Chapter 501: Chapter 501 - Rika’s Mental Resilience Breaking Apart
Her knees buckled.
He had expected this — his arm was already around her waist before she went down, his hand flat against the small of her back, holding her weight against him. Her thick body went soft in his arms, the heavy tits dragging against his chest as she sagged, her hips pressing into him, her grip in his hair loosening as her strength redirected itself somewhere less useful.
Three feet away.
Esvan stood frozen in black and white.
The shirt open. The bandaging visible. The arm raised. The fine jaw set.
Completely unaware that in the stopped afternoon, the wife who had been arguing in his defense was currently melting against a dragon’s chest with her mouth making noises that left very little open to interpretation.
Raven kissed her deeper.
His tongue found hers.
She made a sound that was not a protest.
SLURRRP—
"Mmmmhnn~~—!!"
Her hips moved against him without instruction, grinding slowly against his cock through the layers of fabric, the thick warmth of her thighs finding the pressure and returning it. The incubus field had fully saturated her now — her whole body warm and wet and increasingly insistent about what it wanted, her mind three steps behind and losing ground.
She broke the kiss to breathe.
"Haaah.... Haaah... Haaah.... N-not here... I—"
Her face was flushed from jaw to hairline, the warm-toned skin gone deep rose, her lips swollen and wet, her eyes hazy with the particular unfocus of a woman whose higher functions have been reassigned.
She looked at him.
"Sir Dragon, Y-you promise, O-one night," she said. Her voice was wrecked. "Only one night."
He looked back at her.
"One night is enough for me to tame your body," he agreed.
His hand on her ass squeezed once — the full, unhurried possession of both heavy cheeks, the fabric of her dress pressing into the soft flesh.
She twitched.
"MNGH—"
Her head dropped back to his chest.
Her fingers found his hair again.
She was not thinking about Esvan.
She was not thinking about the frozen street or the stopped merchant or the suspended dust particles or the Truth-Sight that had been running quiet commentary on the last several minutes and had been consistently ignored.
She was thinking about very little at all.
Which was, from the incubus field’s perspective, exactly correct.
"Now, should I fuck you?"
"Mmmh~"
His hand closed over her mouth.
Not a warning. Not a question.
Just his palm, flat and warm, muffling whatever was left of her coherent thought against her own lips as his other arm hooked around her from behind — his chest against her spine, his cock already hard and pressing against the small of her back through his trousers, his breath at her ear carrying something that was not quite a laugh.
She said, "Nmmph—"
His fingers pressed her boobs from behind.
Both hands. Through the dress. The heavy mounds of her tits filling each palm as he squeezed — not gently, the full grip of a man acquainting himself with something he intends to use thoroughly, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh hard enough that she felt the compression through the fabric, felt the pressure against her nipples where they were stiff against the inside of her dress.
"Hnnh—!!"
Her whole body shook.
She grabbed his wrists. Both of them. Her fingers wrapped around his forearms and her grip said ’stop’ but her hips said something entirely different, rolling backward into him once — involuntary, a full, helpless press of her ass against his cock that she became aware of approximately half a second after it had already happened.
’Oh no,’ she thought.
He turned her.
His hands found her shoulders and rotated her body with the unhurried authority of someone who has done this before, pivoting her on her own feet until she was no longer facing the empty air behind them.
She was facing Esvan.
Her hands fell forward.
Her palms landed on her husband’s chest — the open shirt, the bandaging, the stillness of a frozen man who had no idea — and she felt the contact and something in her chest lurched sideways and then her hands felt something that was not the flat chest of a man.
Her fingers registered it before her brain did.
Softness. Slight give. The unmistakable yielding warmth of flesh beneath cloth.
And above the cloth, where the collar hung open, the visible swell of two small tits — pink nipples showing at the edge of the loosened wrapping, round and flushed and entirely, undeniably female.
Her Truth-Sight opened.
She slammed it closed.
’Husband,’ she thought firmly. ’My husband is standing right there. That is my husband. My husband has a chest. My husband is—’
Her fingers were still pressing into those tits.
Her palms were full of them.
She had not moved her hands.
Raven looked at her face from behind. He watched her expression do several things in rapid succession — recognition, confusion, a fast internal scramble, and then the particular blankness of a woman who has decided, at a very fundamental level, not to process the information she has just received.
He licked his lips.
’Dense,’ he thought. ’Wonderfully, beautifully, pornographically dense.’
His hands went to her hips.
Her wide hips. The full flare of them through the long skirt, the heavy weight of her ass pressing back against him as he moved her hips forward — just slightly, just enough — making her tiptoe, the balls of her feet coming off the flagstone, her whole body rising the two inches that made her breath catch.
"Wh—"
His fingers found the waistband of her panty.
Over the skirt. Not under it. His fingers hooked the elastic and pulled — upward, the fabric gathering at the crease of her ass, the panty riding up through the long skirt and pressing between the fat lips of her cunt through the layers of cloth. She felt it immediately — the thin cotton pressing into the wet heat of her pussy, the friction of it drawing tight.
"Nnngh—!! W-wait—!! WAIT—"
He pulled harder.
The elastic gathered and snapped against her ass — not a slap, a whip, the rubber band of her own panty spanking each cheek through the gathered skirt as he pulled it up and released, pulled it up and released.
SNAP— SNAP—
"AAAHN—!! NNGH—!! It— it HURTS—!!"
She was on her tiptoes now entirely, her hands gripping the cloth at her husband’s chest for balance, her face pressed forward between those small frozen tits as if she could hide there, her ass cheeks clenching helplessly with each snap of the elastic.
But her cunt.
Her cunt was gushing.
The cotton of her panty was soaked through already — she could feel it, the warm wet spreading against her own flesh, soaking the gathered fabric between her legs in a way she had absolutely no control over.
’What,’ she thought, ’is happening to me—’
Something in her blood was burning. It had been burning since he first touched her back in the street, since the incubus warmth spread through her from his hands, but now it was a full fever — her whole body flushed and prickling, her nipples hard and aching against the inside of her dress, her pussy clenching around nothing, producing slick in quantities she had never — not even with — not even when—
’’What is this,’’ she thought, desperate, her hips rolling back against him even now, even ’right now’ while she was actively crying from the snap of her own panty against her ass.
She looked up at Esvan’s frozen face.
Her hands were gripping those small round tits now, her nails digging in slightly through the cloth.
’This is — I am doing this for — I am here for—’
