Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 70: Bliss My Ass **

Bliss.

It was a word too small, a concept too mundane. Cecilia had never conceived of a sensation that could simultaneously shatter and reconstitute the soul. It wasn’t just pleasure, but also completion, followed by a dizzying echo that hummed through four separate bodies still thrumming with shared lightning.

Oathran collapsed behind her, his immense body going utterly, completely slack. A mountain rendered into warm and breathing sand. One of his twin cocks, the one not buried deep within her, had spent itself in thick and pearlescent spurts.

The release had hit Eastiel’s still-throbbing cock in the process, their releases mixing on Cecilia’s trembling stomach painting it white.

Arkai’s own climax had wet her hand and the curve of her waist where he’d crouched forward, his forehead pressed to her shoulder. He lifted his head now, eyes glinting with a dark, satiated light, like a wolf observing a moon-drenched kill.

He wiped his mouth, a smear of crimson stark against his knuckles. "Elder Brother... blood..." he murmured, the taste of his own accidentally bitten tongue coppery in his mouth.

Oathran blinked slowly, swimming up from the depths of sensation. He touched his own nose, then looked at his fingertips, stained red. A nosebleed. The ancient Dragon Lord, who had closed inter-dimensional rifts, had gotten a nosebleed from the sheer overwhelming feedback of their union.

He let out an incredulous scoff, the sound rich with exhausted amusement.

Eastiel had it worse. He was already dabbing at his own nosebleed with the back of his wrist, his breathing still ragged pants. The feline’s textured cock was still painfully hard in his hand. His golden eyes, hazy but burning with unsated need, found Cecilia’s.

"Cecilia..." he breathed. "Let me... just one dip... inside...? Please?"

Oathran and Arkai jerked as if scalded. Their heads swiveled towards the Lion King, eyebrows shooting towards their hairlines.

There was a pattern forming. Oathran had gotten her ’just a sip’ of intimacy. Arkai had been granted ’just the tip’, a torturous preview. And now here was Eastiel, in the spent, messy aftermath, begging for ’just one dip’.

"I-if I’m not wrong..." Cecilia whispered, her voice hoarse, her mind accessing a dusty corner of bestial biological lore. "Lion-kin... their penis has a specific... function. To stimulate... ovulation...?"

The implication hung in the sex-thick air.

"Wait," Arkai interjected, his voice sharp, cutting through the haze. "That would directly compromise the purpose of Lord Oathran’s spell."

The spell. The temporary, glowing sigil still pulsing on her skin.

Eastiel’s face fell, a frown marring his handsome, blood-smeared features. "Then... I can’t have my turn?" The sulk in his voice was the most genuine. Understandable how frustrated of a beast denied the final, crucial part of the mating ritual he was.

"Calm down," Oathran murmured. He shifted slightly, the movement making Cecilia gasp, and pressed his palm once more to her lower stomach. The glyphs under her skin shimmered in response. "Apparently, Lion-kin reproductive anatomy is... quite formidable. I’ll... adjust the parameters."

Eastiel blushed furiously, his face now deep red. "S-shut up!"

"I..." Arkai’s low voice piped up, a note of surprising sulkiness in it too. He looked from the softening spell to his own still-aroused hard cock. "I also want... my turn."

He hadn’t been inside her at all. He’d had her hand, her pain, her shared pleasure, but not the heart of the bond.

Oathran let out a long and weary, yet also fond sigh. His fingertips began to move again, tracing new, intricate patterns over the existing sigils. The light beneath her skin shifted from a cool, to a warmer, more complex gold.

"And after them... me again." A wicked smile touched his lips. "We might as well be thorough. And I need to... recalibrate the containment field after each new variable."

Rewriting a dragon-level contraceptive spell on the fly in the aftermath of his own climax, Oathran lamented how his knowledge, gathered from centuries of his life, were just to account for a werelion’s ovulation-triggering biology and a werewolf’s impending knot.

All so his wife could experience her other mates fully.

Cecilia glared at the three men circling her. A petulant heat bloomed in her chest.

Bliss my ass.

They were negotiating over her like a contested treaty, even redrawing magical boundaries on her stomach. Shameless!

Her lips pursed. "I mean..." she began, her voice still raspy. "You don’t have to take turns... in a sequence. You could just... coordinate."

