Spren, The Creator

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You didn't know who she was. You didn't know who she was with. You didn't know where she was from. You knew practically nothing about her.

Except her name was Lily and she had the most stupidly sexy Aussie accent you'd ever heard.

You had met her that same day, around noon, during the set of a Tech House DJ you were a fan of. She turned out to be in the same area of ​​the audience that you had come to in search of getting a little closer to the stage, near the middle. The click was instantaneous.

At first you had been at a considerable distance from each other, only giving each other discreet glances between drops. That's where you noticed how hot that woman was, with those damn tight latex pants and that perfect belly. Her bust was moderate, but she didn't need much more. Not with that sexy look and that damn attractive nose.

The interest had been mutual; it had been evident by the way she looked back at you, subtle checks up and down, lip bites and small winks. By the time the set was over, she had already stood on her back right in front of you so you could dance with her, her lascivious ass against your bulge, her sweaty back against your chest.

The advances were constant, one after another. Light touches at first, then firmer grips, then caresses, then more brazen movements on her part to tease you. When you had least expected it, you had already kissed her with such fierceness that you had her moaning into your mouth.

Now, you knew it was serious when she started squeezing your cock through your pants. She did it at the most unexpected moments to catch you by surprise, and your way of responding was always to grab her ass. But she wanted more. You wanted more.

So there you went, straight to your festival tent, located rather towards the back, almost bordering on the forest beyond. It was one in the morning, and you both had a good amount of beers in your system. She was carrying an unopened one in her hand, in fact. You weren't surprised; the little you knew about her was that she was quite the party girl.

You walked in with her hand in hand and zipped up the tent behind you. Lily soon threw her arms around your neck and pressed herself against you, the cold beer can pressed against your upper back. In contrast, it was hot in there. Largely because of how horny you both were.

"Mmm, fucking finally huh?" she murmured hoarsely before crashing her lips against yours.

You immediately wrapped your arms around Lily's curvy, slightly fleshy body, one around her waist and the other across her back, accepting her lips in a desperate, disastrous kiss. The tent was large, with a padded floor and a high ceiling, allowing you to move comfortably with her to the center, near the mat where you later hoped to sleep with her.

A moan escaped Lily's mouth as you brought your face to her neck and, without a second thought, gave a long upward lick to her soft, sweaty skin, your hands gripping her waist tightly. Normally, at a festival, after hours and hours of sun and heat and sweat, you would be smelly and sticky. Not Lily. She continued to give off the same pleasant and addictive lavender aroma.

"My god, you're so fucking hot," you growled between kisses and hickeys on her neck and jaw. Now you had her by the ass, with strong grips that made her push against you. "You don't have a boyfriend, do you?"

"Of course not, idiot," she grumbled, reaching a hand inside your sweatpants to pull out your erect cock and stroke it. It was the hand she held the beer with, so it was cold and wet to the touch, the sensation amplified by the cold metal of his rings.

"Great" you returned to her lips, a few more slobbery kisses before looking into those deep black-lined eyes. "Although if I'm honest, if you had I wouldn't have given a damn."

"What a jerk."

"I'm serious," you now moved down her neck and collarbone, avoiding her choker and the gold necklace she was wearing. When you were on your knees in front of her, both hands on her wide hips, you looked into her eyes. "You could be wearing an engagement ring right now, woman, but I'd still fuck your brains out."

“Shut the fuck up and worship me,” she demanded, cupping your face with the same icy hand, her nails digging into your cheeks. "You've been pawing at my belly all day and drooling over it, haven't you? Fucking kiss me there. Go on."

Lily released your face with a gentle nudge, letting you bury yourself fully against her abdomen. So perfect. So soft. So deliciously gifted by the gods. You showered it with kisses, every single inch: her sides, right along her Adonis belt; her lower abs; all around her navel. Even the flesh of her waist, on either side, ended up soaked with your saliva.

With both hands on her hips, you spun her around abruptly so that her ass was now what lay right before your face. Your fingers worked quickly on the button of her latex pants and on her zipper, which you pulled all the way down before giving a sudden yank downward. The pants were already stupidly tight to begin with, but, compounded by the sweat, they clung so tightly to her skin that you had to pull them down inch by inch, hard, until they bunched up right at the tops of her thighs, forming a sexy ring of soft flesh spilling over the latex.

You left them right there. It was exactly what you needed, nothing more. Her ass lay exposed just inches from your face, round and lovely. She wore a pair of pretty black lace panties that left almost her entire buttocks bare. Before doing anything else, you gripped her thighs and let your lips roam over the soft flesh of her ass. Lily, watching you over her shoulder, lips parted and a faint blush rising in her cheeks, gasped with every little kiss.

"This is what you’ve wanted all day, isn't it?" Lily asked. The question made you smile as you slowly slid her panties down. "You haven't stopped staring and grabbing it all fucking day."

"And you haven't been able to stop rubbing it against my dick," you retorted. Lily’s panties ended up bunched around her thighs, sitting at the exact same level as her pants. She was soaked down there, you could tell even in the dim light of your tent. "We'll see how you get when I shove it in your mouth and fuck your throat."

"We're not talking about me, you punk."

As soon as she finished that sentence, Lily grabbed the hair at the back of your head and buried your face deep between her ass cheeks. Your mouth found the soft flesh of her slippery folds, slightly salty to the taste. The moan she let out was enough to drive any man wild. You explored her slit, thirsty. Your heavy breathing and hot breath warmed against her skin. There wasn't a single part of her pretty pussy that your tongue didn't stimulate.

You heard the unmistakable gaseous hiss of a beer can popping open.

You looked up.

"Fancy a coldie, party boy?"

You smirked. Just how freaky were you feeling on this particular day? Lily’s gaze, heavy with lust and a faint spark of mischief, gave you the answer: pretty damn freaky.

"Go on."

Lily didn't wait; she brought the beer can down to her lower back and poured the cold liquid right between her ass cheeks. The steady stream, cascading down her crack and dripping over her buttocks, met your lips. You lapped it up as best you could, all while your tongue worked away at her pussy. The tent floor was going to be a total disaster, but it was going to be worth every damn second.

Still not satisfied, Lily kept pouring the beer down her ass crack. With both hands cupping her ass, you devoted yourself completely to the task, drinking up as much as you could while squeezing and massaging her buttocks. It was a bit of a waste, considering the vast majority of the beer just ended up on the floor. But seriously, who the fuck cared?

The beer can went empty; you heard Lily toss it into a corner of the tent.

"I hope that was delicious, you bastard," she growled. Her grip remained on the back of your neck, tighter now. Her fingernails dug into your scalp as you continued to devour her. "I could have just drunk that myself."

"You’ve already had like six of those. One more wouldn't make a difference."

You spread Lily's ass cheeks apart and, with determination, let your tongue work faster. Your focus was her clit. Lily squealed with pleasure, and it wasn't long before she thrust her hips against your face as she reached her climax.

"Ohhh shit!" Lily moaned, smothering you with her ass, her thighs trembling. "You really were hungry for that pussy, huh?"

You pulled away and sprang to your feet, grabbed Lily by the waist, and delivered a stinging slap to her right ass cheek. The red mark appeared instantly.

The truth was, you were horny as hell. You weren't even thinking straight when, with a single yank, you pulled your sweatpants and boxers down to your calves, spat in your hand to lube up your cock, and buried it deep inside the best pussy you’d ever had in your damn life.

"Nnnngh, you son of a bitch!" she growled.

Lily, still with her knees slightly bent, instinctively bent her upper body downward, desperately searching for something to grab onto while you remained buried inside her, balls-deep. She only managed to find one of your wrists. Her other arm hung limply beneath her.

The lascivious, wet sounds of sweaty flesh slapping together took over the tent. Your thrusts were wild, each one sending your glans slamming against her cervix and making that sexy flesh jiggle like jelly. She was wet as hell. Every inch of your veiny cock slid slickly in and out of her. Lily struggled to keep her balance amidst all the shaking, the movement of her legs restricted by the way her pants remained (and would continue to remain) bunched up around her thighs. Her moans, more screams than anything else, vied for acoustic space.

You gave her no respite, not even for a second, blinded by lust and perhaps a little by the eight beers coursing through your blood. With a growl, you grabbed her by the forearms, yanked her arms back, causing her back to arch, and pumped your hips in an animalistic frenzy until Lily came with a sharp, strangled cry.

"God! I drive you fucking crazy, don't I?" Lily looked back at you over her shoulder, her face twisted in pleasure, her thighs and hips still writhing. "Is that why you're fucking me like a filthy whore?"

You yanked yourself abruptly out of her, released her arms, and let her drop to her knees. Lily followed you with her eyes as you circled around her, grabbed a handful of her long platinum hair, and forced your cock deep into her mouth. She sucked you hard, tasting her own pussy through you, slurping up the very saliva she left behind.

"Oh yeah, be a filthy whore and suck that cock," you growled, your grip firm on her hair.

Lily wrapped three fingers around the base, holding your cock straight as she diligently pumped the head at a steady rhythm, gagging each time her lips brushed against her own fingers. You landed a sharp slap against her cheek, making her moan with your flesh still inside her, then grabbed your cock and pulled it out of her mouth.

"Mmm, how would it bother you to smudge that pretty eyeliner just a little bit?" you asked, tapping your cock against her outstretched tongue.

"Minus fucking two," she said, rubbing herself against your shaft, using her beautiful aquiline nose to trace its length. "You can throat-fuck me, spit on me, slap me, choke me. Fuck, get me pregnant if you feel like it."

"Alright, well, we'll draw the line at that last one."

