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

Chapter 568: Chapter 567- A Threat for Some Favours

The milk running faster from her breast. Helviana’s hand full of it. The kneading continuous.

The blue retreating past her collarbones.

Gone from her neck.

Her jaw.

He came inside her.

The thick, heavy, sealing load of it — Viktor driving to the deepest point and holding there, the comprehensive, full-depth deposit of seed that carried everything his bloodline carried, the warmth of it spreading immediately into the channel it had been delivered to.

She felt it.

Every pulse.

”Mmnh~♡— mnh~♡— mnh~♡—”

Her body receiving each pulse with the small, helpless, involuntary clench of a muscle that had been educated over the last hour into recognizing what was happening and responding to it against every instruction her mind was issuing.

’HUSBAND,’ she thought.

The word carrying everything the word carried for a woman who had been married for eleven years to a man she had chosen because he was the only man who had ever looked at her like a person rather than a target.

’Husband. Husband where are you.’

The tears ran faster.

Viktor pulled out.

The withdrawal — the slow, deliberate, complete withdrawal of a man who was not abandoning a position but concluding a phase, the motion reversed with the same unhurried, deliberate quality as the entry had been.

The sound of her body releasing him.

The soft, wet, exhausted sound of a channel that had been fully occupied and was now not, the warmth of what he’d left inside running in a thin, slow stream toward the sheets.

He looked at his cock.

At the evidence on it of everything her body had produced during the process.

He looked at Helviana.

Then at Dara.

”Stuff it,” he said.

Helviana was already moving.

The practical, immediate, completely matter-of-fact movement of a woman who had been told what to do and was doing it — her hand finding the small panty that had been pulled aside at the beginning of the evening, the white fabric warm from the body it had been against.

She folded it.

Pressed it to the guild mistress’s anal.

And pushed.

”MMPHHH~!!”

The guild mistress’s body registering the additional intrusion of two fingers pressing the fabric into the gap, the panty being used as a seal, the small, functional, entirely undignified application of intimate garment as medical plug.

”Help me,” Helviana said. To Dara.

Dara blinked.

”What,” she said.

”Her panty,” Helviana said, patient, matter-of-fact. ”Hold it in place. I need both hands.”

Dara looked at the panty.

At the place the panty was being held.

At Helviana’s expression — the completely composed, functionally-focused expression of a woman doing a practical task.

She moved.

Her fingers found the fabric.

Pressed.

”MMPHHH~!!♡—”

Both women’s hands at the guild mistress’s anal, the panty pressed in, the seal made, the warmth of what had been deposited held inside by the most available material that had been to hand.

The guild mistress lay with her face turned sideways on the pillow.

Tears running sideways.

Her fingers on the sheet.

Her internal landscape:

’I am going to kill every person in this room.’

The thought had the clear, cold, furious quality of a genuine promise rather than a desperate wish — the promise of a woman who had made promises like this before and had kept them.

’Every. Single. One.’

Her breathing was deep now.

Full-lung. Both sides. The complete, recovered, enormous breath of a woman whose mana channels had been cleared and whose body was remembering how to use its full capacity.

The blue was gone.

From everywhere.

Her skin — all of it, from the thick, wide back to the full shoulders to the back of her neck — was the warm, milky, alive white of a healthy woman.

The dark circles: lightened to faint shadows.

Her fingers — previously blue-tipped, the cold, inadequate circulation of someone whose body was losing — were pink.

Dara looked at her.

At the transformation.

At the warm, alive skin that had been blue an hour ago.

She looked at Viktor.

Who was looking at her.

”Your name,” he said.

”Dara,” she said. Automatically. The reflex answer.

She gave a bow. Half-bow. The imperfect, slightly-delayed bow of a woman who had not been a maid before tonight and was approximating the form from watching Helviana do it.

”Clean it,” Viktor said.

Dara looked at him.

At his cock.

At what was on it.

At Helviana, who was already moving — her head descending, her mouth finding his cock with the practiced, devoted, entirely-composed ease of a woman who had done this many times and had stopped finding it remarkable.

The sound of her cleaning him — the wet, thorough, focused sound of Helviana’s tongue working over the evidence of the guild mistress’s treatment, her cheeks hollowing, her eyes closing.

”Mnh~♡—”

Dara looked at the guild mistress on the bed.

At the thick, naked, palely-glowing body lying there. Her panty stuffed where it was. Her face wet with tears. Her eyes — and here was the thing, here was the detail Dara filed and kept — open.

The guild mistress’s eyes were open.

Looking sideways from the pillow.

Looking at the two women kneeling at the cock that had been inside her.

Looking at the man standing above them.

The full, paralyzed, completely aware, absolutely furious and absolutely helpless expression of a woman who could see everything happening and could do nothing about any of it.

Dara met her eyes.

The guild mistress’s eyes said something that did not need words.

Dara looked away first.

She looked at Viktor’s cock.

She looked at Helviana sucking it.

She looked at the floor.

Then she leaned forward.

Her mouth found his other side — the left, where Helviana had the right, her lips finding the heavy, warm weight of his balls and drawing one in with the careful, tentative, ’I am doing this because the situation has arrived here and I am still trying to understand the situation’ suction of a woman operating on the edge of a decision she hadn’t fully made.

Viktor looked down.

At both of them.

His hand settled on Helviana’s head.

Settled on Dara’s head.

The weight of both palms — not pushing, not directing. Simply present. The quiet, unceremonious claim of a man who was noting something.

”Hm,” he said.

He looked at the guild mistress.

At her open eyes watching the two women kneeling at him.

His mouth curved.

”Should we send the guild leader out first,” he said. ”Before the next phase.”

Both women looked up.

Helviana: composed, understanding, the slight nod of a woman who knew what ’next phase’ meant.

Dara: wide-eyed, mouth still present, the expression of a woman who had been addressed mid-action and didn’t know how to transition.

”Yes,” she said. Her voice slightly muffled. ”As you say. Master.”

The word landed.

’Master.’

In her own mouth.

She blinked at it.

Helviana looked at her with the warm, knowing, patient expression of a woman who remembered the first time that word had come out of her own mouth and what it had felt like.

”B-but... what if she told her husband?” Helviana halted a bit before turning towards the woman who blinked. It was as if her body was healing, making her a quiet threat if she were to tell what had happened in this room, making Victor simply smirk as I said.

”Nah... she loves her husband too much to loose him”

’!?!’