Call Me Daddy

Princess Layla calls for me almost every day.

And each time we meet, we kiss—softly at first, then with the passion of long-lost lovers reunited across lifetimes. Perhaps we are lovers now. Perhaps fate has tied us together with a golden ribbon of divine lust and tender affection.

Every meeting leads to sexual intimacy. I make sure she feels loved, cherished—overwhelmed by pleasure. Her body becomes a song, and I play every note perfectly.

And when I release my love juice into her womb, I never hold back. I pour myself into her completely, ensuring that every drop counts. That no sacred inch is left untouched.

This continues for two weeks.

Then, one day—

My Eyes of Truth activate on their own. My vision glows golden.

I see it.

A child forming in Princess Layla's womb.

My child.

I gently take her hand and tell her the news.

Her eyes widen with joy. Her entire face lights up like morning sun.

Then she throws her arms around me, and we embrace tightly. Our lips meet in a kiss so deep and full of feeling that time slows.

"I can't wait to see the baby," she says, resting her hand on her belly, eyes sparkling with maternal bliss.

"I can't wait either," I reply, my hand gently joining hers.

I kiss her forehead, then take my leave—heart full, Rod proud.

---

Back at my estate, I summon Verona.

"Gather all the maids," I say.

A short time later, all twenty of my eternally nude, ever-faithful maids assemble in the grand hall. The sacred breasts of Erosia's finest staff bounce with anticipation.

I step forward and activate my Eyes of Truth. My eyes flash golden. The maids gasp.

"My lord… your eyes! They glowed like the priestesses'!" one says.

I say nothing. Only scan.

One by one.

Then I speak.

"Charlotte. Lisette. Nimee. Alisa. Step forward. You are now exempt from all chores."

The four maids exchange confused glances.

"My lord, why?" Charlotte asks gently, concern on her flawless face.

"Because!" I declare, voice proud. "You are pregnant. All four of you carry my child! Rejoice!"

Gasps. Blushing. Giggling.

Then applause breaks out.

I approach each of the expectant mothers and give them a tender kiss. Their faces beam with joy, glowing with maternal pride—and perhaps hormonal imbalance.

The rest of the maids cheer and congratulate their blessed sisters. Verona wipes a tear.

"Don't worry, Verona," I say, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We can have sex again and again until you get pregnant."

She sniffles. Smiles. "Alright, my Lord. I'm ready when you are."

"Tonight," I declare, raising a hand like a true lord of debauchery, "we celebrate!"

The maids cheer.

"But no alcohol!" I add, raising a finger. "Pregnant women can't drink that stuff!"

"Yes, my Lord!" the maids shout in near-perfect unison, like a very inappropriate choir.

And thus, we begin the most bizarre baby shower in Erosian history—with fruit juice, nipple toasts, and pregnancy glow on full display.