#54
The invitation was met with enthusiastic agreement. “Yes, join us!” another girl chimed in eagerly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’ll be fun~ You’ll see things you’ve never imagined before.”
“Yeah, go girl. Lure him in,” another girl snickered, her laughter infectious and warm.
“Shut up,”
The table erupted into laughter, a rich, warm sound that filled the room and mingled with the lingering aroma of coffee and pastries.
I was about to add my own quip, a witty retort already forming on my tongue, when something at the edge of my vision caught my eye.
Johnson, all gangly limbs and boyish charm, was now perched comfortably on Tina’s lap. Tina, who barely reached his chest in height, was meticulously feeding him bits of sausage with her fork, her giggles like tiny bells as he playfully nipped at her fingers.
The scene was bizarre, a tableau of unexpected dynamics. She was the aggressor, the tease, and he, leaning back with a shy grin, seemed utterly content. What struck me most was the utter nonchalance of the others. No one batted an eye.
Across the table, two girls were locked in a hushed debate, a silent current of tension between them that suddenly dissolved when one of them leaned in, pulling the other close, and kissed her cheek. Right there, in front of everyone.
The reaction wasn’t shock, but a ripple of appreciative laughter and a few playful whistles that only seemed to amplify the convivial atmosphere. A curious blend of comfort and mischief, thick and inviting as the steam from a fresh brew.
So, same-sex relationships were accepted here, then. My internal monologue wrestled with the contrast to my previous world, where such unions were not just frowned upon but often considered a profound taboo in this world. A concept almost comparable to, if not worse than, incest back in my world.
Here, incest seemed to be a peculiar, albeit present, kink, while same-sex relationships, which I’d always understood to be reviled, were apparently… normal. Perhaps this proclaimed freedom of theirs extended to the heart as well.
I let out a quiet breath, setting my fork down for a moment and leaning back. This place. It was a tapestry woven with threads of secret clubs and brazen flirtations, and I was still trying to find my own place within its intricate design.
And then—
“—!?”
My cutlery nearly clattered to the crisp white tablecloth. My entire body went rigid as an unexpected, intensely deliberate sensation jolted through me: a sharp, slow pinch against the inside of my thigh. It was no accidental brush, no stray elbow. It was a pinch. Slow. Intentionally, agonizingly slow.
I reflexively glanced down, my pulse hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs, but saw only the fabric of the tablecloth. And then, with dawning, disbelieving certainty, I traced the source.
To my left, Aunt Morgana sat with her customary grace, a picture of refined poise as she sipped her coffee, her expression as unreadable as a closed book. Her posture was impeccable, her gaze fixed on the lively conversation unfolding across the table, as if the world itself couldn’t disturb her serenity. But beneath that serene facade, her left arm was concealed by the tablecloth.
Her fingers – warm, deliberate, undeniably real – were pressed against my inner thigh.
For a suspended second, my breath hitched. The heat of her touch seeped through the material of my trousers, faint yet impossible to ignore. I swallowed hard, fighting the instinct to flinch away, to draw unwanted attention. She didn’t look at me. Not once.
My eyes darted to hers, a silent question of confusion and a plea for caution in their depths, knowing the risk of anyone seeing.
Ally, seated beside me, naturally sensed her mother’s clandestine gesture. Yet, instead of sharing my apprehension and intervening, she merely glanced at her mother’s hidden arm for a fleeting moment before returning to her breakfast as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
“So, what do you think about it, Alvin? You in?” Rodrigo asked, his question cutting through the haze of my distraction. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his expression earnest and slightly too patient. He looked like the president of the student council, not the recruiter for a secret society that clearly blurred the lines between academic club and orgy planning committee.
I would have eagerly agreed, the sheer magnetic pull of Morgana’s influence and the promise of belonging making the decision an easy one. But uncertainty gnawed at me. I still didn’t fully grasp the nature of the club or the responsibilities that came with membership.
“I’ll consider it,” I managed to say, pushing the words out with forced calmness. My voice sounded steady, a minor miracle given the turmoil churning inside me. “But, how exactly does this club thing work anyway? Is it all about… social networking? Is there a schedule for volunteering, or are we expected to share partners, or is it more of a coupling arrangement?”
Rodrigo leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face, momentarily oblivious to the silent drama playing out a few feet below his line of sight. “Hm, that’s an interesting question. We do have a mission and a vision, which is mandatory for any club to exist, you know. It’s almost a requirement, or a contract with the school. We have to look legitimate.”
