"Having an audience is kind of fun… I could get used to this~"
Stiletto's mind drifted as he positioned himself behind Lyria.
The shed was small and dim, smelling faintly of old wood and earth, lit only by the last orange rays slipping through the slatted window. Outside, the garden had already gone quiet under the setting sun.
Both he and Lyria were completely naked—his cock rested heavy and hot against the curve of her ass, the tip already slick with pre-cum. Beneath him, Lyria's pussy dripped in long, slow strands onto the cold concrete floor—each drop a quiet betrayal of the body she still insisted belonged to her.
She trembled, knees locked, palms flat against the rough workbench in front of her. Her breathing came shallow and uneven, pride warring with the conditioning he had spent a month carving into her nerves. She sucked in a deep, ragged breath, thighs twitching as his tip nudged between her folds.
"P-please… don't," she whispered, voice cracking on the last word, the feistiness gone—replaced by something small and broken.
Mya stood in the far corner, still in her tight-fitting traditional maid outfit. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest with her cheeks slightly red. Her eyes kept darting away—first to the floor, then to the wall, anywhere but the scene in front of her. She fidgeted nervously, back pressed against the rough wooden wall, fingers twisting in the fabric of her apron.
In front of her, Stiletto shifted his hips slightly, letting the head of his cock press forward, causing Lyria to suck in another sharp breath.
Mya cleared her throat.
"On second thought…" Her voice was small, almost lost in the quiet. "Maybe I should go."
Stiletto's gaze flicked to her—steady, unhurried.
"No." The word came out low, final. "You stay here."
Mya's arms tightened further. Her lips parted, but nothing came out.
Then, Stiletto leaned forward, one hand sliding up Lyria's spine to rest at the nape of her neck.
"I didn't listen to you and bring the slave into the shed for nothing," he continued, voice calm but edged with steel. "Either you sit there and watch, or I fuck her on our bed."
The words hung between them.
Mya swallowed visibly as her gaze dropped to the floor again, then—slowly—lifted to meet his.
A long beat passed.
Then she gave the smallest nod.
Not moving, she leaned against the wall, eyes finally settling on them both.
In response, Stiletto smiled—just a flicker—then turned his full attention back to Lyria.
He pressed forward in one slow, deliberate motion.
Lyria's breath hitched sharply as the head of his cock breached her entrance. Dried blood still clung to her inner thighs and the edges of her folds, a faint red smear against pale skin, but fresh slick eased the way despite her body's instinctive clench.
"F—fucker," she hissed through gritted teeth, voice trembling on the edge of a sob. "Stop—just stop, you—"
He didn't stop.
Inch by inch he sank deeper, her walls fluttering and resisting in equal measure. Another thin trickle of blood welled up around his shaft as he stretched her open again, mixing with the wetness that refused to stop dripping.
Fingers dug into the workbench until her knuckles turned white. "It still hurts," she choked out, the words half curse, half plea. "You're too—UrGHH—too much—"
Ignoring her, a quiet exhale escaped Stiletto as his hips finally pressed flush against her meaty ass. The sudden fullness forced her spine to arch involuntarily, a shudder rolling through her even as her mouth kept spitting defiance.
"You're extremely tight," Stiletto said, voice low and even, almost conversational.
Hearing this, Mya jolted, her whole body tensing like a string pulled taut. Her gaze—having previously reverted back to being fixed on the wall—slowly panned toward them, cheeks burning darker as his words landed.
Lyria's inner walls spasmed around him once, hard, betraying everything her mouth tried to deny. Inside her mind a single frantic thought looped:
'Fuck—why… why am I so turned on?! This isn't right.'
She bit her lip until it hurt, refusing to let the feeling show on her face. Her thighs shook, but her voice stayed sharp, brittle.
"Get it over with," she spat. "Just—just do it already, you bastard!"
For a long moment he stayed still, instead letting her feel every inch buried inside.
Then, he activated {Sparking Feel}.
