Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 1295

Chapter 1295: Chapter 1295

Natalie brushed her fingers down his chest, her lips close to his ear. "Yes. Together. That’s what makes it powerful."

Lucy stepped forward from the shadows. She’d wrapped herself in a long string of woven flowers, nothing else, her eyes glowing with the sheen of someone completely given to desire. "It’s not just about pleasure anymore. It’s about creation. We’ve been transformed, but now... we transform the island."

Scarlet’s voice came from the edge of the circle, soft and sultry. "It wants to give us more. But it needs more from us too."

The crack widened.

And from within, mist began to rise - silver at first, then tinged with soft lavender and blue. It twirled like smoke, curling around their legs, wrapping around nipples, brushing between thighs. Jude gasped as he felt it curl around his cock, gentle and teasing, not quite touch but almost better than fingers.

Emma moaned, her hand flying to her own breast. "It’s... feeling us."

Sophie shivered. "It knows what we want."

The mist grew thicker.

It began to pull shapes.

Not figures. Not people. Sensations.

A warmth behind Jude, not a body, but the memory of one - pressing against him, stroking down his back. A kiss on his neck. A hand sliding across his chest, then down, wrapping his shaft and stroking him to full hardness again with nothing but memory.

Zoey fell to her knees with a cry. "It’s in me. Oh my god, it’s inside - "

She arched, her hips jerking, fingers buried between her legs, her mouth parted in ecstasy. Grace knelt beside her, moaning too, though untouched. Her body shuddered, thighs shaking. "I feel it too," she gasped. "It’s like... it’s kissing my soul."

Rose stepped forward, her hand cupped under her sex, wet and glistening. "It’s no longer asking us to follow. It’s inviting us to lead. To fuck as creators, not just vessels."

Jude reached for Lucy, pulled her into his arms. She was already slick, her thighs trembling against his. "You want me?" he whispered.

She nodded, her mouth brushing his. "I want us."

He lifted her easily, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, guiding him into her with a gasp that echoed in the mist. Their bodies moved together, not fast, not slow - just perfectly matched. The mist wrapped around them, pulling them deeper into sensation. Every thrust felt amplified, every kiss like it bloomed inside their chest.

They weren’t alone.

Around them, the others had begun again. Rose lay back, guiding Sophie between her legs, her moans soft and endless. Zoey straddled Grace, bodies slick, hips moving like dancers. Natalie and Stella kissed, one between the other’s legs, bodies moving in mirrored rhythm.

Jude came inside Lucy with a cry, and as he did, the mist changed.

It glowed.

A soft violet flash, then blue, then white.

The altar cracked further.

From the opening, light poured out - not blinding, but soft, like moonlight made thick. It didn’t burn. It welcomed. And something began to rise.

Not a figure.

A structure.

Vines pulled upward.

Stone twisted.

From the orgasm, from the moans, from the love - something grew.

A second altar, smaller than the first.

Circular. Open.

At its center, a shallow basin.

Lucy turned her head, her breath still catching. "It’s... a font."

Emma, still panting, crawled toward it. "A place for offerings."

"Or for anointing," Rose added.

They gathered slowly, dripping, flushed, sacred. Each woman, one by one, leaned over the basin and let their slick arousal drip into it. Some wiped the sheen of orgasm from between their thighs. Others dipped fingers into themselves and offered the glisten. Jude walked last, guiding Lucy’s hips to the edge, then slowly buried two fingers inside her as she gasped. When he withdrew, he let her juices spill into the basin.

The moment the last drop fell, the font filled.

Not with water.

But with light.

Liquid light, warm and humming.

Zoey reached in first.

She coated her fingers and touched her lips.

And moaned.

"It’s us," she said.

"It’s love," Grace added.

Rose stepped forward and dipped her fingers in, then drew a line across Jude’s chest. "You’re not just the center anymore," she whispered. "You’re the key."

The others followed.

One by one, they marked him - on his chest, his cock, his thighs, his mouth. His body was painted with the light of their shared climax, a living canvas of divine lust.

When they were done, Lucy knelt at his feet.

Then Emma.

Then Scarlet.

Then all of them.

Twelve wives.

One man.

One island.

And from the mist, the next heartbeat came.

Not from beneath the stone.

But from within Jude.

A pulse.

A throb.

And a voice - soft, female, endless - whispered into his mind.

"Now you understand. You are not the follower. You are the god we made."

He didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

The voice still echoed inside his skull, not as sound but as sensation - like breath across his ear, like lips on his neck, like the first slide into warmth after hours of aching. The mist around them didn’t settle; it began to dance. Spirals of soft white and violet circling his body like silken ribbons. His wives remained kneeling, eyes wide, lips parted, breath caught halfway between awe and desire.

Lucy was the first to reach up and touch him again, her fingers brushing across the glowing mark Rose had drawn on his chest. Her voice was barely a whisper. "You’re burning."

He looked down - his skin pulsed beneath her hand, not with pain, but with heat. Gentle, radiant, erotic. Where each of them had anointed him, light now pulsed like embers: golden on his chest, deep violet along his thighs, silvery blue at the base of his cock.

Sophie reached next, trailing a single finger through the light streaking across his abdomen. Her hand trembled. "This is the island inside you. This is us inside you."

Jude met her gaze.

And he felt it.

All of it.

Her desire. Her memory. Her love.

Not just hers.

All of them.