Private quarters, deepest level of the base
Selena Varkis, Chief Director, the woman who could make entire armies kneel with one look, was currently on her back in nothing but torn stockings and her open uniform jacket.
Legs locked around Ethan's waist.
Heels digging into his back.
He had her pinned to the desk in deep missionary, cock buried to the hilt, balls slapping her ass with every brutal thrust.
Wet, filthy sounds echoed off the soundproof walls.
Selena's ice-blue eyes were glazed with pure lust, silver hair fanned across the desk like spilled moonlight.
"It's been… too long… since you fucked this pussy," she gasped between moans.
Ethan leaned down, bit her lower lip, then growled against her mouth:
"Then let's make up for lost time."
He sped up, hard, deep, relentless.
Her massive breasts bounced with every slam, nipples hard and begging.
She clawed his shoulders, heels pulling him deeper.
"Harder—fuck—give me everything—!"
He obliged.
The desk creaked, threatening to collapse.
Minutes blurred into one long, wet, perfect rhythm.
When they came, it was explosive: her walls clamping down like a vice, milking him, squirting around his cock while he pumped her full, hot and thick, until it leaked out with every final thrust.
They stayed locked, panting, sweat-slick, hearts hammering.
Selena finally laughed, breathless, running fingers through his hair.
"Welcome back to active duty, Agent Cole."
Ethan smirked, still inside her.
"Briefing accepted, Director.
Scene 1 – Capital Outskirts: Two Idiots Destroying Everything
The sky cracked like glass.
A golden dragon-shaped sword aura, a hundred meters long, sliced through three skyscrapers at once.
A countering blood-red phoenix made of pure killing intent answered, detonating mid-air and turning an entire residential district into a crater.
Two Nascent Soul cultivators, both shirtless, muscles gleaming with sweat and qi, roared at each other over the floating body of Saintess Lyralei (the legendary MILF healer both claimed as "future wife").
Every clash leveled another block.
Council rescue VTOLs screamed overhead, evacuating screaming civilians while barrier teams threw up emergency shields just to keep the death toll under a thousand.
No one could get close.
Anyone Foundation realm or lower who tried got vaporized by stray shockwaves.
The city burned.
Scene 2 – Underground Base, Level -47: Director's Private Office
Selena Varkis was bent over her obsidian desk, uniform jacket flung open, massive breasts pressed flat against classified files, nipples dragging across red-stamped documents with every thrust.
Her skirt was bunched around her waist, black lace panties long ripped and dangling from one ankle, stockings shredded into ribbons that clung to her thighs like battle scars.
Ethan gripped her hips hard enough to leave marks, driving into her doggy-style with slow, punishing depth.
Each thrust sent her perfect ass rippling, balls slapping against her swollen clit in wet, obscene rhythm.
Sweat dripped from her silver hair onto the table.
Her moans were no longer the ice-queen director:
They were raw, desperate, slutty.
"Fuck—deeper—give me everything you've got, Cole—!"
Her comms tablet buzzed on the desk right next to her face.
Without breaking rhythm, she snatched it with one hand, read the emergency alert, typed a single-line order with her thumb, and tossed it aside.
Ethan raised an eyebrow, still balls-deep.
"Problem?"
Selena pushed back hard, taking him to the root.
"Just two morons trying to kill each other over a woman. Nothing we can't handle later. Right now you're on duty inside me."
She clenched deliberately.
Ethan's eyes flashed crimson.
He grabbed a fistful of silver hair, yanked her head back, and went full throttle.
The desk screeched across the floor with every violent thrust.
Papers flew.
A coffee mug shattered.
The room became a storm of wet slaps, moans, and pure dominance.
Scene 3 – Level -50 Barracks Private Room
Twenty elite female agents, all battle-hardened, all stunning, lay sprawled across couches, mats, and each other: naked, dripping, red-faced, and utterly wrecked.
In the center stood Agent Kaius "Reaper" Vorn, the base's infamous pretty-boy sniper, shirtless, tactical pants around his ankles.