Lily laughed, maintaining an amused expression even as you shoved your cock back into her mouth. You thrust straight down to the bottom, both hands cupping the back of her head. The teasing smirk vanished from her face. She scrunched up her nose and gagged around you. A trickle of saliva spilled down past her lower lip.

"That's it, choke on it, bitch," you growled through clenched teeth, driving her head against your pelvis.

More saliva dripped onto the floor. You held her there for several long seconds, and then, instead of letting her breathe, you started pumping your hips. Fast, deep thrusts. Your balls slammed against her chin with every stroke. More and more saliva. Lily locked eyes with you as tears began to well up in her own. These soon slid down her cheeks.

It took a good number of thrusts to keep her crying. With a triumphant smile, you finally stopped when the black eyeliner ran beneath her eyes, merging with her tears. You pulled out of her mouth with a sharp tug. Lily gasped for air, a complete mess; her entire mouth and chin were smeared with thick saliva, which dripped straight down into the cleavage of her top and onto her thighs.

You delivered a sharp slap to her cheek just as she was trying to catch her breath. A moan escaped her lips.

"Happy?" you asked.

Lily raised her eyes and met your gaze.

"Not until you make my pussy absolutely dripping wet," she declared in a faint voice. "And when I say dripping... I mean really dripping. I want to turn your damn tent into a swimming pool."

Fuck.

You immediately dropped to your knees and laid her flat on her back. She couldn't spread her legs, not even a couple of centimeters. Your only option—and one you didn't complain about in the slightest—was to press both of her knees up against her torso. Lily held her legs in place, gripping them behind the knees with both arms. Her pussy, squeezed tight between her thighs, made your mouth water.

You drove your cock inside her with a forceful thrust. Her pussy was so slick that the smooth motion made you gasp.

With your hands on her thighs, fingers digging firmly into her soft flesh, you began to fuck her pussy with deep, reckless thrusts. Lily’s back arched. With her eyes closed, she parted her lips, doing nothing but panting. Every now and then, a sensual moan escaped her.

"Fuuuuck!" Lily growled, her fingernails digging into the latex of her pants so hard that she actually punctured it slightly. "So fucking good, oh my god... oh my god, oh my god!"

You leaned forward, bracing your fists against the tent canvas on either side of her arms, and transitioned into an up-and-down motion, slamming her pussy against the floor. Lily lost her breath with the first few thrusts, but then managed to regain her breathing and looked up at you. Her smudged eyeliner had left dark streaks across her cheeks.

"Yes, yes, yes," she moaned. "Pound me, you fucking punk. Pound me hard!"

Lily came with a primal growl just seconds later. As her thighs trembled, her pussy made a soft squelching sound with every one of your thrusts. You felt a tiny spurt of warm liquid splash against your shaft. It wasn't enough, and you knew it. You continued, relentless. You moved her arms away from around her legs and replaced them with your upper torso, pinning her between yourself and the ground.

Finally, you were forced to pull out of her when she came so hard that, this time, a jet of fluid shot upward, splashed against your abdomen, and trickled back down.

"Just like that, fuck!" Lily shrieked, so ecstatic that her cheeks were flushed with a blush that spread all the way down to her chest. "You’re a fucking marvel!"

The way she said it burrowed into your brain and sent tingles through you. With that sexy accent of hers. That alluring way she rolled her R’s and emphasized her L’s.

God, you were starving for her.

You laid her down on her side and kept fucking her, her knees pressed against her torso, one hand on her fleshy waist, and the other right where the latex bunched up against the flesh of her thighs. You brought her to climax two more times like that, resulting in two more spurts of squirt. The first one stronger than the last.

True to her word, Lily had turned your tent into a goddamn swamp. The entire floor between your legs was soaked. Little rivulets branched out from the main pool, spreading toward the sides. She was breathing in ragged gasps, completely overstimulated. Her long, platinum hair was a total mess. There were fresh tears in her eyes. She was just as sweaty as you were.

"As obsessed as I am with how you look trapped inside those pants, I’m starting to want to see a little more of you," you said.

"I couldn't agree more," Lily panted.

It was a struggle to get her pants off, given how tightly they clung to her skin, but within a few minutes, you managed to strip her completely naked. You undressed yourself as well. Then, you climbed on top of her and spent a good while just kissing her, letting your hands explore every inch of her body until she guided you back inside her.

You fucked her missionary-style, then on your sides, sucking and licking her modest yet full breasts, and you even let her ride you. The mess from a moment ago didn't repeat itself, but you could tell from her gaze that each orgasm was triggering an increasingly severe short circuit in her brain.

About half an hour later, when you felt you’d reached the point of no return on your way to climax, and just as Lily was riding out another orgasm, she grabbed your chin and made you look her in the eye.

"Fuck my ass," she murmured. "Raw. I don't care if it doesn't fit all."

"Are you sure? Have you done this before?"

"I didn't ask you to interrogate me about my sex life. I asked you to fuck my ass." Lily turned around and got onto her hands and knees, her ass thrust up toward you, mere centimeters from the ground. "Now."

Well, who were you to refuse?

You quickly rose onto your knees behind her, placed a hand on her waist to steady her, and, after a bit of preliminary lubrication courtesy of your own saliva, pressed your glans against her asshole. Lily hissed in pain at first, but her walls eventually yielded. Only partially, though; you only managed to get about half your shaft inside. Any deeper became painful for her.

It was perfectly enough for you. You planted a foot on the ground, gripped her by the hips, and began thrusting up and down. You both had an absolutely fucking amazing time, moaning almost in unison against the backdrop of the festival’s roar and the activity in the surrounding tents. Lily’s ass ended up bright red with hand marks. Her hair? A tangled mess. Her body? Dripping with sweat.

You had her held fast by her choker, pulling back and half-choking her, when you felt the tingling sensation in your lower body.

"I'm going to cum inside you," you growled, clenching your teeth. You were certain the veins were bulging in your temples. "I'm going to fill your fucking ass."

"Then fill my fucking ass," Lily growled back, the right side of her face pressed against the bottom edge of your mat, her arms tucked underneath it. She was already melting with pleasure; her brain must have felt like mush, her head clouded by lust. "That is, after all, why I’ve been messing with your head all day."

"Would you have done this with just any other good-looking guy?" you asked.

"Why lie to you?" A mocking smile formed on her face. "Probably. You were just in the right place at the right time."

"What a fucking bitch." You yanked harder on her choker, making her gasp for air. "Fuck, mmph!"

Lily laughed faintly again, closing her eyes as she felt the first thick gush of semen flood her tight cavity. She tried to moan, but only a soft breath escaped her lips. You filled her up like a goddamn cream pie, throbbing deep inside her. Before long, the cum began to spill over the edges.

You released the choker, allowing her breathing to return to normal. Very slowly, you pulled out of her, stepped back, and admired your handiwork: her dilated ass, brimming with thick whitish fluid that trickled down her cleft, ran through the folds of her pussy, and dripped onto the floor.

You delivered one last hard smack to her ass, sending her tumbling onto her side. Lily looked up at you.

"Don't take that last thing I said to heart..." she murmured. "My expectations were actually pretty low. I actually like you."

"...Thanks?" You went to lie down beside her, sweaty, exhausted, and with aching knees. "Shall we sleep?"

A dry, sharp laugh made you look at her with a frown. She met your gaze.

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"Mr. Duplantier, please raise your head."

A heavy breath escaped your nostrils as you obeyed the order. You stared at the high ceiling. Thierry, your butler for as long as you could remember, and also your tailor, was adjusting the collar of your three-piece tuxedo, made of vicuña wool, silk, and you had no idea what the hell else. Frankly, you didn't care. You never had.

You were in the main foyer on the second floor of your family residence in Le Roucas-Blanc, standing on a small circular platform. In front of you, a large window opened onto the private terrace, overlooking the tranquil and beautiful Mediterranean Sea off the coast of Marseille. The sun was setting on the horizon, painting the sky in intense shades of red and orange.

"I really don't want to attend that gala, Thierry," you said quietly, clenching your fists nervously.

"I know you don't want to, but you have no other choice, sir," he replied. His voice was velvety and deep. "Your father is counting on you."

You sighed and lowered your head when Thierry allowed you to. The man, well into his seventies, with long, graying hair, took his time bending down and adjusting the hem of your trousers. It was understandable that his body wasn't in its prime anymore. Not like you remembered it ten years ago, when he used to chase you around the residence to scold you for your mischief. Back then you were happier, of course, because you didn't know what it truly meant to be the heir to such a vast fortune, nor all the pressure that rested on your shoulders.

"He's counting on me, but he doesn't care how I feel," you spat out, your gaze lost in the soothing sea.

“That’s nonsense, my young sir,” Thierry straightened with a grunt and draped the handkerchief he’d used to polish your shoes over his left shoulder. “Your father loves you. I know because I’ve known him for forty years.”

“What kind of love is it to force your son to attend silly galas and social events? He knows I’m a disaster.”

“They are your duties, sir,” Thierry remarked, now adjusting your sleeves. “Whether you like it or not. And you’re not a disaster. In fact, you’re a great man with a big heart.”

“That’s no good when you’re terrified in a large enough crowd,” you retorted. “Do you think an heir can be this awful at social events? What will the investors think of me?”

“You don’t need to be a social butterfly to be a good heir, Mr. Duplantier,” Thierry said, turning his back on you and taking a small trunk from the fold-out table he always used for occasions like this. “The stability of your family will be measured by how you perform behind your desk. You don’t need to be friends with anyone.”

“My father would say that’s ridiculous,” you replied absently.

Thierry opened the small trunk. From inside, he took out a watch: the rose-gold Patek Philippe Complications you wore for special occasions. After placing the trunk back on the table, he approached, took your wrist, and looked you in the eye. His gaze was paternal. Intimate.

