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

Chapter 852: Chapter 851 - The President Got Some fuckable Body

The list, which was impressive, was not complete. The abilities, which were growing, were evolving. Each encounter, each woman, each act of dominance added something. A new skill. A new enhancement. A new dimension of power.

I closed the interface. The glow, which had been illuminating my mind, faded. The room, which had been lit by the lantern, was dark.

A knock.

The sound, soft and hesitant, came from the door. Two knocks. A pause. Then two more. The pattern, which was not confident but questioning, was the pattern of a woman who was not sure she should be there.

I smirked. The expression, which was invisible in the dark, was a thought.

’Is it Sofia?’

The dark elf, who was in the corner, was asleep. Her body, curled on the floor, was still. The collar, around her neck, was dark. The conditioning, which had been reinforced throughout the day, was holding.

I stood. Walked to the door. The floor, cold under my bare feet, was stone. The door, wooden and heavy, was unlocked.

I opened it.

My eyes widened.

It was not Sofia.

Seraphina stood in the doorway. Her body, which was wrapped in a nightdress, was illuminated by the hallway lantern. The fabric, thin and white, was the kind of garment that a woman wore to bed. Not to visit a professor. Not to venture into the faculty wing. Not to knock on a man’s door at night.

The nightdress, which was modest in design, was not modest in effect. The fabric, thin and clinging, revealed the body beneath. Her breasts, large and heavy, pressed against the material. The nipples, dark and stiff, were visible through the white cloth. The curve of her waist, the swell of her hips, the line of her thighs. All visible. All on display.

Her hair, which had been pulled back during the day, was loose. The blonde, falling to her shoulders, framed a face that was flushed and tear-streaked. Her blue eyes, which had been fierce and proud in the classroom, were now wide and uncertain.

”Oh my,” I said. The words, which were warm and amused, were accompanied by a chuckle. ”What are you doing here?”

She trembled. Her hands, which were clasped in front of her, were shaking. Her mouth, which was opening and closing, was trying to form words.

”I just...” she started. The word, which was the beginning of a sentence that she could not finish, hung in the air. ”See... I cannot say it.”

I reached out. My hand, finding hers, pulled. The motion, gentle but firm, brought her forward. She stumbled. Her feet, bare on the stone, made no sound. Her body, which had been in the hallway, was now in my room.

I pulled her into a kiss.

My mouth found hers. The contact, sudden and total, was a collision. Her lips, which had been trembling, were soft. My tongue, pushing in, found hers. The taste, mint and salt, filled my mouth.

My hands, on her ass, squeezed. The flesh, thick and soft through the nightdress, yielded. The fabric, thin and clinging, offered no resistance. My fingers, digging into the cheeks, pulled her against me. Her body, pressed against mine, was warm.

She trembled. The kiss, which she did not resist, was a surrender. Her mouth, which had been closed, opened wider. Her tongue, which had been passive, began to move. The kiss, which started as a claim, became a conversation.

”Mmmf...!! ... mmm...!!”

I tightened her skirt. My hands, on the fabric, pulled. The nightdress, which was already thin, rode up. The hem, which had been at her knees, was at her thighs. The fabric, bunched at her waist, exposed her legs.

”I am a professor,” I said, pulling back from the kiss. My mouth, wet with her saliva, was inches from hers. ”Should a student not come here?”

She trembled. Her blue eyes, which had been dazed by the kiss, focused. The words, which were a reminder of the boundary that she was crossing, hit her.

”I just wanted to come here to repent for my sin,” she whispered. The words, which were not a justification but a confession, were the words of a woman who had talked herself into this. Who had spent the afternoon and the evening and the night building a narrative that made this acceptable. That made this not a choice but a duty.

I chuckled. The sound, which was warm and low, vibrated through my chest. She felt it. Her body, which was pressed against mine, absorbed the vibration.

I looked at her face. At the blue eyes. At the flushed cheeks. At the lips, which were wet and swollen from the kiss.

”Should we take a bath?” I said.

She trembled. The question, which was not a question but a declaration, was a line. A line that, once crossed, could not be uncrossed.

I lifted her. The motion, which was smooth and practiced, scooped her into a princess carry. Her body, which was light despite her curves, was in my arms. Her head, which rested against my shoulder, was close to my neck. Her legs, which dangled, were bare.

I walked. Toward the bathroom. The room, which was connected to the bedroom, was small. The tub, which was large and stone, was filled with hot water. The steam, rising from the surface, filled the room with warmth and moisture.

”Let us make you a woman tonight, Seraphina,” I said. Her name, which I had not used before, was a claim. A statement of intimacy. A declaration of intent.

She hugged me. Her arms, which had been at her sides, wrapped around my neck. Her face, which had been against my shoulder, pressed closer.

”Please,” she said. The word, which was not a protest but a plea, was the word of a woman who was surrendering. ”I just...”

I kissed her. The kiss, which was delivered while carrying her, was gentle. My lips, pressing against her forehead, were warm. The gesture, which was not sexual but tender, was a comfort.

I entered the bathtub. The water, which was warm and deep, rose around us. My clothes, which I had not removed, were soaked. The fabric, which was thin, clung to my body.

I set her down. In the water. Her body, which was still in the nightdress, was submerged. The fabric, which was white, became transparent. Her body, which had been hidden, was revealed. Her breasts, heavy and full, were visible through the wet cloth. Her nipples, dark and stiff, were prominent. The hair, between her legs, was a dark shadow.

I began to undress her. The nightdress, which was wet and clinging, was removed. The fabric, which had been modest, was peeled away. Her body, which had been concealed, was exposed.

Her breasts, heavy and full, fell free. The flesh, pale and soft, was marked with the red traces of my earlier fingerprints. The nipples, dark and stiff, were hard. The areolas, wide and textured, were pebbled with goosebumps from the cool air.

Her belly, soft and rounded, was the belly of a woman who had been fed well. Her waist, which curved inward, was narrow. Her hips, which curved outward, were wide. Her ass, which was beneath her in the water, was round and thick.

Her pussy, hairy and trimmed, was visible. The hair, blonde and fine, covered the lips. The slit, tight and closed, was pink. The interior, hidden beneath the hair, was a mystery that I was about to explore.