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

Chapter 753: Chapter 752- Caught in a Trap

"I have never seen a pussy like a mermaid’s," he said. His voice, low and warm, carried the siren resonance. The words, which were both observation and compliment, made her flush deeper.

His cock, which had been soft, was hardening. The shaft, growing, pressed against her belly. The head, the dark crown, was at her navel. The heat, the ’his-cock-is-on-my-skin’ heat, was immediate.

The moment she felt it, the full length against her stomach, the recognition hit her again. The shape. The size. The heat. The ’it-is-the-same’ certainty that was also the ’it-cannot-be’ denial. Her husband, her dead husband, had felt the same. The cock, the organ that had taken her virginity, had been the same size. The same shape. The same heat.

Her heart, which had been thumping, was now racing. The ’is-he-my-husband’ question that was also the ’he-cannot-be’ certainty that was also the ’but-what-if’ hope. The feeling, the feeling of a maiden about to be taken, overwhelmed everything. The fear, the resistance, the anger at being kidnapped, all dissolved. What remained was the ’I-want-this’ desire that was also the ’I-need-this’ need.

He positioned himself. His body, above hers, was between her legs. Her tail, the scales parted, exposed her pussy. The entrance, small and tight, was at the level of his cock. The head, the dark crown, pressed against her lips. The contact, the ’his-cock-is-at-my-entrance’ contact, made her body tense.

He pushed. The head, the broad crown, entered. The lips, thin and tight, yielded. The entrance, the small and preserved opening, was stretched. The ’he-is-entering-me’ sensation that was also the ’it-is-too-big’ pain that was also the ’it-feels-like-the-first-time’ recognition.

Tears fell. From her golden eyes. The ’I-am-crying’ tears that were also the ’this-hurts’ tears that were also the ’it-feels-like-my-husband’ tears. The pain, the stretching pain of a tight pussy being forced open, was real. But beneath the pain was the familiarity. The ’he-took-me-like-this’ memory that was also the ’he-is-back’ hope.

He pushed deeper. Inch by inch. The shaft, the thick and veined organ, disappeared into her. The walls, the mermaid walls that were different from any human or dwarven or demon woman’s walls, gripped. The texture, the silken and ridged texture that was unique to mermaid anatomy, was unlike anything he had felt before. The ’this-is-different’ assessment that was also the ’this-is-incredible’ appreciation.

Ten inches. All of it. Inside her. The cock, the full length, was buried. The head, the dark crown, pressed against her cervix. The ’he-is-deep-inside-me’ sensation that was also the ’he-is-at-my-womb’ recognition.

He groaned. The sound, low and guttural, was the ’this-feels-amazing’ groan that was also the ’her-pussy-is-incredible’ admission.

"Shit," he said. His voice, strained, was the ’I-was-not-expecting-this’ strain that was also the ’this-is-the-best’ admission.

The walls, the inner walls of a mermaid’s pussy, were different. The texture, the silken and ridged texture that he had read about, was real. The walls, which were lined with tiny sensory ridges, gripped his cock. Not like a human’s grip, which was muscular. Not like a dwarf’s grip, which was tight. The mermaid grip was ’textured’. The ridges, the small and sensitive ridges, massaged his shaft. Every vein. Every ridge of his cock was stimulated. The sensation, the ’her-pussy-is-milking-me-without-her-moving’ sensation, was beyond anything he had experienced.

He pulled out. The cock, the head dragging against her walls, withdrew. The ridges, the tiny sensory ridges, scraped his shaft. The sensation, the ’she-is-gripping-me-as-I-pull-out’ sensation, was intense. She cried. The ’he-is-pulling-out’ cry that was also the ’it-hurts-but-do-not-stop’ plea.

He slammed back in.

PAAAH.

"AAAAHH—!!" The scream, the ’he-is-deep-inside-me-again’ scream, was loud. Her body, on the flowers, arched. Her back, leaving the petals, curved. Her breasts, heavy and free, thrust upward. Her nipples, pink and stiff, pointed at the sky.

