Silas Thorne lived a life of quiet, meticulous order. At thirty-eight, he was a senior archivist at the city's historical society, a man who found profound satisfaction in the dust of old ledgers and the precise chronology of events long past. His apartment was a monument to minimalism—clean lines, neutral tones, everything in its designated place. His relationships were polite, brief, and ultimately forgettable, leaving no more impression than a footnote in a margin. He moved through the world like a carefully preserved document himself: valuable in his niche, but untouched by any passionate hand. The hunger that lived within him was so deeply buried beneath layers of routine and rationalism that he had long ago mistaken its rumblings for simple indigestion.
It began, as these things often do, with a fracture in the routine. A colleague's retirement party at a club called "The Velvet Noose," a place far outside Silas's usual orbit of quiet libraries and espresso bars. The bass throbbed through the floor, a visceral pulse that unsettled his bones. The air was thick with pheromones and spilled liquor. He was nursing a single malt, feeling acutely out of place, when he saw them.
They were a triad, impossible to ignore. They held court in a semi-circular booth of blood-red leather, a living sculpture of dominant femininity. Silas's breath hitched, his carefully ordered mind struggling to process the data his eyes were sending.
The one in the center was Morrigan. She was tall, with the predatory grace of a panther. Her hair was the color of a raven's wing, cut in a sharp bob that framed a face of stark, severe beauty—high cheekbones, a blade of a nose, lips painted a matte black. She wore a leather harness over a sheer black top that did nothing to conceal breasts that were full, heavy, and defiantly real. Her eyes, a cold grey like winter sea-ice, scanned the room with detached ownership. And in the tight leather pants she wore, the substantial, proud outline of her cock was unmistakable, a promise of formidable power.
To her right was Juno. Voluptuous where Morrigan was lean, she was a Renaissance painting come to life. Her curls were a chaotic, glorious tumble of copper and gold, her skin milky and dusted with freckles across the swell of her truly monumental breasts, which strained against the crimson silk of her corset. Her face was all softness and wicked humor, with green eyes that sparkled with mischief. Her presence was warm, inviting, but the thick ridge of her erection pressing against her skirt spoke of a generosity that could be overwhelming.
To Morrigan's left was Vesper. She was an athlete, compact and powerful. Her platinum blonde hair was shaved on the sides, the longer top pulled into a severe knot. She wore a simple, expensive-looking tank top and tailored trousers that showed off her taut abdomen and the perfect, round apples of her ass. Her beauty was stark and efficient. Her gaze was analytical, assessing. The bulge at her groin was less pronounced than the others, but it carried a different kind of threat—one of relentless, tireless precision.
Silas was transfixed. The orderly files in his mind scattered. The noise of the club faded. He felt a pull, a gravitational tug from the pit of his stomach that was both terrifying and electrifying. He watched as a man approached them, smiling with cocky assurance. Morrigan said something without looking at him. Juno laughed, a rich, throaty sound. Vesper simply stared until the man's smile wilted, and he retreated. They were untouchable. They were goddesses.
He didn't remember deciding to move. His feet carried him forward, a moth drawn to a three-fold flame. He stopped at the edge of their booth, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Morrigan's winter-grey eyes lifted and pinned him where he stood. "Yes?" Her voice was a low contralto, bored, expecting dismissal.
Silas's mouth was dry. All his eloquence, his command of dead languages and complex cataloging systems, deserted him. "I…" he began, then swallowed. "I… couldn't help but notice you."
Juno's laugh this time was warmer, tinged with amusement. "Oh, honey. Everyone notices us." She took a sip of her drink, her eyes roaming over his neat sweater and slacks. "You look a little… lost."
"I feel lost," Silas heard himself say, the honesty shocking him.
Vesper's analytical gaze swept over him. "Low social confidence. High observational skills. Repressed." She stated it as fact. "What do you want?"
The question hung in the smoky air. The truth, the terrible, thrilling truth, rose in his throat. "I want…," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I want to serve you."
A slow, predatory smile touched Morrigan's black lips. She exchanged a glance with Juno, then Vesper. It was a silent conversation, a weighing of his worth. "Serve," Morrigan repeated. "A bold word from a timid man. Do you know what service to us entails?"
Silas shook his head, unable to speak.
"It entails obedience," Juno purred, leaning forward, her cleavage becoming a dizzying chasm. "It entails accepting our… particular tastes."
"It entails your complete and utter dedication," Vesper finished, her voice cool. "Your old life would be over."
The emptiness inside Silas yawned wide. The thought of his pristine apartment, his silent weekends, his orderly but hollow existence, filled him with a sudden, profound nausea. This, this terrifying unknown before him, felt more real than anything he had ever known.
"Yes," he said, stronger now. "I understand."
Morrigan studied him for a long, silent moment. Then she gestured to the space on the leather beside her. "Sit."
It was not an invitation; it was a command. Silas slid into the booth, the leather cool through his trousers. He was immediately enveloped in their scent—Morrigan's dark oud and leather, Juno's vanilla and amber, Vesper's clean ozone and salt.
"What is your name?" Morrigan asked.
"Silas. Silas Thorne."
"Silas," Juno repeated, rolling the name on her tongue as if tasting it. "We'll see if you're worthy of it." Her hand, large and soft, landed on his thigh under the table. He jumped at the contact. "Easy, little one," she murmured, her fingers squeezing possessively.
That night, he followed them to Morrigan's penthouse, a sprawling space of concrete, steel, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city's glittering grid. It felt like a throne room. His initiation was swift and brutal.
Morrigan took him first, in her stark, minimalist bedroom. She didn't undress him; she ordered him to strip, her eyes cataloging his lean, pale body with clinical disinterest. "On your knees," she said.
He knelt on the cold concrete floor. She undid her leather pants, freeing her cock. It was as severe and beautiful as she was—long, thick, uncut, the head a deep plum color already beading with moisture. It curved upwards against her flat stomach.
"Open," she commanded.
He did. She fed her cock into his mouth, not slowly, not gently. He gagged immediately, his jaw straining. She placed a hand on the back of his head, not forcing, just holding.
"Breathe through your nose," she instructed, her voice calm. "Relax your throat. You exist to take this. Your mouth is a sheath."
Tears sprang to his eyes from the effort and the sheer, shocking intrusion. But beneath the panic, a wire of pure arousal tightened in his gut. He focused on her command, on obeying. He managed to take her deeper, the salty-bitter taste of her pre-cum flooding his senses.
"Good," she said, a note of approval that sent a jolt through him more powerful than any touch. She began to move, a slow, inexorable rhythm that stretched his lips and battered the back of his throat. He drooled around her girth, spit slicking her shaft and dripping onto the floor.
