Evil MC's NTR Harem

Chapter 1235: Chapter 1235 Defence

Bella shattered a second time, body jerking like she’d been electrocuted, a fresh flood soaking the sheets beneath her ass.

Jenny followed seconds later—mouth open in a silent scream, hips bucking wildly, pussy clamping so tight Ross had to grit his teeth to keep control.

When they finally collapsed—limp, boneless, breaths coming in shallow gasps—he pulled out and finished across them both.

Thick ropes painted their stomachs, their tits, the hollows of their throats.

They didn’t move to wipe it away; they barely twitched.

For long minutes the only sounds were their uneven breathing and the faint wet drip of everything they’d lost onto the ruined bedding.

Bella’s eyes fluttered shut first. Jenny’s head lolled to the side, lips parted, a thin line of drool escaping.

Both women lay utterly spent—thighs quivering, pussies swollen and flushed dark, glistening trails of their own release streaking inner thighs and pooling beneath them.

Ross watched them for a moment, chest still rising and falling hard.

Then he dropped down between them, one arm slung possessively over each waist, and let the heavy silence settle.

They were done.

Drained.

Completely fucking wrecked.

But who was Ross if not utterly, shamelessly relentless?

He didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

The bedroom door remained locked from the inside for seven straight days and nights—no exceptions, no reprieve.

The outside world—the rest of the base, the missions, the chain of command—simply vanished.

Food trays appeared silently through a slot in the door at odd hours: cold cuts, bread, fruit, energy bars, bottles of water.

They ate like starved beasts—half-naked or completely bare, sitting cross-legged on the wrecked mattress or leaning against the wall, swallowing bites between groping hands and urgent kisses.

Bathroom breaks were lightning-fast: a quick piss, a splash of water on overheated skin, maybe a hasty rinse under the showerhead if someone remembered hygiene existed—then Ross would haul one or both women back by the wrist, the ankle, the hair, and the cycle would restart.

No condoms. Never. Not once.

Ross fucked them raw, bare, skin on skin, and every time he came, he buried himself to the hilt and unloaded deep inside their pussies.

Thick, hot pulses that filled them until it overflowed—creamy white leaking out around his shaft with every slow withdrawal, dripping down their ass cracks, streaking their inner thighs, pooling on the sheets beneath them.

By day two the bedding was already a disaster zone: dark wet patches, sticky smears, the unmistakable scent of semen mingling with their own arousal and sweat.

By day four the room smelled like nothing else—pure, concentrated sex: musk, cum, feminine slickness, the faint iron tang of overworked bodies.

Their moans became the base’s unofficial alarm system.

They echoed through the thin metal walls and down the corridors—unfiltered, shameless, growing louder and more broken as the days wore on.

Bella’s high-pitched, keening wails when Ross pinned her knees to her chest and hammered her cervix until she squirted around his cock.

Jenny’s deep, animalistic groans when he took her from behind, one hand clamped over her mouth while the other bruised her hip, pounding until her legs shook and she begged into the pillow.

The way their voices layered when he had them stacked: Bella flat on her back, legs spread wide; Jenny straddling her hips face-to-face, their slick, cum-stuffed pussies grinding together while Ross alternated thrusts—deep into one, then the other—making both women shudder and cry out in broken harmony.

The entire base heard it.

Whispers spread in the mess hall:

“They’re still going.”

“Seven fucking days.”

“You can smell it in the hallway.” Someone started calling Ross’s quarters “the fuck bunker.”

Others avoided that wing entirely, faces burning when they passed by and caught a fresh crescendo of moans or the rhythmic thump of the headboard. No one knocked. No one dared interrupt what was clearly a claiming in progress.

Inside, the days blurred into one endless, feverish loop.

Ross fucked them in every configuration he could invent:

Bella riding him reverse cowgirl while Jenny knelt between his legs, tongue flicking over his balls and the stretched lips of Bella’s pussy as he pumped up into her.

Jenny bent over the small desk, ass high, Ross railing her from behind while Bella lay beneath on her back, licking Jenny’s clit and catching the drips of cum that leaked out every time Ross pulled back.

Both women on their knees side by side, faces down, asses presented—Ross switching between them, thrusting deep, holding still when he came so they could feel every spurt coating their insides.

Stacked again and again: one woman on bottom, the other on top, pussies pressed together in a slippery, obscene slide while he alternated holes—pulling out of one dripping cunt to plunge straight into the next.

He came inside them constantly. Multiple times a day.

Sometimes three, four loads per woman before he’d even soften.

Their pussies stayed perpetually full—swollen, flushed dark red, glistening with a constant mix of their arousal and his seed.

When he pulled out, thick ropes would ooze out immediately, sliding down their thighs in slow, viscous trails.

Bella started keeping her legs closed after he finished just to trap it inside longer; Jenny would clench and push some back in with trembling fingers, moaning at the filthy fullness.

By day five their bodies showed the toll:

Bella’s inner thighs were a lattice of finger-bruises, bite marks, and dried cum streaks that never quite washed away.

Her pussy lips stayed puffy and parted even when she wasn’t being fucked—permanently gaping slightly from constant use.

Jenny’s ass bore overlapping handprints in shades of red and purple; her lower back arched permanently from being bent and pounded so often.

Both women moved like they were floating in exhaustion—limbs heavy, eyes glassy and half-lidded, voices cracked hoarse from screaming.

Yet every time Ross hardened again—cock thick, veined, still slick from their combined mess—they opened for him without hesitation.

Legs parting, hips tilting up, soft whimpers escaping as he slid back in, bare and relentless.

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