My Taboo Harem!

Chapter 779: Ethically Irregular Afternoon

Phei had always been, by every long-standing account, a man of his word.

Whether the promise involved a divinely ordained bloodbath, a Tuesday lunch reservation, or the silent, filthy vow he made the moment he first laid eyes on a woman who had no business breathing the same air as her pathetic husband — Phei kept his promises.

Patriarchs were now ruined on schedule; their women stolen, their daughters running away with him, live-cuckolding men, Witches stolen on schedule, Mothers freed from abusive husbands on schedule.

’Just so many of divine missions I’d rather not say. Who know the devil might get jealous and prepare a special place for me in hell to ruin her demons too.’

The universe, he had discovered somewhere around his third ecstatic conquest of Maddie, that it didn’t particularly give a damn what a man like him did with his afternoons, so long as the body count stayed reasonable and the women stayed deliciously, thoroughly fucked into blissful, dripping surrender.

The promise currently burning a hole through his thoughts was the GILF promise.

He had made it the day of the divorce signing.

He hadn’t realized it at the time — the vow had slipped in through while he was looking at her.

He had walked in expecting an empty room with the pathetic Maxtons; Instead he found her already seated in her matriarchal poise beside the polished husband with those dreamy eyes, or were they surprised eyes? — a woman he had never once been introduced to in ten years of Maxton occupancy, calmly arranging her posture to not make it an announcement that she found the Young Dragon attractive.

Madeleine Maxton.

Phei had taken one look and immediately rerouted seventy percent of his brain’s operational bandwidth to the urgent, private question of ’who the fuck is that, why is she wearing a wedding ring, and how quickly can I bury my cock so deep in her that she forgets her own husband’s name?’

Madeleine had looked at him with just the same hunger...

’Well, more or less.’

That had only made his cock twitch harder.

Rune Natsuki had arrived twenty minutes later — gliding in with the elegant, weaponized tardiness of a woman who knew her lateness was its own form of foreplay, smiling once at Phei in passing, and proceeding to liquidate the Maxton empire across the polished oak table with the cold, exquisite grace of a surgeon carving incisions into a body already gone sweetly under.

Phei had watched her work with proper appreciation. Rune was a marvel. Rune was, in the larger picture, also a relative he fully intended to deserve one day.

But Rune had not been the promise.

’No actually, Rune was a promise, just not the first. Not my first GILF!’

Madeleine — seated across the room while her son lost everything he had spent years acquiring, her hands folded serenely in her lap, her face composed like living porcelain, her wedding ring catching the chandelier light like a personal taunt to Phei — had been the promise.

He had never met her before that day; not once.

Across the entire ten-year sentence of his Maxton occupancy he had not earned the privilege of being introduced to Harold’s parents.

He hadn’t examined the slight too closely at the time.

The neglect was no worse than every other small, civil neglect he had received from Maxtons as household policy. He had assumed, vaguely, that the Maxton ancestral lattice considered him too low-status for direct introduction.

Maybe he’d been quarantined for some etiquette infraction nobody had bothered to inform him about.

Maxton households quarantined cousins for using the wrong fork at the wrong dinner.

He understood now that the truth had been considerably less flattering to them.

The Maxton ancestors had, evidently, known exactly what he would become later.

Or known enough to fear direct involvement.

’After all — look what direct involvement had done to Harold.’ The man had spent ten years tormenting the equivalent of a sleeping volcano.

He was now spending his remaining afternoons reading reports about how thoroughly the volcano had dismantled his finances, his marriage, his daughters’s loyalty, and every secret his sister had agreed to keep on the family’s behalf.

Whatever the ancestors had suspected about Phei — even partially, even in fragments — they had been right to keep him at arm’s length.

That careful distance had, in the end, saved their lives.

’Pity.’

Because Phei, having now seen Madeleine Maxton in the flesh, was finalizing a plan that would require coming into their lives at considerably less than arm’s length — preferably balls-deep in the hot GILF, making that elegant matriarch moan while he claimed the ultimate prize of becoming Harold’s stepdaddy and Danton’s grandfather; legaclly.