He lost track of time. His world narrowed to the stretch of his jaw, the pounding in his skull, the intoxicating scent of her skin and sex. When she came, it was without fanfare—a series of deep pulses that flooded his mouth with hot, viscous fluid. She held him in place as he choked and swallowed convulsively, making sure he took every drop.
"Swallow," she ordered, and he did, the warm cum sliding down his throat, a baptism.
She pulled out, her cock glistening with his saliva. "Clean it."
He leaned forward, licking her clean with a devotion that felt ancient. She patted his head like a dog.
"You may sleep on the floor at the foot of my bed," she said. "Juno will want you in the morning."
Juno's domain was a lush, opulent suite filled with velvet drapes and the scent of incense. She was lounging on a mountain of silk pillows when he entered on trembling legs.
"Come here, sweet thing," she cooed, her voice like honey. She was naked, her body a breathtaking landscape of creamy skin and generous curves. Her cock lay against her thigh, thick as a rolling pin and impressively long, the head a flushed pink.
She didn't command him to kneel. She pulled him down onto the bed with her, kissing him with a hungry, all-consuming passion. Her mouth was sweet from the liqueur she'd been drinking. Her hands roamed his body, pinching his nipples, squeezing his ass.
"You taste like Morrigan," she giggled against his lips. "I like it." She rolled on top of him, her heavy breasts smothering his face, her warm weight pinning him. "Now, let's see what else this pretty mouth is good for."
She fed him her cock, but where Morrigan was clinical, Juno was exuberant. She fucked his face with joyous abandon, moaning and sighing, her hips bucking. "Yes! Oh, suck it, Silas! Such a good boy! Take all of Mama Juno!"
She came loudly, her body shuddering, her cum even richer and sweeter than Morrigan's, filling his mouth to overflowing so it spilled from the corners of his lips. She laughed as she watched him swallow, then gathered the spillage from his chin with her fingers and pushed them back into his mouth.
"Waste not, want not," she sang.
Then she rolled him onto his stomach. "Now for the main event." She poured something slick and cool over his entrance. "This might sting," she said, not unkindly, and then she was pushing inside him.
The stretch was immense, burning. He cried out into the pillows.
"Shhh," she soothed, rocking into him slowly. "You can take it. You're made for this. To be filled up." She bottomed out, her hips flush against his ass, her immense soft belly pressing against his back. She began to move, a rolling, grinding motion that rubbed every nerve inside him. The pain began to transmute into a deep, full pleasure. He was nothing but a vessel for her magnificent cock.
When she came inside him, it felt like being injected with liquid heat. He came untouched, his own release soaking the sheets beneath him.
She collapsed on him, sweaty and giggling. "Oh, you're a natural! Vesper is going to love you."
Vesper's room was a home gym merged with a laboratory—clean, bright, and sterile. She was on a treadmill when he entered, running at a steady clip, her muscular body sheened with sweat.
"Sit on the bench," she said without looking at him, her voice even.
He sat. She finished her run, cooled down with methodical stretches that showcased her flexibility and strength, then finally turned to him. She approached, her expression unreadable.
"Morrigan tests obedience. Juno tests capacity for pleasure and shame," Vesper stated. "I test endurance and precision." She handed him a bottle of lubricant. "Prepare yourself. Thoroughly."
His hands shook as he obeyed. She watched, arms crossed, until she was satisfied.
"Assume the position," she said, pointing to a padded bench with stirrups.
He lay back, legs raised and spread. She positioned herself between them. Her cock was different—straighter, harder-looking, like a tool engineered for a specific purpose. She aligned herself with a machinist's care and pushed in.
There was no burning stretch this time, just an immediate, intense fullness. She began to move, not with Juno's sensual rolls or Morrigan's deliberate strokes, but with a perfect, piston-like rhythm. Each thrust was identical in depth, angle, and force. It was relentless. She watched his face closely, monitoring his reactions.
"You will not come until I permit it," she stated. "Focus on your breathing. In through the nose for four counts, hold for seven, out through the mouth for eight."
He tried, but the pleasure was a rising tide. He whimpered.
"Focus," she snapped, her rhythm never faltering. "Your body is ours to command. Even its autonomic responses."
She fucked him for what felt like hours. His muscles trembled with exhaustion. Sweat dripped from her brow onto his chest. Just when he thought he would break, she changed her angle slightly, hitting a spot that made him see white.
"Now," she said.
His orgasm ripped through him like a seizure, violent and overwhelming. She continued to piston into him through it, milking every drop. Only when he was completely spent, a twitching mess on the bench, did she allow her own release—a series of efficient, powerful spurts deep inside him.
She withdrew, made a note on a tablet nearby. "Adequate stamina. Room for improvement." She tossed him a towel. "Clean up. You belong to us now."
And so it began. Silas Thorne vanished from his old life. He sent a terse email resigning from his position, citing a family emergency. His apartment gathered dust. His old friends' calls went unanswered.
He lived now in their world, a gilded cage within Morrigan's penthouse that became his entire universe. His transformation was systematic.
The Diet: It was Juno who first proposed it, giggling as she fed him her cum directly from the source one morning. "You look so pretty like this," she'd sighed. "Why eat anything else? My cum has everything a growing boy needs." Morrigan, after consideration, agreed. It was the ultimate act of devotion, of dependency. Vesper calculated the nutritional content and supplemented with specific vitamins administered via enema—another form of feeding.
His meals were scheduled. Breakfast was often from Vesper after her workout—a lean, potent load that tasted vaguely of electrolytes. Lunch from Juno—thick, creamy, and abundant, often forced into him as she rode his face on the couch while watching soap operas. Dinner from Morrigan—a ritualistic feeding where he knelt silently by her chair as she worked or read, servicing her until she gifted him his sustenance.
His body changed. He grew leaner, paler, his muscle tone softening into a different kind of grace. His eyes took on a perpetually glazed, sated look. He was always slightly hungry, but it was a specific hunger—a craving for the salty-bitter-sweet taste of their cum, for the warm flood in his stomach.
The Training: His days were structured around their needs. Mornings were often with Vesper for "maintenance fucking"—sessions designed to keep him pliant and stretched, to test his endurance with new positions or toys. She kept charts.
Afternoons belonged to Juno, who used him for her amusement—sometimes fucking him silly on every piece of furniture, sometimes tying him up and edging him for hours while she painted her nails, feeding him just enough of her pre-cum to keep him desperate.
