Chapter 165: Divine Debriefing
The air in the Omni King’s throne room was cold and carried the ozone tang of raw power. Bruce sat not on the grotesque obsidian throne, but on a simpler, high-backed chair he’d summoned beside it. He was flanked by Camille on his right, her hand resting on his forearm, and Lena on his left, her posture alert, eyes scanning the assembled beings. Susannah stood just behind Camille, one hand resting on the polished grip of a revolverslinger, her war-goddess gaze missing nothing.
Before them, in a loose semicircle, stood the Destroyers and their attendant Angels from the other universes. Beerus, the feline God of Destruction from Universe 7, looked particularly bored, picking at his claws. Whis stood serene beside him, staff in hand.
“The report, as you requested, my Lord,” Whis said, his voice melodious and soft, yet carrying perfectly in the vast chamber. “Universe 7 thrives. Mortal innovation is at an all-time high. Conflict exists, but it is…” he glanced at Beerus, “…sufficiently tempered.”
The other Angels presented similar summaries—peace, growth, stability. Bruce listened, his hazel eyes flicking from face to face, his expression one of calm assessment. Ketut stood slightly apart, her dark eyes fixed on Bruce, her empathy a subtle thread she used to gauge the truth behind the Angelic words. She gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. They were sincere.
When the last report finished, Bruce leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Good. Your work is appreciated.” His gaze settled on Whis. “You’ve been training Goku and Vegeta?”
Whis’s smiled widened a fraction. “Indeed. Their progress is… explosive. They are eager for another tournament. A chance to test themselves against the best of the other universes, and,” he gave a slight bow, “against the ultimate guardians, should they prove worthy.”
Bruce sat back, his arm curling around Camille’s waist, his fingers brushing the generous curve of her hip. She leaned into him, a silent pillar of support. He looked at Lena, then at Susannah, and finally at the expectant faces of the other Destroyers.
“Set it up,” Bruce said, his voice final. “Six weeks from now. Same format as the last. Eight best warriors from each universe, single elimination, solo matches. My family and I will attend.” A faint, competitive smile touched his lips. “And the winner… can challenge one of us in exhibition.”
A ripple of excited murmurs went through the Destroyers. This was the precedent they’d hoped for. Beerus’s eyes finally showed interest. “Hmm. It will be good for them to see true power again. Keeps them hungry.”
The formalities concluded, the celestial beings departed in flashes of light, leaving the throne room silent once more. The hum of power faded, replaced by the familiar warmth of their familial bond.
“A tournament, huh?” Lena said, stretching her arms over her head, her tank top riding up to expose a strip of taut, golden-brown stomach. “Gonna be a fuckin’ spectacle.”
“It will be a show of strength,” Susannah corrected softly, but there was a glint in her eye. “A reminder of the order we maintain. And a bit of fun.”
Bruce stood, his tall frame imposing even in the gargantuan room. He looked at his wives, his family. The weight of cosmic responsibility that Ketut had drawn from him yesterday felt like a distant murmur. Here, now, with them, he was just Bruce. “Let’s go home,” he said. “We’ve earned a night off.”
The great house felt like a living entity that night, pulsing with laughter, music, and the easy comfort of shared history. In the main lounge, low music played as some played cards, others talked, glasses of wine and whiskey in hand. The events of the pavilion, the new connections, the constant hum of divinity had forged an even deeper, more carnal unity among them.
Camille watched it all from a plush armchair, a glass of red wine in her hand, her heart full. She saw Anya curled with Freya on a couch, their heads together, Anya’s violet eyes wide as Freya whispered something that made her blush and giggle. She saw Isabella deep in conversation with Ketut, the doctor’s intelligent hands gesturing as she spoke. Sophia and Susannah were already arguing good-naturedly about tournament fighting styles.
Bruce appeared beside her chair, his hand settling on her shoulder. She looked up, seeing the desire plain in his hazel eyes. It wasn’t just lordly possession; it was the deep, hungry want of a man for his wife of twenty-three years who still drove him wild.
“You’re thinking too much,” he murmured, his thumb stroking her neck.
“I’m happy,” she said, covering his hand with hers. “And I’m… turned on. Watching all this life. All this power.” She let her gaze drop meaningfully to his crotch, where a noticeable bulge was forming in his trousers. “You feel it too.”
He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. “I need to be inside you, Cammie. Now. Just you and me first.”
A shiver of pure, hot anticipation raced down her spine. She stood, taking his hand, and led him from the lounge without a word. Their departure was noted—a few knowing smiles, a raised eyebrow from Lena—but uninterrupted.
