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

Chapter 703: Chapter 702- Re~union in Toilet

Berenga added. Her voice was breathless from running. The ’I-sprinted-through-the-forest-because-I-sensed-your-return’ breathlessness.

Viktor laughed. The sound was genuine. The ’my-women-missed-me’ satisfaction that stroked his ego and warmed his chest simultaneously. His hands found their asses. Both of them. Dara’s, firm and muscular, the cheek tight under his palm. Berenga’s, thick and soft, the flesh yielding under his fingers. He squeezed both. The women flinched. Neither pulled away.

"I missed you too," he said. The words were directed at both of them. The ’you-two-are-my-women-and-I-have-returned’ statement that made Dara’s ears redden and Berenga’s body press closer.

Neither woman looked at Evriana. The Ktorian aunt, standing beside Viktor in her torn dress, her hair a mess, her face still flushed from the kiss, was deliberately ignored. Not out of malice. Out of priorities. Viktor was back. Everything else could wait.

The demon girl stood behind them. Her body, still controlled, stood motionless. Her crimson eyes, watching the reunion, burned.

The knights behind Dara and Berenga moved. Four soldiers, armed and armored, approached the demon girl. The leader, a sergeant, produced manacles. Iron. Enchanted. The kind designed to suppress demonic energy.

"Arrest her," the sergeant said. The command was professional. The ’we-have-orders’ tone of a soldier following protocol.

Viktor looked over his shoulder. At the knights. At the manacles. At the demon girl.

"No," he said. The word was calm. Final. "Just leave her."

The sergeant blinked. The confusion was visible. The ’but-she-is-a-demon’ confusion that he didn’t voice because the man giving the order was Lord Viktor Ktorian.

"My Lord?" the sergeant said.

"Leave her," Viktor repeated. "She is mine. She will not run."

The sergeant looked at the demon girl. At her ash-grey skin. At her crimson eyes. At her barely-covered body. The demon-kin features, unmistakable. The danger, apparent.

But the order was given.

"Yes, my Lord," the sergeant said. The manacles were withdrawn. The knights stepped back.

The demon girl’s crimson eyes widened. The ’he-just-let-me-go’ confusion. The ’why’ confusion. Her body, still under the Demon Sovereign’s authority, didn’t move. Didn’t run. Couldn’t run. But the intent, the command, was there. ’She is mine. She will not run.’

She was free of physical bonds. But not of him. Never of him.

They walked. Toward the campsite. Through the clearing. Down the dirt road.

Two days passed.

The return to the city was uneventful. The Ktorian mansion, a large estate within the urban center of the regional capital, was prepared. Evriana, once she had been properly clothed and fed and bathed, had taken charge. The aunt, the Ktorian matriarch-in-waiting, had organized everything.

The event was her idea. A gathering. A formal introduction. The merchants, the high-level nobles, the influential figures of the region, all invited. The purpose was clear: to announce that Lord Viktor Ktorian, the grandson of Duke Halides Ktorian, was present. Was powerful. Was an ally worth cultivating.

The knights who had failed to recognize him, the soldiers who had not known his face, the officials who had overlooked the frontier lord, all would learn. All would see. All would understand.

Evriana had seen his power firsthand. In the cave. In the forest. In the way he had broken her and remade her. She knew that his alliance with the Ktorian family would benefit the family itself. The patriarch, the old Duke Halides, would not deny it. Not after what she would report.

The event was scheduled for the evening of the second day.

The men’s toilet was not where a lord was supposed to be during his own introduction event.

The bathroom was attached to the main hall. Marble floors. Porcelain fixtures. The kind of luxury that the Ktorian family demanded even in their plumbing. A single stall. A mirror. A sink. The door was locked from inside.

Viktor stood behind Berenga.

The commander of the night order was bent over. Her hands, her calloused, sword-trained hands, were on the wall. Her fingers pressed against the marble. Her body, the thick, muscular frame that had been forged through years of combat, was bent at the waist. Her ass, the thick, round, commander’s ass, was raised. Her hips were spread.

Her dress was up. The formal gown, the one she had been wearing for the event, was pulled to her waist. The fabric bunched. The undergarment, the lacy panty she had chosen for the evening, was pulled aside. Not removed. Pulled aside. The fabric cut into her left thigh. The right side was displaced, revealing her pussy.

