8mi Chapter 538 - 537- Taking the Little Hole
Chapter 538 - 537- Taking the Little Hole
She lay face down.Breathing.
The panty had fallen from her mouth at the impact, lying near her chin on the sheet, damp and ruined. Her lips were swollen. Her chin was wet. Her hair was everywhere.
Her legs — the inner thighs still glistening, the redness of her visible between them, the dark hair matted and pressed flat — were spread slightly by the positioning, the residual openness of a body that had been held in a particular position for a long time and hadn’t fully closed yet.
The man stood.
He turned toward the door.
Toward Edric.
The violet eyes found him.
Viktor stood with the unhurried, settled posture of a man in a room that belongs to him. His shirt was open. His abs visible. The tail at his hip curling once in a slow, comfortable motion. His cock — still fully hard, still slick with the combined evidence of everything the last several hours had produced, dark at the tip, the vein running its length distended, a slow bead forming at the head and running down the underside — stood at full, complete, unapologetic attention.
He looked at Edric.
At the man on the floor with his face held up by a vine and his eyes fixed open and his mouth sealed and his hands restrained and his cane on the floor beside him.
One finger came up.
Viktor placed it against his own lips.
The gesture of a man in a theater asking someone to observe the performance rather than interrupt it.
His mouth curved.
"Shhh."
The voice was quiet. Warm. The specific warmth of someone who is in a very good mood about something and has decided to be generous about sharing it.
His eyes — violet, deep, carrying the patient, complete attention of something that has decided to be entertained by the current situation — held Edric’s from across the room with the absolute confidence of a man who has no concerns about the man on the floor.
None.
Not one.
The complete, total, unambiguous zero concerns of something sitting at the very top of what the room contains.
"Enjoy the show," Viktor said.
His tail moved.
Slow. Deliberate. The tip of it tracing a small circle in the air.
"You cuckolded idiot."
On the bed behind him, Helviana made a sound.
’"Mnh~—"’
Her hand had moved — slowly, with the drugged, uncoordinated motion of a woman not fully in command of her own extremities — to the sheet near her face.
Gripping it. Her hips had shifted.
The small, involuntary press of them downward into the mattress, the body seeking friction it wasn’t done needing.
Viktor looked at her over his shoulder.
At the spread of her back, the curve of her hip, the thick, soft weight of her ass still trembling at the edges from the last impact.
He looked back at Edric.
At the man on the floor with the flower outside on the step and the hygiene pad beside it and the whole honest, ordinary, completely insufficient weight of a husband who had come home to a life that had been rearranged in his absence by something he had no category for.
Viktor tilted his head.
"Come on, lift your ass, show me how ruined your pussy is today." he said.
His voice was conversational.
"Spread them for me." A pause.
He let that sit in the air for exactly as long as it needed to sit.
"Mmhnn~♡~"
On the bed, Helviana’s hips slowly start to lift, her knees spreading apart, supporting herself, sinking on the bed.
Her both hands going towards her hips, down a bit, her fingers sinking in her own thick flesh as she pulled them apart, revealing her hairy pussy through which blood, as if spit out of it, was spread near her thighs, near her pussy labia, mixed with the clear sweat and pussy juices.
She did not care about the blood running down from her pussy getting fucked in her menstrual cycle.
The only thing she cared was pushing the panty out of her mouth a bit using her tongue and pegged like the bitch she had become.
"Aahmm~— mnh~—please... fuck me Master~~ ♡♡~!!!"
’!’
Edric Maren’s eyes could not close.
That was the worst part.
Not the floor against his cheekbone. Not the vines holding his wrist and ankle and neck with the calm, indifferent authority of something that did not need to exert effort to hold him. Not the silence sealed between his lungs and his mouth, the breath moving through him with complete biological normalcy while every sound he tried to make simply ceased to exist somewhere between his throat and the air.
The worst part was that his eyelids were gone.
Not removed. Not cut. Simply — absent. The instruction to close them, the most basic, most involuntary, most fundamental physical reflex a human body possesses — not arriving. His eyes open. Fully. Fixed. The air drying the surface of them in a continuous, thin sting that he could not blink away.
And in front of those open, fixed, unable-to-close eyes:
Helviana.
His wife.
On his bed.
Her knees spreading apart as Viktor’s voice finished its instruction — the slow, drugged, uncoordinated spread of a woman whose body had stopped waiting for her mind to make decisions about things. Her back arching. Her hips lifting, rising from the mattress in the specific, instinctive way a woman’s hips rise when they have been trained to a particular expectation and that expectation is about to be met.
Her hands moving to her own hips. Sliding down. Fingers sinking into her own thick flesh with the practiced, unashamed motion of a woman who had been shown exactly what she was supposed to do and had learned it thoroughly.
Pulling herself open.
The dark, hairy, swollen, ruined wet of her — blood and arousal and the residual evidence of several hours of something that had reached places Edric had not, could not, would never — spread wide between her pulled-apart hands, the lips puffy and dark and glistening, the stain of her menstrual cycle mixed into all of it with the complete, ugly, honest indifference of a body that had stopped caring about presentation hours ago.
The panty fell from the corner of her mouth.
Her tongue pushed it out.
Her lips — swollen, red, the chin below them wet — parted.
"Aahmm~— mnh~— please..." Her voice. His wife’s voice. Carrying something it had never carried in eleven years of marriage, something low and continuous and completely genuine. "...fuck me, Master~♡— please—"
The ’Master’ landed on Edric’s chest like a physical thing.
He tried to scream.
Nothing came out.
Viktor looked at her.
At the spread of her, the thick, trembling, pulled-apart display of a woman who had learned to present herself because she had been shown what she was presenting herself for and her body had made its decision about that.
He looked at Edric.
At the man on the floor.
His mouth curved.
Then he moved.
His hand found her ass first.
The full, heavy, warm weight of it in his palm — spreading it wider than she’d pulled it herself, his thumb pressing into the soft inner curve of her cheek and pulling, the flesh yielding completely. Her anal — the small, tight, dark ring of it, still faintly swollen from the previous session, recovered but not forgotten, the muscle memory of it carrying the specific, involuntary twitch of something that knew his cock and was already responding to proximity — was visible. Twitching. Small. Tight.
Her pussy dripping directly below it.
He pulled his cock through her — not entering, just dragging the length of him through the wet, through the blood, through the slick of everything her body was producing, coating himself thoroughly. The cockhead dark and heavy and trailing a thin thread from her lips when he pulled it back.
He pressed it against her anal.
She arched.
"M—Master— wait— it’s— NNNGHH~!!!"
He pushed.
The sound she made was not a word and not a scream and not a moan — it was the raw, involuntary, comprehensive sound a woman makes when something she wasn’t fully ready for decides it isn’t waiting.
Her anal spread around him.
The ring of it stretching, the skin pulling taut, her hips trying to move forward — blocked by his grip — the full, progressive invasion of the thick cockhead breaching her, opening her, the muscle yielding in the slow, forced, inevitable way muscle yields when something larger than it insists.
"AAAHHHNN~!!! NGH—NGH—IT HURTS—MASTER IT HURTS—"
"PAH!"
"KYAAANGHH~!!!"