Evenings were Morrigan's. She used him with a stern, quiet intensity. Sometimes it was just her cock in his mouth while she contemplated the city lights, her hand resting on his head like on a favorite pet. Other times she would take him anally with a slow, grinding possessiveness that felt more like ownership than sex.
The Hierarchy: Morrigan was the undisputed queen. Her word was law. Juno was the chaotic heart of the trio, whose whims could be indulgent or cruel. Vesper was the executor of their will, the one who ensured systems ran smoothly.
Silas learned their nuances. He knew when Morrigan's silence meant contentment and when it presaged punishment (which could be a flogging from Vesper or being denied Juno's cum for a day). He knew Juno's laughter could turn sharp if she felt ignored. He knew Vesper valued cleanliness and order above all; coming in her presence without permission meant a grueling session of scrubbing every bathroom in the penthouse on his hands and knees.
One evening, about three months into his new life, they were all in the main living area. Silas was naked, kneeling on a plush rug by the coffee table where Morrigan sat reviewing documents. Juno was sprawled on a chaise lounge, idly stroking her soft belly and her flaccid cock. Vesper was doing mobility exercises in the open space.
Morrigan looked up from her papers. "Silas."
"Yes, Mistress Morrigan?"
"Juno is bored. Amuse her."
Silas knew what that meant. He crawled to the chaise. Juno smiled lazily down at him.
"Hello, sweet thing," she purred. "You know what I like."
He did. He positioned himself between her legs, which she spread generously. He began to lick and suck at her softness, her balls, the base of her cock, working her slowly to hardness with his mouth and hands. Her taste filled his senses—musky, sweet, uniquely Juno.
"Mmm, that's it," she sighed, tangling a hand in his hair.
Morrigan watched over the top of her documents for a moment before returning to them. Vesper continued her stretches nearby, occasionally glancing over to assess his technique.
When Juno was fully hard, thick and proud against her stomach, she pushed his head away gently. "Enough foreplay. Up here."
He climbed onto the chaise beside her. She rolled onto her side facing him and hooked one heavy thigh over his hip, guiding his hard cock into her wetness from behind in a spoiling position.
"There," she sighed as he slid in. "Now just stay still."
He held himself inside her, feeling her warm walls pulse around him. This was one of her favorite games—using him as a living dildo while she relaxed or talked to the others.
"So," Juno said conversationally to Morrigan as Silas lay still inside her, "the gallery opening is next week. Are we making an appearance?"
Morrigan didn't look up. "Briefly. We have that acquisition meeting at eight."
"Ugh, business," Juno pouted, shifting slightly and making Silas gasp as she clenched around him. "I wanted to play with the new sculptor. He has such talented hands."
"You can play afterwards," Vesper said from her splits on the floor. "If your toy here hasn't worn you out." She nodded at Silas.
Juno laughed and ground back against him. "Oh, he's serviceable. But he's no artist." She reached back and patted Silas's flank. "Don't worry, sweetie, you're good for what you're good for."
They continued discussing their week—social engagements, business deals, the mundane details of goddesses' lives—while Silas remained embedded in Juno, motionless except for the occasional involuntary twitch. It was profoundly degrading and utterly intoxicating. He was furniture. He was a convenience.
After twenty minutes of this, Juno seemed to remember him. "Oh! You can move now. But slowly."
He began to rock into her gently.
"Morrigan," Juno moaned theatrically as Silas moved, "he's actually not terrible at this part either."
Morrigan finally set her papers down and observed them for a moment, a faint smile on her lips. "He learns."
Vesper finished her routine and walked over. She stood behind the chaise, looking down at where Silas was connected to Juno. With clinical detachment, she reached down and pinched one of Silas's nipples hard, twisting it.
He yelped but didn't stop his slow movements.
"Responsive," Vesper noted.
"See?" Juno said breathlessly as Silas's pace increased slightly under Vesper's torment. "He's trying so hard."
Soon Juno's breath hitched. "Oh! Okay… now you can… fuck me properly!"
Silas obeyed, driving into her with deeper strokes. Juno cried out, her body arching.
"Cum inside me," she ordered between gasps.
He did immediately, the command alone enough to trigger him.
Juno milked him with her powerful inner muscles until he was soft and oversensitive. Then she pushed him out unceremoniously. He collapsed beside her on the chaise.
"Good boy," she said absently, stroking his hair as he panted.
Morrigan stood up and walked over. She looked at Silas's spent form leaking onto Juno's thigh and then at Juno's own hard cock bobbing untouched.
"He neglected you," Morrigan said to Juno.
Juno pouted. "He got carried away."
Morrigan looked at Silas. "Clean up your mess and then service your mistress properly."
Silas weakly moved to lick his own cum from Juno's skin before taking her thick cock into his mouth once more.
This was his life now: an endless cycle of service and consumption.
The true depth of his addiction became terrifyingly clear during a weekend when Morrigan had to travel for business unexpectedly and took Vesper with her as security. Only Juno remained with Silas.
The first day was a blur of indolent pleasure—Juno fucking him whenever and however she pleased, feeding him from herself generously.
On the second day, Juno woke up late with a migraine.
"Ugh," she groaned from her darkened room when Silas brought her water. "Fuck off. The light hurts."
He retreated to his small adjacent room—a space just large enough for a cot and a dresser for the few items of clothing (mostly lingerie they liked to see him in) he still owned.
By noon, he was pacing. He was hungry.
Not just hungry, he realized with dawning horror. Craving.
His stomach growled emptily. The thought of the food in the kitchen—the gourmet groceries delivered weekly—turned his stomach to lead. The idea of solid food was alien, repulsive.
He needed cum.
He listened at Juno's door but heard only soft snores.
He tried to wait. He lay on his cot, curled in on himself as cramps started low in his belly—not hunger pangs but something sharper, more desperate.
By evening he was sweating and shaking. He felt cold despite the warmth of the penthouse. His mouth watered not for food but for that specific salty taste.
He finally cracked after dark. He crept into Juno's room. She was asleep in a tangle of sheets.
He knelt beside her bed for what felt like an hour in agony before he dared to reach out a trembling hand and touch her thigh.
She stirred.
"Mistress Juno," he whispered hoarsely.
"Mmm?"
"Please… I… I need…"
She cracked an eye open in the dim light from the hallway and saw him shaking on his knees by her bed.
A slow smile spread across her face. She understood immediately.
"Ohhh," she purred sleepily but with deep satisfaction. "Is my little addict going through withdrawal?"
He whimpered in shame and need.
She shifted onto her back and pushed the sheets down to expose her magnificent body and her soft cock.
"Go on then," she said softly but firmly.
He needed no further urging. He buried his face between her legs like a man dying of thirst finding an oasis.
