My Taboo Harem!

Chapter 804: Moonlight’s Petition (r-18)

Phei whispered, voice low and filthy against her ear, "Your body already trembling for me, Mel. I can feel how warm you are. How wet you’re getting. And I haven’t even touched you properly yet."

Melissa’s breath hitched — a small, broken sound — and her hips rolled back once, unconsciously, pressing the soft, yielding curve of her ass against the hard line of his cock in a way that made his vision narrow to nothing but the woman in his arms and the long, slow night he intended to spend ruining her beautifully.

"You have no idea," he said quietly, his lips brushing the shell of her ear with deliberate, unhurried possession, "what this body does to me."

His aunt shuddered again.

A full, visible tremor rolled through her from scalp to heel.

Melissa’s fingers curled into his shirt at the chest, twisting the fabric, and a sound escaped her — not a moan, not a word, something more elemental than either.

Phei’s hands found her spine, more focusilly this time.

Both of them; he placed together at the nape of her neck, fingers aligned along that deep, warm valley of muscle and bone.

And with Goddess Fall Touch dimmed to its gentlest; barely a breath of its full power, a whisper rather than a shout — he let them trace downward.

Vertebra by vertebra in slow, deliberate cartography, Phei’s palms mapped every ridge and hollow as though he were reading scripture written in the braille of her body.

Her back arched into his touch. Her head fell backward, lips parting on a trembling exhale.

"Ahh... ahh... oh..."

The sounds climbed from somewhere deep in her diaphragm and emerged trembling, broken at their edges, utterly uncontrolled — not words, not even attempts at words, just the raw acoustic evidence of a nervous system surrendering to stimulus it could not process quietly.

Her body writhed against him in a slow, sinuous rhythm in refusal of frantic motion of desperation but the helpless, undulating surrender like her nerve endings had been set alight and who possessed neither the will nor the desire to extinguish them.

"Hahh... please," she breathed.

The word barely formed, barely more than heat shaped by her lips and released into the narrow space between their bodies.

She didn’t specify what she was asking for. Didn’t need to actually.

The trembling of her thighs against his, the way her hips rolled forward seeking pressure she hadn’t been offered, the wet glaze of her half-closed eyes — all of it constituted a petition more articulate than language could achieve.

He reached the hem of the dress and tore it open.

Even that was gentle.

That was the part that undid something in her — the quiet, controlled violence of fabric parting under hands that would one day be strong enough to dismantle worlds, executed with a tenderness so profound it was nearly frightening.

The sound of the dress surrendering was barely audible in a soft, decisive rip — and then it fell away from her body, the two halves peeling apart to expose her entire back to the moonlight that had been waiting, with the patience of a celestial body that understood it was merely a guest in this room, for permission to touch her.

The moon obliged first.

Silver light pooled along the ridge of her shoulders before it traced the declivity of her spine, settling, with something that might have been reverence, upon the swell of her backside — and God, the swell of it.

Two full, round, impossibly heavy globes of flesh of her ass that defied every law of proportion a forty-three-year-old body was supposed to obey.

Each cheek was a landscape unto itself — firm at the crest where the muscle held, softer and heavier at the underside where the weight gathered and spilled just slightly over the crease of her upper thighs.

The white lace stretched taut over the full, lush curve of her ass, the delicate fabric clinging to every contour, outlining the deep cleft between her ass cheeks and the soft, shadowed perfect round crease where her ass met her thighs.

Through the thin lace, the dark shadow of her pussy was faintly visible — the plump outer lips pressing against the delicate weave, already darkened by the growing wetness that had soaked through the fabric.

The dimples at the base of her spine — two small, symmetrical indentations just above the waistband — caught the moonlight like punctuation marks at the end of a sentence written in sin.

Phei settled both hands on her; his palms curving over the twin hemispheres of warm lace and warmer flesh beneath. Held her ass there feeling the familiar weight of her ass.

Phei then squeezed slowly and proprietarily, his fingers sinking into the soft, heavy flesh of her ass, spreading her cheeks just enough for the lace to pull tighter over her pussy and deepen the shadowed cleft between them.

Melissa gasped:

"Nnh — !"

Her body pressed backward into his grip, her spine curving into an arch so instinctive it might have been choreographed by her bloodline itself.

A fresh, visible rush of wetness darkened the lace further between her thighs.

"This is perfect, Mel," he said. Not loudly or emphasis.

Just the truth, spoken against the warm junction of her neck and shoulder, delivered with the same quiet conviction with which a man might state that the sun existed.

"Every. Single. Inch."

He kept one hand on her ass, squeezing and kneading the heavy flesh with slow, possessive strokes, while his other hand slid lower.

Phei’s fingers traced the cleft between her cheeks through the lace, then dipped lower still, pressing against the soaked pantie that covered her pussy.

He rubbed over it once slowly but deliberate — feeling the heat and wetness of her cunt through the thin material, the way her folds parted slightly under the pressure of his pressing fingers.

"Aunt Melissa," he murmured, voice low and dark against her ear. "You’re so soaked through. Your cunt is dripping for your nephew and I’ve barely started to touch you."

He began to stroke her properly then over her wet pussy — slow, graceful, devastating.

Two of his fingers then moved in a languid, circular motion over the soaked lace, pressing just firmly enough to part her outer lips through her pantie and rub against the swollen, sensitive flesh beneath.

He traced the shape of her pussy through the fabric with unhurried precision with his entire fingers while he started circling her clit with the pad of his middle finger in slow, deliberate strokes before sliding back down to press against her pussy’s entrance, teasing the lace inward so that her pussy outer folds could hold it there, without quite pushing the fabric inside.

Melissa’s thighs trembled violently.

"Mh—Mhmm—’

A broken, desperate whimper escaped her as her hips rolled forward, chasing the slow, torturous pressure of his fingers.

Melissa clenched her pussy visibly against the lace, another fresh gush of wetness soaking through and coating his fingertips.

"That’s it," he whispered, voice dark with satisfaction. "Let me feel how wet you are, will you? Let me feel that pretty cunt throb for me."

He continued the slow, masterful stimulation — never rushing, never giving her enough pressure to come, only enough to keep her trembling and dripping.

His fingers stroked up and down the length of her soaked slit, occasionally pausing to press and rub slow circles over her swollen clit until her knees threatened to give out completely.

Melissa untangled herself from the remnants.

Her hands moved with the quiet efficiency and opened her front to the room.

Phei’s eyes dragged over her slowly, hungrily. His hand were wet from where he had touched her — rose and cupped one heavy breast, thumb brushing over the stiff nipple through the fabric with the same slow, deliberate pressure he had used on her cunt.

He said, voice rough with lust. "My perfect woman."