Chapter 439 - 438- Don’t Look at Me
Her face — his eyes found it in the moonlight.
The ’igo’ expression. That completely-gone face. Eyes rolled and glistening, mouth open and wet, tears and saliva both, cheeks flushed dark — not the face of a woman experiencing pleasure. The face of a woman whose body had been ’ridden past its own definitions’ and simply stopped making decisions about whether this was pain or ecstasy.
Both. It was both.
And she was ’leaking everywhere.’
Viktor leaned down without breaking rhythm, mouth finding her breast, and ’sucked’.
Hard. The way a starving man drinks. Lips locked around the dark nipple, tongue flat against it, pulling deliberately until a thin, warm, sweet stream of her milk flooded his mouth, and he swallowed it without ceremony like it was his due.
’He’s drinking me—’
She came.
Not announced. Not built to. Just ’came’, violently and suddenly, her walls locking down around both his cock and his tail simultaneously, a gush of slick warmth flooding out around him and spattering his thighs as she shook.
PAAAH!
"AAAAHHHH~!!! C-CUMMING~!!! MASTER I’M—AAANGHH~!!!"
He didn’t stop.
He kissed her.
Mouth on her mouth, cock still driving, tail still churning, both hands on her heavy breasts now — and he kissed her with the same brutal possessiveness he’d fucked her with, tongue invading, tasting his own milk-wet lips against hers, swallowing her moan directly out of her throat.
She tried to speak against his mouth. Tried to say his name, or master, or stop, or ’more’ — it all came out as a ruined, muffled, continuous "’Nngh~mmph~hahh~’" that he drank down like the rest of her.
His climax arrived like a system override.
Not a sensation that built — a ’command’ issued from whatever he was becoming. Every muscle in his body locked. His hips drove up one final, devastating time, burying every inch of cock and forcing his tail to the root simultaneously —
PAAAH!
— and then he ’bit her’.
Both nipples.
Simultaneously. One hand forcing each breast up to his mouth, teeth closing over each dark tip at once — not gently, not carefully — ’pulling them both’, stretching them outward as he began to come ’inside her womb.’
"AAAHHHHHH~!!! HIIEEEKKK~!!! AAAANGHH~!!!"
The cry tore out of her at a register that wasn’t entirely human. Horns caught the moonlight. Hands scrabbled at his shoulders and found no purchase.
Her womb filled.
Then ’overfilled.’
His release didn’t stop at one pulse — it kept coming, wave after wave of scalding, thick demonic seed pumped directly against her cervix, spilling out around the seal of his cock and running down her inner thighs in slow, obscene rivers.
He ’pushed’ through his own climax. Hips still moving. Cock still driving. Forcing every last drop ’deeper’, his body refusing the concept of stopping as long as there was seed left to give.
Then the purple light happened.
Not around them. ’Through’ him.
It erupted from his skin — every inch of it — violet and crackling, threads of demonic luminescence running under his flesh like lit veins, pouring from his eyes in solid beams of cold purple fire, illuminating the pond, the trees, the whole dark clearing in a bruised, otherworldly glow.
Rihana’s eyes, wide and ruined and streaming, caught the light.
She stared at him.
She looked ’possessed.’
So did he.
His hips kept moving. Through the light. Through the evolution pulse. Through the system screaming upgrades into his skull.
He looked down at her — womb-bred, double-stuffed, milked, marked, completely broken and soaking on his cock with tears drying on her cheeks — and his mouth curved.
"Fuck."
One more thrust.
PHAACKK!
"What a bitch."
Gwen had made a mistake.
She knew it the moment her sandal caught a root and she stumbled forward into the treeline, catching herself on a low branch with both hands — heart slamming so hard against her ribs she was genuinely afraid he would ’hear it.’
But Viktor wasn’t listening for her.
Viktor was busy.
She’d followed him. She couldn’t even give herself a noble reason for it — no safety concern, no strategic purpose. She’d simply watched him disappear into the dark tree-line after they feel asleep, and something in her chest had pulled, and her legs had moved before her brain had any say in the matter.
Now she crouched behind the wide trunk of an ancient oak, bark rough under her fingertips, and stared.
’He’s... he actually...’
The thought didn’t finish.
Her mouth was open. Had been open for what felt like several minutes. Her ears — long, elegantly pointed ears that could hear a leaf turn three trees over — were receiving every single sound coming off that pond, cataloguing it with a precision she desperately wished they didn’t have.
The ’slap’ of wet flesh. The obscene, rhythmic crash of water. And that woman’s voice — that ’ruined’, completely broken voice — screaming sounds that Gwen’s sheltered, inexperienced body had absolutely no framework for.
She pressed her hand over her mouth harder.
Her eyes tracked downward. She didn’t mean to look there. Her eyes simply went, of their own treacherous volition, to the point where Viktor’s body met the thick, trembling woman in the water — where something dark and impossible was ’driving in and out’ with a force that shouldn’t have been survivable — and her knees hit the ground before she noticed they’d moved.
’That’s what it looks like—’
She had never seen a man’s cock before. Not in use. Not like ’that.’ Her education on the subject was theoretical at best, secondhand whispers behind her mother’s back in Millbrook, half-understood implications in the books she’d read by candlelight with her heart rate climbing.
This was not theoretical.
The purple light was the thing that cracked her composure completely open.
It erupted through Viktor’s skin like he’d swallowed a star — violet and crackling and ’alive’, running under his flesh in rivers of cold fire — and his eyes, when they opened, were not human eyes.
Not even a little.
They were solid burning purple, and they stared ’through’ the darkness with the flat, satisfied glow of something that had stopped pretending to be a man several minutes ago.
’That’s what he is.’
Not the Viktor who’d teased her on the road. Not the Viktor who’d helped her and her mother out of Millbrook with that infuriatingly calm expression on his face. Not the Viktor who’d argued with her about rations and told her she was too young to understand certain things.
’This’ Viktor had a woman spitted on his cock in a forest pond at midnight, tail buried in her ass, and was biting both her nipples simultaneously while flooding her womb with something that glowed faintly purple in the moonlit water.
Gwen’s thighs were pressed together so hard she was shaking.
It didn’t help.
Nothing helped.
Because the ’air’ — she noticed it then, only then, after the purple light erupted — the air around the pond was ’wrong.’ Sweet and dense and thick with something that coated the back of her throat like warm honey soaked in something much darker. Every breath she took pulled it deeper into her lungs, and every breath out left her ’less’ of herself than she’d been a second ago.
Her body was responding to it completely without her permission.
The dampness between her thighs — she’d been trying not to think about it, telling herself it was sweat, telling herself it was the humidity of the night air — was unmistakable now.
Her panties were soaked through.
She could ’feel’ it against her inner thighs, warm and obscenely present, and the thin fabric of her skirt clung to the back of her knees as she crouched, and she pressed her palm flat against the ground to steady herself and felt her whole forearm trembling instead.
’Don’t look. Stop looking.’