He currently held Agent Rhea (petite, short black hair, legs for days) completely upside-down by the thighs, her mouth level with his cock, her pussy level with his mouth in a standing 69-turned-fuck.
Except he was doing all the work: pounding upward into her while she screamed into a pillow someone had thoughtfully provided.
Wet slaps echoed like machine-gun fire.
Her juices ran down his chest in rivers.
Rhea came for the third time, squirting straight into his abs.
Kaius's comms buzzed on the floor.
He glanced down mid-thrust, read the alert, smirked, and slammed home one final time.
Came with a growl, pumping her full until it overflowed and splashed onto the mats below.
Rhea went limp, cross-eyed, fainted dead away.
Kaius gently set her down among the pile of satisfied women, wiped himself with a towel someone tossed him, and started dressing: black combat pants, tactical vest, twin suppressed pistols clicking into place.
He saluted the room of unconscious agents.
"Ladies, always a pleasure. Duty calls."
Walked out like a man who'd just finished a light workout.
The base was half in apocalypse prep, half in post-orgy coma.
Just another Tuesday.
Liana Voss's Penthouse – 38th floor, master bedroom
The room glowed in soft amber light from hidden LEDs.
Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city like a living painting: neon rivers, distant skyscrapers blinking red aircraft lights, moon hanging low and silver.
Liana sat on the edge of her massive bed, white silk robe hanging completely open, heavy breasts rising and falling with every breath, nipples hard from cool air and anticipation.
Black stockings, once perfect, now torn in long, deliberate runs that framed her thick thighs like battle scars.
Between her spread legs knelt Aria.
Nineteen.
Long silver-white hair cascading over delicate shoulders, framing a face so beautiful it hurt to look at directly.
Big violet eyes shimmering with tears he hadn't let fall yet.
His small, soft hands rested on her thighs, trembling.
He leaned in, lips brushing her swollen clit like he was praying.
One slow, reverent lick.
Liana's head fell back, a low moan escaping.
Another lick, longer, deeper, tongue curling inside her, tasting every drop of the day's stress.
She threaded fingers through his silky hair, not guiding, just holding.
"Thank you…" he whispered against her folds, voice cracking. "For the food… for the shower… for giving me a home…"
Liana's heart broke and healed at the same time.
She cupped his face, thumbs wiping the tears that finally spilled.
"Pretty boy… you're not home yet."
She guided him up gently.
He rose on shaky knees, slender body trembling, cock already hard and leaking, pretty and perfect like the rest of him.
Liana pulled him closer, lined him up, and let him sink in slow, inch by inch, eyes locked the entire time.
Warm.
Tight.
Perfect.
When he bottomed out, he froze, mouth open in a silent gasp, violet eyes wide.
Liana wrapped legs and arms around him, pulling him down until their chests pressed together, hearts hammering against each other.
"Welcome home, honey."
That did it.
Aria broke.
Soft, happy sobs into her neck, arms clutching her like she was the only real thing he'd ever had.
Liana held him just as tight, kissing his temple, his cheek, his tears.
No thrusting.
No rushing.
Just two souls finally safe, joined completely, breathing the same air.
Minutes stretched, ten, twenty, thirty.
Tears dried.
Kisses turned slow and sweet.
He stayed buried inside her warmth the whole time, like he never wanted to leave.
Liana stroked his hair, whispering over and over:
"You're home now, baby.
You're home."
Meanwhile – Midnight Highway, 320 km/h
Kai leaned hard into the curve, knee scraping asphalt, bike howling like a demon unleashed.
Black matte Ducati Panigale V4 R, custom exhaust screaming into the night.
City lights became solid streaks of gold and red.
Every mile closer to the base, the grin under his helmet grew sharper.
Comms crackled in his earpiece:
"Reaper, you're gonna get yourself killed at that speed."
Kai's laugh came through like a blade.
He twisted the throttle harder.
The bike roared.