And immediately, the skill nearly sent her over the edge again, seemingly aimed straight for her core. Lyria sucked in a sharp gasp, eyes widening. Heat flooded her belly in an instant, sudden and overwhelming. Following right after, her pussy clenched hard around him, a fresh gush of wetness coating his length, her walls fluttering desperately as the edge rushed up to meet her again.
She didn't cry out, suppressing her moans.
But her body betrayed her completely—hips jerking forward in a tiny, helpless buck, inner muscles spasming so violently she nearly tipped over the cliff right then.
But somehow, she held back—though barely—teeth sinking deeper into her lip until copper bloomed on her tongue.
'No—no! STOP!'
Disappointment crashed through her, thick and bitter. Denial clung stubbornly behind it as the Goddess squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to acknowledge the way her walls fluttered again, greedy and traitorous.
Stiletto felt it all—the sudden slick heat, the tiny helpless pulse—and smiled faintly against the back of her neck.
He still hadn't moved.
…
Until he did.
Stiletto pulled back once—then slammed forward, burying himself to the hilt in a single, unforgiving thrust. Lyria's voice cut off mid-breath, eyes flying wide as the impact jolted through her. No sound escaped her throat at first, only a choked gasp that dissolved into stuttering silence.
He didn't ease up. Each stroke came hard and deep, hips snapping against her with steady rhythm. Her fat ass rippled in heavy waves every time he collided, soft flesh jiggling and rebounding while her nonsensically large breasts swung wildly beneath her, wide nipples scraping against the rough wood of the workbench with every forward jolt.
The pain flared sharp at first—raw, stretching—but the initial arousal still burning inside her, amplified by {Sparking Feel}, swallowed it whole. Her pussy pulsed greedily around him, slick and hot, betraying every curse she couldn't voice.
Stiletto grinned against her shoulder, voice low and amused.
"You're so fucking wet," he murmured, punctuating the words with another deep thrust. "Still so tight, though… like you were made for this."
"…Maybe you should have been the Goddess of Water instead~"
Lyria's eyes flashed with sudden fury, pleasure churning deep beneath the anger.
"Don't—NggHh—you dare speak my friend's name," she gasped between moans, voice breaking on every other word as Stiletto sped up without warning. "You—AhhhNngghNmm—?!"
Abruptly, a violent spasm ripped through her—walls clamping down hard as she came on his hard cock. Her curvy hips bucked back against him once, twice, then gave out completely as the orgasm rolled over her in waves, breasts slapping against the wood with every spasm.
In the corner Mya's breath caught.
"Is that… what I look like when you make love to me, Stiletto?" she muttered under her breath, face burning crimson, fingers digging into her apron. A fresh heat bloomed low in her belly as she watched, unable to look away.
Despite Mya's whispered words, Stiletto turned his head toward the corner. A slow smile curved his lips as he caught the flush creeping down her neck, the way her thighs pressed together beneath the traditional maid skirt.
"Enjoying yourself?" he asked, voice low and teasing.
Mya's gaze flicked to Lyria—still quivering beneath him, chest heaving, trying to drag air into her lungs—then back to Stiletto. She swallowed, cheeks darkening further.
"…Maybe," she murmured, barely audible.
He let his eyes drift over her flustered state—the fidgeting hands, the shallow breathing—then nodded once.
"It's okay if you play with yourself," he said simply. "I won't think anything of it."
Mya froze.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out at first. After a long beat she managed a small, stiff head shake.
"I—" She hesitated, eyes dropping to his throbbing cock still buried inside Lyria. "I could… finish you off instead. The slave couldn't even do that much."
The words hung between question and excuse, her voice soft with embarrassment.
Stiletto only shook his head, tone gentle but unyielding.
"No. Like I said before, you watch."
He gave her one steady look—affectionate, but final—then turned back to Lyria.
Shooting downward, his palm cracked against her fat ass in a sharp, resounding smack. The soft flesh jiggled, a fresh red handprint blooming instantly across the curve.
Unable to fully react, Lyria let out a weak, half-hearted curse—"B-bastard…"—her voice frayed and breathless.
Watching this, Mya's thighs squeezed tighter. A new rush of wetness soaked through her panties as she stared at the reddening mark, the way Lyria's body took it without hesitation. She bit her lip hard, wishing—silently, fiercely—that it was her ass stinging under his hand instead.
