John didn’t need a crystal ball to crack Seo-young’s py. He knew her intention of putting him in as an undercover right from the file. The ops report on the st page spelled it out, cold and clear. It said the recommendation for the next step: “If more intel needed, it must come from inside the Reapers. They’ve got cop profiles locked down already. So we suggest getting an informant.”

  Undercover itself wasn’t really some dealbreaker for him; hell, it actually fit his wheelhouse. Pying a part, screwing with heads, same game he’d love to run. What gnawed at him was the fallout, the aftermath. No undercover gig ended clean. Exposure was a question of when, not if. Then what? He could handle himself for sure, fists, wits, whatever, but what about his family? His women? Right now, they had shadows tailing them already, protection on tap, because a psycho rapist-killer was loose, wartime rules. But cross the Reapers, Nexis’s top gang, and every day turned into wartime with revenge lurking around every corner. Him and Tyler’s security firm would morph into a damn militia. Camil’s cash flow was fat, sure. She nailed the business. But bankrolling a hundred guns in the long run? Not smart at all. Plus, undercover wasn’t a quick dip. This psycho killer would be still roaming, racking up bodies while he pyed mole. Seo-young saw it too, and she cut in quick: “Min-jun… no, I mean, we police have got a pn cooking. You’d be in for a week, tops. Then we move, nab ‘em. Your work is just to dig up more on Anthony, that’s it.” A week did sound doable, but John’s real clock was ticking tighter: Mina had only three days left, max.

  He stewed, silence dragging, but then caved. Being grim and cornered, this was the only shitty path left for him.

  “Fine. Rent a storage room, a private one. No one else should know the pce but us. I’ll crash there. Text me the spot, we’ll finish the prep there tomorrow. I need some things too. Will message you ter with a list.”

  After splitting with Seo-young, John knew today’s mission was breaking Mina’s [Charm], the hard way, the impossible way. He’d held off from sex for days, banking restraint, just in case it came to this. The fix? Simple on paper: sex. Sounded like a good deal for John, indeed, except the catch that he had only three hours to hit nine with Mina—nine times he’d have to ejacute, from the first to the ninth, no breaks, no busts, all within three hours, or it flopped, and he had to start over again. He’d never cleared that number before. Eight was his best run, and it was spreaded over a zy night, a whole night. He had had the time to pace himself, even had some energy boost from some snacks Camil made him. So three hours ft for nine shots? Not a chance. He fished a bottle of that new man pills from his pocket. It's now named Vigogen2, with a shiny new bel. A bitter ugh twisted inside him. He always carried it to mess with other guys, but never imagined he would be the one to take it. Tossed a bottle to Tyler once, let him steamroll Bryce. But now? The joke was on him, swallowing his own damn medicine, literally.

  At Miko’s pce, John id it all out, clearly and frankly. He ran through the mess with Miko, including the part what got to Mina was some voodoo shit, spelling out the “three hours, nine times” deal clear as day. Miko sighed, long and heavy, but nodded. Gave his fix a greenlight. She’d wanted him for this from the start, back when [Charm] first hit. She’d said it herself that “John can fuck some sense into her”, but she didn’t expect the cure to be this much.

  John, meanwhile, dragged his feet towards Mina's room, gut churning. He felt not for the act itself, but for Miko. He cared about Miko, and he knew this would save Mina but torch whatever thread still tied Miko and him. Before, her distance came from his other women, fair enough, but now? Having sex with her daughter with her in the same damn house? She’d hate him more, no question. Clinging to a shred of hope, he fished out the stash he’d snagged on the way. He held it up, voice low. “Look, Miko. I got enough condoms. Five boxes. So this is just for the cure, okay?” but her face still twisted away, jealousy and hurt fshing, quick and sharp, before she masked it.

  “Just go. Do it,” she muttered, clipped. And John just dipped his head, soft and resigned. “Alright. Just wait outside.”

  The second he stepped into Mina’s room, Miko’s dam broke, her tears spilling hot down her cheeks. She loved him bone-deep. She might not realize it, but she knew it so clear now. Memories flooded up, him hauling her boxes of groceries after shopping, the two of them cooking side by side, talking over coffee as he teased her till she cracked a ugh. And the heat between them, those wild, animalistic nights, his filthy mouth always growled “Mrs. Hudson” every damn time they tangled up, spiking her pulse with that taboo thrill. She’d even started brushing off his other women. Not a big deal, not really. He wasn’t her te husband. He was John, different, mostly the good kind of different.