She wasn't fully hard yet but it didn't matter; he suckled at her like an infant at its mother's breast—desperately at first until he got that first burst of pre-cum on his tongue which only deepened his desperation—then settling into a frantic but rhythmic sucking designed to coax more from her.
Juno watched him through half-lidded eyes as he worked at her flesh—a pitiful creature enslaved by its own biology now as much as by her will—and her smile widened as she felt herself stiffening under his frantic ministrations.
"That's it," she whispered encouragingly even though it made pain spike behind her eyes—but seeing this display was worth it—"Drink up."
When she finally came into his mouth after nearly twenty minutes of his frantic sucking—because even in this state he couldn't make her come until she decided—he sobbed with relief around her girth as he swallowed every drop greedily then licked her clean with pathetic thoroughness before collapsing onto the floor beside her bed utterly spent but finally sated again—the cramps gone immediately replaced by warm blissful numbness throughout his body—the shakes subsiding into gentle tremors then nothing at all as he lay there panting softly against her thigh while she stroked his hair absently thinking about what she would tell Morrigan when she returned about this little episode…
From that day forward there was no pretense left whatsoever about what Silas Thorne had become: A cum addict—their cum addict—body soul mind completely dependent upon them not just for pleasure or purpose but for basic sustenance now too—and they reveled in it because it meant he truly could never leave them even if some part deep down inside wanted to—which none really believed existed anymore anyway—but this made sure—this biological leash stronger than any chain or lock ever could be…
The final step in his complete ownership came about six months after his initiation—during one particularly intense session where all three decided to use him simultaneously…
It started with Morrigan ordering him into what they called "the rack"—a sturdy padded bench with restraints for wrists ankles waist neck designed by Vesper for maximum accessibility…
They stripped him secured him spread-eagled face-up on it so he could see everything they did…
Morrigan took position at his head sitting on an adjustable stool so that when she leaned forward her cock could easily reach his mouth…
Juno lubed up his ass generously while Vesper lubed up his neglected cock which had become mostly ornamental except for their occasional amusement…
"Tonight we test capacity limits" Vesper announced clinically as she mounted him reverse-cowgirl style sinking down onto his erection with practiced ease using him as little more than an anchor while she faced Juno who was positioning herself at Silas's rear…
"Ready girls?" Juno asked excitedly lining up her thick impressive girth with Silas's well-prepared hole…
Morrigan simply guided herself into Silas's waiting mouth until he gagged slightly then relaxed taking her deep…
On some unseen signal they all began moving together…
Silas's world exploded into sensation overload—Morrigan's cock fucking deep into his throat making him choke drool run down his temples—Juno's immense thickness stretching burning filling his ass so full he thought he might split open—Vesper riding him hard grinding against him making even being inside her feel like service because she controlled every movement every sensation…
He couldn't breathe properly couldn't think could only feel—a vessel being used filled overwhelmed by all three goddesses at once—and beneath it all that familiar addictive hunger rising because he knew what came next…
They moved in a brutal symphony of flesh—Juno moaning loudly as she pounded into him Morrigan breathing heavily above him as she used his throat Vesper silent except for soft grunts as she impaled herself on him over and over…
They came in sequence—Vesper first tightening around him like a vise milking a weak dry orgasm from him that felt more like a seizure—then Juno screaming as she flooded his bowels with hot thick cum—finally Morrigan holding his head still as she pumped jet after jet of bitter seed down his throat…
When they pulled off him he was wrecked—dripping from both ends eyes rolled back breathing ragged…
But they weren't done…
Morrigan stood up walked around behind Juno who was still panting over him…
Without warning Morrigan pushed Juno forward slightly lined up behind her…
Silas watched through bleary eyes as Morrigan guided herself into Juno's ass right there above him—Juno crying out in surprise then pleasure as Morrigan took her from behind…
Vesper moved off him crawled up beside his head where she could watch too while stroking herself back to hardness…
Now Silas lay underneath them watching being dripped on by their mixed fluids as Morrigan fucked Juno hard and deep while Juno braced herself on either side of Silas's head moaning incoherently…
Vesper leaned over him held her cock above his face…
"Open" she ordered…
He did weakly…
She fed herself into his mouth not deep just enough so he could taste herself mixed with Morrigan from earlier…
"Suck" she commanded…
He did weakly around her girth…
Above him Morrigan was growling low animal sounds as she drove into Juno who was sobbing with pleasure now…
It all built to crescendo—Morrigan slamming home one last time holding Juno tight as they both came together—Juno screaming into Silas's ear while Morrigan bit Juno's shoulder—and Vesper pulling from Silas's mouth at last moment to spray ropes of cum across his face chest stomach…
Then silence except for heavy breathing…
They disentangled themselves stood looking down at Silas lying bound covered in sweat spit cum tears utterly destroyed…
Morrigan reached down unfastened one wrist restraint…
"Clean us" she ordered quietly…
With trembling exhausted limbs Silas managed to free himself enough to crawl off rack onto floor where he began licking cleaning first Vesper's softening cock then Juno's messy ass then Morrigan's still-dripping shaft—each taste different each one feeding that deep insatiable hunger within him until finally when they were clean(ish) he collapsed onto floor again spent…
Juno laughed weakly stumbled off toward bathroom…
Vesper followed after making note on nearby tablet…
Morrigan remained looking down at Silas for long moment then crouched beside him ran hand through his sweaty hair…
"You are ours" she said simply finally confirming what had been true since moment he walked into club months ago but which now felt etched into bones soul DNA…
"Yes" he whispered back voice raw from abuse but filled with absolute certainty because what else could he be now? This broken addicted creature who lived only for their touch their taste their command…
He was Silas Thorne: archivist turned artifact turned addict… His world was concrete steel silk sweat pain ecstasy commanded by three beautiful tyrants with heavenly bodies infernal cocks… His food was their pleasure; his purpose was their release… And he had never been more complete…
------X------
The morning after the intense, three-part session that left him wrecked and weeping on the floor, Silas woke to a profound, aching emptiness. It wasn't just physical soreness, though that was there too—a deep-seated throb in his ass, a raw tenderness in his throat. It was a cellular craving. His body, having been flooded with their essence, now screamed for its absence. He lay on his thin cot in his small, spare room, listening to the quiet hum of the penthouse. The door was never locked, but the barrier felt more immense than any iron bolt. To leave this room was to enter their domain, to potentially be used, to be fed. To stay was to starve.
A soft knock, more a courtesy than a request, preceded Vesper's entrance. She was already dressed in sleek athleisure wear, her hair damp from a shower. She carried her tablet.
"Up," she said, her voice devoid of inflection. "Efficiency metrics today. You've recovered sufficiently."
