Chapter 13: Meeting the daughters
Time skip 6 months later-
First person-
Morning, 9:30.
In Jotaro's bedroom, Martha was cuddling him like a kuala to the bamboo stick watching some early morning news. Six months passed out well where Jotaro began his mini adventure as a hero.
Not officially just vigilante stuff like a few other heroes like spider gang.
Along with dungeon hunting with his power it was as easy as eating cake.
"Administrator that what he calls himself. The aura farming vigilantly. He had so far saved ten armed robberies, four dungeon outbursts and fought two different international gangs to save the nation."
*Click
"He has a bounty of a million dollars. A menace to society"
*Click
"He is evil, if not why not to register like normal people and operate like a hero."
*Click
"He saved my family."
*Click
"He needs to be behind bars, he is not a god or anything above the law of our nation."
*Click
"He is the spice of all our problems."
*Click
"He's an arrogant boy playing hero."
One by one he switched channels as he was on news, the most notorious and hot topic around. His powers, deeds and vigilante status are getting more fame and discussion topics around suppressing hunters and official working hero alike.
Hate and envy was reasonable and understandable.
"....Jotaro you are catching a lot of stray nowadays." Martha said with a chuckle, she had accepted his everything; identity and relationship.
"HAhaha…. Indeed, I will be keeping a low profile then." He responded with a laugh. It was normal for the past few months. Additionally he dont gave a fuck news channels need to do such thing for money and society they are all talk.
"We are going to meet my daughter, ok." She instructed, as she had been postponing the meet for a while as Jotaro was busy playing and learning his power on the ground. "And no flirting or seducing them."
"Got it. But what about it? He needs some attention." He agreed without hesitation then stretched his body while getting out of bed completely naked. As blood rushed downward his member got hard as fuck.
"I milked you last night like a cow… how is that possible?" She muttered in disbelief as he unloaded many times. How could a man who is satisfied at most two times, are now required to do more than eight times.
"Men in general here are supposed to be weak but you are definitely a different daddy." Martha on her four crawled on bed toward him while a smug smirk and seductive tone carried on.
Seeing her sinful allured curve and tempting face he slowly hit her face with his thick meat rod. "I love this so much."
She lies down on the edge of bed facing the ceiling of the room and opens her mouth as wide as possible. "You filthy slut~ wet wet and tight~"
A moan escaped his mouth as he slowly inserted his meat rod in her mouth. As she had no gag reflex he touched her throat and the whole thing didn't go in but slowly slowly she took it entirely.
He held the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her soft hair as he began to set a slow, deliberate rhythm. Her throat constricted around him, a warm, wet vice that sent shivers of pleasure down his spine. The sounds she made were muffled, desperate, and utterly depraved. She looked up at him with tear-filled, adoring eyes, her mascara beginning to run slightly from the effort. The sight of this powerful, respectable woman on her knees, willingly taking him so completely, was an intoxicating aphrodisiac.
"You take it so well, Martha," he groaned, his voice a low rumble. "Such a good little slut for me."
Her only response was a hum of approval, the vibrations sending another jolt of pleasure through his shaft. She reached up, her hands cupping his heavy balls, gently massaging them as she worked her mouth. He could feel the pressure building, the familiar tightening in his core. He picked up the pace, his hips thrusting faster, more forcefully. The bed creaked in protest, a rhythmic accompaniment to the wet, obscene sounds of their coupling.
"Fuck… I'm gonna cum," he grunted, his grip on her hair tightening.
She didn't pull back. Instead, she moaned around his thickness and pressed her face deeper into his groin, taking him to the hilt. That was all it took. With a loud, guttural groan, he erupted.
His body tensed as he pumped a massive, hot load directly down her waiting throat. She swallowed greedily, her throat working to milk every last drop from him, her eyes never leaving his. The sheer intensity of it made his knees weak. He stayed buried in her mouth until the last spasm subsided, then slowly pulled out.
Martha gasped for air, a thin trail of his cum leaking from the corner of her mouth. She wiped it with a finger and promptly sucked it clean, a wicked grin on her face. "Every single drop," she panted, her voice hoarse. "You never disappoint, daddy."
Jotaro chuckled, his body buzzing with a lazy satisfaction. He leaned down and kissed her, tasting himself on her lips. "And you never fail to amaze me," he said, pulling her up to stand. He gave her ass a firm smack. "Now, let's get ready. I believe I have a daughter to meet, and I promise to be on my best behavior."
