Chapter 114 - Veronica Angry for Getting Slapped by Priya

Yuna made a sound around his cock that was not a moan. It was not a sob. It was something broken between the two—high and wet and involuntary—and her eyes rolled slightly as the logic she was trying to build came apart at the seam.

She was trying to think. She was genuinely trying to think.

’This is wrong. This is—Gareth—she’s been with Gareth for—they were going to be married in—’

Her pussy clenched around nothing, and a thin stream of slick ran down her inner thigh to the floor.

The logic-part of Yuna’s brain—the part that had spent years building arguments for staying, for being patient, for believing Gareth would eventually look at her properly—that part opened its mouth to respond.

The rest of her didn’t wait.

Her knees folded.

Not from being pushed. From wanting to.

She went down in front of him and her hands found his thighs and her mouth found his cock before a single complete thought had finished forming, and the favorability counter above her head ticked upward another four points without ceremony.

His cock was thick and warm and already beginning to harden again under her lips.

She tasted the remnants of Veronica, of the other women, of himself—all of it layered and overwhelming—and some part of her that used to find such things disgusting recognized that she was past disgust, that disgust required distance and she no longer had any.

She took him deeper.

Her eyes closed.

’Make sense of it later,’ some last coherent fragment of her said. ’Figure out what this means when he isn’t—’

He hardened fully in her mouth.

The gag reflex she’d been fighting since the bathroom arc tried to fire. She pushed past it. Her eyes watered. She went deeper anyway—not because he told her to, because she needed to—and the stretch of her jaw, the obscene fullness of his cock pressing to the back of her throat, produced something in her lower belly that was too large and too sudden to contain.

She came.

Without him touching her.

Without a hand between her thighs. Without so much as a finger grazing her entrance. Her pussy clenched around nothing, fluid soaked through her thighs and dripped to the floor, and the orgasm rolled through her like a wave that started somewhere behind her navel and ended somewhere behind her ears.

Her eyes rolled back.

A broken moan vibrated up his shaft from her throat.

"Mnnghh♡~ Nnhh~! Ahhhnn♡~"

Raven looked down at her with those still, purple eyes.

"As you want," he said.

Then he turned.

His hand found Veronica’s hair.

She was face-down on the mattress, still leaking, still breathing in the heavy, ragged pattern of a woman whose nervous system was attempting a reboot. The muscles of her back were still twitching in the aftermath—little involuntary contractions, her body running through the tail end of everything he’d done to it.

His fingers gathered her dark crimson hair. Closed.

Pulled.

"Ngh—!"

She came up off the mattress like he’d grabbed a handle built specifically for that purpose—spine arching, head wrenching back, the tendons in her throat going tight. Her eyes snapped open, unfocused for a moment, then focusing on his face above her with an expression caught between fury and something that had stopped being fury an hour ago and hadn’t finished becoming something else yet.

He dragged her off the mattress. Her knees hit the floor and he kept pulling until she was moving—and the three women who had been watching, who had been kneeling in various states of vacancy, moved with him. Not because he commanded them. Because he moved and their bodies followed.

Priya, Clara, Yuna. Three women rising from the floor, orbiting him, gravitating.

He arranged Veronica without asking.

His hands found her hips and lifted—a half-doggy position, her upper body low, her ass elevated, her thick thighs positioned with the casual efficiency of a man who had done this—or something equivalent to this—across multiple lifetimes of war and calculated destruction.

Her ass jutted upward. It was obscene from this angle. The flesh was marked from earlier—handprints, redness, the evidence of two hours of things that had been done to it—and it jiggled slightly when he positioned her, just from the motion, and Clara made a very small sound from somewhere behind him.

Raven’s cock rested against her ass.

Not her pussy.

Higher.

Veronica felt where it was aimed before anything moved.

"No—" Her voice came out rough. Stripped of everything aristocratic. Just a woman’s raw panic. "Not there—I said I prepared but I— it’s been a long time since—"

"I know," he said.

He didn’t move immediately. He let her feel the weight of it. The thickness of his cockhead pressing against her anal entrance—not pushing yet, just there, just making the argument about what was coming without raising his voice.

He could feel her tightness even from outside. Even just from this contact. Her whole body had gone rigid, hands gripping the sheets, knuckles pale.

"Breathe," he said.

She breathed. Shaky and uneven and not at all controlled, but she breathed.

His hands gripped her ass. Both of them. Fingers sinking into the thickness of it, thumbs spreading, holding the flesh firm while his cockhead began to press—slowly, a deliberate advance measured in millimeters, in fractions—

"Nnngh—"

The stretch was immediate.

"—stop—stop—stop—it won’t—"

"It will," he said. Not unkind. Just factual.

A millimeter more.

Her anal entrance stretched around his cockhead. Her body resisted—clenched reflexively, tried to push back—and he held her hips with both hands and kept the pressure constant and the resistance slowly, inevitably lost its argument with physics.

"HNNGH—! Oh god—oh god—it’s too—it won’t—NNNGHH~!!"

The head entered.

Not all at once. Slowly. Millimeter by millimeter, her tightest ring stretching around his cockhead—going pale and taut and shaking around him—until the widest point passed and her entrance closed slightly around his shaft and Veronica’s face hit the sheets and the sound she made was something between a wail and a sob and something that had no word for it in any language he’d spoken in two lifetimes.

"AAAHH—! PLEASE—it’s too—the size—please—smaller—please—"

He held.

Didn’t pull back. Didn’t advance. Just held.

Let her feel the fullness of just his cockhead inside her ass. Let her body start to understand it wasn’t dying. Let the initial scream of her nerve endings begin, slowly, to shift their message.

"It’s your tightest thing," he said above her. His thumbs pressed into her ass cheeks, spreading, his grip unhurried. "Everything else I’ve been inside—all of it—nothing’s been this tight." A pause. "You’ve been fucked by half this city. How."

She cried into the sheets.

"It was—" A sob. Broken. "—the birth. Both of them. My pussy—but not—I never—nobody ever—"

SMACK.

The slap hit her left ass cheek from the right side. Hard. The flesh rippled—bounced dramatically—jiggled and settled with a red handprint forming immediately on the pale skin.

But it hadn’t been his hand.

Raven’s hands were still on her hips.

He turned his head.

Priya stood at his left. Her hand was still extended. Fingers spread. Palm still stinging. She was staring at Veronica’s ass with an expression that was one part savage satisfaction and nine parts something she probably hadn’t examined closely enough yet.

The room went silent for two full seconds.

Raven looked at Priya.

Priya looked back at him. Then at her own hand. Then at him again. Her jaw was set. She didn’t apologize.

"What the hell," he said.

Not a question. A flat statement.

Priya blinked. Her chin lifted slightly. "I didn’t see a horse."

The room processed that.

Veronica’s tear-streaked face had lifted from the sheets. She was staring back at Priya over her own shoulder with an expression that could have melted steel. Her eyes were red and wet and her mascara had destroyed itself and she was still impaled on Raven’s cockhead and none of that reduced the fury in her gaze by a single degree.

"How dare you," she said.

Her voice had dropped an octave. The crimson-haired, forty-six-year-old woman who ran underground criminal networks from a penthouse study had returned for approximately three seconds, leaking into her shattered face through sheer force of indignation.

Priya held the stare. "You looked down at me earlier."

"I will end you—"

"You were crying two minutes ago—"

"I will—"

Raven’s hand came down on Veronica’s ass.

SMACK.

Her words cut off.

"AAAHH♡~!!"