The Lustful Time Lord's Revenge-Chapter 195 - Distorted Devotion

"Do you really envy them, Mom?" I asked in return, a slight challenge in my tone.

Delilah answered without a moment’s hesitation, her eyes shining with surprising intensity. "Of course I’m jealous! Otherwise, wouldn’t that mean I don’t truly love you?"

I was slightly taken aback. Her answer was so frank, yet her logic was twisted.

’How far my stepmother of the past is from the woman she is now,’ I thought to myself. She used to be the cold, authoritative, nearly untouchable Star Witch. Now? She easily admitted to jealousy, to a deep emotional dependence on me.

’Is this how my stepmother is when she truly falls in love with someone?’ I pondered. I had only made her love me and warped her logic, but I hadn’t changed her fundamental nature. Yes, I did order her to act like a lewd housewife, but her nature is like that of a teenager...

So this... this was the real Delilah in love? There was a tenderness there. A fragility I’d never seen before I conquered her. And that... stirred something in me.

Say goodbye to the old Delilah Socheron. She was dead. I loved the one I had made her into. Forget pure love.

Without another word, I got up and sat on the edge of the bed. Delilah looked at me, slightly confused. I took her hand, pulled her to her feet, and then hugged her tightly. Her full, warm body fit perfectly against mine. She gasped, stiffened for a moment, then melted, her arms wrapping around my waist.

"Mom," I whispered in her ear, my voice soothing. "Like I always say... you and your daughters are special."

Delilah sighed, her body going completely limp in my embrace.

"Really?" she whispered, her voice small like a child seeking reassurance.

"Really," I affirmed, stroking her back. I could feel a tremor of happiness run through her.

Then, seeing the clock and realizing we still had a little time before the second match, and because she had loyally helped me, I decided to give her a reward.

"We still have time," I said, pulling back just enough to look at her hopeful face. "And as a reward for your loyalty, and because you were so willing to help me... I’ll let you ride me, Mom."

Delilah’s eyes lit up instantly. Her elegant face transformed into an almost childishly gleeful expression.

"Really? Thank you, darling!"

She immediately took action. Quickly, she climbed onto my lap, straddling my thighs. Her hands reached for her dress, hiking it up high, revealing what lay beneath—lace panties that were utterly soaked, transparent from the pooled moisture.

"See," she whispered, her voice trembling with arousal and a hint of shame. "See how wet Mommy gets just from thinking of you, my love. Just because you allowed me to."

I looked at her. In the dim light of the room, she looked... breathtakingly beautiful. Her full breasts swayed freely, her blonde hair was a mess, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glazed with desire.

"I never lie, Mom," I murmured, my hands reaching for her breasts, massaging them gently. "You grow more beautiful each day. Like a fine wine, aging, becoming more precious."

Delilah flushed an even deeper red, but this time with a satisfied smile.

"You... you always know how to embarrass me," she grumbled, but she pushed her chest closer to my hands.

Then, slowly, she slid from my lap, kneeling between my legs. Her hands touched my hardened length. She gazed at it for a moment with a look of near reverence—as if it were the most precious object in the world—and then, without further ceremony, she rose.

She sank down in one smooth, practiced motion, taking me fully inside, making us both groan. And instantly, Delilah’s body convulsed violently. Her eyes rolled back, her mouth fell open, and from between her lovely thighs, a torrent of clear fluid gushed forth, soaking my pants and the sheets beneath us.

"A-Adam...! I... I’m squirting...!" she wailed, her voice breaking from an orgasm that arrived far too quickly.

Her usually elegant, dignified face shattered in an instant—contorted by unrestrained pleasure, eyes brimming with tears, mouth agape, cheeks scarlet. She looked like the most expensive courtesan in the most exclusive brothel, not a member of the Guardian Council.

"Damn, Mom... you’re so incredibly beautiful," I murmured, mesmerized by her transformation. My hands found her waist, holding her trembling form.

Delilah, after that first, rapid peak, only managed a weak smile. Then, without needing a command, she began to move.

She rode me with a frantic, desperate madness. Her hips pistoned up and down with a speed that made the large bed creak and protest violently. Every deep thrust, every withdrawal, was accompanied by moans, growls, and screams of my name, with no care left for who might hear.

"Adam! Adam! Darling! Mommy’s... Monmy’s going to...! Again...!"

Delilah had completely lost control. Her golden hair flew everywhere, her breasts bounced wildly, sweat soaked her pale skin. Her face could no longer be called elegant—it was only the primal beauty of a woman utterly dominated by lust and distorted love.

And I... I just lay back, enjoying this incredible spectacle. My stepmother, one of the world’s most powerful women, a Guardian Council member, was destroying herself in her own way.

The bed continued to creak. The clock ticked on. And in this special contestant’s room, in between bouts of a world-renowned competition, another, far more private and intense performance was reaching its climax.

Fifteen minutes passed.

The ragged breaths and sounds of colliding bodies were the only symphony in the tightly sealed room. Delilah was on top of me, her movements growing wilder, more desperate, as if chasing something always just out of reach.

Sweat made her pale skin gleam under the low light. Her usually neat blonde hair was damp and clung to her cheeks, neck, and shoulders. Her hands gripped my shoulders, nails digging in, leaving red marks.

"A-Adam... Adam... I... I—"

The doorbell chimed loudly, shattering the near-perfect concentration. A man’s voice, professional yet firm, came from behind the door: "Notice to all contestants. The second match of the Inter-Academy Tournament will begin in fifteen minutes. Please assemble in the designated waiting area."

