Chapter 178: +18 Morning routine complete, Orihime, Enri, Fiona, Neia, Villetta, Shirley, Milly, Kallen.

Her slender legs tremble as your tongue works her slowly, building her arousal with patient attention. She is responsive despite her attempts at military composure, her hips rolling against your mouth, soft German exclamations escaping her lips. You savor every taste, every small sound she makes, taking your time with her virgin pussy until her back arches and she comes with a muffled cry, her thighs squeezing your head.

You kiss her inner thigh and rise. "Yor will be waiting for you today."

Laura nods, her cheeks flushed. "I will be ready."

You leave Laura flushed and breathless on her bed, her slender legs still trembling from your mouth. She waves you off with a muttered German phrase that sounds like gratitude wrapped in embarrassment.

Orihime's door opens to the scent of fresh bread. She sits cross-legged on her bed in a loose cotton nightshirt, her auburn hair cascading over her shoulders, a half-eaten pastry balanced on her knee. Her grey eyes brighten immediately.

"You came! I was wondering if you would this morning."

"I always try to."

You push her back against the pillows and the pastry goes flying. She giggles as you hike her nightshirt up above her breasts, revealing her large orbs, soft stomach and the plain white panties beneath. You pull those aside and taste her, your tongue working her virgin folds with patience. Orihime's giggles dissolve into breathy moans, her fingers finding your hair, her hips rolling against your mouth with growing urgency.

"Ah, that is, you always know exactly where to," she gasps, her back arching. "Right there, please, do not stop."

You bring her to a shuddering climax that makes her entire body curl inward, her thighs squeezing your head, her voice breaking on a high note. When she collapses back against the pillows, her cheeks are crimson and her eyes are glazed with satisfaction.

"Angelica today," you remind her, kissing her inner thigh.

"I know. I have been thinking about what to show her. The healing theory, I think. She has the foundation for it."

Charlotte's room is next. You find her already dressed in a charcoal blouse and short pleated skirt, sitting at her writing desk with a cup of tea. Her blue eyes track your entrance with that particular analytical sharpness that never quite sleeps.

"You are later than I expected," she says.

"There are a lot of residents."

You spin her chair around and kneel before her. She does not resist when you push her skirt up and pull her panties down her thighs, though her jaw tightens with that familiar composure-preserving tension. Your mouth finds her and she inhales sharply through her nose, her fingers gripping the armrests.

"Olivia is waiting in the training hall," she manages, her voice strained. "I designed a three-stage assessment. Footwork, then sustained movement, then combat application."

You hum against her clit and she loses the thread of her sentence entirely. Her analytical mind surrenders in stages, each barrier crumbling as your tongue finds new angles. She comes with a choked sound she immediately tries to swallow, her thighs clamping around your ears, her knuckles white on the armrests.

She breathes when you rise. "Olivia and I will begin at eight."

You clean her with prestidigitation and leave her adjusting her skirt with trembling fingers.

Enri's room smells of earth and morning dew. She stands before her full-length mirror, brushing her blonde hair, wearing only a thin white shift. She catches your reflection and smiles.

"Good morning."

You walk up behind her and lift the shift over her head in one motion, pushing your own clothing into your inventory. Her brown eyes widen in the mirror as your hands find her breasts. You bend her forward against the mirror's edge and enter her from behind in one smooth thrust. She cries out, her palms flat against the glass.

"Watch yourself," you tell her.

Her reflection stares back at her, brown eyes wide, breasts swaying with each thrust. You drive into her with steady rhythm, watching her expression shift from light surprise to pleasure to something raw and unguarded. Her breasts bounce and jiggle beneath your hands, her nipples hardening as the cool glass presses against her palms.

"I can see," she gasps, her voice breaking. "I can see how much you want me."

Her climax builds visibly, her reflection showing every tremor, every flutter of her eyelids. She comes with a cry that echoes off the glass, her body shuddering against the mirror, and you follow moments later, finishing inside her.

She stays pressed against the glass, breathing hard, her reflection showing a woman thoroughly claimed and radiantly content.