"You have got a very delicious pussy, my lady," he said. His voice, which was strained with pleasure, carried the siren resonance. The ’I-am-enjoying-this’ admission that was also the ’you-are-the-best-I-have-had’ compliment.

He kissed her neck. The lips, warm and soft, found the sensitive skin. The kiss, gentle and sucking, was the ’I-am-enjoying-you’ kiss that was also the ’you-are-mine’ mark.

She cried. The tears, which had been falling, continued. But the sound, the crying, was changing. The ’it-hurts’ cry that was becoming the ’it-feels-good’ cry. The ’I-cannot-believe-this’ cry that was also the ’it-feels-like-him’ cry.

She moaned. The sound, soft and melodic, was the sound of a mermaid in pleasure. The resonance, the natural resonance of her voice, made the moan musical. The ’I-am-feeling-pleasure’ moan that was also the ’it-has-been-so-long’ admission.

Her hand lifted. The bound hand, which had been beneath her, rose. Found his back. The fingers, the mermaid fingers that were webbed and slender, touched his skin. The ’I-am-touching-him’ sensation that was also the ’I-do-not-want-him-to-stop’ plea. The hand, which had been tied, was free. She did not know when the bonds had been removed. The ’when-did-he-untie-me’ question that was also the ’it-does-not-matter’ dismissal. The sensation, the feeling of his back beneath her fingers, was everything.

The muscles, the supernatural muscles that had absorbed her tail’s strike, were hard. The skin, warm and smooth, was familiar. The ’his-back-feels-like-my-husband’s’ recognition that was also the ’everything-is-the-same’ certainty.

The sensation, the overwhelming sensation of being filled and fucked and touched, was like a dream. The ’this-cannot-be-real’ feeling that was also the ’but-it-feels-real’ certainty that was also the ’please-let-it-be-real’ prayer.

Her husband had said something. The same thing. When he had taken her virginity. Lying there, on the flowers, in the garden near the ocean pond. He had said—

She moaned. The sound, soft and broken, was the ’I-remember’ moan that was also the ’it-is-him’ acceptance. Her face, which had been turned away, buried into his shoulder. The ’I-am-hiding-my-face’ gesture that was also the ’I-am-yours’ surrender.

Pah. Pah. Pah.

The rhythm, the steady and deep rhythm of his hips against her, was the same. The pace, the ’I-am-making-love-to-you’ pace, was the same. Not brutal. Not violent. The ’I-want-you-to-feel-good’ pace that her husband had used.

"Ah— ah— ah—" The moans, soft and continuous, were the ’I-am-feeling’ moans that were also the ’I-remember’ moans. Her eyes, which had been open, closed. The ’I-am-in-a-dream’ closing that was also the ’I-want-to-stay-here’ plea.

Her tears fell. The tears, which had been of pain, were now of something else. Of memory. Of loss. Of hope. The ’my-husband-is-gone’ grief that was also the ’but-he-is-here’ confusion that was also the ’or-is-he’ question.

She gasped. The sound, sharp and breathless, was the ’he-hit-a-different-spot’ gasp. The cock, which had been thrusting, found a new angle. The ridges, the sensory ridges on her walls, were stimulated. The ’something-is-happening’ sensation that was also the ’I-am-going-to-cum’ inevitability.

"Who are you?" she whispered. Her voice, soft and melodic and trembling, carried the ’I-need-to-know’ urgency. "And how do you know all this?"

As her questions reached his ears, suddenly, a strange kind of sensation filled the air. A huge magic inscription seemed to form on the ground, catching him off guard with his smile and his actions. It was then that he realized there was an inscription embedded in this moment’s body, which needed a particular trigger to start, prompting him to move instantly, or at least try to. Yelling,

"SHIT—"

but it seemed Victor’s actions were much slower than his response; even with his abilities, everything instantly glowed and turned dark for him.

"Fuckkkk!!"