The feel of soft fingers against his now slumped shaft pulled him out of his reverie.
Mrs. Terri stared at him, palm curled around the base once more with a needy look.
Here sits this bombshell, he chided himself, and you're thinking about a world that doesn't exist.
Mrs. Terri was like a dummy in a video game whom players struck and slashed to level up their experience.
She stroked his shaft, attempting to bring it to attention.
Prying her hands away, he got up, grabbing her by the hips. "Turn around," he said. "The dragon needs something new."
Mrs. Terri didn't even register the absurd statement he just made. The woman nodded meekly and did as she was told.
Her buttocks were the shape of a ginormous heart—flaring out from a slim waist—turned towards him, cheeks obscuring the vision of her butthole, and a viscous transparent liquid hanging from her core.
The next second, it plopped on the leather couch with a splat.
She stared back at him, jerking her hip once, a wobble rippling from the outer edges inwards, a slight plap echoing. Then again, the speed was building up gradually, and the resounding sounds were growing louder until Mrs. Terri was undoubtedly twerking her glorious cheeks, her butthole winking at him each time her cheeks spread, only to hide beneath all the dark flesh.
Marke was full mast at the display.
His inaction caused her brows to furrow. Even now, under the effect of hot touch, the woman was frowning. What willpower. Marke admired, grabbing his shaft and taking two steps forward, just inches apart from her core cloaked by puffed outer folds.
Gently, he sat his phallus between the glistening fleshy valley, just nudging the folds side-to-side to convey that she should spread them apart; certainly a gesture Ms. Terri would've deemed worthy to make a snide remark about before he used Hot Touch.
The hot touch had certainly worn the woman down, however, as without protest, she reached back, manicured nails digging into her own flesh, as she pulled her cheeks apart, revealing to all the treasure hidden beneath.
Crouching just a little, he aligned himself with her core, and with a thrust, entered the sanctuary.
Like a thousand firecrackers lit up in his neurons, Marke felt a current travel through him, causing him to shiver as he pushed into her.
A side of her face pressed against the leather couch, Ms. Terri stiffened at the intrusion, lips and eyes wide apart as she stared back, then clenched her jaws and eyes shut.
"Oh...god," she gritted out. "Oh...fu*k..." she drawled.
[Stat Points: 1] [Stat Points: 2] [Stat Points: 3] [Stat Points: 4]
The numerical value on the system kept increasing.
He pulled back and plunged in again, thighs clapping against her ass, ripples spreading on the surface and undulating like waves.
[Resonance...]
A new section had appeared on the panel.
However, the place his mind had traveled to, the realm of sexual bliss he had experienced with Mrs. Olivarez in his apartment, cared naught for anything except prolonging his stay in the mysterious headspace.
Her hips jerked once again, not to shake her booty, but because of the orgasm that had ripped through her body, tears pooling at the corner of her eyes, her insides coiling around him like a vise, a stream of hot liquid showering his balls then spraying on the marbled floors, the puckered hole glaring at him.
Marke quickened his strokes, and despite the woman squealing as he did, her palms spreading her cheeks never wavered.
An act of resistance? Marke considered.
With a snicker, he pried her palms off her ass, the doughy cheeks mushing against his pelvis, and inserted a thumb into her rosebud, grabbing her like one would a bowling ball, the left arm spanking her booty and watching it wobble with a hypnotic rhythm.
He began pounding.
"Oh...Ah..." the woman moaned, eyes half-shut, arms hanging limply to her sides.
Long and prolonged, short and swift, Marke switched his strokes on a whim, plowing into her for the next half hour with a smile on his face, mind focused solely on the present.
-----------------
When Marke came to, blinking and shaking his head to clear his mind, Ms. Terri was laid sideways, turning away from him, on the couch, eyes shut as she slept peacefully, cheeks painted with his ejaculation.
Hastily, he crouched down and craned his neck to observe her core. Thank heavens. He thought, sighing in relief.
Though the woman hadn't protested him going in raw, they hadn't discussed it before, and cumming in her would no doubt crush any hope he had of making an impression. For a rich woman like her, it probably wouldn't be a problem dealing with it, but doing something not discussed prior was sure to leave a bad impression.
Always discuss the arrangement prior. He made a mental note.
Oh, right. There was something new on the panel. He recalled.
That feeling of sexual bliss, like being high on a mythical drug, he felt just now with Ms. Terri was different from when it occurred with Mrs. Olivarez. This was more intense; each time Ms. Terri came, she added another dose of ecstasy into his mind, causing him to cum along. While he was conscious and in full control of what he did during, when he broke out of the reverie, the time frame from which the state of bliss began and ended blurred into one, gradually unfurling.
Marke had no doubt in his mind this was the system's doing.
System. He called.
[Stat Points: 9]
He was pleasantly surprised at the increment, but perusing once, twice, thrice, he couldn't find the section called "resonance" anywhere.
It wasn't just an illusion, Marke knew.
Why hadn't it appeared when he was with Mrs. Olivarez then? Had he not met the right conditions? He had plowed both of these MILFs into sleep, so why had he gained so many points with Ms. Terri and not with her? Why had there been no resonance with Mrs. Olivarez? Was it because he had been too worried and ended the use of Hot Touch too early on her, fearing she would bite his little brother off? Most probably.
Unlike the systems in the novels he read, where they talked to their host and offered explanations when needed, the system he possessed was a lot more difficult, requiring him to figure things out gradually.
But the stories were fiction.
This was real. This was his life. This was the city he was born and raised in. The feel of their skin, the pleasure he felt, was all real to him.
Just the night prior, he had stayed up late wondering if this was all a long hallucination—he had come to a conclusion then that it didn't really matter.
How would a normal man verify he lives in what is reality and not a simulation? He takes into account all the factors surrounding him and comes to a conclusion, then sticks with it for the rest of his life unless driven to a point of dissonance by a catalyst: drugs, unbearable emotions, or excessive contemplation.
A man lives with the reality presented.
-------------------
Ms. Terri awoke with a whimper, drawing Marke's attention.
He stood up to pretend he wasn't just staring at her.
"Uh…" he waved his palm. "Can I use the shower?"
She peeled her eyes open, staring at her ass cheeks painted with his seed. "Sure," she nodded. "Third floor, to the right. "However," she turned to the grandfather clock, "you have to leave in about...twenty minutes. Some of my friends will be attending soon."
"Won't your guard suspect something if I walk out of here all showered up though?" He asked tentatively.
"I'm not worried about it." She glared at him. "Why are you?"
That was true. She had a lot more to lose if the news ever broke. "Well, thank you," he said, and began collecting his clothes off the floor. Standing up, he swept his gaze once more over her body, nodding with lips pursed, impressed. He said nothing and climbed up the stairs, his rendezvous with Ms. Terri complete for today.
He was exhausted.
Didn't even offer anything to drink. He grumbled internally. Or thank you for a job well done. Stuck-up woman.