“With all due respect, Arno, you take what your father says far too seriously,” he said, his voice so measured that it eased your tension. "His way of seeing the world is very different from yours, for his path was taken under completely different circumstances. You already have the path laid out for you, and your only task, my young sir, is not to stray from it, whatever method you use to walk it."

The old man's words pulled you from your reverie. You remained thoughtful for a second, your gaze lowered. The anxiety that gnawed at you didn't disappear immediately, but you were able to see things from a different perspective. One that, perhaps, would serve as a mantra to which you could take refuge during difficult times.

It didn't solve all your problems, but it was a start.

Thierry adjusted the watch on your right wrist and lowered the sleeve of your tuxedo. Unfortunately, you were now ready to leave.

"Your driver is waiting for you downstairs," the old man said, taking a step back. "Allow me to accompany you, sir."

You nodded.

“Yes, of course,” you stepped off the small circular platform, let Thierry take the lead, and followed him.

The Rolls Royce Cullinan that always took you places was waiting outside, parked on the street. It was supposed to be yours, but you’d never actually driven it. Thierry walked beside you and opened the rear door for you when you reached the curb.

“I wish you the best of luck, sir,” Thierry said. “Everything will go well today. You’ll see.”

Your old butler wasn't one to break with formalities often, so it was up to you to break that barrier a little now and then. On this occasion, you did so by giving him a hug. Thierry didn't reject it, but he was careful not to wrinkle your tuxedo too much.

"Thank you, Thierry," you said softly, holding him tightly in your arms. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Thierry patted you on the back a couple of times.

"You're a strong lad. You would have managed."

After a few seconds, you stepped away from him, gave him one last appreciative nod, and got into the car. The driver started the engine seconds later.

By the time you arrived at your destination—about ten minutes later—it was already night in Marseille.

The car pulled up to the esplanade of the Palais du Pharo, built by Napoleon III in 1858. Outside, there were fewer journalists than you'd expected, but you noticed the place was packed inside. You weren't sure if so many people or such a large venue were really necessary to begin with, but wealthy people loved inviting other wealthy people, as well as their families. It was no wonder the crowd was so large.

Your driver got out and opened the door for you. After a deep breath, you stepped out of the car. Immediately, two men stood beside you: your bodyguards. You knew them both; these two in particular had been serving your family for three years. Mario on the left, Antoine on the right.

The sound of the Rolls Royce door closing behind you was drowned out by the flurry of camera shutters that erupted the moment you started walking. Thankfully, the press hadn't completely surrounded the esplanade. However, the few photographers keeping watch behind the barriers seemed to multiply with every passing second between flashes. You walked, feeling the lash of the Mistral breeze; a frigid, dry, salty air that stung your forehead and threatened to muss your hair.

It was downright torturous, but after suffering permanent damage to your damned retina from the flashes and turning down a few interviews—not you, really; Antoine was in charge of doing it for you—you reached the steps of the Palace. The enormous structure loomed ominously before you, like an imperial colossus made of limestone, bathed in amber light that highlighted its black mansard roofs.

You began to climb the steps, feeling the weight of the gazes of the newly arrived guests who turned, curious, to see how a bigger fish than themselves was making an appearance. It was no secret to you that you were rather unpopular with the elite. The only thing that reassured you, at least, was that the motives were purely superficial, since you had never actually done anything to anyone.

As you crossed the threshold, the port's chill gave way to a dense, dry air. The main hall stretched out beneath a black and white marble floor, a polished checkerboard pattern that reflected the gleam of the chandeliers on the ceiling. The walls, moreover, were paneled in dark oak halfway up, and the upper portion was upholstered in silk tapestries in pristine cream tones.

You ascended the interior stone staircase. Upon reaching the main floor, you entered the Salons Napoléoniens, a suite of interconnected rooms that formed the historic heart of the building, its walls adorned in white and gold. The wooden parquet floor led you to the Salon Eugénie, where the greatest number of important figures, and probably your father, would be found.

Of course, you weren't wrong.

Pascal Duplantier occupied the center of the long, rectangular room, beneath the main crystal chandelier, letting, as always, the flow of people orbit around him like his own personal asteroid belt. Behind him, through the immense arched windows, the lights of Fort Saint-Jean and the entrance to the Old Port were silhouetted against the black of the Mediterranean Sea.

Your heart raced for a split second. You tried to blend in and lose yourself among the guests, but he spotted you quickly. You stopped dead in your tracks. Your father's chin tensed slightly, then he bowed his head to his inner circle and walked toward you.

Standing just inches from you, Pascal placed a firm hand on your shoulder, almost a grip. One of the many ways he asserted his authority over you, forcing you to keep your shoulders straight.

"It’s good that you’re here, son," he said, giving your shoulder a light shake. "You look quite handsome. You’re wearing the..."

"The watch you gave me?" you cut him off. "Yes, of course."

A smile spread across his face from ear to ear.

"Splendid, because I have a couple of people I’d like to introduce you to."

Pascal stepped aside and gave you a gentle nudge to get you moving.

"But..."

Unwilling to accept any objections, your father steered you through the crowd until you reached one of the marble fireplaces at one end of the ballroom. A group of four people stood waiting in silence, observing your arrival with an uncomfortable and barely disguised scrutiny. You were forced to converse with them for a couple of agonizing minutes, but eventually—and once your father gave you leave—you managed to slip away.

The relief of escaping your father’s circle was immediate, yet you knew that your peace wouldn't last for very long. Sooner or later, someone was bound to approach you; it was always that way. And while it wasn't something that particularly bothered you, you preferred to speak with as few people as possible.

The gala was being held in this room as well as two others—one of which was larger and more centrally located. You headed there, toward the spacious bar that had been set up, politely greeting those who respectfully approached you. Some seemed eager to prolong the conversation, but you cut them all short with a wide array of excuses you had long since mastered.

"Just a sparkling water, please," you requested of the bartender, hands clasped behind your back, shoulders back, and posture straight. You might not have been the most eloquent of speakers, but you took pleasure in elegance and in maintaining proper etiquette.

It took the bartender just under a minute to hand you the small, wide glass. You cradled it between your fingers, letting the cold lower your pulse a little before taking a small sip. There were too many people there. They could pretend all they wanted that they weren't watching your every minuscule movement, but you weren't a fool; you knew when you were being judged.

And frankly, you didn't handle pressure very well.

You scanned the room with an eagle eye, searching for a place to slip away to.

There. All the windows facing the room's balcony were closed, save for one. Sparkling water in hand, you stepped away from the bar and made your way through the mass of guests. Of course, you didn't have to exert much effort, as people tended to part around you like a school of fish around a shark.

They let you out onto the balcony without any trouble. The change in the air was instantaneous, and the sea breeze blew once again, comforting against your face. You let out a deep exhale, took a sip of your water, and rested a hand on the balustrade, between two sculptures carved from the same limestone.

The beautiful garden stretching out before the palace and the cliff became the focus of your attention as you sank into your ruminations. Part of them revolved around Thierry’s words. The old butler was wise; you would never doubt that. But he couldn't truly understand how difficult it was for you to be there at that moment, wanting to jump off the balcony as if the building itself were on fire. It was frustrating, for you truly wished you could be better than that. An ideal heir, charismatic and...

Someone stepped out onto the balcony. You were no longer alone.

The sound of footsteps snapped you out of your reverie. Heels. Two pairs. Two women. You kept your gaze fixed on the horizon, relying on your peripheral vision to observe as two figures—clad in matching black dresses—settled at a moderate distance from you. You took a subtle step to the left, claiming that corner of the balustrade for yourself.

They began speaking in an Asian language. After listening for a few seconds, you realized it was Japanese. What on earth were two Japanese women doing in Marseille? Your father didn't have business partners on that side of the world—not that you knew of, anyway; just a couple of Chinese investors who hadn't even attended due to scheduling conflicts.

You didn't understand a single word, but the difference between the two of them was evident. One woman’s voice was colder, more reserved; she weighed every word carefully and relied on short, concise sentences. The other was far more expressive, faster-paced. It almost seemed as though she didn't process her thoughts before letting them tumble out of her mouth.

The reason you had come outside was to be alone; but if you weren't going to get that solitude anymore, what was the point of staying? You turned around—very slowly—and took...

The exchange between them ceased abruptly.

"Are you also going to escape from here, Arno?" one of them asked in perfect French, amused.

You stayed very still. Shit.

Not wanting to be rude, you slowly turned around until you were looking at them.

And for Christ's sake, they were both beautiful.

"Euh… excusez-moi?" you said.

The woman on the left, with skin as pale as a piece of white chalk, dark brown hair tied up in a ponytail and dressed in a tight black dress that hugged her toned figure with a blazer on, took a step forward, a subtle smile on her face,

"Excuse my friend, Monsieur Duplantier," she said, also in perfect French, her hands clasped on her belly. Her voice was deep, authoritative. "The fresh air makes her think out loud."

"It's okay," you said, and looked at them both. "Uhm... do I know you?"

"No, the truth is that you don’t have the honor," said the other woman, with her lower back leaning against the balustrade and a glass of wine in her hand. Her raven hair was long and shiny, with perfectly cut bangs and two strands of hair marking her round face on each side.

Her companion gave her a stern look, to which she responded by raising the glass to her lips to take a sip.

"Excuse her again," the pale woman insisted with a slight bow. "Allow me to introduce ourselves. I am Céliane Velyaro, director of procurement at Dumonra Holdings, and my assistant here is Noélie Tessara."

You frowned. Those weren’t exactly… Japanese names. In fact, they even sounded French. Who were these women?

"Ah… my pleasure," you nodded. "I'm Arno. Arno..."

