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

Chapter 533: Chapter 532- Lost Dignity of a Well Fucked Woman

Culliver had his papers in his hands again.

He was reading from them now. Mechanically. Numbers and names and dates, in the flat, recitative voice of a man choosing between two varieties of terrible. The numbers were damning. The names were recognizable. The dates stretched back four years.

He read them all.

One by one, the seven men talked.

And Viktor fucked the mistress of their territory against her own desk, his cock flooding her walls with each thrust, her pussy soaking the floor below her, Rihana’s weight behind him making each impact count double, the morning light laying the whole scene in gold across the wood and the paper and the ruined, perfect, ongoing meeting.

The mating ground and the meeting ground.

The same room.

The same morning.

The same woman — who had been carefully, methodically stripped of everything — now receiving it all back one confession at a time, on her belly, with his cock seated nine inches inside her and her tears and snot making an honest mess of the documents they’d brought to destroy her with.

PAAH!! PAAH!! PAAAH!!

”AAAHH~!! HAAIYAAANGH~!! NGH—NGHHH~!! I’M—I’M GOING TO—NGHH~!!!”

Viktor’s hand tightened on her neck.

The last confession was still falling out of Culliver’s mouth when Viktor’s hips changed gear.

Not gradually. Not with warning.

’Instantly.’

PAH PAH PAH PAH PAH PAH!!

”NO—NO—WAIT—MY BODY WILL—NGHH~!! IT’LL BREAK—PLEASE—VICTOR—”

”AAAHH~!! HAAANGH~!! NGHHH~!!! I CAN’T—I CAN’T—”

The desk screamed against the floor. Three inches. Five inches. Grinding forward with each brutal, accelerating thrust as Viktor’s hips found a gear they hadn’t used yet — something past rhythm, past pace, something that was simply ’force’ in its most direct application.

Eliantra’s breasts were no longer dragging against the wood.

They were ’slamming’ against it.

Each forward thrust drove her chest into the desk hard enough that the fat, heavy undersides of her tits slapped the surface with their own wet, fleshy sound beneath the crack of his hips — her nipples mashed flat, then bouncing free, then mashed flat again as she was driven forward over and over, her whole upper body sliding on the desk, cheek, chin, the wet mess of her face leaving a smear across the papers she’d never be able to look at professionally again.

PAH PAH PAAH PAH PAH!!

”KYAAHHH~!! NGH—NGHAAAHH~!! MY WOMB—MY WOMB IS—AAANGHH~!!!”

’Too much.’

That was the only thought her mind could form and maintain. Too much speed, too much depth, too much of the healing-rebuilt tightness of her walls being stretched open at a pace her rebuilt muscles were not designed to process. The remaining halfs inside her were being driven deeper with each stroke, buzzing frantic warmth through her cervix, the healing energy turning every nerve ending to a live wire.

Her legs had stopped working.

She was simply being held in place by his grip on her hips and the desk against her chest, her feet dragging against the wet floor, her whole body a passive instrument for a pace she had no input on.

Rehana, pressed against his back, felt the acceleration.

Her own hips stuttered — couldn’t keep up, the rhythm too fast — and she simply ’held on’, her arms locked around his torso, her heavy breasts flattened against his shoulder blades, her face pressed into the back of his neck, her own continuous ’”Mnh~— mnh~— mnh~—”’ shaking loose with each impact.

PAAH!! PAAH!! PAAH!! PAAH!!

”HAAIIEENGH~!!! NGHH~!! AAAHHH~!! I—I’M—VIKTOR—PLEASE—I’M GOING TO—”

”Not yet,” he said.

The same voice. The same calm.

The sound that came from her was not a word. It was not a moan. It was the sound of a woman’s entire nervous system making one long, helpless protest.

”MNNGHHHH~!!!”

Her fingers had torn through two more papers. Her knuckles were white on the desk edge. Her thighs were shaking so badly the tremor was visible from across the room — the thick, full flesh of them vibrating continuously, her pussy clenching and releasing around him in the rapid, involuntary rhythm of a body that had decided it was going to come whether it had permission or not.

He felt it.

He ’stopped.’

The silence was violent.

Seven men at the table heard the cessation of sound and felt it like a physical thing — the abrupt end of that continuous, overwhelming percussion replaced by the wet, ragged sound of Eliantra breathing.

”Hahh— hahh— haahh~—”

The desk had moved a full foot from its original position.

Viktor pulled out.

The sound it made pulled a low, broken cry from her.

”Nnh~—!!”

His hands found her — one at her hip, one at her thigh — and he ’twisted’ her. Not gently. With the efficient, directional force of a man repositioning something that belongs to him, rolling her sideways off the desk so she came around to face outward, her back against the wood now, her front toward the room.

He lifted her leg.

One hand under her knee, pulling it up and outward — the same angle a dog raises its leg, the full, obscene geometry of it positioning her hips at a tilt, her pussy — swollen and red and soaked, the lips puffy and spread and visibly, obscenely open from hours of use — aimed directly at the seven men sitting at the table ten feet away.

Eliantra made a sound.

It had no letter in it.

”Mhh—?! W—wait—they’re—they can SEE—”

”They can see the desk,” Viktor said. ”They can see the wall.”

His thumb found her clit.

She stopped making words.

The clit — swollen past anything resembling its normal size, the hood pulled back by the angle he had her at, the whole thing exposed and throbbing — received his thumb with the full, direct, unmediated pressure of a man who knew exactly where it was and exactly what it needed.

He pressed.

”SHOW.”

The sound she made had no ceiling.

”KYAAAAAAANGHHH~!!!! NGH—NGHH—AAAAAHHH~!!!”

Her whole body seized.

The orgasm hit her the way a wall hits a runner — instantaneous, full-body, no negotiation. Her spine arched hard off the desk, her free leg kicking outward, her heavy breasts lurching upward with the arch and then slamming back down against her own chest hard enough that the impact sound was audible.

And then the jet.

Clear. Continuous. ’Pressurized.’

It left her pussy in a genuine arc — the angle of her lifted leg directing it forward and slightly downward, a rainbow curve of fluid carrying everything her body had been building for the last hour, the remaining two halfs tumbling free in the stream and landing on the desk surface with two small, distinct impacts, glowing faintly green for a moment before the fluid covered them.

It hit the table.

The papers.

The hands of two men who had not moved fast enough.

The flood ran across the polished wood in a thin, continuous sheet, spreading toward the edges, dripping from the table’s corners in a steady patter against the floor.

Seven heads came up.

Not by choice.

By the pure, overriding instinct of bodies that hear a very loud sound very close to them and look before the brain sends any instruction.

They looked.

Eliantra — held up by Viktor’s one hand under her knee, her back against the desk, her other leg barely touching the floor, her breasts heaving with each convulsive tremor of her orgasm, her face destroyed — looked back at them.

For exactly one second.

Then her eyes rolled fully white.

”Haahh— haahh— aahh~—”