Their bedroom was a sanctuary of warm wood and soft fabrics. As soon as the door closed, Bruce spun her and pinned her against it, his mouth crashing down on hers. The kiss was all heat and familiar passion, his tongue claiming hers. She moaned into him, her hands scrambling to undo his belt.
“I need you raw, Bruce,” she panted between kisses, her fingers fumbling with his zipper. “None of the toys tonight. Just you. All of you.”
He growled, lifting her with ease. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her generous ass cradled in his strong hands. He carried her to the bed, laying her back against the pillows. He undressed her slowly, worshipfully, his hands lingering on the places he knew drove her mad: the sensitive underside of her small, perky breasts, the inside of her thick thighs, the glorious swell of her ass. She was already wet, her arousal slick and ready.
When he stood to undress himself, she watched hungrily. He let his power flare, just a controlled, focused surge. His cock, already thick and impressive, swelled further, lengthening, thickening, becoming the monumental, wrist-thick column of flesh that never failed to make her mouth water and her core clench in desperate need.
“Fuck, yes,” she breathed, spreading her legs wide in invitation. “Give it to me. Stretch me out, baby.”
Bruce didn’t need further encouragement. He knelt on the bed, his hands hooking under her knees, pushing them back towards her shoulders, opening her up completely. The head of his colossal cock pressed against her slick entrance, a blunt, overwhelming pressure. He looked into her eyes, a silent question in his.
“Do it,” she commanded, her voice husky. “Fill your wife up.”
He pushed forward.
It was an invasion in the best way, a glorious, burning stretch that stole Camille’s breath. She cried out, her back arching off the bed as inch after impossibly thick inch of him sank into her. He bottomed out with a deep grunt, his pelvis flush against hers, her body accommodating him with a practiced, wet tightness.
“God, you’re so deep,” she moaned, her eyes rolling back. “Fuck, I can feel you in my throat.”
He began to move, a slow, deep, punishing rhythm that shook the bedframe. Each withdrawal was a tantalizing emptiness; each thrust was a reclaiming, a reminder of his total possession. The sound of their joining was obscenely wet, a lewd squelch that mixed with their ragged breathing.
“This what you needed, Cammie?” he gritted out, his pace increasing. “This cock? Your husband’s big fucking cock pounding that perfect, fat ass into the mattress?”
“Yes!” she screamed, her nails digging into his biceps. “Harder! Oh god, right there, you’re hitting it right fucking there!”
He shifted angle slightly, driving into her with brutal precision, the base of his shaft rubbing mercilessly against her clit with every pump. She felt her orgasm building like a tsunami, a tension coiling in her belly that was about to snap.
“Gonna come,” she warned, her voice breaking. “Bruce, I’m gonna—”
“Come on my dick,” he snarled, his own control fraying. “Soak it. Let me feel you.”
His command, filthy and direct, tipped her over the edge. Her climax tore through her with a mind-blowing violence, a white-hot detonation of pleasure that clenched her pussy around his invading girth in rhythmic, milking spasms. She screamed, her vision whiting out, her body convulsing.
Feeling her tight channel gripping him like a velvet fist pushed Bruce over his own edge. With a roar that was part Saiyan, part man, he drove into her one last time, hilting himself to the root, and erupted. His release was voluminous, a hot, pulsing flood that filled her to overflowing, spilling out around the junction of their bodies in wet, sticky rivulets.
He collapsed atop her, his weight a comforting anchor as they both gasped for air. After a long moment, he rolled off, pulling her against his side. She nestled into him, sated, complete.
The door opened quietly. Lena stood there, with Briana just behind her. They were both barefoot, wearing only thin silk robes. Lena’s eyes were dark with shared desire; Briana’s held a quiet, smoldering intensity.
“Room for more?” Lena asked, her voice a little husky.
Camille lifted her head and smiled, a lazy, post-coital smile. “Always.”
They joined them on the large bed, their hands immediately seeking skin. Lena kissed Camille deeply, tasting Bruce on her lips, while Briana curled against Bruce’s other side, her hand trailing down his chest, over his stomach, her fingers tracing the drying mess on his softening cock.
The quiet intimacy didn’t last long. The door opened again, and this time it was Susannah and Sophia, fresh from the gym and still glistening with a light sweat. They smelled of clean exertion and power.
“Heard the party moved,” Susannah said, her hands on her hips, a bold smile on her face.
“No referee needed in this match,” Sophia added, her espresso eyes glinting as she pulled her sports top over her head, revealing her sculpted torso.
