Felicity's Beast World Apocalypse-Chapter 79: Daddies? 18+

Victor unbuttoned his sleeve, fingers working methodically, and plucked a silken blindfold from the inside pocket. He twined it loose, and then, with practiced ease, tied it around Felicity’s eyes.

She stiffened, uncertain, then shuddered in recognition when she felt the brush of Victor’s forearm at her cheek.

"You will sit, and you will listen, and you will be good," he said softly. "And you will let us love you right."

Felicity swallowed.

Voss was first. He pressed against her from the front, his scent a rush of rain and earth and animal. His hands skimmed her ribs, up to cup her jaw and hold her still while he kissed her slow, patient, unhurried. Behind her, a second set of hands: Ivan’s, deliberate and warm, pressing gentle on her shoulders, then sliding under the collar of her shirt.

Someone Damien, she guessed, from the sly scrape of teeth nipped at the heel of her ear, and she gasped, arching back.

She reached for the edge of her shirt, only to have her wrists caught and pinned by Victor, who muttered, "No. Not yet. You stay helpless."

They undressed her carefully. Not out of shyness, but discipline, the ritual of it. A button at a time, wool peeled slow. The sudden exposure when her skin met the air made her whine. Victor shushed her gently, voice a low promise.

She couldn’t see, could only feel. Every breath, every shift in current as the heat from the fireplace painted her thighs; the careful way Ivan knelt behind and spread her hair off her neck, and the not-careful way Voss parted her knees and pressed up and in, all teeth and tongue and iron pulse.

It was impossible to know which hands were which. They passed her between them like a secret. Each time she thought she knew, guessed the next touch, they switched. Damien’s nails dug in, sharp and clever; Ivan pressed a steady, grounding palm against her back. Voss kissed her so hard she forgot who she was.

It was Victor, always Victor, who ordered her to hold still, to be good, to take.

By the time she was on her back, blindfold damp, every nerve was ready to burn. Something hard and cold Victor’s hand, she thought held both her wrists above her head, and someone else worked their way down, mouth and tongue leaving slow, deliberate marks.

They filled her; more than once, sometimes nearly at once, until she forgot the difference between pleasure and power and terror, until the only certainty was the heat of the room and the iron grip of her lovers.

They filled her completely Victor claiming her mouth with demanding kisses while Voss took her from behind, Damiens hands guiding hers to stroke him as Ivan entered her from below.

Their rhythms synchronized then scattered, sometimes building together, sometimes taking turns, until she lost track of whose pleasure ended where another’s began.

The only certainties remaining were the suffocating heat of the room and the iron grip of four pairs of hands marking her as theirs.

The heat and hands never abated. Her gasps were leash and beacon both; she got swallowed, mapped, and claimed in shifting, voracious tides. At some point the blindfold became merely ceremonial her world was sensation, not sight. Someone’s stubble burned a line down her navel; someone else’s tongue winked at her ankle. Ivan’s breath, calm as an anchor, hovered at her clavicle, and his teeth left blossoms on her chest.

Voss moved like a beast unbound, pinning her thighs open so wide she could barely tremble between the bites. His cock pressed in with bruising certainty, and when he bottomed out, he didn’t retreat but ground and curved, savoring her helpless clench. She screamed once, then surrendered to the rhythm. Her body stopped resisting and simply opened.

Victor was jealous, always. He wouldn’t let anything happen off his schedule. He pried her mouth with a thumb, fed her two thick fingers, then replaced it with his cock unforgiving, tasting of metallic salt and she took it as she was told, drooling and choking and shuddering, as Victor flooded her with cold, arctic comfort at her brow while he took her throat.

"Swallow," he murmured, and she did, greedily. His shaft punched into her again and again, and every time she gagged, she felt Voss’s cock jerk in sympathy, as if they were warring over who could make her shatter first.

Damien’s hands were everywhere and nowhere, clever and unaccountable. He cupped her breast one moment, twisted her nipple the next, then let his tail sneak and worm its way between her ass cheeks. The first touch was a question she nodded, whined and the slick, muscular appendage slid in, opening her inch by inch. Her toes curled and tried to drag carpets. With the tail inside and Voss unfaltering, she was packed so full she could only sob and beg, wordless around Victor’s cock.

But then Ivan silent Ivan shifted from behind. He slid a hand between her legs, felt the bulge along her lower belly, and massaged her, as if he could coax her womb into blossoming for them. She heard, over the blood in her ears, Victor’s growl: "You see? She’s not breaking."

Ivan’s answer was to press his cock, slicked and huge, to her already stuffed hole. She whimpered, thrashing, as Voss braced and Damien’s tail froze inside her, pulsing with anticipation.

Ivan went slow, impossibly gentle, feeding her the stretch as every nerve in her body screamed threat and thrill. "You can take it," Ivan said, voice almost reverent. "Good girl. Good little sun.