Just as Rodrigo finished speaking, before the last syllable of legitimate had fully faded, a pair of slender hands suddenly appeared beneath the table. They were small and elegant, adorned with a delicate silver ring on the index finger.
The hands didn’t hesitate. They moved with shocking speed and confidence, pulling my shorts just enough to clear the barrier. Before I could even register the invasion, a soft, warm mouth enveloped me.
A jolt of surprise—mixed overwhelmingly with immediate, staggering pleasure—shot through my body, forcing the air out of my lungs in a silent gasp. My eyes widened involuntarily, but I managed to keep my posture rigid. The only outward manifestation of the seismic event occurring inches from the sticky diner floor was the white-knuckle grip I now had on the handle of my fork.
I swiveled my gaze around the table, a frantic internal inventory, ensuring no one had noticed the unexpected intruder. Morgana, whose thumb had just been lazily circling the sensitive inner curve of my thigh, noticed the slight stiffness in my shoulders and the sudden sheen of sweat on my upper lip.
She didn’t flinch. Instead, she offered a slow, sensual smirk that crinkled the corners of her eyes. Her hazel eyes twinkled with a mix of mischief and profound approval. She said nothing aloud, but her touch, though now merely resting on my leg, pulsed with the intensity of a silent dare.
The unknown girl under the table was skilled. Terrifyingly so. She worked with a focused intensity that spoke of practice and confidence, her movements deliberate, sensual, and utterly dedicated to reducing my composure to dust. I struggled to maintain any semblance of focus on the dry, bureaucratic discussion of “club mission” while my mind was a blur of involuntary, escalating sensations.
I wanted to see who it was that dared to suck me in front of all these people. While Rodrigo was telling me what the club does, attempting to sell the idea to me, I pushed the fork on my side and let it fall to the ground.
“Sorry, let me get that,” I said and crouched lower, only to see a cute twintailed girl looking at me under the table with a wide smile.
I immediately recognized her as Milly, one of Donna’s ‘Popular’ friends. Cute face, small chest, and petite body. I looked at her, confused, wondering what she was doing. But she only leaned toward me and kissed me on the lips, and handed me the fork.
Still confused, I went back and pulled my chair closer to the table to hide what was happening under it. I spread my legs, and as I expected, the girl, Milly, immediately settled between my legs and started licking my dick.
The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect storm of pleasure and disbelief. Milly’s tongue was both gentle and insistent, her movements precise and knowing. She seemed to understand exactly what she was doing, her actions calculated to drive me to the brink of madness.
I forced myself to focus on Rodrigo’s words, but it was a losing battle. My mind was a chaotic mix of the present moment and the escalating sensations below the table. Milly’s hands joined her mouth, her fingers tracing patterns on my thighs that sent shivers down my spine. The combination of her touch and the rhythm of her mouth was almost too much to bear.
Morgana, noticing my struggle, leaned in closer, her breath hot on my ear. “Don’t worry, and just let them be,” she whispered, her voice a low purr.
Them? I wondered, and immediately I realized what she was talking about the moment I felt, not only one, but two tongues playing around my cock. It was clear that Milly was not the only one there now. I almost moaned when one sucked the head of my cock while another started sucking my balls. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect storm of pleasure and disbelief.
Rodrigo, oblivious to the chaos beneath the table—or maybe he did know it, I don’t know—continued his explanation, his voice a distant hum in the background. I was lost in a world of sensation, the lines between reality and fantasy blurring into a haze of pleasure.
“Alvin, you okay there?” Rodrigo asked, his brow furrowed in genuine concern. He was looking directly at my face, where I knew the veneer of calm was rapidly cracking. “You look a bit… flushed. Did you feel sick?”
I looked at him, trying to see any signs that he knew what was happening under the table. But the only thing I could see was concern and confusion. He doesn’t know.
But then I noticed Donna was looking at me from behind Rodrigo, smirking. This brat… she must be the one!
“I’m fine,” I replied, the word sounding tighter and slightly higher-pitched than I intended. I had to clear my throat awkwardly, hoping the motion covered the sudden involuntary intake of breath. “Just… just thinking about what you said.”
“It’s cool, right?”
“Yeah… I guess, so… anyway, you said… the school knows what you are…all, agh, d, doing?”
“Of course, the school knows. I mean, we would not be given any budget or room without full disclosure. And they were very supportive about it. As long as we do our duty and obligations, of course.”
“And that is?”
