Chapter 202: Albedo’s +18 day. Sakumo Hatake.

You kiss her deep and slow, your tongue sliding against hers, letting her taste the salt-sweet remnants of her own arousal coating your lips. Her gloved fingers clutch at your shoulders as your hands find her breasts, massive and impossibly soft, nipples caught between your knuckles as you squeeze. She moans into your mouth, her hips rolling instinctively, and your cock slides along her stomach, the shaft trapped between your bodies, your balls pressing flush against her slick labia.

Her thighs tremble. You feel the heat radiating from her cunt against your sac, wet and swollen from miltiple edgings. You release her lips and she gasps, chest heaving, eyes unfocused as you trace your hands down from her breasts, over the curve of her ribs, past her hips, down the length of her legs until your fingers wrap around her calves.

You lift her legs to your shoulders. Her wings splay across the desk, black feathers fanning against polished oak. Her golden eyes lock onto yours as you grip her ankles, spreading her wide, and position the head of your cock at her entrance.

You twirl.

The tip rotates against her opening, parting her labia in a slow circular motion, pressing just inside. Albedo's breath hitches. Her hands scrabble against the desk surface, finding nothing to grip. You push forward with the rotation, twisting your hips as you enter her, the head of your cock spiraling into her virgin channel centimeter by centimeter.

"Oh-" she chokes. "Oh, that's-"

You stir. Your hips twist left, then right, the shaft rotating inside her as you push deeper, the walls of her pussy gripping you with every revolution. Her massive breasts rock with the motion, nipples tracing tiny circles in the air, and the sight of her laid out on the Resolute Desk, exhausted and overwhelmed, her body responding to every twist of your controlled penetration, is intoxicating.

Her eyes glaze. Her focus narrows to the sensation of you rotating inside her, filling her in a way she's never experienced. Your grip shifts from her calves to her ankles for better leverage, and the change makes her twitch, a moan spilling from her lips. Her wings flop uselessly against the desk, feathers rustling. Her hands drift across her own body, one tracing her stomach where she can feel the pressure of you moving deeper, the other brushing across her breast without conscious intent, fingers pinching her own nipple as she spasms.

Centimeter by centimeter. Twist by twist. You feel her hymen give way somewhere in the middle, a brief resistance that dissolves under your steady pressure, and her cry is half pain, half something far more primal. You don't stop the rotation. You don't speed up. You stir deeper.

Finally, your hips meet hers. You're buried completely, your cock seated to the root inside the Overlord succubus on the President's desk, and you continue the twisting motion, grinding against her deepest walls, her cervix kissing your tip with each revolution. Her entire body shudders. Tears track the corners of her golden eyes from overwhelming sensation.

You hold the rotation for a full minute. Her consciousness fragments and reforms. Then you slow to a stop, letting her breathe, letting her feel you filling her completely without movement.

"Master," she whispers, voice wrecked.

You begin again. The same pattern, slow twisting insertion, bottoming out, holding, releasing. Each cycle slightly faster than the last. Her moans escalate from whispers to cries. Her wings beat against the desk. Her succubus nature amplifies everything beyond human capacity, and by the fourth cycle she's sobbing with pleasure, her pussy clenching around your shaft.

The urge to cum inside her builds to torture. You hold back through sheer will, your balls aching, your cock throbbing against her clenching walls. The fifth cycle. The sixth. Faster now. Her legs shake on your shoulders.

You can't hold it anymore.

You lean her legs back, folding her nearly in half, and thrust deep in one final stroke, burying yourself to the hilt as your orgasm tears through you. Your cock pulses inside her, flooding her womb with thick ropes of cum, and Albedo screams a raw, primal sound that echoes through the Oval Office, as she feels you filling her for the first time.

You stop. Breathing hard. Your hands grip her ankles as you regain control, your cock still twitching inside her, still releasing. She stares up at you with glazed golden eyes, her lips parted, her chest heaving, tears and sweat mixing on her flushed cheeks.

"You came," she breathes. "Inside me. You-"

Her pussy clenches around you involuntarily, and her eyes roll back.

You wait. Letting her feel it. Letting her consciousness return enough to process what happened before you begin again.

You resume, your hips rotating slowly as you begin to thrust. Albedo's golden eyes flutter, her consciousness returning in fragments as you build her toward the edge with patient, deliberate strokes. Each revolution of your cock inside her draws a soft moan, her pussy clenching around your shaft in pulses.

