The Harem King Chapter 125

"You tell me, sister wife. Anything you can throw, i shall catch." Alwyn replied with a smile on her face.

I nodded in approval. My queen was not spiteful at all and there were times when i thought her to be pretty lax in managing her sisters in the harem.

But that was her business and i was too preoccupied with sating my own desires than to enter unto the murky waters of my b.i.t.c.hes' relationships.

"Okay then, Alwyn. The rules are simple. Anyone who steps out of the ring loses. One who destroys the stage, also loses. Are we clear?" Beatrice said.
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She had an extremely determined face on her just like all the previous battles she fought against this unbeatable foe. I expected nothing less of her.

The silence was deafening and of course there was no discussion that ensued after Beatrice's request on my fat teacher.

Mr. Jacobs had not even attempted a pretense of teaching these weak children as he too was too engrossed on what would happen between my two toys.

I was sure that there was a ton of eyes on the walls and even my cla.s.smates were intent on capturing every breath with their hidden recorders.

Still, their unnatural bright eyes was enough to make me realize how wise they were behaving. After all, if one wanted to cheat then he must at least throw some subtlety around his deception.
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But then again, even if they obviously pointed their tiny gadgets towards the eminent skirmish, i still would not care one bit because this world was my playground to begin with.

A little popularity would not hurt my c.u.n.ts. And besides, what was the need to hide from the eyes of all these c.o.c.kroaches.

I ignored the kids and the fat pig in their midst as i focused completely on the show that would happen any second from now.

"Sounds good, sister wife. Shall we begin?" Alwyn nodded in understanding.

"Yes. Let's." Beatrice whispered her confirmation and bridged the distance between. She dashed madly and only the ripples on the soft floors can be seen of her trajectory.

The afterimages multiplied to three which denoted their spear headed attack from the front and both sides of her target.

I could have sworn that with how wanton the power was raging outwards from the body of Beatrice, that the stage may have already melted to deformity from the start of her rush.

But no, the floors wiggled and twisted but the distortion was held in place by a peculiar force. A guise of Beatrice's own making. What a crafty c.u.n.t indeed.

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