  But this? Him and Mina doing it, right here under her roof? That gutted her, too much to carry, even if she’d asked for it.

  But curiosity also gnawed at her, sharp and insistent. She was wondering if Mina was really healing, wondering if John was in there reveling, grinning like he did with her. Finally, it overpowered her. She swiped her tears dry, and crept to the door, pressing her ear tight against the wood, straining for scraps of sound. It's hard to tell if Mina was better, but days of her low, itchy whines swapped now for loud, giddy moans, punctuated by cries of “fuck me, fuck me hard, master.”

  He’s really doing it, Miko thought, her cheeks bzing red, he’s smming his hard cock into my daughter's pussy. Her vagina twitched, leaking juice unchecked, slick and warm. She mashed her ear closer, desperate for John’s filthy mouth to spill something crude, not even sure why she'd like to hear some. But he was quiet, dead quiet. There was just the dull thud of flesh meeting flesh, steady and ft, drowned by Mina’s gasps and wails.

  “Why aren’t you saying anything? You okay, John?” she murmured, soft, to herself. Her mind reeled back to the old days, and John’s “even if your husband’s alive, I’d still sneak in to fuck you raw every day, Mrs. Hudson” echoed in her head.

  Her pussy now pulsed harder, her wetness became worse. And it's at this very moment Mina’s voice cut through, sharper, almost lucid amid the moans.

  “Are you my mom’s boyfriend, master?” No answer from John.

  “So are you gonna be my new daddy?” Nothing from John still.

  “Remove the condom and fuck me raw, daddy.” Still nothing but silence.

  “Creampie me and put a baby in me, daddy!” And finally, John snapped, voice rough, strained: “Shut up, Mina! This is fucking weird. You’re not yourself right now. I’m just trying to help!”

  He’s refusing unprotected sex? Not enjoying it with Mina? Miko, his first woman in this world, knew very well John’s hunger for raw fucks, that wild glint when he chased it, especially a creampie afterwards. She’d pushed him to wear a condom a few times, but always met with those wide, fake-innocent eyes of his and a dirty “wanna feel you better, and gonna fill your sweet little pussy up till it overflows with my cum, Mrs. Hudson”. And yeah, he’d py at pulling out, but she wasn’t fooled at all, not a seasoned woman like her. She’d lock her legs around him, and give him what he wanted.

  But now, this stiff, righteous no? Hearing it flipped her. The good news: her anger at him dulled, blunted by his grit; bad news: the heat in her gut fizzled, excitement draining fast. If John saw this as pure treatment, a cold duty, then maybe she shouldn’t let her mind wander either.

  Mina’s voice piped up again, teasing, ced with a prick of anger: “Me and my mom, who's better? My pussy is much tighter!” John didn’t flinch, and shot back, blunt and brisk: “Yeah, your mom’s better, much better. Now shut up! I need to focus!” Mina did sound better now. Sounded she's thinking now, not just moaning. But of course, she's still under the influence of [Charm]. It's just peeling back a bit now, maybe. She pressed on, voice dripping seduction with a weird sense of reasoning behind it: “Are you fucking me while thinking about my mom?” This time, John cmmed up, ignored her ft-out, no bite, no bark.

  That question, though—is he really thinking about me?—lit a spark in Miko’s chest, a quiet ache blooming. Answer her, John. Come on! She begged inside, pulse ticking up. But John went mute mode. The room fell into a sluggish thud of flesh on flesh, slowing, dragging, paired with Mina’s taunting coos. Miko lingered, ear to the door, waiting for his answer that never came. She didn’t need it spelled out. She knew the answer.

  Time passed fast. She had heard five crinkling rips. It was John tearing wrappers of condoms. But she never heard the sixth. Just his breathing now, thick, bored and frustrated. Meanwhile, Mina’s voice also dulled, sinking back to that low, repeated hums: “Itch, itch.” And Miko pieced it together. It's nearly two hours gone, and John was tapped out, fraying at the edge. He did it for five times, and he couldn't get hard for the sixth. She gnced at the clock, her resolve hardening. For Mina, yes, but also for that answer she’d already locked in. She pushed the door, slow, soft, stepping in.

