The next morning.
Willo slowly opened her eyes in her slumber, feeling light and relaxed—every pore utterly satisfied.
She had never felt so refreshed. Upon waking, a soft moan escaped her throat: "Hmm..."
As her consciousness cleared, she saw exactly where she was.
She, Charles, and Hattie lay tangled beneath the same quilt—limbs entangled in the same intimate embrace as last night. Everywhere else lay scattered evidence of their frenzied, unrestrained passion.
Oh yes, this is the Priest's room... Charles's bed.
Last night, under Charles and Hattie's relentless changes in position—attacking from every angle, top to bottom and back to front—Willo climaxed seven or eight times. Utterly drained of all physical endurance, she was finally allowed rest.
That meant her memories stopped right after that final assault. Now, as she recalled exactly what she had done, this traditionally conservative Satyr buried her face in the quilt, unable to face reality.
Gods, what have I done…?
How do I even look Priest Charles and Miss Hattie in the eye now?
Maybe… I should slip out? While they're still asleep…
She mustered a sliver of courage to face reality. Lifting the quilt, she glanced down and immediately spotted Charles's thick cock—the same monstrous weapon that had ravaged her until she was insensate last night.
Seeing its intimidating size even half-erect, breathing in the musky scent lingering under the covers, she flushed. But this was no time for distraction. She shifted Charles's arm and leg carefully—not to wake him.
Inevitably, her inexperience betrayed her. Charles stirred, opened his eyes, and locked onto hers.
Frozen under his gaze, Willo panicked. Charles offered a gentle smile: "Good morning, Matriarch Willo."
"Uh… g-good morning," Willo mumbled, unable to meet his eyes.
Reading her thoughts, he shifted his leg aside. "Did I crush you?"
She shook her head. "No… I thought I'd get up without waking you—you must be exhausted after last night—"
She froze, cheeks burning. Damn it—why did I say that?!
The shame tormented her, leaving her utterly adrift. Charles wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "Thank you for caring, dear."
The endearment made Willo flush even deeper. At that moment, her cheek pressed against his broad chest, his masculine scent and warmth flooding her senses. A dazed look crossed her face—she yearned to curl up against him, her body melting into his skin, abandoning all thought.
Yet her willpower held firm. She pushed lightly against Charles's chest. "We should get up. Come on."
Before the words fully left her lips, a pair of large, soft breasts pressed against her back from behind. Hattie's devilish whisper tickled her ear: "How about morning exercises first?"
Hattie had been awake for a while. Witches needed little rest, and she hadn't borne the brunt of last night's activities.
She'd stayed silent deliberately, waiting to spring her mischievous proposal.
Willo had never heard the term "morning exercises," but Hattie's suggestive tone left no doubt.
Panic flickered across her face. "It's late, Miss Hattie. We need to—Mmmpf!"
Hattie gave no chance to protest. A thick tentacle slid into Willo's mouth, coiling around her delicate pink tongue.
Simultaneously, more tentacles crept up her thighs and chest, expertly teasing every sensitive spot.
"No worries. Morning exercises don't take long," Hattie murmured, winking at Charles. "If you cooperate."
Willo's face flushed crimson. Desire ignited her body—her eyes glazed over, lust dripping from her gaze. Charles kissed her forehead. With Hattie's assistance, he skipped foreplay. His thick cock, already awakened, stood rigid. It slid into position with practiced ease.
"Mmmph—!"
A satisfied moan tore from Willo's throat. The sharp slap of flesh echoed through the room once more.
Since it was morning and most nuns were awake, Charles kept his pace steady—teasing with shallow thrusts until Willo arched in need. Then he drove into her fiercely.
Amid the satyr's rising cries, he carried her over the edge yet again.
Half an hour later, Charles pulled out and dressed. Hattie conjured her heavy black nun's habit with magic, instantly reverting to her stern, pious facade.
Willo, however, lay limp and spent—last night's excess and the "exercises" had sapped every ounce of strength. Her eyes smoldered, breath coming in sensual gasps.
Reluctantly, Hattie and Charles hauled her up. Thankfully, her robe required only a whispered incantation to reseal itself—convenient magic.
Walking proved impossible. Ravaged by both, Willo's legs trembled; she could barely stand, let alone walk back alone.
Hattie had to support her all the way to her room.
Once dressed, Charles scanned the hallway. Confirming it was empty, he waved them out.
Hattie guided Willo toward her quarters.
Morning was in full swing—nuns bustled about, washing up and preparing for the day. Willo's room was distant, forcing them to pass others.
The nuns gawked at Willo's unsteady gait. They crowded around, peppering her with concern. "What happened?"
Flustered, Willo waved it off. "Just tired. Nothing serious." Hattie stammered backup excuses—flimsy but plausible.
Yet the nuns' expressions shifted. Smirks tugged at their lips, eyes gleaming with knowing amusement before they scattered.
Willo couldn't parse their reaction but pretended her cover held. Hattie escorted her to the door.
After ensuring Willo was safe, Hattie left. Willo collapsed onto her bed, intending to rest before freshening up—
Knock, knock.
A confused voice called: "Mom? You back?"
Willo's heart lurched. Adele came earlier—and I wasn't here!
How could she explain this to her daughter?
Worse—her body still bore the traces of Charles. Unwashed. Unhidden.
~~~
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