Gathering Wives with a System

Isaac’s skin flushed a deep, living blood-red. His hair bled pure white, height increased a fraction; and his muscles first swelled then compressed into dense, cable-taut lines. Charm spiked to a suffocating degree. Celestial Kitsune pheromones rolled off him in invisible waves while Crown Devil’s innate allure layered on top. Golden light flooded his irises as another Celestial Kitsune trait locked into place.

"Don’t move," he ordered.

Both women froze. The command sank into them like hooks. Catherine’s high Spirit stat should have given her a chance, yet the King of Desire skill grew stronger the more the target desired him. She was as helpless as Celia.

Isaac leaned over them.

"You two really thought it would be fun to drug me, lock me in a chair, and let me feel my master’s mouth on my cock?" he asked with a smile that was not a smile. "Since you decided to cross the line first, you both need to be punished."

He slid a hand between Celia’s thighs and another between Catherine’s. Two fingers, slow, deep, deliberate, pushed into each of them without warning. Celia’s walls were already slick; Catherine’s clenched tight around the intrusion. He curled his fingers, found the spots that made their hips jump, and began to stroke.

Celia’s breath hitched. "I-Isaac—ah—"

He ignored her, working both women with the same merciless rhythm. Wet sounds filled the room. Celia’s thighs trembled first. Her back arched, a broken moan spilling out as her pussy clamped down and gushed around his fingers. He continued as her climax peaked, drowning her in pleasure.

Catherine was close behind. Her hips rolled, seeking more. Just as her walls began to flutter he withdrew completely.

"Nngh—!" Catherine’s protest was sharp.

He gave them only a few breaths before driving back in. Celia came again faster this time, a louder, wetter release that soaked his hand and the sheets. Catherine was denied a second time, left shaking on the edge with a frustrated, needy sound.

Again. And again.

Celia’s body grew hypersensitive; every new thrust of his fingers dragged another orgasm out of her until she was panting, eyes glassy, thighs slick with her own fluids. Catherine remained denied, her breathing ragged, lower lip caught between her teeth, a fine tremor running through the muscles of her abdomen each time he pulled away.

Only when both of them were reduced to trembling, pleading wrecks did he slow.

"Please... Please, just—fuck me—" Celia’s voice cracked.

"Isaac... enough teasing," Catherine said. Her pride still held, but the tremor in her eyes betrayed her.

He looked at Catherine first.

"You are getting nothing tonight. That is your punishment. You will watch me fuck Celia until she forgets how to form words. But neither I nor you will touch yourself," he commanded, using his skill.

"What kind of punishment is that supposed to be?" she asked lightly. Her lips curved into a smile, but the faint tremor in her gaze did not vanish.

Isaac did not answer. He dragged Celia down the bed by the hips, spread her thighs wide, and lined himself up. The head of his shaft—thick, flushed dark, already glistening—pressed against her entrance. She was tight even after the fingering. He pushed in with one continuous, ruthless thrust.

"Hyaaagh—!"

Celia’s eyes flew wide. Her back bowed clean off the mattress. The stretch was brutal; his current self was big for her frame. Her walls fluttered and clenched in panicked pulses around the sudden intrusion.

Isaac gave her no time to adjust. He hooked her knees over his arms, pinned her open, and began to pound her in deep, heavy strokes that bottomed out every time. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. Celia’s voice broke into broken, high-pitched noises of half-moan, half-sob.

"Ung—! Hiiik—! T-too deep—ah, ah, ah—!"

He only drove harder. Each thrust forced a fresh gush of slick around his shaft. Her breasts bounced with the force; her mouth hung open, tongue visible, eyes starting to roll. When he angled upward and ground against the front wall she came with a sharp, wordless cry, pussy spasming violently. He fucked her straight through it, never slowing.

Celia’s hands scrabbled at the sheets, then at his arms, then simply hung limp. The only sounds left were the filthy wet rhythm of his shaft plunging into her and the broken, animal noises spilling from her throat.

"Hnnn... hiik... aahhh—!"

Catherine lay exactly where he had left her, watching, the tremor in her eyes growing more pronounced with every thrust that made Celia’s body jerk and twitch.

Isaac suddenly slowed. The brutal pace dropped to a deep, deliberate grind. Celia’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused, still half-lost in the haze. He leaned over her, golden gaze dark and cold.

"How did that feel? Good, right? Do you want to feel even better?" he asked with a smile.

The words cut through the fog. Celia’s gaze focused enough to meet his. The look in his eyes sent a cold spike of realization through her. They should never have pushed him this far. Her lips parted, but only a shaky breath came out.

Isaac did not wait for an answer. Telekinetic pressure settled over her swollen clit and began to stroke it in slow, precise circles while his shaft continued its lazy, deep thrusts. Celia’s hips twitched. A fresh gush of slick coated him.

Then he stopped completely. Shaft buried to the hilt, telekinesis gone.

Celia’s body reacted on its own. Her hips rolled, grinding against him in small, desperate circles. The friction felt too good; she could not make herself stop even under his amused stare.

"Please..." she whispered, voice cracked. "Move... please—"

"Call yourself my bitch. Then I’ll move," Isaac said, watching her with faint amusement.

Shock flickered across her face. Before she could form a refusal, he pulled back and slammed forward once, and buried himself deep.

"Hyaaagh—! Ungh—! Hiik—!"

He pulled out entirely, leaving her empty and clenching around nothing. Slick stretched between them in thin, glistening threads.

"I’ll make you feel even better if you call yourself my bitch," he said.

Celia’s teeth sank into her lower lip. Pride warred with the aching emptiness for only a second. Then she whispered it, barely audible.

"...I’m your bitch."

Isaac drove back in to the root.

"Hnnn—! Aahh—! Hiik—!"

He fucked her in earnest again, heavy strokes that forced the air from her lungs. Celia’s voice broke into a stream of broken, vulgar confessions between the animal sounds.

"I’m—hiik—your bitch—ungh—your cock-hungry bitch—aahhh—use me—please—fill your bitch—!"

Her walls clamped down hard. A fresh gush of fluid soaked his shaft and the sheets as she came, body arching, eyes rolling. A few seconds later Isaac buried himself as deep as he could go and followed her over the edge, thick pulses of cum flooding her.

He held there until the last spurt finished, then pulled free. Semen immediately began to leak from her well-used, slightly gaping pussy, trailing down toward the sheets in slow, heavy drips.

Isaac turned his head.

Catherine’s eyes were locked on his still-hard, glistening cock. Her breathing was uneven, chest rising and falling quickly. Her hands hovered uselessly near her own dripping entrance and stiff nipples, fingers twitching with the desperate need to touch, yet the command held them frozen in place.

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