bookandnovel Chapter 618 - 617- The Shock of an Aunt
Chapter 618 - 617- The Shock of an Aunt
The commander — Berenga — was not there.Evriana had sent Berenga to seduce Viktor. The plan was simple — Berenga was a virgin. Strong. Beautiful. Bull-kin. The kind of woman who could attract a man’s eye and hold it.
Evriana had hoped that Viktor — who she knew was traveling, who she knew was unattached, who she knew was the son of her sister and therefore her nephew and therefore someone she should not be thinking about in the way she was thinking about him — would respond to a woman’s attention.
She had told herself it was for his good.
He needed to learn the ways of women. He was eighteen. He was alone. He was traveling through a world that would eat him alive if he did not learn its rules.
A strong, beautiful, willing woman — a woman who could protect him, guide him, teach him — would be good for him.
That was what she told herself.
The truth was different.
The truth was that Evriana Ktorian — princess, sword, thirty-nine-year-old aunt — had been thinking about her nephew in a way that aunts should not think about nephews. The truth was that the boy who had blinked slowly and said ’one day I will marry you, Aunty’ had grown into a man whose face made her chest tight. The truth was that the word ’aunt’ had become a cage — a label that she wore like armor, protecting herself from the thing she felt, the thing she should not feel, the thing that lived in the dark, private, unexamined corners of her mind where she kept the memories of his hair between her fingers and his weight in her arms and the way he had said ’one day’ with the particular, stubborn, absolute certainty of a child who meant it.
She was an aunt.
She should not think these thoughts.
She stood.
The motion was automatic, restless, the movement of a woman whose mind was churning and whose body needed to move. She walked past the fires, past the tents, past the soldiers who bowed as she passed.
She told her knights to halt.
"I will walk," she said. "Alone."
They obeyed.
She walked toward the tree line.
Toward the forest. Toward the dark, quiet, tree-covered edge of the camp where the light did not reach and the sounds of the camp faded into the sounds of the night.
She heard them before she saw them.
The moans.
The particular, high, desperate, unmistakable sound of a woman in distress — or pleasure — or both. The sound carried through the trees, muffled by distance and foliage, but clear enough to identify.
Evriana’s feet slowed.
She approached the trees. Found a wide trunk. Pressed her back against it, her hand finding the bark, her breath held.
She looked.
Her eyes widened.
She gasped.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
The scene before her was —
Berenga was bent against a tree.
The commander — the strong, proud, bull-kin woman that Evriana had sent to seduce Viktor — was bent forward, her massive tits pressed against the bark, her thick ass presented, her hands gripping the trunk. Her armor was gone. Her clothing was gone. She was naked, her body marked with bites and bruises, her face wet with tears and drool.
Behind her — Viktor.
His hips moving with the rapid, mechanical, relentless rhythm of a man who was not making love. Not having sex. Fucking. The particular, animal, purpose-driven motion of a body that had one goal and was pursuing it with single-minded efficiency.
His cock —
Evriana’s eyes went wide.
She could see it. Each time his hips pulled back, the shaft emerged — thick, veined, dark, the head swollen and crimson, glistening with blood and fluid. The full, impossible, twelve-inch length of it, the particular, devastating, anatomy-defying proportions that the Redwood bloodline apparently produced.
The crimson head pressed against Berenga’s asshole.
"No!" Berenga screamed. "Not that hole! It will hurt!"
She was begging.
The strong, proud, bull-kin commander — the woman who could bench-press a horse, who had commanded soldiers, who had never been penetrated — was begging a man to stop, to slow, to choose the other hole, to have mercy.
He slammed.
PAH!
"AAAAAIIIIEEEE~~~!!!"
The scream tore through the forest. The full, raw, throat-destroying scream of a woman whose ass had just been penetrated by a twelve-inch cock and whose body was informing her, in the loudest possible voice, that this was not what it was designed for.
He grabbed her hands.
Pinned them behind her back. Held them with one hand — the casual, one-grip, effortless control of a man whose strength was not advertised but was absolute. He fucked her with the other hand on her hip, pulling her back onto him, the wet, heavy, meaty sound of flesh on flesh filling the clearing.
PAH PAH PAAH!
"AAAAAHHH~!! STOP~!! PLEASE~!! SLOW~!!♡"
Evriana’s internal thoughts collapsed.
’Is this sex?’
The question was genuine. Not rhetorical. Not ironic. The genuine, horrified, fascinated, overwhelmed question of a thirty-nine-year-old woman who had never — not once, not ever — witnessed the act and was now seeing it performed with a brutality and a scale that her imagination had never approached.
’This is what happens? This is what men do to women? This is — his cock is — that is inside her — he is — she is — the sound — the blood — the—’
Her eyes trembled.
Vigorously. The particular, uncontrollable, full-ocular trembling of eyes that were seeing something the brain could not process.
Then she saw the tail.
Viktor’s back — the lean, pale, defined back that she had held as a baby, that she had taught to hold a sword, that she had watched grow from the soft, small back of a child into the hard, muscled back of a man — had something on it.
A tail.
The thick, dark, articulated, demonic appendage curled behind him, moving with the patient, sinuous, independent intelligence of something that was part of him and hungry. It descended. Found Berenga’s pussy — the wet, swollen, hairy, blood-streaked cunt that was being ignored while his cock destroyed her ass.
The tail entered her.
"AAAAAHHH~!!♡♡♡!!!"
Berenga’s expression — the rolled eyes, the hanging tongue, the open mouth, the tears, the drool, the particular, vacant, utterly destroyed quality of a face that had been fucked past its capacity — was the most vulgar, filthy, undignified, degraded thing Evriana had ever seen.
Her stomach sank.
Not with disgust.
With recognition.
She recognized that expression. Not from experience — she had no experience. From imagination. From the dark, private, unexamined corners of her mind where she had, on certain nights, in certain moods, with certain thoughts about a certain nephew, imagined what that expression might look like on her own face.
’No,’ she thought. ’No. Stop. He is your nephew. You are his aunt. You held him as a baby. You taught him to walk. You—’
Viktor spoke.
"Let me stuff your belly with my baby," he said.
His voice was calm. Conversational. The voice of a man discussing logistics while committing an atrocity.
"Wouldn’t that be good?" he continued. "After getting you pregnant — I would satisfy the desire of that princess of yours by fucking her harder than this."
Berenga moaned.
The sound was not a scream. Not a protest. The particular, defeated, surrendered, involuntary moan of a woman whose body had been broken and was now, against her will, producing the sounds of pleasure.
He fucked her harder.
PAH PAH PAAH PHACK!!
"AAAAAHHH~!!♡♡!! NGH~!! HAAIYAANGH~!!"
"And once I’m done with you," Viktor said, his voice dropping, becoming warmer, more intimate, the voice of a man sharing a secret, "I’m going to fuck that Evriana. Just like I fucked Aunt Celestia."
The name landed.
’Celestia.’
Evriana’s body went rigid. Her back pressed against the tree, her fingers digging into the bark, her nails scraping the wood. Her eyes — the amber eyes that she had inherited from the Ktorian bloodline — went wide.
’Celes—!.’
’Celestia had sex with him—!!??’