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

Chapter 740: Chapter 739 - Caught Red-Handed

Meg bowed. The motion, deep and formal, was obedient. She turned to the butler. Her eyes, the green ones, conveyed a message. The ’let-us-discuss-this-privately’ look of a woman who had things to say that the master should not hear.

"Then I will take them to the other room," Dorin said, reaching for the luggage.

"No," Viktor said. The word was sharp. "Leave them there."

Dorin nodded. The motion was curt. His single eye, glancing at Meg, conveyed a different message. The ’we-will-talk-in-the-garden’ look of a co-conspirator.

They left. The door closed. Their footsteps, the dwarven tread that was heavier than human feet of the same size, retreated down the hall.

Viktor lay back. The bed, soft and old, received him. He closed his eyes.

"If I remember correctly," he murmured to himself, the words barely audible, "wasn’t the academy going to need a maid?"

His lips curved. The smile, sharp and predatory, was not about household chores.

"Since as a professor, I needed an assistant," he continued, his voice dropping, "and it seems I have just gotten one."

He closed his eyes. Then opened them. Then closed them again.

The domain expanded.

The Infinite Sword Dominion, the power that allowed him to perceive everything within his territory, extended. Like invisible tendrils. Through the walls. Through the floors. Through the mansion. The garden. The grounds.

He could see. Everything. Every corner. Every shadow. Every whisper.

In the garden. Behind the dead fountain. Beneath the overgrown oak tree. On the flat rock that served as a natural bench. The pink-haired maid and the one-eyed butler, standing together. Their voices, carried through the domain’s perception, reached him.

"Find it now," Meg hissed. Her voice, the bright pleasantness stripped away, was sharp. Anxious. "Where did you throw it?!"

Dorin, his hands patting his pockets, was frantic. "I couldn’t help it. I just thought there was definitely coins in the pouch."

"You threw it through the window?" Meg’s voice rose. The anger, the ’my-husband-is-an-idiot’ frustration, was plain. "It must have fallen around here somewhere."

They searched. The garden, the path, the flower beds. Dorin, on his knees, his one eye scanning the ground. Meg, pacing, her thick hips swinging with each agitated step.

Then she found it.

The pouch. Small. Leather. Hidden under a rock by the garden wall. She picked it up. Opened it. Her green eyes widened.

"Oh my god," she breathed. "There were twenty gold coins in it."

The gold, gleaming in the afternoon light, was more than either of them had seen in months. The embezzled salaries, the stolen funds, the fruits of years of fraud, were concentrated in this small pouch.

Dorin, laughing, slapped his thigh. "Indeed, indeed. We hit the jackpot."

Meg, her fingers counting the coins, paused. Her hand, in the pouch, found something else. Another pouch. Smaller. Tied with a string.

"By the way," she said, pulling it out, "what is this?"

She opened it. Inside, a fine powder. White. The scent, when she leaned close, was sweet. Floral. Pleasant.

"Is this some kind of cosmetic?" she asked, sniffing. The powder, fine and light, tickled her nose. "It smells good."

Dorin leaned in. His nose, the dwarven nose that was more sensitive than a human’s, twitched. "Yes, it seems like. These nobles have such things."

"Indeed," Meg agreed. "It seems to be like that."

She sniffed again. Deeper. The powder, disturbed by her breath, rose in a cloud. The fine particles, entering her nose, made her sneeze.

"ACHOO!"

The sneeze, violent, sent the powder flying. The cloud, white and sweet-smelling, engulfed both dwarves. They coughed. Wheezed. The powder, settling on their skin, their clothes, their faces, was absorbed.

"What is this?" Meg gasped, her eyes watering. She coughed again. "What—"

The coughing subsided. The powder settled. The garden was quiet.

Then Dorin shifted. His posture, the anxious hunch, straightened. His single eye, which had been scanning for coins, widened. His hand, which had been patting his pockets, went to his crotch.

His cock. The dwarven cock, which even erect was modest by human standards, was hard. Four inches. Thick. Straining against his trousers. The erection, sudden and intense, made him gasp.

Meg, too, felt it. The heat. The warmth that started in her belly and spread downward. Her pussy, beneath her uniform skirt, was moistening. The fabric of her panties, the plain cotton that she wore for work, was developing a damp spot.

"You pervert," she whispered, but her voice lacked conviction. The arousal, the drug-induced arousal that the powder had triggered, was overriding her judgment.

Dorin, his cock straining, looked at her. At his wife. At the woman who, in the grip of the same drug, was flushed and breathing heavy. Her massive chest, heaving with each breath. Her thick thighs, pressing together. Her green eyes, dilated and dark.

He reached. His hands found her hips. Pulled. She resisted. Weakly. The ’we-are-in-the-garden-and-the-master-could-see’ protest that the drug made irrelevant.

Trembling, she pushed her skirt down. Just enough. The panties, plain cotton, were pulled aside. Her pussy, the dwarven pussy that was tight and pink and framed by orange hair, was exposed.

Dorin freed his cock. The four inches, erect and straining, stood from his trousers. He lifted her hips. She, her hands on his shoulders for balance, was positioned. The cockhead, the tip of his modest member, pressed against her entrance.

He pushed.

"Mmph—" she moaned. The sound was soft. The ’four-inches-is-not-much-but-the-drug-makes-it-feel-like-enough’ moan of a woman who was aroused past caring.

He fucked her. Standing. Her hips held in his hands. His hips, driving forward, pushed his four inches in and out. The pace was fast. Frantic. The drug, the arousal, the ’we-could-be-caught’ danger, drove him.

One minute. Two. The coupling, the drug-fueled quickie in the garden, was brief. Dorin, groaning, came. The load, thin and small, filled her. The seed, the dwarven seed, was deposited.

He pulled out. His cock, softening, retreated. The cum, leaking from her entrance, ran down her thigh. She, lowering her skirt, straightened her uniform. Her face, flushed and sweaty, was composed. Barely.

They sat. On the rock. Side by side. Panting. The drug, the aphrodisiac powder that Viktor had planted in his own luggage knowing it would be found and opened, was still in their systems. The arousal, the residual heat, was present but manageable.

"Young lord is a stupid," Meg said, her voice carrying through the garden. Through the domain. To Viktor’s ears. "We are going to rob him. Should we run? Or just wait?"

Dorin, his face paling, tried to protest. "Wait, wait. Don’t say that. We don’t know if—"

"What happened?" Meg asked, looking at him.

Then she looked up.

Viktor was standing. At the bedroom window. Looking down. His arms folded. His face, calm and expressionless, was a mask. The green eyes, the Catorian green, were fixed on them. On the garden. On the rock where they sat. On the pouch of gold coins that was still in her hand.

The color drained from Meg’s face. The pink hair, bright in the sun, was the only color left. Her skin went white. Her green eyes, wide with terror, found his.

"Young lord," she whispered. The words were barely audible. The ’we-have-been-caught’ whisper of a woman whose world was collapsing.

Her body, frozen, was a tableau of guilt. The pouch, the gold coins, the powder. The evidence of theft. The evidence of embezzlement. The evidence of years of fraud, laid bare before the man she had been robbing.

She scrambled up. The motion, frantic, made her skirt ride up. Her pussy, leaking her husband’s seed, was visible for a moment before the fabric fell. She clutched her skirt. Held it. The ’I-need-to-cover-myself’ instinct that was too late.

"Please forgive," she begged. Her voice broke. The tears, starting, ran down her round cheeks. "Please, young lord. We did not— we were just—"