She had shaved it. Clean. Bare. Not a single hair. The skin, dark and smooth, was bare. The lips, swollen and pink against the dark surrounding skin, were visible. Wet. The arousal, thin and clear, dripped from the entrance and ran down her inner thigh.

His cock was inside her.

Twelve inches. The full size. The same size he had used on Mira and Helena and Nora. The thick, veiny shaft, the head swollen and dark, was buried to the hilt. Her pussy, the commander’s cunt, the tight, muscular canal that had been trained through combat and abstinence, gripped him. The walls clenched. The muscles, developed through years of physical training, squeezed with a force that would have crushed a normal man’s cock.

Viktor was not a normal man.

PAH PAH PAAH—!!

"AAAAHH—!!♡♡!! Viktor—!!♡♡!! SLOW DOWN—!!♡♡!!"

His hips drove. The PAH of flesh meeting flesh, his lower abdomen hitting her thick ass with each thrust, filled the marble bathroom. The acoustics were perfect. The sound bounced off the walls, amplified, multiplied. The wet, slopping, schlick-schlick of cock in cunt accompanied each thrust.

"YOU ARE—!!♡♡!! THRUSTING TOO HARD—!!♡♡!! BERIC—!!♡♡!!"

Berenga’s voice was broken. Each word was punctuated by a thrust. Her formal hairstyle, the elegant updo she had spent an hour constructing, was coming apart. Strands of dark hair fell across her face. Sweat ran down her temples. Her makeup, the careful application she had done for the event, was running.

"Berenga," Viktor said. His voice was strained. Tight. The pleasure, the tight grip of her canal, the friction of her muscular walls against his shaft, was affecting even him. "Your pussy feels tight."

"STOP—!!♡♡!! DON’T TALK—!!♡♡!! VULGAR—!!♡♡!!"

PAH PAH PAAH—!!

His hands found her hips. His fingers dug into the thick flesh. The grip was bruising. The commander’s body, the body that had taken sword blows and spear thrusts and magic strikes without flinching, flinched under his hands. Not from pain. From the sensation. The ’his-hands-are-digging-into-my-ass-and-his-cock-is-in-my-cunt-and-I-am-being-fucked-in-a-bathroom’ sensation.

"HAAAH—!!♡♡♡!! Viktor—!!♡♡♡!! SLOW—!!♡♡♡!! PLEASE—!!♡♡♡!!"

He didn’t slow. He increased. The pace became faster. The PAH became PAAH became PAAAH. Each thrust harder. Deeper. The full twelve inches withdrew to the head and drove back to the hilt. Her belly, the toned, muscular abdomen, bulged with each deep thrust. The outline of his cockhead, visible through her skin, appeared and disappeared.

"I’m—!!♡♡!! I’M SQUIRTING—!!♡♡!! TOO HARD—!!♡♡!! Viktor—!!♡♡♡!!"

She squirted. The fluid, thin and clear, sprayed from around his shaft. The liquid hit the marble wall. Ran down. Pooled on the floor. The schlick became louder. Wetter. The sound of cock moving through a cum-filled, squirt-soaked cunt.

PAH PAH PAAH PHACK—!!

"AAAAAAHH—!!♡♡♡♡♡!!"

He pulled out. The cock emerged with a wet POP. The shaft, twelve inches, hard, slick with her cum and his pre-cum, stood upward. The head, swollen and dark, dripped. The veins pulsed.

Berenga gasped. The sudden emptiness, the ’his-cock-is-no-longer-inside-me’ void, made her canal clench on nothing. Her pussy, the shaved, swollen, freshly-fucked cunt, gaped. The entrance, stretched by twelve inches, was open. The pink interior was visible. Wet. Dripping.

"Don’t you want to do something?" Viktor said. The question was casual. The ’I-just-pulled-out-and-I-am-not-done’ tone that made Berenga’s eyes widen.

His hand found his cock. Held it. The shaft, heavy and wet, was used as a weapon. He swung. The cock, twelve inches of steel-hard flesh, slapped her pussy.

SMACK.

"AAAHH—!!♡!!"