Voss bared his teeth and pushed in, not yielding an inch, and Ivan doubled the pressure. Her mind shredded and reformed; she felt herself split across dimensions. The three of them inside her was not sensation but a state of being. The fullness breached sanity. Victor kept her mouth busy but used free fingers to drag her clit, ruthless, not permitting her to fade out or float away.

She lost track of the first orgasm, crushed under the weight of it she only knew that she was crying, and then laughing, and then screaming again, and her lovers were nipping, biting, filling, flooding her until even tremors were impossible. The air itself seemed to warp; she was sure, in the back corner of her mind, that her magic would ignite and bring the roof down.

They flipped her, she didn’t remember moving until she knelt, arms braced wide. Voss and Ivan crowded behind, rutting her together, their hands dueling at her hips. Damien’s tail retracted, but his cocks replaced it at her ass, the tip mean and so hot she hissed. He sunk in, slow but inevitable, until she was stretched around the mass of them, whimpering into her own wrist.

Victor, arms caging her body on both sides, whispered: "Say it."

She didn’t know what he meant, not until Ivan’s hand threaded her braid and yanked her head up.

"Who do you belong to?" Ivan demanded.

She managed, through hiccuping breath, "Yours yours, Daddys, all of you"

Victor twined his fingers in her hair and forced her head back further, so she could see his wolf-bright eyes. "And who do you obey?"

She couldn’t speak, could only whine and babble, but he seemed satisfied with the way she drooled and gasped. Damien, ever the showman, pulled her hair and spat on her tongue, then pushed his shafts deeper, making her vision white out.

The rhythm built, broke, built again. They chased her, never letting her land, never permitting a lull. Victor’s cock swelled and pulsed in her mouth, leaking heat and salt. Voss, ever the brute, marked her insides with every savage thrust.

Ivan nuzzled her ear and crooned: "Perfect, perfect, do you feel how good you are now?" And Damien’s tail flicked her nipple, just at the limit of pain.

Vinyl snapped beneath their knees. The ancient fireplace guttered, then roared. The world shrank to sweat, scent, and velocity. Three cocks in her hole, two in her ass, her jaw stretched by the first, the rest a riot of nerves. She writhed and thrashed and endured, and the men held her upright when her arms buckled. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

It was Ivan who climaxed first, hips jerking, his self-control finally undone by the obscene friction. "Come now, little sun" He groaned, filling her, and the heat sent her into another blackout orgasm, clamping on all of them.

Voss, snarling, pounded through the squeeze, then bit down on her shoulder, barely missing skin. He finished with a growl, and she felt it hot and thick, leaking out around Ivan still twitching inside her.

Damien’s tail retreated, curling her clit, and he pushed his lengths until the knot at the base caught against her and popped in, plugging and locking them together. She spasmed, milking every drop, body a conduit for their needs.

Victor, last, always last, pulled out of her mouth and spun her to face him. He hoisted her easily, impaled on the other men, and pressed his cock between her ruined lips. The first thrust made her gurgle, but he kissed her, hard and cold and alive, until she remembered her name.

He fucked her mouth brutally, each stroke a command: "You are not alone" until he came, flooding her tongue and throat, and rumbled, "Swallow." She did, desperate to please, and felt herself go limp in his arms.

They collapsed around her, four men breathing as one, hands smoothing her hair and stroking her back, some too rough and some impossibly gentle. The world, when it returned, was warm and small. The only sound was the fireplace and the soft, shuddering laughs of people who had survived.

"She’s ours now," Damien said, somewhere above her ear.

"I was already yours," she whispered, voice raw.

Victor nodded, nuzzling her hair. "Now we all know."

Ivan, still inside her, kissed her temple and called her "good lgirl" until she cried again, this time from happiness.

They encircled her in the small clearing, their massive forms casting long shadows in the fading light. Victor’s red eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he surveyed her. "Heal yourself now," he commanded, voice rough with barely contained emotion. "Then I will help you shower." His clawed hands flexed at his sides, betraying his anxiety despite the authoritative tone that left no room for argument.

Felicity blinked burning tears out of her eyes, vision swimming as she summoned her magelight inward. She was slick with messy heat and her own uncooperative limbs, but she focused, conjured a bubble of gold around each bruise, each stretched and battered inch inside her.

The effort cost her, but in seconds, the fire in her blood ebbed. Torn skin stitched with fever-bright energy, muscles unclenching, her body pulsing with restorative song until she trembled with almost-euphoria.

Damien, who watched her with pride, caught one of her spent legs and massaged her thigh. "See how good you look now?" he crooned. "Better than new. Ready for another round, aren’t you?"

Ivan just gave her a small, reverent smile, before withdrawing with the same care and patience he took to enter her. "She’s beyond us. Not sure we’ll ever catch up," he murmured, shaking his head in wonder.

Voss, already sprawled on the ground, snored once and then smirked at her drunkenly. "Damn, pet, you’ve got your own aftercare app running on loop."

Victor said nothing, just surveyed her with proprietary satisfaction, then took charge, directing the others to "clean up and rest."