Chapter 78: Volume 1- [ - 79 ]
Her hand trembled. She looked at the cock — at the thick, limp shaft, the head resting against my thigh, the veins visible even in the soft state. She had seen it before — through the window, in the room, hard and dripping. But this was different. This was in her hand. This was real.
“I — I do not know how,” she whispered.
“Just like this.” I wrapped my hand around hers and moved it. Up, down, the stroke slow, the grip firm. Her fingers followed — guided, taught, the motion of a woman learning to milk a cock for the first time.
“It will hurt you if I do not?” she asked, and the question was the question of a healer — not a lover, not a woman, but a healer. A woman who could not refuse to treat a patient.
“Yes,” I said. “It will hurt. And if it continues — it will kill me.”
Her hand tightened. The stroke quickened. Her internal voice was a tangle of medical duty and physical awareness:
‘I am treating him. This is treatment. His condition requires — manual stimulation to release the excess seminal fluid. This is not — this is medical. This is—’
I looked toward the bar, where the second bartender — the identical sister, the quintuplet — stood behind the counter, watching. Her face was flushed, her eyes wide, her hands gripping the bar’s edge. She had seen the kiss. She had seen Mirra’s hand on my cock. She had seen the stroke.
And her arousal meter — the Body Reading skill, always active, always scanning — read 80/100.
‘Eighty,’ I thought. ‘The bartender. Watching a healer stroke my cock in her bar. Eighty arousal. Not bad for a woman I just met.’
But I did not pursue her. Not yet. The night was long, and the points were flowing, and the bartender — the quintuplet, the Easter egg, the recurring character — would keep.
I looked down at Mirra. At her hand, stroking, her fingers wrapped around my shaft, her face a mask of concentration and suppressed arousal. I pushed her — gently, firmly — toward one of the tables. She stumbled backward, her hips hitting the edge, her body falling onto the surface.
“Wait — I do not—” she started.
I reached for a wine bottle. Pulled the cork. The smell — sharp, alcoholic, the smell of cheap country wine — filled the air.
“What is this?” she asked, her eyes on the bottle.
“Wine. You can drink it.”
“No — I do not drink—”
I drank. A long swallow, the wine filling my mouth, the alcohol burning. I leaned down. Pressed my lips to hers. She gasped — the surprise opening her mouth — and the wine flowed. From my mouth to hers. The red liquid poured past her lips, filling her tongue, running down her throat. She swallowed — instinctively, reflexively — and the alcohol hit her system like a wave hitting a sandcastle.
She coughed. “What — you—”
I kissed her again. The wine on her tongue — the taste of it, the sweetness and the alcohol and the warmth — mixed with the taste of my mouth, and the combination was intoxicating in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol.
My hand found her stockings. Pulled. The fabric tore — a soft, ripping sound that made her gasp.
“Do not tear it—”
Her pussy was visible. Pink hair — the same color as the hair on her head, neatly trimmed, the curls soft. The lips — thin, tight, the pussy of a woman who had never been touched — were slightly parted, the arousal — the Pheromone Aura, the Dirty Whisper, the Touch Amplification, the wine — already producing moisture.
I rubbed. My fingers found the slit, the wetness, the heat. The Touch Amplification made every nerve ending in her pussy fire at enhanced capacity, and she arched — her back lifting off the table, her mouth opening in a gasp.
“HAANGH — what — my — it feels—”
I made her hand keep stroking my cock while I fingered her. The dual action — her hand on my shaft, my fingers in her pussy — created a feedback loop of sensation that her analytical mind could not process.
“Please — I — it is too much — my body — I cannot—”
I fingered her harder. Two fingers, then three, the stretch making her gasp, the walls clenching around the intrusion. My thumb found her clitoris — the Pleasure Mapping had identified it, a small, rigid pearl at the top of the slit — and pressed.
“KUAAAANGH—!!”
She came. The orgasm was explosive — her entire body convulsing, her pussy clamping around my fingers, her juices spraying across my hand and the table. Her internal voice was a white-out of sensation:
‘SOMETHING IS — HAPPENING — MY BODY — I CANNOT — IT IS — WHAT—’
I did not stop. The fingers kept moving, the thumb kept pressing, the Touch Amplification kept every nerve at maximum sensitivity. She came again — a second orgasm, harder than the first, her body lifting off the table, her voice a scream that echoed through the empty bar.
“HIIIIEENGH — PLEASE — STOP — I CANNOT — ANYMORE—”
I pulled my hand away. Reached for the wine bottle. Poured it — not into a glass, but over her body. The red liquid ran down her stomach, across her hips, between her legs. It pooled in her navel, ran along the crease of her thighs, and reached her pussy — the wine mixing with her juices, the combination a wet, glistening flood that dripped onto the table.
“What are you — NO — the wine — it is — on my—”
I leaned between her legs. The wine — red, sweet, alcoholic — covered her pussy. The lips glistened with it, the pink hair matted with it, the clitoris visible through the wetness.
“Bon appétit,” I murmured.
I licked. The Tongue Mastery — full conscious control of every muscle — turned my tongue into an instrument of precision. It found her clitoris, the spots around it, the entrance below. The wine flavored everything — the alcohol sharp, the grape sweet, the combination with her own juices complex and intoxicating.
“AAAAANGH — WHAT — YOUR TONGUE — IT IS — MY — INSIDES — I CANNOT—”
Her back arched. Her hands found my head — not pushing away, but holding, her fingers in my hair, her hips grinding against my mouth. The Touch Amplification made every point of contact a detonation, and the Pleasure Mapping guided my tongue to the places that made her scream.
Wine bottles fell from the table — the vibration of her thrashing body knocking them off, the glass shattering on the floor. I did not care. I sucked. Hard. The clitoris — swollen, rigid — was between my lips, and my tongue was working it with the precision of a surgeon and the hunger of a starving man.
“NO — PLEASE — HAAANGH — I AM — SOMETHING IS — I CANNOT — STOP — I CANNOT STOP—”
She came. A third time. A fourth. The orgasms were continuous now — the Touch Amplification and the Tongue Mastery and the Pheromone Aura working together to turn her body into an instrument that I was playing, and the music was her screams.
I pulled away. Stood. Looked down at her — flushed, wet, wine-soaked, her pussy swollen and red, her body twitching with aftershocks. Her arousal meter read 95/100.
I walked over her. Kissed her hair. Whispered: “I love you.”
The system chimed.
[ “I love you” (Heroine-tier: Mirra Ashwood) — 500 pts ]