Chapter 7: The night begin
The city’s neon glow painted the bedroom in strips of amber and electric blue, cutting across the plush velvet and silken sheets. Mizi waited, the cool air raising goosebumps on her arms. The white lingerie was a confection of lace and sheer mesh, the cups designed to lift and frame, making her C-cup breasts appear fuller, heavier, the deep cleavage a stark pale contrast in the dim light.
The bathroom door clicked open. Steam curled out, followed by Luka. A white towel was slung around his neck, his blonde hair darkened and dripping. His gaze landed on her and instantly sharpened, the gold in his eyes heating. The sight of her, arranged and waiting, did its work immediately.
His white silk robe did little to hide the result. A pronounced, thick ridge pushed aggressively against the fabric, tenting it out at a steep angle. The outline was unmistakable—the broad head, the heavy shaft running down his thigh, the material straining over its length.
Mizi’s cheeks flushed a warm pink, but she held his gaze. She slid to the edge of the massive bed, the sheets whispering. On her knees before him, her fingers found the knotted belt of his robe. She tugged it loose. The silk parted, revealing him fully.
His cock hung heavy and semi-erect against his thigh, a substantial weight even at rest. It was long, thick at the base, the skin dusky and smooth over a network of subtle veins. The head was broad, a pronounced flare, already glistening faintly. It was a possession he was proud of, a physical fact of his dominance.
She leaned forward, her pink hair brushing his stomach, and took him into her mouth.
Her technique was slow, devoted, a worship he expected. She worked him with her tongue, cupping his balls with one hand, stroking the base with the other. She could feel him thickening, lengthening, the flesh hardening and swelling against her palate as blood surged into it. He grew impossibly fuller, the veins becoming more prominent ropes under her lips. A low groan vibrated in his chest, his hands coming to tangle in her hair.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice already rough. “Get it ready for you. All of it.”
In another room, all restraint had already been burned away.
Ivan moved behind Till with a piston-like rhythm, his body a study in controlled force. They were both naked, skin slick with sweat. Till was on his hands and knees, his back arched, head hanging low. Grey hair stuck to his damp forehead. Every deep, driving push from Ivan punched a choked moan from his throat.
Ivan’s cock, a thick 8.1 inches, speared into him with relentless precision. It was a brutal, efficient tool, darker in shade, curving slightly upward, the ridge of the head stretching Till open with every inward stroke. Ivan’s own breathing was a quiet, focused rasp in Till’s ear. His free hand reached around, fingers wrapping firmly around Till’s erect length—a solid 6.3 inches, flushed and leaking, veins standing out in Till’s distress.
“Close…” Till gasped, the word breaking into a sob as Ivan’s thumb swiped over his tip.
Ivan’s rhythm fractured, his composure finally cracking. He buried himself to the hilt, his hips stuttering. A hot, sudden flood filled Till as Ivan came with a sharp, muted grunt. The sensation tipped Till over the edge. His own cock jerked in Ivan’s fist, spilling stripes of white across the rumpled sheets beneath them with a ragged cry.
Back in the master bedroom, Luka was fully, painfully hard. The 9 inches of him stood rigid, jutting from his body, a flushed and formidable thickness. A bead of moisture welled at the slit.
“Enough,” he growled, pulling Mizi up by her arms. He laid her back onto the silk, the lingerie a mere scrap against her skin. He pushed her thighs apart and settled between them, not asking, taking. The broad head of his cock pressed against her entrance, and with one relentless, deep thrust, he sheathed himself inside her.
Mizi cried out, a sharp sound of shock and pleasure, her back arching off the bed as he filled her completely. He didn’t wait for her to adjust. He set a punishing pace from the start, each withdrawal and deep, crashing return making the canopy frame shudder.
“You take it so well,” he panted, his charismatic mask gone, replaced by raw, competitive hunger. His eyes were fixed on where their bodies joined. “You feel that? Every inch. You’re gonna scream for me before I’m done.”
In the other room, Ivan, still hard, had rolled Till onto his side. He hooked Till’s leg over his arm, entering him again in one smooth, deep motion. Till’s exhausted moan was swallowed by the pillow. This was different—deeper, somehow more possessive. Ivan’s 8.1-inch length drove into him with a new, claiming intensity.
“Again,” Ivan whispered, his voice a dark, calm thread against Till’s ear, so unlike Luka’s performative commands. His hand snaked between Till’s legs, finding his oversensitive cock, already half-hard again. “You’re not finished.”
Luka was pounding into Mizi, the bed slamming against the wall in time with his thrusts. He leaned down, capturing one of her peaked, pink nipples into his mouth, sucking hard, then biting down just enough to make her gasp. He switched to the other, his tongue rough, his teeth a sharp threat.
“Gonna come inside you,” he promised, his words slurred against her skin. “Fill you up. Show everyone who you belong to.” His pace became frantic, erratic. He was chasing it, his own release and something else—a victory.
Mizi was unraveling, her gentle nature submerged under the sensory overload. Her nails raked down his back as a coil tightened deep in her belly, spurred by his words, his possession, the sheer overwhelming stretch of him.
Ivan’s controlled thrusts were breaking down, his breathing coming in sharp huffs against Till’s neck. He was biting Till’s shoulder, leaving dark marks, his hand a furious blur on Till’s cock. “Come with me,” he demanded, the command quiet but absolute.
Till shattered first, his body seizing, a dry, broken shout torn from him as he spilled over Ivan’s fist a second time. The clenching tightness pushed Ivan over the edge. He drove in once, twice more, then stilled, a deep, guttural sound escaping his usually silent lips as he pulsed inside Till.
At the same moment, as if connected by some visceral thread, Luka’s control snapped. He shoved into Mizi one final, deep time, his body bowing. A ragged, triumphant roar tore from his throat as he came. Hot, urgent spurts flooded into her, his hips jerking through each pulse. The intensity triggered her own climax; her inner muscles fluttered wildly around him, milking him, as a silent scream shaped her mouth and her vision whited out.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their heaving breaths, the distant city hum, and the slow, sticky drip of spend onto silk.
Luka collapsed beside her, a sheen of sweat covering his carved abdomen. He turned his head, a slow, spent smirk on his face. He listened, as if hearing the echo of another’s finish. His hand possessively stroked Mizi’s hip.
“Sounded like they came twice,” he said, his voice hoarse with satisfaction. “But we… we win on volume every time.”