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

Chapter 713: Chapter 712- Throwing the Thick Priestess

The double meaning was invisible to the crowd. Visible to Myra.

’Holy water. Stuffing her. Holy energy.’

The words, the crude, veiled, ’I-am-going-to-fuck-you-and-call-it-holy’ meaning, hit Myra like a train. Her violet eyes widened. Her face, already pale, went white. Her body, already trembling, shook harder.

’He is going to— in front of everyone— he is asking the Paladin to—’

"Indeed!" the Paladin said. The word came out fast. Eager. The ’yes-please-take-her’ response of a man who wanted to be anywhere but here. "You should take her. You should. Take her."

The Paladin’s enthusiasm was survival instinct. The ’give-him-what-he-wants-and-maybe-he-will-leave’ desperation that made the old man throw his own priestess to the wolf.

Myra turned to the Paladin. The ’you-are-giving-me-to-him’ shock. The ’you-are-supposed-to-protect-me’ betrayal. The ’you-are-the-Paladin-and-you-are-handing-me-over’ devastation.

"Wait, no—" she started. "Paladin—"

But the crowd, the commoners who had been healed, who had witnessed the divine descent, who were currently prostrated in religious ecstasy, heard only the request and the response.

"Take her!" someone shouted. "Give our priestess the holy power!"

"Stuff her with your energy!" another voice cried. "Make her stronger!"

"We need her! She is the most pure among us!"

The praise, the ’she-is-pure’ praise that was both endorsement and irony, filled the square. The commoners, who loved their priestess, who had been healed by her hands, who trusted her with their children’s health, enthusiastically endorsed handing her over to the divine figure who had just healed them all.

Myra’s eyes filled. The tears spilled. The ’everyone-wants-me-to-go-with-him’ reality that was both communal endorsement and communal betrayal. The ’they-don’t-know-what-he-means’ innocence of the crowd that made the horror worse.

Viktor looked at her. At the trembling priestess. At the wet violet eyes. At the clasped hands. At the black robe. At the body beneath, the body he had touched, the body he had made cum and piss and beg.

"Oh my," he said. The words were for the crowd. The ’doesn’t-everyone-want-me-to’ question that was both humble and predatory. "Doesn’t everyone want me to..."

He leaned. Toward Myra. His face descended to her ear. The crowd, even prostrated, could see the gesture. The ’the-saint-is-whispering-to-our-priestess’ sight that they interpreted as a holy blessing.

His lips found her ear. His breath was warm. The same breath that had whispered ’you-are-a-fat-little-thing’ in the garden.

"Fuck you for a few days," he whispered.

Myra trembled. The tears broke. The sobs came. The ’he-just-said-that-in-front-of-everyone-and-no-one-heard’ combination of public visibility and private horror that made the words more devastating than if he had shouted them.

Before she could respond, he pulled her into a hug.

In front of everyone. On the platform. In the divine light. The ’saint-embracing-the-priestess’ gesture that the crowd interpreted as holy communion and Myra experienced as captivity.

His arms wrapped around her. His hands found her ass. Over the robe. He groped. The thick, full cheeks deformed under his fingers. The grip was possessive. Claiming. The ’you-are-mine’ grip that was hidden from the crowd by the angle of his body.

His mouth found her ear again.

"I am going to make you my cock addict woman," he whispered. The words were soft. Final. The ’this-is-not-a-request’ statement.

He bit her ear.

The pain was sharp. The ’he-just-bit-my-ear-in-front-of-everyone’ shock. The ’in-front-of-the-Paladin-in-front-of-the-commoners-in-front-of-everyone’ horror.

Her body broke. The ’I-cannot-take-this’ collapse that was both physical and mental. Her legs gave out. Her body went limp in his arms. The ’fainted’ state that the crowd interpreted as divine overwhelm and Myra experienced as complete surrender.

She cried. The tears, the silent, ’I-am-broken’ tears, ran down her face and into his white robe.

The divine light flared. Blinding. The crowd, already prostrated, pressed their foreheads to the ground. The ’the-saint-is-ascendending-with-our-priestess’ interpretation that would become the foundation of a new religious narrative in the town.

Viktor vanished.

The light, the platform, the priestess. All gone. The air displaced. The spot where they had stood was empty. The only evidence was the fading golden glow and the warmth that lingered in the air.

