Chapter 145: Visit
The air over the infinity pool shimmered with late afternoon heat, the water’s edge bleeding seamlessly into the cloudless sky. Bruce floated on his back, a mountain of relaxed muscle, his eyes closed against the sun. The wives were arrayed around him like satellites: Camille draped across his chest, tracing idle patterns on his skin; Lena and Briana flanking him, their fingers tangled in his under the water; Anya and Jasmine floating nearby, laughing as their daughters, Lyra and Zara, practiced dog-paddling between them. The deeper end echoed with the shrieks and splashes of the other children, Rafael and Roland leading a chaotic game of tag, Oy barking excitedly from the pool’s tiled edge.
The peace was profound, a tapestry woven from the soft murmur of conversations, the scent of sunscreen and salt, and the gentle lap of water against skin. It was a harmony Bruce had fought across universes to protect.
A sudden ripple in the air pressure, a subtle vibration through the fabric of reality, made his hazel eyes snap open. He didn’t tense, but a knowing smile touched his lips. Visitors.
Two distinct energy signatures, familiar and titanic, flickered into existence just beyond the pool’s terrace, followed by several smaller, familial ones. Goku and Vegeta materialized first, both clad in casual Earth-style clothes—a testament to Bulma’s influence—but their postures screamed warrior-ready. Behind them, the rest of their families appeared in a soft flash of light: Bulma, Chi-Chi, Trunks, Bulla, and Vegeta’s wife, also named Bulma from another timeline.
“Heya, Bruce!” Goku called, his wave enthusiastic. “Hope we’re not interrupting!”
Vegeta’s arms were crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the scene with a mix of disdain and appraisal. His gaze lingered on Bruce’s supine form, the undeniable power lying dormant beneath the surface.
Bruce gave a slow, easy shake of his head, his hand coming up to rest on Camille’s lower back. “Not at all. Just enjoying the calm.”
“We sensed your power spike from the Sacred World of the Kai,” Vegeta stated, his voice a low grumble. “It’s… different. Denser. We’ve achieved new levels ourselves. A sparring match is in order.”
Lena, from her spot beside Bruce, let out a soft, melodic laugh. “Always straight to business with you two, huh?”
Bruce squeezed her hand. “Later,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument but wrapped in warmth. “Today’s for family. Come on in. The water’s perfect. There’s food, drinks for the adults. Let the kids play.”
The promise of a future fight mollified the Saiyan princes. Goku’s face broke into a wide grin as he saw the spread of tropical fruits and cold drinks under a shaded cabana. Trunks and Bulla needed no further invitation, diving past their parents into the pool with the other children, the games instantly escalating in volume and excitement.
As the newcomers settled, Bruce felt a particular pair of eyes on him. He didn’t need to look. Lena, ever his shadow, was already tracking the gaze.
Bulma, the original from this timeline, had accepted a mojito from Isabella but her brilliant blue eyes were not on her drink. They were fixed on Bruce—specifically, on the powerful line of his torso where it disappeared into the water, on the thick cord of his neck, on the faint scar that traced his collarbone, a souvenir from a battle in a dead dimension. Her stare was scientific, curious, and undeniably hungry.
Lena’s smirk was a wicked, knowing thing. She leaned closer to Bruce, her lips brushing his ear. “The scientist wants to run some hands-on experiments,” she whispered, her voice dripping with sly amusement. “She’s memorizing the blueprint.”
Bruce just rumbled a low laugh, his thumb stroking Camille’s hipbone.
Camille felt the vibration and opened one eye. “What’s funny, mi amor?”
“Nothing,” Bruce murmured, but his eyes met Lena’s, sharing the secret.
The atmosphere grew easier, the two families blending. Ketut was deep in conversation with Chi-Chi about soil nutrients for particular vegetables. Susannah and Vegeta were comparing notes on combat discipline, a mutual, grudging respect in their tones. Sophia challenged Goku to an arm-wrestling match on the pool’s sun-warmed edge, which drew a crowd and ended, to everyone’s shock except Bruce’s, in a draw.
As the sun began to dip, painting the sky in oranges and purples, the energy subtly shifted. The children were bundled off with Astrild and Susan for a storytelling session, their laughter fading into the villa. The pool belonged to the adults now, the water lit from within by soft, submerged lights that made every ripple glow.
The casual touches among Bruce and his wives became more deliberate. Anya floated over, her violet eyes glowing with a soft inner light. “The flow field here is perfect now,” she whispered, her small hands resting on Bruce’s shoulder. “Everything is… amplified.”