She let the sentence hang for a beat, her gaze sweeping over them. The dragon slumped behind her, the lion and wolf locked in a tense standoff.

"Put it all in at once."

The three men’s minds... exploded.

A system crash. A total blue-screen of three souls.

[Cecilia... are you sure...?]

Even the System... also crashed.

[WE... ARE SHY...!]

Oathran blanked. His fried centuries-old processor from sensory overload and spell-recasting, started to beep a flat-line. His grey eyes glazed over, staring into a middle distance imagining the logistical geometry of her suggestion. Simultaneous variables. Synced vectors. Anatomical... convergence. 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

Wouldn’t their legs be on the way...?

Eastiel and Arkai, jerked from their bristling confrontation, snapped their heads toward her so fast their necks cracked. Their hands shot out to grip each other’s shoulders, no trust between them that they could hold the other’s back from... just doing it.

Arkai found his voice first, a strangled growl. He pointed a blunt, accusing finger directly at the younger lion, using him as a focal point for his own dizzying panic. "NO."

There goes the alpha’s decree.

"She just lost her virginity. Her body is not a battleground for an... an assembly line!"

Eastiel, gripping Arkai’s shoulder tighter, fired back, his own panic morphing into defensive, but also biological reasoning. "And her pussy is not ready to handle your lumpy knot yet, you old fossil! It’s still tight!"

He jerked his head toward the catatonic Oathran, seeking validation. "Elder Brother, let me have it first! I’m the gentler option!"

"Gentler?!" Arkai’s face flushed a spectacular shade of crimson, a mix of outrage, protective fury, and shame at the entire conversation. He tightened his grip on Eastiel’s shoulder, shaking him slightly. "You have barbs, you preening kitten! I was saying ’not all at once’ for now! Not even your bumpy cock is welcome!"

"FOSSIL!"

"BRAT!"

"BWAHAHAHHWAHHAHAHAHAH!"

Oathran had finally emerged from his catatonia, not into dignity, but into hysterics. A wheezing, uncontrollable laugh that shook his entire frame, and by extension, Cecilia still impaled upon him.

Tears streamed from the corners of his eyes, mingling with the dried blood under his nose. He laughed like a man who had seen the peak of heavenly absurdity and found it residing in his own bed.

It froze Arkai and Eastiel mid-snarl.

"BAHWHAHHAHAHHAHAH—"

SLAP!

Oathran raised his free hand and slapped his own face. Hard. The sharp crack echoed in the chamber.

He lowered his hand. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the last giggles escaping like hiccups. Wiping his eyes, he looked at Cecilia, his gaze filled with a wonder that eclipsed lust, love, or even grief.

"My love," he rasped, his voice wrecked by laughter. "My brilliant, terrifying, genius wife. You have just proposed a feat of... biomechanical engineering that would make the gods of fertility weep and flee." He shook his head, another helpless chuckle escaping. "The coordination alone... the angles... the..."

"Which... hole... for which... mmm...?"

He trailed off, picturing it again, and had to press his lips together to stifle another outburst.

He looked at the still-clutching Arkai and Eastiel, who were now staring at him in disbelief.

"She has a point," Oathran said, deadpan, though his eyes still sparkled with madness. "Efficiency. Maximization of time and resources. A truly... unified bonding experience."

"NO!" Arkai and Eastiel shouted in unison, finally releasing each other’s shoulders as if burned.

His textured cock... his knotting cock... his twin cocks... kissing and rubbing each other inside her...

Oathran raised a placating hand, the one still smeared with his own blood. "Peace. Peace. I am not suggesting we attempt it tonight. My spellwork is intricate, not miraculous. And her poor..." He gestured vaguely at Cecilia. "...glorious little cunt needs time to... acclimate to its new purposes."

He leaned forward, his breath warm against Cecilia’s ear, his tone shifting darkly. "But file the idea away, my Saintess. For the future. Once the foundations have been... thoroughly laid and reinforced. Individually."

He pulled back and looked at the other two, his expression settling into its usual regal amusement. "For now, we return to the queue. As you were arguing... who’s next? The ’gentler’ barbed option, or the ’lumpy’ yet allegedly more considerate one? Do try to decide before my spell expires and we have an entirely different crisis on our han—"

"OATHRAN YOU MEAN! I WAS JUST—"

SMACK!

"BWAHWAHAHW—"

SMACK!

"—HAHWAHHAHAHAH!"