100x Rebate Sharing System: Retired Incubus Wants to Marry & Have Kids

Chapter 366: Chapter 365 - Molding the Elven Milf

”Helena is close,” Viktor said, with the tone of someone making a genuinely clinical comparison. ”But there’s more give to yours. More weight.”

His hand lifted her breast, fingers spreading under the full mass, testing the heft of it like a man running an actual experiment. ”It’s notable.”

”I cannot believe—” She was sputtering, undignified. ”You are—in the middle of—you are ’comparing’—”

”Research,” Viktor said.

”’Stop calling it’—”

Something vibrated.

From ’him.’ Somewhere behind him—she felt it more than heard it, low and resonant, rising from the base of his spine and traveling through every point of contact between them. The air behind him moved.

Vivian’s eyes went to his back.

Something was emerging.

Dark. Sinuous. The spade-tipped tail she’d catalogued in the hall—’strange, incubus heritage, interesting’—was extending with the slow intention of something that had been waiting. Its obsidian surface caught the bedroom light, the violet tip moving with its own quiet intelligence, like it already knew exactly where it was going.

Her brain stopped.

”What,” she said. Flatly. ”Is ’that.’”

Viktor’s eyes hadn’t left her face.

”Something,” he said, ”more thorough.”

”’Absolutely not’—”

He kissed her.

His free hand spread across her hip at the same moment, and his thigh pressed between hers—not rough, just ’inexorable’—that same steady outward pressure from the kitchen but with his full weight behind it now. Her thick thighs parted around him, sheets cool against the backs of her legs, her hands still loosely held at the wrists above her head.

She pulled against the grip.

Her breasts rolled with the effort, and Viktor kissed her deeper.

”Mm—’mmph’—stop—’mmm’—”

Her mouth was not cooperating with the ’stop.’ The traitorous thing answered him with the same body-logic that had been overriding her judgment since the kitchen—warm and wet and embarrassingly willing.

His hand released her wrists.

Both hands found her thighs instead—spread them further—the full heavy warmth of them under his palms, his fingers pressing into soft flesh with a possession that didn’t pretend to be anything else.

She felt the tail moving without seeing it.

The cool smooth surface found her entrance. The spade tip pressed there with a precision that could not possibly be accidental.

’What was— it was cold— smooth and cold and it was already—’

”What is—” She broke from the kiss, gasping. ”What ’is’ that—”

”’To prepare your body,’” Viktor said, close against her mouth. Low. Deliberate. ”Vivian.”

Her name.

Her name, in his voice, in that specific register.

The tail pressed ’in.’

”’HAAHH’—!!”

The moan burst out before she could stop it—’loud,’ too loud—her hand flying to her mouth half a second too late. Her eyes blew wide, then ’wider,’ as it pushed deeper, and the shape of it was nothing like fingers, nothing like anything—the spade tip curved inside her, flexible, pressing against walls that had just finished recovering from the first orgasm and were being addressed again with complete indifference to their need for rest.

’That thing— that long sinuous thing— it bent inside her— she couldn’t even—’

”’Hngh’—what—what is—’aahhh’—”

She couldn’t finish the question. The tail ’moved.’ The spade tip flexed in a way no finger could replicate—pressing simultaneously in multiple directions, finding surfaces she hadn’t known existed.

And then the vibration started.

Deep and low and resonant, traveling up the entire length of the tail and into her, rattling through the slick walls clenching around it, and Vivian’s brain issued one final coherent transmission before signing off entirely:

’This is not fingers.’

The vibration intensified.

”’HNNNGH’—!!”

Her whole body arched off the mattress—hips rolling upward completely without authorization—pressing herself ’harder’ against the intrusion, which her body regarded as an excellent development even as her mind scrambled uselessly at the edges of sensation.

’She was soaked. She could feel how soaked she was. It moved through her slickness like it was designed for this—’

Her thighs closed around Viktor’s hips.

Viktor’s mouth found her throat. Her collarbone. Both hands found her breasts—enormous soft handfuls of her—his palms pressing up under the full weight and then kneading, his thumbs finding both peaks simultaneously and ’pressing.’

’PAH. PAH.’

His palm connected against the soft underside of her breast—not cruel, just deliberate—the slap of it leaving a faint pink flush spreading across the pale mass, the whole heavy thing swinging from the impact and grazing her arm.

”’Ahh~!! Hngh~!! Nnn~!!’”

”’Hahh’—’hahh’—too—too much—’HNGH’—”

’He was still completely dressed. She was the only one coming apart here and he was still—’

The second orgasm was already building. Her body was going to do this ’again’—already doing it—the warmth coiling low and fast with no time to prepare, no time to brace.

’PAH. PAH. PAH!’

His palm struck the inside of her thigh—measured, knowing—the sound of dense soft flesh cracking through the bedroom air and leaving his handprint blooming red across the pale skin of her inner leg.

