My SuperVillain System: Building Legion of SSS-Ranked SuperHeroines

"Where did he go?" Lira was clearly adjusting her dress, finding it too complicated to wear in this strange place, moving randomly while trying to find Cruxius, who had a few hours ago gone to bring Ytrisia after being ordered by that vampire woman to attend the Pentagon meeting.

It was an important meeting according to that vampire woman, who strictly told Cruxius to remain calm so that his presence would leave a lasting impact on others. This confused Lira, considering that the woman said it didn't matter even if he surrendered and accepted defeat.

Both of these statements were too confusing for Lira, considering that the woman wanted him to win, and even if he did not win, she wouldn't have a problem. But more likely, she wanted him to win at all costs.

"There doesn't seem to be an escape from here; more likely end zone," Lira did not even think of escaping or running away from this place, as she was aware that she would most probably be in an area surrounded by those monsters who would not hesitate before killing a human like her. Given that this palace was under the queen's protection, she saw herself in the past life living in such a place, knowing that inside was safer than outside.

"There it is..." Finally arriving outside a door, she halted, looking before sighing as she felt how long she needed to walk to arrive here—all because of Cruxius delaying. Not that she hated walking, but she was more concerned about this place, which appeared haunting, and he just left her here alone.

"Ummmhhggg!"

'!'

'Huh?'

Lira went to bring Cruxius and heard a gobble sound. Through the crack of the door, she looked inside—and saw:

Cruxius's cock—thick, veiny, flushed deep red—smashed flat against Ytrisia's mouth, sunk past her lips to the hilt.

Her throat bulged outward grotesquely, a visible outline of his girth forced inside her, twitching with every shallow pump.

Her jaw hung open, forcibly locked around the intrusion, lips stretched raw and glossy, smeared in strings of spit and precum. His heavy balls slapped rhythmically against her chin—pah, pah, pah—as he rolled his hips forward with methodical pressure, feeding her inch after inch until his pelvis ground into her face.

Ytrisia gurgled.

Not words—just choking sound.

Thick ropes of drool spilled from the corners of her mouth, sliding down her cheeks, neck, pooling onto the sheets below. Her nose pressed flat against his pubic bone, her eyes wide and unfocused, glazed with tears that poured sideways, streaking down the sides of her flushed face.

Her hands clawed weakly at the sheets.

Pinned beneath him.

Because he wasn't just fucking her mouth.

He was buried between her thighs, tongue drilling into her cunt with the same savage rhythm. His face moved in violent bursts—cheeks flexing, jaw grinding, nose slick with arousal as he devoured her swollen folds with animal precision.

Her pussy was a mess.

Glistening.

Gaping.

Flushed a dark pink from overuse, her clit visibly engorged, twitching against his lips as his tongue lashed across it like a weapon. He sucked it into his mouth—hard—then let it pop free before plunging his tongue inside her hole again, dragging out thick strings of milky slick.

Her folds were trembling.

Every motion of his tongue caused her legs to spasm violently, calves twitching, heels kicking weakly against the sheets. Her thighs were damp with her own fluids, inner skin glazed and sticky with a mixture of spit and pussy juice that oozed with every flick of his tongue.

He groaned into her.

Low and resonant.

The vibration rippled through her core, drawing a deep, muffled cry from her stuffed throat—"Hhrrnnkkk!"—as her entire body jolted like a puppet on a fraying string.

Cruxius's cock throbbed visibly.

A thick pulse ran through the shaft, bulging with blood as her throat clenched reflexively around him, triggering a spasm that made her eyes roll up. Spit sprayed out of her nose as she gagged again, tears streaming harder now. But she didn't pull away.

Couldn't.

Because he had her locked down—one hand gripping both her wrists above her head, the other fisting into her thigh to keep her spread wide open as he tongue-fucked her dripping cunt with mechanical rhythm.

Squelch.

Slurp.

Smack.

Each noise came sharp and wet, echoing in the quiet chamber as his mouth painted her folds with filth—licking, drinking, biting, dragging his teeth lightly across her clit just to watch her jerk.

He moved again.

Shifted forward.

The head of his cock pressed deeper—straight down her throat, sealing her airway completely for a full beat as her nose flared wide, chest convulsing. Her body shook in helpless panic—but then he pulled back just enough to let her suck in a wet, messy gasp through her nose, strings of saliva clinging from her lips to the base of his shaft.

And then—

He slammed back in.

Balls crashing against her throat.

Pelvis smashing against her mouth.

He used her throat like a wet hole, hips pumping now with brutal authority, cock dragging over her tongue, the vein underside scraping along her palate every time he bottomed out.

Her throat clamped again.

He moaned.

Muffled against her soaked folds, mouth now slick and shining with her cum, his beard glistening with the mess of her, fluid dripping down his chin onto the sheets as he devoured her like a creature possessed.

She twitched violently—legs trembling, feet curling, hips bucking uncontrollably as her pussy clenched hard, milking his tongue with convulsive squeezes. And then—it broke.

