Villain's Breeding System: Evolving 999+ Harem into an SSS-Rank Legion-Chapter 145 - Video Recording is On

She tried. Her chest expanded. Contracted. The shaking in her shoulders reduced slightly.

His hand, gentle for the first time since the session started, ran from her shoulder down her spine. Slow. Just — mapping. She shivered at the contact but the shiver was different.

He pulled her panties aside.

She made a small sound.

PAH.

"’AHHHH~~~!!’"

Young and tight and completely unprepared despite having watched seven rounds of preparation, her walls seizing around him on entry in the involuntary clench of a body that hadn’t learned to receive this yet.

PAH. PAH.

"’AAAHH~!! AAAHH~!! — is it supposed to — FEELS SO—AAAHH~!!♡’"

"’Yes,’" he said. "’It’s supposed to.’"

PAH. PAAH.

"’OOOHHH~~~!!!♡♡’"

She came so fast it seemed to embarrass her — a full body seize at less than two minutes, her face going red where it pressed into the mattress, her thighs clamping hard around nothing. The sound of her was high and genuine and young.

Then he was at Hana.

He stood beside her and didn’t say her name. Just — his hand on her lower back. His palm covering most of it.

She didn’t move.

Across the cabin, Minjung was filming Yuna’s aftermath — the shaking, the dazed expression. Her back was turned.

Hana pressed her face deeper into the pillow.

Her hair covered her completely. The curtain of it around her head, shielding her face from every angle.

She felt his cock press against her entrance.

Still soaked from the accumulated hours. Still stretched to the architecture of him. Still — treacherous, her body’s immediate, ungrateful warmth at the pressure.

He pushed in.

She bit the pillow.

PAH.

"’Mmmphff—’"

The pillow absorbed it. The sound came out muffled, formless, unidentifiable.

PAH. PAH.

"’Mmphh—mmphh—mmphh—’"

Her tits — massive, crushed beneath her, the sheer weight of them spreading under her chest — shook with each impact. The flesh rippling outward from the center with each thrust. Her nipples dragging against the sheet.

She kept her face down.

Kept her hair over her face.

Kept the pillow between her voice and the room.

PAH. PAH. PAAH.

"’MMMPHFF~~~—’"

Her hips betrayed her — driving back without instruction, her ass rising to meet him, the thick rounds of it clapping backward, the flesh of her generous backside rippling with each impact.

She heard footsteps.

Pausing.

Somewhere nearby.

She pressed harder into the pillow.

"’Why is that one hiding?’"

Sophia’s voice. Still recovering, still barely functional, but curious enough to observe. 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

"’She looks embarrassed,’" Priya said from somewhere.

"’She’s — why would she be more embarrassed than us—’"

PAH. PAAH.

"’MMPHHFF~~~—’"

Her body shook through the orgasm into the pillow, the sound of it swallowed, the evidence of it invisible under the hair and the fabric and all the things she’d constructed between herself and the room.

She felt him pull out.

Still warm. Still trembling.

She did not move from the pillow.

He stretched.

The specific, unhurried stretch of someone who has completed a first circuit and is considering the approach to the second. His body in the jet cabin light — unmarked, unexhausted, the same quality of warm certainty it always had.

Minjung lowered her phone.

The battery was at sixty-two percent. She’d been filming for forty minutes.

Her jeans were uncomfortable. Had been for thirty-five of those forty minutes. She hadn’t addressed it because addressing it would require acknowledging what was happening to her body while she filmed what she was filming.

She looked at the row of women.

All eight of them in various stages of recovery. Some breathing heavily into the mattress. Sophia was crying again — the pleasant kind, the kind that follows the other kind. Clara had managed to get her glasses back on somehow. Veronica was the only one who looked anything approaching composed, her hair rearranged over her shoulder, her expression the expression of a woman reviewing an experience that met expectations.

"’Bathroom,’" someone said.

Marga.

Sitting up slightly on the bed — or trying to, limited by the wrist binding. Her face flushed but her voice returned to the controlled register. "’I need to use the bathroom.’"

Raven looked at her.

"’Please,’" she added. Flatly. Not politely. Like the word was a technical requirement she was fulfilling.

He crossed to her. Unhooked the ankle binding. Left the wrists.

She stood.

Walked toward the rear of the cabin — the jet had a small bathroom, a narrow door, she moved toward it on legs that were steadier than they had any right to be.

She’d taken four steps before his hand caught her wrist.

She turned.

"’Raven—’"

"’I’ll go with you.’"

"’That’s—’" She looked at the bathroom door. At him. "’No. That’s — I just need to—’"

He walked her through the door.

The bathroom was small. The way aircraft bathrooms are small, everything compressed and efficient. The toilet, the sink, the mirror. The two of them filling it completely.

Marga turned to face him. Her back against the sink. Her wrists still bound in front of her now, resting against her stomach.

"’I’m just—’" She gestured at the toilet. "’I only need to—’"

He lifted her.

She made a sound that was half protest and half shock, her feet clearing the floor, his hands at her hips turning her and setting her over the toilet. Not on it. ’Over’ it, her thighs spread over the rim, his cock already finding her from behind as he positioned himself behind her.

"’WAIT — I need to — Raven I actually NEED to—’"

PAH.

"’HAAANGH~~~!!’"

Full depth. The specific, catastrophic depth that hit the pressure point of her bladder simultaneously and her body made the decision her brain was still debating.

"’AAAHH~!! — oh no—oh—I’m going to—’"

PAH. PAH.

"’HNGH~!!♡ AAAHH~!!♡’"

Her bladder gave.

The sound of it — both the flesh and the water, simultaneous, her piss running into the toilet below while his cock drove through her walls above, the two sensations occupying the exact same space in her nervous system and producing something she had no category for.

"’AAAAAHHHH~~~!!!’"

Not pain. Not shame. Something that was past both of those and on the other side of them, the specific intensity of every nerve firing at the same threshold simultaneously.

PAH. PAH. PAAH.

"’HNGH~!!♡ AAAHH~!!♡ — STILL—STILL GOING—I CAN’T—’"

She couldn’t stop either thing. Couldn’t stop the orgasm building and couldn’t stop the stream because the cock driving into her was applying constant pressure to everything that controlled both.

"’OOOUUUNGHH~~~!!!♡♡♡’"

It hit all at once.

Both of them. The orgasm and the last of the release, her body empty and full simultaneously, her hands gripping the sink edge in front of her, her legs shaking over the toilet rim, her voice breaking against the bathroom walls.

The jet hit a pocket of turbulence.

She laughed. Hysterically. Briefly. The specific laugh of someone whose situation has become too absurd for any other response.

"’I hate you,’" she said.

"’Turn around,’" he said.

She turned.

Her ass to the toilet now. His cock at her face level. She looked at it.

Then she looked up at him.

"’All the way in,’" he said.

"’I can’t—’"

"’You can.’"

She opened her mouth.

The second round took longer.

He moved differently — not the circuit he’d done before, bed to bed. This was less organized. More personal. He pulled Clara off the bed entirely, sat her on the narrow ledge at the jet’s side wall, her legs wrapped around him, her back against the cold oval window with the black sky behind it and the cabin light in front.

PAH.

"’AAAHH~!!♡’"