Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 69: Shared Fucking Sense **

Cecilia knew it would be painful. The reality was something else entirely. She didn’t know it would be this painful.

"Breathe, my love..." Oathran had only pushed one of his twin cocks inside her. She could feel that much. And yet it felt as if she were being split in two. "Relax... I don’t want to hurt you..."

He kissed her temple, his touch impossibly gentle. But through the raw wire of their Sense Sharing, she could feel the other side of the equation too, the unbelievable, dizzying pleasure he was experiencing just from this shallow entry. To him, her pussy was an inferno of warmth, slick and welcoming, yet so impossibly tight it bordered on agony. But not wet enough. He needed more.

Sssshhh!

"AAHHH!" Cecilia screamed, a sharp tearing sensation ripping through her.

"Aaaahhh..." Oathran echoed her scream with a deep, shuddering moan of his own, his arms, one banded around her waist, the other hooked under her knee, trembling with the effort to hold himself still. "I’m sorry... I’m so sorry..."

"Cece..." Arkai leaned in closer, his own arousal a painfully obvious wet spot against his trousers. He couldn’t bear to see her in pain. But through the Sense Sharing, he wasn’t just feeling her pain. He was feeling it filtered through Oathran’s overwhelming pleasure, creating a confusing, potent cocktail of agony and ecstasy that short-circuited his protective instincts.

The Black Wolf King kissed her gently, then harder, trying to distract her. His sharp canine nibbled at her lower lip, deliberately pinpointing pain to draw her focus elsewhere.

"Mmmm... ahh... ahhh..." Cecilia tried to control her ragged breathing. "Arkai... please... bite me elsewhere...? Make it... hurt..."

Arkai’s eyes darkened, the beast within recognizing the request. He shifted to her side, kissing her other temple, and guided her free hand to the straining front of his pants. "If it hurts... just grasp me. Make me hurt too..."

Then he lowered his head and began to bite her neck and shoulder, not a love bite, but a claiming pressure that broke the skin.

"Aaahhhsss! Mmm... fuck...!"

"Cecilia..."

Eastiel watched, his own arousal a helpless heat. This obscene sight of the Saintess unraveling would be burned into his mind forever. And he didn’t just want to watch. He wanted to add to it. "Let me... lick it...?" he asked, his voice hoarse. 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

Cecilia’s wide, pain-glazed eyes found his. "What?"

"Let me lick your clit...?" Eastiel descended, kissing her lips briefly before whispering against them, his breath hot. "You’ll feel... just a bit better."

"B-but..." Her eyes flickered with confusion. "But Oathran’s—"

"My cock is there too, brat," Oathran managed a strained, dazed grin, the challenge clear even in his pleasure-pained state. "But if you don’t mind the proximity..."

"With this sensation sharing between us all," Eastiel pressed, his own cheeks flushing even as his gaze remained challenging, "it will feel... just the same as if I’m licking my own cock."

Oathran let out a choked chuckle that vibrated through all three of them. "I am convinced the heavens will slam their gates shut on us... after this..."

Eastiel sneered as his lips began a deliberate trail down her body. Down past her collarbone, her trembling stomach, lower... until he met the other set of lips, glistening and strained around Oathran’s girth.

First, he kissed the swollen clit. Then his tongue emerged to lick. A broad, flat stroke.

"Aaaahhh! Mmmm! Wh—" Cecilia’s back arched. She couldn’t explain it. But his tongue... it was different. A feline’s tongue. Textured with tiny, rasping bumps. Hard. Wet. Abrasively, perfectly stimulating in a way that cut straight through the pain with a jolt of pure, electric sensation.

"East—"

"I’m still only an inch inside you, Cecilia," Oathran whispered, his voice gritted with strain. "We have a long way to go... you must relax more..."

Eastiel kept licking, not just focusing on her clitoris but her entire folds, his rough tongue providing extra moisture, slicking the path where Oathran’s cock strained to push deeper.

"Aaaaahhh... tell me... tell me it’s all in..." Cecilia begged, tears of frustration and overwhelm mingling with the sweat on her temples.

