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

Chapter 708: Chapter 708- The Royal Family

Hanging. Her hair on the ground. Her face was flushed— the blood rushing to her head, the redness visible in her cheeks, in her neck. Her green eyes were wide. Her lips were parted.

He pushed his cock against her mouth.

The head. Against her lips. The dark, swollen head against her pink lips. The pre-cum— clear, slick— touched her mouth. She tasted it. Salt. Musk. The bitterness of a man.

"You can take it," he said. His voice was low. His hand went to her throat. His thumb rubbed the skin. The milky white skin of her throat. He pressed. Not hard. Feeling. The throat beneath his thumb. The pulse. The swallow.

She felt the cock.

Against her mouth. The head pushing in. Past her lips. Past her teeth. Onto her tongue. The taste filled her— salt, skin, musk, the faint bitterness. She gagged. Her throat convulsed.

His thumb on her throat.

He felt the gag. He felt the convulsion. He felt the muscles beneath the skin. He pressed. The throat bulged— the cock head visible through the skin. The dark shape beneath the milky white. The bulge moved— upward, downward, the cock sliding in and out of her throat.

Her eyes drooped.

Half-closed. The lashes fluttering. The green irises visible— wet, unfocused, the eyes of a girl whose throat is being filled and whose brain is being deprived of oxygen.

His balls plunged in.

Against her nose. The heavy, egg-like orbs. The scent— musk, sweat, the concentrated smell of a man’s crotch. She breathed through her nose. The scent filled her. Overwhelmed her. The pheromones— low-level, ambient, the constant output of a sex demon— entered her brain through her olfactory nerve.

She gagged.

Her body convulsed. Her hands went to his thighs— gripping, her fingers digging into the muscle. She coughed. The sound was muffled— the cock in her throat, the shaft filling her mouth.

He fucked her throat.

His hips moved. Slow. Steady. The cock sliding in and out. The bulge in her throat moving— up, down, up, down. The sound was wet— SCHLUK SCHLUK SCHLUK— the sound of a cock in a throat.

She breathed through her nose.

Smelling his balls. The scent was everything. It filled her world. Her nostrils were pressed against the sack. The musk was in her sinuses. In her brain. In her blood.

Half an hour.

He fucked her throat for half an hour. Slow. Steady. Not rushing. Not finishing. Taking his time. Enjoying the warmth. The wetness. The tightness of her throat. The way her tongue moved— involuntarily, the muscles contracting, the swallowing reflex massaging the head.

He pulled out.

She gasped. The cock emerged— wet, slick, the saliva dripping from the shaft. She coughed. She choked. She breathed— deep, ragged, the air filling her lungs. Her face was red. Her eyes were wet. Her throat was sore.

He placed his cock against her boobs.

He positioned her. On her knees. Before him. On the grass. The throne behind her. He pushed her breasts together— the small, firm mounds. His cock went between them. The shaft slid in the valley. The head emerged from the top— dark, swollen, the pre-cum leaking onto her chest.

He fucked her tits.

His hips moved. His cock slid between her breasts. The friction— warm, the skin against skin, the pre-cum acting as lubricant. The head emerged and disappeared. Emerged and disappeared.

She sucked.

When the head emerged, she leaned forward. Her mouth opened. Her lips found the head. She sucked. Brief. A taste. Then it disappeared— back between her breasts.

He stroked.

His hand went to his cock. He pulled it from between her breasts. He stroked. Fast. Hard. His hand moved. The shaft was slick— saliva, pre-cum, the fluid running over his fingers.

"Let us seal the contract like this, princess," he said.

His voice was low. The voice of a man who is about to come. The breath was short. The words were clipped.

He came.

The load was thick. Heavy. The seed erupted— pulse after pulse. The white fluid shot from the head. It hit her face. Her cheek. Her nose. Her forehead. Her lips. It ran down her chin. It dripped onto her chest. Onto her breasts. Onto the torn dress. The white on the silk. The white on the milky skin.

She trembled.

She looked up. At him. At his face. At his black— no, violet— eyes. At his body. At the muscles. At the chest— broad, ridged, heaving with each breath. At the stomach— the abdominal muscles defined, the V of the hips sharp. At the cock— still hard, still erect, the seed dripping from the head, the shaft slick. At the balls— heavy, egg-like, the sack tight, the hair dark and coarse. At the hair— the coarse, dark hair that covered his groin, his thighs, his legs.

He looked down at her.

His violet eyes held hers. His face was calm. The same calm. The same stillness. The expression of a man who has just sealed a contract and who is satisfied with the terms.

She gasped.

The sound was the only thing she could produce. Not words. Not a scream. Not a cry. A gasp. The gasp of a girl who is on her knees, covered in seed, looking up at a man who is not a man, who is not a demon, who is something else entirely. Something that she has bound herself to. Something that owns her now.

The mana cord hummed in her chest.

The contract was sealed.

~ The Crown Prince’s Chamber

The Crown Prince was dressing.

His chambers were in the eastern wing of the Crown Palace. The room was large. The bed was enormous— red silk, gold trim, the sheets rumpled from the night. The windows were open. The morning light was bright. The air smelled of perfume and wine and the faint, lingering musk of a woman who had been dismissed an hour ago.

He stood before the mirror.

His body was lean. Muscled. The body of a man who trains daily. His chest was bare— the pectorals defined, the abdominal muscles ridged. His skin was pale. His hair was dark. His jaw was square. His eyes were cold— dark, flat, the eyes of a man who has never felt guilt.

His cock was in his hand.

He was examining it. The shaft was seven inches. The skin was pale. The head was— gone. The head was missing. The tip of the shaft ended in a flat, scarred surface. The head had been cut off. Years ago. By a woman. A woman with red hair and green eyes and a sword and a hatred that had burned through a decade.

He touched the scar.

The skin was smooth. Healed. The work of a royal healer— the best in the kingdom, summoned at great expense, who had sealed the wound and stopped the bleeding and saved the organ. But the head was gone. The sensitive head. The glans. The part that held the nerve endings. The part that made a cock feel good.

He could still fuck. The shaft still worked. He could still get hard. He could still penetrate. He could still come. But the pleasure— the sharp, electric, overwhelming pleasure of a cock head inside a wet, warm, tight cunt— was gone. Reduced to a dull, muffled sensation. Like touching something through a glove.

He dressed.

His trousers. His shirt. His belt. His sword. His boots. His cloak— white, the color of the Crown. He buckled it. He adjusted it. He looked at himself in the mirror.

He turned.

His ministers were behind him. Two of them. Standing by the door. Their faces were attentive. Their hands were clasped. Their postures were subservient. The postures of men who know their place.

"The half-breed tribe," the Crown Prince said. His voice was sharp. Commanding. The voice of a man who is giving orders before breakfast. "The ones in the eastern countryside. The ones who have been causing trouble. The ones who have been harboring fugitives."

"Yes, Your Highness," one of the ministers said. "The settlement near the river. Approximately three hundred individuals. Mixed blood— human and demi-human. They have been there for two generations."

"Kill them all," the Crown Prince said.

The minister blinked.

"All, Your Highness?"

"All," the Crown Prince repeated. "Men. Women. Children. The elderly. The livestock. Burn the houses. Salt the fields. Destroy the settlement. I want nothing left. Not a stone. Not a beam. Not a body."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Send the Third Division. The one with the demonification pills. I want it done by nightfall."

"Yes, Your Highness."

The Crown Prince adjusted his sword. The hilt was jeweled. The blade was steel. He checked the edge. Sharp. He sheathed it.

"Let us meet my useless brother," he said.

He walked.