Invincible Blood Sorceror

Chapter 227: They want to marry you

Each withdrawal was slow, making her feel every ridge and vein drag along her stretched walls, each slam home a conquest that shook her entire frame, her thick belly quivering, her tits bouncing wildly. The water around them churned and steamed violently, glowing droplets flying with their motion.

”This cunt,” he growled, his amber eyes burning into hers, one hand fisting her hair to hold her head still.

”It belongs to me. It grows my heir.

Say it.”

”Yours!” She sobbed, her own claws scrabbling against his broad crimson back, finding no purchase on the rock-hard muscle.

”My king! My son! This womb is yours—fill it again!”

He changed angles without withdrawing, using his newfound strength and size to manipulate her massive body like a ragdoll.

He turned, still impaled deep, and pressed her back against the smooth, curved wall of the wellspring basin.

With her pinned, legs splayed over his arms, he drove upward in a relentless jackhammer motion that made her squirt repeatedly, the glowing blue water mixing with her clear juices in steaming sprays.

Then he pulled her off the wall, spun her in the water, and took her from behind, her front pressed against the bank. Doggy-style now, but transformed—his scarlet hips hammered into her jiggling brown ass with pile-driver force, each impact sending waves across the pool and rippling her flesh like thunder.

He leaned over her, biting the nape of her neck in a possessive claim as his hands reached around to maul her swinging tits, twisting and pulling her nipples until she screamed again, milk-like essence beading from the abuse.

”More,” he commanded, his voice the rumble of a volcano.

”I will have every hole, every drop of you.”

He lifted her from the water entirely, carrying her dripping form to a wide, flat ritual stone beside the pool. Laying her on her back, he hooked her ankles behind his neck—her flexibility meeting his new size effortlessly.

This angle was devastating, his crimson cock plunging into depths previously untouched, the flared head kissing and battering the mouth of her womb with every deep, grinding stroke.

He leaned down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, his new forked tongue plunging into her mouth, mimicking the fucking rhythm below while tasting her screams.

Hours meant nothing.

The twin moons crossed the sky.

He took her on her side, on her knees, bent over the stone, and standing with her legs wrapped around him, each position a new exploration of his transformed body’s capabilities and her limitless capacity to receive him.

Her orgasms came in endless, rolling waves, each one milking his scarlet length harder, urging him toward his own climax. He edged himself mercilessly, pulling out to slap her face with his dripping cock, making her lick her own cream from the veined shaft, or forcing her to suck his heavy balls while he fingered her gaping pussy.

Finally, as the first hints of dawn tinged the misty sky, he gathered her into his arms, her massive, exhausted form cradled against his chest. He carried her back into the center of the glowing wellspring. Holding her close, face-to-face, her legs locked around his waist, he began a slow, deep, circular grind, his cock stirring her thoroughly used, dripping channel like a piston in molten honey.

”Now, Mother,” he murmured, his amber gaze soft yet fierce, tribal markings pulsing brighter. ”Take the essence of what I am—again.”

His control snapped.

A roar erupted from him that silenced the falls for a moment, shaking the island. His cock swelled even further inside her, stretching her walls to their limit, then erupted.

It was like liquid fire, infused with his transformative essence, a torrent of blazing-hot, thick scarlet seed that flooded her womb in endless, powerful jets.

So much, so potent, it overflowed immediately, bubbling out around his buried shaft in creamy rivers that turned the wellspring milky where it hit.

She could feel its heat spreading through her core, branding her insides, reinforcing the life already growing, making it stronger, scarlet, unstoppable.

Sigora convulsed, a final, soul-shattering climax seizing her as she felt the incredible heat fill her, overflow her, and drip down her thighs to mix with the wellspring. Her hand flew to her belly, which already felt rounded, fuller, and alive with potent, swirling power that thrummed in time with his pulses.

Jorghan held her through the aftershocks, his crimson form gently lowering them both into the soothing water. He kissed her forehead, his skin already cooling, the intense glow of his eyes dimming to a warm smolder.

”Our child,” Sigora whispered, awestruck, her body thrumming with new, mysterious energy.

”He will be a god.”

”He will be Sol’vur,” Jorghan corrected, his voice once again his own, though deeper, forever changed. He looked at her, at the water, at the coming dawn.