“Getting girls pregnant,” Rodrigo said casually, as if what he said was a natural thing.
“You know our duties and obligations as men, right? It’s connected with the club, which is why the school supports us. As for the sharing you mentioned, you’re talking about us being shared among the girls, right? However, that’s natural; becoming a member means signing a contract that allows such a thing. But you can rest assured, we still have our rights intact. We can refuse if we don’t want it, or if we’re not in the mood. There will be no use of force, of course. Although we do have quotas to fill every month. It’s a requirement by the school, so you need to have sex with at least two girls every month. But as a reward, you’ll get allowance, extra credits, and such.”
I turned back to the group, feeling a mix of amusement and disbelief.
“You’re all serious about this, huh?”
Rod grinned, tilting his head. “Serious? Yeah. But not heavy-serious. It’s about living honestly. Helping society, well, we do volunteer work sometimes. Didn’t you help us with some of it? You know, when we conducted outreach programs for children last year and the subsequent feeding program? That’s considered part of our club.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“We hide it from other students, and of course, from society. We know this kind of club won’t be accepted by all people, especially men. I apologize if we hid it from you before, but well, we have no choice, it’s not like you’re accepting of the idea, right?”
“Still, the most important thing is you’re with us now, Alvin.” Lindo grinned. “We’ll have a lot of parties, camping, a lot of things we can do now together~!”
The words hung in the air, a bizarre tapestry woven from casual pronouncements of societal duty and the primal urges that were currently consuming me. My mind, still reeling from the double assault below, struggled to process the information. Quotas? Contracts? Allowance? It sounded like a twisted version of a dating service, but with far more serious implications.
My gaze flickered back to Milly, her face a picture of innocent focus, and then to Donna, whose smirk had softened into a look of almost maternal pride. They knew. They were part of this. And Morgana, bless her deceptive soul, had orchestrated this entire surreal experience.
“So,” I managed, my voice still a little shaky, “you’re saying… this club is essentially a breeding program, sanctioned and funded by the school?”
Rodrigo nodded, a beatific smile on his face. “In a way, yes. We’re ensuring the future. And it’s not just about the act itself. We foster healthy relationships, encourage responsibility. We’re more than just… studs.” He chuckled, a jovial sound that felt completely out of place. “We’re partners in progress.”
Lindon chimed in, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “And the girls! They’re not just passive participants. They actively choose their partners, based on compatibility, genetic potential… It’s very scientific. And emotional, too, of course. We encourage deep connections.”
I felt a strange knot tighten in my stomach. Emotional connections? With this kind of contractual obligation? It was too much. My head spun, and I leaned back against the plush upholstery of the sofa, trying to regain some semblance of control.
The warmth from the hands still caressing me, now joined by a third, slower and more deliberate, was a stark contrast to the intellectual absurdity of Rodrigo’s explanation. This was the real world, or a very warped version of it, and I was undeniably a part of it, whether I was ready or not.
“So, if I’m understanding this correctly,” I began, trying to keep my tone even, “being part of this club means… fulfilling these quotas, and… being available to the girls?”
“Precisely!” Rodrigo beamed, as if I’d just solved a complex equation. “And in return, you get recognition, resources, and the satisfaction of contributing to something larger than yourself.”
“And the… ‘sharing’?” I prompted, my voice barely above a whisper.
“It’s about mutual fulfillment, Alvin,” Donna said softly, her eyes meeting mine with a knowing amusement. “It’s about giving and receiving. And when you’re with us, you’ll understand.”
The unspoken promise in her words, combined with the escalating symphony of pleasure below, was a potent cocktail.
I looked at their earnest faces, the genuine smiles, the easy camaraderie. They truly believed in this. They saw it as a noble pursuit. And here I was, simultaneously on the verge of orgasm and existential crisis.
My internal struggle reached a critical mass.
The casual nature of their mission—getting girls pregnant as a requirement—collided violently with the present sensation of two mouths working in frantic harmony below my belt.
When Lindon once again finished his enthusiastic comment about having fun and hanging out with more people, I tried to offer a reply, a polite acknowledgment, but the sound caught in my throat.
The sensation was now sharp, demanding, and utterly impossible to ignore.
Morgana’s fingers, still tracing hot paths on my inner thigh, squeezed hard just as the mouth sucking my cock head pulled back slightly, only for the other mouth to take its place with a sudden, aggressive suction.
A low, guttural sound escaped my lips—half-moan, half-gasp—and I almost slammed my hand down on the edge of the table, pretending to steady myself.
