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

Chapter 752: Chapter 751- The Mermaid’s Delcious Body

She looked around. The forest, the organized and beautiful forest, was not wild. The trees, while tall and green, were arranged. The flowers, while diverse and colorful, were planted. The space, the clearing that they stood in, was a garden.

A flower bed. The petals, pink and white and blue, covered the ground in a soft carpet. The greenery, the bushes and the vines, framed the clearing. The scene, the beautiful and peaceful scene, was the kind of place that she had only seen once before.

In her memory. In the garden. Near the ocean pond. Where her husband had—

"Would you not stop?" she said. Her voice, which was melodic and resonant, was trembling. The ’please’ that she could not voice. The ’let-me-go’ plea that was also the ’I-do-not-understand’ confusion.

"This is the place," Viktor said, his voice dropping to a register that was both gentle and commanding, "where I am going to make you my woman."

The words, the ’I-am-going-to-take-you’ declaration, were delivered with a softness that contradicted their meaning. The ’I-will-be-gentle’ softness that was also the ’but-I-will-not-be-denied’ firmness.

"Be very tight." His voice, the silver tongue mixed with the siren voice that he had absorbed from his wife, was devastating. The melodious quality, the resonance that bypassed the ears and spoke directly to the soul, made the words not just heard but felt. "Must be first time, so I don’t want your screams to be heard by some idiots."

The ’first-time’ assumption, which was also the ’you-are-a-virgin’ claim, was delivered as fact. The ’you-are-exclusive’ statement that was also the ’you-belong-to-me-now’ assertion.

"You are exclusive, aren’t you? My lady."

The title, ’my lady’, was respectful. The ’I-acknowledge-your-status’ respect that was also the ’but-you-are-still-mine’ possession. The siren voice, the resonance that made every word feel like a touch, made the title feel like a kiss.

The mermaid’s face flushed. The blood, the warm blood that rose to her cheeks, was visible through her blue-green skin. The flush, the ’he-called-me-lady’ reaction that was also the ’his-voice’ reaction that was also the ’what-is-happening-to-me’ confusion, was instant.

"No," she whispered. The ’stop’ that was not a command but a plea. "Stop. Don’t."

He laid her down. On the flower bed. The petals, soft and fragrant, received her body. Her back, the smooth blue-green skin, pressed against the flowers. Her tail, still tied, lay on the ground. Her hands, still bound, were beneath her. Her hair, silver and wet, spread around her head like a halo.

He stood. Above her. Looking down. The green eyes, which had been calm, were now appraising. The ’I-am-looking-at-you’ gaze that traced her body. From her face, flushed and terrified. Down her neck. To her chest.

Her bra, the garment that had been fashioned from sea-silk, was the only covering on her upper body. The fabric, white and translucent, was straining. Her breasts, the full and heavy mounds that were characteristic of mermaid physiology, were barely contained. The nipples, the pink and stiff nubs that were visible through the fabric, were erect. The areolas, wide and dark against the blue-green skin, were visible.

He reached. His hand, finding the clasp of the bra, opened it. The fabric, released, fell away. Her breasts, freed, were exposed. The mounds, heavy and full, settled. The nipples, pink and stiff, pointed upward. The areolas, dark and wide, were peaked. The flesh, the blue-green flesh that was softer than human skin, was heaving with each rapid breath.

She trembled. The ’I-am-exposed’ tremor that was also the ’he-is-looking-at-my-body’ awareness that was also the ’my-nipples-are-hard’ shame.

He started to remove his clothes. The shirt, pulled over his head, exposed his chest. The muscles, defined and taut, were the same that she had felt when her tail hit his jaw. The skin, milk-white and unmarked, was perfect. The pants, unbuttoned and dropped, exposed his legs. The thighs, muscular and thick. And between his legs, the cock.

Ten inches. Soft. Hanging. The shaft, thick and veined. The head, dark and hooded. The balls, heavy and full.

Her eyes, which had been on his face, dropped. The ’I-should-not-look’ instinct that was overridden by the ’I-cannot-look-away’ compulsion. The golden eyes, wide and unblinking, found his cock. The shaft, the thick and veined organ, was visible. The head, the dark crown, was at the level of her belly.

The cock, the full length, was too big. The ’that-will-never-fit’ terror that was also the ’I-will-die’ certainty.

And then she felt it.

The recognition. The ’deja-vu’ that hit her like a wave. The shape, the length, the thickness. The cock, the organ that hung between his legs, was the same. The same as her husband’s. The man who had been killed. The human who had taken her virginity in a garden near the ocean. The man whose cock had been the same length, the same girth, the same shape.

Everything was the same. The garden. The flowers. The cock. The feeling, the ’I-have-been-here-before’ feeling that was also the ’he-is-back’ impossibility, made her heart thump. The beat, the rapid and irregular beat, was audible in her ears. The ’this-cannot-be’ denial that was also the ’but-it-is’ acceptance.

She was a maiden again. Trembling. Her heart, which had been dead for years, was fluttering. The ’he-came-back’ feeling that was also the ’I-am-dreaming’ certainty that was also the ’please-let-this-be-real’ plea.

He knelt. Beside her. On the flowers. His body, the perfect body, was above hers. His face, the green-eyed face, was close. The ’I-am-going-to-kiss-you’ proximity that was also the ’you-are-mine’ claim.

He kissed her. His lips, warm and soft, found hers. The contact, the first kiss, was gentle. Not demanding. Not brutal. The ’I-am-tasting-you’ kiss that was also the ’I-want-you-to-feel’ gentleness.

Her lips, which had been trembling, responded. The ’I-cannot-help-it’ response that was also the ’he-feels-like-my-husband’ surrender. Her mouth, opening, admitted his tongue. The kiss, deepening, became a french kiss. His tongue, entering her mouth, found hers. The taste, the clean and warm taste of a man, was familiar. The ’my-husband-tasted-like-this’ memory that was also the ’this-is-the-same’ certainty.

His hand found her breast. His fingers, large and warm, closed around the mound. The flesh, soft and heavy, deformed. His palm, against her nipple, pressed. The nub, pink and stiff, was ground against his hand. The ’his-hand-on-my-breast’ sensation that was also the ’it-feels-like-him’ recognition.

He kneaded. The motion, the slow and deliberate kneading, was practiced. The ’I-know-how-to-touch-a-woman’ practice that was also the ’I-will-make-you-feel-good’ promise. His fingers, finding her nipple, pinched. The pressure, sharp and direct, made her gasp. The ’he-is-pinching-my-nipple’ sensation that was also the ’I-remember-this’ familiarity.

His other hand went down. Along her body. Over her belly. Over the smooth skin. To the junction. The place where her upper body met her tail.

Her tail, the scaled appendage that covered her lower half, was not a single piece. The scales, which overlapped like armor, were movable. His hand, finding the edge, lifted. The scales, parting, revealed what lay beneath.

Her pussy. The flat pussy, the tight and unremarkable entrance that was hidden beneath the scales. The lips, thin and pale blue, were visible. The hair, the fine silver hair that covered her mound, was sparse. The entrance, the small and tight opening that had been preserved since her daughter’s birth, was closed. The ’I-have-not-been-touched-in-years’ tightness that was also the ’I-have-been-waiting’ availability.

He chuckled. The ’I-have-never-seen-a-pussy-like-this’ amusement that was also the ’it-is-beautiful’ appreciation.