You pull Enri around to face you, her brown eyes still glazed from her first climax, her body trembling against your chest. You turn and step back twice, positioning her directly in front of the mirror, close enough that only her face fills the glass. Her expression hovers over your shoulder, flushed and vulnerable, as you thrust upward into her from behind.

"Keep watching," you tease her.

She does. Her reflection shows every flutter of her eyelids, every parting of her lips, every moment her composure cracks. You drive into her with steady upward strokes, your hands supporting her hip and groping an exposed breast, and she can only see her own face contorting with pleasure she cannot hide.

"I can see how much I," she gasps, her voice breaking. "How much I need this."

Her second climax builds visibly in the mirror. Her brown eyes widen, her mouth opens in a silent cry, and then she shatters against you, her entire body convulsing, her fingers digging into your forearms. You hold her through it, finishing again inside her moments later as her aftershocks milk you dry.

You carry her to the bed and lay her down gently. She sinks into the pillows with a satisfied sigh, her blonde hair spread across the white sheets. You kiss down her neck to her collarbone, then lower to her breasts, taking your time with each one. She hums contentedly, too exhausted to respond with more than soft sounds of pleasure as your mouth traces lazy circles around her nipples.

"The goblins will manage without me for another hour," she murmurs, her eyes half-closed.

You kiss her forehead and dress, leaving her to rest.

The corridor outside Arche moves with Lacus, both women flanking the twins who wear matching teal dresses with small white bows at their collars, their hair braided identically today.

"Good morning," Arche says, her expression warm.

You kiss her gently on the lips. "I apologize for not being fast enough to wake you this morning."

She smiles against your mouth. "You have many women. We understand."

You turn to Lacus and kiss her the same way. "The same for you."

Lacus tilts her head, pink hair swaying. "I slept wonderfully regardless."

You crouch before the twins. "Your outfits look beautiful today. New bows?"

Kuuderika beams. "Lacus helped us pick them!"

Ureirika nods enthusiastically. "She said the white matches the snow!"

Lacus kneels beside them. "Shall we find breakfast?"

The four of them head toward the main hall, the twins chattering happily between the two older women.

Yor's room is dim, the curtains still drawn. She lies on her side, dark hair spilling across the pillow, her assassin's body relaxed in sleep. You pull the sheets aside and lower your mouth to her virgin folds. She wakes with a sharp intake of breath, her hands finding your hair.

"You came," she whispers, her voice thick with sleep and pleasure.

You bring her to climax with patient attention, her thighs trembling around your head, a soft cry escaping her lips that carries more genuine emotion than any sound she made during her brainwashed years.

Fiona's room is next. The silver-haired operative sits upright in bed, already awake, her ice-blue eyes tracking your entrance composed alertness that never fully sleeps. You push her back against the pillows and taste her, and her mask cracks almost immediately, a breathy gasp breaking through her professional facade.

"Kallen will be waiting," she manages, her fingers tightening in your hair.

You bring her to a shuddering climax that leaves her staring at the ceiling with unfocused eyes, her composure thoroughly dismantled.

You leave Fiona staring at the ceiling with unfocused ice-blue eyes and step into the corridor. The morning sun streams through the tall windows, warming the stone floors. Near the junction to the main hall, you spot Neia emerging from her room, bow slung across her back, blue shirt already tucked into her red skirt.

"Neia," you call.

She turns, her pale features brightening. "Good morning, Master. I was just heading to find Lucy."

"Come with me first."

She follows without hesitation, her boots clicking against the stone. You lead her to Villetta's door and push it open. The dark-skinned soldier sits on the edge of her bed in her half-cup maid outfit, her braless breasts barely supported by the open cups, her legs crossed at the ankle. She looks up with that gentle amnesia-softened expression.

"Alicia already left for breakfast," Villetta says. "She said she would find me there."

"She will. For now, I want you both."

Villetta's brown eyes flick to Neia, who stands in the doorway with pink creeping up her neck. The squire's fingers fidget with her bow strap.

