bookandnovel Chapter 624 - 623- Does it even matter which colour Hole is?
Chapter 624 - 623- Does it even matter which colour Hole is?
Viktor’s voice.Evriana’s eyes opened.
"You know," he said, his voice warm, conversational, the voice of a man who was not done, "I always say your butthole is beautiful."
’Butthole.’
The word landed in Evriana’s mind like a stone in a pond. The particular, vulgar, common, un-princess-like word that she had never heard spoken aloud and that was now being spoken by her nephew about a woman’s anus.
"Please, Lord," Dara said. "Wait. It will hurt. I have just cleaned it."
Viktor twisted her.
His hands on Dara’s hips, rotating her body. Dara’s ass — the full, round, commoner ass that was softer and smaller than a bull-kin’s but still substantial — twisted. The tight, used rim of her anal was visible — the dark, almond-colored ring that had been fucked before and was about to be fucked again.
He spread her ass cheeks.
His hands on either side, pulling the flesh apart, the particular, shameless, clinical, displaying gesture of a man who was examining a woman’s asshole the way a jeweler examined a gem.
Dara covered her face.
"It’s embarrassing," she said.
Viktor chuckled.
His finger found her anal — the tip pressing against the tight, twitching rim, circling, probing.
"Now I’m going to fuck this place," he said. "Ah, my cock is already wet."
The wetness — the cum and the juice and the saliva that coated his shaft from the previous round — was more than enough lubrication. His cock, still half-hard, was hardening again. The particular, incubus-bloodline, supernatural, refractory-period-defying recovery that allowed him to fuck continuously.
"Please be gentle," Dara trembled. "It will hurt."
He did not give her a chance to speak.
He slammed.
PHACK!!
"AAAAAIIIIEEEE~~~!!!♡♡♡!!!"
Dara’s pussy — the cunt that had just been filled — squirted. The particular, violent, pressurized, involuntary ejection of fluid from a woman whose body was being penetrated anally and was responding by expelling everything from the other hole. The juices sprayed across the moss. Her hips lifted. Her mouth slammed against the ground.
She cried.
The particular, raw, full-volume, face-in-the-moss, screaming, crying, begging sound of a woman whose ass was being destroyed for the — how many times? — and whose body was producing the full, comprehensive, agonized response that the act demanded.
Evriana was shocked.
Her eyes went red. The particular, bloodshot, strain-from-wide-open, crying-and-not-blinking red of eyes that had been open too long and had seen too much. Her pupils trembled — the particular, rapid, involuntary, micro-movement of eyes that were processing information that the brain could not accept.
’But that’s where poop comes out,’ she thought.
The thought was genuine. Not a joke. Not a metaphor. The honest, horrified, clinical, biologically-accurate observation of a woman who had received sexual education and whose education had categorically not mentioned that a man could put his cock in the place where feces exited the body.
’You can put it there too?’
She was shocked. First time seeing anal.
Her hand — the one that had been in her pants — went to her own ass. The particular, involuntary, protective, covering gesture of a woman who had just learned that this was a thing that happened and was instinctively guarding the relevant orifice.
"I personally love fucking there," Viktor said. His voice carried across the water. "It is my favorite hole in every woman."
Evriana trembled.
Her hand pressed harder against her own ass. The particular, full-body, horrified, overwhelmed, ’what-have-I-learned-tonight’ trembling of a woman whose entire understanding of human sexuality had been demolished in the space of thirty minutes.
’Favorite? What?’ she thought.
’Favorite hole? He has a favorite? He prefers — the anal? The place where —’
She was overwhelmed.
The word ’overwhelmed’ was insufficient. She was — annihilated. The particular, total, comprehensive, paradigm-destroyed, world-upended, everything-I-knew-is-wrong state of a woman who had been told that sex was Tab A into Slot B and had just learned that there were multiple slots and that the man she wanted preferred the one she had not known existed.
’They are having sex in that place,’ she thought.
The disbelief was genuine. The particular, I-cannot-believe-this-is-real, this-must-be-a-dream, surely-the-world-does-not-work-this-way disbelief of a woman whose education had been so incomplete that the reality of human sexuality was landing on her like a meteor.
’Wait. Why is she moaning loudly?’
Dara was moaning.
Not screaming. Not crying. Moaning. The particular, full, warm, pleasure-filled, I-am-enjoying-this moan of a woman whose anal was being fucked and whose body was producing a response that was not pain.
"It feels so strange," Dara moaned. "You’re hitting me in the right places. So good."
’Right places?’ Evriana thought. ’There are right places? In the anal? It feels good?’
Her hand was still on her own ass. Pressing. Covering. But now — the pressing was different. The particular, curious, exploring, what-if pressure of a hand that was guarding an orifice and was now considering the possibility that the orifice might not need guarding.
’Should I try to insert my finger there?’
The thought was — she couldn’t believe she was thinking it. The particular, horrified, aroused, ashamed, curious, no-I-shouldn’t, but-maybe, ’what-if’ internal debate of a woman who was considering anal penetration on herself while watching her nephew perform it on a commoner.
’Maybe Viktor likes it,’ she thought.
The thought sealed it. The particular, devastating, bargaining, rationalizing logic of a woman who had decided that if Viktor liked something, she should try it, regardless of whether the thing in question was something she had previously considered impossible.
She trembled.
"Please come inside of my anal!" Dara yelled. "Please!"
The words — the particular, full-volume, shameless, begging, ’please-come-in-my-ass’ yell of a woman who had abandoned every pretense of dignity — hit Evriana like a slap.
He came.
The thick, hot, flooding release into Dara’s anal — the pulses pumping deep, the seed filling her bowels, the cum overflowing around his shaft, running down her thighs, dripping onto the moss.
He pulled out.
The wet, heavy, dripping withdrawal. His cock emerged slick with cum and the particular, unmistakable evidence of anal sex. The seed poured from Dara’s gaping anal, the thick, white fluid running down her crack, over her pussy, pooling on the ground.
Evriana looked.
Her eyes widening. Her lips parted. The particular, devastated, all-consuming, final-wall-crumbling expression of a woman who had watched everything — the oral, the vaginal, the anal, the kissing, the coming, the begging, the moaning, the stallion-volume ejaculation — and had processed it all and had arrived at the other side.
’I also want that,’ she thought.
The thought was not whispered. Not hesitant. Not the particular, guilty, never-spoken-of thought that she allowed herself on certain nights.
It was clear.
Loud.
The particular, undeniable, full-volume, no-more-hiding, no-more-pretending, ’I-want-this’ thought of a woman whose old guard was down. Whose armor was gone. Whose wall — the wall built of the word ’aunt’, the wall built of twenty years of ’I-should-not’, the wall built of hierarchy and propriety and the particular, noble, princess-shaped cage that she had lived in her entire life — had been broken.
Broken by Viktor.
By watching him.
By seeing him fuck a commoner and a commander and talk about fucking an aunt. By seeing him kiss and come and slam and bite and claim and use and own. By seeing the particular, devastating, comprehensive, no-boundaries, no-class, no-hierarchy, ’I-fuck-who-I-want’ way that Viktor Redwood approached women.
Her half-breed status — broken. The thing that had defined her since childhood, the thing that had made her ’less’, the thing that Miss Halga had thrown in her face in the training yard — did not matter to him. He fucked commoners. He fucked commanders. He fucked aunts.
He would fuck her.
’It does not matter,’ she thought.