  The scene blindsided her, not the sultry haze she’d braced for, no reek of lust choking the air. Mina just y there, pajamas neat, top unruffled, just with her pants removed. And John just slumped at the bed’s edge, back to Mina, his hand working his penis in a grim, frantic grind, chasing stiffness. His face was a wreck, frustration etched deep, panic pinching his eyes, defeat slumping his shoulders. Miko’s tears spilled again, unbidden, unexpined, flooding as she crossed to him, arms wrapping tight, pulling his head into her chest.

  “It’s okay, John,” she murmured, fingers stroking his hair, soft, steady. That simple press, her scent, warm and familiar, the softness of her waist, her chest, did it: his cock snapped back, hard again in a heartbeat. Miko flushed red. Now she could confirm what she’d guessed, as John got hard for her so quick. He was thinking about me the whole time.

  She lifted his face, and kissed him deep. Her lips stoked him straighter, fire catching, and she whispered, “Go, John. Finish this. I’ll help you from here this time.” And John surged back, with his mouth still ciming hers, while his hand fumbled for a condom. But Miko stopped him, eyes locking his, serious, urgent. “John, we’re out of time. Only one hour left. You need to fuck my daughter raw!”

  And just like that, locked in a fierce kiss with Miko, tongues cshing, twisting wild, John thrusted his cock into Mina’s pussy again. Miko knelt beside Mina, arms looped tight around his neck, feeding their messy, searing kiss. Her cheeks were still streaked with tears, but now they glistened like happy ones, raw and real. The sensation ripping through his cock shifted too, with Miko in the mix. Before, it felt like a grind, a chore he had to gut out. But now? He was in it, savoring it. Her pussy gripped his cock tight, hot, every thrust slicked smooth, pumping out wet squelch-squelch gasps and sloshes. Mina stirred under him, and his return snapped her sharper again, but her words still dripped [Charm]’s haze: “Finally, you are fucking me raw, daddy. Yes, punish me, daddy. Mom’s here to help you too.” What he felt weird and cringy before now flipped. He never really liked this “daddy” thing, but with Miko here, he actually felt he liked it. Those words now lit a fuse, spiking his blood, his hips snapping faster, breaths turning quick and ragged.

  Miko knew his rhythm, felt it in her bones, and she yanked her shirt off in one swift pull, bra unhooked and gone, then pressed her tits into his mouth. John’s hand shot up, cmping one of them, kneading it hard, while his lips tched on the other, sucking wild, tongue flicking her nipple relentless. That taste, familiar, missed, sent heat roaring through his skull, and down below, his cock felt Mina’s pussy cmp tighter, like a little mouth down there, wanting to milk him dry. It’d come too quick, and he came all inside Mina’s pussy. It's the sixth time now, so it wasn’t much, just a thin spill, but it still hit like a jolt for him all the same.

  Before he could pull out, Mina, who’d id ft till now, saw the scene: John’s mouth still tched on her mom’s tits. So she flipped, sudden and strong, shoving him off bance, pinning him under her with his cock still inside her. She snagged Miko, who’s wide-eyed, stunned, in a fierce grip, smirking: “My turn to suck your tits, mom.”

  Upon hearing her words, John got hard quickly, right inside her. He's ready for the next round, no surprise. His mind was spinning, is this a dream mother-daughter threesome? But he shook the thought off quickly.

  Mina didn’t wait at all. The moment she felt he's hard again, she's already rocking hard atop him, wild and fast. John could do nothing but to grip her waist, his hands cmping tight, half to steady her, half to keep his cock from getting wrecked. She moved, relentless, while sucking Miko’s nipples hard. She then threw John a lewd grin: “Daddy, let's suck mom’s tits together. You got the other one.” For John, such an invite felt like impossible to turn down, so he sat up and dove in, him and Mina each ciming a side, mouths working Miko’s nipples in sync, wet, frantic pulls.

  Miko’s head was a bomb, teetering, splitting, shame and weirdness crashing hard. This was too much, too wrong, but her pussy betrayed her, gushing nonstop, a flood she couldn’t dam. She swore she could smell her own juice, thick, sharp, hanging in the air.

  And just like that, the three of them collided together, bodies mashed tight, a sweaty, breathless knot, kicking off John’s seventh go at curing Mina.

  somerealnerd