Champion Of Lust: Gods Conquer's Harem Paradise!

The corrupted glow of Pyris's aura—pink-gold, drenched in the sins of a thousand lifetimes—still coiled around them like smoke in a temple. But this was no place of worship.

This was the altar.

Her thighs were trembling, soaked, parted. Her lace clung to her slit like a dripping offering, her clit erect, her inner muscles still fluttering with leftover pulses of pleasure. And Pyris, that corrupted vision of pink-gold temptation, was still kneeling—his lips glistening with her juice, eyes lit like stormlight.

"Well, such an unforgettable and indistinctive taste~"

But Esmeralda, breath ragged, gaze electric, pushed him back with shaking hands.

"I need… to see it," she whispered.

He rose slowly, that grin never leaving his lips. "You sure you're ready?"

She didn't answer.

And Esmeralda willingly knelt before it.

Her knees sank into the thick carpet in front of him, her thighs still trembling, her hair cascading like crimson rivers down her back. Her lace panties were soaked—ruined from the earlier kiss of his tongue—and her lips glistened with breathless resolve. She looked up at him, eyes aflame, hands braced on his hips.

She wasn't just looking at a man.

She was looking at the Champion of Corrupted Lust, the embodiment of everything her noble bloodline told her to fear—and her body was betraying every command to run.

Her fingers moved slowly, reverently, undoing the last clasp of his slacks. And when she freed him—fully, finally—the sheer weight of his cock dropping before her made her breath hitch.

It dropped.

He dropped.

It was monstrous.

Her breath caught. The weight of him fell out—long, thick, glistening with veined heat, glowing faintly with golden-pink corruption at the base. Even soft, he looked more weapon than man. She wrapped her fingers around the base—and still couldn't fully encircle it. She needed both hands.

"My gods," she whispered. "What are you made of?"

He didn't answer. He just watched.

Veins pulsing in golden-pink fire. Every inch radiating heat and malevolent beauty. The length too thick for her fingers to wrap around entirely. The crown swollen, gleaming, already dripping with anticipation. She tried—both hands working slowly up and down the shaft—but she couldn't even close around it.

She looked up at him, dazed. "You were born to destroy women."

Pyris smirked. "No," he murmured, stepping just a little closer, his voice dropping to a growl. "I was born to own them."

"I can… barely hold this," she whispered.

Pyris chuckled, voice dipped in sin. "Try."

She lowered her face, pressing a kiss to the thick underside, her lips trembling as they met hot, living flesh. The taste of his skin was already addictive—tinged with the same aura as his Lust Breath, thick with corrupted energy that made her body clench again between the thighs just from contact.

She dragged her tongue along the underside, slow, reverent. Her fangs grazed it—just a little. She couldn't even take the head into her mouth yet. It was too thick, too large.

But she tried.

Her tongue swirled the tip, kissed the crown, licked every drop of his pre cum that shimmered like liquified honey. Her lips parted around the head, her jaw straining, her throat twitching.

She gagged before even taking half.

But she didn't stop.

She pulled back, drool connecting her lips to him in wet strings. Her red eyes flicked up to meet his, still full of lust and awe.

"You're impossible," she whispered.

"You said you wanted to taste me," he said with a smirk.

"I want… all of it. I want to be ruined by it."

Her hand stroked him now, up and down that divine shaft—slick, slow, her thumb teasing the crown. The corrupted aura clung to her skin now too, her fingers glowing faintly where they gripped him. Every stroke sent shivers up his spine—but Pyris didn't move.

He just watched her stroke it, kiss, and try her best to worship what she couldn't yet fully take.

And she smiled through it.

Because she would take it.

Soon.

Then his hands moved.

Down her shoulders. Over the arch of her back. The Lust Body ability activated with his touch—his very skin radiating corrupted pleasure. When he dragged his palms across her arms, her body reacted violently—hips jerking, nipples tightening under black lace, breath choking from her throat.

"You…" she gasped, leaning her cheek against his thigh. "You make me feel…"

"I know," he said.

And he did. Every moan she released, every twitch of her muscles felt like it was transmitted to him through the still-glowing Dragon's Seal at her core. Apart from Seraphina she was the only one with the Dragon's seal!

She resumed worshiping him.

Her tongue dragged across the underside of his shaft—slow, luxurious, savoring the sheer heat pulsing from his skin. His scent was overpowering. Corrupted. Divine filth. It fogged her thoughts, clouded her instincts, made her crave more with every inhale.

Her lips brushed the crown. Then kissed it.

Then—she moaned.

The taste was addictive. Slightly sweet. Metallic. It shouldn't have been, but it was… perfect.

She opened her mouth to take him in—but again, couldn't.

Still, she tried. She licked along the veins. Swirled her tongue around the head. Dragged wet kisses along the shaft while stroking what she couldn't fit.

And Pyris?

His eyes were on her every second.

But he wasn't passive. No, his corrupted lust was too wild, too dominant.

His hands slid back down—palms teasing her bare shoulders, lower back, then cupping the soft curve of her ass still barely hidden by the hiked-up hem of her ruined dress. He gripped her cheeks firmly, parting them just enough to tease the lace still clinging to her soaked heat.

And then he touched her.

Just one finger.

One corrupted, glowing, Lust-Blessed finger—pressed between her thighs, stroking the fabric of her panties directly against her folds.

She screamed into his cock.

It wasn't pain. It wasn't even surprise. It was shockwave-level pleasure.

Her body trembled. Her moans vibrated against his shaft. And Pyris kept touching her.

His fingers traced slow, cruel circles over her soaked panties—never entering, just torturing her with motion. The soaked fabric clung to her lips, her clit swollen and needy, her thighs soaked with her own dripping desire.

"Sensitive," he murmured.

"Too much," she whimpered.

"You don't want me to stop."

She didn't answer.

Instead, she opened her mouth again—tongue out, breath hot—and began slowly licking him again. Her hands worked him with maddening reverence while his finger toyed with her.

She moaned around the head.

He growled at the vibration.

His other hand moved—up her body, sliding under the torn strap of her dress, lifting her full, perfect breast into his palm. He groaned.

"Gods," he muttered, pinching the nipple. "Your tits were made for corruption."

Her whole body jerked. The pressure of his fingers on her nipple combined with the teasing at her heat was too much.

She moaned again, messier, louder, jaw slack, eyes glazed.

Her thighs were twitching. Her back arching. She was grinding slightly—grinding against his finger as if she didn't even realize it.

"You're close again," he said softly.

"N-no," she lied.

"You'll cum from my hand," he warned.

"I already did," she whispered.

He smiled darkly. "And I'm still not inside you."

Then, with one final move, he licked his thumb and reached between her thighs, stroking the soaked fabric directly against her core in small, tight circles.

Her thighs clenched. Her hands gripped his cock like she'd fall without it.

"Pyris—!"

"You're mine, Esmeralda," he whispered, bending slightly to kiss her ear. "Kneeling. Moaning. Soaked. Ruined. Mine."

Her moan shattered.

But her body—didn't break yet.

Because he wouldn't let it.