Three Apostles Left, Two Days to Go – Siron's Fury
At Neme's question—three apostles left, two days remaining, gonna be tough?—I nod confidently alongside my raging hard-on clone.
And the result...
"Mmmph~"
"Heehee."
Clinging to my arms and legs, the former apostles of the heresy mumble their quirky sleep-talk as they snuggle in. Naturally, all four are buck-naked, and my cum hasn't fully hardened yet in their pussies—still glistening stickily. Oh, this time I creampied Kalum's pussy too. Ass is great and all, but reusing what I'd stuck in one girl's ass for another's pussy felt kinda rude, y'know?
Anyway, to make the most of those two days, right after wrapping up with Neme that evening, I summoned the remaining three apostles to my room. Just like with Kalum, all bound with restraint spells, of course.
After that, it was straightforward. I gave them the exact same treatment as Kalum. Since I went straight for their pussies instead of asses, the effect was even stronger than with her. Plus, with the three of them together—and Kalum already hooked on my dick—the persuasion was basically over after the first one... what was her name again? Anyway, the first girl put up a bit of resistance, but the other two had to watch her get railed, see her face as she came on my cock. No need for any tricks; they folded fast.
The re-education(?) session that started at night wrapped up before dawn. Conquered all three in just half a day.
Ironic thing is, today marks two days since that chat with Neme. Simple reason: instead of cooperating, these ex-apostles just wanted more of my dick. For smooth teamwork, I sacrificed my body, taking turns with all four—including Kalum—for a solid half-day straight. No energy left to twitch a finger now.
I felt it with Siron and Kernax too, but women in this world adapt to dick way too quick. Yesterday, a few thrusts had them squirting and screaming. Next thing I know, I'm on my back in bed, getting milked dry like some living stamina potion by all four.
"Nngh..."
The pleasant full-body squeeze and perfect coziness drag my eyelids shut against my will.
"...Huh?"
Feels like I closed my eyes for a sec. I wipe drool from my mouth, hauling my languid body upright.
"...Where the hell'd they go?"
Just a blink, or so it seemed, but no sign of the Kalum crew wrapped around me like leeches. Bed's not sticky with juices anymore—it's fresh and dry. Soft blanket tucked over me too.
"...Was it a dream?"
But no dream throbs like my swollen, aching cock or screams like my wrecked back.
Knock knock knock.
A unfamiliar woman's voice calls from outside the door.
—Smith, are you awake?
"Ah, yep."
Right as I reply, rustling outside—then the door creaks open slow.
Framed in the doorway: a priestess of the abundance god Rapitera, impossible to miss with those plump tits, holding a tray piled with food.
She enters with the tray, shuts the door, drags it to my bedside. Quietly shifts a table over, sets the plates out nice and pretty—all greasy meats, one and all.
"High Priestess Neme sent me."
"Ah, from the High Priestess?"
"Yes. She figured you'd wake up starving by now and told me to bring food."
"I see..."
Something like this happened before, right...? Gurgle.
"Hehe, if it's hard to eat, shall I feed you?"
"N-no, that's fine. I got it."
"Oh, no need to hold back~"
"H-ha, haha..."
Flashback to Agatha’s vacuum blowjob— I force a natural grin, hop off the bed, plop into a chair. Head's still fuzzy, but the food smell hits like a truck; hunger crashes in. Focus on chow for now.
"My, you eat so heartily."
"Oh, sauce on your cheek. Let me wipe it."
"Some wine too?"
With her bountiful chest comes a wide-open heart—stroking me here and there as she serves. I have to inhale the food at warp speed just to cope.
"Fuu..."
"Wine right here."
"Th-thanks."
Not thirsty, but I down the glass she offers in one go. No clue what I ate, but every plate's spotless now.
"Ah, take this."
She smiles sweet, hands me a small note.
"High Priestess said to make sure you get it."
She slips it to me, stacks the empties on her tray. All done...
"Hate to go, but see you~"
Winks sultry, saunters out with the tray.
Alone, I lean back, unfold the note. Neat as print inside:
Brother Smith.
Your efforts reached me in detail via Neme. First, on behalf of all clergy serving the god, my deepest thanks.
At the same time, my advance apologies.
Thanks to your hard work, we converted four wicked apostles of the Petmira cult. We plan to link with them to locate the cult's base.
But this risks your safety, Brother Smith.
Regrettably, we have next to no intel on Petmira's bishop. In this state, we must send the converted apostles into the enemy's lair. If the bishop sniffs their betrayal—even a slim chance—she'll likely learn about you too. And then, the bishop will surely target you somehow.
