Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 1429

Chapter 1429: Chapter 1429

In the dream, he stood at the center of the forest, alone. The trees whispered his name, not in menace but in longing. Their leaves shimmered with liquid gold. The roots pulsed beneath his feet, leading him forward, deeper into a heart of light. When he reached the center, he found her - not Rose, not Stella, not any of his wives, but the goddess.

She was made of every one of them and none. Her face shifted as he watched - eyes like Sophie’s, lips like Lucy’s, the curve of Zoey’s waist, the hair of Scarlet, the voice of Rose. But the energy... the energy was infinite. She reached for him, her touch neither cold nor warm, but everything. He stepped into her arms.

"You are the echo and the source," she whispered into his soul. "You are the seed and the bloom. Are you ready to become?"

He didn’t speak. He nodded.

And woke with a gasp.

The vines had opened.

Soft light filtered in from above - an opening in the ceiling that hadn’t been there before. Gold-leafed petals fluttered down through the shaft of sunlight. Lucy stirred beside him, her lips brushing his chest as she looked up, eyes dazed with sleep and afterglow.

"Did you dream of her?" she asked.

He nodded.

"So did I," whispered Stella from his other side.

And Sophie. And Emma. And Natalie. All of them had seen her.

Scarlet sat up, her body gleaming like polished amber. "She wants us to move."

"To where?" Susan asked, stretching her limbs languidly, her breasts rising with each breath.

"The shrine," said Grace, eyes wide. "Not the old one. A new one. One we haven’t seen yet."

Jude stood, the vines sliding away from his body like mist. "She’s guiding us."

Rose met his gaze. "Then we follow."

They moved as one. No one dressed. The island didn’t ask them to. Their nudity wasn’t shameful - it was sacred. The vines parted before them, the forest welcoming them like honored children. The path didn’t exist until they stepped onto it, and with each footfall, the trees bent, the light shifted, the ground glowed. It was a path written in real time by desire and devotion.

After what felt like hours or maybe only minutes, they arrived.

It wasn’t a shrine. It was a sanctuary.

An open clearing rimmed by stones carved with their names. Twelve stones for twelve women. In the center, a shallow pool glittered with gold, surrounded by white blossoms that pulsed gently in time with their footsteps. At the heart of the pool, a pedestal rose, made of entwined branches and bone. Upon it sat a single object:

A mask.

It was smooth, faceless, but alive. It pulsed like skin, shimmered like water. The moment Jude saw it, he felt it calling.

"She wants you to wear it," Emma said quietly.

"No," Rose corrected. "She wants us to wear it. Through him."

Jude stepped forward, naked, heart pounding.

The moment his fingers touched the mask, the pool rippled, and the women cried out - not in fear, but in sensation. Heat surged through them all. Susan fell to her knees, moaning. Grace clutched her breasts, trembling. Zoey arched back, her mouth open in a wordless scream. Their bodies reacted as one - slick with new need, burning with shared fire.

"Put it on," Lucy whispered. "Please, Jude."

He did.

The moment the mask settled over his face, he vanished.

Not from their sight, but from himself. He was no longer a man. He was them. He saw through all their eyes at once. Felt every quiver in Stella’s thighs, every flutter in Natalie’s breath, every clench of Sophie’s fingers on the grass. He felt their pleasure building again - no longer personal, but collective. No longer his, or hers, but theirs.

They moved toward him in reverence.

One by one, they offered themselves.

Lucy was first. She climbed onto him as he knelt at the center of the pool, the mask glowing brighter with each thrust of her hips, each moan that spilled from her lips. Her climax lit the pedestal like a flare.

Then Zoey. Then Emma. Then Grace and Scarlet, Sophie and Natalie, Susan and Layla. They kissed him, rode him, worshiped him, and through him, the goddess.

Rose came last.

She didn’t kneel. She didn’t straddle.

She consumed.

Her mouth claimed his. Her body swallowed him whole. She cried his name and the goddess’s name in the same breath. Her climax didn’t just shake her - it shook the earth.

The pool overflowed.

The vines around the clearing bloomed into stars.

And when Rose fell back, panting and glowing, Jude removed the mask.

His face had changed.

Not physically.

But they all felt it.

He was no longer one man among twelve women.

He was the thirteenth.

The final note in the song.

And the island sang.

The sound rose like breath from the earth itself - a chorus of wind and water, rustling leaves and unseen voices. The island’s song wove around them, through them, within them. Each note vibrated in their skin, their bones, their centers, setting off waves of heat that danced from spine to fingertips to thighs and deeper still. Jude stood at the center of the clearing, the mask in his hands now dull and quiet, but the energy it had awakened hummed through him still. The women formed a ring around him, not kneeling now, not bowing. They stood tall, radiant, alive with pleasure and power and something no language could name.

Lucy was the first to step forward. Her lips glistened, her body flushed, and her breath came shallow and quick as she pressed herself to him. She whispered, "We don’t stop now. We don’t go back." Her hands slid down his chest, and he caught her hips, pulling her against him, hard and urgent. They kissed deeply, hungrily, like their tongues were learning each other all over again.

Zoey was next, her fingers sliding over Lucy’s back, stroking down Jude’s arm, her mouth brushing his neck, her body flush against both of theirs. "Let’s burn," she murmured. "Let’s burn and bloom."