’Well, it’s such a shame to have those too as son and grandson. But hey, the universe demand. What can the humble me do, but obey the call.’

He stretched luxuriously in the enormous bed. A shoulder popped — a charming souvenir from the Tier-One Titan that had punted him into the western wall of the cathedral hollow earlier that afternoon. Eira’s training had, with characteristic pettiness, declined to heal it.

The duvet pooled around his hips with the quiet possessiveness of a small loyal animal. The pillows had agreed amongst themselves to form a reverent topography around the back of his head. Even the ambient temperature of the penthouse appeared to be holding its breath, awaiting his first instruction of the recovered afternoon.

His first instruction was not going to concern training.

His first instruction was, if he was being honest with himself, a moral crisis only insofar as it was not one — because Phei had, somewhere around his fourth or fifth ethically irregular afternoon, vacated the position from which moral crises operated.

He had handed in the keys.

The horrified internal voice that should have asked ’am I really the kind of man who wakes from a recovery nap and uses his first restored hour of consciousness to long-distance fuck his slave through her mother’s living room while ogling her mother’

— that voice had been redecorated.

The new occupant simply said ’yes, obviously, what else.’

He laughed at himself. Quietly; he had made peace with his own magnificent descent into delicious, depraved sin.

"Eira."

The fairy was upside down.

She had, somewhere in the last hour of his recovery, decided that the floor-to-ceiling window was an inferior way to view the southern shoreline and that the ceiling was, in fact, the correct vantage.

She hovered against the antique plaster of the upper coffer, ankles crossed, dark-diamond eyes fixed on him with the bright gaze of a fairy who had been waiting the entire duration of his nap to be spoken to and was now, sovereignly, going to make him work for it.

"Well, well. He stirs."

Her voice arrived in his head pitched for theatre.

"You’re awake, are you. How unexpected. I’d begun rehearsing the eulogy."

"Show me Cassiopeia."

"Mmm. No."

He turned his head on the pillow.

"No?"

"I had plans. I’d selected a small hymn. I was workshopping a tasteful refrain. The obsidian-blue Tier-One titans that kicked you into the western wall had given me hope, and now you’ve cruelly extinguished them by waking up. Do not, in addition, ruin my afternoon by demanding the long-distance ruination of your slave’s tea before I’ve had time to grieve. Do not be surprised I know what my degenerated Master about to do"

"Eira."

"You’re a Dragon with fully awakened powers. The correct first activity for a sovereign emerging from training recovery is more training. Train. Verify. Refine. Consolidate. Go and kick the titans back into the western forest they kicked you into at first."

"The training can wait until tomorrow."

"The training has waited since the Sundering."

"It can wait one more afternoon."

A long translucent silence from the ceiling.

"You’ve looked at the duvet, haven’t you."

"Now show me Cassiopeia."

She detached from the ceiling with the theatrical disappointment of a director whose lead actor had refused the obviously superior scene, drifted down on lazy wings, and gestured.

The air in front of the window shimmered, parted, resolved.

A pane of cool void-ice the size of a flat-screen, suspended at a comfortable viewing height. The image rendered and stabilized.

Cassiopeia. Antique armchair. Living room older than several countries. Teacup arrested on its saucer. Thighs — Phei noted, with the small private satisfaction of a master whose timing had been impeccable — clenched.

He stretched both arms behind his head and smiled like a predator who had just been served fresh prey on a silver platter.

**

"Well, well, well."

"Look at her thighs."

"I’m looking at her thighs."

"Look how poised she is trying to be while I am controlling my thick cock is buried deep in her cunt."

"Are you narrating now?"

"I’m editorializing. I’ve been bored for the duration of your nap and I’m committed to the bit."

He gestured.

Across a lake — in a living room of antique furniture older than the United States — the thick void-ice cock seated obscenely deep inside Cassiopeia Maxton’s dripping, greedy cunt received its master’s first instruction of the recovered afternoon and vibrated with filthy, devoted hunger.