"Duplantier," Noélie cut you off. "We know."

Céliane glared at her again, but instead of scolding her, she sighed.

"Dumonra Holdings, you say?" you asked. You didn't really know what to do with your hands considering that you were holding a glass in one, so you chose to carry them behind your back, tapping the floor with the top of your foot, avoiding direct eye contact. "It... rings a bell."

"That's fantastic!" Céliane said, her voice a little more spirited, but just as restrained. "I am pleased to know that our influence is beginning to extend beyond Oros. You see..."

There it was. Oros. Of course they were not Japanese. Actually, they weren’t French either.

"Where was Oros again?" you asked, more to yourself than to them. "It was the… east coast of the United States, right? Near New York?"

"You are correct."

You nodded slowly. Oros was probably one of the most important cities in the world in recent years. Many things reached the ears of the European Union, some certainly disturbing. But until now the relationship between the city-state and the rest of the political-commercial landscape had been predominantly cold. For now, you feared.

"Uhm... well, I hope you enjoy the evening. Thank you for coming."

"We're interested in your family business, Arno," Noélie was quick to say as you were about to go back inside.

You stopped in your tracks once again and let out a sigh. Seriously, they didn't realize you just wanted to run away?

"Those matters are handled by my father," you said, exhausted. "I'm afraid I have no power over the business."

Céliane's lips curved into a smile... somewhat ominous.

"Not yet," she replied.

"Yes, and that means I have no power to discuss these matters with anyone. With your permission..."

"Don't you feel suffocated, Arno?" Noélie asked, and for the first time, she moved away from the balustrade and stood close to you. "With unbearable pressure on your shoulders?"

You were unaware of the customs of the people of Oros, but in the rest of the world, Noélie was undoubtedly invading your personal space. She was looking at you closely, with a pair of round eyes and extremely attractive, full lips parted. You couldn't help but take a quick and sneaky look at her more than generous bust.

"I-I..."

"Would you accept a drink for us in a more... private place, Monsieur Duplantier?" Céliane asked.

"I-I already told you that I have no power over my family's business."

“No need,” Noélie said, and drank the rest of her wine, staring at you. "Not for the initial phases, at least. But don't worry, our kind is quite... patient."

"Ah, of course... well, I would love to attend to you, but I have other pending matters. It will have to be for another..."

“Stop lying, please,” Céliane said, standing in front of you, hands clasped in front of her, her posture straight. "You have no business to attend to other than to keep running from corner to corner away from people. Instead, what I offer you is a private place where, instead of having to put up with hundreds of people, you will only have to put up with two. Don't you think that's a lot better?"

"Besides, you just have to listen to us," Noélie added. "I'd say it's in your best interest to do so."

You looked at them both briefly in the eyes. Damn, they were right: what better opportunity were you going to have to have a break, at least in the company of two strangers? Besides, it wasn't going to do you any harm to lend your ears for a little while, no more than what you suffered in there.

Right?

"Alright," you sighed. "But make it quick, please."

Céliane smiled without showing her teeth.

"Don't worry, we won't be a bother to your precious time, Monsieur," she assured.

"Not as long as you're cooperative," Noélie added, more quietly, her breath smelling of wine and... something else you couldn't make out, before standing alongside Céliane, who didn't seem to have heard her.

You just blinked, thinking you had heard wrong. Had she... had she threatened you?

"Follow us, please."

Céliane turned around and walked into the room, closely followed by Noélie and, five feet behind, by you.

As expected, a good number of glances turned to you and the women you followed. You could almost hear what they were whispering to each other. "That's not Monsieur Pascal's heir, following two attractive women going who knows where? In the middle of the gala? Scandalous! What will his father think of him?"

But of course, you didn't care about all that. If there was a clear motivation for you at the time it was to get away from public scrutiny, and your father was the least of your worries; he, in fact, would surely be proud, according to his twisted and perverted way of thinking regarding business. He would have gladly wanted to be in your position.

Céliane and Noélie guided you out of the salon, and subsequently out of the Salons Napoléoniens. You walked through the wide and extensive corridors of the palace, leaving behind some curious guests who turned to look at you when you passed by them, as if to say: "Wasn't that...?" Yes, yes you were. It was strange even for you and your usual behaviors, let alone for others.

You ended up going down to the second floor of the palace, by then less crowded. As you turned a corner, you watched with a frown as one of the doors ahead was guarded on either side by two armed men. But not armed with guns or rifles or batons, armed with...

"T-those are halberds?" you asked as the two women approached said door.

"Oh, yes. Made of an alloy of steel and tungsten carbide," Céliane responded with disinterest.

"But why...?"

The guards, both dressed in charcoal-colored, military-style, long-draped frock coats, with side zippers and open at the bottom to reveal a pair of tall black boots and silk pants, stepped aside as Céliane and Noélie stood in front of them. They were both tall, with broad shoulders. They wore dark iron helmets, with a spiked crest and outward-curving side fins. And their faces remained hidden behind ominous masks that obscured their eyes, making them look like two empty sockets.

"Customs of our nation, Monsieur Duplantier," Céliane said with her back to you, hands on the handles of the double doors. "Please don't dwell on it."

The pale woman opened the doors wide, entering a small living room with six sofas, five of them single, arranged around a glass coffee table, covered in silk damask fabric, decorated with fringe trimmings and with an elegant tufted finish. All this outlined on a wool rug, with a classic floral design in pastel tones.

Noélie passed Céliane and went to the right of the room, where a quiet fire crackled inside a fireplace, surmounted by a tall gold-framed mirror. The guards closed the door behind you. Céliane turned to look at you.

"Take a seat, Monsieur Duplantier," she invited you, gesturing to the couches. At that moment Noélie returned from the fireplace, with a bottle of wine in hand and three crystal glasses. She put everything on the glass table.

"Uhm… thank you," you nodded.

You walked around the largest sofa and took a seat. Céliane did the same, placing herself in one of the singles to your left. Noélie sat opposite. Being there was undoubtedly more peaceful than at the gala, but it didn't mean that you weren't nervous. The two women couldn't stop looking at you, almost predatorily. They wanted something from you. Something they knew you could give them.

"Tell me, Monsieur Duplantier," said Céliane, uncorking the bottle of wine. "How much actual knowledge do you have about your father's business?"

You blinked. You weren't expecting that question.

"Well… not as much as you think I have. That's for sure," you said, hesitantly accepting the glass of wine that Céliane offered you. "I know, as do you, that we have control of almost the entire port and that there are a considerable number of construction and logistics companies that depend on us."

You waited for a response, but received only silence. It was patently obvious that it wasn't enough. With a sigh, you took a small sip of your wine and shook your head. You had to weigh your words very carefully so as not to screw things up. It would be all too easy to do so, and the consequences were worse than you could even contemplate.

"I’m not exactly privy to the details, ladies," you said, despite being actually quite well-informed. "I learn only what I’m permitted to know; I am well-versed in economics and other fields, certainly. I simply know that we handle a great deal of money, and a great many people."

"Wow, put that way, it sounds almost pristine," Céliane remarked with a chuckle, pouring wine for herself and Noélie.

You tightened your grip slightly on your glass.

"E-excusez-moi?"

Céliane set down the wine bottle and elegantly crossed her legs in her seat, glass held aloft. Her eyes turned back to you.

"Are you claiming, then, Monsieur Arno, that you possess no precise knowledge regarding how that money is generated, moved, and spent?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Hm?"

"N-no, I do not have access to that information," you replied, shaking your head.

With a gesture that was both utterly calm and calculated, Céliane raised her glass to her lips and drained the entire contents in a single gulp. Noélie followed suit.

"Your father is a corrupt man, Arno," Céliane spat out coldly, examining the glass in her hand. "Corrupt to the very core. A scourge. An apple that went rotten long ago and now sits festering in a pile of filth."

Your heart skipped a beat. You swallowed hard, feeling an unpleasant chill run down your spine. You could neither refute her words nor feign offense, for it was the absolute, unvarnished truth. Pascal Duplantier was not a good man—of that much, at least, you were certain, despite how much he kept hidden from you. Thierry was, of course, the source of your knowledge.

"I—I... have to go. Please excuse me."

You made a move to stand up, but in the blink of an eye, someone seized you by the wrist and held you seated with tremendous force. Horrified, you turned to your right to see Noélie sitting beside you, a calm smile on her face. How the hell had she gotten there so fast? Were you so nervous that you hadn't even noticed when she stood up?

"You don't have to lie to us, Arno," said Céliane, refilling her wine glass. "It is pointless for you to pretend to respect him."

Noélie, right up against your right side, leaned against you, your arm nestled between her large, round breasts as if by pure accident. You avoided her gaze at all costs.

"With us, you can stop pretending, Arno," she said, her voice honeyed and slightly husky. "We know that you aren't like him."

"You don't know me..." you muttered under your breath, trying to sound calm. You hadn't even attempted to stand up again, though you knew you wouldn't have been able to anyway.

"Oh, well, I wouldn't be so sure," Céliane replied, swirling the wine in her glass. "I think we know you all too well. You really don't want to know how well."

"For God's sake... what do you want? You're cops, aren't you? A-Are you going to hurt me...?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

Noélie let out a dry laugh.

"Don't be ridiculous, Arno," she said. "First of all, no. We aren't cops. And if we wanted to hurt you, you’d already be floating face-down off some deserted coast in Greece."

Céliane let out a sigh, set her glass down on the table, and leaned forward.

 "Don't be foolish, Noélie; you're scaring him," the pale woman said in a low voice, though her eyes gleamed with undiminished intensity. "Listen, Arno. What we want is to offer you a way out. A way to ensure your prestigious family name is no longer sullied by Pascal's activities."

