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

Chapter 502: Chapter 501- Elena’s Shock

Elena’s voice lost whatever remained of its control.

”WHAT KIND OF NONSENSE IS THIS?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY MOTHER?! STOP—”

”Stop?”

Viktor’s voice. Even. Unhurried. His hips moving again — the slow, deliberate, I decide the pace movement of a man who has decided that Elena’s volume is not a factor in his decision-making.

The sound of it.

Gluck.

Eliantra’s eyes.

Looking at the mirror. At Elena looking at her. The unbearable eye contact of a mother and daughter across an impossible distance — the mother’s eyes wet, overwhelmed, carrying the comprehensive shame of a woman being seen in a way she cannot control and cannot stop.

She made a sound.

”Mmmpphh~—”

Not trying to speak. Just — sound. The compressed, everything-at-once sound of a woman who is gagging and crying and feeling something she refuses to name and is managing all of it in the limited space available to a throat with an occupation.

Elena took a step toward the mirror.

”If you don’t STOP—”

Viktor pulled Eliantra completely off.

The full, wet, immediate sound of the withdrawal — the comprehensive pop of a throat clearing — and Eliantra gasped, the deep, ragged, finally some air gasp of a woman who has been deep-throated and is conducting inventory on her own respiratory system.

She looked at the mirror.

At Elena.

”Elena—” Her voice. Wrecked. The scraped, raw, I am so ashamed voice of a woman who has been seen. ”Don’t— you should not—”

Viktor’s hand found her breast.

From behind, over her shoulder — the full, possessive, working grip of a hand that has spent the last hour learning the geography and is now applying that knowledge — his fingers closing around the heavy flesh, the nipple finding the gap between his index and middle finger.

He pulled.

Eliantra’s head snapped back.

”AAANGHH~!!”

The milk came.

The thin, immediate, pressure-released spray of it — from the nipple he was pulling, catching the moonlight of the room in a fine, white mist that hit the mirror’s surface and ran down it in a warm, slow stream.

Elena’s magic shattered.

All of it. The prepared, focused, carefully-constructed combat magic dissolving with the total, involuntary collapse of concentration that happens when the mind receives something the body wasn’t prepared for.

She stood there.

With her hands still spread and her magic gone.

Looking at the milk on the mirror.

At her mother’s face.

Sofia moved.

She didn’t decide to.

The decision had already been made somewhere below the level of conscious choice — the body-takes-over movement of a woman whose mind has been demolished but whose blood is still running and whose horns are still there and who has just watched Viktor’s eyes find hers and say I see you in a way that nobody had said that to her in this building since she arrived.

She got up.

Her ribs — the kicked ribs, the bruised ribs, the ribs that had opinions about vertical movement — filing their complaint.

She ignored it.

She crossed the room.

Elena heard her.

Turned.

”What are you—”

Sofia grabbed her from behind.

Both arms. The full, desperate, I have exactly one move left and I am using it bear-hug of a woman who has been on the floor bleeding for an hour and has found the compressed fuel of a person who has nothing left to lose and is spending it all right now.

They hit the floor.

Together. Elena going down first, Sofia on top of her from behind, both of them landing with the flat, inelegant impact of a struggle that has nothing graceful about it.

”YOU BITCH—” Elena’s voice, muffled against the stone. ”GET OFF—”

”You get what you deserve,” Sofia said.

Her voice was wrecked. Her face was still bleeding. Her horns were glowing again — the warm-gold light of them filling the room in the ability-responding-to-intention glow of power being directed rather than firing randomly.

She held Elena down.

Her arms locked.

Her horns blazing.

Turning Elena’s face toward the mirror.

Look, the grip said. You made me look. Now you look.

Viktor.

Watching the two women on the floor of the dormitory through the glass.

His hand still on Eliantra’s breast.

Eliantra still gasping beside him.

His expression: the this is exactly what I wanted warmth of a man watching things land correctly.

”Thank you,” he said.

To Sofia.

Through the mirror.

The direct, genuine, unhurried thank you of someone who means it — not performance, not manipulation, just the warm acknowledgment of a man who has just been handed something useful by someone he had not planned on.

Sofia, holding Elena down, horns blazing, face bleeding —

Flushed.

The involuntary, why is my face doing this right now flush of a woman receiving direct, warm attention from a man whose eyes were doing the thing his eyes apparently did and whose voice had arrived in her chest and sat down without asking permission.

She looked at the mirror.

At him.

At the purple eyes that were looking at her the way nobody had looked at her since she arrived at this academy.

”Then let us give Elena,” he said, his gaze moving from Sofia to the woman pinned beneath her, ”a beautiful sight.”