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The taxi crunched to a halt on a gravel driveway that seemed to stretch on forever. Jotaro stepped out, his eyes widening as he took in the sight before him. It wasn't just a house; it was a fortress of opulence, a modern palace carved from glass, steel, and pristine white stone. A sprawling emerald lawn rolled down to a shimmering, Olympic-sized swimming pool, beyond which a meticulously manicured golf course dotted with artificial lakes stretched towards the horizon. The air itself felt different here—clean, expensive, and heavy with the scent of exotic blossoms from a garden that looked like it belonged in a botanical encyclopedia.
"So this is where they live. This fucking villa… who the hell is this rich?" Jotaro muttered, his voice laced with a mix of awe and disbelief. He mentally compared it to his own comfortable, but now utterly dwarfed, apartment. 'My house is a shoebox next to this,' he thought, a flicker of competitive irritation sparking within him.
Martha paid the driver with a casual wave of a black card, a small, proud smile playing on her lips. "Well, my daughter is special, you know," she said, the words dripping with a significance that Jotaro couldn't quite place.
"Special, huh?" he repeated, his tone mirroring hers. The emphasis she put on the word hung in the air, a clear signal that 'special' was a massive understatement.
They approached the colossal front door, its dark, polished wood reflecting their distorted images. Before Martha could even knock, it swung open with silent, fluid precision. Standing there was a man who seemed to have been carved from dignity and tradition. He was perhaps in his late fifties, with a neatly trimmed mustache, piercingly intelligent eyes, and a posture so perfect it seemed to defy gravity. He wore a simple, immaculate tuxedo.
"You must be the guests. The young ladies have been quite anticipating your arrival. Welcome to Wayne Villa," he said, his voice a warm, cultured baritone. "I am Alfred Pennyworth, the family butler."
Before Jotaro could even process the name, a whirlwind of energy erupted from within the cavernous foyer.
"Mother!"
The shout came from four voices at once. Four stunningly beautiful women, two with cascading blonde hair and two with raven-black locks, rushed towards Martha, their faces alight with joy. They enveloped her in a group hug, a flurry of designer clothes and expensive perfume. They were immediately followed by a procession of ten more women, all equally striking, and a single man who stood back with a knowing smirk.
Jotaro, standing just behind Martha, watched the chaotic reunion with a detached curiosity. 'Holy shit,' was the only coherent thought his brain could produce. This wasn't a family; it was a small, gorgeous army.
As the initial flurry of greetings subsided, the man with the smirk stepped forward. He was tall, with a powerful build hidden beneath an expensive tailored suit, and sharp, calculating eyes that seemed to miss nothing.
"Jotaro. Long time no see," he greeted, his smile widening into something more genuine, more familiar.
"Bruce. It's been a while," Jotaro responded, a genuine smile of his own breaking through his stoic facade. He walked forward and clasped Bruce's forearm, pulling him into a brief, firm hug. The gesture was easy, natural—the kind of easy familiarity shared by men who had been through hell together.
It was one of the black-haired daughters, the one with the most piercing, intelligent eyes, who broke the comfortable moment. She had been watching Jotaro with a growing intensity, her head tilted as if trying to place a forgotten melody. Suddenly, her eyes widened, the recognition dawning on her face like a lightning strike.
"Jotaro… is with you… wait, is he the one…?" she breathed, her voice barely a whisper, but it cut through the chatter like a knife. Her gaze locked onto Jotaro, and in that instant, the air grew thick and cold.
The other women fell silent, their smiles vanishing. They turned to look at him, their expressions shifting from warmth to shock, then to something else—fear, awe, and a dawning, collective horror.
"Shit…" one of the blondes muttered, taking an involuntary step back. The sentiment was echoed in a chorus of sharp intakes of breath and wide-eyed stares.
The entire atmosphere of the reunion had been shattered. Bruce's welcoming smile tightened into a grim line. Martha looked from her daughters to Jotaro, her face a mask of confusion and dawning alarm. Even the unflappable Alfred looked slightly perturbed, his hand subtly moving towards his pocket.
They all knew. They knew who he was. And from the looks on their faces, they knew exactly what he was capable of. The secret he had so carefully guarded was out, and it had just detonated in the middle of his girlfriend's family reunion.