As mentioned before, we don't know the bishop's blessings. If she comes for you, it'll be stealthy. Curse my irresponsibility for acting first and telling you after—but hear this: with unknown blessings incoming, we lack manpower to assign holy knights for your protection.
In our shortage, we can't spare forces for you—the highest risk of sacrifice. This is my call; upper command agrees.
I blink hard at the sharp pivot. What the fuck, suddenly I'm in danger? Super disorienting.
I gulp dry, eyes racing to the next lines.
I swallow hard, eyes darting ahead.
Still clinging to denial, I scan the last bit.
My head spins wild. Logical if I think about it—could've predicted it with half a brain before fucking around.
"Fuck, you dumb dickhead... You ruin every good thing."
Apostles die, blessing transfers to another cultist, who becomes the new apostle. Among the ones I banged, one had a blessing to peek into pasts. From the note, seems it works on the dead too—or non-living.
"...They say 70% of a man's downfall is his dick. Fuckin' spot on."
No one to blame but my horny ass. I just rub my face and sigh.
"Gotta pray Kalum pulls this off smooth."
All I got is stockings and fucking. Pre- and post-bed prayers for the Kalum squad's safety—stake my dick on it.
"Oh, more at the end."
I read the true finale:
At bare minimum: if you're in dire straits, you're permitted to invoke my name. Won't work everywhere like the Adventurer's Guild, mind.
Stay put in that room till escort arrives.
Shhhrk— Note crumbles like dry leaf in my hand, vanishes without trace.
I flex my empty palm, then flop from chair to bed. Gotta stay here till pickup anyway—might as well comfy up.
Staring at the ceiling, I sum it up quick. No real summing needed: if Kalum crew's flip gets busted, my info leaks, safety toast. Against space-jump blessings or whatever, I'm powerless. Pointless brain drain—shelve it. No use agonizing over hypotheticals.
"Man, fucked like crazy, but scores unchanged."
Dispatch record still lists just Siron and Kernax. Siron's heteromorph, fine—but Kernax's high affection and virginity must've boosted big. Need to rack points for Earth exit, but this pace? Feels like decades of treading water.
Best score method: new heteromorph girls. But Molingta's a desert frontier—locals and caravan traders only. No fresh faces. Proof? Lived here four years, never seen that race.
Solution: leave Molingta or lure heteromorph women here. Latter's impossible—slave status, Amelia won't allow. Siron and Kernax neither...
"Gotta make 'em come to me."
Lucky me: Holy Artifact Creation is prime for this. No slacking post-return—pump out new artifacts. Hell, multiples.
Stockings were a freebie from first use, no review. Now? Upper brass vets every one. Unknown criteria means spam variety, gather intel.
"Sheesh... To-do list exploded. Wonder if I'll have time to spend earnings."
Post-fuck brain's firing hot, plotting schedule—
BOOM!!
Door explodes—shatters clean in half. I jolt up.
Door's toast, as expected. But I don't give a shit. The face bursting through? One I missed like crazy.
"Siron!!"
"..."
Overjoyed, I half-leap off bed—but freeze. Vibe's off. Murderous, not heartwarming reunion.
"Si-Siron?"
"..."
Her fierce glare's twisted to ⋎-shape. Face stiff as she stalks to my awkward bed-lounge. Scared piss outta me—wanna smash window and bail.
Gut screams: I'm fucked.
"...You fucking retard."
Her deadpan curse hits heavy—no playfulness. Dry-swallow. Feels like incoming punch; gotta know why before it lands. Squeeze out spineless courage:
"Tell me the crime and then hit me!!"
"...Crime?"
"Y-yeah. There's gotta be a reason. Siron."
"...Ha!!"
She snorts, glares daggers.
"You really don't know why?"
"...N-no clue."
"No idea? With me right there, staring you down?"
"Staring? When? The grab?"
Zero leads. But her rage means I fucked up somehow. Doesn't matter—it's my fault. Always is.
Me mumbling, her glaring—lips part:
"...You bastard. With me there, why get your d-d-dick hard for other bitches...!!"
"Dick hard?"
"...For other bitches!!"
"Har—oh."
Hard-on. Other girls. Eye contact. Boom—memory replays: kidnapped, stripped before Kalum, showed dick. Called short and soft, pissed me off—scanned naked women around altar, boned up. Locked eyes with Siron right after. She scowled like she bit shit.
"Aha."
"Aha my ass, you fuck!!"
Her fist rockets at my face. Life flashing? Nah, fuck—didn't think it was my fault...?
"Gack—!!"
World goes black.