Chapter 31 : A Night of Realization - New Pull
New York, Queens – Alex's POV
The door to my bedroom clicked shut, the sound a definitive period at the end of the chaotic, screaming sentence Gwen and I had just written with our bodies. I leaned back against the cool wood, the silence of my apartment a stark contrast to the symphony of wet slaps and desperate pleas still ringing in my ears. My skin felt electrified, hypersensitive.
And my mind wouldn't stop racing.
A hot shower did little to cleanse me. The steam carried the phantom scent of her, that intoxicating mix of her perfume and the raw, musky scent of our sex. I scrubbed at my skin, but the feeling of her cunt clenching around me, the desperate, gushing warmth of my own release flooding her over and over again, was tattooed on my nervous system. I could still hear the sounds. The wet squelch of my cock pistoning into her overflowing pussy. The gush of another massive load painting her insides white.
I toweled off and pulled on a pair of boxers, the soft cotton an almost offensive sensation against my oversensitized skin. I fell onto my bed, staring at the ceiling fan as its blades carved lazy circles in the air. My thoughts, however, were anything but lazy. They were a frenzied, electric storm centered on one thing.
Her words.
Gwen's confessions had been a damn sledgehammer to my psyche. Mary Jane? Sure. That was a fantasy I could wrap my head around. The fiery redhead, all confidence and sass, brought to her knees. That was hot. That was simple.
But then she went further. So much fucking further.
Rosalie.
My mother's name, spoken in that breathy, lust-drunk tone, echoed in the quiet room. I saw her, exactly as Gwen had painted her: trying to maintain that composed, elegant facade while her fingers twitched with a need she couldn't control. I'd never… fuck. I had never once looked at my mother and seen anything but my mother. She was just… Mom. Intelligent, kind, always put-together.
But the image Gwen planted… it wasn't of my mom. It was of a woman. A woman with a secret, stifled hunger. A mature, sophisticated body hiding a filthy, desperate craving. For me. Her son.
A jolt, hot and sharp, went straight to my cock. It twitched against my thigh, already half-hard again. I groaned, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. Where the hell did that come from? Was it just the leftover adrenaline from the most intense fuck of my life? Was my brain just grabbing onto the most taboo, shocking thing it could find to keep the high going?
I replayed my own words, the things I'd growled into Gwen's ear. I want to see her squirm. I want to hear her beg. Had I meant it? Or was I just lost in the moment, saying whatever vile, delicious thing would make Gwen's cunt tighten like a vise around me?
The arousal that pulsed through me, thick and undeniable, suggested it wasn't just for show.
And then… Wendy.
My little sister. The brat. The perpetual pain in my ass who thought her teasing was the pinnacle of comedy. Gwen's description of her was brutally accurate: the girl who pretended indifference while cataloging my every move. I'd always written it off as sibling nonsense.
But what if it wasn't?
The fantasy seized me with terrifying clarity. Not the harem, not the penthouse. Just Wendy. Her defiant, mischievous smirk wiped clean off her face. Seeing her on her knees, not as my sister, but as another woman brought to heel by a need she couldn't fight. Her bright, clever eyes wide, not with teasing, but with shock and a dawning, unstoppable hunger. Her lips, always so quick with a sarcastic comment, parted and begging for my cock.
"Fuck!" I hissed the word into the empty room, my hand wrapping around my hardening length almost of its own volition. My pulse hammered in my throat. This was wrong. This was so profoundly fucked up. My own family.
Was this what I really wanted? Had it been buried in me this whole time, a sleeping beast that Gwen's filthy, beautiful mind had finally awoken? The thought was terrifying. And it was the most potent fucking turn-on I'd ever experienced.
I pictured it. Not the fantasy, but the reality. Coming home for a family dinner. Mom in her kitchen. That knowing, almost shy glance I'd never noticed before. Wendy, slouched on the couch, rolling her eyes but not moving away when I sat next to her. The tension. The unspoken, electric thing hanging in the air between us now.
Is this what I really want?
The question echoed, but for the first time, the denial felt weak. The heat coiling in my gut again felt like an answer — a dark, thrilling, terrifying answer.
I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my damp hair. "Nope," I muttered under my breath. "Not going there."
Thinking about that — about them, about her, about what I'd said — it wasn't helping. If anything, it was pulling me deeper into a place I wasn't ready to look at too closely.
I'd rather deal with a cosmic threat, honestly. At least that made sense.
