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

Chapter 511: Chapter 510- Taken a Back by his Words

His grip tightened in both women’s hair.

Eliantra remained behind him, ass raised in the silver light, her holes breathing — winking, leaking, the patient preparation of a body that had been thoroughly claimed and knew, with the dumb certainty of marked things, that the man who had marked her would return to what was his.

She pushed her hips back slightly.

Just slightly.

’Waiting.’

Rihana’s tongue worked up his shaft and Senna’s worked down and they met in the middle and both of them looked up at him with the ’we are here, we are yours, we are not going anywhere’ eyes of women who had stopped performing and started meaning it.

The moonlight held everything equally.

The night had runway.

Viktor breathed.

’Soon, Elena,’ he thought. ’I am already on the way after done with your mother.’

Viktor ran a hand through his hair.

The slow, backward ruffle of it — fingers dragging from his forehead through the dark strands, pushing them back from his face, the ’I have just finished something thorough and I am taking stock’ gesture of a man settling into the aftermath of his own appetite.

He looked down at his cock.

Half-limp. Flushed and heavy, hanging with the ’I have been working for some time and I am resting’ weight of something that had earned its rest. Glistening still. The layered evidence of everyone in the room — Eliantra’s cunt, Senna’s throat, Rihana’s face — sitting on it in the moonlight like a report.

He looked at Eliantra.

She was still exactly where he’d left her.

Hips raised. That thick, generous, well-wrecked ass grinding in slow, unconscious circles — the ’my body has been waiting and has stopped pretending otherwise’ movement of hips that had given up performing patience some time in the last hour. Her hairy, swollen cunt lips parted and closed with each slow roll of her pelvis, leaking steadily, glistening in the moonlight like something that needed to be filled and knew it.

She was not looking at him.

She was looking at the floor, face flushed, grinding her own hips into the air in the quiet, ’I did not decide to do this but I cannot stop’ rhythm of a woman whose body had defected completely.

Viktor chuckled.

Low. Genuine.

He reached back.

Without looking — the ’I know where you are’ casual certainty of it — he pushed Rihana sideways. Not hard. The firm, dismissive shove of a man who is redirecting his attention and is not explaining himself. Then Senna, the same — a light push that sent the old woman stumbling backward on her knees, catching herself on the bedframe with both hands.

Both women felt it.

The withdrawal of attention, which was somehow worse than the withdrawal of his cock. Rihana caught herself on her palms, chubby knees sliding on the wet carpet, her glazed face turning toward him with the wide, ’I was still working’ expression of a woman removed from a task she had not finished.

”Master—” she started.

He gestured.

One hand. Flat. ’Back.’

The gesture of a man who does not need to raise his voice because he has never needed to.

Rihana’s mouth closed.

She looked at Senna.

Senna looked at her.

Both of them — one thick and deflowered and cum-faced, one wrinkled and saggy-titted and throat-bruised — looked at each other with the shared expression of two women who had just been set aside and were finding it humiliating in a way they had not expected to find humiliating.

Rihana bit her lip.

Senna’s jaw tightened.

Slowly — the dignity-retrieval of women who did not have much dignity left but were assembling what remained — they gathered their clothes against their bodies, not dressing, just holding the fabric the way you hold something when you need something to hold. They stood. They retreated toward the far wall in the moonlit shadows, shoulder to shoulder, not leaving the room, not looking away.

Observing.

Giving distance.

Viktor was already gone from their attention before they had taken three steps.

He crossed the room.

Knelt behind her.

Eliantra felt the mattress-weight shift of the air, the ’he is close’ warmth of another body arriving behind her, and her hips stuttered mid-grind before pressing back instinctively. The ’I heard his footstep and my body decided before I did’ response of a woman thoroughly conditioned by a single evening.

He looked at her.

Just looked.

That thick, mature ass, still flushed dark from an hour of his hips meeting it. The crease of her lower back where the sweat had pooled and run. Her dark hair plastered in damp strands to the back of her neck. The curve of her hips — motherhood-wide, generously built, the kind of body a man could grip in both hands and still have it overflow him everywhere.

His cock, half-limp, dragged through the cleft of her ass cheek.

Slow. Deliberate. The weight of it settling into her crack, warm and heavy, dragging through the cum that had landed there earlier — his own spend, now cooling, smeared between them as he pressed close.

Eliantra flinched.

Her whole body went rigid and then soft in the same breath — the ’I was expecting one thing and received something patient instead’ response of a woman who had been braced for impact and had received weight.

She waited.

His cock dragged again. Not fucking. Not pushing. Just — present. Resting against her. Warm and heavy and ’there,’ in the way that a man who is not rushing communicates that he does not need to rush.

Her hips pressed back.

Slow. Involuntary. The grinding return of something that had been waiting.

His hand came around her front.

Found her breast.

Not gently — the full, working, ’I am taking this in my hand because it belongs there’ grip of fingers closing around the heavy, pendulous weight of her left tit, kneading inward with the patient, thorough pressure of a man who knows what a body produces under the right handling.

”Hnnh~—”

Eliantra’s breath snagged.

Her nipple tightened instantly under his palm — the dark, thick nipple of a woman whose let-down reflex had been running for an hour, hardening to a point as his fingers worked the breast tissue, dragging inward from the curve toward the tip. Milk welled at the tip and ran.

Not a spray. A slow, continuous leak — warm, dripping down onto the carpet beneath her, her body giving what his hand was asking for.

”Aahhh~... ’hhnngh’—”

She gasped. The wet sound of it — his palm slick with her own milk as he kneaded, the squelch of a full breast being worked — mixed with the smaller, ’I am trying not to make sounds and am failing’ gasps she couldn’t contain.

Her whole body trembled.

Not from cold.

He leaned forward over her — the full ’body over body’ position of it, his chest against her back, his cock still heavy between the press of his pelvis and her ass, his lips finding the side of her face. Her jaw. Her cheek.

A kiss.

Soft. The ’I am not fucking you right now and I want you to notice the difference’ softness of it — pressed against her flushed, tear-tracked cheek with something that did not have the texture of performance.

”Thank you,” he said.

Low. Close to her ear.

”For letting me fuck you like this.”

Eliantra’s breath caught completely.

The ’I was not prepared for gratitude’ response of a woman whose entire nervous system had been organized around endurance tonight and had just been handed something it had no framework for. Her throat moved. Her eyes, already swollen, went wet again.

”Master—” she started.

Stopped herself.

Bit her lip. Hard. The correction arriving half a second too late.

”...Viktor.” Her voice was rough. ”You— Viktor, I—”