#51
[Morgana’s POV]
My daughter’s smirk widened as she brought her palm to her mouth, pouring the thick, white load from her hand to her lips.
I watched with a mix of awe and satisfaction as her throat worked, swallowing every last drop. The way she savored it was a testament to the depth of her enjoyment. And I understood; Alvin’s virility was something to be celebrated.
“You cum so many times last night, but you still spew out a huge amount every time. Just how much are you making, huh?” my daughter asked, her tone a mix of awe and amusement.
Even I am impressed. I thought to myself, a surge of pride swelling within me. Alvin truly is a remarkable man.
“Isn’t that just a sign of being a good man, Ally?” I said, my voice filled with a pride and admiration that made my heart swell.
I looked at Alvin with a deep, knowing warmth, my eyes reflecting a mixture of awe and desire. He not only has a big dick that can satisfy women, but he can also produce a huge amount of cum. Not to mention, he surely knows how to love and satisfy women.
I experienced all of these personally, and it was to the point that I almost wished to be pregnant again; unfortunately, I’m almost past my fertile period. The chance of conceiving a child is as low as 10%.
No man I’ve ever seen before could cum like him at all. It seems like the size of his cock was not just for show—it also shows a direct proportional ability to produce cum. Now, what’s left is an examination to see how fertile that is. But even without, I know that Alvin is surely very fertile—look how thick that cum is. The government will love him!
Alvin told me he wants to join the community, but because of age restrictions, he can’t. Although I can just ignore the rules, it could be a problem in the long term…
I guess I really need a semen examination certificate as proof for my dear son-in-law so that I can entice the government to turn a blind eye to it and allow him the best treatment. He might become the savior of this world.
As I stood there, wrapped in the warmth of the shower and the intimacy of the moment, I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of pride and affection for my beloved boy.
He was more than just a good man; he was a symbol of fertility and vitality in a world that desperately needed it.
“Come on, let’s rinse you up,” I said, my voice a soothing balm over the frenzied pace of my thoughts.
As we walked toward the shower, the steam already rising in lazy curls from the hot water, I felt a familiar warmth building between us.
Alvin’s hand rested lightly on the small of my back, guiding me with that gentle touch I knew so well.
He was always like this—considerate, patient, ensuring every moment felt just right. The anticipation hummed in the air, a quiet promise of intimacy under the cascading water. I glanced back at him, catching the soft smile on his lips, and my heart fluttered with affection.
With him, I always forgot who I was or how unattractive I am. A stigma that was etched into my being for all the failed dates and confessions I made in my life, and now has been cemented by my ex-husband’s loss of interest in me.
But Alvin, this boy, was different.
The way he looks at me, as if I’m the most beautiful woman in the world… I can’t get enough of it.
I moaned happily as we stepped under the spray, the water sluicing over our skin in warm rivulets. Suddenly, something shifted.
Alvin’s fingers tightened on my waist, not roughly at first, but with a firmness that caught me off guard. His breath quickened against my neck, hot and uneven, as he pulled me closer.
I turned my head slightly, curiosity sparking in my chest.
“Dear?” I murmured, my voice barely audible over the rush of the shower.
Before I could say more, his hands gripped my hips with a fierce urgency that stole my breath. He spun me around swiftly, pressing my front against the cool tiled wall.
The sudden press of his body against my back made me gasp, my palms flattening instinctively against the slick surface for balance.
Water poured down around us, soaking our hair and skin, but all I could focus on was the heat radiating from him, the way his chest heaved against my spine.
It was so unlike him—this raw edge, this possession. Alvin, my gentle Alvin, who always asked before touching, who savored every slow caress.
My mind reeled with surprise, a pleasant curiosity blooming amidst the shock. What had ignited this fire in him? I didn’t pull away; instead, a thrill raced through me, making my pulse quicken. I wanted to understand, to explore this new side of him, even as my body responded instinctively to his dominance.
His hands slid up my sides, firm and unyielding, pinning my hips in place as he ground against me. I felt his cock, hard and insistent, pressing between my thighs from behind.