"Neia," you say, your voice low and commanding. "Expose yourself and lie on the bed."

Neia swallows. Her hands move to the buttons of her blue shirt, fingers trembling only slightly. She has done this before. The fabric parts to reveal her slender torso, her small cream-colored breasts rising with quickened breath. She unbuttons her skirt and lets it fall, stepping out of it in her white undergarments, then removes those too. Her body is lean and athletic, the muscles of a squire visible beneath pale skin that has rarely seen sustained sun. She climbs onto the bed and lies back against the pillows, her dark hair fanning out, her grey eyes fixed on the ceiling.

You strip and mount Villetta from the front, pushing her maid outfit up around her waist. She gasps as you enter her, her chocolate breasts bouncing free from the half-cups with the first thrust. You set a rhythm that makes her dark flesh ripple and sway, her full breasts jumping with each impact, nipples hardening against the cool air.

Beside you, Neia lies exposed, her slender cream peaks pointing toward the ceiling, her body taut with anticipation. You lower your mouth to her virgin folds while continuing to thrust into Villetta, and the squire cries out, her hands gripping the sheets.

The contrast is exquisite. Villetta's rich dark skin, her generous curves bouncing with every stroke, her deep moans resonating through the room. Neia's pale slender frame trembling beneath your tongue, her small breasts quivering with each gasp, her voice breaking on high notes she tries desperately to suppress.

"Ah, please," Neia whimpers, her hips rolling against your mouth. "I can't, I am going to"

Villetta reaches over and takes Neia's hand. The squire squeezes it desperately as her climax tears through her, her back arching off the bed, a sound escaping her throat that is pure surrender. You drive deeper into Villetta and she follows moments later, her dark breasts heaving, her thighs clamping around your waist.

You finish inside Villetta with a groan, your hands gripping her bouncing chest, your mouth still wet with Neia's taste.

The three of you lie tangled together for a long moment, breathing hard. Neia's cheeks are crimson, her grey eyes glazed. Villetta strokes the squire's hair with surprising tenderness.

"You should find Lucy," you tell Neia, kissing up to her breasts. "She will likely be at the breakfast table."

Neia nods, gathering her clothes with trembling fingers. "Thank you, Master."

She dresses quickly and slips from the room, still flushed.

You clean with prestidigitation and leave Villetta's room, the dark-skinned maid stretching contentedly across her rumpled sheets. The corridor is quiet at this hour, most of the household occupied with their pairings or breakfast.

Shirley's door opens to warm morning light filtering through lace curtains. She sits at her vanity, brushing her orange hair loose around her shoulders, wearing her open-cup maid outfit with the strapless bra and tight shorts beneath. Her amber eyes find yours in the mirror and she smiles.

"I was wondering when you would come."

You walk up behind her and tilt her chin, kissing her slowly. Her lips part beneath yours, soft and yielding, her hand reaching up to cup your cheek. The kiss deepens, her tongue meeting yours with gentle warmth. When you pull back, her cheeks are flushed.

"Come with me," you say.

She rises without question, following you down the hall to Milly's room. The student council president sits on her bed in her half-cup maid outfit, a book open on her lap, her blue eyes lifting with surprise as you enter with Shirley in tow.

"Both of us?" Milly asks, setting the book aside.

"Both of you."

You push Milly back against the pillows and lift her maid outfit, pulling her shorts down her thighs. She gasps as your mouth finds her virgin folds, your tongue working her deliberately slow. You take your time, building her arousal in measured strokes, savoring every twitch of her hips and every breathless sound she makes.

Shirley watches from beside the bed, her amber eyes dark with desire as she removes her bra. You pull her close and position her on her back next to Milly, pushing her shorts aside and entering her in one smooth thrust. She cries out, her breasts bouncing free from the open cups as you begin moving.

"Milly," you say between thrusts, your mouth still wet from her taste. "Do you know you are the last virgin from your world?"

Her blue eyes widen. "What?"

"Villetta, Kallen, Shirley, Euphemia. You are the only one left."