*

A few days later,

Morning at Brownhill Dunes.

Jorghan stood in the main chamber of Sigora’s dwelling, reviewing the supplies laid out on the large table. Maps of the route to Colloniel ruins, tools for assessing structural integrity, provisions for a week-long journey, and weapons in case they encountered hostile wildlife or opportunistic bandits.

The migration to the ruins was scheduled to begin in three days, but he wanted to scout the location personally first.

Make sure the site was actually suitable, identify any immediate problems that would need addressing, and begin planning the reconstruction effort.

He was checking the quality of rope they’d use for climbing damaged structures when Sigora entered, her expression carrying that particular mixture of satisfaction and anticipation that suggested she’d accomplished something she considered important.

”We need to talk,” she said, closing the door behind her to ensure privacy.

Jorghan looked up from the supplies.

”About the scouting expedition? I’m almost ready to depart. Just need to finalize—”

”About your partnerships,” Sigora interrupted, moving to stand across the table from him. ”Specifically, about two matriarchs who’ve made formal requests.”

”You are okay with competition.”

Jorghan smirked as he set down the rope he’d been inspecting.

Sigora moved to him and leaned down towards him and then pulled out her tongue, licking his cheek.

”You are mine thoroughly, as I am yours; no woman can take that away.”

Her right hand was massaging his groin, and Jorghan was holding the folds of her waist.

Just when Jorghan was about to kiss her, she moved back.

”Now, regarding the partners.”

It was her turn to smirk at him.

She moved back.

Jorghan sighed and said, ”Go on.”

Sigora pulled out a document—a formal script written in the traditional style used for important clan communications.

”Matriarch Narmishina of the Ma’zenti clan and Matriarch Sashrutiena of the Dhra’ckin clan have both approached me with identical requests. They wish to become your wives.”

”Wives?”

Jorghan repeated the word, feeling strange.

”Not just partners or breeding arrangements?”

”Wives,” Sigora confirmed.

”Full formal marriage according to traditional elven customs. They’re not interested in casual partnerships or temporary arrangements for producing offspring. They want permanent, recognized unions with all the rights and responsibilities that entail.”

She set the document on the table where Jorghan could read it.

”I’ve vetted both extensively. Narmishina is four hundred years old, an exceptional warrior with Aerat manipulation abilities that complement your bloodline nicely. She’s intelligent, politically savvy, and genuinely interested in you beyond just genetic considerations. The Ma’zenti clan she leads has about eighty surviving members who’d integrate smoothly into the Sol’vur structure.”

”And Sashrutiena?”

”Three hundred and fifty years old, specializes in defensive essence techniques that would strengthen Sol’vur’s tactical capabilities. The Dhra’ckin clan has sixty members, mostly craftspeople and engineers who’d be invaluable for the Colloniel reconstruction. Sashrutiena herself is more reserved than Narmishina but equally committed to making this work as an actual partnership rather than just a transactional arrangement.”

Jorghan picked up the document, reading the formal language that outlined what both matriarchs were proposing.

It was surprisingly thorough, not just agreements to bear children, but commitments to shared governance of household affairs, mutual support in clan matters, and provisions for how any offspring would be raised and educated.

Seeing how far they saw made Jorghan chuckle. They were really serious about the marriage thing, too.

”Why marriage specifically?” he asked.

”Most clan partnerships are less formal than this. Why insist on traditional unions?”

Sigora’s expression became more thoughtful.

”I asked them that. Narmishina said she’s seen too many partnerships where women are treated as breeding stock with no real status or protection. She wants the legitimacy and security that comes with formal marriage. She wants her children; she is ready for a couple of them, a safe home in the Sol’vur clan, and being a wife can guarantee that; that’s what she thought.”

Sigora smiled as she continued, ”Sashrutiena’s reasoning was similar but added that she believes children raised in stable, recognized family structures develop better than those from casual arrangements.”

She moved around the table to stand beside him.

”They’re both aware you’ll likely have other partners eventually. They’re accepting of that reality. But they want their own positions formalized, their children recognized as legitimate heirs, and their status within the Sol’vur clan clearly established. Marriage provides all of that in ways informal partnerships don’t.”