Sufficiently was a relative term. He pushed himself up, his muscles protesting. He was naked, as he was required to be in all common areas unless otherwise instructed. The cool air raised goosebumps on his pale skin. He followed her out into the vast, open-plan living area, the morning light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting geometric shapes on the polished concrete.
Morrigan was at the long, minimalist dining table, a sleek laptop and a spread of financial papers before her. She sipped black coffee, her gaze fixed on a spreadsheet. She didn't look up as he entered. Juno was a splash of color and chaos on the white sectional sofa, wrapped in a silk kimono the color of peonies, scrolling through her phone. A half-eaten croissant—a rare, solid-food indulgence she allowed herself—sat on a plate beside her.
"Morning, pet," Juno chirped without looking up. "You look like you got run over by a very sexy truck."
"Silas," Vesper said, directing him to the center of the open space. "Assume the position for deep-stretch maintenance. We're working on hip flexibility and anal elasticity today. Goal: increased comfort with prolonged penetration."
He knew the position. He got on all fours, then lowered his chest to the floor, keeping his ass high in the air, legs spread. It was submissive, vulnerable. He felt the cool air on his exposed hole, still loose and tender from the night before.
Vesper knelt behind him. He heard the click of a lube bottle. The cold gel was applied not with any tenderness, but with the clinical thoroughness of a mechanic greasing a part. Her fingers, strong and precise, worked inside him, stretching, probing.
"Significant residual laxity from last night's session," Vesper narrated, presumably for her tablet. "Mucosal lining appears healthy. No tearing. Proceeding with plug sequence to maintain aperture."
She began inserting a series of graduated silicone plugs, each larger than the last, holding each one inside him for a timed minute. The stretch was a dull, familiar burn. He focused on his breathing, as she had trained him. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. He was a machine undergoing maintenance.
Morrigan's voice cut through the silence, still not looking up from her papers. "After Vesper is finished with him, bring him to me. I have a conference call at ten. He can serve as a distraction."
Juno finally put her phone down and padded over, her kimono falling open to reveal the glorious, heavy swell of her breasts and the soft, thick curve of her flaccid cock. She watched Vesper's work with idle interest, popping the last of her croissant into her mouth.
"Ooh, a human paperweight," Juno giggled. "Will you be under the desk, Silas? Classic."
Vesper finished with the largest plug, leaving it nestled inside him with a soft, weighted base that kept it securely in place. "One hour with the final dilator," she instructed him. "You may move, but do not remove it. Report any sharp pain." She helped him to his feet. The plug shifted inside him, a constant, heavy reminder.
"Come," Morrigan said, finally closing her laptop.
Silas followed her into her study, a room of dark wood, steel, and a massive desk of polished ebony. The city sprawled beneath the windows. Morrigan sat in her high-backed leather chair and wheeled herself to the desk.
"Underneath," she commanded, pointing to the open space beneath the desk.
He crawled into the dim, cavernous space. It smelled of leather, old paper, and the faint, clean scent of Morrigan's perfume. She settled in her chair, her legs appearing in his field of view, clad in tailored trousers. He heard her put on a headset, click a mouse.
"Good morning, everyone. Let's begin with the Q3 projections," her voice said, cool and professional, echoing slightly in his confined space.
For a moment, nothing happened. He knelt there, the plug a heavy presence inside him, listening to the dry, incomprehensible jargon of mergers and acquisitions. Then, he heard the soft rustle of fabric. Morrigan's hand reached down, unbuckled her belt, unbuttoned her fly. She pushed her trousers and underwear down just enough to free her cock, which was already half-hard, resting against the inner seam of her pants.
She guided him with a hand on his head. He opened his mouth, and she fed herself in, not deeply, just enough for the head to rest on his tongue, the shaft lying along his lips.
"The Frankfurt numbers are not aligning with the preliminary due diligence," Morrigan said into her headset, her voice perfectly even. "We need a deeper dive from analytics."
She began to slowly, almost imperceptibly, harden in his mouth. He stayed perfectly still, his jaw relaxed, his tongue providing gentle, wet pressure. This was the essence of being a cock warmer. He was not there to suck, to bring her off, to perform. He was there to be a living, warm, wet sheath for her cock while she attended to other matters. His sole purpose was to maintain her comfort and mild arousal, to be a passive, living part of her environment.
He could hear the faint click of her mouse, the soft tap of keys. Her other hand came down and rested on his head, not pushing, just holding him in place, a casual ownership. He breathed slowly through his nose, focused on the weight and heat of her on his tongue, the taste of her skin and pre-cum blooming in his mouth. The plug in his ass felt connected to the cock in his mouth, a circuit of servitude. The conference call droned on—talk of leveraged buyouts, market saturation, hostile takeovers. And here, under the desk, Silas was engaged in the only hostile takeover that mattered: the complete annexation of his being.
After twenty minutes, Morrigan was fully hard, a thick, insistent presence filling his mouth. She shifted slightly in her chair, and he adjusted the angle of his head minutely to keep her comfortable. A low, almost inaudible hum of approval vibrated from her throat. It was a tiny sound, lost under her discussion of stock options, but to Silas, it was a bolt of pure, affirming pleasure. He was doing his job. He was being useful.
The call ended. Morrigan clicked off her headset and tossed it onto the desk with a soft thud. For a long moment, there was only silence. Then, her hand tightened in his hair.
"Now," she said, her voice dropping from its boardroom tenor to the low, intimate contralto he knew so well. "You may earn your breakfast."
She began to fuck his mouth in earnest—slow, deep, measured strokes that bumped the back of his throat. He gagged, tears springing to his eyes, but he relaxed into it, letting her use him. She came with a series of deep, shuddering pulses, flooding his mouth with her bitter, potent cum. He swallowed obediently, the warm fluid hitting his empty stomach like a shot of brandy, spreading a calming heat through his core. She held him there until he'd swallowed every drop, then pulled out.
"Clean me," she ordered.
He did, licking her softening cock clean with a devotion that was now as natural as breathing. When he was finished, she tucked herself away and stood up, looking down at him as he remained on his knees in the dim space.
"Vesper has further use for you," she said, adjusting her cufflinks. "Go."
He crawled out from under the desk. The plug in his ass felt heavier now, a foreign weight. He followed the sound of rhythmic beeping to the home gym, where Vesper was on the rowing machine, her back and shoulders a landscape of taut, moving muscle.
She finished her set, wiped her brow with a towel, and turned to him. "The dilator has served its purpose. Remove it."
He reached behind himself, carefully working the thick silicone plug out. It emerged with a soft, wet pop. He held it, unsure.