What followed was a slow, delicious descent into hedonistic bliss. It wasn’t a frantic orgy, but a layered exploration. Lena and Briana, their connection freshly deepened by Lyra, moved together with synchronicity, Lena’s mouth finding Briana’s as Briana’s fingers slid into Lena’s wetness. Susannah and Sophia, warriors at their core, engaged in a different kind of contest, a fierce, passionate grappling of tongues and seeking hands that was as much about dominance as pleasure.
Camille, revived and buzzing from her first powerful orgasm, watched it all for a moment before turning her attention back to Bruce. She saw his eyes, heavy-lidded with pleasure, watching the beautiful women around them. She loved this about him—his genuine, open delight in their shared joy.
She slithered down his body, her mouth finding his cock again. It was already beginning to stir once more under her ministrations, Saiyan stamina and his own divine power making a quick recovery. She took him deep, her throat working, while her hands reached back to squeeze and knead his balls.
He groaned, his hand tangling in her hair. “Fuck, Cammie.”
The sound of his voice spurred the others. Susannah broke from her kiss with Sophia and moved to the head of the bed. She guided Bruce’s head to her breast, sighing as his mouth latched onto her dark nipple, suckling hard. Sophia, seeing Camille’s efforts, positioned herself on her knees behind Camille, her hands spreading Camille’s juicy ass cheeks. Without preamble, Sophia’s tongue, pointed and agile from years of discipline, licked a firm stripe from Camille’s clit to her asshole.
Camille jolted, a muffled moan vibrating around Bruce’s cock. “Oh, shit!”
Briana, seeing Lena was thoroughly occupied with her own pleasure, crawled over to Bruce’s side. Her power of cessation was a subtle thrum in the air. She didn’t diminish sensation; she focused it. As she took his balls into her mouth, rolling them gently with her tongue, she applied her gift. All of Bruce’s awareness—the feel of Camille’s throat, Susannah’s breast, Briana’s mouth—sharpened, intensifying to an almost unbearable peak. It was bliss without distraction, pleasure without end.
He was fully hard again now, a throbbing monolith of flesh. Lena, watching, her own fingers working between Briana’s thighs from behind, called out, “My turn, boss. I need that inside me.”
Camille relinquished her place with a final, sloppy lick. Bruce, his breathing ragged, pulled Susannah beneath him. She wrapped her powerful legs around his waist as he positioned himself at her entrance. She was already soaked, her warrior’s body more than ready.
He drove into her in one smooth, powerful stroke. Susannah let out a sharp cry, not of pain, but of fierce satisfaction. “Yes! That’s the weapon I need!”
He fucked her with a steady, piston-like force that shook the bed. Susannah met every thrust, her hips rolling, her breasts bouncing. Sophia moved from Camille to kneel beside them, her fingers finding Susannah’s clit, rubbing tight, furious circles that had the gunslinger crying out curses in a language none of them knew but whose meaning was perfectly clear.
Lena couldn’t wait any longer. She climbed onto Bruce’s back, pressing her small, firm body against him, her nipples hard against his skin. She reached around, her hand finding his where he gripped Susannah’s hip, lacing her fingers with his.
The room was a symphony of skin, sweat, and satisfied sounds. Camille watched, her hand drifting between her own legs as Bruce took Susannah to her peak, as Lena whispered filthy encouragement in his ear, as Briana and Sophia touched each other while they watched.
Susannah came with a guttural shout, her body locking around Bruce’s, her inner muscles clenching like a vise. The intense, focused pressure from Briana’s power and his own raging need sent Bruce over immediately after. He poured himself into Susannah with a force that made her eyes roll back, his own release a seemingly endless torrent.
He collapsed between Susannah and Lena, spent but utterly content. The women rearranged themselves around him, a tangled, sweaty, satiated knot of limbs and soft sighs.
Downstairs, in the quieter library, Jake sat with Oy at his feet. He could feel the thrum of power and pleasure from the floors above, a warm, buzzing hum in the back of his mind. It didn’t unsettle him; it felt like family. Like home.
He looked at his hands, turning them over. Since the pavilion, since his connection to Bruce and the others had solidified, he’d felt… different. Not just stronger, but clearer. As if a door in his mind, long locked, was now cracked open.
He focused, thinking of Roland. Of the dry, bitter taste of Devil Grass. Of the oily darkness of the Crimson King. A spark, no, a flame, flickered to life in his palm. It was not fire, but a pale, cool light that seemed to push back the shadows in the room, not by illuminating them, but by making them… cease.
Oy looked up, his gold eyes thoughtful. “Jake sees,” the bumbler said softly.
“Yeah,” Jake whispered, staring at the light in his hand. “I think I finally do.” He clenched his fist, extinguishing the glow. The tournament was in six weeks. He had a feeling he’d need to see a lot more before then.