He tormented them both.

The tail moved lazily between them — teasing one cunt, flicking across the other — while both women shook apart against his sides.

Their knees trembled so violently he could feel the vibrations through his own ribs.

Their orgasms built with no release.

Rihanna’s thighs clamped shut around his forearm desperately.

Her fingers lost grip on her boot.

Her leg dropped slightly.

He let it.

His hand simply squeezed her ass harder.

The old woman’s voice climbed into a register no living person should produce.

"AAAIIIEE~♡♡♡~!! HAAANGH~♡~!! IT’S— IT’S INSIDE— GODS— IT’S TOO DEEP— I’M GOING TO—♡♡~!!"

Victor sank himself to the root.

Once.

Twice.

PAAAH!! PAAAH!!

"HAAIYAANGH~♡♡~!! NIEENGHHT~♡~!! OOOOHHNNGH~♡♡♡~!!"

Then he held it.

Still.

Buried.

Her ancient, wrecked asshole seized around his base in a violent, rhythmic clench.

She was coming.

Her whole frail body shook like a plucked string.

Her wrinkled cunt gushed a thin, clear trickle down her shaking thighs.

She had no words left.

Just a high, reedy, disbelieving keen as sixty-seven years of dormancy exploded out of her in a single, catastrophic release.

Viktor felt her bowels contract around him in rapid-fire pulses.

He let her clench.

Then he unloaded.

The first shot hit like a cannon firing inside her gut.

She felt the heat before she felt the pressure.

Searing.

Spreading.

Filling her like hot wax poured into a mold.

The second shot.

The third.

Her hollowed-out belly visibly swelled the faintest degree.

The sheer volume of seed backed up, finding no room, and began forcing its way back out around his tight seal — bubbling white foam pushing out between his shaft and her puckered rim.

Her legs gave.

Her knees buckled entirely.

She would have hit the floor.

But she was already half-draped across the mattress.

She slumped there.

Boneless.

Her asshole still gripping him in weakening, rhythmic pulses.

White seed streamed down her inner thighs in twin rivers.

Viktor pulled free.

A vulgar, sucking POP.

The old woman’s asshole gaped — a wide, red-pink, dripping oval that slowly, slowly pulsed and tried to close.

Thick white seed bubbled out and ran down her gray-haired, trembling slit.

He lowered both women to the floor.

They descended on shaking legs.

Their knees hit the stone.

Together.

Side by side.

The old woman dragged herself forward somehow.

Instinct.

Animal and mindless.

She ended up between them.

Three women.

Kneeling.

Faces tilted up.

Viktor looked down at all three.

His cock hung before them — still thick, still flushed dark red, still twitching.

Rihanna moved first.

Her lips closed over the head.

Her cheeks hollowed.

Her tongue worked the underside in broad, desperate strokes.

"Mmph— Mngghh— M-Master—♡~"

The Eliantra pressed in from the side.

Her full lips dragged up the thick vein running along his shaft from base to crown.

"Victor—" she breathed against his skin, lips dragging as she spoke. "You absolute— filthy— gorgeous— monster—"

The old woman.

She hesitated.

Her rheumy eyes blinked.

Then she pressed her thin, dry lips against the base.

Her tongue — uncertain, trembling, ancient — made small, tentative licks at his seed-slicked root.

She tasted herself.

She tasted Rihanna.

She tasted him.

Her eyes fluttered closed.

Three tongues.

Three mouths.

Working him in turns.

His tail moved lazily between them.

The spade tip prodded between the Eliantra’s thighs.

She spread them instinctively.

The tip pressed against her soaked, smooth pussy and vibrated.

Her lips tightened around his shaft.

Her moan hummed against his skin.

"Mmmnngh~♡~!!"

The tail dragged across to Rihanna.

Her hairy cunt lips parted around the flat, buzzing tip.

"Hngh— M-Master— don’t— I’ll— Anhgh~♡♡~!!"

He didn’t stop.

He played with both of them.