“Mom,” he growled low in my ear, his voice rough with need.
Oh, dear. The way he called me mom is so pleasant in my ear, I almost cum.
I arched back slightly, not in resistance, but in invitation, my curiosity urging me to see where this would lead.
Without another word, he shoved his cock into my pussy in one swift thrust.
The sudden fullness stretched me, a sharp jolt of pleasure laced with surprise, making me cry out. My fingers curled against the tiles, nails scraping lightly as I braced myself.
He didn’t ease in like usual; no, this was urgent, demanding, his hips snapping forward with a force that rocked me against the wall. Each plunge was deep, relentless, his grip on my hips bruising in the best way, holding me steady under the onslaught.
“Ohh, haah, dear, sweetie, you’re…”
I moaned, my voice breathless and ragged, water dripping from my lashes as I glanced over my shoulder. His eyes met mine for a fleeting second—dark, intense, filled with a hunger that both startled and excited me.
Who was this man?
The surprise of his aggression made my heart pound, but it was a delicious kind, stirring a curiosity that deepened the pleasure coiling in my core. I pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, eager to feel more, to unravel this passionate storm.
The water beat down on us, steaming the air and slicking our bodies, amplifying every sensation. His cock drove into me harder, faster, the wet slap of skin echoing in the shower.
I could feel him everywhere—his thighs flexing against mine, his breath hot on my neck as he leaned in, nipping at my shoulder with a growl. My pussy clenched around him, waves of pleasure building with each forceful entry, surprise giving way to pure, electric bliss.
“Yes, just like that,” I panted, my words tumbling out between gasps. The roughness heightened everything, turning the familiar into something wildly new.
Alvin’s hands roamed, one sliding up to cup my breast, squeezing firmly as he pinched my nipple, sending sparks straight to my clit. The other stayed anchored on my hip, controlling the pace, pulling me back onto him with every thrust.
I was lost in it—the contrast of his usual tenderness now twisted into this fierce claiming. My body trembled, surprise mingling with curiosity as I wondered what had unleashed him, but mostly, I reveled in the intensity, the way it made me feel alive, desired beyond measure.
I could feel my daughter’s gaze on me. When I glanced, I saw her rubbing her cock up and down. And I smiled, the expression she wore is reminiscent of mine.
As Alvin’s rhythm grew erratic, his cock swelling inside me, I felt the edge approaching.
“Don’t stop,” I whispered, my voice husky with need, turning my head to capture his lips in a messy, water-slicked kiss.
He groaned into my mouth, pounding deeper, and the pleasure crested, crashing over me in shuddering waves. My orgasm ripped through, pussy pulsing around him, and he followed moments later, thrusting hard as he came, filling me with hot spurts.
Ahh, amazing… I feel like I’m really getting addicted to him.
…
[Alvin’s POV]
By the time we stepped out, our bodies were loose and relaxed, the earlier tension dissolved into a wordless contentment.
Towels brushed against damp skin, capturing stray droplets that traced paths down shoulders and arms before disappearing into the fabric.
When we returned to the room, I was taken aback. Inside, a maid was quietly gathering our clothes, which had been scattered from the night before. Her movements were fluid and practiced, as if she had done this countless times. Fresh clothes, neatly folded, were already laid out on the bed—a set for each of us.
Heat rose to my neck as I realized I was standing there, completely naked, with only a damp towel draped lazily over my shoulders. I hadn’t expected anyone else to be there—not after everything that had happened. Instinctively, I grabbed the edge of the towel, pulling it tighter, expecting the maid to turn away or blush in embarrassment.
But she didn’t. Instead, the woman smiled—a calm, unbothered smile—and greeted us with a soft curtsy, as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Then she approached me, her steps light against the marble floor. Before I could say a word, she reached up and placed a clean, fluffy towel over my head, her fingers gentle as she began to dry my hair.
I froze, uncertain whether to move or speak. Her motions were methodical, almost gentle, and for a strange moment, I felt like a child again, being cared for by a nurturing presence.
