CHAPTER 397: GYM TORTURE (R-18)

The final signature was scrawled on the last piece of digital paperwork, sealing Liberation Holdings’ monumental investment into Quantum Tech. With a swipe of my hand, the holographic display vanished. The business of empires was done, for now. A different kind of challenge called.

I found myself in the mansion’s private gym, a vast space filled with top-tier equipment. It was time to start the gym mission I had held onto so much. It was like the "Charlotte Thompson Mission" had lingered in my system.

Although my body was already a sculpted masterpiece, a gift from the pill first and then the Taboo system, I could feel a latent potential, a ceiling I hadn’t even begun to push against.

I was a newbie to the gym in practice, but not in knowledge. Every possible exercise, technique, and physiological principle was etched into my mind. I started not with the heavy weights, but with a rigorous focus on my core, my legs, and deep, punishing stretches. The burn was immediate and incredible. It wasn’t the pain of strain, but the sensation of my body waking up, of fibers realigning and unlocking new levels of power.

Within the first hour, a familiar ache set in, but beneath it was a thrilling sense of expansion.

The gym became my temple, my sanctum of transformation. Sweat slicked my skin as the system’s knowledge flooded my limbs, turning every rep, every stretch into a ritual of ascension. My body—already honed by the Taboo System—ached with the sweet fire of evolution. Muscles screamed, then knit stronger, denser.

Tendons tightened like bowstrings. I felt myself expanding, the ceiling of human limitation splintering overhead. An inch taller? Perhaps. More importantly, I felt... denser. coiled power humming beneath my skin.

Then they descended. Mom, Charlotte, Emma, Sarah. A legion of temptation clad in the most sinful activewear known to man. Emma’s leggings were practically painted on, emphasizing every curve. Charlotte’s sports bra revealed a stomach so toned, sculpted, it put fitness models to shame. Mom... oh, Mom won the torture trophy.

It felt like a coordinated assault. Emma, vibrant and energetic, overdid every stretch with a playful grin. Charlotte revealed a surprisingly toned, defined stomach that put the younger girls to shame.

Mom... oh, Mom won the torture trophy.

She became the undisputed victor in this unspoken competition to unravel my sanity.

Every stretch, every deep lunge I helped her with, her ass seemed magnetically drawn to my groin. The brush of firm flesh against my trapped erection was electric. One vigorous assist on her deadlift form, and her full, rounded ass cheeks landed squarely against my length.

A jolt of pure lust shot through me as my cock settled in her assbridge.

My cock, already aching, strained against my shorts like a steel cable. She lingered a heartbeat too long, pretending to perfect her posture, grinding subtly. The girls—Emma and Sarah—noticed. They had to. Yet they played innocent, murmuring encouragement, their own eyes glinting with shared, conspiratorial heat.

My balls throbbed, full and heavy.

The session ended, leaving me in a state of agonizing arousal. It hadn’t even been 24 hours since I’d been with Emma, but the sensory overload had me feeling like I was about to burst like I have been starved for sex for twenty-four years.

The others drifted out, laughing, leaving only Emma. Her eyes, dark and knowing, locked onto mine. She didn’t speak. She just grabbed my hand, her fingers cool against my overheated skin, and pulled me into the adjoining gym bathroom. The door clicked shut. The shower hissed to life instantly, steam beginning to fill the space.

She turned, her back to me, and peeled off her soaked sports bra, then the leggings. Her body was a masterpiece of fresh arousal and post-workout glow. She braced her hands against the cool tile wall, arching her back, presenting that perfect, heart-shaped ass to me. She looked over her shoulder, eyes smoldering.

"Come here, bad wolf," she breathed, the commanding princess shifting into demanding seductress. "Feed from your princess." Her hand snaked between her legs, fingers sliding through her slick folds, gathering her wetness. She reached back, wrapping those fingers around the thick root of my cock, still trapped in my shorts.

She squeezed, rubbing the hot silk of her arousal along my length. "Now, wolf. Take what’s yours."

I didn’t need telling twice. The shorts hit the floor. My cock sprang free, jutting iron-hard and leaking. She guided the flushed, massive head to her entrance.

Then she pushed back.

"Ahhhhhhh~~~~!"

The scream tore from her throat, raw and unrestrained. Her back bowed like a drawn bowstring as my sheer size split her open. Her fingers scrabbled desperately at the wet tiles, seeking purchase against the tidal wave of sensation.

"So... big! Oh god, Peter!"

I gripped her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, holding her steady as she adjusted. "Mine, Emma," I growled, my voice rough as gravel. All mine. The burn was incredible, her inner walls gripping me like a hot, velvet vise. She was still tender from the previous night, but that only made the friction hotter, the claim deeper.

I pulled out slowly, savoring the drag of her slick walls along my shaft, the whimper it pulled from her lips. Then I drove back in, deeper this time, burying myself to the hilt in one powerful surge.

"Ahhh~~ Pete... honey!" Her eyes flew wide, glazed with shock and ecstasy. I hauled her upright, pulling her back flush against my chest. My left arm banded around her ribs, pinning her to me. My right hand slid up, fingers wrapping possessively around her throat. Not choking, but claiming. Owning.

I angled my hips, withdrawing once more, then slamming forward. Hard. Deep. Hitting the core of her.

"Ahhh~~ FUCK! PETE, YES!" Her head fell back against my shoulder, her body trembling violently in my grip. "Fuck this slutty sister of yours! Use me!"

"Always," I snarled against her ear, my breath hot. My hand tightened fractionally on her throat as I began to move in earnest. Not slow. Not gentle. Punishing. Deep, powerful strokes that lifted her onto her toes with every thrust.

The wet slap of skin on skin echoed under the shower’s spray, mixing with her desperate cries and my guttural grunts. Water cascaded over our joined bodies, steam billowing, turning the bathroom into a private Eden of sweat and want.

Her inner walls clenched around me, rippling, already hurtling towards the edge. "That’s it, sister," I growled, my tempo increasing, driving into that spot that made her scream. "Come for your wolf. Show me who owns this tight little pussy."

"YOU! PETER! YOU OWN IT! AHHHHHH—!" Her orgasm detonated, a violent, convulsing thing that wracked her entire body. She bucked and screamed in my arms, held up only by my grip on her throat and hip, her pussy milking my buried cock relentlessly, drenching my thighs in her release.

The pressure in my balls was unbearable, a white-hot knot demanding release. But I held on. There was still the Charlotte mission to complete. The gym had been step one. Emma’s surrender, her raw, admission of ownership, was step two. Quantum Tech and Liberation Holdings demanded focus.

For now, I just held her, my flagpole cock still throbbing deep inside her pulsating heat, my hand possessive on her throat, the water washing away the sweat and the torment, leaving only the raw, primal satisfaction of the claim.

My slutty sister. Owned. My auras hummed approvingly in my veins. The day wasn’t even half over, nor was our sex in the bathroom where mom could come any time and catch us. Me and Emma fucking like a god and his goddess.

Or maybe she’ll join too?