Chapter 419 - 418 - Goodbyes to Wives
The garden filled with the specific textured warmth of an enclosed space containing too much life and heat and motion and all of it pointed at one man.
His cock pulsed against Mira’s walls. His tail worked. Olivia’s mouth moved. Everyone was making some kind of sound.
Viktor looked at the garden ceiling — the trailing jasmine, Helena’s green, the morning light threading through it in gold columns.
"I know," he said, to no one and everyone, "it might sound rude."
Mira stopped moving.
Her green eyes found his immediately.
He continued, in the same observational tone he used for logistics and weather: "But you’re all—" He found the word. "—’Sluts.’ When it comes to keeping me aroused until my balls are completely empty."
The water went still.
Every pair of hands stopped.
Olivia lifted her head. Her golden eyes blinked once, twice, processing.
Elara’s tail uncurled from his wrist.
Bella’s hand, below the water, went very still.
Kaida turned her head slowly to look at him. Her crimson eyes had a specific flat quality that preceded bad decisions on his part.
Mira was looking at him the way she looked at things she was deciding to be offended by. The calculation was visible. She was measuring the distance between accurate and disrespectful. Her jaw set.
Helena’s hands on his back paused.
Then — without a word between them, without anything on the telepathic network Viktor could intercept, with the silent coordination of women who had decided something collectively and would not be explaining it — they began to move.
Away from him.
"’Wait.’"
He said it before he meant to.
Mira rose from his lap with the cool dignity of a woman who had made a decision and was executing it at a measured pace. The water sheeted off her thighs. Her rounded belly swayed slightly with the movement. She did not look at him.
"Mira."
She clicked her tongue, once.
Walked toward the pond’s edge.
Bella had already removed herself from his side with a swish of her tail that said, conclusively, that she was not sulking and was simply finding another location to be. Her cat ears were angled back. Her golden eyes were elsewhere.
Elara had pressed her lips together and was studying the water surface with great interest.
Olivia had folded her hands in her lap, head slightly bowed, blonde hair curtaining her face, which was performing neutrality with limited success.
Kaida had her back to him. Her shoulders were set.
Only Helena remained — her palms still warm on his back, her face still at his neck, her breath still even. He felt her press a single, small kiss to his shoulder. It was the specific kiss that said: ’you have done this to yourself and I love you and I’m still going to move now.’
She moved.
Viktor watched them reach the pond’s stone edge. One after another, six women arrived at the lip of the water. They were facing away from him. The morning light laid across the pale curves of their backs, the arc of their hips.
"’Wives.’" He kept his voice level. "’I didn’t mean—’"
"’We know what you meant,’" Mira said, pleasantly, to the stone.
"That was—"
"’Accurate,’" Kaida said. The word landed flat and deliberate. "’Wasn’t it.’"
"’That’s not—’"
"’Then,’" Mira said, and her voice had taken on the smooth particular quality it got when she was several steps ahead of a conversation, "’check.’"
She placed both hands on the stone ledge.
She raised her hips.
The motion was unhurried. Exact. Her wide hips lifted clear of the water’s surface, her lower back arching, and then her hand reached back and spread across one cheek of her ass, pulling, and what she revealed — her pussy, swollen and still flushed from the morning, the lips parted and glistening, and beside it the tight small ring of her other entrance, twitching — was presented to Viktor with the calm defiance of a woman who had decided that if she was going to be called a slut she would be a slut on her own terms.
On either side of her:
Helena’s hands went to the stone. Her enormous heavy breasts pressed the edge, the pale nipples dragging the warm rock, and her hips rose out of the water in the specific abundant way that Helena’s hips rose — with fullness, with weight, with the soft give of a body that had fed someone and carried someone and was now presenting itself like it knew exactly what it was worth. Her thumb hooked the cleft of her ass. The almond-tight pucker of her anal twitched once, gently, like something that had no idea what it was about to agree to.