She was right. Bruce could feel it. Anya’s power as the Goddess of Creation thrummed in the water, a catalyst. The air grew heavier, sweeter. The very molecules seemed to vibrate with potential.
It was Jasmine who moved first, the Goddess of Time and Speed making a decision that seemed to stretch and condense all at once. With a fluid, predatory grace, she climbed onto the wide submerged shelf at the pool’s edge, her magnificent ass breaking the water’s surface. The golden light kissed her dark skin, water sluicing down the divine curves of her back and hips.
“I’ve been thinking about that spot all day, Lord,” she said, her voice husky. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on the cool tile, arching her back. The invitation was blatant, glorious.
A low, collective sound of appreciation came from the other wives. Bruce’s hazel eyes darkened, the gold flecks within them igniting. He moved through the water not like a man, but like a force of nature, the water parting for him without a splash.
He reached Jasmine, his large hands settling on the phenomenal swell of her ass. He didn’t ask, didn’t tease. The time for that was past. He leaned down, his tongue laving a thick stripe from her soaked entrance up to the tight, crinkled star of her other hole. Jasmine gasped, her head dropping between her shoulders.
“Fuck, yes,” Lena groaned from behind Bruce, watching intently.
Bruce ate Jasmine with a single-minded intensity that made the air crackle. His tongue dove deep into her cunt, fucking her with it, then circled her clit with brutal precision. His thumbs pulled her cheeks apart, giving him better access. Jasmine’s moans echoed off the water and the villa walls, raw and unfiltered. “Oh god… right there, Bruce… don’t you fucking stop…”
She came hard, her thighs shaking, her cries short and sharp. Bruce didn’t let up, drinking from her until her knees buckled. Only then did he pull back, his mouth glistening.
He stood, his own need a thick, heavy demand. His cock, already half-hard, began to swell under the water, thickening, lengthening, until the monstrous fourteen-inch shaft broke the surface, jutting upward, thick as his wrist and veined like marble.
“Who’s first?” he growled, the question rolling over them all.
Freya was already moving. “Me. I need it.” She waded over, her full, heavy breasts floating, her green eyes blazing. She turned, presenting herself to him, reaching back to guide the fat, leaking head of his cock to her dripping slit. “Fill me up, husband. Make me feel it.”
Bruce’s hands locked onto her hips. With one powerful, unyielding thrust, he buried himself inside her to the root. Freya screamed, a sound of pure, shattering pleasure, her head thrown back. The water sloshed violently around them.
“Holy shit,” Julianna breathed, her hand sliding between her own legs under the water.
Bruce fucked Freya with deep, pistoning strokes that made her massive ass ripple with each impact. The sound of their joining was obscenely loud—a wet, meaty slap of skin on skin that cut through the evening air. Freya chanted a stream of filthy encouragement. “Yes! That’s it! Oh fuck, your giant cock… it’s so deep! Ruin me!”
He did. His pace was relentless, a brutal rhythm that had Freya convulsing in another crashing orgasm within minutes. When he pulled out, she stumbled forward, spent and grinning, caught by a smiling Isabella.
Camille was next. She didn’t speak, just locked eyes with him, her confidence a radiant force. She sank down in the water, took his length in her hand, and guided it to her mouth. She swallowed him down, her small breasts pressing against his thighs, her throat working to take him deep. Bruce groaned, his hand tangling in her dark hair.
“Suck that fucking cock, baby,” he muttered, his voice rough.
She did, with a skill born of decades of love and experimentation, until he was twitching and throbbing against her tongue. Then she rose, turned, and bent over, gripping the pool’s edge. “My other hole, Bruce. I want to feel you there while you watch the others.”
A sharp, heated thrill ran through the group. Bruce spat on his hand, slicked himself, and without preamble, pressed the broad crown against her tight rear entrance. Camille took a sharp, deliberate breath and pushed back, swallowing the impossible invasion inch by torturous, exquisite inch. Her moan was long and ragged. “Fucking hell… yes…”
He pounded her ass with the same dominant force, each thrust rocking her whole body. Lena and Briana moved in front of Camille, taking turns kissing her deeply, their hands cupping her face, her breasts, sharing in her pleasure.
It became a symphony. As Bruce fucked Camille’s ass, Anya climbed into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist, sinking onto his mouth, grinding her small, perfect pussy against his lips and tongue. Susannah and Sophia kissed, their hands exploring each other’s bodies, while Ketut and Jasmine watched Bruce with dark, lust-drunk eyes, their fingers busy between their own legs.
