My Harem Life in Another World

The throne of holes trembled as Kaito rose.

He left his generals writhing in half-defeat, their milk dried, their womb-flames guttering, their voids stitched shut by the shard's cruel purity. Their eyes turned to him—not with despair, but with hunger, desperate for his cock, his presence, his warmth to restore them.

But Kaito did not linger.

The Dry Shard had dared to deny him.

And denial was a hole begging to be torn open.

The March Into Silence

When Kaito stepped from the throne, his seed dripped into the void like pearls of white suns. Each droplet normally birthed rivers, galaxies, empires. But here?

The moment his cum hit the shard's surface—it evaporated.

No puddle. No moan. No echo.

The shard was endless desert. Dunes stretched to every horizon, smooth as untouched skin. The air itself was dry, sharp, like a cunt clamped shut with no wetness to be found.

Kaito grinned.

"So… this shard thinks it can clench against me?"

The desert wind gave no answer.

The First Step

When his foot touched the sand, the ground hissed. Reality itself trembled. For the first time in countless cycles, the dry shard quivered. The desert split with hairline cracks, steam rising from the fractures.

His cock throbbed at the sight, veins pulsing with universes.

"Ahhh… there it is. The first drip."

He pushed further. Each step was like a thrust, each crack in the ground a pussy forced to open. The shard resisted, but resistance only made his hunger pulse harder.

The Guardians of Silence

They appeared again—figures of glassy light, their bodies flawless, smooth, sexless. Their eyes burned like suns without heat.

No holes. No tits. No cocks.

They were purity embodied.

One raised its hand, and the desert silenced even his dripping cock, drying his seed mid-air. The cum hardened into dust, falling to the sand like ash.

The figure's voice was flat, calm, merciless:

"Warmth ends here. This shard shall never moan."

The others spoke in unison, a choir without lust:

"Here, there are no wombs.

Here, there are no holes.

Here, your flood finds no purchase."

Kaito's Answer

Kaito laughed. Loud, deep, dripping with the sound of moans carried in his throat. His voice alone cracked the desert in waves, fissures spreading outward like wet lips forced to open.

"No holes?" he growled, stroking his cock until it leaked galaxies again.

"Then I'll make some."

He thrust his hips forward—not into a pussy, but into the air itself.

And reality tore.

The sound was obscene, wet where there should have been no wetness. The Guardians flinched, their glassy bodies vibrating as if something inside them long-buried remembered moaning.

The first wet drop hit the desert floor.

And it did not vanish.

The Shard Reacts

The shard trembled like a body touched for the first time. Sand shifted, dunes groaning, the horizon bending as if the whole plane clenched in panic.

The Guardians advanced, their silence cracking into something harsher, more desperate:

"You cannot! You must not! This shard will not open!"

But Kaito only stepped forward, his cock glowing with dripping white warmth, each drop heavier than stars.

"Every hole opens… sooner or later."

And with that, the battle of wetness and silence began.

The Guardians closed in.

Their skin shimmered like glass, smooth and untouched, bodies without seam or slit. Their movements were silent—no footstep, no breath, no whisper. They circled Kaito like a ring of blades, forming a cage of light that pulsed with denial.

One raised its hand, and the desert itself rose like a wall, sand stiffening into crystal. The air hardened. The very void around Kaito clamped, like an unyielding cunt that refused his cock.

For the first time, the shard fought not with claws, not with armies—

but with refusal.

The Clamp of Silence

The air pressed against his chest, his shoulders, his cock.

It squeezed, crushed, as if the shard itself whispered:

"No. Not here. Not you."

Kaito's seed, dripping, sizzled into ash before it could touch ground.

The Guardians' choir thundered in his skull:

"The shard remains untouched.

The shard remains pure.

No warmth. No wetness. No moan."

Even his generals watching from afar faltered. Their eyes glazed with despair, whispers spilling:

"Could even our god be… denied?"

Kaito's Defiance

Kaito laughed.