Her first penetrative orgasm arrives like a tide rather than a wave. You feel it building in the way her thighs tremble against your shoulders, the way her breathing stutters, the way her wings beat once against the desk before going rigid. You slow but don't stop, letting the sensation wash through her at its own pace, your cock grinding against her cervix in slow circles as her walls spasm around you.

"Master-" she gasps, and then the word dissolves into a long, broken sound that has nothing to do with language. Her back arches off the Resolute Desk, her massive breasts heaving, nipples pointing at the ceiling as her entire body convulses. Her succubus physiology amplifies everything beyond human parameters, and the orgasm rolls through her in waves, each one feeding into the next.

You don't let her come down. You bring her to the edge again, gently this time, slower thrusts with the same twisting motion, and push her over. Then again. Her voice goes hoarse. Her gloved hands stop reaching for purchase and simply lie flat against the desk, fingers twitching. Tears stream freely down her flushed cheeks, sheer overwhelming sensation.

The fourth orgasm leaves her eyes open but vacant. Her pupils are blown so wide the gold has nearly vanished. Her hips still roll against you in instinctive response, her pussy still clenching, but the strategic mind behind those golden eyes has gone somewhere far away. She's unconscious with her eyes open, her body operating on pure reflex, fucking back against you without conscious direction.

You slow to a stop. Your cock throbs inside her, still hard, still buried to the root. You lean forward, folding her legs down, and press your chest against her breasts as you cradle her head in your hands. You kiss her gently, tasting salt tears on her lips, feeling her breath ghost against your mouth in shallow pants.

"My Albedo," you whisper against her parted lips.

You cast Telekinesis, lifting your scattered clothes and her white evening gown from the floor, gathering them into a neat bundle that floats beside you. Then you cast Teleport, pulling her unconscious body against your chest as the Oval Office disappears.

The Magnificent Mansion's master bedroom materializes around you. Soft lamplight, silk sheets, the familiar scent of the magical space. You carry Albedo to the bed and lay her down gently, her black hair fanning across white pillows, her wings folding naturally beneath her. Her golden eyes remain open, unfocused, her lips still parted.

You pull out of her slowly, inch by inch, and her pussy clenches weakly around your retreating shaft as if reluctant to release you. A thick trail of cum follows your withdrawal, pooling between her thighs. Her body twitches once, then settles.

You sit beside her, looking down at the Overlord succubus, the governance architect, the woman who calculates every angle, now completely undone. Her chest rises and falls in the deep rhythm of unconsciousness. A faint smile curves her lips.

The mansion door stands open to the galley beyond. Through the Telepathy Web, you can sense the ambient chatter of your contracted women, the quiet awareness that Albedo's ceremony has concluded.

Albedo's golden eyes are still unfocused, her consciousness returning in fragments, her body operating on pure instinct as you settle against her. She turns toward you without conscious direction, her lips finding yours, and when your tongue enters her mouth she sucks on it with desperate hunger, her gloved hands gripping your shoulders.

You reach up and grip her horns. Both of them, fingers wrapping around the smooth curved bone at their bases. Albedo's entire body shudders, a sound escaping her throat that's half moan, half whimper. Her sensitivity making her horns exquisitely sensitive, and your grip sends cascading pleasure through her nervous system. She sucks harder on your tongue, her hips rolling against you.

You release one horn and trail your mouth down her neck, across her collarbone, to her left breast. You take the nipple between your lips without pressure, just the warmth of your mouth and the gentle stroke of your tongue. Her stiffness melts incrementally, the tension in her massive chest dissolving as you work the stiff peak softly, then move to the other. She gasps with each transition, her fingers threading into your hair.

"Master-" she breathes, the word barely audible.

You roll onto your back and pull her on top of you, her pussy settling against your cock without penetration. She grinds instinctively, her slick labia sliding along your shaft, coating you in her arousal. Your hands find her wings, fingers working into the joint where feather meets flesh, scratching gently at the sensitive membrane beneath. Albedo's grinding intensifies immediately, her wings arching under your touch, her hips rocking faster as you pet and itch the places that make her lose what remains of her composure.