"Clean it," Vesper said, pointing to a basin of soapy water on a nearby bench. He washed the plug dutifully, dried it, and set it aside.
"Now," Vesper continued, walking to a padded, inclined bench. "We are testing overnight endurance and the body's unconscious adaptation to penetration. You will sleep here tonight. Position: on your side, fetal. I will be providing the anal penetration. Juno has volunteered to provide oral."
Silas's heart skipped a beat. Sleep with a cock in his ass and one in his mouth. It was a new frontier of ownership.
Juno wandered in then, her kimono now fully open, her magnificent body on glorious display. She was already semi-erect, her thick cock bobbing with her steps. "Naptime!" she sang. "I call being the little spoon. Or, the big mouth, I guess."
The setup was methodical. Vesper had him lie on his left side on the inclined bench, which was wide enough for two. She positioned herself behind him, her strong body spooning his. She applied lubricant to herself and then to him, before guiding her straight, hard cock into his still-loosened entrance. She pushed in with a single, smooth motion until her hips were flush against his ass. The fullness was immense, deep, a constant pressure.
Juno, meanwhile, climbed onto the bench facing him. She arranged pillows under her head and then gently guided his head into her lap. Her cock, now fully hard, lay against his cheek. "Open wide, sweet thing," she murmured, and he did. She fed herself into his mouth, not deeply, just enough so the head rested past his teeth, the shaft along his lower lip. It was a mirror of his time under Morrigan's desk, but now with Juno's sweeter, muskier taste.
"Comfortable?" Vesper asked from behind him, her breath on his neck.
He tried to nod, but with Juno in his mouth, he could only make a muffled sound.
"Good. The goal is four hours of sustained penetration with minimal active stimulation. Your body will learn to accept this as a resting state. My biometric monitor will track your sleep cycles and any clenching." She tapped a small sensor pad stuck to his lower back. "Sleep."
It was an impossible command. He was achingly full, front and back. Juno's cock was a warm, heavy weight on his tongue. Vesper's was a firm, unyielding presence buried deep in his bowels. Juno began to idly stroke his hair with one hand, the other holding her phone, scrolling through social media. Vesper lay perfectly still behind him, her breathing already slowing into a steady rhythm.
Slowly, miraculously, his body began to adjust. The intense, sharp focus on the dual penetration began to blur into a single, pervasive sensation of fullness, of being occupied. The hum of the penthouse, Juno's soft giggles at her phone, Vesper's even breathing behind him—it all merged into a white noise. His own breathing deepened. His eyes grew heavy. He was a vessel, plugged and filled, and in this state of complete use, he found a strange, profound peace. He drifted into a shallow, dreamless sleep, his world reduced to the twin points of warm, living pressure that anchored him to reality.
He woke some time later to movement. Juno was shifting, her cock slipping from his mouth. "Gotta pee, be right back," she whispered, extricating herself. Vesper, behind him, remained still, deeply asleep, her cock still firmly lodged inside him. The absence in his mouth felt cavernous, cold. He whimpered softly in his sleep-addled state.
Juno returned a few minutes later, but she didn't immediately resume her position. Instead, he felt her hands on his hips, rolling him slightly onto his stomach. Vesper, still asleep, adjusted with him, her cock shifting inside him but remaining embedded.
"Shhh, just a little switch-up," Juno whispered. He felt her climb onto the bench behind Vesper. Then, the pressure changed. Juno was guiding herself into Vesper from behind. He heard Vesper give a soft, sleepy grunt as Juno sheathed herself inside her. Now, Silas was the filling in a triple-decker sandwich: Juno buried in Vesper, who was buried in him.
Juno began a slow, lazy rhythm, fucking Vesper, whose movements translated into gentle, rocking thrusts inside Silas. It was a passive, wave-like fucking. Juno's moans were soft sighs above him. Vesper remained mostly asleep, her body responding instinctively. Silas was just the conduit, the final link in the chain. He floated in this warm, moving sea of flesh until sleep claimed him again.
He woke in the morning alone on the bench, sore but strangely rested. Vesper was already up, on the treadmill, reading data on her tablet. Juno was presumably still asleep. The sensor pad was gone from his back.
"Report," Vesper said without looking at him.
"I… I slept, Mistress Vesper."
"Efficiency of sleep was eighty-two percent of baseline. Anal sphincter showed adaptive relaxation after the first REM cycle. Successful test." She stopped the treadmill. "You may clean yourself. Then report to Juno. She has expressed a desire for a… recycling ritual."
Silas didn't understand until he crawled off the bench and felt the cool air on his skin, and the distinct, wet feeling between his buttocks. He was leaking—a mixture of lube and Vesper's and Juno's spend from the night's activities. He cleaned himself quickly in the gym's shower, the water stinging his overused hole.
He found Juno in her opulent bedroom, lounging on her bed amidst a nest of silk pillows. She was naked, her body a breathtaking landscape in the morning light. She was already stroking her cock to full, impressive hardness.
"There you are, my well-rested little vessel," she smiled, her eyes sparkling. "Come here. I want my breakfast back."
He approached the bed, kneeling beside it.
"No, no," she said, patting the space in front of her. "On the bed. On your back. Legs up and open."
He obeyed, lying back, drawing his knees to his chest, exposing himself completely to her.
Juno moved with a surprising, predatory grace. She knelt between his legs, her gaze fixed on his leaking, used hole. "Vesper's is so… clean-tasting. And mine is just divine. But mixed together, after a night inside you… that's a vintage." She leaned forward, her nose almost touching him. "I want it."
With that, she buried her face between his cheeks, her tongue spearing into him without hesitation.
Silas cried out, shocked by the intimacy, the sheer degradation of it. She was eating their combined cum from his ass. Her tongue was broad, wet, and relentless, lapping at his entrance, delving inside to scoop out the fluids that had pooled within him. The sensation was overwhelming—shameful, filthy, and yet, under her hungry, noisy ministrations, intensely arousing. His own cock, which had been soft and ignored, began to stir.
"Mmm, yes," Juno moaned against his skin, her voice muffled. "So good. You're such a good little jar. Keeping our flavors fresh." She ate from him with gusto, her hands gripping his thighs to hold him open, her tongue fucking in and out of him now, gathering every drop.
When she finally pulled back, her lips and chin were glistening. She looked utterly debauched and supremely satisfied. She crawled up his body, her heavy breasts dragging across his skin, until she was straddling his face.
"Now," she panted, her cock, rock-hard and dripping pre-cum, bobbing above his mouth. "Time for my real breakfast. Open."