The pool was a churning tableau of raw, shared ecstasy. When Bruce finally erupted inside Camille, his roar joined by her shattering cry, it was only the first movement.
He took Lena next, lifting her easily, her legs around his neck as he ate her out while Julianna rode his cock, screaming as he stretched her wide. He took Isabella against the pool wall, her blue eyes rolling back as he hammered into her with a force that shook the water. He bent Ketut over a floating lounger, her tight, lithe body accepting him with desperate, gasping cries.
Through it all, Lena’s eyes, heavy-lidded with pleasure, kept flicking to the cabana. Bulma hadn’t joined the other Saiyan wives who had politely, somewhat awkwardly, retreated inside with the children. She stood in the shadows, her drink forgotten, one hand subtly pressed against her abdomen, her gaze locked on the scene of divine, visceral debauchery. On Bruce. On the sheer, unadulterated power of him—not just the physical, but the god-like command, the worship he elicited, the absolute surrender he could conjure and then shatter into bliss.
Lena caught her eye again. This time, she didn’t just smirk. She smiled, a slow, inviting, dangerous curve of her lips. Then she turned her head and took Bruce’s cock back into her mouth with a deep, satisfied groan, her message clear.
See what you’re missing?
Bruce felt the weight of the outsider’s gaze, the scientific curiosity now burned away by primal hunger. It amused him. But his focus was here, in the warm, chlorinated water, surrounded by the women who were his universe. He pulled Lena up for a searing kiss, tasting himself on her lips.
The night was young. The fight with the Saiyans could wait.
The real battle, the one for sheer, unbridled sensation, was just heating up. And Bulma, watching from the shadows, had just realized she wanted a front-row seat.
And Bulma, watching from the shadows, had just realized she wanted a front-row seat.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, a traitorous rhythm syncopated with the wet slap of flesh from the pool. The moans weren’t mere sounds; they were physical vibrations in the humid air, settling on her skin like a fine mist. She watched Bruce’s hands, large enough to palm a basketball, encircle Julianna’s waist as he lifted her effortlessly, her back arching, her scream of “Fuck! Yes! Harder!” shredding the twilight. Bulma’s own breath came in short, sharp pulls. Her scientific mind, usually a fortress of logic, was being dismantled brick by brick by the raw display of appetite. This wasn’t lovemaking. This was consumption. Reverent, mutual, but consumption all the same.
She didn’t realize her hand had moved from her abdomen to the front of her shorts, applying a firm, circular pressure through the fabric.
A low, irritated grunt sounded beside her. Vegeta had materialized from the villa’s interior, his arms crossed tighter than before, his scowl etched deep. He had been trying to ignore the spectacle, discussing combat thresholds with Susannah, but his wife’s fixation was a palpable distraction.
“Bulma,” he barked, his voice cutting through the symphony of pleasure. “Would you stop staring at the man? Did you forget your husband is here?”
Bulma didn’t jump. She slowly turned her head, her brilliant blue eyes glazed not with embarrassment, but with a defiant, aroused clarity. A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips. She let her gaze drag deliberately down Vegeta’s tense form, noting the unmistakable bulge straining against the front of his own pants.
“Like you weren’t watching the wives’ bodies, Vegeta?” she countered, her voice a husky challenge. She nodded toward the water, where Susannah was now riding Bruce’s face, her powerful thighs trembling, while Camille worked Bruce’s thick shaft with both hands. “God, look at them.”
Vegeta’s cheeks flushed a darker shade. “Tch. I was assessing their physical condition. Battle readiness.”
“You’re a terrible liar,” Bulma purred. Then, with a decisiveness that brooked no argument, she dropped to her knees right there on the sun-warm tiles.
“Woman, what are you—?” Vegeta’s protest died in his throat as her fingers made quick work of his zipper. She freed his cock, already fully erect, its length impressive by human standards, though not of the scale currently on display in the pool. She didn’t hesitate. She took him into her mouth in one smooth, deep motion, her tongue flattening against the underside of his shaft.
Vegeta stiffened, a harsh gasp escaping him. He was clearly uncomfortable with the audience—Bruce’s entire family, languid and sated in the water, were now watching this sudden, intimate performance with open, amused interest. But he wasn’t about to stop her. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, then one came down to tangle roughly in her blue hair.
Bulma stared straight into Bruce’s eyes as she bobbed her head. Her gaze was a direct wire, charged with competitive heat and unabashed curiosity. She sucked Vegeta’s cock with focused, technical precision, her cheeks hollowing, her free hand cupping and rolling his balls. It was a statement. A claim. A display of her own carnal power, directed at the god in the water.
