An Esper's Harem

Monica and her elder son were having a cheery time as they lounged in the living room as she teased her son to no end, just like he did to her. Her youngest son had yet to come home. It had been three hours since Lucien had stormed off. Maybe she shouldn't have said that to her son; however, she was tired of finding her underwear soiled with his cum. She wouldn't have minded if he actually washed them after he was done with them, not throwing them back into the hamper to get ruined.

11

Lucien returned home and entered the house through the front door, and he went straight to his room.

Monica was in the living room, watching TV.

Monica went to the room and asked, "Where were you?"

"You don't need to know."

"Young man, if you are living under my roof, you need to listen to what I say." She hissed, seeing his defiant attitude.

"So are you saying that I should leave if I don't?"

"Lucien!" she yelled.

"What? What are you going to do, hit me?"

"I will if you don't stop talking back to me."

"So that's what it came to. You sure you want to do that?" He growled, standing nose to nose, or as close to it as his five-foot-ten-inch height would allow.

"Or what? You'll kiss me? Why else are you standing so damn close to me?" Monica taunted. "Do you want me to kiss your little hurt feelings and make it all better? Do I need to pat that little cock of yours to make you feel better?"

"Please," he said, rolling his eyes, "why the fuck would I want anything like that from you?" She slapped him across the face, her anger boiling over. The sharp sting of her handprint lingered on his cheek as he clenched his jaw, refusing to let her see how much her words had affected him.

"You're grounded! You hear me!"

"Oh, woe is me! What am I to do?!" Lucien said, playing up his role. "Oh, right," he said, darting his head back to avoid her swing. "You missed," he stated cockily. Smirking wickedly at how red in fury his mother's face was getting.

"You are not to leave your room if it isn't for school, work, or dinner. Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear!" Monica growled, restraining her anger.

"Yeah, yeah," shooing his mother away, "why don't you go slut around? Else, you can go back to your son, your boyfriend, or whoever you want."Lucien taunted, loving how that cheek of hers twitched.

"Just wait till your brother gets home; he'll have his own words for you," Monica spat, spinning on her heel. "You'll always have a little dick! No woman is going to fuck you," she sneered before slamming his bedroom door closed.

"Whatever," Lucien said, rolling his eyes as he retook his seat in his chair and turned back to his computer.

He wanted to get out of this house as quickly as possible. Sure, he loved his mother very much and wanted to be with her, but after today, he couldn't just be here and hear all those noises that were making his head spin in more ways than it could.

11

Lucien returned home and entered the house through the front door, and he went straight to his room.

Monica was in the living room, watching TV.

Monica went to the room and asked, "Where were you?"

"You don't need to know."

"Young man, if you are living under my roof, you need to listen to what I say." She hissed, seeing his defiant attitude.

"So are you saying that I should leave if I don't?"

"Lucien!" she yelled.

"What? What are you going to do, hit me?"

"I will, if you don't stop talking back to me."

"So that's what it came to. You sure you want to do that?" He growled, standing nose to nose, or as close to it as his five-foot-ten-inch height would allow.

"Or what? You'll kiss me? Why else are you standing so damn close to me?" Monica taunted. "Do you want me to kiss your little hurt feelings and make it all better? Do I need to pat that little cock of yours to make you feel better?"

"Please," he said, rolling his eyes, "why the fuck would I want anything like that from you?" She slapped him across the face, her anger boiling over. The sharp sting of her handprint lingered on his cheek as he clenched his jaw, refusing to let her see how much her words had affected him.

"You're grounded! You hear me!"

"Oh, woe is me! What am I to do?!" Lucien said, playing up his role. "Oh, right," he said, darting his head back to avoid her swing. "You missed," he stated cockily. Smirking wickedly at how red in fury his mother's face was getting.

"You are not to leave your room if it isn't for school, work, or dinner. Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear!" Monica growled, restraining her anger.

"Yeah, yeah," shooing his mother away, "why don't you go slut around? Else, you can go back to your son, your boyfriend, or whoever you want."Lucien taunted, loving how that cheek of hers twitched.

"Just wait till your brother gets home; he'll have his own words for you," Monica spat, spinning on her heel. "You'll always have a little dick! No woman is going to fuck you," she sneered before slamming his bedroom door closed.

