Chapter 342: Fairy & Consort: Tens Thousands of Years of Virginity

Above the academy grounds, high enough that the afternoon sun turned the city into a blinding mosaic of gold and chrome, the

Consort floated

weightless, untouchable, a blade suspended in daylight.

Her

kimono—black

silk slashed with crimson, cut so low it bared the inner

swell of her breasts

, high slits parting to expose long,

pale thighs

—fluttered in a wind that didn’t exist down below. Sinful. Deliberate.

Every inch of fabric screamed power and invitation at once, the crimson slashes like fresh blood on midnight.

Her red gaze—

slit-pupiled, burning like arterial fire

—swept across Paradise in panoramic sweeps: the academy quad pulsing with midday chatter, students sprawled on lawns, luxury cars crawling the streets like beetles, estates glittering like crowns under the sun.

Every heartbeat, every whisper, every secret laid bare before her.

Nothing escaped her eyes. Nothing escaped her master’s eyes watching through them.

She didn’t notice the

small shadow

circling her.

The fairy—ancient

Loli-like

cuteness of void-black ice and glacial curves—drifted in lazy, teasing loops around the Consort, wings humming a low,

seductive thrum

that blended with the distant hum of the city.

Her

translucent

body glowed faintly violet, full breasts straining against the thin veil of void-fabric, dark nipples pressing visibly through the frost, hips swaying with every flutter. She hovered close—dangerously close—small hands clasped behind her back, head

tilted

in

childlike

curiosity as she studied the

sword-wielding "shortie"

who could slice skies for convenience.

Her void-black eyes (rimmed in glacial blue-white) sparkled with wicked, filthy delight.

Would Master one day fuck her too...?

The thought curled through her like smoke—dark, hungry, amused. The dragon had a reputation, after all. He fucked his enemies into submission. Broke them on his cock until they begged for mercy and more. But given their history—the blade that had nearly ended him, the sword aura that had frozen inches from his throat—it was unlikely.

Or was it?

Oh—

right

.

Phei had

promised

to

rail

the Consort’s pussy.

The fairy’s wings fluttered faster—she drifted closer, circling the Consort’s waist now, small face tilting up to study the woman’s profile: sharp jaw, crimson eyes, full lips curved in perpetual disdain.

What would

ten thousand years of virginity

feel like around Master’s Dragon Rod?

She could smell Consort’s old virgin essence.

She shivered—small body trembling with

delicious anticipation

, veil shifting so her full breasts bounced slightly.

The

Consort’s hymen

would be

ancient,

untouched, tight as the day it formed. Her pussy—perfect,

untouched, divine

—would clench around him like a vice forged in starfire. Every thrust would be a

violation of millennia

.

Every moan would be a surrender of

godly pride

.

The fairy could already imagine it: the Consort’s red eyes widening in shock, then glazing with unwilling pleasure, the

shortie’s

legs wrapping around Phei’s waist as he fucked her into submission, kimono torn open, those

swelling breasts giggling and bouncing

with every brutal stroke, crimson gaze finally breaking as she came screaming his name, thighs quivering, body betraying her divine composure.

And what about the Consort’s master?

That woman—definitely hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of years old—carried the same untouched scent. Virgin. Untouched. A goddess who had never spread her legs for anyone.

The fairy could

smell it on the Consort

—

faint, lingering, like untouched snow on a mountain peak

. Master’s cock would be the first to claim her too. To stretch her. To fill her. To make her scream in ways no divine law allowed.

The fairy giggled—high, bell-like, innocent in tone but dripping with ancient filth.

How lucky is Master...

to have all these virgins

waiting for his cock to rail them.

She licked her lower lip—small pink tongue flicking out against void-black ice, leaving a faint violet sheen.

Mostly, she was looking forward to how he’d take the Consort.

Shortie

bitch deserves to be

fucked

into submission.

The fairy flapped her wings once—sharp, decisive—and darted away into the afternoon sky, small body vanishing into violet mist, leaving only a faint trail of black snowflakes that drifted downward like dying stars.

Below, the academy buzzed on—oblivious.

At the Sovereign Tower—high enough that the city sprawled below like a glittering toy set—the fairy floated motionless, gaze slicing through every layer of Paradise at once.

She could see everything.

The academy quad buzzing with pre-game energy. The streets crawling with luxury cars. The estates glittering under afternoon sun.

And right now—her master’s other woman.

Valentina.

In her private suite at the Sovereign Tower employe suites, Valentina stood before a full-length mirror—long black hair still damp from the shower, skin flushed from the hot water and from the memory that refused to fade.

She’d been avoiding Phei.

Had been since that night a few days ago when she’d gone feral on him—

clawing, biting, riding

him like she was trying to break him or break herself—only for him to flip her, pin her, and fuck her into the next month in a haze of sweat and screams.

She could still feel the stretch, the heat, the way her body had betrayed her composure until she was begging, sobbing, coming apart on his cock.

She stared at her reflection now—

eyes wide, cheeks burning

—and whispered, "I’m not going."

But her hands were already reaching for the outfit laid out on the bed: sleek black dress that hugged every curve, heels sharp enough to kill, lipstick the color of fresh blood.

She was going.

She was going to watch him ruin some Legacy spoiled prince on the court.

And she hated how much she wanted to see it.

The fairy’s lips curved—faint, amused.

Then her gaze shifted—sliding across the city to Downtown Paradise, to the gleaming spire of

Ashford Tower

.

Madam Ashford.

In her private conference room on the top floor, the Madam sat alone—legs crossed, silk robe slipping off one shoulder to bare the elegant line of her collarbone. Afternoon smoothie in hand—green, perfect, untouched—she stared at the wide screen her assistant had just set up.

The game stream was queued after she paid the

$300 VIP channel 1

stream, paused on the academy logo.

Her assistant hovered at the door—young, nervous, clipboard clutched like a shield.

"Ma’am... everything’s ready. The feed is live in five. Do you need anything else before I step out?"

The Madam didn’t look away from the screen.

"No. That will be all."

The assistant hesitated—curious, sensing something off.

"Ma’am... you canceled the entire afternoon schedule for this? The board meeting, the investor call—"

The Madam’s voice was soft. Smooth. Dangerous.

"I said that will be all."

The assistant swallowed, bowed, and left.

The door clicked shut.

Madam Ashford took a slow sip of her smoothie—eyes never leaving the paused screen.

Little did her assistant know her boss wasn’t watching because this was happening at the academy her family owned. Not because the academy was run by her husband’s cousin. Not for any of the reasons one would assume the Ashford Madam was suddenly obsessed with a high-school basketball game.

She was watching for

one particular boy

.

The boy who’d lived rent-free in her heart now like he owned it. The boy who’d made her daughter fall head-over-heels. The boy who’d made her—

her

—feel something stir after decades of ice.

She set the smoothie down.

Uncrossed her legs.

Leaned forward—robe slipping further, exposing the swell of her breast—and whispered to the empty room:

"Come on, pretty boy... show them what you can do."

Somewhere far above—unseen, unheard—the fairy circled once more, wings humming softly, small face tilted in wicked delight.

And she giggled—high, bell-like, ancient wrapped in childlike innocence.

Master’s going to have so much fun...