"I'm certain you aren't doing this out of charity. P-please, get to the point. And... can you let go of me, please? My wrist hurts."

Noélie released her grip. Your muscles ached slightly where she had held you. Just how strong was that woman? She remained close to you, however. Her breath warm against your neck. She had your nerves completely on edge.

"We want Trans-Marseille Solutions," Céliane finally stated. "It controls the docking rights and the heavy-cargo warehouses."

Céliane uncrossed her legs and crossed them the other way. The movement—perhaps intentionally on her part—afforded you a fleeting glimpse of her shapely thighs and what appeared to be a pair of wine-red lace panties. You blushed and averted your gaze.

"As you well know, that is the company your esteemed father uses for his dirty dealings," she continued. "If, for any reason, that structure collapses, it will drag Duplantier & Fils, and you, as an accomplice, down with it. In short, Monsieur Arno, we want that subsidiary to become an asset managed by Dumonra Holdings. We provide international legal cover and security, and you... well, you get the noose off your neck."

Noélie seized upon your silence to rest her hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently, a reminder that you remained trapped between her and the sofa.

"Think about it, Arno," she whispered. "All you have to do is give us the name of the front man running that company on your father's behalf. We can force Pascal into an early and safe retirement."

"S-so you’re acting like you know so much, yet you don't even know his name?" you asked, staring down at the rug.

Céliane let out a nasal laugh.

"We know who appears in the official records, Arno. We know that perfectly well," she said. "But at this level, the official name is usually just some poor wretch who was paid to sign on the dotted line. We want the name of the man who truly holds the power. The one your father visits in private." Céliane moistened her lips, letting her gaze drift down to yours for a fleeting moment. "All we need is a name."

Shit. What the hell had you gotten yourself into? You blamed it squarely on your damn inability to say no; had you done so, they wouldn't have dragged you off alone in the first place. Now you were neck-deep in shit.

"I—I... I'm n-not sure..." you began to say.

Noélie slid her hand down from your shoulder, tracing a torturously slow path across your chest until it came to rest just above your heart, which was pounding like a war drum.

"Don't be so suspicious, Arno," Noélie murmured close to your ear, her lips brushing against your lobe. "We wouldn't ask you for something so valuable if we weren't prepared to pay you back in kind."

With a completely deliberate motion, Noélie shifted subtly, pressing her side more firmly against yours. You felt the firm pressure of her thigh against yours as she leaned in. You pursed your lips and let out a deep exhale, making her smile at your reaction.

"Imagine," Noélie continued, her voice growing huskier and more sensual. "Waking up tomorrow knowing you are no longer an accomplice to a criminal who forces you to do his bidding. To be the clean, unblemished face of the Duplantier family. You would have autonomy, respect, and above all..." Noélie lowered her hand and placed it on your thigh. "Our most intimate gratitude."

Céliane rose to her feet with a terrifyingly slow deliberation and walked until she stood directly in front of you. She leaned forward, resting one hand on the back of the sofa, just above your head. 

"Give us the name, Arno," Céliane commanded, her face mere inches from yours. "You will be generously rewarded."

"But..."

Noélie’s fingers began to slowly inch their way up the fabric of your trousers, seeking the outline of your cock, which was growing harder with every passing second. You let out a sharp gasp when she finally closed her hand around your bulge, with a firmness that made you arch your hips slightly.

"Come on, relax, Arno..." Noélie murmured. "You’re too tense."

Noélie unbuckled your belt with practiced ease. Then, with a couple of precise movements, she lowered your zipper and slid her hand inside your boxers to make direct contact with your erection. You shuddered; her skin was cold. Her fingers wrapped around your shaft and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Mmm... you’re big," Noélie said. "That’s exactly why I love shy guys."

"The name, Monsieur Arno," Céliane insisted once more, as if you hadn't heard her the first time. She raised her other hand and caressed your cheek with a pointed fingernail. "Don’t you want us?"

Noélie gave you another squeeze and rubbed the palm of her hand up and down the length of your cock, reaching your balls as well. You were paralyzed, as if caught in an uncomfortable limbo. On one hand, you wanted to stand up and flee, to avoid, at all costs, putting your family's safety at risk. On the other, the voice of your conscience whispered in your ear that this was the right thing to do. That perhaps you—the Duplantiers—were better off without your father and his dirty dealings. It was a possibility that had been lurking in the back of your mind.

And on a third hand—a more immediate, carnal one—you really wanted these women to fuck you. It had been far too long, a couple of years, perhaps, since you’d been intimate with anyone. At this point, you were certain you wouldn't find a better opportunity to end your dry spell.

But of course, apparently that was entirely on you.

"Y-You guys are going to get me into a hell of a mess..." you wheezed, trying to clear your thoughts.

"Nonsense, nothing of the sort," Céliane assured you. "Our intelligence services are more than capable enough to ensure your stability from day one."

Noélie, oblivious to your conversation and perhaps a little impatient, tugged your trousers and boxers down to mid-thigh, thereby freeing your erect, throbbing cock. She wrapped her fingers around it and began stroking it up and down. Céliane herself moved her hand away from your face and down to your balls, caressing them with her fingernails.

"T-Thierry... my butler..." you began to say.

"The old man is more pristine than a newly opened public square," Céliane interjected. "He won't be affected."

That, at least, was a relief. But could you really be sure of it? You didn't know these women. They weren't even American, or European. They were Asian, but yet not quite. They hailed from a hermetic, technologically advanced city-state, one that had only recently begun to surface in the public consciousness. Could you really trust them?

Noélie and Céliane continued with their ministrations, so you opted for silence for the moment.

Your cock throbbed within Noélie's hand, which moved with a steady yet relentless rhythm—each stroke chipping away a little piece of your willpower. Céliane gave your balls a gentle squeeze, then spat into her hand and brought it up to your tip, rubbing her palm in circles around your glans while Noélie worked the shaft.

The moan that escaped your lips made them both smile. Noélie pressed herself against your arm, her round breasts brushing against you on either side. Céliane, meanwhile, propped one foot up on the sofa beside your hip, giving you another glimpse of her panties, which, only from this distance, did you realize were semi-transparent. Beneath them, you caught a glimpse of a pretty, hairless pussy.

Together, they redoubled their efforts. Both hands moved up and down your hard, slick cock with fluid, coordinated wrist movements. It was overwhelming. And to make matters worse, Noélie began letting out soft little moans right into your ear. Sweet, lovely, sensual moans.

You were close. Very close. You felt it at the base of your spine, in the rush of blood to your crotch. Both women noticed and quickened their wrist movements.

But just as you let out a hoarse gasp and rolled your eyes back, on the verge of exploding, they both stopped dead in their tracks. They withdrew their hands completely, leaving you with an unbearable emptiness. The desperation you felt was something you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy.

"Ah-ah..." Céliane chided, tilting her head with a cruel smile. "We haven't heard a name yet, petit Arno. You wouldn't want to stay like this, would you? I imagine it must be a... frustrating sensation."

Noélie licked her lips, reveling in the look of disarray on your face.

"Come on, I know you want to," Noélie purred, bringing her hand close again, though not quite touching you, merely grazing your skin with her fingertips.

"P-Please... please!" you begged.

"The name comes first," Céliane said sternly. You remained silent for several long seconds, prompting Céliane to take a step back. "Bah, it's no use. Let's go, Noélie; he's not going to..."

A sudden surge of alarm made you grab her wrist tightly and finally give in.

"Adrient Boyer!" you blurted out, your breathing ragged.

Great. You had officially become a snitch.

Céliane glanced down at your hand, which was still clamped around her wrist. You blushed and let go.

"Adrient Boyer, you say?" she asked. "And why should we believe you?" 

"I—I swear it!" you nodded. "Adrient Boyer. My father always calls him before heading to the docks."

Céliane exchanged a glance with Noélie and offered a faint smile, apparently satisfied with the answer. She returned to her spot in front of you, this time resting a knee on the sofa right beside your left hip, forcing you to stare up close at her lace-clad crotch.

"Boyer... the accountant who supposedly retired two years ago," Céliane murmured. "Quite clever of Pascal, I must say."

Noélie, seeing that you had kept your end of the bargain, closed her hand around your cock once more. She cast all subtlety aside; now the friction was constant, frenetic. Her wrist moved with expert precision. You moaned instantly.

"Good boy, Arno," Noélie whispered close to your ear, using her thumb to rub your own precum around your glans. "We Dumonras always keep our promises."

Céliane didn't lag behind, bringing her hand back to your crotch as well. While Noélie tended to the shaft and the tip, Céliane wrapped her fingers around the base, squeezing firmly. Her other hand came into play, too; her fingernails toyed with your balls.

"Just so you know, this is only part of the payment for your honesty, petit Arno," Céliane murmured, her voice deepening. "But you have to earn the rest."

The two of them synchronized once again. Their hands rose and fell in unison. The sensation was chaotic and overwhelming, leaving you paralyzed with pleasure, your hips tensed against the sofa. Noélie buried her face in your neck, letting her hot breath wash over your skin as she moaned your name softly.

"Tell us something else, Arno," Céliane whispered, bringing her face dangerously close to yours, so close that your noses brushed. "Where does your father usually meet with Boyer? What place does he tend to frequent after his trips to the docks?"

The pleasure was so overwhelming that you had to mentally repeat the question to yourself several times. Location. You knew the location. You weren't entirely sure if Boyer attended regularly, but it was the place where your father usually went to meet up with his cronies. You would have been reluctant to share that information, but your brain was being so deliciously melted that it slipped past your mental filters effortlessly.

"C-Cassis!" you panted, your eyes squeezed shut. "A villa near Pointe des Lombards!"

