, bare folds, all already slick with arousal.

As they undressed themselves, they descended upon him. Hands, dozens of them, began to work at Jax’s own clothing.

His coat was unfastened and pulled away, his tunic lifted over his head. Fingers traced the lines of his muscles, palms pressed flat against his chest, feeling the steady, powerful rhythm of his heart.

“My King,” a redhead with a constellation of freckles across her nose whispered, her lips brushing against the line of his jaw, “We’ve missed this, we’ve all missed you soo much,”

“Your scent,” another murmured, her face buried in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply. “We’ve dreamed of it.”

They worshiped him with their bodies. Soft lips pressed kisses against his shoulders, his biceps, his forearms. A witch with intricate vine tattoos down her back knelt, her tongue tracing a path from his navel downwards as she unbuckled his belt.

His trousers were pushed down, and he stood before them, naked and magnificent, his cock already hardening under their reverent attention.

A collective, appreciative sigh went through the room. They surrounded him, a press of warm, naked flesh.

Breasts pressed against his back and sides, soft bellies against his hips, thighs brushing against his own. Hands roamed freely, stroking his thighs, cupping his ass, one bold witch gently weighing his balls in her palm.

He was an anchor in a sea of desire, and they were all drawn to him.

“Please, my King,” a petite witch with large, doe-like eyes pleaded, looking up at him from where she knelt at his feetm “Please don’t hold back,”

“Fuck us,” another demanded, her voice husky with need as she ground herself against his thigh. “Like last time. Remind us who we belong to.”

Jax stood there and reached down, his hand cupping the chin of the kneeling witch, lifting her to her feet.

His gaze swept over them all, taking in their naked, aching forms, their desperate, pleading eyes. A slow, predatory grin spread across his face.

“As you wish,” he rumbled, his voice thick with promise, “Let’s begin.”

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