Her orgasm hit like a seizure.

A raw scream tried to rip free, only to die strangled around his cock.

Her hips shot off the bed, her pussy squirting—a sharp, violent spray right into his mouth, coating his face, his tongue, his nose. It didn't stop. It pulsed. It flooded. Her fluid splashed against his jaw, ran down his throat, soaked into the sheets in wet, visible patches.

He held her there.

Took it all.

Lapped at her slit between pulses like a man drowning in nectar.

And still—he fucked her mouth.

Slow. Heavy. Intentional.

His cock dragging back with a sucking pop, only to sink back in with a thick, wet slap.

Until suddenly—his breath hitched.

His thighs tensed.

And then—he came.

A full, brutal release, cock twitching once—twice—before thick, hot ropes of cum blasted straight down her throat. She gagged violently, her entire body shaking under the force of it, her stomach convulsing, her nose bubbling with spit and air.

But he didn't let her go.

He held her.

Balls deep.

His seed pumping down her throat in long, pulsing spurts, flooding her mouth, the excess spilling from her lips in thick, white streams as he groaned—guttural, satisfied, drained.

And finally—he pulled out.

With a wet, dripping pop.

A string of cum stretched from the tip of his cock to her tongue as she gasped for air, her lips bruised and glistening, throat still spasming.

Then—

He reached out.

Gripped her cheeks.

Pressed her lips shut.

"Drink it."

Ytrisia blinked up at him, face ruined with tears and cum, jaw quivering.

She swallowed.

He leaned close.

His face soaked in her slick, breathing heavy, voice low and wicked as he whispered into her drenched ear—

"Good girl."

"Y-You monster…"

Lira whispered—but not aloud. The words never left her mouth.

Her lips only moved slightly, the air in her lungs frozen. She stood motionless, shadowed in the hall, her arms crossed loosely beneath her chest, one hand still clutching the fold of her heavy, overly ornate dress as if grounding herself from what she'd just witnessed.

Inside the room, the rhythm had gone still.

She saw him—Cruxius—panting, kneeling at the edge of the bed. His cock, still wet, half-hardened, glistened faintly as a last drop of seed spilled from the tip. Ytrisia lay sprawled on the sheets, her body jerking in soft aftershocks, chest heaving, her arms spread limply above her head like a discarded marionette.

Cruxius leaned down and kissed her.

Not lustful. Not dominant.

Just… calm. As if what had just happened was routine. As if nothing about her ruined state—throat red and raw, stomach rising and falling in short bursts, legs still twitching—was unnatural.

He stood after that, stretching slowly, rolling his shoulders like a man waking from a long nap. Then with mechanical precision, he reached for his pants. His hands worked in silence, buttoning himself up without urgency, each movement dripping with a predator's casual detachment.

Ytrisia moved next.

Sluggish.

She sat up slowly, her body thick, full, built like a goddess and wrecked like a ragdoll. Her skin bore the marks—hickeys and scratches, bruises that hadn't even begun to darken yet. Her chest glistened with sweat and saliva, hair tangled, lips swollen, inner thighs painted in smears of white and clear fluid.

She bent to grab her clothes.

But they slipped from her fingers.

Her hands were shaking.

Lira's eyes narrowed slightly. She didn't look away. She didn't flinch.

Not at the bruises.

Not at the fluids.

Not at the faint, almost worshipful smile forming on Ytrisia's exhausted face.

Just…

Frowned.

Disgust.

Plain and visible across Lira's face. Not dramatic—just present. Cold. Quiet. Heavy in the eyes.

And then—

The door opened.

Slowly.

The old wood creaked slightly as Cruxius pulled it open, unaware, or perhaps uncaring of the weight of what lay beyond. His hand rested on the edge of the door. His body blocked part of the light—but not enough.

Because behind him—

Ytrisia stood.

Frozen.

Her naked body exposed just enough through the shifting cloth of the robe she hadn't finished putting on. One sleeve still hung loose off her shoulder, one breast barely covered, the fabric bunched in her trembling hands as her wide, purple eyes stared straight at Lira.

Time froze for a beat.

Three souls.

One hallway.

No sound—except for Ytrisia's shaky breath and the faint rustle of silk over bare skin.

Cruxius looked at Lira with an unreadable expression.

Completely blank.

Not a trace of shame or defense. Just… indifference.

As if she had walked in on him washing his hands, not breaking a woman down to her base chemicals.

Ytrisia blinked.

"Lira…?" she mumbled.

And that was enough.

"He's trying to brainwash you."

Lira spoke with no inflection. Her arms remained crossed. Her back straight. No raised voice, no emotional drama. Just the truth. Delivered cleanly. Sharply. A blade, not a plea.

"Manipulate you. Slowly degrade you."

She tilted her head slightly.

"It's his old way of taming women."

Her golden eyes flicked—not to Cruxius, but to Ytrisia, who stood like a stunned deer in torchlight.

"Don't fall for it."