Harem Ascension: My Gifted Domination System

A night had passed.

Traces of Roland and Mrs. Miura's passionate encounters could be found throughout the living room, balcony, master bedroom, kitchen, and even outdoors.

Each change of scenery was initiated by Mrs. Miura, who eagerly dragged him along. While the kitchen and outdoor locations were understandable, her decision to bring him to the master bedroom remained baffling.

That was her marital bed, the very place she shared with her husband and conceived her daughter. Yet, while her husband was working late, she had brazenly brought another man into their sacred space and indulged in a night of unrestrained passionate sex.

To defile that bed with the filth of another man, making it feel disgustingly sticky with just a glance, and then to writhe together in such a repulsive place for hours... it was truly... so debauched, so exhilarating!

Locked in a tight embrace, Mrs. Miura faced Roland. The organ that had just injected her womb with its lethal payload remained stubbornly erect, still pressing against her inner walls. How could she possibly pull away?

Inseparable, forever bound together—she wanted to break down in this ecstasy, she wanted to be ravaged!

Driven mad, Mrs. Miura seized the moment during their lovemaking and rolled the bedsheets tightly around their entwined bodies.

Now, the two were cocooned like caterpillars within the sheets and blankets. As long as one refused to stop, the other had no escape.

This meant Roland could never withdraw from her body, never end his brutal assault!

"Come on! Fuck me! Keep going!"

Mrs. Miura forced Roland to thrust deeper, kissing his mouth—a mouth she had already ravaged countless times, yet still found endlessly intoxicating, especially when paired with his relentless movements. She would soon be rolling her eyes back in ecstasy again.

"Ah~! So good! Fuck me! Fuck me to death! Harder! Harder!"

Mrs. Miura's eyes rolled back, her tongue lolling as she screamed and writhed, clinging to Roland's body in a frenzy of violent thrusts.

As her thrusts grew faster and more forceful, she reached another climax, enveloped in the viscous embrace of the bed.

Ahhh!

It's coming! That sticky sensation is back!

Her abdomen was flooded with a thick, viscous sensation, while her body was completely enveloped in the same sticky, all-encompassing feeling.

So disgusting!

Absolutely disgusting!

Yet this repulsive sensation drew her back again and again, pulling her into a spiral of depravity from which she couldn't escape.

I want to drown in this disgusting, sticky hell!

Again! Again! Again!

Without a word, Mrs. Miura resumed her frenzied assault, as if her stamina were limitless. Her mind was consumed by a single thought:

Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me harder!

Roland, of course, granted her wish, completely corrupting her.

The two spent the entire night in this debauched frenzy, not stopping even as dawn broke.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Miura's husband, who had been working overtime all night, returned home.

"I'm home," he said, his voice sounding utterly exhausted as he opened the door. The night's overtime had clearly taken its toll, leaving him looking haggard.

I bet the more fun his wife had with me last night, the more grueling his overtime was, Roland thought.

"Yumiko?"

Mr. Miura stepped inside and immediately spotted Yumiko sprawled on the sofa. She seemed to be sleeping soundly, with a faint smell of alcohol lingering around her.

Combined with the unwashed dishes and empty wine bottles in the dining room, and the creamy substance splattered on the floor, it looked like the mother and daughter had thrown quite the party last night.

But why was there cream?

Could it have been Yumiko's birthday yesterday?

Wait, isn't there cream smeared on Yumiko's clothes?

Looks like the mother and daughter had a cream fight last night! I missed the cream fight.

Sigh, I'm such a terrible father. Always buried in work, leaving early and coming home late, all to provide a warm home for them. And I completely forgot my daughter's birthday, such an important day.

It had indeed been a long time since he'd celebrated his daughter's birthday. His wife had been so thoughtful last night, doing something truly wonderful.

Since his daughter was sound asleep, he decided not to disturb her.

After a night of exhaustion, he felt on the verge of collapse and had no energy to think about anything else. All he wanted now was to return to his room and rest properly.

Dragging his half-dead body, Mr. Miura wearily climbed the stairs. Meanwhile, in the room above, Mrs. Keiko Miura, recently injected with another dose of viscous fluid, listened to the approaching footsteps with terror.

She clearly knew her husband had returned, yet she was still frantically making love with another man.

If he were to witness this scene, the consequences... she couldn't even imagine what might happen!

No, she couldn't let her husband find out. They had to hide and continue slowly. But what about the bedsheets and bedding?

The bed was now a revolting mess after their all-night frenzy. If her husband saw the stains, he'd surely realize the true nature of that "cream."

But there wasn't enough time to change the sheets. Her husband was already approaching, and they had to make a decision in an instant.

"The bathroom! Take everything in there!" Roland urged.

"That's all we can do!" Mrs. Miura gritted her teeth, rolled off the bed, and quickly spread out the blanket that had been wrapped around them.

Then, with one hand gripping the sheet and the other clutching the blanket, she let Roland carry her into the bathroom, where he locked the door behind them.

A few seconds later, Mr. Miura appeared in the master bedroom.

An odd, unfamiliar scent hung in the air—a mix of sweat and something else—causing him to frown slightly.

And what was wrong with the bed?

Why were only the pillows left on it?

"Honey, are you in there?" Mr. Miura called out, glancing at the tightly locked bathroom door.

"Ah~! Yes, I'm here! Taking a bath!" Mrs. Miura replied hastily.

But something about her "ah" sounded... off.

Still, these were minor concerns. He quickly shifted to the main issue: "Where's the blanket from the bed?"

"I took it to be washed. It's been used for so long, it was time for a cleaning," she explained.

"It hasn't been that long, has it?"

"Anyway, it's already washed. If you're tired, just lie down on the bed and make do."

"Alright, I'll go to the bathroom first... Why is it locked?"

"I'm using the toilet, of course I locked it!"

"But weren't you taking a shower?"

"I'm doing both at the same time. What's the problem?"

"Fine, fine, I'll go use the one outside."

For some reason, Mr. Miura sensed a hint of impatience in his wife's tone. But considering the circumstances, it wasn't surprising. Last night, his wife had specially prepared a birthday celebration for their daughter, but he had to work late and couldn't make it back.

As a result, the extra cream had gone to waste, ending up smeared on their daughter's face. It was only natural for his wife to be upset.

Could this be why she deliberately took the blanket away to keep him from sleeping? Fine, fine, it's all my fault. I'll take the blame.

Mr. Miura reluctantly went to use the bathroom outside. Meanwhile, things were getting strange again inside the bathroom.

Just having Roland's cock inside her, even without moving, felt incredibly good. Mrs. Miura couldn't resist the urge any longer.

"Fuck me!"

Mrs. Miura pleaded, her desire as desperate as a toilet's need to be flushed.