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

Chapter 709: Chapter 708- You May All Leave

He was not gentle.

The pace was brutal. Machine-like. The 100x stamina, the incubus regeneration, the pure physical enhancement, drove his hips at a speed that blurred. His ass, clenching with each thrust, was a piston.

His balls, heavy and full, swung with each impact and hit her asshole. The wet squelch-squelch-squelch of cock in cunt, of fluids mixing, of arousal and pre-cum combining, was loud.

He turned her. Without pulling out. The motion, the spinning of her body on his cock, made her scream anew. Her back left the wall. Her front hit it. Her breasts, heavy and leaking, pressed against the cold stone. The milk, the thin fluid, smeared on the surface. Her nipples, stiff and raw from the friction, scraped the rough wall.

He fucked her from behind.

PAH PAH PAAH—!!

"AAAAHH—♡♡♡!! Viktor—♡♡♡!! TOO DEEP—♡♡♡!! FROM BEHIND—♡♡♡!! I CAN’T—♡♡♡♡!!"

His hands found her hips. The grip was bruising. His fingers dug into the thick flesh of her waist. He pulled her back onto his cock with each thrust. The impact, the PAAH of his hips hitting her ass, was louder from this angle. The flesh, the thick mature cheeks, rippled with each impact.

Her face was against the wall. Her cheek, pressed to the cold stone, was wet with tears and drool. Her mouth was open. Her tongue was out. The ’fucked-stupid’ expression, the blank eyes and slack jaw and extended tongue, was complete.

The hallway filled with the sounds. The PAH PAH PAAH of flesh meeting flesh. The AAAAHH-♡♡ of her screams. The wet schlick-schlick of cock in cunt. The slurp-slap-slurp of his shaft moving through the accumulated fluids. The creak of the railing under their combined weight. The wet drip-drip of milk hitting the floor.

Thirty minutes.

The pace didn’t falter. The 100x stamina didn’t flag. The cock, twelve inches, drove in and out with the same force, the same speed, the same relentless rhythm that had broken every woman he had fucked. Evriana, the Catorian aunt, the matriarch, the political mind, was reduced to a moaning, crying, milk-leaking, cum-filled vessel pressed against a hallway wall.

"I’M—♡♡♡!! CUMMING—♡♡♡!! AGAIN—♡♡♡!! I CAN’T—♡♡♡♡!! STOP—♡♡♡♡!!"

PAH PAH PAAH PHACK—!!

"AAAAAAHH—♡♡♡♡♡♡!!"

She came. The third orgasm. The walls clenched. The fluid squirted. The grip, the vaginal muscles squeezing his shaft, was intense. The pressure, the ’I-am-milking-you’ contractions, made his balls tighten.

He came.

The load, thick and hot, erupted inside her. The cum, the incubus-enhanced seed, flooded her canal. The first rope hit her cervix. The second filled the canal. The third overflowed. The white fluid, thick and heavy, leaked around his shaft. Ran down her thighs. Pooled on the marble floor.

PAH PAH PAH—!!

He kept fucking. Through the orgasm. Through the ejaculation. Each thrust pushed his seed deeper. The cum, trapped by the tight seal of her entrance around his shaft, had nowhere to go but inward. The plunger effect, the ’I-am-pushing-my-cum-into-your-womb’ motion, continued for another minute.

"AAAAHH—♡♡♡!! IT’S—♡♡♡!! GOING—♡♡♡!! INTO—♡♡♡!! MY—♡♡♡!! WOMB—♡♡♡♡!!"

He groaned. The sound was deep. Satisfied. The sound of a man who had just filled his aunt with cum in a hallway during her own political event.

His hands found her tits. Still against the wall. Still pressed into the cold stone. He gripped. Squeezed. The milk, the residual fluid, sprayed. His fingers, wet with milk, dug into the soft flesh. No mercy. The grip was the same bruising force he had used on her hips.

She cried. The tears fell freely. The pain and the pleasure and the shame and the love, all mixed, all indistinguishable, poured from her eyes.

He kissed her neck. The skin, warm and sweaty, tasted of salt. His lips found the spot below her ear. The one that made her knees buckle. He kissed. Sucked. Left a mark.

"Let’s first handle the Holy Church," he said. His voice was calm. Conversational. The ’I-just-came-inside-you-and-now-I-am-discussing-politics’ tone. "Then I will handle the supply chain. Making sure that you get both what you need."

His hand found her clit. The swollen, overstimulated nub was pinched. The pressure was sharp. Direct. The post-orgasm sensitivity made it unbearable.

"AAAAHH—♡♡!!" she screamed. Her body convulsed. Another orgasm, small but intense, hit. The walls clenched. More cum was pushed out, leaking down her thighs.

"Viktor—" she gasped. Her voice was broken. The tears, the snot, the drool, all of it mixed on her face. "You— you see—"

He pinched again. The clit, the small nub, was compressed. The scream that came from her mouth was muffled by her own hand.

Coming inside of her pussy. The last, the thickest rope of cum, pulsed into her. The overflow, the white fluid, ran from her entrance in slow, heavy streams. The floor beneath them was a mess. Milk. Cum. Squirt. Sweat. The combined fluids of a thirty-minute hallway fuck.

He leaned. His face found her shoulder. His head rested. His breathing was steady. Not labored. The 100x stamina meant thirty minutes of fucking was a warmup. But the moment, the intimacy, was genuine.

"I love you, Viktor," she whispered. The words came from nowhere. From everywhere. From the place inside her that had been fighting this since the cave. "I love you."

The confession hung in the hallway. Echoed. Faded.

Viktor laughed. The sound was warm. Not mocking. The ’I-know’ laugh that acknowledged without deflecting.

"Handle your works here, Aunt," he said. His voice was steady. Commanding. The ’this-is-what-you-will-do’ tone. "And come to me when I call you. I want to thoroughly show you how much I love your pussy."

Evriana’s face burned. The blush, the deepest yet, spread from her cheeks to her neck to her chest. Her body, still pressed against the wall, still impaled on his softening cock, trembled.

"Fraud," she whispered. The word was fond. Affectionate. The ’you-just-fucked-me-and-told-me-to-wait’ insult that was not an insult at all.

He pulled out. The cock emerged with a wet POP. The cum, the thick white fluid, gushed from her entrance. Her pussy, stretched and swollen, gaped. The pink interior, wet and raw, was visible. The cum, leaking, ran down her thighs and joined the pool on the floor.

He zipped. Adjusted his coat. Smoothed his hair. In thirty seconds, he looked exactly as he had when he entered the hall. Immaculate. Composed. The ’nothing-happened’ appearance that made her want to hit him and kiss him and do both simultaneously.

He walked away. Toward the hall. Toward the event. Toward the nobles and merchants and officials who were, at this moment, still on their knees.

Evriana slid down the wall. Her ass hit the floor. The cum puddle soaked her gown. She didn’t care. Her body, spent and satisfied and leaking, sat on the cold marble. Her head tilted back. Her eyes closed.

"Fraud," she whispered again. To no one. To the empty hallway. To the cooling cum on her thighs.

The hall was still on its knees when Viktor returned.

He walked in. Hands in pockets. The same unhurried stride. The same expression. The nobles, the merchants, the military officers, all of them, still pressed to the marble floor. The pressure, the killing intent he had released, still hung in the air. Subtle but present. A reminder.

He stopped at the center. Looked around. At the prostrated figures. At the sweat-stained silk. At the tear-streaked faces. At the trembling hands.

"You may all leave," he said adding," though, know your place from now on."

’Either way, once civil war becomes official, you idiots will run away first.’