Eastiel licked a bead of blood that trickled from the stretched cunt, a dark grin on his face. Arkai, watching, grunted in shared frustration. "Not yet, Cece... barely halfway..."

Oathran leaned back, cords standing out in his neck, beads of sweat tracing the sharp lines of his jaw. "Mmm... and I am about to... aaaahhh... If this keeps going... I won’t last..."

"I-I’m okay... I think..." Cecilia panted from the searing pain, dizzying pleasure, the scrape of a tongue, the bite on her shoulder. "It’s okay... just... push in. Quickly. Get it over with..." she begged again, a sob threading her voice. "Just... bite me harder... lick me harder... more..."

"Baby, not yet..." Oathran rasped, his own control fraying. He mimicked Arkai’s move, sinking his teeth into the unmarked side of her shoulder. It wasn’t just about marking her anymore, it helped him ground himself in her flesh, something to hold on against the sensory tsunami.

The Sense Sharing had become a chaotic, perfect circuit. Every sensation Cecilia received, the searing stretch, the rasping licks, the sharp bites, the slick glide of her own arousal, the formidable presence of Oathran’s cock, flooded into the three men.

And every sensation they felt, the tight, hot clutch of her, the friction of their own hands, the ache of their need, echoed back into her, amplified, layered, creating a feedback loop of overwhelming intimacy.

Every. Fucking. Thing.

Eastiel, crouched between her thighs, couldn’t take it anymore. With a rough, frustrated motion, he shoved his own pants down, freeing his cock. It was as long and thick as the others, but distinct. The shaft was covered in tiny, rasping, bumpy textures, the unique, barbed anatomy of a feline.

The broad tip already wept a steady stream of thick, clear precum, dripping down onto the sheets beneath them, his control too strained now.

"Cecilia..." Eastiel’s voice was a strained groan, starting to stroke his own cock. "If you grip Lord Arkai’s cock that tightly... I feel the squeeze too..."

"Mmmm... your insides..." Arkai gasped, his forehead dropping to her shoulder. "The way you’re clenching... we feel that too..."

"I didn’t know..." Oathran panted, his eyes glazed as he watched her hand wrapped around Arkai’s. "A bond... could feel this... haaa..."

"Cecilia..."

"Aaahhh! St-stop—" she cried out, overwhelmed. "I can feel you all too! Eastiel—stop stroking your own cock!"

"How did you know it’s from my cock and not Lord Arkai’s... or Lord Oathran’s...? Mmm! Ah! Aahh!" Eastiel’s hips jerked involuntarily at her command, the sensation of his own hand on his textured cock firing straight back into her through the bond.

An idea struck Oathran.

"Don’t stop," he commanded. "Arkai... Eastiel... the more you pleasure yourselves... the more she feels it... the more it relaxes her..."

He could feel it happening. As Arkai’s groan deepened and Eastiel’s strokes grew more frantic, a fresh, gushing wave of wetness spilled from her, soaking him more and more. The tense, resistant ring of muscle inside her began to soften, to give, her walls fluttering around him in a shared echo of their mounting pleasure.

"I see..." Arkai grasped her hand where it lay on his cock, curling her fingers more firmly around the thick base, letting her feel the beginning swell of his knot. He began to move her hand with his, stroking in time with Eastiel’s frantic rhythm beside them.

Eastiel, emboldened, redoubled his efforts. His rough tongue lapped and circled her clit and folds as his other hand pumped his own barbed cock, the slick sounds adding to the obscene chorus. "Mmm... mmmhhh..."

"Aaaahhh!" Cecilia’s cry was a blend of protest and surrender, the boundaries between their bodies dissolving in the shared neural fire.

Oathran felt the critical moment arrive, the window of slackened resistance, the flood of shared arousal that overrode pain. Bracing himself, he gathered the last shreds of his will, and pushed forward.

Not an inch.

In one deep, final stroke, he buried himself to the hilt.

The world went white.

A blinding explosion of sensation that short-circuited thought, breath, and individual identity, fusing them all into a single point of consummate, shattering completion.

"GAH!"

"URK—"

"F—"

SPLURT! SPLURT! SPLURT!