In the pool, the rhythm faltered for just a moment. Bruce broke his kiss with Susannah’s inner thigh, his hazel eyes, glowing with that inner gold, meeting Bulma’s across the distance. He didn’t smile, but a dark, acknowledging amusement flickered in his gaze. He gave a barely perceptible nod, as if to say, I see you.
Then he turned his attention back to his wife. “You taste like heaven, Susannah,” he growled, his voice muffled against her flesh before he plunged his tongue deep inside her again, making her buck and cry out.
The scene bifurcated. In the pool: a tangled, liquid monument of shared completion. On the terrace: a sharp, focused duet of marital tension and display. The sounds merged—Vegeta’s low, strained groans, the slick, rhythmic noise of Bulma’s mouth, the chorus of sighs and pleas from the water.
Lena, draped over Bruce’s back, whispered into his ear, her eyes on Bulma. “She’s marking her territory. Or challenging ours.”
“Let her,” Bruce rumbled, his voice vibrating through Lena’s body. He pulled Susannah down onto his mouth with more force, his hands gripping her ass, holding her in place as he feasted. “It doesn’t change a thing here.”
Bulma increased her pace, her hand working in tandem with her mouth, her gaze locked on Bruce. She was trying to provoke a reaction, to insert herself into their dynamic through sheer audacity. Vegeta’s hips began to jerk involuntarily, his control slipping. His discomfort was melting under a more urgent, physical demand.
“Enough… woman…” he gritted out, but his fingers tightened in her hair, pulling her closer.
With a final, deep suck that made his legs quiver, Bulma pulled off with an obscene pop. She kept her eyes on Bruce as she stroked Vegeta rapidly, her thumb swiping over the head of his cock. “Come for me,” she ordered her husband, her voice thick.
Vegeta’s release was a violent, shuddering thing, a guttural shout torn from him as he spilled over her hand and the tiles. He braced himself against a pillar, breathing hard, utterly exposed.
Bulma rose to her feet, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her stare never leaving Bruce. It was a look of triumph, of challenge, of open hunger.
The pool had fallen mostly quiet, the wives watching this new development with keen, predatory interest. Camille licked her lips. Anya’s violet eyes glowed brighter. Jasmine stretched like a cat.
Bruce slowly disentangled himself from his wives. He stood up in the chest-deep water, his monumental body dripping, his cock still semi-hard and formidable. Water sheeted off the hard planes of his chest and abdomen. He didn’t speak. He simply waded through the water towards the steps, his movement causing slow, heavy waves.
He climbed out, his every step deliberate. He walked past where Vegeta was still regaining his composure, past where Bulma stood, chin raised, her heart now pounding for a different reason. He didn’t stop for either of them.
He walked to the outdoor shower, a simple stone slab with a rainfall head. He turned the faucet. Clean, cool water cascaded down, rinsing the chlorinated pool water from his skin. He stood under it, letting it stream over his shaved head, down his face, over the powerful landscape of his shoulders and back.
Then he turned, the water sluicing down his front. He looked not at Bulma, but at Vegeta.
“You wanted a spar,” Bruce said, his voice quiet but carrying perfectly in the sudden stillness. The only sounds were the shower and the distant ocean. “We’ll spar tomorrow at dawn. The north cliff. No holding back.”
He flicked his gaze to Bulma, just for a second. The amusement was gone, replaced by an ancient, imperturbable depth. He had seen her display. He had acknowledged it. And now he was dismissing it, refocusing the narrative on what mattered to him: the fight, the test of power.
He turned off the shower, grabbed a towel, and without another word, walked back towards the villa, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the dark stone. His wives began to extricate themselves from the pool, following him without needing a signal, their forms sleek and glistening in the moonlight.
On the terrace, Bulma was left with the chilling, exhilarating understanding that she hadn’t been a player in their game at all. She had been part of the scenery. A curiosity. And if she wanted more, she would have to earn it on terms far beyond a public blowjob.
Vegeta finally straightened, adjusting his clothes, his pride visibly reassembling itself into a sharper, more lethal edge. “At dawn,” he said to the empty space where Bruce had been, his voice a promise of violence.
He glanced at his wife, his expression unreadable. “Satisfied?”
Bulma looked at the villa’s entrance, then back at her husband. A slow, new smile, less arrogant, more calculating, began to form. “Not even close,” she said softly.