"Whatever," Lucien said, rolling his eyes as he retook his seat in his chair and turned back to his computer.

He wanted to get out of this house as quickly as possible. Sure, he loved his mother very much and wanted to be with her, but after today, he couldn't just be here and hear all those noises that were making his head spin in more ways than it could.

"Where...?!"

"Shh... you have two fractured ribs; it's best to talk slowly and with light breaths." Lucien's eyes began to focus, revealing the late-fifties woman as she hovered over him.

"How did I get here?" He was wincing as he tried to sit up.

"Your brother carried you into the ER; I'll get the doctor," she said sweetly, lightly patting his shoulder.

Ten minutes later, Lucien saw the doctor walking in.

"So, can I go home now?" Lucien asked once the doctor had done all her tests to see if he didn't have a concussion.

"In a minute, I need to ask. How did you hurt your rids? It wasn't physical abuse, was it?" Lucien could see how her eyes were running down his weary body compared to his brother.

"You're going to laugh when you hear how it happened. So here comes Dad, walking into the kitchen.

Mom's not paying any attention as she's getting out the mop to clean up the spill she caused. Then bam!" Smacking his hands together. "Mom opens the closet door right in Dad's face, hitting him squarely in the nose. I hear him holler something fierce. So I'm rushing down the stairs to see what's going on. Then, wouldn't you know it, I slipped on the very spill Mom was trying to clean up! So my arms were all over the place as I tried to regain my balance. Then I saw the table as I felt my feet slip out from under me. I tried to correct myself; it seems I overcorrected, given how I ended up here."

Watching how she was fighting back her laughter as he told the biggest lie of his life.

"Well, I don't see anything wrong with you other than your ribs. I'll have you discharged soon," she said, lightly patting his leg.

"You have a gorgeous smile," Lucien said truthfully. He wasn't trying to hit on her; he just thought the compliment was warranted.

"Awe, that's so sweet. Thank you."

"I wasn't hitting on you; I genuinely think you have a gorgeous smile," Lucien said, hearing the strain in her voice. Knowing she must get hit on constantly.

"Sorry, its..."

"No, it's cool. I understand. Guys can be asshats seventy-five percent of the time," Lucien said, a smile stretching from ear to ear at how cute her chuckle was.

"True, they can be. I thank you for the compliment and for the laughs. You take care of yourself, alright?"

"Sure thing, doc," Lucien nodded.

"I'll have the nurse bring you some pain medication while I get your discharge forms ready."

"Thanks, so I don't want to do this again," Lucien chuckled lightly.

"I can imagine."

Lucien watched her leave, wondering what her ass looked like beneath that white coat. He was so wishing she would come back.

11

The city lights shimmered through the raindrops as Lucien, soaked and in pain, made his way out of the hospital unnoticed. The conversation between his mother, brother, and the doctor seemed to absorb their attention completely, providing the perfect cover for his hasty escape.

As he limped away from the hospital, the persistent ache in his ribs served as a painful reminder of the choice he had made. The night had fallen, and the city's glow provided a surreal backdrop to his solitary journey. Lucien's footsteps echoed in the quiet streets as he continued his escape, each step a mixture of determination and uncertainty.

Finding refuge beneath a bridge, the rain intensified, a relentless downpour that mirrored the tumult within Lucien's mind. The distant sounds of traffic and the rhythmic pattering of raindrops created an eerie symphony in the urban night.

Groaning from both the physical pain and the weight of his decision, Lucien settled in the farthest corner under the bridge. The dampness of the ground beneath him and the presence of discarded waste served as a stark contrast to the comfort of his home. The city, once vibrant and full of life, now feels cold and unforgiving.

As Lucien sat in the shadows of the bridge, he contemplated the path he had chosen. The raindrops clung to his dishevelled hair and streamed down his face, washing away the remnants of the life he had left behind.

The rain continued to cascade relentlessly as Lucien sought refuge beneath the bridge, the city's nocturnal symphony blending with the rhythmic drumming of water against concrete.

