Villain's Breeding System: Evolving 999+ Harem into an SSS-Rank Legion-Chapter 143 - Why bring Father when Daddy is here?
Minjung’s phone was already in her hand.
She wasn’t sure when she’d taken it out. The camera app was open, the rear lens aimed at the bed, the red recording dot glowing in the corner of the screen like a tiny conscience she was choosing to ignore.
Raven looked at the phone. Looked at her.
"’Smart,’" he said.
She wanted to say something cutting about that. Couldn’t construct one. The situation did not support coherent cutting remarks.
He moved to the second woman from the left.
Clara.
Dark hair, glasses that had already been removed and placed carefully on the narrow ledge near the headboard — the one incongruously neat gesture among the bound, waiting bodies. She was Indian, early thirties, the kind of body that wore business clothing well and wore nothing even better — the curves of her hips wide and real, her ass raised in the arrangement he’d organized, her pussy outlined through thin black fabric that had already gone dark at the center.
He put one hand on the small of her back.
She shivered. Full-body, visible, the shiver moving from the point of contact outward through her spine.
"’Raven—’" Her voice came out careful. Controlled. The voice of a woman who had decided to be here and was maintaining the dignity of having decided deliberately. "’Please be—’"
He pulled her panties to the side.
Her breath hitched.
Minjung pressed record.
He pressed his cock against Clara’s entrance — not forcing, not rushing, just the blunt, warm presence of him against wet flesh, making the question physical rather than conversational.
"’Sir—’" Clara’s voice slipped. Just slightly. The careful composure cracking at a single point. "’My — my husband doesn’t—’"
"’I know,’" Raven said.
He pushed.
PAH.
"’HAANNGH~~~!!’"
Clara’s forehead dropped to the mattress. Her spine curved. Her hips — those wide, practical hips that had carried her through board meetings and Prague airports — drove backward involuntarily to meet him, her body’s assessment of the situation fundamentally at odds with the careful dignified posture she’d been maintaining.
PAH. PAH.
"’AAAHH~!! AH~!! OH—OH GOD—’"
The flesh of her ass rippled with each impact. The sound of it — the specific, wet, percussive report of his hips meeting her — filled the rear cabin of the jet. Her bound wrists strained behind her back. Her tits hung beneath her swaying heavily with each thrust, the nipples dragging against the sheet.
Minjung’s phone tracked the motion. Her jaw was slightly open.
PAH. PAH. PAAH.
"’HNGH~!!♡ HNGH~!!♡ AHH~!!—’"
Clara’s glasses fell off the ledge.
She didn’t notice.
Three rows over, Hana’s body went rigid.
She knew that sound. She was ’made’ of that sound at this point. Had spent weeks being remade into something that lived in the specific space between that sound and the next one. And hearing it this close, in a confined space, with seven other women who were about to experience the same — her hips pressed down against the mattress and her thighs clamped together and her face pushed harder into the pillow she’d already been gripping.
The pillow smelled like airline fabric. Chemical cleanliness. She breathed it in.
She was not going to look up.
PAH. PAH.
"’AAANGHH~~~!!!♡♡’"
Clara came before she’d intended to — that was obvious from the sound of it, the specific note of a woman surprised by her own orgasm, the way it crested too fast and her voice went from controlled to uncontrolled in the space of a single thrust.
"’I—I’m — already—AAAHH~!!’"
"’HAHH—HAHHH—’ " The sound that came from her after was the sound of someone reassembling themselves from a state they hadn’t been in before. Her knees shook against the mattress.
Raven pulled out.
The wet sound of it. The specific withdrawal that made Clara make a noise of — protest, loss, the involuntary objection of a body that had been full and was now empty.
He moved.
One position to the right.
Priya.
The redhead. The project manager. Her body different from Clara’s — leaner through the waist, her ass compact and high and very specifically shaped, the kind of ass that was architectural rather than generous. Her thighs were pressed together despite the binding, pressed together the way thighs press together when the person attached to them is aware that their body is conducting a conversation without them.
He put his hand on her hip.
She made a sound that wasn’t a word.
"’Priya,’" he said.
"’I know,’" she said. Pre-emptively. Tight. Like she’d been rehearsing the acceptance of this.
"’Good.’"
PAH.
"’HIEKK~~~!!’"
Different sound from Clara. Higher. Sharper. The sound of someone with less body between themselves and sensation, the nerve endings closer to the surface. Her back arched immediately — not gradually, immediately, the full arch, her head lifting, her bound hands pulling uselessly against the silk cord.
PAH. PAH.
"’AHH~!! AAAHH~!! — TOO FAST—it’s TOO—AAAHH~!!’"
"’Don’t slow down,’" she said, on the exhale of the same breath. Contradicting herself completely. Her thighs spread wider.
Minjung panned the camera.
PAH. PAH. PAAH.
"’HNGH~!!♡ OUNGHHH~!!♡ AHH~!!’"
Her ass clapping back to meet each thrust now, the rhythm finding itself, the compact shape of her jiggling with each impact in a way the word ’compact’ didn’t cover, the flesh doing what flesh does when it’s hit with that force at that angle.
Minjung zoomed in on Priya’s face.
Tears on her cheeks. Not pain. Something else — the overflow of a sensation operating above its rated capacity, the eyes producing tears the way an engine produces heat when it’s running too hard.
PAH. PAAH.
"’AAAAHHHH~~~!!!♡♡♡’"
Second orgasm in four minutes. Priya’s body gave completely — her arms flat against her back, her head dropping, her mouth open and drooling against the sheet in the specific, total vacancy of a woman whose mind had temporarily left the building.
He didn’t stop.
PAH.
"’HHNN—AHH—I CAN’T—NOT AGAIN—AAAHH~!!’"
Sophia was crying before he even touched her.
Not from fear. The tears were already running when he moved to her position, already soaking into the sheet beneath her cheek. The blonde hair plastered to her face. Her body was — gorgeous, in the specific way of women who came from money and had always been looked at: maintained, soft in the places that were meant to be soft, firm in the places that were meant to be firm.
She’d been listening to the other two for eight minutes.
Her pussy was dripping through her panties onto the sheet below her. Visible. Obvious.
"’Sophia,’" Raven said.
"’My father—’" The words came out of her in a rush. "’My father is a — he’s important, he’s — if he knew I was—’"
"’I know who your father is.’"
She hiccupped. Wet. Undignified.
"’Please,’" she said. Not ’please stop.’ Just — please. Open-ended. The please of a woman who has lost track of what she’s asking for. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎
He hooked his fingers in her panties and pulled them down her thighs.
Her ass was bare. Pale. Perfect. The kind of pale that shows marks.
His hand came down on it.
Not the riding crop. His palm.
PAAH.
"’AHNN~!!’"
The mark bloomed red.
"’Please—’" She said it again. Lower.
PAH. He drove in.
"’AAAHNNNGHH~~~!!!’"
Her whole body lurched forward with the impact. Her tits — soft and substantial, the kind that swung — pressed into the mattress with the force of it, flattening and then rebounding as she was driven back. She was tight. Tighter than Priya, tighter than Clara. The sound his cock made entering her was the sound of something being stretched past its comfortable parameters.
"’TOO BIG—IT’S TOO—’"
PAH. PAH.
"’AAAHH~!!♡ AAAHH~!!♡’"
"’Your father,’" Raven said, his voice entirely level above her screaming, "’doesn’t need to know anything.’"
PAH. PAAH.
"’OUUUNGHHH~~~!!!♡♡’"