I looked toward Ally and Morgana for some kind of reaction—but neither seemed surprised. They didn’t even pause. Ally was already slipping into her shirt, humming softly, while Morgana adjusted the buttons of her dress with her usual composure, chatting idly about breakfast as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world.
Meanwhile, the maid continued her quiet work—patting my shoulders dry, then guiding me gently toward the bed where my clothes waited.
“Let me help you, sir,” the maid said softly.
Her tone was polite, but the warmth in it carried a faint, unmistakable allure—the kind that made the word ‘sir’ sound almost personal. She stepped closer, guiding me gently toward the bed where my clothes had been neatly arranged.
I didn’t know what to say. My mind was still trying to catch up—a swirl of confusion, embarrassment, and something else I couldn’t quite name. The calm assurance in her movements only made my silence feel heavier, as if I’d stepped into a rhythm that belonged to her alone.
She seemed to take my quietness as a sign of permission. Her lips curved faintly—professional, but with a spark that made my pulse stutter—before she picked up the folded shirt from the bed. The fabric slid across her fingers like water as she unfolded it, holding it carefully between her hands. “Arms up, please,” she murmured, looking up at me through her lashes.
Her voice was low, almost coaxing. I hesitated for a heartbeat before raising my arms, and she stepped in—close enough that I caught the faint scent of her perfume, something floral and clean, with a warmth that reminded me of sunlight through linen.
She slipped the shirt over my shoulders with practiced precision, smoothing it over my chest. Her touch was light but unhurried, her fingertips brushing the base of my neck as she adjusted the collar. Every motion was deliberate, graceful—like a dance she’d performed countless times, but one she chose to savor now.
“Relax,” she said softly, smiling as she noticed how tense I was. “I promise I don’t bite.”
I let out a quiet, awkward laugh, though my throat felt tight. “You say that, but you look like you might.”
Her smile deepened—not quite a laugh, but close. “Then maybe you shouldn’t test me, sir.”
There was teasing in her tone, but her gaze lingered a little too long as she began fastening the buttons, one by one. Her fingers brushed my chest with every touch, the faint friction sending small sparks up my spine. She didn’t rush—her movements were slow, deliberate, tracing the curve of the fabric as if memorizing the shape beneath it.
For a moment, the world seemed to shrink to the rhythm of her hands—the whisper of fabric, the soft click of buttons, the faint warmth where her fingers had just been.
When she reached the last button, she smoothed the front of the shirt with both hands, pressing out a non-existent crease. Her palms lingered—a second too long—before she finally drew them away, fingertips grazing lightly against my collarbone.
“There,” she whispered, stepping back just slightly. “Perfect.”
Her words felt heavier than they should’ve—not just about the shirt. Her eyes lifted to meet mine, steady and calm, yet filled with a quiet glimmer that hadn’t been there before. For a long heartbeat, neither of us moved.
The air between us felt fragile, trembling with something unspoken—something that neither of us wanted to break.
She was quite pretty, older than I’d expected. Late twenties, maybe early thirties. Petite, soft-featured, and graceful in a way that drew the eyes before the mind caught up. If you saw her from behind, you’d mistake her for someone younger—but face-to-face, it was impossible not to notice the maturity in her beauty.
Golden-blonde hair framed her cheeks in soft waves, and her blue eyes gleamed like polished glass under the morning light. Even her lips—thin, faintly curved—carried a quiet, confident warmth.
My hand moved before I could think. I slid my arms around her waist, drawing her gently closer. The motion startled her for just a moment, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, her lips parted slightly, her breath catching—then she smiled, almost imperceptibly.
Her hands rose, fingertips brushing through my hair, combing it back with a tenderness that made my heart thud.
“You shouldn’t…” she whispered, though her voice lacked conviction. Her face leaned closer, close enough that I could feel the soft warmth of her breath against my cheek.
Now that she didn’t seem to mind my closeness, I pulled her in tighter, the scent of her perfume wrapping around me—faintly floral, with a hint of sweetness that made my pulse quicken. “What’s your name?” I asked quietly, my face brushing against the side of her neck as I spoke.
