I Shall Cuck Everyone

"W-What are you planning to do?" Ophelia stammers, her voice trembling as she watches me approach her with unyielding confidence, my steps steady and deliberate.

"To solve the Witches' problem, starting with you, of course," I reply, my voice calm. "I want to plant my seeds inside you. You're not so bad, after all, and it's not like you're unable to bear a child anymore." The distance between us shrinks as I speak, but Ophelia retreats step by step, her eyes wide with surprise. I also move cautiously, aware of the gamble I'm taking right now. Her reaction will determine if I will pass or smash.

"W-What do you mean?" she stutters again, her voice laced with confusion.

"I mean, you're a beautiful woman," I say, lowering my voice to a softer, more persuasive tone. "But your duties, your policies… they've isolated you. No man has had the chance to admire or cherish you. Yet, I saw through it all, through the strength you project, I saw the loneliness in your heart. You need someone to love you for who you truly are. And I'm the only one who truly understands you."

"Y-You understand me?" Ophelia whispers, her steps faltering as if my words have struck a chord deep within her. Her demeanor shifts, a subtle change I don't miss.

This is the moment.

"Of course, Ophelia. Only someone like me, an old geezer, could truly understand you," I say, piling on the charm. But the moment the words leave my mouth, I cringe internally. What a stupid thing to say. Fuck.

Ophelia abruptly stops and turns her back to me.

Shit. Now she's angry. Mission failed.

{You are really fucked now.}

I instinctively take a step back, bracing for her wrath, but then she speaks, her voice unexpectedly soft.

"What took you so long, Protoss? What took you so long to notice me? Do you know how long I've waited?" she murmurs, still facing away from me.

Her words strike me, rendering me speechless. What is this old witch saying? Could she have fallen for one of my past reincarnations—one that ignored her entirely?

{That does seem to be the case, Master.}

Right. If that's how it is, I might as well play along.

"It never occurred to me," I say, keeping my tone measured. "With each reincarnation, my memories are fragmented. They come in pieces, fleeting and vague. But now, with things as they are, it isn't too late. We can still make this right…" My heartbeat quickens as I speak, unsure of how she'll respond.

Ophelia says nothing, her silence stretching.

Is that a yes? Screw it. I'll take a risk.

I step forward and wrap my arms around her from behind, pulling her into a gentle embrace. She tenses for a moment, startled, but she doesn't resist. Her lack of rejection speaks volumes. Encouraged, I let my hands rest on her stomach, feeling the warmth of her body. Her scent fills my senses, a clean, floral aroma, as though she'd just stepped out of a bath, despite the battle she'd endured mere minutes ago.

I have no idea how old Ophelia truly is. According to old man Duke, she's an ancient being, far older than she looks. But by human standards, she could easily pass for a woman in her late thirties.

"You let me win, didn't you?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "I could tell you were holding back."

She nods, confirming my suspicion.

"Then here," I murmur, my hands still resting on her stomach. "I'll plant my seeds."n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

"If you want to plant your seeds in me, then what's keeping you waiting, my lord?" Ophelia whispers, her voice sultry as she turns her face toward me. Before I can respond, she presses her lips against mine.

For a moment, I freeze, stunned by her sudden boldness. But I quickly recover, meeting her passion with my own. I savor her lips, kissing her fiercely, our breaths mingling as the intensity grows.

Our tongues intertwine, while my hands find their way to her hips. I let my fingers trace the slight curves, marveling at their perfection. These are the hips of an ancient being, sculpted by time itself. Perfection incarnate.

As the kiss deepens, I feel Ophelia's hand move with purpose, massaging my flaccid cock through my pants. Her touch is confident, practiced, a proof that she is no stranger to sexual intimacy. Not that I'd expect anything less from someone as ancient as her.

I match her energy, my hands moving to the zipper of her gown. With one deliberate motion, I pull it down, letting the fabric fall to the ground in a graceful heap. Somehow, as if by unspoken agreement, my own pants follow suit. It's as though her yearning, her long-suppressed sexual urges, have willed this moment into existence.

To my surprise, she isn't wearing a bra beneath her gown. Her breasts are bared before me, standing proud and firm despite their generous size. They defy logic, their sheer perfection leaving me momentarily breathless. Her dark nipples add a striking contrast, drawing my eyes like a magnet.

Glancing lower, I notice her undergarments, a peculiar choice, not the usual panties mostly worn by ladies .

Finally breaking our kiss, we lock eyes. This is no mere moment of sex. This is a union with a purpose, a necessity to resolve the Witches' population crisis by starting with their Queen. Time is fleeting in this pocket dimension, and staying too long might tear it apart.

I carry Ophelia to the soft sand several meters away, her gaze never leaving mine. Kneeling, I slide her undergarments down, revealing her pussy. Her pussy is framed with a light dusting of hair, adding an unexpected charm.

"I…I'll shave next time," she murmurs, her cheeks flushed as she parts her legs for me, revealing her most intimate self. Her inner vaginal walls glisten, pink and wet, a testament to her readiness to be plowed. She hasn't even been touched, yet she's already drenched.

I strip off the last barrier between us, my underwear joining the pile of discarded clothes. Taking hold of my hardened cock, I position the tip at her entrance, feeling the heat radiating from her.

"I'm going inside."