Chapter 222: Worst Keynote Address Ever

And then... she cums.

"Gonna flood this cunt," I snarled, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. "Gonna pump you so full it leaks down your thighs. You want it? Beg for my seed."

The clone’s pussy clenches around me, her body shaking, her wings flaring wide as she screams. The real Channel on stage does the same, her back arching, her voice breaking as she comes undone in front of everyone.

The crowd on the stream erupts, their cheers deafening, their phones flashing as they capture every second of it.

I don’t stop. I keep fucking her, my cocks still buried deep inside her, the thick coils of my lower body slamming forward, my tail keeping her locked in place.

The clone’s body trembles, her pussy still fluttering around me, her voice a broken whimper. The real Channel’s voice is the same, her words slurring together, her body still jerking with every thrust.

"Yes- ah! yes—fill me—breed this clone pussy—make her feel every drop!" she sobbed, body locking up.

I don’t care about the crowd. I don’t care about the cameras. Who gives a fuck about them? All that matters is the way her pussy clenches around me, the way she trembles, the way her voice breaks as she begs for more. She’s just my fuck toy, my personal onahole. And everyone gets to watch.

"Fucking—yes—YES-!"

I slam into her one last time, my cocks pulsing, my cum shooting deep inside her. The clone’s body jerks, her pussy clenching around me, milking me dry. The real Channel on stage does the same, her voice breaking as she cum’s again, her body shaking, her wings fluttering uselessly.

audience was watching in stunned silence. The clone collapses onto the bed, her body trembling, her wings limp. The real Channel on stage does the same, her hands gripping the podium, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The crowd’s cheers fade into murmurs, their phones still out, their eyes still locked on the stage.

I pull out of her, my cocks dripping with cum, her juices coating my shafts. The clone’s pussy gapes open, my cum dripping out of her, her body still trembling. The real Channel on stage is the same, her legs shaking, her body still jerking with aftershocks.I don’t say anything. I don’t need to.

The crowd’s murmurs grow louder, their voices blending together into a single, hungry roar. They don’t know what just happened. They don’t know she’s been ruined, that she’s been used, that she’s been fucked in front of everyone.

But I do and I don’t give a fuck.

I just keep humming, my scales vibrating against her skin, my tail keeping her locked in place. The clone’s body trembles, her pussy still fluttering, her voice a broken whimper. The real Channel on stage is the same, her voice a broken whisper, her body still jerking with aftershocks.

I don’t let go.

I don’t let her go, not until I’m done. My coils tighten, lifting her and flipping her onto her back before she can even gasp. She’s still shaking, still leaking, but I don’t care. I pin her with my body, using my prehensile tail to hook her legs and pull them back, spreading her wide. I shift her, angling her pussy so it’s aimed right at the crowd on the live stream, a perfect shot for every camera in the casino.

Somewhere down there, a big orange cat lady in a suit that costs more than my old apartment jumps to her feet and screams, "FUCK HER IN THE PUSSY! GREAT SHOW!"

That’s the president of Ami City, I think?

The whole world should be watching this. Her title means nothing, but I respect the enthusiasm. She knows a good show when she sees one.

The clone’s eyes go wide, panicked, glassy, like she just remembered there’s an audience and the audience just remembered she exists. Her wings twitch. Her mouth opens like she wants to say something, beg, scream, I don’t know, but I line myself up at her entrance and just... stop.

Not pushing in. Not moving, just resting right there at the edge of her, close enough that she can feel it, far enough that it means nothing.

"Tell me what you did to Lyra," I hiss, calm, even, like I’m asking her what she wants for lunch. "Tell me what you did to me, what you did to Raymond. What you planned for the casino."

Her hips buck forward, trying to get me deeper, trying to force it, but my tail’s still got her ankle, and I don’t budge an inch."Please," she sobs, "please just—"

"Not until you talk."

She whines, high and broken, hips grinding uselessly against nothing, and up on the stage Channel makes the exact same noise into the open mic, a raw, humiliated whimper that the whole casino hears.

"I was paid," the clone gasps, voice cracking apart. "I was paid by Hansen and Harden to kill you! But-but I couldn’t kill yo-u-u."

That’s one. Good girl. A confession earns a reward. I give her exactly what she’s begging for and slam forward, burying both cocks to the hilt in one brutal stroke that knocks the air clean out of her lungs.

"AAAAH—FUCK—YES!"

I fuck her hard after that, no mercy, no rhythm she can predict, just rough and deep and relentless until her whole body’s shaking and her eyes are rolling back and she’s not thinking about confessions anymore; she’s just feeling. Which is exactly the problem, because I stop again.

"More," I growl.

She sobs, actually sobs, tears streaking down her face, hips twitching against me like she’s trying to get herself off on stillness alone. Up on stage, Channel’s voice breaks through the speakers, begging the same way, mirroring every twitch, every desperate little thrust of her hips against nothing.

"Please, please, I’ll tell you, just move, please move..."

"Talk first."

"I spiked Lyra’s drink," she chokes out, "with poison- toxins that were supposed to kill her. She wasn’t supposed to survive; she shouldn’t have survived—"