N-M Chapter 298 - Intentionally Naked
Chapter 298 - Intentionally Naked
He kissed them both.
Not sequentially — ’together’, his head angling to catch the corner of Nano’s mouth and then turning to drag Sugar in at the same time, his mouth splitting the difference between them in a hot, open press that became two mouths chasing one, tongues pushing forward, both women licking at his lips, sucking his lower lip in turns, Nano’s smaller mouth finding the corner of his and Sugar’s full mouth covering what was left, a wet, overlapping mess of breath and tongue and desperate working hips.
His fingers curled.
Inside Nano, a specific press against the soft swollen spot inside her that made her legs buckle.
’Oh — oh that — oh he —’
Her mind stopped completing sentences. Her inner walls clenched around his fingers and her clit throbbed and she was ’embarrassingly’ close from maybe thirty seconds of actual contact, her body already wound from the night, from the collar, from the pool, from sleeping pressed against Sugar’s warm skin.
Sugar’s thighs were shaking.
Nano could feel it through the shared contact — Sugar’s massive body trembling against his hand with contained, furious desperation, her moans coming out low and bitten-off and ’furious’, like she resented each one and couldn’t stop it.
He kissed them deeper.
Sugar licked into his mouth and made a sound like she hated him.
Nano sucked at his lower lip and whimpered like she didn’t.
His fingers worked faster.
Nano’s knees gave.
She came first — sudden and violent, her legs snapping together against his hand as her whole lower body seized, a sharp "’HAH—’" punched out of her chest as the orgasm crested and broke and kept going, her pussy clenching rhythmically against his fingers as she shook, her forehead smashing into his collarbone, her nails raking his chest hard enough to leave marks.
The squirt came with it — she didn’t have warning, didn’t have control, her body just ’gave’, a rush of wet heat down her inner thighs that she would have been mortified about if she had functional brain cells remaining.
Her knees folded.
She didn’t fall. He kept his arm around her while his hand kept working Sugar, who was ’already there’, already cresting, her body suddenly rigid against his side — a frozen, teeth-grinding second of absolute stillness —
Then Sugar made a sound that wasn’t a moan.
It was a ’scream’, kept nearly silent by force of will, compressed into a high, cracked "’IIIGH—’" that she buried against his shoulder as she came, her heavy thighs slamming together, her whole large body shaking like something had hit her, her squirt following Nano’s with a wet, slapping gush that she grabbed his arm with both hands to survive.
Both women went down at once.
Knees to the rooftop.
Their legs simply stopped working — the simultaneous boneless drop of two bodies that had been wrung past their structural integrity, both of them kneeling in the cold wind with damp thighs and shaking hands and their chests heaving.
Nano blinked at the city below.
Her brain was static.
Sugar was breathing through her nose in long, deliberate pulls, like she was rebuilding herself from scratch.
He looked down at them both.
Then stepped over them.
And while they were still kneeling on the rooftop with wet thighs and emptied heads, while the city hummed forty stories below and the sun started its slow crawl over the edge of the horizon — he simply ’snapped his fingers’, and was gone.
The holding area smelled like fluorescent light and industrial cleaner and the specific odor of authority — starched uniforms and polished floors and the chemical anti-scent of somewhere that scrubbed everything down to remove evidence of the people who’d been there before.
He arrived in the center of it.
Not through the door.
’In’ the center. Standing. Upright. Naked.
The search team — six officers in the flat black tactical wear of the Villainika prison detail, the silver insignia on their shoulders marking them as Tier One extraction unit — spun in a unified startle, every hand going to a weapon before a single brain had caught up to the stimulus.
He looked at them.
"Should we leave?" he said.
And snapped his fingers.
The gate was enormous.
