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

Chapter 755: Chapter 754- Taking the Mermaid as His Wife

~ Part II: Waking

Soft. The surface beneath him was soft. Not the flowers, which had been fragrant but firm. Not the forest floor, which had been earth and roots. This was softer. Fluffier. Like a lap. Like—

The pressure. On his cock. The sensation, which had been absent in the void, returned. Not the burning of the inheritance. Not the pain of the horns. A different sensation. Warm. Wet. Intentional. A hand. Delicate fingers, webbed and slender, wrapped around his shaft. The grip, gentle but firm, was stroking. Up. Down. Up. Down. The motion, slow and rhythmic, was not hurried. It was devoted.

He looked. His head, which had been on something warm and smooth, was on a lap. The lap, which was blue-green and bare, was the mermaid’s. Her tail, the scaled appendage that had been parted earlier, was beneath his head. The scales, which were smooth and cool, were a pillow. Her body, which was above him, was visible from this angle. Her breasts, heavy and full, hung above his face. Her nipples, pink and stiff, pointed downward. Her belly, the smooth blue-green skin, rose and fell with each breath.

Her face, the face that he had fucked and kissed and claimed, was above him. Her golden eyes, large and luminous, were looking down. The tears, which had been falling, were on her cheeks. The wet tracks, silver against blue-green, caught the filtered sunlight.

"You are alive," she said. Her voice, melodic and resonant, was trembling. The ’I-was-afraid’ tremor that was also the ’thank-the-gods’ relief. The tears, which had been falling, fell faster. Onto his face. The warm drops, salt and sorrow and relief, hit his skin.

He sighed. The breath, which had been held, was released. The ’I-am-back’ sigh that was also the ’what-the-fuck-happened’ question.

"Shit," he said.

She shook her head. The motion, which made her silver hair sway, was firm. The ’do-not-speak’ command that was also the ’I-will-talk’ assertion.

"Say nothing," she said. Her hand, the one that was not on his cock, found his face. Her fingers, the webbed and slender digits, traced his jaw. The touch, gentle and exploring, was the ’I-am-memorizing-you’ touch that was also the ’I-was-scared’ confession.

She grabbed her breast. The motion, which was deliberate, brought the heavy mound to his face. The nipple, pink and stiff, was pressed against his lips. The ’drink’ gesture that was also the ’I-have-something-for-you’ offering.

He sucked. The nipple, which had been stiff, was in his mouth. The tongue, which found the nub, circled. The suction, gentle at first, increased. The milk, which had been induced by his earlier pheromones, responded.

The fluid, warm and sweet, hit his tongue. The taste, the ’this-is-mermaid-milk’ taste that was unlike human or dwarven milk, was rich. Thicker. Sweeter. The texture, which was silky and smooth, coated his tongue. The flow, which started as a trickle, became a stream.

His eyes widened. The ’she-is-lactating’ realization that was also the ’when-did-this-happen’ question. He looked up at her face, his mouth still on her breast.

She smiled. The expression, which was tender through the tears, was the ’I-know-what-you-are-thinking’ smile. The ’let-me-explain’ smile.

"While you were asleep," she said. Her voice, which had been trembling, was now steady. The ’I-am-explaining’ steadiness that was also the ’this-is-important’ seriousness. "Your tail did not enter that place of mine after that. But I started to lactate."

The explanation, which was clinical and personal at the same time, was the mermaid’s way of processing. The ’your-pheromones-changed-my-body’ implication that was also the ’I-am-yours’ acceptance.

He sighed. The ’of-course’ sigh that was also the ’incubus-biology-strikes-again’ resignation. His mouth, releasing her nipple with a soft pop, left the breast wet and glistening.

"Why are you smiling at me?" he asked. His voice, which was groggy from the void, was finding its edge. "Crying like that, as if you found something."

The question, which was casual, carried the ’I-notice-things’ subtext. The ’you-are-crying-and-smiling-at-the-same-time’ observation that was also the ’what-do-you-know’ probe.

Her hand went over his head. The fingers, which had been on his jaw, moved upward. Over his hair. Over his temples. Over the horns.

The crystal, the amethyst horn that had grown in the void, was beneath her fingers. The surface, which was smooth and faceted, was warm. The glow, which pulsed from the crystal, was soft. Her fingers, tracing the horn’s curve, found the second one. The left. The new one. The surface, identical in texture and temperature, was explored.

She rubbed. The motion, which was the same motion she had used on his cock, was deliberate. The ’I-am-touching-your-horn-like-I-touched-your-dick’ gesture that was also the ’I-recognize-this’ statement.

"Before dying," she said. Her voice, which had been steady, softened. The ’I-am-remembering’ softness that was also the ’this-is-sacred’ reverence. "The husband once said how he wanted to be born as a human, but live as another race. Meet me again in a different form and check if I would be able to recognize him or not."

The words, which were a confession, were also a testimony. The ’my-husband-made-a-wish’ testimony that was also the ’and-that-wish-was-granted’ belief.

"It was the mermaid tear," she continued. Her fingers, still on his horns, tightened. "Which he drank while wishing for it."

The mermaid tear. The legendary substance, which was produced by a mermaid’s grief, was the most potent magical catalyst in existence. A single tear, shed for a lost love, could grant wishes. Could reshape destiny. Could bind souls across death and rebirth.

Viktor’s mouth twitched. The reaction, which was involuntary, was not from the romance of her words. It was from the situation. She was talking about her dead husband’s romantic wish while simultaneously stroking his cock. The duality, the ’I-am-confessing-my-love-while-giving-you-a-handjob’ duality, was absurd.

She leaned away. The motion, which shifted her body, brought her face lower. Toward his cock. Her hands, which had been on his horns, moved. To his balls. Both hands, the webbed fingers, found his testicles. The grip, gentle but firm, held. The ’I-am-holding-your-balls’ grip that was also the ’I-am-going-to-suck-you’ promise.

Her tongue emerged. The organ, pink and glistening, extended past her lips. The motion, which was slow and deliberate, was the ’I-am-tasting-you’ motion. The tongue, finding the head of his cock, licked. The contact, the wet and warm contact of her tongue on his cockhead, was electric.

She sucked. Her mouth, which opened to accept the head, closed around it. The suction, which was immediate and strong, was the ’I-want-your-cum’ suction. Her tongue, which was inside her mouth, worked. The organ, sliding across the head, found the slit. The pre-cum, which had been beading, was lapped.

She moaned. The sound, which vibrated through her mouth and into his cock, was the ’this-is-delicious’ moan that was also the ’this-is-my-husband’s-cock’ declaration.

"This is my husband’s cock," she said. The words, spoken around his cockhead, were muffled but clear. The ’I-know-this-cock’ certainty that was also the ’it-is-the-same’ belief.

Viktor trembled. The words, the ’my-husband’s-cock’ words, hit him differently than expected. Not because of the claim. Because of the suction. The mouth, which had been working, intensified. The tongue, which had been licking, swirled. The cheeks, which had been normal, hollowed. The vacuum, the ’I-am-going-to-milk-you’ vacuum, was overwhelming.

He came.

The orgasm, which was sudden and explosive, was not like the others. The suppression, the lust-suppression that the void had installed, broke. The flood, the dam that had held back his incubus hunger, burst. The cum, thick and hot, erupted from his cock. Into her mouth. The first rope, across her tongue. The second, against the back of her throat. The third, filling her cheeks.

"Shit—!!"