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

Chapter 741: Chapter 740- Meg’s Apology for being a thick Dwarf

Viktor, looking at the woman and the man, spoke. His voice, carrying from the window to the garden, was calm. Cold. The ’I-have-seen-everything-and-I-do-not-care’ tone that was more terrifying than any rage.

"Prepare the bath," he said. "If you both do not want to be executed."

The word ’executed’ hit them like a physical blow. Meg, her knees buckling, caught herself on the rock. Dorin, his face grey, stumbled backward. The gardener, the old one-eyed man who had been watching from the corner, dropped his shears.

The pouch of gold coins, forgotten, fell from Meg’s hand. It landed on the rock. The coins, spilling out, gleamed in the sunlight.

Then they glitched.

The coins, the gold, the gleaming metal, flickered. The surface, solid and real, shimmered. The color shifted. The weight, which had been real in the hand, became uncertain. The coins, the pouch, the entire scene of wealth, became transparent. Like a hologram. A magical projection that had been designed to look real but was, in essence, an illusion.

Viktor had planted it. The gold coins, the pouch, the powder. All planted. All bait. The ’I-knew-you-would-search-my-luggage-and-I-gave-you-something-to-find’ trap that had been sprung perfectly.

The powder, the aphrodisiac, was real. The gold was not. The combination, the arousal followed by the discovery of theft, was designed to create the exact scene he had witnessed. A couple, caught in the garden, guilty of theft and fornication, their composure shattered.

Viktor folded his arms. Turned from the window.

The bathroom was ready.

The tub, stone and old, was filled with hot water. The servants, working with the speed of people whose lives depended on it, had heated the water, carried it, filled it. The steam, rising, filled the small bathroom. The scent, not lavender or rose, was plain soap. The kind that servants used.

Meg and Dorin stood. Side by side. Trembling. The maid, her uniform damp with sweat, had her hands clasped in front of her. The butler, his one eye downcast, had his at his sides.

Viktor entered. His footsteps, the only sound in the bathroom, were measured. Deliberate. The ’I-am-in-no-hurry’ pace that made their fear worse.

He looked at them. At the maid. At the butler. His green eyes, sweeping over them, were assessing. Cold. The ’I-am-deciding-your-fate’ gaze that kept them frozen.

He removed his clothes.

The coat, folded and set aside. The shirt, pulled over his head. The boots, placed by the door. The pants, unbuttoned and dropped. The underwear, removed.

His body was revealed. The muscles, defined and sculpted, were the product of incubus enhancement. The skin, milk-white and unmarked, gleamed in the steam. The chest, broad and powerful. The abdomen, ridged and tight. The arms, corded with muscle.

And his cock. Ten inches. Soft. Hanging between his thighs. The shaft, thick even when flaccid, was heavy. The head, dark and hooded, rested against his thigh. The balls, full and heavy, swung with each movement.

Dorin’s single eye, looking at the cock, then at his own crotch, then at the cock again, went wide. The comparison, the ’his-soft-is-bigger-than-my-hard’ comparison, was devastating. The dwarven butler, his own four-inch erection long since deflated by fear, felt his masculinity shrivel.

Meg, her green eyes fixed on the cock, could not look away. The ’that-was-inside-the-priestess-and-the-Baroness-and-the-knight’ cock that was now in the same room as her. The ’it-is-soft-and-still-bigger-than-anything-I-have-seen’ cock that was hanging between the legs of the man whose gold she had been stealing.

Viktor stepped into the tub. The water, hot, received him. He sat. The steam, rising around him, framed his face. The green eyes, looking at the butler, were calm.

"Rub," he said. One word. Directed at Dorin.

The butler, his legs shaking, approached the tub. His hands, taking the soap, began to rub. Viktor’s back. The muscles, hard beneath the skin, were unlike anything the dwarf had felt. The ’this-man-is-not-human’ realization that came from touching skin that was too smooth, too warm, too perfect.

