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

Chapter 725: Chapter 724- The Mansion is Big Enough

The pheromones. The incubus pheromones that filled the enclosed carriage, that had no escape in the sealed space, that concentrated in the air and seeped through clothing and skin and into the blood. The chemical, the supernatural aphrodisiac that Viktor’s body produced constantly, was working.

Her thighs, pressed together, clenched. The warmth, the unfamiliar, ’why-am-I-getting-wet’ warmth, spread through her lower body. Her pussy, beneath the layers of her formal dress, was moistening. The fabric of her panties, the silk that she had chosen for the day, was developing a damp spot.

’What is happening here?’ she thought, her amber eyes darting from the priestess to the women to the unseen man beneath the priestess. ’What are they doing? Why is the priestess being— why are they watching? Why are they calm? Why am I—’

Her hand, unconsciously, went to her chest. The gesture, the ’I-need-to-feel-my-heartbeat’ check, was instinctive. Her breast, beneath her dress, was full. The nipple, stiff against the fabric, was sensitive. Her fingers, brushing the mound, sent a jolt through her.

She yanked her hand away. Her face, already pale, went white. The ’I-just-touched-my-own-breast-while-watching-a-priestess-get-fucked’ realization that made her stomach flip.

PAH. PAH. PAH.

Myra’s bouncing increased. The pace, faster now, was driven by the hips beneath. The PAH was louder. The moans, despite the gag, were clearer. The priestess’s body, limp and compliant, was being used. The hands, which had been gripping the bench, were released. Her arms, bound at the wrists, hung at her sides. Her head, thrown back, exposed her throat. The tendons, taut, vibrated with each moan.

"Hmm—♡ hmmph—♡ AAH—♡♡!!"

The gag, displaced by a particularly deep thrust, slipped from Myra’s mouth. The scream, freed, filled the carriage.

"AAAAHH—♡♡!! VIKTOR—♡♡!! TOO DEEP—♡♡!!"

The name. The first word, the first clear word, that Veilera had heard from the priestess. The name, spoken in the tone of a woman being fucked beyond endurance, was a name she recognized.

’Victor.’ The young lord. The Baron. The man who had made the hall kneel. The man whose green eyes had found hers across the room and made her blood run cold.

The man whose cock was currently inside the priestess.

Veilera’s internal thoughts raced. ’The man. The one beneath her. It is him. The Catorian. The one who— but he is— the priestess is— the Holy Church is— the Paladin declared—’

’Nothing makes sense.’

’The Holy Church, which should oppose him, is sending its priestess to him. In a carriage. To be fucked.’

’The Catorian family, which should be at war with the church, is using the church’s own people.’

’The priestess, who should be pure, is bouncing on his cock and screaming his name.’

’And I am sitting here, on the floor, getting wet.’

Her thighs clenched harder. The damp spot grew. The warmth spread. Her breathing, which she was trying to control, was shallow. Rapid. The ’I-am-aroused-and-I-cannot-stop-it’ panic that made her situation worse.

She looked at the other women again. At Evriana, whose hand, resting on her own thigh, was moving. Slowly. Up. Down. The aunt’s fingers, tracing the inside of her thigh through her gown, were performing the same unconscious motion that Veilera’s body was demanding. At Berenga, whose crossed arms had loosened, whose hand had drifted to her own breast, whose fingers were pressing into the mound through her tunic. At Lucia, whose tongue, extended, was wetting her lips, whose thighs were rubbing together.

’They are all aroused,’ Veilera realized. The amber eyes, wide with horror, saw the truth. ’Every woman in this carriage is aroused. They are touching themselves. They are watching. They are enjoying this. Like animals. Like beasts in heat.’

’And so am I.’

The realization, the ’my-panties-are-wet-and-my-nipples-are-hard-and-I-am-watching-a-priestess-get-fucked-and-I-like-it’ truth, was devastating.

PAH. PAH. PAAH.

The priestess came. The scream, loud and uninhibited, filled the carriage. Myra’s body convulsed. Her back arched. Her breasts, freed from the gag’s displacement, thrust forward. The milk, the maternal fluid, sprayed. Thin white streams hit Veilera’s face. Her cheek. Her lips. The warm, sweet liquid ran down her chin.

