Chapter 3: Claiming My Throne
The mansion’s cold marble floor bit into my bare feet, a pleasant counterpoint to the oppressive heat of the bodies around me. A week of conquest had settled into my bones, a permanence deeper than the lewd figures straining from the pillars. Brenda approached first, her crawl a labored sway of catastrophic cleavage,
each sweep leaving damp streaks on the polished stone. The rustle of the newspaper in her teeth was a dry, alien sound in this place of wet flesh and heavy breath. "For you," she mumbled around the paper, her eyes glazed as she presented the front page like a dog with a prized stick.
I took it, the black headline screaming: "GLOBAL COLLAPSE: NEW BIOMASS KINGDOMS EMERGE." A grainy photo showed a silhouette, unmistakably mine, towering over the plaza. A hot rush of satisfaction swelled my chest, making the carved figures on the pillars seem to lean in closer. "They know," I rumbled, letting the paper fall onto Brenda's head, where it settled like a pathetic crown.
She nuzzled my ankle gratefully, the newsprint smudging her forehead. "King," she whispered, the word a condensed hymn. From behind her, Mildred and Lacey advanced with slick, purpose-driven motions, their oiled breasts leaving gleaming trails. They didn't look at my face; their entire world had narrowed to the geography of my thighs.
"You're still growing, aren't you?" Mildred breathed, pressing her slick, warm mass against my quadriceps with a devoted sigh. Lacey mirrored her on the other side, their combined weight a grounding, worshipful pressure. Their movements were synchronized, a slow, smearing polish that made my skin gleam under the dripping chandelier. Each pass of their monstrous curves felt like a claim staked, a territory anointed.
I flexed, watching the muscle leap and harden, straining against the slippery film and their soft, enveloping flesh. "I'm where I need to be," I said, but the thrum of power in my veins whispered otherwise. The oil’s scent, cloying and floral, mixed with their sweat and the ever-present metallic bite of the mansion's air. Brenda licked a stray drop from my kneecap, her tongue rough and thirsty.
Through the high window, a low moan echoed from the overgrown gardens, a sound that was neither pain nor pleasure but simply endless. It was the sound of the new world. I looked down at my three devotees, their labored breaths fogging the marble around my feet, and felt the mansion’s walls pulse in time with my heart. "Bring more oil," I told the air, and their simultaneous, shivering "Yes, Chad" was the only law that mattered anymore.
The frantic shuffle of their limbs faded as Brenda and Mildred retreated into the mansion’s dark interior. Lacey, however, remained, her oil-slicked form still pressed against my leg. Her breathing had changed, becoming shallow and focused. "The other oil’s coming," she whispered, her angelic face tilting up, blue eyes wide and vacant. "But I need something else to polish."
Her hands, trembling, left greasy prints on my hips as she guided herself lower. Her head moved along my glistening thigh, a slow descent of pure intention. The warm puff of her breath reached its target, and she nuzzled the heavy, dangling flesh there with a reverent groan. "I dreamt about this," she murmured, her words a hot mumble against my skin. "In the plaza, I only got to watch."
Then her tongue, broad and desperate, laid a slow, wet stripe along my entire length. A shudder rippled through her colossal breasts. She took me into her mouth with a grateful sigh, her jaw unhinging with a pop, her cheeks hollowing immediately into a fierce, rhythmless suction. Her blonde hair cascaded over my oiled skin, a messy curtain closing us in. One of her hands came up to cradle what her mouth couldn't contain, her fingers marveling at the throbbing weight. A guttural, continuous sound of worship vibrated from her core. Her world had reduced to this single, salty taste, this impossible fullness stretching her lips. She serviced with a frantic, devout hunger, each slurping pull a prayer confirming her only reason to exist.
The raw dedication in her throat’s convulsions was a language the others had forgotten. She didn’t need prompting or praise; her entire being was this act. Brenda and Mildred returned, their awkward waddle distracting, each clutching a sweating bottle.
"Look at her," I stated, my voice echoing off the lewd pillars. They froze, their simple minds processing the scene. Lacey’s sucking grew more intense, a wet, rhythmic promise that made my knees lock.
Brenda’s grip on her bottle tightened, her face collapsing into something between envy and despair. Mildred just whimpered, a thin line of drool tracing her chin. They were useless, clattering ornaments compared to Lacey’s fundamental purpose.
I placed a heavy hand on Lacey’s head, feeling the frantic bobbing through my palm. "See? This is what I require." The other two shook, understanding their failure on a cellular level. This singular, obliterating focus was the new gold standard.
My own release was a thunderclap that ripped through her, and she drank every drop with a grateful, gurgling sigh. She didn’t pull away, even as I softened, resting her cheek against me with a contented murmur. Brenda and Mildred stood as forgotten statues.
"Find more," I commanded, the order slicing the thick air. Their blank eyes met mine. "Not leftovers like you. Find the ones who understand. Ones like her."
I pushed Lacey gently aside, her body sprawling in a blissful, oil-slick heap. "Now." Their frantic scrambling from the foyer was the sound of obsolete things being discarded. I looked at Lacey, truly looked at her angelic face, smeared and fulfilled. This was the blueprint.