She exhaled softly, her voice a delicate tremor. “My name is Cara, sir.”
“Cara…” I whispered her name like a secret, my breath grazing her skin. “You smell nice.”
“Thank you,” she said, and I could hear the shy delight beneath her composure. Her hand still rested on my shoulder, as though uncertain whether to push me away or keep me close.
I let my lips brush against her ear, feeling her shiver slightly. “You know,” I murmured, “I think you’re very beautiful, Cara.”
Her breath hitched, and I could feel the tension in her body, a mix of surprise and desire.
“Sir, you shouldn’t say such things,” she replied, but there was no strength in her words.
I let my hand slide down her back, tracing the curve of her spine until I reached the small of her back. She gasped softly, her body pressing closer to mine.
“And what if I want to?” I asked, my voice low and husky. Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, we were locked in a silent battle of wills. Then, slowly, she leaned in, her lips brushing against mine in a soft, tentative kiss. It was a kiss that promised more, a kiss that spoke of unspoken desires and hidden passions.
I deepened the kiss, my hands sliding around her waist, pulling her closer. Her body molded against mine, and I could feel the heat radiating from her skin, the soft curves pressing against me. Her lips parted, inviting me in, and I explored her mouth with a hunger I couldn’t contain. Our tongues danced together, a slow, sensual tango that left me breathless.
Cara’s hands roamed over my chest, her fingertips tracing the lines of my muscles through the fabric of my shirt. I could feel her heartbeat, rapid and erratic, matching the pounding in my own chest. I let my hands wander, one cupping the back of her neck, the other sliding down to the small of her back, pulling her even closer.
She gasped into my mouth, a soft, desperate sound that sent a shiver down my spine. I could feel her body responding to mine, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. I trailed kisses down her jaw, nipping gently at her earlobe before moving to her neck, tasting the soft, sensitive skin there. She tilted her head back, exposing more of her throat, and I took advantage, my lips and tongue exploring every inch.
Cara’s hands found their way to my hair, her fingers tangling in the strands as she held me close, urging me on. I could feel her body trembling against mine, her breath hitching as I nipped and sucked at her skin. I let my hands roam lower, cupping her ass and pulling her against me, letting her feel the hardness of my desire.
She moaned softly, a sound that was almost a whimper, and I could feel her body pressing against mine, seeking more. I was just about to lift her up, to carry her to the bed, when a loud cough tore through the silence like a gunshot.
I froze—and slowly turned my head. Ally and Morgana were already there, sitting on the bed. They looked perfectly at ease, as if they’d been watching for a while. Ally’s arms were folded under her chest, one leg crossed over the other, her expression flat but her brow arched with quiet irritation. Morgana, meanwhile, had her chin resting on her palm, eyes sparkling with amusement.
“Breakfast,” Ally said coolly, her voice dripping with impatience. “Remember that? I’m starving.”
Morgana smirked. “Mmm. Don’t rush him, Ally. He looks like he’s… busy.” Her tone was teasing, playful—the kind that made my face heat instantly.
“Busy,” Ally echoed, unimpressed. “Right.” Her eyes flicked from me to Cara—still standing close—and back again. “You’re unbelievable.”
I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck, the sudden awareness of their gazes making me feel like I’d been caught stealing something forbidden. “You two could’ve said something earlier.”
“Oh, I thought we’d let you finish,” Morgana said sweetly.
Cara stepped back, her cheeks blooming pink, though she kept her composure with practiced grace.
“Then, please excuse me,” she murmured softly, bowing her head before she turned away. As she passed, her skirt brushed lightly against my leg—a fleeting, ghostly touch that left behind her scent, faint and floral.
Before leaving, she glanced over her shoulder once more, her blue eyes meeting mine for a brief, unspoken second. I couldn’t help the small smile that rose to my lips. “Thank you,” I murmured.
She smiled back, soft and genuine, then disappeared through the door.