It rose out of the reinforced concrete plaza in interlocking slabs of black alloy, each panel embedded with dimensional suppression tech that hummed at a frequency just below hearing — felt more than heard, a pressure behind the eyes, a faint buzzing at the back of the teeth. Floodlights from sixteen towers hit the landing zone in overlapping circles so bright it bleached the color from everything, turned the concrete white and the shadows absolute black.
The officers materialized in a ring around him.
They froze for a full second.
Then training kicked in.
"’DOWN! HANDS UP! ON THE GROUND—’"
He raised both hands.
Slowly. Unhurried.
The lights swung to converge on him and for a moment he was simply ’there’ in all of it — sixteen separate floodlights hitting one body from every angle, the kind of illumination that leaves nothing.
His build was unmistakable. The kind of body that looked wrong in civilian contexts, too much muscle moving too smoothly under skin with too little body fat, broad shoulders tapering to a waist built for violence, the chest deep and the arms thick and the whole thing so completely composed that the officers behind the lights paused for a half-second longer than they should have.
And below the waist.
The cock.
Nine inches, fully hard, the thick shaft curved slightly with the weight of its own blood, the dark crimson head flushed and swollen and glistening at the tip where a slow bead of pre-cum had gathered at the slit and begun to drag downward in a steady drip. The veins along the shaft pressed visible against the surface skin. The head was obscenely wide, the corona pronounced, the color of it deep enough that it looked bruised.
One of the female officers — Unit designation FO-7, standing at nine o’clock in the ring formation — audibly broke her breathing pattern.
Her eyes dropped before she could stop them.
The bulge was already visible before they dropped — but from this angle, with the lights, the full nine inches were unavoidable, the pre-cum dripping in a thin strand that stretched and finally broke, hitting the pale concrete in a dark spot.
"’Jesus—’" The word came out beneath her breath before she caught it, and she set her jaw immediately after.
Her colleague to her left noticed. Kept her face neutral. Dropped her own eyes for one second and then very deliberately raised them back to target center mass.
FO-7 stepped forward, her voice fully professional.
"Perverted villain," she said clearly. "Hands clasped behind your head. Do not move."
He looked at her.
"You’re in front of the most secure prison on the planet," she continued, "with your—" a very brief, controlled pause, "—’cock out’, no clothing, no visible restraints, appearing from nowhere in a secured extraction zone." Another pause. "I have questions."
"I’ll answer them inside," he said.
Her jaw moved once.
She had orders. Strict, unambiguous orders about what happened when a Tier One villain presented voluntarily — the preservation protocols, the power suppression requirements, the containment procedures. She also had, privately, her own list of responses to the current visual situation that she was keeping in a very separate mental file labeled ’absolutely not on duty.’
She nodded at FO-3.
The collar came forward.
Standard suppression band — silver and black, dimensional field emitters embedded in the interior, keyed to the subject’s biometric signature within thirty seconds of application. Rated to suppress Tier One abilities up to Class Seven.
He let them put it on.
FO-3’s hands were not entirely steady as she reached up to fasten the back clasp. She was at eye level with his chest. His cock was at approximately her shoulder height. She kept her eyes on the clasp.
The collar clicked shut.
The energy readings on her wrist unit flatlined.
FO-7 watched the display. "Confirmed suppression."
He said nothing.
The binders came next — wrist restraints, carbon-alloy, electromagnetic lock. They zip-tied his hands in front of him because the behind-the-back protocol had been flagged as impractical for subjects in his anatomical configuration. Four officers moved around him. Two more kept rifles on his center mass.
The female officer at his right hip noticed the pre-cum.
She noticed because she had to step around the drip on the concrete and her eyes tracked it automatically — from the floor up the strand to the glistening head of his cock, the skin there stretched drum-tight over the swollen tip, the slit still beading clear fluid.
She moved her eyes to the wall.
FO-7 walked to his front.
She met his eyes. His expression was cooperative and calm and contained absolutely nothing that resembled concern.
"You could have just come to the gate," she said.
"More dramatic this way."
"You’re ’naked.’"
"Intentionally."