Veilera’s tongue, without her permission, licked her lips. The taste of the priestess’s milk, sweet and warm, hit her taste buds. Her pussy, beneath her dress, gushed. The silk panties, the damp spot, became a wet spot. The arousal, thin and warm, ran down her inner thigh.

’No,’ she thought. The denial was desperate. ’No, what the hell is wrong with me?’

The carriage continued. Through the town. Past the square. Past the church. Past the merchant district. The journey, which should have taken ten minutes, felt like hours.

The man beneath the priestess shifted. His body, rising, changed position. The priestess, still impaled, was lifted. His face emerged from behind her shoulder. The face that had been hidden from Veilera’s view on the floor.

The green eyes. The sharp jaw. The expression that was simultaneously innocent and wicked. The face that looked like a god and smiled like a devil.

The face she had smirked at. The face she had trembled for. The face that had haunted her dreams for two nights.

His face was at the priestess’s neck. His mouth, open, was sucking the skin. Leaving marks. But his eyes, over the priestess’s shoulder, found Veilera’s. The green gaze, calm and knowing, locked onto her amber one.

The recognition was instant. His eyes, which had found hers in the hall, found her again. The ’I-see-you’ look. The same one. The predator identifying prey.

"We have arrived at the mansion," he said. His voice was casual. Conversational. The ’I-have-been-fucking-a-priestess-for-the-entire-carriage-ride-and-now-I-am-making-small-talk’ tone that was insane. "Let me teach you the ways."

His hand, which had been on the priestess’s hip, moved. Found her breast. Groped. The milk, squeezed by his fingers, beaded on the nipple. The priestess, whose body was limp, whose eyes were empty, whose mouth was open, whimpered.

"The ways I have taught the priestess," he said, his eyes still on Veilera. His lips, wet with the priestess’s milk, curved into a smile.

He bit her shoulder, the saliva, wet, landed on Myra’s bare shoulder. The priestess, too far gone to react, simply twitched. The whimper that came from her throat was not protest. It was acceptance.

Veilera’s entire body trembled. Her thighs, clenched together, were shaking. Her panties, soaked, were uncomfortable. Her nipples, stiff and aching, pressed against her dress. Her face, flushed and hot, burned with shame and arousal and the ’what-is-happening-to-me’ confusion that had no outlet.

The carriage stopped. The door opened. The evening air, cool and fresh, flooded the interior. The pheromone-saturated atmosphere dissipated. The fog in Veilera’s mind, the chemical haze that had been amplifying her arousal, thinned slightly.

But the wetness between her thighs remained. The ache in her nipples remained. The image of the priestess, impaled and screaming and milking, remained.

’No,’ she thought again. ’No. What the hell is wrong with me?’

Viktor stood. The priestess, still impaled, was lifted with him. His cock, still inside her, was visible as he stepped out of the carriage. The shaft, thick and wet, hung between the priestess’s legs. The cum, the overflow, dripped onto the carriage step.

He carried her out. Into the evening air. The knights, standing at attention, saw nothing. The mansion, the Catorian estate, loomed ahead. Dark and welcoming.

Veilera, alone in the carriage, sat on the floor. Her red dress, stained. Her fur, matted. Her face, wet with milk and cum and sweat. Her thighs, trembling. Her panties, ruined.

She looked at the other three women, who were standing, preparing to exit. Their composure, which had been maintained throughout the ride, was cracking. Evriana’s hand, which had been on her thigh, was visibly wet. Berenga’s breast, which she had been touching, was tender and swollen. Lucia’s thighs, which had been rubbing together, were slick.

’Animals,’ Veilera thought. ’They are all animals. And I am one of them.’

She stood. Her legs, weak, barely held her. She stepped out of the carriage. Into the evening air. Onto the grounds of the Catorian mansion.

The door, large and ornate, stood open. The interior, lit by chandeliers, was warm. Inviting.

Viktor, carrying the priestess, had already disappeared inside. The three women followed. Veilera, the last, her heels unsteady on the gravel, followed.

The door closed behind her.