The life of a sperm-tank admiral.

Intervention doubted that Kotone could still stand.

Save for the iron grip hugged around her hips keeping her firmly rooted.

Intervention smirked, and then her face was utterly drenched in the first dense, heavy load of steaming-hot spunk.

Many more strands of pure white cake batter followed, spilling out over and slowly oozing between her cleavage, making a complete mess of her face and breasts in just one load.

Compared to her timid character elsewhere, Kotone didn’t hesitate to coat a girl with thick, dense, cake-batter seed. More than enough to overwhelm lesser women, though Intervention drank as much as possible. This was a gift from her Admiral, a reward for skillful service.

Intervention had been made specifically to revere this taste.

One day, wars would theoretically end, even the Imperials knew that.

At which point, a normal warship would have no role to play in society. However, fleet women could discard their metal shells, and instead settle down to fill the critical role of wives. To kick-start that post-war baby boom.

Hence why Intervention had this humanoid form, with such supple softness, the infinite delights of the flesh that only a woman could provide. Free from, as she saw it, the many imperfections of mortal women. With all of the lovely benefits, like those smothering, endless breasts she worked with such skill.

Naturally, one load wouldn’t be enough. Intervention gave Kotone only the slightest moment to recover, just long enough for her to wipe away the thick ropes covering her eyes. Once again, she waited for Kotone to meet her gaze before starting in earnest, making sure her Admiral’s full attention was on her.

“Nnngh…” Kotone made plenty of cute, girlish moans, acting just like a maiden being claimed for her first time. Which was honestly fitting. “Intervention, you’re amazing…”

Intervention had long since worked out a brutally efficient technique for tittyfucking a well-endowed person. Up and down, aided by strong gloved arms. Bits of sticky white stained those black gloves, showing up exceptionally well compared to her pale skin. The deep red of the maid outfit, a match for Intervention’s eyes, showed the seed excellently, too. This was a mess put on display. Kotone could look down, and now see proof of her ownership, her mastery.

The rush of what felt like power, combined with the actual helplessness of being wrung out by an experienced, busty woman, had Kotone trapped without the slightest hint of escape. She was buried as deep in her feelings as her dick was, in those truly endless breasts.

Kotone’s second load was even larger than the first, but far less visible.

For Intervention hugged her close, and did not let up, demanding that her Admiral deposit that load entirely within her ‘breast pussy’. The space formed by her enormous chest, the cleavage of which was enough to swallow lesser men and their loads whole.

Soaking this ice-cold shortstack even more thoroughly in the process, as seed got all over inside the maid’s dress. It was just barely enough to begin dripping down the outside of her huge, bouncy breasts. Which was a testament to the beanpole stamen’s sheer size down there.

So much of Kotone’s spunk was suspended in enormous, compressed cleavage.

Despite the fact that she’d let out more than some men would release in a lifetime, and Intervention was well and truly coated in the same, the heavy cruiser didn’t even bother pausing the second time.

By keeping up the intense pressure and forceful, repetitive motions of her lotion-and-seed-slicked breasts, she could wring out much more. Kotone writhed, twitched, and her purple eyes hazed over, her glasses askance. Her mouth slacked open, her face red, her glasses half falling off her face…

She was a perfect mess thanks to Intervention, and a portrait of passion.

The sound of her sperm-soaked breasts wringing Kotone for all she was worth filled the small base, and those thin walls didn’t fully conceal the sound. Especially given that Intervention had ‘accidentally’ left a window or two open.

That sea breeze was just too precious to sacrifice.

By the time she’d wrung out, and this time perfectly, comprehensively, and greedily swallowed like a **** addict, an additional two loads, Kotone was exhausted if not totally spent. Intervention herself was thoroughly drowned in a sea of white gunk.

Dense strands of spunk connected her to the floor, the thickest and hottest of which oozed down slowly from her cleavage, pooling in her lap. Intervention finally released her grip, letting Kotone see the full extent of her release, thick white netting stretching between Intervention’s breasts as they bounced apart.

Kotone caught her breath while Intervention wiped away the still-warm coating over her eyes and mouth, collecting it in cupped hands and taking a moment to drink it. After all, it wouldn’t do to waste the seed of an Alpha.

“Now that you’re satisfied, shall we continue our tour of the base?”

Intervention asked that as though she wasn’t currently drenched in a few gallons of Kotone’s own heavy batter- though, the question itself was entirely rhetorical, as the Admiral was still in no condition to answer, or even think too hard.

“... I say that, though there is little more to show. While I would not mind staying as I am now, it is nearly time for a proper meal, and I can scarcely do so like this. Furthermore, there will be plenty of chances later for me to show off who I belong to, soaked so thoroughly as I am.”

With that said, Intervention quickly stood up and walked off to Kotone’s private bathtub, to clean up before preparing lunch. It was all Kotone could do to straighten herself up in her office, then later head to the mess hall, feeling like she’d been run over by a truck or something.

Yet that was just the start of it.

Intervention hadn’t been kidding about wringing out ‘every drop’, and carefully attending to Kotone’s condition.

Morning, afternoon, evening, and at night.

The paizuri was relentless, and Kotone couldn’t refuse any of it. While she was Intervention’s lawful superior, it was clear which one of them was holding the other in a pleasurable stupor. Taunting about how all that rich, potent seed, evolved to ensure breeding and impregnate countless women, would all wind up achieving nothing, if it was just spurted between a pair of enormous breasts.

To Kotone’s shame, the teasing made her cum harder every time.

This wasn’t much of a ‘squadron’, much less a ‘fleet’, with one ship. Over time they’d slowly, painfully gather the resources to make a few smaller vessels, form a flotilla, and go out on patrols of the home waters.

Just to keep up some pretense of purpose.

Yet always, there was the relentless paizuri, many times a day. Kotone was being wrung out like a towel. Was this really what her life as an Admiral would be like?

Forget the oncoming war, she wouldn’t make it another week like this!