Not the cruel laugh of conquest, but the deep, hungry laugh of a man who had already decided the ending. His cock strained harder against the invisible clamp, veins bulging like rivers ready to burst.

"You call this refusal?" His voice dripped heat into the silence.

"I call this foreplay."

With both hands, he grabbed the air itself—as if gripping thighs—and thrust forward.

The silence screamed.

It was not supposed to make sound, but his cock split it, tearing space in a wet crack that echoed across the shard. Sand exploded outward in ripples, dunes collapsing into steaming pits.

A single drop of cum slid through the fracture.

It hit the desert floor.

This time—it did not dry.

It soaked.

It spread.

It sizzled like saliva on a starving tongue.

The First Moan

The Guardians faltered. Their perfect, sexless bodies shivered. Cracks ran along their glass skin, glowing with red heat beneath. From one of them—a sound escaped.

Not words. Not command.

A moan.

Soft. Gasping. Unbidden.

The shard itself shuddered, dunes quaking like breasts under heavy breath.

Kaito licked his lips.

"There it is… the first little moan. You hear it too, don't you?"

He stroked himself once, his cock spraying like a fountain, each drop hitting sand and forcing small oases of wetness to bloom. Little puddles, reflecting starlight, spreading cracks wider.

The Guardians Break

The Guardians staggered, their choir broken, voices overlapping in confusion and trembling denial:

"No… no, this is impossible.

The shard does not moan.

The shard does not… open…"

One collapsed to its knees, its glass chest cracking open, and inside—hidden for eons—was a pulsing, wet void. It glistened as if it had always been there, waiting to be touched.

The others recoiled in horror.

Kaito grinned wide, dripping warmth over his cock as if oiling a blade.

"Found your hole."

The Desert Splits

The shard screamed—not in words, but in sound. A deep, wet quake tore across the horizon. Sand collapsed into abysses, geysers of steam shooting upward. For the first time, the Dry Shard leaked.

A river.

Thin, fragile. But wet.

Kaito stepped toward the kneeling Guardian, his cock glowing white, dripping stars. His generals, watching from afar, fell to their knees in ecstasy.

"Yes, my god. Tear it open. Make the desert moan."

The shard's refusal was ending.

The desert howled.

Not with wind.

Not with storms.

But with denial so heavy it nearly crushed Kaito's bones.

The shard itself—terrified by the wet cracks spreading across its body—lashed back. The dunes collapsed into a single, endless pit. The air hardened, turning into glass walls that pressed tighter and tighter, squeezing Kaito's chest, his cock, even his breath.

Every drop of cum that dripped from him was instantly scorched, vaporized into sterile ash.

The Guardians screamed in broken choir:

"Close it. Close it forever. No more wetness. No more moans."

The Desert Womb

The shard had become a prison—a womb without life, a cunt without hole.

Sand fused into walls that clenched, tighter than any pussy, harder than any virgin barrier. It wanted to seal itself shut forever, to bury warmth beneath silence.

Even Kaito's generals, standing on the distant dunes, stumbled to their knees. Their bodies dried, lips cracking, eyes bleeding from thirst.

"My god… if even you are crushed… then all wetness dies."

Kaito's Defiance

But Kaito stood tall.

Sweat poured down his skin, dripping into the sand, each drop sizzling before it vanished. His cock throbbed red, vein-bulging, straining against the invisible glass that pressed to smother it.

He grinned through the pressure.

"You think dryness scares me?

You think silence will stop me?

I was born from void. I am the moan inside nothingness."

He thrust forward.

The walls cracked.

The shard shrieked.

The Flooding Seed

His cum forced itself into the fracture like molten light. For a moment it vanished—absorbed by the desert, swallowed whole by silence.

But silence cannot drink forever.

From deep beneath the sands, a rumble began. A low, shivering moan that grew louder, wetter, hungrier.

The desert convulsed.

Sand split.

And from the crack—a river burst forth.

