My Taboo Harem!

Chapter 785: Her First Orgasm (r-18)

Phei’s smile was slow, dark, divine, and utterly merciless. He leaned closer, voice a low, sinful growl against her ear as two fingers finally parted her soaked folds and circled her dripping entrance with feather-light torment, never quite pushing inside, while his thumb hovered maddeningly above her throbbing clit.

"Look at you... centuries of composure reduced to this leaking, quivering little fairy cunt. I haven’t even tasted you yet, Eira."

To humble her further, he suddenly leaned down: Phei opened his mouth, that alone made her eyes go wide, and the warmth on from his mouth wrapped around her breast and he then dragged the flat of his hot tongue slowly up the side of her neck, then latched onto the hypersensitive spot just behind her ear, sucking hard while his fingers continued their cruel edging.

At the same time, he lightly fluttered the tips of his fingers against the very entrance of her pussy, teasing the slick, fluttering folds with feather-light torment.

The scorching heat of her dripping core kissed his fingertips like molten nectar wrapped in void-ice — so impossibly tight, so greedily clenching and winking with every barely-there brush, trying desperately to suck him inside.

He gave her the barest taste of penetration, letting just the tips sink in before cruelly pulling back, forcing her velvety walls to spasm and flutter around nothing but aching emptiness.

"Mmmhh—! Ahhn... haaa—!" Helpless, melodic moans spilled from Eira’s lips like shattered crystal.

Then he attacked her wings directly — leaning over her shoulder to run his hot, wet tongue along the delicate, glowing edge of one translucent wing.

The taste was electric and intoxicating: sweet, sparkling fairy dust bursting across his tongue like liquid starlight and raw, sinful lust.

His free hand stroked the other wing from base to tip in long, firm caresses, feeling the hypersensitive, paper-thin membrane quiver and glow hotter beneath his palm, every vein pulsing like captured lightning.

"Nngh—! Haaah... mmmph—!"

Eira screamed — a raw, broken, celestial wail of pure overwhelmed ecstasy that rang with both ancient dignity and filthy, depraved need.

Her entire body convulsed violently while fresh, glowing nectar gushed out of her in thick, humiliating spurts, splashing hot and slippery against his fingers and soaking his wrist as her pussy fluttered and winked like a desperate, broken thing.

"P-please... Master..." she gasped, voice trembling yet still laced with that imperious, ancient timbre, "I... I was not meant to unravel so... so completely — oh gods above —"

Phei chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through her wing and straight into her throbbing core.

"Not meant to what, little star? Not meant to cream yourself like a common mortal slut just from my hands and my tongue on your wings? Not meant to beg your Master to ruin that ancient, untouched cunt?"

He pressed two fingers deeper, only to the first knuckle, stretching her impossibly tight entrance.

The feeling was divine — her void-ice pussy walls were cool and silky on the surface yet blazing with inner lust, clenching around his fingers with greedy, rippling heat that made his cock throb painfully against the towel.

His thumb finally — finally — brushed her erect clit in one slow, devastating circle.

Her eyes rolled back, wings locked wide open in total surrender.

Another violent gush of nectar flooded his hand as the proud, ancient fairy began to shatter under the dragon’s masterful, unrelenting teasing.

He pulled back.

The hand at her breast slipped lower, gliding over the fluttering, sweat-slick plane of her belly, past the roll of her hip, to the satin inside of her thigh where gauze ended and luminous skin began.

He glided lower with divine patience, mapping the elegant dip of her spine before slipping downward over the fluttering, sweat-slick plane of her belly, past the graceful roll of her hip, to the satin inside of her thigh.

The back of his knuckles dragged upward with the slow, shameless casualness; he had nowhere else in creation to be — he traced the long, quivering perfection of her inner thigh toward the drenched, parted shrine she had now, with horrified, ecstatic abandon, spread wide and dripping for him.

He stopped.

A single fingertip away.

The cruel, patient inch of almost — so close she could feel the radiant heat of his skin radiating against her soaked folds, every tiny warmth on his knuckles brushing the hypersensitive air just above her throbbing clit while faint sparks of her own fairy dust continued to drift and sparkle between them like forbidden constellations.

