Monster Harem In The Tower
Chapter 97: Milk, Meaning, and Missionary

Chapter 97: Milk, Meaning, and Missionary

"What you waiting for?"

The Tower Manager glanced over her shoulder—like a dog being called by its owner while still playing in the park.

Nathan swallowed hard.

No more hesitation.

He gripped his mortal spear and aimed it toward the flesh gate of the entity he could never fully comprehend.

Plush...

The tip of his mortal spear began parting the pale folds.

Slop...

He thrust his hips forward.

"Ahhh..."

A long breath escaped his lips—as if the weight of his emotional baggage had finally been lifted.

Both his hands clutched the Tower Manager’s snow-white ass, squeezing with the intensity of a man trying to destroy a wedding cake baked for an ex who once promised to wait for his success.

But the Tower Manager didn’t stay passive.

Still on all fours, she began moving—back and forth—grinding into him, increasing the wet pressure between mortal spear and heavenly flesh.

"Ahgghmm..."

She bit her lip, her head still turned toward Nathan.

"So? How does it feel?" she teased.

"Is it as good as that rabbit girl’s hole?"

Nathan gritted his teeth.

"Shh... shut up..."

He grabbed her waist tighter.

"You bitch!"

And he increased his thrusts—harder, faster.

His mortal spear was now fully soaked—

But it wasn’t just his spear showing off.

The heavenly flesh retaliated with divine grip.

Layer upon layer of her sacred meat squeezed him tight— as if to say: Every ounce of pleasure in this throbbing shaft... was earned through my divine effort.

The First Legendary Dick Master started to not care about anything anymore, all he saw was that milk-white ass—soft and jiggling every time his crotch slammed into it.

"Aghh..."

The Tower Manager began moaning uncontrollably, her two white breasts swaying slowly, gradually slipping out from the wrapping of her black dress, then hanging down like balloons filled to the brim with water.

Nathan’s gaze rose,

the urge to press his body closer and inhale the scent of the Tower Manager’s neck began to spark in his chest.

He released his grip,

his upper body lowered, his arms circled toward the underside of the Tower Manager’s body, slowly reaching for the two white breasts now freely dangling.

Hmmm...

His nose began to inhale the Tower Manager’s neck, his hands started squeezing the soft cushions of the woman whose skin was as white as milk.

The Tower Manager giggled,

"Ahhmmmmmm..." she bit her lip,

her right hand lifted and pressed down on Nathan’s head—like a wrestler in a scripted wrestling match about to finish off her opponent.

"Do you enjoy your time with me more?" she asked.

"Ahhmmm..." Nathan groaned.

"Bitch..." he could only curse while continuing to thrust his thighs, squeezing those white soft cushions.

The Tower Manager laughed—loud, shrill, and piercing like a bell announcing disaster in the medieval age.

Her hand released Nathan’s head.

"WAHAHAHAHAHA!!"

Her head tilted upward like a dog about to catch a bone in midair.

Suddenly, Nathan’s body froze.

As if all his muscles were forcefully halted—his will to keep thrusting into that pussy was stopped.

"What—?"

His hands began moving on their own.

They slipped away from the milky mommy’s breasts.

Slowly lifted...

Then his whole body began to shift, drifting backward—rising into the air.

Zrrp—

His shaft was pulled out—

forcibly— from the warm heaven that had just swallowed it.

A wet sound followed—like a wooden stake being yanked from the chest of a woman accused of heresy in the dark ages.

Nathan’s body floated.

He hung mid-air, panting—

his cock still wet and pulsing,

pointing forward like a compass that had lost its north. His body formed a perfect T.

The Tower Manager looked up—then slowly let herself fall backward.

Her arms stretched out as her back touched the floor, black dress crumpling like a defeated banner beneath her divine body.

With fluid motion, she lifted both legs—bending her knees and spreading them wide apart. Her thighs opened like twin gates to a forbidden temple, revealing a glistening entrance soaked in heat and shimmer.

One of her white breasts had already slipped out, bouncing softly as gravity claimed its shape.

She brushed her fingers against her inner folds, spreading them apart with a lazy grace—like a goddess who had no more prayers to answer, only pleasure to offer.

Then, locking eyes with Nathan still floating mid-air, she whispered:

"This position... will be more enjoyable. For you... or for me—let’s find out."

Nathan’s body trembled.

Suddenly, his fingers could move again.

His shoulders shifted.

His breath returned—complete and steady.

He didn’t fall,

but slowly—descended.

As if gravity was negotiating with logic,

trying to find a compromise so a man could follow his lust without touching the ground too quickly.

His feet landed softly on the floor, just inches in front of the Tower Manager— now lying on her back, legs spread wide, with one breast hanging free like a flag of victory.

Nathan looked at her—

confused, half afraid, half aroused, half in existential crisis.

With a quiet voice,

almost like a whisper to himself,

he asked:

"What... does all this really mean?"

The Tower Manager lifted her face,

her smile like a comedy mask worn by a goddess who had long lost her faith.

"Meaning?"

Her voice was light,

but it echoed like a rhetorical question that could shatter galaxies.

"Does it even matter?"

She lowered her gaze again.

Both hands began to move.

With slow, deliberate motion, she touched the pale folds beneath her body. Her fingers opened that sacred gate— spreading soft, glistening flesh that pulsed like a portal between logic and illusion.

A faint steam rose from the seam.

Wet. Glowing. Open.

Nathan went blank.

No thoughts. No resistance. Just the overwhelming urge to kneel.

His knees bent slowly, reverently, as if answering a holy summons.

The glistening flesh before him shimmered like sacred silk soaked in fever.

He could no longer tell if this was desire, worship, or surrender.

He gripped his mortal spear once more.

His breath faltered—jagged, restless.

Then, he aimed.

And edged closer to white ass pussy.

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