Noélie picked up the pace, and Céliane began to rotate her hand with a technique that made you curl your toes inside your shoes and arch your back. This time, thank God, they didn't stop. You felt your climax drawing dangerously near: an uncontrollable torrent of fire surging up through your urethra.

"That's it..." Céliane smiled, watching with fascination as your body went rigid. "Let it all go, Arno. Be ours. Cum... cum for us."

"Cum, Arno," Noélie moaned into your ear in turn.

With a loud groan, you climaxed so violently that you were left breathless, profusely coating both women's hands, and your own abdomen, with the thick jets of semen spurting from the tip of your cock. Noélie let out a soft chuckle, feeling your intense throbbing against her hand, while Céliane wiped away a drop that had splashed onto her cheek with her finger. She glanced at it for a second, then brought her finger to her mouth.

You lay there panting, your heart racing a mile a minute. Noélie gave you a couple more gentle strokes, milking every last drop out of you.

Céliane leaned further over you, letting a lock of her hair brush against your forehead.

"Cassis. Good," she approved. "You’ve been very useful, petit Arno. But you could be even more so."

"Mmm, and I’ve barely even started having fun with you," Noélie panted.

Before you or Céliane could say another word, Noélie lay down on her side on the sofa, her torso resting across your thigh, and took you into her mouth, warm and wet, to clean up every drop of semen with slow, sensual sucks.

"Well, be grateful that my partner here is a bit of a..." Céliane raised an eyebrow at Noélie’s noisy slurps as she polished your cock with her tongue. "...slut."

Noélie lifted her head from your lap once she was finished, completing the task by giving your pubic area a long lick to gather the semen that had landed there as well.

"It’s not my fault that cum is just as delicious as a good dose of AB negative," Noélie said, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

"Wait a second," you said, shaking your head, thinking you must have misheard. "AB... negative? Isn't that...?"

"Information, Monsieur Arno," Céliane cut you off quickly, shooting a withering glare at Noélie. "We need more information."

"B-but what else do you want from me?!" you asked, exasperated.

"I’m certain Boyer isn't the only one who frequents that place," Céliane leaned toward you, allowing her expensive perfume to fill your lungs. "In fact, I’m sure you’ve been there yourself, don't try to lie about it. So... who else have you seen there, petit Arno?"

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her gaze. You definitely weren't cut out for this shit. Maybe someone else would have been a tougher nut to crack, but not you.

"L-Lemaire..." you croaked out. "Jean-Pierre Lemaire. H-he's... a customs inspector, I think. Regional."

Céliane smiled slightly, satisfied, and took a step back to remove her blazer. She was left in her tight, sleeveless dress. Then she pulled down the top and rolled it up above her navel, revealing a lace bra the same color as her panties, with sheer straps. Next, she unzipped the side of the bottom. As she pulled it down, Céliane slid the rest of the dress down her legs, still wearing her strappy heels.

You were left breathless. Her body was, without fear of exaggeration, perfect: toned in all the right places and brimming with alluring curves. Toned sexy abs; wide hips; small waist, beautiful legs; and small yet round breasts.

"O-oh... wow," you murmured.

Noélie let out a soft giggle to your right and began to undress, first pulling down the top of her velvet dress. Her bra, also lace but black, barely contained her large, beautiful breasts. The bottom of the dress also fell to the floor, revealing panties that matched her bra.

Of course, Noélie wasn't far behind. Her legs were slightly thinner and larger than Céliane’s, less sculpted, but she carried a bit more flesh here and there, complete with a round, firm ass. Not that she really needed anything more, anyway; her breasts alone were enough to make your mouth water.

"Come on, touch me, Arno," Noélie encouraged you, kneeling down to your right with her hands resting on her own thighs. "You’ve earned it for being such a good boy."

You blinked. 

"C-can I really...?"

"Don't make me say it twice."

Hesitantly, you raised a hand and closed it around her left breast, soft and yielding to the touch, squeezing it a couple of times until she let out a moan. Then, a few moments later, Noélie grasped the back of your head and buried your face deep in her cleavage. Instinctively, you began to kiss and lick every inch of her skin.

"Mmm, you like them, don't you?" Noélie asked, amused.

While she smothered you in her breasts, Céliane stepped closer and worked quickly on the upper half of your tuxedo—the very one Thierry had spent so long perfecting—until you were stripped naked from the waist up. Next, she turned her attention to your trousers, making you take off your shoes so she could slide them down and off your legs.

Being completely naked alongside those two women felt surreal, yet no less worthy of the hottest of fantasies. You were so aroused that your erection throbbed without anyone even touching it. You needed them like you needed damn air to breathe.

You felt Céliane move with a predatory elegance. She turned around, presenting her back to you, and slowly lowered herself onto your lap, sandwiching your shaft between her perfect buttocks. barely concealed beneath a layer of thin lace.

"You can touch me, too, petit Arno," Céliane purred, her voice low and heavy with lust, her hands resting on your knees as she began to move in a circular rhythm, rubbing your cock directly against her ass.

You brought your left hand straight to one of Céliane’s buttocks, sinking your fingers into her firm flesh with a tight squeeze that made her let out a low moan and intensify the friction against your cock. You panted against Noélie’s breasts, which were now thoroughly slicked with your saliva. If only she would...

"I see you're hungry, sweetheart," you heard Noélie say. "Let me help you."

As if the gates of heaven had opened just for you, Noélie reached a hand behind her back and unclasped her bra, letting it fall into her lap. Her pair of breasts, with slightly dark, enticing nipples, were left exposed mere centimeters from your face. You immediately took one into your mouth, licking and sucking with a desperate need you made no attempt to hide.

It was fucking paradise; you were sure of it. You felt so ecstatic that you almost forgot you had only met them that very night, and that they were coaxing information out of you to help dethrone your father, all in exchange for sex.

However, just as you were slipping into a trance-like state, and perhaps to put on the brakes for both of their sakes, Céliane paused and glanced back at you over her shoulder. Noélie, in turn, placed a finger against your forehead and pushed you away from her breasts with barely any effort. Seriously, why the hell was she so strong?

Frustrated, you turned to look at Céliane.

"More names, petit Arno," she urged you. "You don't actually think that's enough for us, do you?"

"Merde..." you growled, shaking your head. You closed your eyes, trying to remember. "Uhm... uh... William Loughty. H-he's... he’s the owner of the shipping fleet that ferries goods back and forth between Italy and Monaco... I saw him once, around Christmas."

"What exactly does he import from Italy...?" Céliane ventured.

"U-uh, well... raw materials for the refineries in..."

"Don't be ridiculous, Arno; we already know that," Céliane cut you off.

"But I really don't know anything else!"

"In that case..."

Céliane made a move to stand up, and Noélie to step away.

"No! Please!" you hastened to squeal. "Fuck!" You shook your head and lowered your gaze. "O-once, I heard them talking about... well... cocaine paste. At least forty tons from Palermo and Syracuse."

"And...?" Céliane raised an eyebrow.

"And my father approved those imports," you stated, the words tumbling from your mouth like broken glass. It was a bitter feeling. Maybe your father was a son of a bitch, but he was your own flesh and blood. It didn't feel entirely right. "I don't know anything else about it. I swear to God!"

Céliane chuckled softly.

"Calm down, calm down; you don't have to get so worked up, sweetie," Céliane soothed you. "I believe you. You're a good boy."

Your cock throbbed beneath her ass.

"P-please... stop calling me that."

"Huh?" Céliane raised both eyebrows. "What, that you're a good boy?"

You squeezed one of her buttocks tighter, then rested your hand on her slender waist.

"Our petit Arno likes being told he's a good boy, huh?" Noélie giggled. "Why shouldn't we call you that? It is what you are, after all." She placed a hand on your chest and rubbed it in circles, her lips brushing against your neck. "A cute, good, obedient boy."

"For the love of God, this shit isn't fair..." you whispered, your voice barely a thread. 

"Good boys get what they deserve. Don't they, Noélie?"

"I certainly think so."

Noélie waited for Céliane to stand up, then gave you a shove, making you lie down lengthwise along the sofa, lifting your right leg onto the seat while leaving the other one dangling. Then, without a word, Céliane glanced back at you over her shoulder as she grasped the waistband of her panties and slowly slid them down to her ankles, making sure to bend her knees so that, from your vantage point below, you had a perfect view of her wet, pristine pussy mere inches from your face.

"You're going to eat me out real good... aren't you, sweetie?" Céliane asked, clenching her buttocks and spreading them wide to reveal her pussy lips and her asshole.

You nodded rapidly, desperate. Céliane stifled a smile by biting her lower lip; then, bracing one hand against the backrest of the sofa, and still standing, she slowly lowered her ass until she was sitting directly on your face, her pussy pressed tight against your mouth.

You moaned against her tender, moist flesh. Your vision was obscured by soft, milky skin. Not much air was getting through, but that was the least of your worries. You placed a hand on her thigh and summoned every ounce of your skill at giving oral sex to women.

Fortunately, you were rewarded just seconds later by a genuine, sensual moan from Céliane.

"That's it, baby," Céliane murmured, shifting the full weight of her lower body onto your face as you licked between her delicious folds and around her clit. "Such a good boy... fuck."

At the other end of the sofa, you felt Noélie shifting around on your legs. You couldn't tell what she was doing, not until you felt a pair of soft, full, and fluffy pillows envelop your cock from either side, pinning it firmly between them. Then, after spitting a copious amount of saliva into her cleavage, she began moving up and down, giving you a titjob that made you moan against Céliane’s pussy.

The sensory feast was overwhelming yet marvelous. On one hand, you had the metallic, sweet taste of Céliane on your tongue; on the other, you had Noélie moving relentlessly up and down, giving you no respite as your cock slid between those two soft mounds.

