My Taboo Harem!

Chapter 778: Mother’s Curiosity: Wet Tea with Mother

Cassiopeia paused just long enough to strangle the involuntary flutter as the vibrating cock punched into her core mid-sentence. "I have been observing him for weeks now, he has the patience of a man twice his age."

Madeleine’s eyebrow lifted, fractionally.

At her same time the construct rotated too.

Cassiopeia didn’t gasp, but her mouth produced instead a small, throaty little sound that could almost pass for polite enthusiasm.

’Yes, Mother, that was definitely not the sound of my cunt trying to suck this toy into next week. Nothing to see here.’

Her thighs trembled violently beneath the elegant skirt. The juice between Cassiopeia’s legs had completely betrayed her — it was no longer underwear but a drenched, sticky swamp she would be waddling out of here with, leaving a shameful wet spot on the antique chair like a horny calling card.

Her greedy pussy was being mapped, stroked, fucked and thoroughly owned from the inside by the thick, cool cock her Master had engineered specifically to ruin her, while her nipples poked shamelessly against her blouse like two desperate little traitors begging for attention.

Madeleine, however, was not an idiot.

Madeleine was the polar opposite of an idiot. She could detect — with terrifying sommelier precision — the exact moment her daughter’s arousal had started thickening the air like cheap perfume at an orgy.

It wasn’t overwhelming yet, but it was there. A warm, musky confession no amount of sandalwood could fully bury.

And Madeleine was clocking every filthy note.

She said nothing.

She didn’t need to.

With the serene composure she had decided this was not the afternoon to discuss why her daughter smelled like fresh-fucked sin, she simply let it happen. A tiny frown flickered across her brow before Maxton training erased it like an inconvenient stain realizing her daughter was now one of Phei’s.

Madeleine was old.

Madeleine was not an idiot or blind.

And whatever he’d plunged in her daughter was merciless and shameless enough to ruin her daughter right before her mother.

But Madeleine was also, dangerously, curious.

And Cassiopeia — thighs shaking, cunt clenching rhythmically around the relentless toy, nipples putting on a free show — could see in her mother’s eyes that curiosity had been promoted to top priority.

The fact that her daughter was quietly getting railed at the tea table was being ruled under "None of My Business... For Now. But I very much wanna know what’s going on."

’Good,’ Cassiopeia thought, drifting through a haze of cock-drunk pleasure. ’Stay curious, Mother. That’s exactly why I’m here — creaming myself silly on your furniture while feeding you exactly what you want. Curiosity that—’

"Tell me about him."

’Oh, there you’re mom! There you’re.’

Madeleine’s had voice dropped into that intimate sooth matriarchs reserved for when they spoke to their daughters as fellow women.

The teacup stayed perfectly poised in her hand, all while the construct kept up its wicked, merciless rhythm.

Cassiopeia drew a slow, careful breath around the thick intrusion stretching her open and arranged her face into the perfect mask of a dutiful daughter.

"He is very intelligent, mother."

"Mmm."

"More intelligent than Harold."

Her mother gave a patient pause.

"That is not, darling, a high bar."

Cassiopeia laughed — a startled burst of genuine amusement ripped out of her by her mother’s dry-as-dust delivery.

The laugh, or maybe she used it as an opportunity, to let her thighs quake harder in pleasure mid-orgasm. Her cunt throbbed greedily around the toy in an involuntary, milking squeeze. The construct answered immediately with a deep, devastating pulse that nearly made her eyes roll back.

Another thick, shameful trail of her juice slid down her inner thigh like evidence at the scene of a very elegant crime.

’Fuck, I’m leaking like a broken faucet, and clenching like a whore. This is the most dignified moment of my entire life.’

"He is more intelligent than Father, mother."

"Ah."

"Considerably."

"How considerably?"

"Mother." Cassiopeia leaned forward slightly, cradling her teacup while her pussy continued its obscene private performance, and let her expression become that of a daughter sharing a delicious inside joke. "He arranged the divorce."

Her mother’s eyes widened, fractionally.

"Phei arranged it?"

"Phei arranged it, mother. Down to the last clause. Down to the precise emotional choreography by which Rune Natsuki — and that is a name I will return to in a moment, because that is its own private catastrophe — sat at the Maxton dining table and made Harold cough blood across the documents while my father sat there and failed to understand.