He did, and she lowered herself onto him, feeding him her cock, now flavored with him, with them. He sucked obediently, the complex, salty-musky-sweet taste flooding his senses. This was the scene of eating cum from his own ass, made manifest. He was not just consuming their essence; he was consuming the proof of his own use, the waste product of his servitude, recycled and returned to him by Juno's perverse alchemy. It was the final, closed loop of his dependency.
She fucked his face with her usual joyful abandon, coming down his throat with a loud cry. He swallowed every drop, feeling the warm addition to the cocktail already in his stomach
------X------
The seasons turned outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, marked not by changing leaves or falling snow, but by the subtle shifts in the routines of his mistresses. Silas Thorne, now a creature of pale skin and perpetually glazed eyes, moved through his days as a living sacrament to their triad. The recycling ritual with Juno had become a regular feature—a morning communion where she would reclaim the mixed essence of the night before from his well-used body, feeding it back to him from her own lips and cock. His dependency was absolute, a biological tether stronger than any vow.
It was Vesper who first noticed the change, her analytical mind cataloging anomalies in their shared physiology. She stood before the full-length mirror in the gym one morning, two months after the night Silas had slept penetrated by both her and Juno. Her hand rested on her lower abdomen, which displayed a new, subtle firmness beneath the defined ridges of her muscles.
"Morrigan," she called out, her voice carrying its usual cool precision across the open space.
Morrigan emerged from her study, a sleek black robe tied loosely around her waist. "What is it?"
Vesper turned from the mirror. "My last menstrual cycle was forty-six days ago. I've experienced no bleeding. Basal body temperature has remained elevated. Nipple sensitivity has increased by thirty-seven percent."
Juno, who had been lounging on the sofa feeding Silas his lunch directly from her cock, paused. She pushed his head away gently, a string of saliva and pre-cum connecting his lips to her flushed tip. "Wait… mine was… oh, fuck. I can't even remember. I thought I was just getting fat." She prodded her own soft, generous belly, which did seem rounder, fuller.
A slow, profound silence settled over the penthouse. All three women looked at Silas, who knelt naked on the rug, his mouth still agape, his eyes wide with dawning comprehension and terror.
Morrigan walked to the sleek kitchen island, picked up her phone, and made a call. "Send three discreet pregnancy tests to the penthouse. Immediately." She hung up and turned her winter-grey eyes on Silas. "Come here."
He crawled to her, stopping at her feet. She looked down at him, her expression unreadable. "It seems your service may have borne unexpected fruit."
The tests, when they arrived and were used, confirmed it. Three blue lines. Three positive results. Morrigan placed hers on the ebony dining table beside Vesper's and Juno's. They lay there like verdicts.
Juno was the first to react. She let out a peal of laughter that was half-hysterical, half-delighted. "Oh my god! We're all knocked up! By our little cum dumpster!" She waddled over to Silas and ruffled his hair. "Daddy Silas. Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"
Veper was already on her tablet, pulling up medical journals, calculating due dates. "Conception likely occurred during the overnight endurance test or the subsequent three-part session. The statistical probability of triple simultaneous impregnation from a single source is…"
"Irrelevant," Morrigan cut her off. Her gaze was fixed on Silas. "This changes nothing about his position. It only expands his responsibilities."
Silas felt a wave of dizzying contradiction. A part of him, some atavistic shred of his old self, recoiled at the sheer biological finality of it. He had fathered children. Three of them. With them. Another part, the part that lived for their approval, their touch, their taste, swelled with a perverse pride. He had given them something no one else could. He had marked them from the inside in a new, permanent way.
"From this point forward," Morrigan announced, her voice brooking no argument, "his nutritional intake must support fetal development as well as his own sustenance. Our cum alone will be insufficient."
Juno's nose wrinkled. "Ugh, do we have to start eating food food again? I was enjoying being his sole source of everything."
"No," Vesper said, looking up from her tablet. "But we must increase our own caloric and fluid intake significantly. And we must supplement his diet." Her cool eyes settled on Silas. "We will begin incorporating our urine. It's sterile, contains electrolytes, urea, and trace minerals. Efficient. Logical."
And so, a new chapter in Silas's consumption began. That very evening, after a silent, contemplative dinner where the women ate grilled salmon and quinoa (Silas kneeling beneath the table, his mouth serving as a cock warmer for Morrigan as she ate), they initiated the new protocol.
They led him to the largest bathroom, a spa-like expanse of black marble and chrome. Morrigan sat on the closed lid of the toilet, her robe open. Vesper and Juno stood on either side.
"You have nourished the life within us with your seed," Morrigan stated. "Now you will nourish yourself, and by extension them, with our waste. Open your mouth."
Silas knelt before her, tilting his head back, his mouth opening obediently. Morrigan shifted forward, positioned herself, and let go. A hot, strong stream of amber liquid hit his tongue, filling his mouth with a bitter, salty, profoundly alien taste. He gagged instinctively, but forced himself to swallow, the warm fluid burning down his throat. It was utterly degrading, a reduction to something less than an animal. Yet, as he swallowed the last of her piss, he felt a strange, dark completion. He was consuming every aspect of them.
Juno went next, giggling as she aimed. "Think of it as a vintage, sweetie! First pressing!" Her stream was less forceful, sweeter smelling but no less bitter to taste. He drank it down, tears of shame and acceptance mingling at the corners of his eyes.
Vesper was last, her stream precise and controlled. "Hydration levels adequate," she noted clinically as he swallowed. "We will schedule this three times daily, following our own meals."
The pregnancies progressed. Silas's world became a cycle of servicing their changing bodies and consuming their various outputs. Their breasts grew heavy and tender—he was often tasked with suckling them, not for milk (not yet), but to relieve the pressure, swallowing the salty colostrum that began to leak. His diet was now a meticulously scheduled rotation: Morning piss from Vesper after her workout, followed by her protein-rich cum. Midday piss from Juno, often as she lounged in a bath, followed by her thick, sweet load. Evening piss from Morrigan, a dark, bitter draught as she reviewed the day's business, followed by her own potent release.
Their bellies swelled—Vesper's taut and round like a basketball beneath her muscle, Juno's becoming an enormous, soft globe, Morrigan's a proud, elegant curve. They used him constantly, their hunger seemingly increased by the hormones coursing through them. He fucked them all, his cock now a tool for their pleasure and comfort rather than his own. He ate their cum from their swollen cocks, drank their piss from between their spread thighs, lapped the sweat from their bodies after their love-making.