His hand moved.

Down from Eliantra’s breast.

Finding the torn fabric of the nightgown.

Pulling.

Eliantra’s cry — the soft, compressed, not again cry of a woman who has lost count of how many times fabric has been removed from her in the last hour —

”AAAHH~— no~— please~—”

His cock finding her lips again.

The thick, crimson-headed, entirely-serious push of it against her mouth — Eliantra’s jaw opening with the trained, involuntary response of a woman whose body has been educated —

”Mmmhnn~—”

The deep, comprehensive, all-the-way push.

Her eyes rolling.

Her cheeks hollowing.

Her breasts swinging with the first thrust — the full, heavy, enthusiastic swing of them, the nipple still leaking in the thin, continuous stream that caught the mirror’s light.

PAH!

”MMMPPHH~!!”

His hand found her hair.

Pulled.

Her face tilted upward — toward the mirror, toward the glass, toward the arranged angle of a woman being displayed rather than simply used.

He looked at Elena.

”Look at your mother,” he said.

His voice was warm.

”She’s doing so well.”

Elena’s face, against the floor.

Sofia’s arms holding her.

The mirror in front of them both — unavoidable, comprehensive, right there — showing everything.

Her mother’s face.

The rolling eyes. The tears. The overwhelmed, ruined, and not entirely-against-it expression that Elena had never seen on her mother’s face before and could not un-see.

The milk on the glass.

Still there.

Her mother’s voice, muffled and broken and continuous —

”Mmmpphh~!! Hngh~!! MMPHH~!!”

PAH! PAH!

”HNNGH~!! MMMPPHH~!!”

Elena’s hands found the floor.

Not to push up. Just — to grip. The I need something solid grip of a woman whose chest is doing something she hasn’t authorized.

”Leave her alone,” she said.

Her voice had lost its temperature.

Not cold. Not hot. The resource-depleted flatness of a woman who has been running on fury for the last ten minutes and has just found the place where fury runs out.

”Leave my mother—”

Her voice cracked.

The I refuse to let this happen, it is happening anyway crack of a voice at the end of its reserves.

”Alone.”

Viktor looked at her.

His hips not stopping.

Eliantra’s sounds not stopping.

PAH!

”MMMPPHH~!!”

The milk hitting the mirror again.

Viktor’s hand found Eliantra’s nipple.

His fingers closing.

The full, deliberate, I want you to hear this pull of it —

”AAANGHH~!! MMMPHH~!!”

Her mother’s eyes.

Finding Elena through the glass.

The I am so ashamed, I cannot stop, please don’t look, I cannot stop you from looking fullness of them — carrying everything that a mother’s eyes carry when they are seen in a way they were not supposed to be seen, by the person they were never supposed to be seen by.

”Elena—” Her mother’s voice.

Barely. A sound more than a word.

”I—”

Viktor pushed deeper.

The sound her mother made was not a word.

Sofia, holding Elena down.

Her horns blazing gold in the lamplight.

Her bloody face looking at the mirror.

At the man in it.

Who was looking back at her.

Between thrusts. Between the sounds of Eliantra and the milk on the glass and Elena going still beneath her —

He looked at Sofia.

At the horns.

The knowing quality of his gaze on them.

He knows, she thought. He knows what they are. He knew before I did.

He looked at me and he already knew.

His mouth curved.

Not cruel.

Just — knowing.

”Three bloodlines,” he said.

Quiet. Just for her. The words arriving through the glass with the this is between us warmth of something not meant for Elena.

”That’s rare.”

Sofia stared at him.

Her horns pulsed.

”Very rare.”

PAH! PAH!

”MMMPPHH~!! HNGH~!! MASTERRR~!!”

Eliantra’s eyes rolling.

Elena going rigid beneath Sofia’s arms.

The milk running down the mirror in slow, warm streams.

Viktor’s purple eyes on Sofia.

Warm.

Patient.

The word- I will explain this to you eventually, but not tonight quality of someone who has filed a note and intends to return to it.

”Don’t let her break your horns and preserve your hymen too,” he said.

Simply.

Then looked back at Elena.

”As I really want to taste how a mermaid’s pussy feels like.”

His hips accelerated.

PAH! PAH! PAH!

”MMMPHH~!! AAANGHH~!! HIIEEK~!!”

thump thump

While Sofia’s face flushed deep red She buried her face within the neck nape of Elena while holding her tightly, as if something just broke within her, as she muttered.

”V...i...kt...or...”

”Urgh... Fuck, Fuck... Viktor... why... Leave me, you BITCH!!!”