It wasn't long before Céliane began letting out hoarse moans, growing louder with every breath. She had switched hands to brace herself against the backrest, allowing her to grab your hair and give it little tugs to press you even harder—if that were even possible—against her ass. Her thighs were trembling, too. And after a few seconds of sucking, licking, and hungry kisses against her pussy, she let out a stifled cry and exploded all over your face.

"Mmmgh, fuck!" Céliane whimpered, drenching your mouth and nose with her delicious climax, her thighs still quivering. "My good boy really knows how to eat pussy!"

Noélie stopped her ministrations not long after, releasing your cock from between her breasts.

"My turn," Noélie panted.

Céliane stood up without a word and swapped places with Noélie. You didn't even have time to react before Noélie climbed onto the sofa, straddled your collarbone, and leaned in just a little closer to push her panties aside and bury her pussy, sporting a small patch of pubic hair. right against your mouth.

"Mmm!" she moaned as you diligently devoured her pussy in return. "Delicious... fuck."

Céliane took Noélie's spot between your legs, but instead of using her breasts, she wrapped her lips around your cock. The contrast between the two was stark: Noélie reveled in naughtier, more playful, almost frenetic, movements, while Céliane’s suction was deep and sensual, applied with a strength that kept you hard and feeling good, yet without rushing you too quickly toward a climax.

Noélie rubbed herself against your nose and lips, twisting her hips with every minuscule flick of your tongue against her folds. Fortunately, your view remained unobstructed; otherwise, you wouldn't have been able to admire her breasts from below as she squeezed them and toyed with her own nipples.

"You are really fuckin good, sweetie..." Noélie purred, gripping your head. "What's your blood type, by the way?"

Céliane hurriedly pulled away from your cock.

"Don't answer her," she said sharply. "Ignore her."

That was easy enough to do, as she immediately took you back into her mouth, and you were fully committed to continuing to devour Noélie.

After a few minutes of work, Noélie finally arched her back, grabbed you by the nape of the neck, and pressed you firmly against her pussy as she climaxed all over your face. Now you really were gasping for air, for the woman was thrashing violently, again and again, grinding herself against your face.

A few brief seconds later, Noélie climbed off you and lay back to your right, wedged between your body and the backrest of the sofa. Just then, Céliane pulled away from your cock, which she had left glistening with saliva. She looked you in the eye.

"You’ve been quite cooperative, Monsieur Arno," Céliane said, wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb. "But we need the big fish. Those shipments require legal protection to cross the Mediterranean, someone to sign off on the sanitary inspection permits. Who is the rotten apple, sweetie?"

Noélie snuggled up against your right side, one of her breasts pressed flat against you, her thigh resting over yours. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, unable to believe just how insatiable that woman was.

Although, you put your mind to work. Such power lies only in the hands of a politician. You knew politicians by the dozen. None by choice, it was worth noting. But which one of so many? Your father had good relations with almost the entire French political landscape. Ministers, prosecutors, and senators frequented that summer home; you could even swear that, once upon a time, the President himself had come close to dining with Pascal.

But who, out of all of them...?

Of course. How could you not know? You had greeted him that very night when you arrived at the Palace. His face was still fresh in your memory. 

You looked at Céliane.

"If I give you the name..."

"We’re yours," Noélie said. "For the rest of the night. You can cum inside me... or inside Céliane. Or wherever you want. But there will be no more limits, petit Arno."

No limits. Fuck. What would those women do with you if there were no limits? The possibilities were thrilling. Promising. You craved it. Remorse faded into the background. In its place remained only your lust. 

"Clement Chevalier," you murmured under your breath.

Céliane and Noélie exchanged glances. Apparently, they hadn't expected that.

"The Prime Minister?" Céliane asked. "Are you sure?"

"M-my father made me speak with him when I first arrived..." You swallowed hard, staring up at the ceiling. "They... were talking about—I don't remember what—regarding tourism in Southern Italy, and Chevalier mentioned Loughty's fleet of ships. But I don't know anything else. I slipped away without them noticing."

Céliane took a moment to process the information, then nodded, perhaps as the pieces clicked into place in her mind.

"The Prime Minister," she repeated. "Wow... I don't know why I'm surprised."

"Good job, Arno," Noélie said from your right, leaning in to plant soft, wet kisses on your cheek. "You know what this means... don't you?"

Noélie cupped your chin in her fingers, tilting your face to look at her. Your eyes met first, then drifted down to her lips.

"We're going to split you right down the damn middle, pretty boy," she murmured against your lips. "Tell me something: do you just like being a bottom?"

"Uhm..." You nodded. "I prefer it, y-yes... but I can take the top role if you ask me to."

Noélie giggled, grinning from ear to ear. She was... fuck, she was charming.

"You're such a sweetheart! Très mignon!, très mignon!"

You didn't even have time to blink before she pressed her lips against yours. You had expected roughness. A lack of finesse. But Noélie was surprisingly gentle with you.

Of course, as the seconds passed, the atmosphere heated up, and you began to devour each other’s mouths, a fiery exchange of saliva and heavy breathing.

"Tsk, eyes over here, petit Arno," you heard Céliane say. "You’re going to want to see this."

You broke the kiss with Noélie to look at her. Céliane rose and climbed onto your lap, straddling you. First, she removed her bra, tossing it over the back of the sofa. Her breasts were small and perky. Next, she lifted her hips, grasped your cock, and, looking you right in the eye, slowly impaled herself upon it.

Céliane pursed her lips and stifled a moan, her eyes squeezed shut. Your cock pushed its way inside her walls, slowly, but surely. It was a delicious sensation: overwhelmingly tight, yet wonderfully warm. When she had taken you all the way to the hilt, you both moaned once more. You placed a hand on her waist and gave it a firm squeeze.

Céliane opened her eyes and looked at you.

"Look at me, petit Arno," she commanded in a low voice.

And so you did. Your gaze roamed over every inch of her perfect body, and...

"No, in the eyes," Céliane said, lifting your chin with a finger. Inevitably, your eyes met hers. "That’s better. Look at me while I show you a good time, my little obedient boy."

Céliane began to move atop your cock with such grace, such sensuality, that you couldn't help but reach out and caress her abdomen with your fingertips, almost as if you were worshipping such a woman. Making eye contact, which was damn hard to maintain, made you blush, as was only natural given those piercing eyes.

"Hey, why don't you give me a little touch?" Noélie asked, still pressed tight against your side, right into your ear. "Remember, tonight I'm all yours, treasure."

Not entirely sure what to do, you slipped your right arm behind Noélie's shoulders and reached down to give her ass a squeeze; then, you pushed her panties aside and rubbed your fingers against her pussy. Noélie moaned in satisfaction, bit her lip, and buried her face in your neck, showering it with kisses.

"Mmm... you like that, don't you?" Céliane, finding a rhythm with her hips, placed a hand on your stomach and slowly slid it upward until her fingers were close to your lips. She nudged two fingers inside your mouth, and you sucked on them both with a low moan. "Oh yeah, good boy."

Céliane pulled her fingers out of your mouth and leaned forward; just inches from your face, she moved in to give your lips a slow, upward lick with her agile tongue. You didn't mind in the slightest that her saliva was left glistening on your chin. Then, Céliane finally kissed you.

"Hey, I want that too, don't leave me out!" Noélie said.

Noélie joined the kiss as best she could. You and Céliane welcomed her in. Now the three of you were sharing saliva in a wild, sloppy battle of lips. Acting on pure instinct and letting yourself get swept up in the moment, you gave a firm squeeze to the ass of both Noélie and Céliane, though you only slipped a finger inside the former's pussy, making her moan right there in the middle of the kiss.

Céliane was the first to break away, pulling back just to gaze into your eyes, utterly ecstatic with pleasure. 

"Fuck, who would have thought that the best cock I’d have in months would be yours?" she moaned, bouncing her ass against your shaft, her fingernails digging into your shoulders. "I didn't have high hopes for you."

"Uh... thanks?"

"You're welcome."

Céliane straightened up and planted her feet on the sofa on either side of your waist. With her hands resting on your abdomen, she began performing strong, deep squats onto your cock, moaning over and over until she climaxed. Her ass slammed against your pelvis one last time, and she threw her head back.

"Ohhh fuck!" Céliane shrieked, cumming all over your cock. Her knees dropped back down onto the sofa, and now she ground her hips back and forth, with you so deeply impaled inside that tight pussy that the tip of your cock was brushing against her cervix.

The intensity with which Céliane gripped you from the inside bordered on painful, but that only made you enjoy it more. Made you moan even louder.

Moments later, Céliane pulled away from atop you, and Noélie hurried to join her, both of them now kneeling between your legs. Noélie took your cock between her lips, swallowing it halfway down her throat. She sucked greedily for several long seconds, cleaning Céliane’s fluids off your shaft and replacing them with her own saliva. Céliane pitched in by kissing every spot Noélie couldn't reach, including your balls, which she sucked on gently.

After a few seconds, they both released your cock to look at you.

"We’d better move to the floor," said Céliane.

Both women got off the sofa and, working together, effortlessly moved the coffee table to one side of the room, near the fireplace that was still crackling and providing a pleasant warmth. Then, with the area between the sofas cleared, they knelt right in the center of the rug.

"Come here, pretty boy," purred Noélie.

You hurriedly stood up and positioned yourself right in front of them. Céliane was the first to take you into her mouth, once again showing off her talents, until she yielded her turn to Noélie. The two of them worked on your cock for a few delicious seconds, but they stopped when they noticed you tensing up too much.

"Hey, you know you’re not allowed to cum until we say so, right?" said Céliane, gripping your scrotum from the top, like a bag of oranges. "Don't get too excited."

