Villain's Breeding System: Evolving 999+ Harem into an SSS-Rank Legion

Chapter 707: Chapter 707- Muffled in hot Way

She could not reject.

She realized it. The trap. Not a trap— a clause. A clearly written, legally binding, mana-enforced clause. She had signed it. She had felt the mana cord attach. She had felt his mana— the ocean, the vast, incomprehensible power. If she resisted, if she violated, the mana would collide. The friction would paralyze her. Possibly kill her.

She was trapped.

She bit her lip. Her teeth sank into the flesh. The pain was sharp. Grounding.

He turned her.

Toward the throne. Her back to it. Her hips against the arm. The stone was warm against her ass. He positioned her. His hands on her hips. He lifted.

Her leg.

One leg. He placed it on the throne’s seat. The foot— the one with the torn stocking— on the smooth stone. Her thigh was raised. Her leg was spread. The skirt was hiked— the fabric bunched at her hip. Her stocking was visible. The white cotton. The torn lace. The garter. The milky thigh above it.

Her panty was visible.

White cotton. Simple. The fabric was clean— the only clean thing on her body. The fabric was snug against her pussy. The hair was visible through the cloth— dark, thick, untrimmed, the same as Latina’s. The lips were visible— the outline, the crease.

"Wait—" she said. Her voice was small. Embarrassed. The voice of a girl who is being undressed by a man and who has never been undressed by a man before. "Wait, I— this is— I have not—"

She sounded like a girlfriend. A girlfriend who is whining about having sex for the first time. Not a princess. Not a contractor. Not a servant. A girl. A nervous, embarrassed, virgin girl.

He lifted her skirt.

Higher. Past her hip. Past her waist. The fabric bunched at her ribs. Her stomach was exposed— flat, pale, the skin smooth. Her panty was fully visible now— the white cotton, the dark hair beneath, the snug fit.

He stroked his cock.

His hand went to himself. His cock was hard— twelve inches, dark, the head swollen, the shaft veined. He stroked. Slow. Up. Down. The skin moved beneath his fingers. The pre-cum leaked— clear, slick, running from the head, over his fingers, onto the shaft.

He rubbed it against her thigh.

Against the stocking. The cotton of his cock head against the cotton of her stocking. The fabric was thin— she could feel the heat. The hardness. The pulsing of the veins through the cloth. He moved. Up. Down. The cock sliding along her thigh. Along the stocking. Along the lace.

Against her panty.

He pressed. The cock head against her panty. Against the cotton. Against the lips beneath. She could feel it— the pressure, the heat, the size. Through the fabric. The cloth was the only barrier.

"I will not take them," he said. His voice was low. Close. His mouth near her ear. "Not yet."

He leaned.

His hand went to her panty. He pulled. Not down. Aside. The fabric shifted. The cotton moved. Her pussy was exposed— the hair, the lips, the pink inner flesh. He did not touch it. He did not push in. He pulled the panty to the side and held it.

His other hand went to her breast.

Through the dress. He groped. His large hand covered the small mound. His fingers sank into the flesh. The nipple pressed against his palm— stiff, aching, the silk of the dress the only barrier.

She trembled.

"What— what is this?" she gasped. Her voice was shaking. Her body was shaking. The sensation— his hand on her breast, his cock against her thigh, his fingers on her panty— was overwhelming. Not painful. Not pleasurable. Overwhelming. The sheer volume of input. The sheer number of places being touched.

She felt his cock.

Against her thighs. Tightly gripped by her stockings. The cotton of the stocking against the skin of his cock. The friction— smooth, warm, the fabric sliding. He moved. Up. Down. Not in her pussy. Not in her anal. Against her thigh. Against the stocking. Between her legs— the cock sliding between her pressed-together thighs, the head emerging from the other side, the shaft buried in the warmth of her legs.

He pulled out.

His cock emerged from between her thighs. He pulled her panty. Not down. He tied it. His cock against the lace of her panty. Over her ass. He pulled the waistband. He positioned his cock— against the fabric, against the lace, against the curve of her ass. He rubbed.

There.

Against her panty. Against her ass. The cock sliding along the fabric. The lace pressing against the head. The friction— rough, the cotton against the skin, the heat building.

She was confused.

The sensation was— she did not have words. His hand on her breast, groping, kneading, his fingers on the nipple. His cock against her ass, rubbing, sliding, the fabric of her panty between them. The sheer intensity of being touched in multiple places by a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

He turned her head.

His hand went to her chin. He turned her face. Toward his. She looked at him. At his black eyes— no, violet. The disguise was gone. The violet was visible. Deep. Rich. The color of twilight.

He kissed her.

His mouth found hers. His lips pressed against hers. His tongue pushed in. She gasped. Her mouth opened. His tongue entered— past her teeth, past her lips, onto her tongue. He kissed her deeply. Thoroughly. The kiss of a man who is claiming. Not asking. Taking.

"I will fuck you," he said. His voice was against her lips. The words spoken into her mouth. "After I make you queen. Until then— let me take claim of your body in different ways."

He kissed her.

While his cock moved. Not in her pussy. Not in her anal. Against her body. Against her milky white soft skin. Against her panty. Against her stockings. His cock sliding— between her thighs, along her ass, against her stomach. The friction— warm, building, the pre-cum leaking onto her skin, the slick fluid spreading.

He enjoyed himself.

Kissing her. Groping her. His mouth on hers. His hand on her breast. His cock against her body. The sounds— wet, the kissing, the sliding, the soft gasps and the muffled moans.

"Mmm... hahh..." she breathed. The sound was muffled by his mouth. Her green eyes were half-closed. Her body was trembling. The sensation— the cock against her skin, the hand on her breast, the tongue in her mouth— was building something. Not pleasure. Not yet. Heat. A warmth. A pooling. In her stomach. In her pelvis. In the place between her legs that was covered by the panty that he had pulled aside.

He turned her.

Again. A different position. He positioned her on the throne. Upside down. Her legs on the back of the chair. Her head hanging. Her emerald hair falling— toward the ground, the green waves swinging, the tips brushing the grass. Her body was draped over the throne— her back on the seat, her legs on the back, her head hanging over the front edge.

He lifted her panty.

The fabric was visible. The white cotton. The dark hair. The lips. The pink. He looked. He did not touch. He did not tear. He did not push in. He looked.

Her mouth was upside down.