”’Hahh~!! Oungh~!! HIEKK~!!’”

Her hips bucked.

Her thighs trembled—the soft weight of them shaking where his hand had been, her whole body rocking upward into the tail still working her open.

’It was finding places. Specific places. That long sinuous thing inside her knew exactly what it was doing and she couldn’t—’

The tail vibrated ’harder.’

The spade tip pressed against something interior that put white stars at the edges of her vision—sudden and insistent—and Vivian pressed both palms over her mouth, felt the sound building behind them, felt herself losing the structural integrity of every composed, dignified thing she’d ever been.

”’MMMPH’—!!”

Her back came completely off the mattress.

’PAH. PAAAH!’

His palm came down against the heavy inside of her thigh—deep and deliberate—the dense warm flesh jiggling with the force of it, her whole leg shaking from the impact, her slickness audible against the tail working through it.

”’AANHH~!! Nghh~!! HIIEEKK~!!’”

The headboard knocked the wall.

Once. Twice. From the force of her writhing.

Her breasts rolled heavily with each desperate arch of her back—swaying against Viktor’s hands, the soft mass of them moving in rhythmic counterpoint to a body that had entirely stopped accepting instructions. Her nipples were hard enough to ache. The air felt too thin to breathe.

’She was going to— she was already— it wasn’t possible, not again, not this fast—that thing inside her had her mapped, had her completely—’

The vibration reached its peak.

Viktor pressed the spade tip ’there’—that specific interior place—one final deliberate stroke, and held it. Held it with the patient precision of someone who had already determined the exact coordinates of her undoing.

And Vivian shattered.

Her pussy ’gushed’ around the tail—hot, immediate, ’copious’—soaking the sheets beneath her completely, soaking Viktor’s thigh, the liquid rushing out with the full force of her body contracting all at once.

”’AAAHHH’—!!”

The sound escaped fully.

Her hands had fallen away from her mouth and she simply ’screamed’ through the peak of it—brief and high and completely unambiguous—before catching herself and muffling it into her wrist, the sound coming out as:

”’Mmph’—hahh—hahh—’hngh’—”

Her back stayed off the mattress.

Her toes curled until they cramped.

Her thighs shook. Her stomach shook. Her breasts trembled with the fine oscillations of her breathing, moving with every ragged exhale, and she lay in the complete wreckage of the sheets and stared at the ceiling and made sounds that were trying to be words and not reaching.

’She couldn’t feel her hands.’

Viktor withdrew the tail.

’Slowly.’ Torturously slowly.

The retreat of it through her oversensitized walls dragged a long broken moan out of her that she was too wrecked to suppress—the slow wet pull of every inch of its exit felt in full, her body trying to clench around it and failing, too exhausted to grip.

”’Hhnn’—”

Then silence.

Her own breathing.

The ceiling. The warm bedroom. The distant sounds of the house below—still there, still normal, Bella’s voice still audible in the sitting room—and somehow that was the most surreal detail of all.

’The world had continued. During whatever had just happened to her, the world had simply continued.’

She turned her head.

Viktor was watching her.

Still. Patient. Those dark eyes moving across what she must look like right now—dress wrenched half off, hair destroyed, thighs slick and trembling, sheets beneath her soaked and crumpled—and his expression held that same dark warmth it always held. The satisfaction of someone whose hypothesis had been conclusively proven.

’He wasn’t even breathing hard.’ She registered that. Filed it. Hated it and was already, infuriatingly, thinking about what came next.

Vivian opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Tried again.

”I am—” She stopped. Her voice was completely gone. She tried from a different angle. ”I am ’losing my mind.’”

The words came out flat and baffled—the honest conclusion of a woman whose dignity had been thoroughly, systematically, and comprehensively dismantled over the course of a single evening.

Viktor’s mouth curved.

”The examination,” he said, ”is ongoing.”

She was still trying to reassemble language when he moved.

Not gradually. Not with any of the measured patience that had preceded every other thing he’d done tonight.

Just—’moved.’

His hands came under her thighs, both of them, the full soft weight of her scooped up from the soaked sheets in a single motion that left her no time to brace, no time to protest, no time to do anything except grab his shoulders as her stomach dropped and the ceiling swung overhead.

”’Wait’—”

”’Wh—Viktor’—”

She was in the air.

Her thighs wrapped around him without consulting her—reflex, sheer survival instinct—her hands clutching his shoulders, her breasts swinging forward with the lift, the soft heavy mass of them pressing against his chest as gravity pulled them down.

Her back met the wall.

The plaster was cold against her spine and the contrast—cold wall, warm man, the jolt of being ’pinned’ there with nothing below her feet—made her breath catch on a sound that wasn’t dignified.

”’Viktor’—put me—I am not—”