Chapter 462- The Begining of This World Last Session

Her body was doing things without her authorization.

Her hands moved. Both of them, finding his hips by proximity, palms pressing against the warm skin above his thighs—

And then finding more. Her right hand traveling further. The weight of him, the soft heat of it, and she was ’massaging’ — her fingers working in the automatic, half-conscious way of a body that had learned where to put itself and hadn’t been given updated instructions.

’I am—’

He pulled back.

Then drove forward.

Her throat bulged with the depth of it — visible, the column of her neck distending slightly with his cock filling it — and she made a sound around him that started as a gag and ended as something she would not examine.

’Gkk—’

’Hrrgh—’

Above her, he had turned back to Hana.

Hana’s blindfold had slipped.

She didn’t know when. The combination of the pinch and the arch and the sound of her daughter’s throat had done something to the fabric’s position and now one eye was fully visible — dark, wet, the specific expression of a woman looking at something she doesn’t have the architecture to process.

She was looking at Min-jung.

At her daughter’s hair wrapped in his hand.

At her daughter’s throat working around him.

At the tears cutting sideways into her daughter’s blindfold.

Hana’s lips were trembling.

She should have been horrified.

She was — she was ’trying’ to be horrified, the horror was there, she could feel the shape of it, her daughter, her child, the ink-stained hands that had drawn as a baby on any surface available—

His mouth found hers.

He sealed her lips with his and pulled her against his chest — his free hand spreading wide between her shoulder blades, the bound wrists behind her creating the pressure point that pushed her breasts into him.

Immediately. Completely.

Her mouth opened under his.

"Slurrp... umnghh..."

The horror didn’t leave. It was still there. It was just underneath everything else now, underneath the heat of the bond and the warmth of his chest and the specific treachery of a body that had been thoroughly re-educated in what it wanted over the last weeks and was not going to reverse that education for the sake of her better judgment.

Her hands — bound — flexed uselessly behind her.

Her tongue moved against his.

Her hips pressed forward.

Below them, Min-jung’s hands were around his hips and her fingers were working at his balls with the mechanical, helpless diligence of someone whose body had been trained into this exact position, this exact action, and was executing from muscle memory while her brain was several floors away trying to locate the emergency exit.

’I’m—’

’My mother is—’

’He’s kissing my mother and I’m—’

He drove into her throat again.

’GKKH—’

The sound she made was wet and broken and filled the courtyard air with the kind of noise that made seventeen other women go very still.

Hana felt it against his mouth.

She made a sound of her own — muffled by his kiss, trapped between his tongue and her own, a low, broken whimper that had too many things in it to be any one thing.

Her tears fell.

They tracked down her face and fell into the kiss and he kept kissing her.

Around them, nineteen women stood in the warm red-tinted air.

Seventeen of them blindfolded still.

Some of them with their thighs pressed together.

Some of them with their lips parted.

All of them breathing differently than they had been thirty seconds ago.

He pulled back from Hana’s mouth — her lips chasing after his by two centimeters before she caught herself — and turned his head to the right.

The courtyard.

The assembled women.

His eyes found the cluster and moved through it and stopped.

"Yuna."

His voice carried over the wet, gagging rhythm of Min-jung’s face below him, over the soft muffled sound Hana made against the remaining distance between their mouths.

Unhurried. Clear.

"You’re third in line."

Yuna’s head came up.

The Seraph Trace — fallen, tarnished at the edges — flickered gold under her skin.

"Start now," he said. "Rub your pussy."

The word landed in the courtyard and stayed.

Yuna’s bound hands twitched behind her back.

Her thighs pressed together.

Then, slowly, with the specific quality of someone performing a conscious surrender rather than an unconscious one — the eyes-open kind, the kind that knew exactly what it was doing and did it anyway — she shifted her feet apart on the flagstone.

Her skirt rode up slightly at the inner hem.

Her bound wrists worked against the tie, and the tie had just enough give, and her fingers found the fabric over her mound and pressed in.

A small sound. Quiet. Barely audible.

"Ahn~"

But audible.

Seventeen other women in the courtyard heard it.

Seventeen other bodies registered it.

"Mmh~ So..."

But all of them fell silent, realizing they were all too embarrassed, realizing they had all been used and become addicted to the same cock.

"HIEEEKK—!!"

Raven’s hand didn’t just pinch; he twisted, his thumb and forefinger digging into the soft, yielding flesh of Hana’s breast with a bruising, possessive authority. As he yanked her cleavage downward, the thin fabric of her blouse groaned, straining white against the fullness of her heavy, milfish-like curves.

With a sudden, sharp motion, he pulled away from her lips and lunged, his teeth scraping over the sensitive peak of her nipple. He tore into the flesh until she let out a high, ragged wail.

The vibration of her cry shuddered through her ribs. He didn’t stop there. He gathered both of her heavy, pendulous breasts, pressing the thick weight of them together until they squashed against one another.

He latched onto the nipple adorned with the metal hook, tugging at the piercing with his teeth. The skin around the hardware reddened, stretched taut and glistening. The violent tugging sent a fresh wave of agony and pleasure that made her knees buckle.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, soaking into the bodice of her blouse, while the heat between her legs turned molten. Her pussy gushed, the slickness soaking through her underwear until it stained the fabric dark.

Below him, Min-jung remained locked in her own private hell. Her jaw ached, stretched wide as she worked her mouth around the thick, blunt head of his cock, her throat pulsing with every rhythmic thrust he forced upon her.

Her blindfold was damp with her own tears, creating a claustrophobic mask that amplified every sound—the wet, slapping noise of her lips, the strangled whimpers escaping her mother’s throat, and the humiliating, mechanical way her own hands were still gripping his hips. Her palms were pressed against the solid, warm muscle of his thighs, her thumbs digging into his skin, an action driven by deep-seated, forbidden conditioning.

Raven pulled back, leaving her mouth gasping for air, only to drive into her throat again with such depth that her eyes rolled behind the cloth. The column of her neck distended, the skin stretched paper-thin over the rigid length of him.

She gagged, a sharp, wet sound echoing off the flagstone. She felt him strike the back of her throat, a brutal, invasive reminder of her place.

"Ghhk... hrrngh..."

Hana watched through her one semi-exposed eye, her own body betraying her with every sway of her daughter’s hips. She felt the heavy, rhythmic bounce of her own unbound breast, the nipple throbbing where it had been bitten, and the persistent ache of her own clit pressing against her wet panties.

"Yuna," Raven’s voice cut through the air, cool and detached.

He didn’t wait for a response, his gaze shifting to the crowd of women. When he commanded her to rub herself, Yuna didn’t resist. She shifted her stance, her skirt riding up to reveal the trembling line of her thighs.

As her fingers found her mound, pressing through the thin fabric, the friction sent a shiver through her spine. She let out a soft, involuntary moan—"Ahn~"—that acted like a spark in a room full of gasoline.

The sound triggered something in the others. The shame was there, heavy and thick in the courtyard, but it was being eclipsed by the gnawing, biological need that had been drilled into them for weeks.

They were all standing in that same trap, their bodies recognizing the sound of a woman being brought to the edge of an orgasm by the man who owned them.

"Mmh... so... I can’t help it..." One of the women near the front began, her voice cracking as she fumbled with her own waistband, her breath hitching in a desperate, syncopated rhythm.

The silence of the courtyard was replaced by the wet, rhythmic sounds of nineteen women beginning to succumb.

"NNnnghhh~~ Ahhnnghh?! Sir Raven—that’s—too much..."