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

Chapter 726: Chapter 725- A Nephew fucking her Thick Aunt?!

The door closed behind Veilera with a sound that felt final.

The click of the latch. The settling of the wood. The silence of the mansion’s entrance hall, broken only by the crackle of a fireplace somewhere deeper within. The air was warm. Scented. Cedar and rosewood and something else beneath it, something musky and raw that coated the back of her throat and made her pulse quicken without her permission.

Then the moaning started.

"I can’t control myself," a voice gasped. The priestess. Myra. The words came from ahead, from the corridor that led deeper into the mansion. The voice was wrecked, ruined, the sound of a throat that had been screaming for days. "Please, Victor. Please."

Veilera’s feet, which had been frozen on the marble threshold, moved forward. Not by choice. The pheromones, thick in the enclosed space, drove her. Her body, still buzzing from the carriage ride, still wet between her thighs, responded to the concentration of supernatural aphrodisiac like a drunkard drawn to an open bottle.

She rounded the corner. The corridor opened into a hall. Large. Vaulted ceiling. Crystal chandeliers, their candles lit, casting warm amber light across polished marble floors and tapestried walls. The furnishings had been rearranged. The sofas, which should have been positioned around a central table, had been pushed to the edges of the room. In their place, at the center of the hall, was a bed.

A king-sized bed. Placed in the middle of a mansion’s hall room. As if someone had decided that bedrooms were an unnecessary formality.

The sheets were silk. Black. Already stained with fluids that Veilera did not want to identify. The pillows, scattered, bore the impressions of bodies. The air above the bed shimmered faintly, a haze of pink energy that throbbed like a heartbeat.

And on the bed, or rather around it, the women.

Evriana was on Viktor’s left. The Catorian aunt, her formal gown already half-removed, the neckline pulled down past her shoulders, her brown hair loose and wild, was pressed against his side. Her arm, wrapped around his, crushed the limb between her breasts. The cleavage, deep and full, overflowed around his bicep. The soft flesh, warm and heavy, enveloped his arm. Her face, tilted upward, was buried in his shoulder. Her lips, moving against his skin, were kissing. Sucking. Leaving marks.

Berenga was on his right. The commander, her military tunic discarded, her massive breasts straining against a thin undershirt that had been pulled down to her waist, held his other arm. Her cleavage, deeper than Evriana’s, swallowed his forearm. The fabric of the undershirt, stretched beyond its design, had torn at the neckline. Her dark nipples, visible through the torn cotton, were stiff. Her face, flushed and sweating, was pressed against his tricep. Her mouth, open, was biting. The teeth marks, red crescents in his skin, did not make him flinch.

Behind him, Lucia. The demon girl, her ash-grey skin catching the chandelier light, was on her knees. Her hands, grey and slender, were at his waist. Her fingers, hooked into the waistband of his trousers, pulled. Down. Slowly. The fabric, catching on his hips, resisted. Then yielded. The trousers slid. Past his thighs. Past his knees. To the floor.

His tail emerged.

The scaled appendage, prehensile and thick at the base, uncurled from behind his back. It had been concealed, pressed against his spine beneath his shirt. Now free, it swayed. The scales, dark and iridescent, caught the light. The tip, tapered and blunt, twitched.

Veilera’s mouth fell open.

"What," she breathed. Her amber eyes, wide as saucers, locked onto the appendage. "What tail?"

She blinked. Once. Twice. The image did not change. The tail was real. Scaled. Moving with a life of its own. The man, the lord, the Catorian who had made a hall of nobles kneel, had a tail.

Her shock deepened as she watched Lucia, still on her knees, continue to undress him. The demon girl’s hands moved to his underwear. The last garment. She pulled. The fabric, stretching over his hips, caught on something. His cock, already half-erect, created a tent in the cotton. Lucia tugged harder. The underwear slid past the obstruction. His cock, freed, swung upward.

Twelve inches. Half-erect. Growing. The shaft, thick even at rest, was expanding. The veins, blue beneath the pale skin, pulsed. The head, dark and swollen, emerged from the foreskin. The weight of it, the sheer physical mass, made it hang. Then rise. Then stand. The erection, full and complete, pointed upward. The angle, steep and proud, cast a shadow across the floor.

The other women were rubbing against him. As he walked. Evriana, her body pressed to his left, her hips grinding against his thigh. Berenga, her body pressed to his right, her breasts dragging against his arm. They moved with him. Followed him. Like ants drawn to sugar. Like moths drawn to flame. The pheromones, concentrated and inescapable, had reduced them to creatures of instinct.

Veilera followed. Her feet moved. Her mind screamed. Her body, drenched in the pheromone haze, obeyed.

They reached the bed.

Viktor stopped. His hands, which had been at his sides, moved. One found the priestess. Myra, who had been standing beside the bed, her robe already open, her body already exposed, was grabbed. His hand, on her hip, lifted. She gasped. Her body, light and limp, was thrown.

She landed on the bed. The silk sheets, stained and slick, received her. She bounced. Once. Twice. Her body, naked beneath the open robe, settled. Her breasts, heavy and swollen, settled on her chest. Her legs, spread by the impact, revealed her pussy. The dark hair, matted with dried cum. The lips, swollen and red. The entrance, gaping and leaking.

Then Viktor’s hand found Evriana.

The aunt, who had been pressed against his left side, was pulled. His hand, on her wrist, drew her toward the bed. She went willingly. Eagerly. Her gown, already half-removed, was pulled further. The fabric, tearing at the seams, gave way. Her body, thick and mature, was revealed. The large breasts, the wide hips, the soft belly. She climbed onto the bed. Over the priestess. Her body, covering Myra’s, pressed down. Breast to breast. Belly to belly. The aunt, lying atop the priestess, looked up at Viktor with an expression of pure, unfiltered devotion.

Veilera, standing at the edge of the bed, watched. Her mouth was open. Her amber eyes, wide and unblinking, processed the scene. The aunt. The nephew. The priestess. The bed. The cock, standing upright and dripping.

"What?" she whispered. The word was hollow. The question was everything. "What is this? A nephew is having an affair with his aunt?"

The shock was too much. Her brain, already struggling with the pheromones, the carriage ride, the priestess’s milk on her face, the cum on her dress, overloaded. The circuits tripped. The fuses blew. She stood at the edge of the bed, her mouth open, her eyes wide, and processed nothing.

Then she sobbed.

The sound was small. Involuntary. The ’my-world-does-not-make-sense’ sob of a woman whose entire framework of understanding had been demolished in thirty seconds.

Lucia moved. The demon girl, still on her knees, had crawled to the bed. Her hands found Viktor’s discarded pants. She picked them up. The fabric, heavy with the weight of his belt and the residual pheromones, was bunched. She turned. Toward Veilera.

The pants hit her face.