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

Chapter 679: Chapter 678- Viktor being rough on Nora

Viktor’s hands found her hips.

His fingers dug into the thick, demon-pale flesh of her ass. The cheeks — full, round, heavier than a human’s, the demon-kin tissue denser — deformed under his grip. His fingers sank in. The white marks appeared — the pressure visible against the pale skin.

He pulled back. Eight inches out. The shaft emerged — slick with her arousal, the torn fabric of her panty hanging from the base like a rag. The walls of her canal — stretched, torn, bleeding from the cervix break — clung to him. The friction was intense. The demon-kin tissue, despite its density, was not designed for this.

He slammed back.

PAAAH—!!

"AAAAHH—!!♡♡!! STOP — PLEASE — STOP—!!♡♡♡!!"

His hips blurred.

Not the slow, measured pace. Not the accommodating rhythm. The full, 100x-enhanced, machine-gun speed that had destroyed Mira and Helena and Clara. His hips became a smear of motion — twelve inches in, twelve inches out, the full-length strokes at a rate that made individual thrusts indistinguishable.

PAH PAH PAAH PHACK PHACK—!!

"AAAAAAHH—!!!♡♡♡♡♡!!!"

The sound — flesh on flesh, his hips slamming her thick ass with a force that made the demon-pale cheeks ripple and redden — filled the bathroom. Each impact produced a sharp, wet PAH that bounced off the stone walls. Between the impacts, the sloppy, ’schlick-schlick’ of his cock moving in her torn, bleeding, cum-slicked cunt.

Her ass clapped back. The thick cheeks — muscular, demon-dense — rippled with each impact. The flesh rebounded. The sound — the rhythmic, ’PAH-PAH-PAH’ of hips meeting ass — was the heartbeat of the bathroom. The metronome. The steady, relentless pace of a man who was not going to stop.

"IT HURTS—!!♡♡!! HOW — HOW DOES IT FIT—!!♡♡!! AAANGH—!!♡♡♡!! MY CERVIX — IT’S—!!♡♡!!"

Viktor groaned. His hands tightened on her ass. His fingers dug deeper. The grip was bruising — the demon-kin tissue, despite its density, compressing under the 100x grip strength.

"Now it doesn’t," he said. His voice was strained. Tight. The tone of a man who was enjoying this — the tightness, the resistance, the ’she-is-fighting-and-losing’ sensation — more than he should. "You eventually would become accustomed to it."

PAH PAH PAAH PHACK—!!

"AAAAHH—!!♡♡!! I WON’T—!!♡♡!! I WILL NEVER — BECOME — ACCUSTOMED—!!♡♡♡!! TO—!!♡♡!! THIS—!!♡♡♡!!"

She was crying. The tears fell freely now — not the reluctant, three-thousand-year tears of before, but the steady, ’my-body-is-being-destroyed’ tears of a woman who had lost control. Her crimson eyes — rolling, unfocused — leaked. The tears ran down her temples, into her ash-grey hair, onto the tile. Her nose ran. The cum from her earlier throat-fucking — still in her sinuses — leaked from her nostrils, mixing with the tears.

’He’s too strong,’ she thought. The thought came through the pain. Through the pleasure that was building beneath the pain — the demon-kin biology responding to the penetration, the walls producing lubrication, the cervix — broken, torn — sending signals that were neither pain nor pleasure but a new, ’what-is-this’ sensation. ’The ten thousand sacrifices — the absolute offering — and he — a human — he is—’

’Stronger.’

The word formed in her mind. Unbidden. Unwelcome. The three-thousand-year pride, the heavenly demon’s ego, the ’I-am-above-all’ self-image — all of it crumbled around the word.

’Stronger than me.’

He lifted her leg.

One hand released her hip. Found her left ankle — the chained one. He lifted. Her leg came up — the chain extending, the iron links rattling. Her thigh rose. Her knee bent. The angle changed — the penetration deepened, the cockhead grinding against a new section of her canal, the pressure on her cervix shifting.

Her hands — still tied above her head — pulled. The chains went taut. Her arms stretched. Her shoulders burned. Her body was suspended — one leg on the ground, one leg in the air, her ass tilted, her pussy angled upward.

Her tits — the heavy, barely-contained mounds — shifted with the new position. The strips of dark fabric — her combat top, already disheveled — pulled tighter. The material dug into the swollen flesh, the underboob spilling over, the nipples — hard, dark, the demon-kin peaks longer than human ones — pressing through the fabric.