So I turned toward my desk, fired up the cyberdeck, and opened the Minecraft project files. Lines of code filled the screen, clean, logical, safe. The hum of the machine, the soft clicking of the keyboard — it all steadied me, gave my brain something else to grab onto.
Within minutes, I was lost in it. Debugging, optimizing the world generation, rewriting a few AI routines I didn't even need to fix. Anything to keep my thoughts moving faster than my emotions could catch up.
But even as I typed, part of me knew it wasn't really working. Focus came in bursts — then slipped, replaced by flickers of memory I didn't ask for. Her voice. Her skin. The things I'd said out loud that I couldn't take back.
I groaned softly, dragging a hand down my face. "Great. I've officially become my own worst distraction."
Still, I forced my attention back to the monitor. The code responded like muscle memory now — seamless, almost instinctive. The cyberdeck's agents assisted where I lagged, filling gaps before I could even identify them. The game world took shape faster than ever. Terrain smoothing, block logic, entity behavior — it was all coming together.
Maybe burying myself in creation wasn't such a bad idea after all. If I couldn't control what was happening inside me, at least I could control this.
Time blurred.
The steady rhythm of keystrokes, the hum of the processor, the faint glow of the monitor — it all melted together into a kind of white noise. It was easier that way. Easier not to think.
Every time my mind started to drift back to that, to her, to them, I forced it back into the screen. I tweaked shaders that didn't need tweaking. Rewrote code that was already perfect. Built and deleted entire test worlds just to have something to do.
My stomach growled at some point, but I ignored it. I didn't want to deal with dinner, or small talk, or the look my mom would give me if she asked how my day went. Wendy would ask questions too — she always did — and right now, I wasn't sure I could even look her in the eye without my brain betraying me.
So I stayed there.
Coding. Thinking. Not thinking.
Hours slipped by in silence, broken only by the quiet tap of keys and the faint hum of the city outside.
Eventually, the code stopped meaning anything. My vision blurred, the lines of text twisting into a mess of logic and light. My head felt heavy, my thoughts looping in on themselves.
I pushed back from the desk and leaned against the chair, exhaling slowly. "Okay," I muttered to no one. "Enough."
The room felt smaller than it had an hour ago. Stale. The air thick with the kind of static that came from sitting too long with your own thoughts.
Maybe a walk would help.
Fresh air. Noise. Anything that wasn't this constant, gnawing tension in my chest.
I grabbed my jacket, slipped on my shoes, and stepped outside before I could talk myself out of it. The hallway felt strangely bright after the dim glow of my room.
The night air hit me the moment I stepped outside — cool, sharp, alive with the distant hum of the city that never really slept. Streetlights painted the sidewalk in long golden streaks, and somewhere far off, a siren wailed before fading back into silence. It was close to midnight, the hour when everything slowed down — when thoughts got louder.
I walked without a destination, hands buried in my pockets. The rhythm of my steps was steady, deliberate — like I could outpace the thoughts still clawing at the back of my mind. I needed to stop thinking about that — about her voice, about what we'd said, what I'd admitted. Anything was better than letting my mind circle back to that place.
But the harder I tried not to think, the sharper the memories became. Gwen's words. My own.
I clenched my jaw. Enough.
If I couldn't quiet my mind, then I'd focus it. Redirect it. That was what I'd always done — what I was good at.
With a flick of my wrist, the faint holographic interface shimmered into view, projected in the air before me — crisp lines of light dancing over my palm.
[Name: Alexander Orzat]
[Race: Human]
[Age: 18]
[Abilities: — Advanced Computer skill / Photographic Memory / Harem King / Seed of Potential / Pleasure Lock / Mind Whisper —]
[Template (In Progress): — Leech (Earth-58163) (15%) —]
[Template (Assimilated): — Yuuki Rito —]
I studied the screen in silence, the neon reflection burning faintly in my eyes. The progress was there — steady, methodical. Every number, every percentage was a reminder of control. Of direction.
And control was exactly what I needed right now.
A slow, measured breath escaped me as I navigated through the panels, fingers moving with automatic precision until the familiar gacha icon pulsed softly in the corner of my vision.
The interface flickered, updating.
[Gacha Pulls Available: 2]
A quiet hum of anticipation stirred beneath the surface of my chest. Two chances — small, but meaningful. The old Alex would have hesitated, overthought it.
Now, hesitation felt like weakness.
My lips curved slightly, not out of amusement but resolve.
"Let's see what kind of luck I've got tonight," I murmured, voice low — more grounded, steadier than before.
ght of Realization - New Pull