"Uh... y-yeah, yeah," you nodded, not the least bit inclined to contradict her. "I won't."

"Really?" Céliane raised an eyebrow.

Before you could answer, Céliane squeezed your balls tighter. Noélie had a firm grip on the shaft. You moaned.

"I promise," you said in a strained whisper.

Noélie let out a soft giggle.

"Gooooooood boy."

With that, it was Noélie who resumed sucking you off, first swirling her tongue around your glans before taking you deep into her throat, where she held you for several long seconds before she began to pump her head. Céliane did the same. But nothing about it was quite as hot as watching them meet right at the tip of your cock, their tongues intertwining with each other with your member right in the middle.

You couldn't do anything but moan like a total slut.

"Mmm... well?" Noélie looked at you, rapidly rubbing your saliva-drenched cock. "How do you want me, sweetie?"

"On top of me."

Noélie bit her lower lip.

"Only if you fuck me afterward."

"H-how...?"

"Any way you want. Missionary, doggy style, standing up and bent over, one leg lifted, spooning..."

"I get it," you cut in. "Deal."

Noélie pounced on you the moment you lay down on the rug, lacking any of the elegance Céliane might have possessed, but making up for it with a predatory agility and energy that kept your pulse racing. She straddled you, while Céliane positioned herself behind your head and had you rest back against her lap.

Having finally shed her panties, Noélie lifted her hips and grasped your cock, slowly impaling herself upon it. You watched, panting, as her face contorted with pleasure while her hot, silky walls swallowed your length with delicious ease.

Once you were buried hilt-deep, Noélie placed a hand on your abdomen and looked down at you with a seductive smile, beginning to move her hips up and down in a sensual rhythm.

"Does this warm little pussy feel good, sweetie?" she asked, slowly sliding her hand upward from your abdomen. You thought she was going to make you suck her fingers, just like Céliane had, but instead, she closed her fingers around your throat and squeezed, just enough to let only the bare minimum of air pass through. "Oops, too bad you can't answer anymore."

You moaned—or at least you tried to, though Noélie's grip on your throat remained firm. Céliane, for her part, grabbed your wrists and pinned them to the floor beside her calves, restricting your ability to touch Noélie’s voluptuous body as she bounced faster and faster atop you, her hypnotic breasts, the size of two perfect melons, jiggling lasciviously.

"Mmm, my good boy likes this, doesn't he?" Noélie asked, showing no signs of loosening her grip.

"He loves it, just look at his face," Céliane remarked, never taking her eyes off your flushed, contorted features. "What if...?"

Céliane tilted her head, studied you for a couple of seconds, and let loose a thick glob of spit directly onto your face, staining your lips, your chin, and the tip of your nose. You bucked your hips. Your cock throbbed deep inside Noélie, who let out a moan.

"Fuck! He loves that, too," Noélie moaned, now bouncing wildly on top of you. "Give him a slap!"

A quick, sharp slap landed on the right side of your face. You looked up to meet a sly, mischievous smile on Céliane’s face; she didn't hesitate to deliver another one to the opposite cheek. Once again, Noélie squealed with pleasure as you throbbed inside her.

"What a kinky little guy, fuck, I love it!" Noélie moaned. For a moment, she opened her eyes to look at her partner. "Can I keep him? Maybe..."

"No," Céliane said immediately, sharply. "We’d have to speak with Mr. Leumara, and..."

Céliane fell silent, realizing she was treading on ground that a puppet like you had no business knowing about. You weren't about to press the matter, and frankly, it wasn't as if you could have, anyway.

"God, you guys are so boring sometimes!" Noélie protested. "As if it would do him any harm to turn into a..."

"Noélie, enough!"

Noélie grinned from ear to ear, visibly aroused and amused in equal measure. Soon, her face twisted with pleasure once again.

"Fuuuuuck... I'm going to cum so hard!"

Those final words, followed by a lascivious shriek, gave way to Noélie's unbridled climax. The voluptuous woman writhed atop you, grinding against your cock amidst tremors, her pubic hair brushing against your skin with every forward thrust. She tightened her grip on your neck, and your air supply was suddenly cut off. You endured it gladly until, at last, she let you go.

Noélie half-opened her eyes, pupils dilated with lust, to look at you. Her mouth hung slightly open, panting.

"Your turn, petit Arno," Noélie purred, sliding off you.

Céliane released her grip on your wrists, allowing you to kneel behind Noélie as the latter settled onto her hands and knees spread wide, ass thrust high for you, and the side of her face pressed against the floor. Without a word, you grabbed your fluid-soaked cock and thrust back inside her.

You weren't averse to taking a dominant role, though it usually wasn't your first choice. Being the dominant one was, quite simply, something you were indifferent to. If the situation called for it, then you stepped up.

And this moment, certainly, demanded it. To have refused would have been sacrilege.

So there you were, gripping Noélie’s wide hips with both hands, delivering strong, deep thrusts into her warm pussy, her breasts bouncing beneath her, her ass jiggling with every impact. You panted heavily, doing everything in your power to maintain the rhythm and make her feel good.

Céliane stood up and positioned herself to your right; as if to balance the dynamic, she grabbed a handful of your hair and buried your face in her pussy.

Magnifique. Now you were really communicating.

The small room filled with the sound of both women’s moans, mingling with the relentless rhythm of your body slamming against Noélie’s. Céliane gave you no respite; she kept your face pressed firmly against her crotch, her fingers deeply entangled in your hair, her fingernails digging into your scalp, yet you devoured her without a single complaint.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Noélie moaned between thrusts. "The bastard actually knows how to use that cock! How am I not supposed to fall in love?"

"I worry about your definition of 'falling in love,' woman," you heard Céliane say amidst her own moans.

"Nonsense! I’m in love with my petit Arno and his wonderful, magical cock!"

The next few minutes passed in the blink of an eye. Noélie had another orgasm, one you felt particularly proud of. Céliane followed suit. One of them came all over your cock, leaving it dripping wet. The other one bathed your mouth and tongue with her delicious fluids as her climax washed over her.

Céliane then gave you a shove backward, making you lie flat on your back. She took her place atop you, turned her back to you, and planted her feet firmly on the floor to take you back inside her. She began to squat over your cock, her back perfectly arched in a display of unexpected flexibility, with her hands resting on your calves.

"I know what you're thinking..." she said, glancing back at you over her shoulder as she drove every inch of your shaft in and out with every squat. Noélie watched from just inches away, catching her breath. "My ass is perfect; I know. I also know you're dying to cum inside me while watching it. But I already told you: you’re not going to cum until I say so. You know that, right?"

"I—I know..." you murmured, almost breathless, as she stole the air right out of your lungs every time her ass slammed against your pelvis.

Céliane smiled.

"That’s a good boy."

Just when you thought she couldn't surprise you any further, she leaned back, grasped the nape of your neck, turned her head to meet yours, and kissed you with fierce intensity, right before she began pumping her hips furiously up and down. Beyond her flexibility, that woman possessed absurd lower-body strength; she showed not even a hint of fatigue, even after two intense, non-stop minutes of action.

Feeling yourself nearing the edge, you moaned right into the kiss. But that was a damn mistake, for she stopped immediately. You writhed wildly beneath her, but she simply held you fast, reveling in the desperation etched across your face.

"Beg me," was all she said.

You frowned.

"H-huh?"

"You heard me."

Céliane climbed off you and knelt at your right. She grabbed your cock and started jerking you off, her hand sliding frictionlessly along your slick shaft. You were close. Painfully close. But you squeezed your eyes shut and thought about literally any random nonsense just to hold it back.

"God... oh God!" you panted, your voice barely a whisper. "Please!"

"That’s not enough."

A nimble, mischievous mouth joined in. You opened your eyes to find Noélie sucking your balls while Céliane kept jerking you off with a killer grip and a deadly flick of her wrist. It felt so good, it felt like your brain was going to explode.

"You have to use the right words, petit Arno," Céliane said.

"T-the right words?!" you asked. "What the hell are the right words?!"

"I thought I made my command quite clear."

"Ugh, merde, merde!" you cried out, holding back the eruption like a son of a bitch. "I’m begging you, dammit! Please! I want to cum!!"

Céliane clicked her tongue.

"One word is missing."

"Dammit!!" you shouted, your voice hoarse. "I’m begging you, mommy. Let me cum! I need it so bad!"

"Yes! Cum then, my sweet boy!" Céliane moaned.

"Mmmghhh!!"

You arched your back and squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on the tidal wave of sensations washing over you. Only then did you feel the tip of your cock being engulfed by something warm. You opened your eyes just in time to see Céliane still jerking you off, but now with Noélie positioned right over you, your entire glans buried deep inside her pussy. 

"Fill me, mon chou," Noélie moaned. "Fill me!!"

You came so hard that your vision went black for a split second.

The orgasm hit you, shattered you, swallowed you whole, and spat you back out. Your entire body trembled as you throbbed around Céliane's hand and filled Noélie's pussy from the inside with a massive surge of thick cum. However, since you weren't fully buried inside her, a good portion of your load oozed down the sides of your shaft, staining Céliane's hand in the process.

"So warm..." Noélie panted, giving Céliane a little shove to push her aside so she could impale herself completely on your cock. "You know what? I think a little scolding from Mr. Leumara will be worth it."

For the first time that night, you saw Céliane’s composure finally crack, her eyes going wide with shock.

"Noélie, NO!"

Before you could even register what was happening, Noélie, with you still buried balls-deep inside her and throbbing, lunged forward and sank two sharp fangs into your neck.

You screamed at the top of your lungs. But that floor was deserted, save for the two foreign guards.