His free hand found her right tit. Through the fabric. He grabbed. The mound deformed — the flesh compressing under his palm, the fingers sinking in. His thumb found the nipple. Pinched.

"AAAHH—!!♡!!"

"Hook would look good here," he said. His thumb pressed against the stiff peak. The ’I-am-marking-you’ pressure of a man who was evaluating her body like a craftsman evaluating material. "Nipple hooks."

"DON’T—!!♡♡!! THAT HURTS—!!♡♡!!"

He pinched harder. The nipple — the sensitive, demon-kin tissue — compressed between his thumb and forefinger. The pain was sharp. Direct. The ’this-is-my-toy’ pressure that made her body flinch.

His cock bulged.

Inside her. The shaft — already thick, already stretching her walls — swelled. The 100x enhancement, combined with the incubus arousal cycle, made the tissue expand. The veins engorged. The ridges defined. Her vaginal canal — already at capacity — was pushed further. The walls stretched. The tissue deformed. The outline of his cock — the veins, the ridges, the head — was visible through her lower abdomen.

Her belly bulged.

The cockhead — pressing against her broken cervix, against the entrance to her womb — created a visible protrusion. A small, moving bump on her flat, toned demon stomach that appeared and disappeared with each thrust.

’He’s inside my womb,’ she thought. The realization was crushing. The ’he-is-inside-the-most-sacred-space’ understanding that made the violation complete. Not just her cunt. Not just her cervix. Her womb. The place where demon-kin children were conceived. The place that no one — not the Demon King, not the heavenly council, not anyone — had ever entered.

And he was there. Fucking it. Using it. Treating her womb like a second cunt.

"AAAAHH—!!♡♡♡!! GET OUT — OF MY — AAANGH—!!♡♡♡!! WOMB—!!♡♡♡!!"

PAH PAH PAAH PHACK—!!

He lifted her.

Both hands on her hips. His arms — 100x-enhanced, the Catorian bloodline providing strength that defied physics — pulled her up. Her chains released — the system, responding to his intent, dismissed the bindings. Her hands came free. Her legs came free. But she didn’t fall.

Because she was on his cock.

Impaled. Twelve inches, buried to the hilt. Her body — the thick, demon-pale form — was held up by nothing except his grip and his cock. Her legs wrapped around his hips — instinctively, involuntarily, the ’I-must-hold-on’ response of a body that understood it was being carried by a cock. Her arms found his shoulders. Her fingers dug into his back.

He walked.

Out of the pool. Across the bathroom. Through the door. Into the lord’s chambers. His hips — still thrusting, the smaller, ’I-am-carrying-you-and-fucking-you’ thrusts that used each step as a penetration — drove his cock into her with each stride.

Pah. Pah. Pah.

"AAAHH—!!♡!! AAHH—!!♡!! HAAAH—!!♡♡!!"

Each step. A thrust. The rhythm of a man walking and fucking simultaneously. Her body — impaled, helpless — bounced on his cock with each stride. The gravity — each step down, her body weight driving her onto the shaft — added depth. The upward motion — each step up, her body lifting — created withdrawal. The cycle. The walk-fuck.

Her tits pressed against his chest. The heavy mounds, the stiff nipples — the fabric between them, the last remnants of her combat top — scraped his skin. Milk — no, not milk.

Demon-kin didn’t produce milk unless pregnant.

But the pheromones — the incubus energy saturating her body — were producing something. A thin, luminescent fluid — faintly glowing, the color of diluted blood — beaded on her nipples.

Into the chamber. Past the bed. Past the soaked sheets. Past the—

Helena.

The nanny sat on the edge of the bed. She had been asleep — or half-asleep, the exhausted, ’my-body-has-been-destroyed’ half-sleep of a woman who had been ass-fucked for an hour. Her brown eyes — heavy, glazed — blinked open. She heard the moans.

The ’AAAHH-♡♡’ sounds that were coming from the bathroom doorway. She saw him.

Viktor. Walking. Carrying a woman. A demoness. Impaled on his cock. Her ash-grey hair swaying. Her crimson eyes rolled back. Her mouth open, drooling, the ’I-am-being-carried-and-fucked’ expression on her face.

"Husband?"