Milly's cheeks burn crimson. "That is not fair, you cannot say that while I am"

You lower your mouth to her again and her sentence dissolves into a moan. You match your rhythm on Shirley to your tongue on Milly, building them both toward the same peak. Shirley's fingers grip the sheets, her orange hair splayed across the pillow, her breasts swaying with each thrust.

"I am going to," Shirley gasps, her back arching.

You drive deeper into her and press your tongue firmly against Milly's clit. They climax together, Shirley crying out your name, Milly's thighs clamping around your head as her body convulses. You finish inside Shirley with a groan, your hips pressed flush against hers.

Before either can recover, you shift back to Milly, your mouth finding her again. She whimpers, oversensitive from her first climax, but you coax a second from her with patient attention, her fingers tangled in your hair, her blue eyes squeezed shut.

When she finally collapses, trembling, you stretch out between them and pull both women against your chest. Your hands find their breasts, one hand cupping Milly's curves, the other squeezing Shirley's shape. You trace lazy circles around their nipples, savoring the different textures, the different sounds they make.

"You are cruel," Milly murmurs, her voice still shaky. "Telling me that while doing this."

"I am honest, and wanted to tease you." you reply, kissing her forehead.

Shirley nestles closer, her amber eyes half-closed. "She will come around eventually. We all did."

Milly does not respond, but her hand finds Shirley's and squeezes.

You spend another long minute tracing lazy circles around Milly's nipples, her blue eyes half-lidded with satisfaction, while Shirley nestles against your other side with her amber gaze already drifting toward sleepiness. Milly's hand still holds Shirley's, their fingers intertwined across your chest.

"You should both get moving," you say, kissing the crown of Milly's head. "Shirley has you for the entire day."

Milly stretches, her half-cup maid outfit still disheveled from your attention. "I suppose I cannot lie here forever. Though you make a compelling argument for it."

Shirley sits up with a yawn, adjusting her open-cup maid outfit. "Come on, Milly. Classes will start and end without us if we stay."

You dress and watch them leave together, Shirley's orange hair bouncing as she chatters about plants, Milly listening with that analytical attention she brings to everything.

Kallen's door is three corridors down. You push it open without knocking and find her sprawled across her bed in training clothes, red hair tied back in a practical tail, one leg bouncing with barely contained impatience. Her amber eyes snap to you immediately.

"Finally," she says, sitting up. "I heard multiple girls screaming your name through the morning. Do you have any idea how long that makes a person wait?"

"Thank you for your patience."

"I was not patient. I was furious." She grabs the front of your shirt and pulls you down onto the bed. "Now fix it."

You kiss her hard and she responds with that competitive fire that defines everything she does, her tongue meeting yours aggressively, her hands already working at your clothing. You push her training top up and grope her breasts firmly, the way she likes it, and she groans into your mouth.

"Fiona is waiting," you say against her lips.

"Fiona can wait another ten minutes."

You strip her training clothes off and take her from behind, one hand gripping her red hair, the other squeezing her breast. She cries out with each thrust, her competitive nature translating into demanding more, harder, faster. You give her exactly what she wants, pounding into her until her voice breaks and she comes with a shout that probably carries through half the manor.

You finish inside her and she collapses forward onto the pillows, breathing hard, her red hair spread across the white sheets.

"Could you let everyone know I will not be attending breakfast today?" you ask, cleaning her with prestidigitation and pulling her training clothes back into place.

Kallen rolls over, her amber eyes still glazed. "You are skipping breakfast after making me wait that long?"

"I have been servicing women since dawn. I've quite had my fill of breakfast."

She snorts, a genuine laugh breaking through her brusque exterior. "Fine. I will tell them. But you owe me another round tonight."

"Deal."

She pulls her hair tie tighter and reaches for her boots. "Fiona is probably doing breathing exercises in the training hall. That woman treats sparring like a diplomatic negotiation."

You kiss her forehead and she leaves, her red ponytail swaying as she walks with a particular post-sex looseness in her stride that she would deny if anyone mentioned it.