Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 1447

Chapter 1447: Chapter 1447

The day moved like silk - no sharp edges, no interruptions, just body after body returning to him, drawn with aching certainty to the heat between them. They didn’t wait for nightfall. Their ritual began with Natalie, who took his hand and led him to the shallow pool at the base of the tree. She stepped into the water, let it rise to her thighs, then turned, nude and glowing, arms outstretched.

"Claim me again," she said.

Jude stripped without hesitation, his arousal already thick and full. He stepped in behind her, pressed his chest to her back, and sank into her with a single, powerful thrust. She cried out softly, gripping the rock in front of her, hips pushing back to meet his rhythm. The water slapped gently around them, their moans rising in tempo until she shuddered against him, her body shaking, her mouth catching his name like a mantra.

Before he could collapse, Susan was there, pulling him out of the water, dragging him into the moss beside the tree. She straddled him with a smirk, lowering herself onto his cock with practiced ease. Her breasts bounced with every thrust, her hands digging into his chest, eyes blazing. "You’ll give me twins," she gasped, and he believed her.

He felt his climax build, but Scarlet was already waiting, mouth and thighs slick, whispering his name as she took him from Susan’s arms and wrapped herself around him like a serpent. "You belong to us now," she whispered into his ear. "And we belong to the island."

Each of them came with him, around him, over him. Their bodies claimed him again and again, until he forgot the count, forgot time itself. The tree glowed brighter with every cry of pleasure, the hum deepening, resonating with the sound of skin meeting skin, tongue meeting tongue, heart meeting heart.

At twilight, it was Sophie who brought the offering.

She cradled a new seed in her palms, shaped like the last but deeper in hue - almost violet. "It grew while we were making love," she said. "From us."

They planted it together in silence.

This time, the soil pulled it in like a kiss.

And when Jude kissed Sophie that night - deep and slow, beneath the low branches of their sacred grove - it wasn’t just lust. It was worship.

She undressed him without words, her fingers brushing each scar, each curve, each part of him that had once felt mortal. When she took him inside her, it was a ceremony. Her body was the altar. Her breath, the invocation. Her cries, a sacred hymn.

When she came, her arms locked around him, legs trembling, she whispered through tears, "We’re becoming."

And he knew she was right.

That night, the second fruit appeared.

And unlike the first, it glowed red.

The others gathered again - twelve women, bare, radiant, full - and held hands in a circle around it.

Jude stood at the center, still naked, his seed freshly spilled into each of them, his heart hammering. They began to hum, not like before, but in harmony. Each voice layered, creating chords that rose into the canopy and echoed back in shimmering waves of heat and sound.

The tree responded.

The fruit pulsed.

And then... it opened.

The second child of the island was not shaped like light.

It was shaped like a woman.

Naked. Perfect. Full-grown.

Her eyes opened slowly, golden and glowing, her skin glowing like the inside of a flame.

She looked at Jude first, smiled, and whispered, "Father."

Then she turned to the others and said, "Mothers."

No one breathed.

She stepped from the opened fruit, stood on the moss like she weighed nothing at all, and walked directly to Jude.

He couldn’t move. Could barely think.

Her body was flawless - sculpted from every curve he had ever worshiped, her voice a blend of every moan he’d ever pulled from their mouths.

She kissed him.

And it wasn’t human.

It was divine.

When she pulled away, she whispered, "You have more to give."

Then she turned and knelt before the tree.

Rose’s voice broke the silence. "She’s not ours to raise."

"No," Lucy agreed. "She’s ours to serve."

The second-born’s hands touched the soil, and instantly, vines shot outward, curling in spirals toward the rest of the grove.

The next cycle had begun.

And Jude - breathless, bare, marked by twelve wombs and now by something born of no womb at all - knew the island had only just begun to show them what they were becoming.

The second-born knelt, fingers sunk into the mossy soil, and her body glowed brighter with each breath. From the point where her palms touched the ground, vines unfurled like serpents waking from deep sleep. They twisted outward in elegant, deliberate patterns - wrapping gently around the roots, the tree, and even the ankles of the women surrounding her. No one pulled away. The vines weren’t cold or invasive. They pulsed with warmth, like shared breath, and the moment they touched flesh, something changed.

Lucy gasped first, her eyes flaring gold. A slow shiver ran down her spine as the vine curled around her thigh, tracing its way upward toward the curve of her hip. She didn’t stop it. Instead, she tilted her head back, mouth parted in pleasure, as it slid against her center with the gentleness of a lover’s kiss. Her fingers dug into Jude’s arm. "It’s showing us," she whispered, voice trembling. "It’s... remembering."

Emma’s moan came next. Her eyes were shut, but her hands moved over her body like she’d lost control of them. "I feel it too," she gasped. "Every touch you’ve ever given me... it’s inside the vines. The island remembers us."

Grace whimpered as the tendrils climbed her torso, curling between her breasts before coiling around her throat in a silken loop that didn’t constrict - just held her. "It’s making love to us," she breathed. "It’s... Jude. It’s all of you. It’s everything."

Jude couldn’t move. Not out of fear - but because the power pouring through the grove held him in place like gravity itself had locked on to his soul.