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"AAAAAAHHH—!!"

Myra’s scream tore through the open sky as her body lurched in freefall for exactly one heartbeat before arms caught her. Solid. Warm. Unyielding. Her stomach dropped, her legs kicked at nothing, and her fingers clawed into the first thing they found — fabric, shoulders, muscle beneath.

Viktor held her against his chest. One arm beneath her knees, the other wrapped around her back, his hand full of her ass through the black robe. His wings, the dark, leathery extensions that had torn through the back of his white robe, beat in steady, powerful strokes. The wind rushed past them. The town, the square, the platform, all of it shrank beneath them. The rooftops became toys. The people became ants.

She was flying.

She was actually flying.

"Please!" she screamed into his chest. Her violet eyes, wide and glassy with tears, looked down. The ground was fifty feet below and rising. "I would fall! Please, I would fall!"

Viktor looked at her. The green eyes, calm, amused, carrying that maddening serenity that he wore like a second skin. His wings beat once more, the whoosh of air pushing her hair across her face.

"What happens if you fall?" he said. His voice was conversational. Light. The tone of a man discussing dinner plans while carrying a screaming woman through the sky. "You are so chubby and fat, you would just bounce back."

Myra’s face went from white to crimson in the span of a single breath. The tears, the fear, the vertigo, all of it was momentarily eclipsed by the sheer, burning indignation of being called fat by a man who was flying.

"Oh, you—" she sputtered. Her hands, fisted in his ruined white robe, tightened. "Killin’ — ah, shut up!"

He kissed her.

His mouth found hers mid-sentence. The contact was sudden, total, and completely without warning. His lips pressed against hers, sealing the words, sealing the scream, sealing everything. The wind roared past them. His wings beat. The ground spun below. And his mouth was on hers.

Myra’s body went rigid. Every muscle, every tendon, every fiber locked. Her hands, on his shoulders, clawed. Her legs, dangling in the air, kicked once and went still. Her violet eyes, already wide, somehow widened further. The pupils dilated. The irises shrank.

Then his tongue pushed in.

The muscle, warm and wet and insistent, parted her lips. Found her tongue. The contact, the sliding, the ’he is inside my mouth’ contact, sent a jolt through her body that traveled from her lips to her spine to her pussy in one unbroken line. Her back arched against his arm. Her hips, involuntarily, ground against his stomach.

"Mmm—!!" The moan came through the kiss. Muffled. Swallowed by his mouth. The vibration traveled between their joined lips. "Mmph—!! I am—!! Mmm—!! A priestess—!! Don’t—!! Mmmph—!!"

He didn’t stop. His tongue explored her mouth with the same unhurried confidence he applied to everything. The inside of her cheeks. The roof of her palate. The underside of her tongue. Each stroke, each push, each withdrawal, was deliberate. Claiming. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask permission because permission was irrelevant.

"Slurp— mmph— mm—♡"

The wet, sloppy sounds of the kiss were audible even over the wind. The saliva, mixing, ran from the corner of her mouth. Down her chin. Onto his white robe. The dark stain spread.

"Mmm—♡ mmph—♡ stop—♡ I am—♡ a holy—♡ mmph—♡ priestess—♡♡!!"

His tongue found the back of her throat. The depth, the ’he is reaching-into-my-throat’ depth, made her gag. The reflex, the involuntary contraction of her throat muscles around his tongue, produced a sound. A wet, choking, ’gluk’ that was somehow the most obscene thing she had ever heard from her own body.

"Ngh—!!♡ Gllk—!!♡ Mmm—!!♡♡!!"

He pulled back. The kiss broke with a wet POP. A string of saliva connected their lips. The strand stretched, thin, broke. Fell into the wind. Disappeared.

Myra gasped. The breath, the first full breath in thirty seconds, filled her lungs. Her violet eyes, half-lidded and glazed, found his face. Her lips, swollen and wet, trembled. Her chin, slick with saliva, shone.

Then he pushed her.

The hands that had been holding her released. Her body, suspended in air for one sickening instant, hung at the apex of nothing. Her stomach dropped. Her hands, which had been gripping his shoulders, grabbed air. Her mouth opened. The scream built from the deepest part of her survival instinct.

"I WILL DIE—!!"