Viktor, his eyes closing, let the butler work. For a moment. Then his eyes opened. Found the maid.

"You," he said. "Come."

Meg, her body trembling, approached. Her hands, taking the soap, moved toward his back.

"Not the soap," Viktor said. His voice was quiet. "Remove your clothes. Come inside."

Meg froze. Her green eyes, wide, found his. Then her husband’s. The ’he-is-asking-me-to-get-naked’ realization that was also the ’in-front-of-my-husband’ horror.

"What?" she whispered. "Young master, what are you— my husband—"

"Do what I say," Viktor said. The words were final. The ’this-is-not-a-discussion’ tone that was also the ’you-have-no-choice’ statement.

Her hands, shaking, went to her uniform. The buttons, small and fiddly, resisted her trembling fingers. One. Two. Three. The blouse opened. The bra, plain white cotton, was revealed. Then the bra was unclasped. Removed. Her breasts, massive on her small frame, fell free. The pink nipples, stiff from the cold and the fear, stood erect. The areolas, wide and dark, were peaked.

The skirt, unbuttoned, fell. Her panties, plain cotton, were the last barrier. She hesitated. Her green eyes, wet, found her husband. Dorin, his face grey, looked away.

She pulled the panties down. Her pussy, the dwarven pussy that was framed by orange hair, was exposed. The lips, still swollen from the garden quickie, were visible. The seed, her husband’s seed, leaked from the entrance and ran down her thigh.

Viktor looked at her. At the body. The body that was four feet of concentrated femininity. The massive breasts. The wide hips. The thick ass. The orange-haired pussy.

He saw the tattoo. On her waist. A small mark, barely visible. The brand of her tribe. The dwarven clan mark that identified her origin.

Then Dorin’s hand, which had been rubbing Viktor’s back, flinched. The butler, his eye traveling down Viktor’s body beneath the water, saw it. The tail. The scaled, serpentine appendage that was wrapped around Viktor’s waist beneath the water. The ’that-is-not-human’ recognition that made his blood freeze.

He fell back. His body, stumbling, hit the stone floor. His single eye, wide with terror, found his wife’s. The ’he-is-a-demon’ look that was also the ’run’ look.

Meg, turning to look, her foot slipped on the wet stone. She fell. Not backward. Forward. Into the tub. The water, displaced by her small body, splashed. She went under. Surfaced. Gasping.

She was on his lap. Her body, wet and naked, was pressed against his. Her breasts, massive and soft, were flattened against his chest. Her pussy, the leaking entrance, was against his thigh. His cock, the soft ten inches, was between them. Pressed against her belly.

She gasped. The ’I-am-naked-on-his-lap’ realization that was also the ’his-cock-is-against-my-skin’ horror.

His arm, around her waist, held her. Prevented her from rising. His hand, on her breast, gripped. The flesh, soft and heavy, deformed under his fingers. The nipple, stiff, was between his thumb and forefinger.

"Young master," she shrieked, her voice high with panic. "What are you doing? My husband—"

"Sit on my lap," Viktor said. His voice was calm. Conversational. "This is your punishment."

The word ’punishment’ made her tremble. The ’he-is-going-to’ fear that was also, horrifyingly, the ’his-hand-on-my-breast-is-making-me-feel’ response that her body was producing despite her terror.

Dorin, on the floor, started to rise. The ’my-wife-is-being-touched’ instinct that overrode his fear.

Viktor snapped his fingers.

The sound, small and sharp, carried. The slave mark, the magical brand that was on every enslaved person in the kingdom, activated. Dorin’s body, the brand on his neck, flared. The pain, the magical enforcement, was immediate. The butler screamed. His body, convulsing, fell. His face, hitting the stone, was pressed flat. The ’the-slave-mark-is-activating’ agony that was worse than any physical blow.

"Don’t hurt him," Meg cried, her green eyes finding Viktor’s face. "I was just— I did not— please—"