Bella’s tail went straight up. She took her hands off the stone, reached back to part herself without any visible shame, her small catgirl body arched and her silver hair fallen forward, and she looked over her shoulder at Viktor with golden eyes that said: ’well?’
Kaida placed her hands on the edge without ceremony. Chin on the stone. Eyes closed. Her ass — firm, full, warrior-built — above the water, and her hand reached back and pulled one cheek aside with the expression of a woman who was offering this and would absolutely stab anyone who mentioned it later.
Elara, hands braced, pink hair waterfalling forward, her body bowed over the ledge, her early pregnancy curve tilted upward, her tail curved to one side — both entrances bare, the inner lips of her pussy already dark and flushed, everything still carrying the warm marks of the morning.
Olivia pressed both palms flat to the stone. Her enormous breasts crushed the ledge. Her thick hips rose. Her hands trembled slightly. Her blonde hair covered her face completely. But she arched. She arched and she held, and the pristine white she’d arrived carrying weeks ago was very thoroughly somewhere else now.
Vivian had pressed herself to the pond’s far side. Her golden eyes moved across the line of women — six women, all presenting, all waiting — with the expression of someone whose understanding of this household was expanding rapidly.
One after another, each woman’s voice came over her shoulder.
"’Then,’" Mira said.
"’Check,’" Bella said.
"’Who is the best slut,’" Elara whispered.
"’Among us,’" Kaida finished, flat and final.
"’Husband.’" Helena’s voice, last, warm and absolutely without irony.
Viktor looked at the line of them.
Six pairs of presented hips. Six arched backs. Six offered entrances — some twitching, some flushed, some already leaking the warmth of the morning’s prior work. The water around them had gone still. The garden was quiet except for birdsong and the slow humid pulse of Rusty’s glow brightening at the edge with the enthusiasm of a slime that had been waiting for exactly this.
Viktor’s cock had been filing opinions on this situation since the second woman reached the ledge.
He was, by every available measurement, extremely interested.
He stood.
The water sheeted off him as he rose, and the incubus mark on his lower abdomen pulsed once — that spade of purple-black light, the signature of his bloodline, vivid in the morning air. His tail uncoiled from its resting position. The tip flexed, slow.
"Then," Viktor said.
He walked through the water. The surface churned around his thighs with each step, sending small waves rolling toward the women at the edge, lapping at their raised hips, at the warm offered skin of them.
"I hope you all know," he said, arriving behind them, his hands spreading wide — finding Mira’s hip first, his left, then Helena’s on his right — and squeezing. Both women made sounds. Both sets of hips gave under his grip, the flesh compressing and releasing with the specific jiggle of bodies that had been claimed thoroughly enough that they responded now on contact.
"’Hngh~—’"
"’Young Mast—’"
His thumbs pressed into the soft inner curves where hip became ass. He felt the warmth of Helena’s skin against his left palm and the taut firmness of Mira’s against his right, and the difference between them — Helena’s yielding cushion and Mira’s calculated resistance — was the difference between two things he intended to spend the next unspecified number of minutes exploring.
"—how hard," Viktor finished, "sluts get fucked."
He grabbed his cock with his right hand. Pressed the thick head directly to the almond-ring of Helena’s anal.
The entrance twitched. Once, involuntarily, the way it always did on contact — like something recognizing a threat and not having the vocabulary to process it fast enough.
Helena’s fingers whitened on the stone.
"’Young Master—’" Her voice was very careful. Very steady. The voice of a woman attempting to maintain dignity in a position that had removed all preconditions for dignity. "’That— that ’hole’—’"
"’Mm.’"
"’That one— if you could perhaps— the ’other’—’"
Viktor’s tail, moving independently in the water beside them, found the entrance between Bella’s thighs and pressed in without announcement.
"’—EAAHNN~?!’"
He drove into Helena.
’PHACCK—’
"ANNNGHHHHHH!!!!"