Exhausted, he took a moment to rest, leaning against the cold wall. His ribs throbbed with pain, a constant reminder of the impulsive decision to escape from home. Lucien's mind wandered back to the argument that had pushed him to leave, the harsh words still echoing in his ears. He knew he couldn't go back, not after what had transpired. The uncertainty of his future weighed heavily on him, but in that moment, he found solace in the rain's cleansing embrace.

As Lucien caught his breath, a sudden commotion disrupted the quiet solitude of his makeshift sanctuary. Footsteps echoed in the distance, mingling with the rain's steady cadence. Confused shouts filled the air, punctuated by urgent commands.

"Find her! Check under the bridge. Check the alleys!"

Lucien's eyes widened in surprise, and he strained to listen. Who were they searching for? The urgency in their voices heightened his senses. 22He glanced around, trying to make sense of the situation, when suddenly, a figure stumbled into view.

A woman, dishevelled and drenched, appeared from the rainy darkness. She slipped and fell before Lucien, her vulnerability exposed in the dim glow of the city lights. He stared, captivated not only by the urgency of the situation but also by her stunning beauty.

The distant shouts grew louder, and panic seized the woman's eyes. She struggled to get up, a deep, slashing wound on her waist was evident through her torn clothes. The realisation hit Lucien like a lightning bolt -- she was being pursued.

Shaking off his initial shock, Lucien sprang into action. Ignoring the pain in his ribs, he rushed to her side. With a determined strength, he helped her to her feet. The urgency of their predicament was palpable; they needed to find shelter, and fast.

Lucien guided her to the shadows beneath the bridge, away from the prying eyes of those who pursued her. As they moved, he couldn't help but marvel at her resilience. Despite her injury, she pressed on, her determination matching the pounding rain.

The sound of approaching footsteps intensified, and Lucien's mind raced for a solution. Spotting a dumpster nearby, he made a split-second decision. They moved behind it, and he frantically searched the area for something to conceal them.

In the darkened alley, he found discarded materials and waste scattered about. Lucien quickly covered both himself and the mysterious woman, creating a makeshift barricade from the surrounding refuse.

As they huddled together, hidden from view, the approaching men reached the bridge.

The beam of their flashlights cut through the darkness as they scoured the area, their voices hushed but urgent.

Lucien held his breath, acutely aware of the woman's proximity. The scent of damp earth and refuse filled the air as they remained silent, concealed in their improvised sanctuary.

The men combed through the alley, their boots splashing through puddles.

As the flashlight beams pierced the darkness, illuminating their hiding spot, Lucien and the woman exchanged a tense glance, their hearts pounding in unison. Lucien's question hung in the air, but before the woman could respond, she silenced him with a finger pressed to his lips.

The silence stretched on, each passing moment heavy with anticipation, until suddenly, their worst fears were realised.

The men had found them.

With a swift motion, one of the men removed the blockade that Lucien had used to conceal them, exposing them to the harsh light of the flashlights. Panic surged through Lucien's veins as the men closed in, their faces twisted into cruel sneers.

"She's here!" one of them shouted triumphantly, their voices echoing off the alley walls. Lucien felt a surge of defiance rise within him as he stood his ground, refusing to cower in the face of their aggression.

But before he could speak, the woman stepped forward, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. "Just take me," she pleaded, her words a desperate plea for mercy.

Lucien's heart clenched at the sight of her surrender, his instincts screaming at him to protect her at all costs. With a surge of adrenaline, he lunged forward, catching her hand in his own.

"Leave her alone!" he shouted, his voice ringing out in the night air with a fierce determination. But his defiance only seemed to goad the men further, their anger boiling over at his audacity.

With a swift kick, one of the men sent Lucien sprawling to the ground, pain radiating through his body as he fought to stay conscious. But even as he lay battered and bruised, his gaze never wavered from the woman.

He went after them, running behind them.

As the rain poured down heavily, Lucien stood, his body battered and bruised but his resolve unyielding. The men who had attacked him stood before him, their expressions twisted with malice as they continued their assault, kicking him relentlessly and ordering him to leave.

"Just fucking leave, kid."

"Don't make us kill you."

But Lucien refused to back down. Anger coursed through his veins, fueled by their words and the pain they had inflicted on him. He was already in the worst mood from his escape from the hospital, and his mind was already in a state of chaos. He had reached a boiling point, and with a primal roar, he roared up, a wave of energy rippling outward from his outstretched hands.

AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

Those men were pushed back a little, taken aback by the sudden outburst.

The men jerked in surprise, their attention snapping towards Lucien as he stood his ground, his eyes blazing with fury.

The woman beside them watched with furrowed brows, sensing the power that surged within him.

Those men again moved in, trying to restrain him.

And then, with a shout that echoed through the night, Lucien unleashed another scream, sending the men flying in all directions with a single, devastating wave of force. They crashed against the walls of the bridge, their bodies contorting and twisting in agony as they were thrown aside like rag dolls.

The other men, shocked by the sudden display of power, quickly rallied, their voices rising in alarm as they reached for their guns. But before they could react, Lucien's trance-like state shifted, his gaze locking onto them with an intensity that sent shivers down their spines.

In an instant, their bodies twisted and contorted, as if caught in the grip of some unseen force. With a flick of his wrist, Lucien sent them hurtling through the air, their screams echoing off the walls of the bridge until they were silenced by the harsh impact of their bodies against the unforgiving concrete.

And then, as the last of their assailants lay motionless at his feet, Lucien's trance broke, the adrenaline fading to be replaced by dread.

As Lucien snapped out of his trance-like state, he found himself staring at the bodies strewn across the ground, their twisted forms a stark reminder of the power he had unleashed.

The rain continued to pour down relentlessly, washing away the blood with a steady rhythm of thunder in the background.

A wave of horror washed over him as he realised the extent of what he had done. He had taken lives and ended them in a moment of unbridled rage and power. He stood frozen in shock, unable to tear his gaze away from the gruesome scene before him.

The woman approached him, her expression a mix of concern and disbelief. "Are you all right?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lucien turned to her, his eyes filled with anguish and confusion. "Are they dead?" he questioned, his voice trembling with uncertainty.

The woman hesitated, her silence speaking volumes. Finally, she spoke, her voice gentle but firm. "I think."

"Did I kill them?"

A shiver ran down Lucien's spine as the weight of her words sank in. "What happened to me? What's happening to me? " He whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the rain.

The woman placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, her touch a soothing balm to his troubled soul. "It's all right," she reassured him. "Just don't look at them. It's all right."

But despite her words, Lucien couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that gnawed at his conscience. He had taken lives and crossed a line that he could never return from.

"What's your name?" She inquired, her eyes now holding a softer, more appreciative gaze.

"I'm Lucien," he replied, still looking at the bodies.

"I'm Constance," she introduced herself. "And thank you, Lucien."

The words hung in the air, a bridge connecting two lives brought together by chance and necessity.

Lucien suddenly felt the pain in his body aching as he caught his breath.

Constance, with her enigmatic past and those men now dead, seemed to carry a weight only hinted at by the rain-soaked atmosphere.

Under the city lights and the relentless downpour, they stood: Lucien, seeking refuge from a fractured home, and Constance, running from shadows that clung to her past. Despite the dimly lit urban environment, her beauty stood out, a timeless elegance that defied the chaos surrounding them.

Constance, appearing to be in her mid-forties, carried herself with a grace that transcended the weariness that often accompanies life's trials. Her blonde hair, tied neatly to the back of her head, framed a face marked by experiences and an undeniable allure. There was a quiet strength in her demeanour, a resilience that hinted at a life lived beyond the shadows of the present moment.

Lucien couldn't help but be captivated by the genuine smile that graced Constance's face. It held a warmth and reassurance that seemed to dispel the shadows lingering in the alley.

"Your wounds there seemed to be severe. Should we go to the hospital?"

Her reply to his concern about the wound only deepened the mystery surrounding her abilities.

"It will soon heal. Don't worry," she reassured him, her words carrying a quiet strength.

Then, with an inquisitive gaze, she turned the conversation towards him. "Tell me, Lucien, what are you doing here?"

Lucien let out a sigh, a mixture of relief and vulnerability. "I ran away from home." As he spoke, Constance's perceptive eyes noticed the blood stains on his shirt near his ribs. Concern flashed across her features. She looked him up and could tell that he must have had a reason to. And he was just a teenager, 15 years old.