"Failed to understand entirely. That the seventeen-year-old boy at the foot of the table was the architect of every instrument being used against them. They had no idea, mother, no one does even Melissa. And neither of them, to this exact heartbeat, has worked out who actually did it."

Madeleine Maxton stared at her.

For one small, patient heartbeat, the matriarch of the Maxton ancestral living room simply stared at her only daughter.

And then — with the quiet civil composure of a woman who had spent forty years never laughing at her husband’s expense in his own house, and who had been waiting all that time for someone to finally hand her a proper reason —

Madeleine Maxton laughed.

Quietly. Briefly. Behind her teacup. A small, private sound; she had known her husband for more than four decades and understood exactly how spectacularly he could fail to notice he was being dismantled, and who had — in the secret ledger she never shared with him — been patiently waiting for the afternoon someone finally did it right.

The construct, in private celebration, vibrated harder, grinding its thick, cool length against her throbbing clit and cervix with renewed filthy enthusiasm.

Cassiopeia smiled around the delicious little catastrophe of being pleasured by her absent Master while her mother laughed at her father’s expense.

’There are,’ she reflectef, ’far worse ways to spend an afternoon than getting my cunt fucked senseless while Mother finally gets to enjoy Father’s humiliation.’

"Tell me more, darling."

Madeleine’s voice had warmed, fractionally, into the small maternal tone reserved for conversations worth the tea.

Cassiopeia obliged, even as her soaked pussy fluttered greedily around the invading toy.

She told her about his composure — the patient sovereign stillness of a boy who walked into rooms full of older predators and made them unconsciously adjust. She told her about the way Paradise wives had begun, very quietly, to defer to Melissa around him.

She went on and described the small, practiced bow Ashford Madam had given her Melissa at breakfast, a courtesy the Ashfords hadn’t extended to any Maxton or Heavenchilds in all years of Legacy families existence on earth.

Cassiopeia told her mother everything there was to say to feed her mother curiosity.

Madeleine’s teacup had stopped moving by the third revelation.

The ancient living room had grown very, very quiet.

"Cassiopeia."

"Mother."

"You are telling me," Madeleine said with exquisite civility, clearly recalculating months of incomplete information in real time, "that the Ashford household is repositioning itself under this boy’s gravity."

"I am telling you what I have observed, mother."

"And the boy is seventeen."

"The boy is seventeen, mother." Cassiopeia’s voice stayed impressively steady even as the thick void-ice cock rotated slowly inside her dripping cunt, stroking every sensitive ridge with cruel precision.

"And he is handsome in a way that has nothing to do with the polished prettiness legacy boys are taught. He is handsome like something that hasn’t yet been told its face is finished. He will be devastating at twenty-five. He is already, at seventeen, the reason all legacy princesses and their mothers are going to be his."

"And the reason you were sent to bind him."

The construct stuttered in its rhythm — a brief, amused pulse from across the distance between him and her, yet had somehow that made her inner walls clench hard around its girth.

Cassiopeia nearly choked on her tea.

’Oh you absolute sadistic bastard,’ she thought, biting back a moan. ’You’re enjoying this way too much.’

"Yes, mother. The reason I was sent to bind him."

"And how is that progressing, darling?"

A patient pause.

Cassiopeia took a careful sip. Her thighs shook violently beneath the civilized line of her skirt. The seat beneath her had become a wet, humiliating mess — her pussy was also so wet she could feel her own juices slowly soaking through the fabric and threatening the antique upholstery.

Phei, clearly savoring her predicament, found a new and filthier resonance, buzzing relentlessly against her swollen clit while pressing firmly against her cervix.

"It is progressing, mother."

"Hm."

"Slowly."

"Hm."

"He is a careful boy, mother."

"Careful." Madeleine sipped her tea. "Careful is interesting. Careful is not what your brother described."

"Harold’s intelligence is heavily curated by his ego, mother. He sees the boy he wishes existed. I see the boy who actually does."

A patient silence settled between them.

Madeleine’s eyes lingered on her daughter’s face, and Cassiopeia felt her mother’s interest sharpen into something that would not be forgotten by tonight.

"Tell me," Madeleine said quietly, "about Rune Natsuki."

’Yes, Mother,’ Cassiopeia thought with satisfaction watching her carefully laid trap finally spring. ’Let me tell you about Rune Natsuki while he toy fucks me stupid at your tea table, trying to recruit you into his harem. Soon, soon, it would be me and you in bed with him.’