Alternating between their sopping, clenching cunts.

Circling.

Pressing.

Never penetrating.

Just vibrating against their swollen, aching folds until both women were grinding shamelessly against the tail’s teasing pressure while licking him clean.

The old woman felt the spade brush against her thigh.

Then against her ancient, seed-leaking cunt.

Her thin thighs pressed together.

"Please— not— I cannot—"

The tail pressed.

Gentle.

Almost kind.

She whimpered.

Opened.

"Ohh— ohh gods— ♡~"

The chamber had gone quiet except for wet sounds.

Soft, rhythmic slurping.

Low, broken moaning.

The occasional sharp intake of breath when the tail found a particularly sensitive spot.

The candles had burned low.

The light was warm and orange.

But through the high, narrow stone window, the sky outside had shifted.

Black to deep indigo.

Deep indigo to bruised violet.

Bruised violet to a thin, bleeding line of amber at the horizon.

Dawn.

Viktor looked at the window.

He had been at this since the moon was high.

He could feel it in the pleasant, bone-deep ache of muscles used fully.

Not fatigue.

He didn’t fatigue the way mortals did.

But the satisfaction sat heavy and warm in his chest like coals.

His tail withdrew lazily from the tangle of trembling thighs below him.

Three wet sounds as it left three damp, clenching, disappointed cunts.

He straightened fully.

His enormous spine stretched upward — vertebra by vertebra — a long, rolling crack running from his lower back to the base of his neck.

He rolled his neck.

Another crack.

His wings shifted.

Spread slightly.

Settled back.

He looked down at all three.

Rihanna’s heavy, milk-damp boobs resting on his feet, her chin lifted, eyes glassy and unfocused.

The Eliantra slumped against his calf, her pale, full tits squashed against his shin, her parted lips leaving a wet smear on his skin.

The old woman sitting back on her heels, her flat chest heaving, her gray hair an absolute catastrophe, her thighs smeared with white and shine.

He considered them.

Tilted his head.

The amber line at the window thickened.

’Damn it.’

His voice came out flat.

Dry.

Genuinely aggravated with himself.

"Damn it. Should I have just taken a nap?"

He yawned.

A wide, unguarded, fang-baring yawn that split his jaw open.

He didn’t bother covering it.

He looked back down at them.

At three upturned, wrecked, thoroughly ruined faces blinking at him in exhausted devotion.

He felt it build.

Not arousal.

Not hunger.

Just the final, lazy, almost contemptuous satisfaction of a predator at the absolute end of his patience for restraint.

He stroked himself once.

Twice.

His cock was still half-hard.

It took almost nothing.

The first rope launched.

Thick.

Heavy.

It landed across Rihanna’s face in a broad, white stripe — from her chin to her forehead, crossing her nose, one eye blinking shut instinctively as the warm seed hit it.

The second rope.

It caught the Eliantra across her parted lips, her chin, spilling down over her chest and landing in a heavy pool that collected in the valley between her full, pale tits.

The third.

Across the old woman’s forehead and sagging cheeks.

She flinched.

But she didn’t move away.

More came.

Heavy.

Obscenely heavy.

Thick ropes painting all three in overlapping stripes.

Seed ran down Rihanna’s thick neck, curling between her massive, swinging tits, collecting in her dark, wide areolas.

The Eliantra’s pale tits were glazed white — the milky seed running over her flushed nipples and dripping in slow, heavy drops to the stone.

The old woman’s sagging chest — her flat, slack tits — caught a generous rope that ran from her collarbone to her navel.

Thick marks on three sets of shoulders.

Three sets of lips.

Three sets of eyelashes blinking slowly.

The last pulses hit their upturned faces and settled.

Viktor looked at them.

All three slicked.

All three marked.

All three breathing hard and saying nothing.

He looked at the window again.

The rising sun bled fully gold across the horizon now.

He stretched both arms above his head.

Fingers splayed.

Wings half-extending.

His back cracked enormously.

He exhaled.

"Should I take a nap now?"