Her wings stuttered violently, flaring and collapsing in helpless spasms.

Her hips lifted in a small, humiliated chase, grinding the air in desperate little circles, chasing the promise of his touch like a starving supplicant before an altar.

"Ahhn...! Mmmh— haaa—!"

Every breath was a ragged, trilling sob; every heartbeat sent fresh jolts of overwhelming pleasure radiating from her core outward until even the roots of her wings tingled and burned with unbearable sensitivity.

"Master —"

"Mmm?"

"Master, please..." she whispered, her voice still carrying the crystalline authority of starlit marble even as it trembled.

"Please what, Eira?"

"Master, please... touch me again."

"Touch what, Eira."

She made a sound that was no longer language — only raw, wet, animal need.

"Nnghh... haaah—!"

Her dark-diamond eyes had gone glassy and unfocused with lust.

Her mouth hung open, lips swollen and trembling, a thin string of saliva connecting them.

The tiny, translucent body that had folded itself in prim, courtly dignity ten minutes earlier was now flushed crimson from throat to thighs, breasts heaving, nipples aching, sex glistening and parted obscenely, wings quivering in total, profane display.

"Eira."

"Master —"

"What was it you were saying earlier?"

"M-Master —"

"About being engineered differently from my mortal women."

"Master —"

"About the cosmic insult of being asked if you could handle this."

"Master, please — I beg of you..."

A long, broken silence stretched between them.

She squeezed her eyes shut, cheeks burning with humiliated ecstasy.

The same small, ancient void-ice fairy who had threatened to laugh about this for centuries drew in a shaky, unsteady breath and admitted, in a cracked yet still imperious voice:

"...I was wrong, Master."

"Mmm."

"I was... very wrong, Master."

"Yes."

"Master, please."

"Mmm. Good girl."

He moved the hand.

Not where she begged for it. Not yet. Up — back up the long, quivering inside of her thigh, past her hip, over the helpless front of her, until it cupped her jaw with the patient, cathedral tenderness of a god who had just broken his most exquisite creation.

She looked at him — glassy, wet, utterly wrecked, tears of overwhelmed pleasure glittering at the corners of her eyes like fallen stars.

He bent.

And touched his mouth, very lightly, to hers.

She shattered beneath it.

The kiss was soft, closed-mouthed, devastating. The taste of him — clean skin, faint salt, pure masculine divinity — flooded her senses like liquid fire.

Every nerve in her body ignited at once.

"Mmmph—! Haaah... ahhn—!"

A sound tore from her throat that was no longer anything a fairy was capable of producing — wet, helpless, depraved, the open, begging moan of an ancient being whose every inch now sang in unholy, overwhelming chorus.

And his other hand — still cupping the perfect, full curve of her ass — squeezed.

She came.

Just from that.

A fingertip short of where she had begged him to touch again, through nothing more than gauze, one possessive palm, and one closed-mouthed kiss.

Her wings flared wide in blinding iridescence, every vein blazing like captured starfire as a massive burst of fairy dust exploded outward in a glittering storm.

Her thighs locked violently.

Her tiny, perfect body convulsed in his hands with long, broken, helpless shudders — back arching so sharply it nearly lifted her from the bed, cunt spasmed and gushed in powerful, rhythmic waves that soaked his hand, her thighs, and the sheets in hot, glowing floods of shimmering nectar.

Pleasure crashed through her in endless, white-hot waves, each one stronger than the last, until her vision whited out and every cell in her ancient body sang with sensory overload so intense it bordered on agony and ecstasy at once.

He pulled back from the kiss.

Looked at her.

Smiled — slow, dark, eternal.

"Eira."

"...Master."

"That, Eira, was the first taste."

She made a sound that was not a word — only a broken, sobbing whimper of pure, ruined need.

He laid her back, very gently, against the duvet.

The duvet, as though in devoted worship, adjusted around her trembling, splayed, dripping form.

And his hand drifted, with the slow, patient, cruel reverence of a god who had nowhere else to be tonight, back down the trembling, open length of her —

— toward the place he had not, yet, gone.