The night they all went into labor was a symphony of controlled chaos. Vesper's came first, predictably efficient. She breathed through the contractions with the focus of an athlete, allowing Silas to hold her hand only because Morrigan ordered it. She delivered a daughter in the master bedroom, attended by a discreet, expensive private midwife. The girl was small, perfect, with a dusting of platinum hair and Vesper's assessing grey eyes. They named her Astra.
Juno's labor was loud, dramatic, and long. She screamed and cursed and demanded Silas's mouth on her cock throughout, coming even as she pushed. Her daughter was larger, with a shock of reddish-gold curls and Juno's full lips. She named her Ceres.
Morrigan's delivery was silent, intense, her jaw clenched, her hand gripping Silas's hair so tightly he thought it would tear out. Her daughter emerged serene and quiet, with hair as black as Morrigan's and the same winter-sea eyes. She was called Nyx.
Three daughters. Three new threads in the web that bound Silas to this life.
The dynamic shifted subtly with the infants in the penthouse. Silas's duties expanded to include basic infant care under strict supervision—fetching diapers, holding a bottle of pumped milk while one of the mothers fed. But his primary function remained unchanged. As the babies grew into toddlers, then young girls, they were raised in this environment. They saw Silas as a fixture—a quiet, pale man who was always available, always servicing their mothers. He was part of the furniture, part of the routine.
The mothers were not cruel to their daughters, but they were not traditionally maternal either. They were raised with a clear understanding of hierarchy, of strength, of ownership. They saw how their mothers used Silas, how he lived to serve them. It was their normal.
When the girls reached puberty, the lessons became more explicit. Morrigan, Juno, and Vesper would use Silas in front of them, explaining techniques, discussing his reactions. The girls watched with curious, analytical eyes—Astra with Vesper's clinical detachment, Ceres with Juno's playful hunger, Nyx with Morrigan's quiet intensity.
On the morning of their eighteenth birthday—a joint celebration for the triplets—Silas was summoned to the main living area. He was now in his late fifties, his body lean and worn but maintained by Vesper's relentless regimen and their constant feedings. His hair was grey, his eyes held their perpetual glaze of sated addiction.
Morrigan, Juno, and Vesper stood together, still formidable in their middle age. Beside them stood their daughters: Astra, tall and athletic like Vesper, with a sharp, beautiful face and cool eyes; Ceres, voluptuous and radiant like Juno, her curves generous and inviting; Nyx, sleek and severe like Morrigan, with an aura of dark command.
"Silas," Morrigan said, her voice still capable of freezing his blood. "Our daughters have come of age. They have been educated in all matters of control, pleasure, and ownership. It is time for their practical initiation."
Juno smiled, a mother's proud grin. "They've been so looking forward to it."
Vesper gestured to the center of the room. "Assume the presentation position."
With trembling hands—not from fear, but from a lifetime of conditioned response—Silas moved to the center of the rug and got onto his hands and knees, then lowered his chest to the floor, presenting his ass in the air, his head bowed.
The three young women approached. He could smell their perfume—similar to their mothers', but younger, sharper. Astra carried a bottle of lubricant. Ceres giggled softly. Nyx was silent.
"He's so old," Ceres whispered, not unkindly.
"Age is irrelevant," Astra stated. "His musculature is well-maintained. Anal elasticity remains within acceptable parameters according to Mother Vesper's logs."
"He belongs to us," Nyx said, her voice a younger echo of Morrigan's. "Our inheritance."
Astra knelt behind him, her cool hands spreading his cheeks. He felt the cold lubricant, then the blunt, firm pressure of a cock—straight and hard like Vesper's had been. Astra pushed into him with a single, confident thrust. The stretch was familiar, a homecoming of discomfort and subjugation.
Before he could adjust, Ceres was in front of him, her soft hands lifting his head. Her cock was already hard, thick and beautiful like Juno's, the head flushed and dripping. "Open wide, Daddy Silas," she cooed, and guided herself into his mouth.
He was filled again, front and back, by this new generation. But they weren't finished. Nyx moved to his side. She had a sleek, black strap-on harness fitted with a dildo that was a replica of Morrigan's—long, thick, curved. She didn't bother with lube for him; she used the excess dripping from where Astra was fucking him. She positioned the head at his other entrance, the one rarely used in recent years.
"This will complete the circuit," Nyx said calmly.
With Astra holding his hips steady, Nyx pushed the fake cock into his other hole. The double anal penetration was an agony of fullness he hadn't known in decades. He screamed around Ceres's cock, tears streaming down his face.
The daughters began to move in a coordinated rhythm, a brutal symphony conducted by years of observation. Astra fucked his ass with piston-like precision. Ceres face-fucked him with joyful abandon. Nyx ground the strap-on into him with relentless pressure.
They didn't speak much. They focused on their task, on using him, on claiming what was theirs. He was a relic being reactivated by new hands.
They came in order, just as their mothers had taught them. Astra first, flooding his bowels with hot cum. Then Ceres, down his throat. Finally, Nyx, who simply held the strap-on deep as she shuddered through a powerful orgasm from a bullet vibrator inside her harness.
When they pulled out of him, he collapsed into a pool of sweat, spit, and semen.
Astra wiped herself on a towel. "Stamina is reduced but adequate for a first session."
Ceres patted his head. "He tastes just like Mother said he would."
Nyx looked down at him, then at her mothers, who had watched the entire proceeding with proud smiles. "He is ours now," Nyx declared.
Morrigan nodded. "Yes. The legacy continues."
Epilogue: Twenty Years Later
The penthouse is quieter now. Morrigan, Juno, and Vesper are elegant older women, their dominance now expressed more in sharp glances and whispered commands than physical force. They spend their days managing their vast, intertwined fortunes and doting on their grandchildren.
Silas Thorne is an old man. His body is thin, his back slightly bent. But his eyes still hold that glazed devotion. He moves slowly but purposefully through the rooms.
He is called to the sunroom, where afternoon light streams in. Waiting for him are three young women in their late teens—his granddaughters. They have the fierce beauty of their grandmothers and mothers, a blend of Astra's sharpness, Ceres's lushness, and Nyx's severity.
The eldest holds a crystal decanter filled with a pale golden liquid. The second holds a leather lead. The third simply points to the floor at their feet.
Without a word, Silas shuffles forward and sinks to his knees, a lifetime of obedience etched into his bones. He tilts his head back and opens his mouth. The decanter tips; a stream of warm piss—a blended vintage from three generations of women—fills his mouth. He swallows obediently, the taste as familiar as his own heartbeat.
The lead is clipped to a collar around his thin neck. He is led away on all fours, to a room where new voices, young and demanding, await to teach him the final depths of his service.
The archive is complete. The document has been read, annotated, and passed down. Silas Thorne's devotion is eternal.