Online Game: I Turn Monsters Into Food 10,000x Buffs

He opened his eyes and looked down at her.

She wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at the wall, at the ceiling, at the lantern, at anything that wasn’t his face, and her cheeks had gone from pink to something closer to crimson. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth. Her green eyes darted toward him once, briefly, wanting, electric and then away again.

"You don’t have to," she added quickly. "I mean, only if...it’s fine if you-"

Liam nodded.

She picked up the sponge.

Her hands were steady when they touched him, which surprised him. She started on his back, pressing the sponge between his shoulder blades and dragging it in slow, firm circles. The foam was thick and warm, and her fingers worked through it with a surprising gentleness that didn’t match the way she swung a sword. She found the knots along his spine and pressed into them, and Liam let out a low groan that came from somewhere deep in his chest.

Elizabeth’s hands faltered for half a second. Then continued.

She moved to his chest, the sponge trailing down over his pectorals, across the ridges of his abdomen, through the trail of white hair below his navel. The foam slid and gathered. Her knuckles brushed the waistband of his boxers, and she pulled back like she’d touched something hot.

Liam reached down, hooked his thumbs into the elastic. Pulled.

The boxers came off with a wet sound, and he tossed them over the side of the tub without looking where they landed.

His cock sprang free.

The water wasn’t deep enough to hide it. It rose from the foam like something that had been waiting thick, heavy, flushed dark against his pale skin.

Both women went very still.

Midnight’s mouth opened slightly. A thin line of drool traced from the corner of her lip to the water, and she didn’t wipe it.

Elizabeth made a sound. Not a word. Something between a gasp and a whimper, and her hand, the one still holding the sponge, drifted lower. Down past his hip. Down toward the waterline, where the foam parted around the base of him.

Her fingers trembled.

"Liam." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I need you to stand. So I can... clean you properly."

He groaned. Low, rough, the sound vibrating through the water.

"Okay."

Liam rose.

Water poured off him in streams. He stood in the centre of the tub with the foam clinging to his thighs and his cock standing fully erect, massive and glistening, the head level with Elizabeth’s face, where she still sat in the water.

She looked up at it. Her pink eyes were huge. Her lips parted.

Elizabeth’s breath hitched, her chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven gasps as she leaned forward, ’her tits- god, her fucking tits’ pressed tight around his cock.

They were soft, so goddamn soft, like two pillows filled with warm, yielding silk. Plump enough to spill over her fingers as she squeezed them together around him, the foam from the bathwater clinging to her skin, making everything slick and shiny under the dim light. Her nipples were hard little nubs now, pebbled and begging for attention, brushing against his shaft with every stroke, sending sparks of electricity up her spine.

Her breasts were fucking soaked, water beading down the curves, dripping onto his thighs as she worked him with a rhythm that was both desperate and deliberate. The sound of his cock sliding between her tits was obscene, a wet, squelching symphony that made her cheeks burn and her pussy clench. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the way his dick throbbed against her skin, the veins straining against her soft flesh. Every time he pulled back, the tip of his cock peeked out, glistening with her juices and the foam, and she couldn’t help but lick her lips, imagining how he’d taste.

"Fuck, Liz," he groaned, his voice rough, his hands gripping the edge of the tub so hard his knuckles turned white. "Your tits, goddamn, they’re perfect."

She smirked, a wicked glint in her eyes, and a blush of embarrassment as she leaned down, letting her nipples drag along his length, teasing him with the tightness of her cleavage. "You like that, huh?" she purred, actually purred.

Liam didn’t answer, hell, he couldn’t answer- just let out a strangled moan as she sped up, her tits bouncing slightly with the force of her movements. The foam clung to her skin, frothy and white, sliding down her chest as she worked him, her hands tightening around her breasts to keep him trapped. She could feel him getting harder, thicker, the way his cock pulsed against her skin, and she knew he was close.

He groaned again, louder this time, his hips bucking up into her chest as she squeezed him tighter, her nipples brushing against the underside of his cock with every stroke. The foam was everywhere now, slick and slippery, making every movement smooth and effortless, the sound of skin on skin, wet and obscene, filling the room.

Elizabeth’s breath was coming faster now, her own arousal spiking as she watched him unravel, the way his muscles tensed, the way his cock twitched against her skin. She could feel the heat building, the pressure, and she knew he was right there, on the edge, ready to explode.

[Tool Tip]:

Status: Cleavage Friction: Optimised

The Ballistic Unmasking: Liam executing a zero-hesitation removal of his wet boxers has permanently altered the bathroom’s structural pressure. The system confirms his exposed, unmasked [Massive Erect Asset] instantly triggered an involuntary [Drool Sync Error] in Midnight and reduced Elizabeth’s verbal routing to primitive whimpering.

The Dual-Pillow Containment Stratagem: Elizabeth transitioning from a flustered ceiling-staring defence to utilising her tits as a high-density, silk-soft [Wet Compression Channel] has drastically escalated the combat encounter. Squeezing her soaked, foam-laced cleavage around his shaft has generated a highly obscene squelching symphony that completely bypasses all known tank armour.

The Confidence Scaling Buff: Witnessing Liam grip the stone tub with white-knuckled desperation has permanently flipped Elizabeth’s emotional script from cringe to sultry malice. Squeezing her plump, water-beaded assets while aggressively teasing his throbbing anatomy proves her confidence level scales directly with the frequency of his guttural moans.