She comes apart again, grinding against you with abandon, her massive breasts swaying, her horns catching lamplight. You feel your own release building and let it come, your cock pulsing against her stomach as thick ropes of cum paint her abs and the underside of her breasts. She collapses against your chest, panting, trembling, her wings folding around you both like a cocoon.

You hold her for a long moment. Then you ease her off gently, laying her naked on the silk sheets, her black hair fanned across white pillows, cum drying on her stomach and thighs. She murmurs something incoherent and curls into the mattress.

You dress slowly. Shirt, pants, shoes. You step to the mansion door and open the Telepathy Web. "Robin, Nami, C.C. You can finish looting the White House. Let me know when you're done."

Kurumi's voice arrives first, dripping amusement. "Did you get anything done today beyond Albedo? Because from where I'm standing, your entire afternoon was one very naked succubus."

Nami's dry response follows. "He enchanted sixty-three ships, cleared a building full of corpses, and organized a looting crew. But sure, let's focus on the sex."

Robin cuts in, her tone measured. "The history preserved today shouldn't be ignored. Forty-three items of incalculable value, a complete set of original documents, a Jefferson Bible. This is the cultural heritage of a fallen nation. What Brad accomplished today extends far beyond any single encounter."

Hinata's soft voice joins. "With all the buildup Albedo had, she deserved the day. Eighteen sessions of patience deserve a proper conclusion."

Sinon agrees, quieter than usual. "The Oval Office was perfect for her. She was made to wait longer than anyone."

Nova's psionic presence carries warmth. "Security was clean. No incidents. She got her sunset and her desk. Worth it."

"Thank you," you send back. "All of you."

You step through the mansion door into the Anchorage galley. The evening shift is winding down, a few half naked mind controlled women clearing plates, the familiar hum of enchanted systems beneath the deck. The galley is quieter than this morning, most of your contracted women dispersed to their evening routines.

Rika's voice cuts across the Telepathy Web, crisp and professional even at this hour.

"Brad. Incoming communication from Captain Webbs, flagged priority. A dimensional traveler made contact at the Moreno Valley Costco approximately two hours ago. White-haired male, mid-twenties, moved faster than anyone present could track. Took over the facility's security perimeter in under ninety seconds without killing anyone. The Army survivors there flagged it through the Navy liaison network. Webbs routed it to us."

You set down your coffee. "I'm coming to the command center."

You find Rika at her station, tactical displays showing the Moreno Valley Costco feed. Several interested faces have followed, Mikasa, Akame, and Hinata among them, drawn by the mention of a high speed attacker.

Rika patches the audio through. A calm, measured voice fills the room.

"My name is Sakumo Hatake. I am attempting to reach the individual responsible for the dimensional displacement phenomena occurring. I have been observing your infrastructure for three days. Your enchantments cannot be tracked through conventional means, which is... impressive. I am requesting formal communication."

You lean toward the microphone. "Sakumo Hatake. This is Brad Collins. I know your name, Konoha's White Fang. Your son Kakashi is more famous where I come from, but your reputation precedes you. Your timeline was still in the Second Shinobi War."

A pause. Then: "You know of Kakashi. Interesting. Then you understand what I am capable of."

"I do," you say evenly. "And I know you're too logical to simply threaten me without a reason. You're here because you want to go home."

"Correct." His voice carries the weight of a man accustomed to commanding thousands. "I prefer negotiation. I am a soldier, not a savage. But I will not be stranded in a dying world indefinitely. If cooperation fails, I am prepared to secure my return through other means. I trust you understand the implications."

Akame's hand drifts to Murasame's hilt. Mikasa shifts her weight forward.

"I understand perfectly," you reply. "You're not the only one who wants to return home. I have over thirty displaced individuals from different dimensions, and I'm actively researching dimensional transit. The method remains theoretical, I hit a research block recently, but I haven't stopped. The moment a viable path opens, you'll know."

Another pause, longer this time. You can almost hear him calculating.

"And in the interim?"

"In the interim, I could use someone of your caliber. Contract work, scouting, security, enforcement. You'd be compensated, equipped, and given priority when the path opens. First person through the Gate back to your world."

The silence stretches. Then Sakumo speaks again, and something in his tone shifts, not softer, but more... pragmatic.

"Show me what you've built. Show me these displaced individuals. If what you say is true, we have an arrangement."