I ignored it. My hands grasped Delilah’s rapidly moving hips, pushing her down deeper, harder. She screamed—a mixture of satisfaction and extreme pleasure.

"Don’t... don’t stop!" Delilah roared, tears streaming from her eyes from the overwhelming sensations. "Darling... please... I want... I want you to fill my womb! Fill Mommy’s womb with your seed! Make me pregnant! I want... I want to give you another child!"

Her words were so vulgar, so full of pleading, yet spoken with an intensity that made my whole body shudder. At the peak of this madness, amidst the roars of passion and the creaking bed, she was begging to be impregnated. By her own stepson.

I was swept up in the moment. The most primal instinct spoke. As an unstoppable wave of orgasm hit, I thrust up deep, burying myself to the hilt, and with a ragged, guttural growl, I whispered the command she begged for:

"Then get pregnant...!"

At the same moment, I released a hot, torrential surge deep into her waiting womb. Delilah let out a long, piercing scream, her body arching like a bow, before going completely limp on top of my chest, shaking uncontrollably from a climax even more powerful than before.

But in the midst of that madness, a small, cold corner of my consciousness remained functional. I used the skill [Fertility Control]. The mental command was sent just before the release. As I always did. She wouldn’t get pregnant. Not ever. Not now.

"Thank... you, darling..." Delilah whispered, her voice hoarse.

We lay like that, breathing heavily, bodies slick with sweat and other fluids, when the voice from behind the door sounded again, this time louder, slightly worried: "Contestant Adam Socheron? Are you in there? There are Twelve minutes remaining."

I sighed, slowly pushing Delilah’s limp body off me. "Mom, we have to stop."

Delilah groaned in protest but slowly sat up, her face still flushed and sweaty. She looked towards the door, and for a split second, the expression of the dignified, cold Star Witch returned to her face—before changing into pure irritation at being disturbed.

"I have to go," I whispered, getting up from the bed and starting to put on the uniform laid out on the chair.

"Good luck in your match, darling," Delilah said softly. And with surprisingly swift, graceful movements, she picked up her discarded dress from the floor and began repairing her appearance. Her skilled fingers smoothed her hair, wiped away smeared makeup, and straightened her wrinkled dress.

Once I was ready, I walked to the door and unlocked it.

The door opened to reveal a young man in tournament staff uniform standing outside with an anxious expression. His eyes immediately darted past my shoulder into the room, locking onto Delilah standing in the middle of it. Her dress was much neater now but still visibly disheveled, her cheeks were still red, and there was a palpable aura around her that clearly indicated she had just finished something very intense.

Delilah turned her head toward the man. Her gaze changed. From the woman who had just been moaning on the bed, she became the Star Witch, Guardian Council member. Her sharp golden eyes stared at the man with an intensity that could freeze ice. The look contained a clear, terrifying message: You dare disturb our time?

The man instantly paled, lowering his head, trying to make himself as small as possible.

"Take me there," I cut in, stepping out and closing the door behind me, cutting off the man’s view of Delilah.

In the Nine Stars Academy Contestant Waiting Area.

I arrived exactly ten minutes before the match was due to start. The atmosphere in the Nine Stars waiting area was thick with a different kind of tension. All the remaining representatives were gathered: Yukie, as cold and unperturbed as ever; Isabel, standing slightly apart with a complex expression; Nerissa, who looked anxious; and... Maximus.

Maximus sat on a bench at the far end. All his physical wounds had healed thanks to his regeneration. But what couldn’t be healed was his pride.

The moment his eyes caught my presence, the vein at his temple bulged, his jaw locked, and I could almost hear his teeth grinding from several meters away. His gaze was filled with pure hatred, burning shame, and murderous intent.

But before he could do or say anything, Violet Albestorm stepped forward. The purple-haired instructor’s face was like a storm about to break. Her sharp eyes swept over me, then Maximus, then back to me.

"You two," her voice was low, dangerous, brimming with restrained fury. "Do you have brains between your ears? Or just rocks?"

She didn’t wait for an answer. "Bringing personal issues into the tournament? Fighting your own teammate in front of hundreds of thousands of spectators? In front of the Guardian Council? In front of academy heads from all over the world?"

Each question was like a whip crack. "Nine Stars Academy is the best. Not just because of strength, but because of discipline. Because of teamwork. Because we show the world how a professional Hunter should act."

Her hands clenched into fists. "And you two? You made us a laughingstock. A circus act. Two little kids fighting in the sandbox over a toy. Do you understand how HUMILIATING that was?"

Maximus lowered his head, but I saw the tension in his shoulders. I simply stood there, listening with a flat expression.

Violet took a deep breath, as if trying to calm herself. "Due to your unprofessional actions and the damage to the academy’s reputation, I have decided not to include either of you in the next mat—"

Suddenly, another voice cut in. A voice of authority, filled with command.

"Instructor Violet, wait a moment."

Everyone turned. From the entrance to the waiting area, Ophelia Blazinger entered with firm strides.

She was wearing her official academy head robes, red and gold, with the Nine Stars emblem gleaming on her chest. Her red hair was tied back neatly, her face showing a cold, professional expression.

I remembered last night. I remembered how she had whimpered, how she had begged, how she had transformed from the feared academy head into a broken woman beneath me. And from the way she looked at me, she thankfully didn’t know that the masseur named Freyden was me.

Ophelia stood amongst us all, her aura of authority filling the room. Her sharp eyes scanned every face. Then, she spoke...