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

Chapter 584: Chapter 583- Eating a Big Cake Sneakly

She had been held by two demon soldiers — their claws in her arms, their weight on her back — while she watched her family executed. The sword falling. The blood. The screams that had torn her throat raw while her core broke inside her, her mana shattering, her power bleeding out through her eyes.

The Matriarch had shown mercy.

The mercy of removing her from the world by throwing her into it — broken, powerless, exiled to a life of cooking for strangers while her heart rotted in her chest.

Tears ran down Naro’s face.

She did not know when they had started.

She bit her lip.

The pain of it — the old, familiar pain of memory — mixed with the new, confusing, overwhelming sensation of his hand on her breast, his fingers pulling at her stiff nipple through the cloth, his cock grinding rhythmically against her ass as if he were not doing it deliberately.

”Please,” she whispered.

But she did not know what she was pleading for.

Stop?

Or continue?

His hand moved under her.

Over her dress, then under it — his palm finding the bare, warm skin of her stomach, the thick, soft flesh of her belly, moving upward to claim her tit directly, skin to skin, his fingers closing around the heavy weight with the greedy, squeezing hunger of a man who had been starving.

She closed her eyes.

The memory flashed.

The battlefield.

The courtyard.

Her husband’s eyes meeting hers before the blade fell.

Her child’s scream — high, thin, the scream of a little girl who did not understand why her mother was not saving her.

Naro’s body convulsed.

Not with pleasure.

With grief.

The deep, bodily, convulsive grief of a woman who had locked these images away for years and was now watching them play behind her eyelids in vivid, bloody color.

She sobbed.

Once.

A single, broken, exhausted sound.

And then — the sleep took her.

It was not ordinary sleep.

It was the deep, sudden, plummeting darkness of a body that had been fed a sleeping agent hidden in the most delicious food it had ever tasted. The agent, induced with nine-star rank magic, had been completely undetectable — her blood control, her ability to sense herbs and poisons, had been bypassed by a magic higher than her own ruined core could recognize.

Her eyes closed.

Her breathing slowed.

The tension drained from her heavy limbs, her body going soft and warm and utterly helpless against him.

Viktor felt it happen.

The shift in her — from trembling, grieving consciousness to the deep, rhythmic breathing of forced slumber. His hand, still kneading her breast, paused. He lifted his head slightly, looking at her face in the moonlight.

Her eyes were closed.

Tears still wet on her cheeks.

Her mouth slightly open.

Her body limp.

Viktor smiled.

The devil’s smile.

The cold, patient, triumphant smile of a man who had spent the entire evening laying a trap and had just watched it close.

He waited.

One minute.

Two.

Her breathing deepened.

A small, unconscious moan escaped her lips — the soft, helpless sound of a woman dreaming.

Viktor moved.

His hand left her breast.

He shifted his weight.

He lifted her skirt — the heavy, worn fabric sliding up her thick thighs, bunching around her waist, exposing the plain cotton panty that covered the broad, dense, mature geography of her ass. The fabric was damp — from the heat of the kitchen, from the arousal she had denied, from the sweat of her grief.

He unzipped his trousers.

His cock sprang free.

The thick, veined, nine-inch length of it — fully hard, pulsing with the incubus bloodline that had been building all evening — caught the moonlight. The head was dark, swollen, already leaking.

He pressed it against her panty.

The cotton was thin.

He could feel the heat of her through it — the warm, deep, sleeping heat of her ass crack, the fabric bunching as he pushed forward, the head of his cock sliding into the cleft, riding up and down the seam with the slow, savoring motion of a man enjoying his possession.

”What a delicious ass I got here,” he whispered.

The words were barely audible.

But they carried everything — the hunger, the calculation, the cold, assessing pleasure of a predator who had cornered his prey.

He gripped her panty.

Pulled it down.

The fabric slid over her heavy thighs, catching on the width of them, then releasing, sliding to her knees. Her ass was bare now — the full, pale, thickly padded reality of it exposed to the moonlight. The cleft was deep, dark, warm. Below it, her pussy was visible — hairy, the dark bush thick and untamed, the lips swollen and slightly parted, glistening with the evidence of her body’s betrayal.

He looked at it.

At the hairy cunt.

At the tight, virgin-tight seam of her anal above it.

He pressed his thumb against her ass.

Spread her.

The muscle was closed — a tight, resistant, pink-brown wrinkle that had never been opened, never been asked to accommodate anything. He could see the tension in it even in sleep.

He pressed his cockhead there.

The warm, blunt, enormous pressure of his head against her unbreached anal — the sensation transmitting through her sleeping body, making her twitch.

He pushed.

”Mmnnh~—”

The sound came from her unconscious throat — a muffled, soft, completely helpless moan of a woman whose body was registering pain in a dream.

She was tight.

Unbelievably tight.

The muscle resisted him with the desperate, clenching strength of a woman who had kept herself sealed for years. He pushed harder, his hips bearing down, his weight driving forward.

”Nnngh~—”

Her body trembled.

A fine, continuous shiver ran through her sleeping frame — her thick thighs twitching, her heavy tits shifting under her blouse, her fingers curling slightly against the mattress.

He kept pushing.

Slow.

Inexorable.

The head breached her.

The sudden, hot, tearing give of her muscle surrendering to his blunt force — the head popping inside, the ring clamping down around his shaft just behind the crown.

”Ah,” Viktor breathed.

He lay over her.

His chest pressed to her back.

His cock buried one inch in her ass.

He sank deeper.

The tight, crushing, furnace-hot grip of her anal around his cock — the walls of her channel gripping him with the involuntary, sleeping strength of a woman who could not consciously relax. Every millimeter was a battle. Every push was a conquest.

He entered fully.

Balls-deep.

His hips seated against her thick ass, his cock completely buried in the tightest, hottest, most resisting channel he had taken that evening.

He breathed into her hair.

Inhaled the scent of her — kitchen smoke, sweat, the faint, clean smell of the soap she used.

Then he pulled back.

Slowly.

The wet, reluctant, body-clinging drag of his cock withdrawing from her sleeping anal — the ring of muscle stretching outward, clinging to him, trying to pull him back in.

He thrust forward.

PAH!

The sound was soft.

Muffled by her flesh.

But unmistakable.

The meaty, honest slap of his hips against her thick ass — the dense, heavy, mature flesh absorbing the impact with a jiggle that traveled through her whole body.

”Mmnnh~—”

She moaned in her sleep.

Her face turned slightly on the pillow, her lips parted, a thin line of drool running from the corner of her mouth.

He thrust again.

PAH PAH!

”Nnngh~— mmmph~—”