CHAPTER 148: THE MIDNIGHT BLOOM - 4

Their skin slapped, her rhythm frantic now, fucking herself on him like she couldn’t get enough, her full breasts bouncing wildly, her thighs trembling, her pussy pulsing around him.

All around them, others cried out, bodies tangled in lust and worship—lips sucking, hips grinding, flesh yielding—but Lor only felt her—tight, wet, perfect—riding him like he was hers to break.

Only heard her—breathless gasps, filthy moans—like she was made to come apart on his cock.

She leaned in, kissed his neck, bit his ear, her pussy clenching hard around him.

"Cum inside," she whispered, her voice raw with need. "Fill me up, pretty noble."

He obeyed, his cock throbbing violently, his hands gripping her hips as he came—hard, deep, spilling inside her, hot cum flooding her pussy as she milked him, her moan shaking against his throat.

She ground down onto him, taking every drop, her thighs trembling, her cunt twitching around his length, her own climax shuddering through her as she gasped, her full breasts heaving against his chest.

When it was done, she stayed there a moment, her breath ragged, her glossy lips curling into a sated smile.

"Mm," she sighed, finally pulling off, his cum leaking down her thigh, glistening in the mana-light.

She kissed his cheek, a soft, lingering press, adjusted her robe, and vanished back into the shadows of the Atrium, her hips swaying with the same predatory grace.

Lor sat there, his cock still slick, heart racing, the mask hiding his smirk, his hazel eyes glinting with satisfaction.

Well...

That was zing - zing. Amazing.

Lor stood slowly, still warm and sticky from the milf’s pussy, her scent clinging to his skin, her wetness drying in slick trails on his thighs, the faint musk of their release mingling with the rosewater and amber in the air.

The marble bench behind him gleamed faintly with his cum, the magic in the Atrium buzzing as if it recognized the act, its golden glow pulsing with spent devotion.

But he wasn’t finished—not by a long shot.

His cock, though softening slightly, twitched with residual heat—half-drained but far from sated, throbbing faintly against the silk lining of his velvet robe.

The black-and-gold mask sat perfectly in place, its illusion enchantment holding, marking him to any eye as just another anonymous noble—masked, desirable, untouchable, his lean chest glistening under the parted robe, catching the flickering mana-light.

He moved back into the Gallery, his steps slow and measured, eyes scanning through a haze of moans, bare flesh, and gleaming bodies, each scene a pulse of raw desire.

Every few steps, someone was coming—on a thigh, into a mouth, over someone’s face—the air humid with the scent of sex, thick with want, the wet slap of skin and desperate gasps filling the space.

His cock stirred again, hardening against the silk, the friction teasing his sensitive head, pre-cum seeping through.

And then he saw her.

Toren’s wife.

She stood near one of the raised platforms, watching—aloof, arms crossed under her full breasts, hips tilted, her crimson dress peeled halfway down her thighs, the silk clinging to her curves like it was painted on, teasing the possibility of slipping further.

Her mask was different—gold-lined, shaped like a serpent, eyes narrow and playful, accentuating her full, glossy lips, which she licked absently as she watched a trio perform.

Two women kneeling between a man’s thighs, their lips taking turns licking his thick shaft, sucking the head with wet, eager pulls, their tongues glistening with spit and pre-cum, their moans soft but hungry.

She didn’t touch herself, didn’t move, but her thighs shifted subtly every now and then, her pussy pulsing faintly beneath the dress, betraying her arousal.

Lor stepped behind her, silent, close enough to feel the heat rolling off her skin, the scent of her—jasmine, musk, and raw need—flooding his senses.

His cock throbbed harder, pressing against the silk, his breath brushing her neck.

She turned her head slightly, not startled—just curious, her glossy lips curling faintly. "...You’re not Toren."

He smiled behind the mask, his hazel eyes glinting with hunger. "No."

Her lips curled into a slow, dangerous grin, her eyes raking over him through the serpent mask. "Good."

She didn’t look back at the trio, turning fully to face him, her body obscene in its allure.

Her bare shoulders gleamed under the mana-light, the swell of her full breasts pushing against the half-undone dress, nipples hard and visible through the silk, her waist curving into lush hips, her thighs looking like they could crush a man’s will if wrapped around him long enough.

Her pussy throbbed faintly, the heat radiating through the fabric.

"You’ve been watching me?" she asked, her voice low, teasing, dripping with promise.

"Only since you arrived," Lor answered truthfully, his voice steady, his cock twitching as her gaze dropped, tracing the lean lines of his chest through the parted robe, down his abs, to the soft sheen along his cock—half-hard again, glistening with another woman’s spit and his own cum.

"You’ve already been used," she murmured, brushing her fingers down the front of his cock, collecting the slickness, her nails grazing the sensitive head, making him twitch. "Good. That means you’ll last longer."

He didn’t answer—didn’t have to.

His cock throbbed under her touch, pre-cum dripping onto her fingers, his hazel eyes locked on her glossy lips.

She turned, giving him a slow glance over her shoulder, her hips swaying as she glided toward the nearest privacy alcove, veiled with hanging silks that shimmered in the mana-light.

Lor followed, his cock hardening fully, the silk robe teasing his length with every step, his heart pounding with anticipation.

Inside, the curtains shut out the Gallery’s chaos, muffling the moans and wet slaps of flesh, leaving only the percussion of distant pleasure.

She turned on him fast, slamming him back against the wall with surprising strength, her hands gripping his robe, pulling it fully open, her eyes raking over every line of his lean chest, his abs, his throbbing cock, like she owned him.

"No talking," she said, her voice flat with certainty, her serpent mask glinting. "No begging."