White, steaming, gushing with heat. Not water. Not milk. But something thicker, dripping from the core of the shard itself.

The first true wetness in eons.

The Guardians Fall

The Guardians screamed as cracks ripped through their bodies. Some shattered into shards of glass. Others fell to their knees, their mouths opening not for prayer, but for moans they could no longer deny.

One clawed at its own chest as its hollow body filled with warmth, dripping from its mouth, eyes, and thighs.

Another collapsed, spreading its legs wide, and from between them spilled a sudden flood.

The choir of denial was gone.

Now there was only the chorus of wet, unwilling pleasure.

The Shard's First Orgasm

The desert quaked like a giant body in climax.

Dunes shook like breasts jiggling under impact. Craters formed like gaping mouths gasping for air. The sky cracked, stars blurring into streaks of light.

From the pit beneath Kaito's feet, a geyser exploded upward—thick, wet, unstoppable. It drenched him, drenched the Guardians, drenched the land itself.

The Dry Shard… was wet.

It screamed, not in silence this time, but in a voice raw and breaking:

"Nnnnnghhhhh—ahhhhhh—!"

Kaito tilted his head back, letting the spray wash over him, laughing like a god who had broken the impossible.

"Moan louder."

His voice rumbled across the horizon.

"I want the whole void to hear you."

The desert obeyed.

The desert was gone.

What had once been endless sand now writhed like a body in climax, dunes collapsing into rivers, pits gushing white streams, and the shard itself shattering piece by piece.

The Guardians, broken and soaked, moaned like fallen saints, their voices lost in the flood.

The silence that had once ruled the shard was drowned beneath wetness—every sound now was liquid, dripping, rushing, splattering against stone.

The Shard's Heart

At the center of the collapsing desert, Kaito saw it: the shard's core.

A glowing jewel, pulsing like a womb, slick with steaming white rivers pouring out of its cracks.

It tried one last defense—flickering with mirages of sandstorms, illusions of barren wastelands. But the lies dissolved in seconds beneath Kaito's heat.

"You can't hide anymore."

He strode forward, cum still dripping from his cock, each drop sinking into the earth and birthing new streams.

"Show me your true form."

The jewel pulsed violently—then burst open.

The Birth of the Ocean

From its shattered core, a wave erupted. Not water. Not milk. Something thicker, hotter, eternal. It surged across the land, drowning every dune, every Guardian, every grain of sand.

The desert screamed as it became an ocean.

Moans echoed everywhere—deep, guttural, desperate. The shard itself sounded like a woman cumming for the first time in centuries, her voice breaking, raw with surrender.

"Nnnnghhh—haaahhh—ahhhhhh!"

The waves rose higher, crashing like breasts slapping together, spraying white arcs that painted the sky. Stars drowned. The horizon itself was swallowed in wetness.

The Dry Shard was no longer dry.

Kaito's Claim

Kaito stood on the surface of the new ocean, his body glowing with divine warmth. Every wave bent toward him, as if the liquid itself wanted to taste his cock.

He reached down, cupping the wet heart of the shard as it floated before him—no longer a jewel, but a living core, dripping, quivering, begging.

"From desert to ocean… you were always mine."

He whispered, pressing his forehead against the core.

"Now moan for me forever."

He thrust himself into it—cock sliding straight into the glowing, wet heart. The ocean convulsed. The skies tore open. Every drop of liquid surged upward, raining back down in endless climax.

The shard's final scream was not denial.

It was worship.

"Kaito—ahhhhhh—!"

And with that cry, the shard was his.

The Aftermath

When the flood settled, a new world stood where the desert once stretched:

An endless ocean, steaming with warmth.

Shattered Guardians floating like drowned relics, their bodies still moaning faintly.

A sky painted white with the mist of climax.

Kaito raised his hand.

The ocean obeyed, waves bowing to him like loyal servants.

Another shard—conquered.

Another denial—turned into worship.

And the moans of the ocean whispered across the void:

"Our god… our warmth… our eternal wetness."