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

Chapter 531: Chapter 530- Hip Driving Forward

Rihana’s cheeks had gone the same color. She was shaking slightly, the tail still holding her breast, her hands hovering uselessly at her sides because she didn’t know where to put them and every option felt worse than the last.

Viktor looked over both their heads at the room.

Then he pulled their nipples.

Not gently.

Eliantra’s cry split the air.

”AAAHNGH~!!! NN—NGH~!!”

Rihana’s followed half a breath behind, higher in pitch, the cry of a woman whose pain threshold and arousal threshold had been blurring for long enough that her body no longer clearly differentiated them.

”HYIEE~!! AAHHH~!! Mngh~!!”

The seven men at the table shook.

Renwick’s hands were white-knuckled on the wood. Culliver had stopped breathing. Dagger Lom’s jaw was clenched so hard it was audible.

None of them looked up.

Viktor chuckled again.

The morning light through the windows had shifted — the sun climbing, the bars of gold light across the floor lengthening and brightening, flooding the table, laying warm shadows across the desk that were nothing but the shadows of furniture and paper until he moved.

He released Rihana.

Kept Eliantra.

His hand moved from her breast to her wrist, then the small of her back, and he walked her toward the desk.

She knew what was happening.

Her body knew before her mind finished the sentence. Her hips had already begun the small, instinctive backward press of a woman whose body had spent the night learning this man’s intentions and now recognized them on approach.

He bent her over the desk.

One hand between her shoulder blades, pressing down, and she went — her chest hit the wood, her breasts spreading flat against the desk surface and then spilling to either side, heavy and full, the nipples pressing against the cool wood and immediately stiffening further at the contact.

Her palms found the far edge of the desk and gripped it.

Her shadow fell across the papers in front of her — the long, dramatic silhouette of a thick woman bent fully forward, her heavy breasts visible from the sides as they pressed and spread against the desk, her hip curve rising, her breath already changing register.

The seven men could see the shadow.

Could not look away from it because looking away would require looking up.

Could not look at it because it was directly in their field of downward vision.

Several of them closed their eyes.

It did not help.

Viktor’s hands found her hips. Her dress was ruined already — had been ruined for hours — and the fabric gave when he pulled it aside, exposing the curve of her lower back, the full, wide spread of her ass, the thick, heavy weight of her thighs.

The panty was still in place.

Barely.

He’d given it to her ally to hold the halfs he’d placed inside her — the healing objects tucked carefully into her stretched, aching walls to recover what the night had spent, rebuilding the muscle memory and tightness of a body that had been thoroughly, comprehensively used.

The panty fabric had done its job. The halfs held. Her pussy — visible from his angle, the dark hair damp and pressed flat, the lips swollen and puffy and flushed a deep, heated pink — had taken the recovery. He could see the difference from the night’s end. Tighter. Full. The muscles rebuilt.

He slid the panty to the side.

Pulled two of the halfs free.

They came out with a wet, slick sound that made Eliantra’s thighs clench hard.

”Mnh~— ngh—”

Two more remained inside. Seated deep. He could feel the faint, warm pulse of the healing still working, the last of the recovery running through her walls.

He placed his cockhead against her entrance.

”Don’t worry,” he said.

His voice carried clearly through the room. He said it conversationally, the way a man says something practical.

”It’ll all come out after I flood your pussy, mistress.”

The silence that followed was the silence of seven men learning something they had not previously known about the upper limits of professional embarrassment.

”V—Victor—” Eliantra’s voice. Broken at the edges. Her hands tightening on the far edge of the desk. ”Please— wait— it’s— they’re right ’there,’ I—they’re looking at—”

”They’ll die if they look,” he said.

And he slammed his cock home.

The sound that tore out of her had no decorum and no dignity and no consideration for the seven men ten feet away and no relationship whatsoever to the composed, cold-spined mistress of Hartfield territory.

”KYAAAANGHHH~~!!!”

It filled the room completely. It filled the hallway. It went through the walls. The old maid in the corner closed her eyes and steadied herself against the doorframe.

Her ass cheeks spread and clapped against his hips with the impact — the full, thick, warm weight of them rippling outward from the point of contact, the flesh bouncing in two separate waves that crashed back toward each other and spread again.

He didn’t stop.

PAH!

”AAANHGH~~!!”

PAH PAH!

”NGH~!! HAHN~!! HIEE~!!”

PAH PAH PAH!

”AAAHH~!! YAAANGHH~!! NGHAAAHHH~!!!”

The desk shook with each thrust. The papers slid. The inkwell walked three inches toward the edge and stopped. Eliantra’s breasts, spread flat against the desk surface, were no longer flat — each thrust drove her forward and they bounced free of the wood, swinging heavily, smacking back down against the desk and then bouncing free again, the nipples dragging red lines across the wood, her face pressing forward with each impact, her cheek against the papers, her mouth open, sound coming out of it continuously in the broken, helpless way sound comes from a woman who has stopped editing.

”Haahh— haahh— AAAHNN~!!”

’She could feel everything.’

The remaining halfs inside her, displaced and pressed by each thrust, buzzing warmth through her walls as they moved. His cock finding them, pushing past them, driving them deeper with each stroke before pulling back and slamming through again. The healing working against his fucking — her muscles rebuilding and being rebuilt simultaneously, tightening around him and then being forced wide and then tightening again, the cycle making her feel ’everything’ at twice the intensity of a normal woman.

Her cervix.

She felt him hit it on the fifth thrust.

”NNIEEENGHH~~!!!”

She felt him hit it on the sixth.

”AAAHH~!! TOO—TOO DEEP— NGHH~!!”

Her eyes rolled.

The white of them visible for a moment before her lids came down, wet lashes pressed against her cheekbones, tears running sideways across her face from the angle she was bent at, dripping off her cheekbone onto the papers below her.

Her snot had started at some point. She was past caring.

The full, ruined, devastated expression of a woman being thoroughly, comprehensively fucked — chin trembling, lips swollen and wet, mascara ghosts tracked fully down to her jaw, eyes barely focused, rolled back and fluttering with each thrust that pushed his cock through the remaining halfs and into the tight heat of her newly recovered walls.

PAH PAH PAAH!

”HNGH~!! HAAIYAANGH~!! MMNGHH~!!!”

Behind him — Rihana.

She had been standing to the side, the tail still coiled loosely around her wrist now, her thick body trembling with the residual effect of being held and pulled and displayed, her own juices running down the inside of her thighs in a slow, steady stream from her night’s worth of use.

She looked at Viktor’s back.

At his hips driving forward.