Stiletto's gaze continued to stay fixed on Lyria's back, but his next words were clearly for Mya.
"I know you can pleasure me," he said calmly, hips rolling in a slow, deliberate circle that drew another involuntary whimper from the woman beneath him. "But I want her to keep going until she makes me cum."
He paused, letting the motion sink in.
"You were the same way once, weren't you?" he added, voice dropping softer. "Cumming on my cock so fast the first time I found your weak spot? …Give Lyria a chance."
Mya's face flared scarlet before she gave a tiny, jerky nod—unable to speak.
Still, Stiletto gave a slow nod toward Mya, acknowledging her silent agreement without a word.
Turning back to Lyria, he eased out almost fully—drawing a sharp whimper from her as the sudden emptiness hit. She tried to twist her head, voice cracking with defiance.
"You think this changes anything, you—"
He cut her off with a firm grip on her hips, lifting her in one smooth motion and flipping her over. Lyria yelped, legs kicking uselessly in the air.
"P-put me down!"
The words came out breathless, half command, half plea—her body already arching upward despite the fury still burning in her gaze.
"Stop it, St—!"
He ignored the half-formed protest, laying her back down hard across the workbench. Her spine hit the wood with a dull thud, head tipping backward off the edge as her hair spilled toward the floor.
Spreading her legs wide, he hooked them over his arms, holding them straight up as he stepped between her thighs.
The new angle stretched her open fuller, more exposed. Her heavy mounds were thrust toward the ceiling—so massive they nearly overlapped and brushed the bench beneath her—her wide nipples stiff and pointing right at him.
A low groan escaped her as he lined his pulsing member again and pushed forward, sinking deep in one steady thrust. The position forced her to feel every inch more intensely, and immediately her walls clenched hard around him.
Lyria's head tipped further back, hair brushing the floor. "Nngh—you—still think this—AhhHn—means anything—?" Her words fractured around moans, half-hearted protests barely holding together. "You're just—UrgHh—using me—"
Stiletto kept his rhythm even, hips rolling deep. "At what point are you going to give in," he said quietly, no amusement in his tone this time, "and admit you need me?"
Her eyes flashed, fury flickering through the haze. "Never—fucking—never—you—!"
He sped up—harder, faster—each snap of his hips driving a grunt from his throat. "Keep telling yourself that."
Five minutes dragged on like that: steady, unrelenting thrusts, her lazy complaints spilling out between gasps and whimpers. "You—can't—make me—NngH—feel anything—" Her voice cracked more with every word, weaker, less convincing, body rocking helplessly against the wood.
Then, suddenly, he reached forward, fingers closing around one of the Goddess's fat nipples as he pinched.
Lyria's back arched sharply. "Don't—AhhhNngghNmmm—?!"
Without missing a beat, a earth-shattering orgasm ripped through her—walls clamping down hard as she came hard on his bulging dick. Her hips bucked upward in helpless jerks—voluptuous tits bouncing wildly. A high, broken moan finally escaped her lips despite her clenched teeth.
Clear wetness squirted out around his length, soaking both of them and puddling beneath her on the bench. Her face instantly flushed as she instinctually went to cover her face.
She'd never squirted before…
And naturally, Lyria thought to herself, 'What the fuck… that—that was…' But then she interrupted herself, face growing even redder, 'Are you kidding me, Lyria?! Get yourself together!'
Meanwhile in the corner, Mya's breath hitched louder.
Her fingers hesitated at the hem of her skirt—then slowly she lifted it, sliding beneath the fabric. Panties pushed aside, she pressed two fingers against her own slick folds, circling her clit in time with his thrusts.
A fresh ache pulsed deep inside the naughty maid as she watched the slave unravel beneath her lover, unable to tear her eyes away.
Then, a deep, guttural, and throaty moan lined her throat.
'I… I can't help myself…'
Stiletto smirked, noticing both women's inner struggles, both centered around him.
And in that moment, he couldn't help but think to himself,
'Not bad for a former gerbil, huh?'