strokinit Chapter 507 - 506- Impregnated the Aunt Eliantara
Chapter 507 - 506- Impregnated the Aunt Eliantara
Viktor’s cock hit somewhere that the Count had never reached.The deep, interior, ’this space did not previously exist on any map she had been given’ impact of a man who is simply longer, thicker, and considerably more invested in the result — the comprehensive depth that made her vision blur at the edges and her hands claw the carpet and her mouth produce sounds that had no language in them.
"MASTERR~!! SLOW~!! IT’S HITTING~!! INSIDE~!! SOMETHING IS~!!"
The trained word again.
She heard herself say it.
’Master.’
She had not decided to say it.
Her body had decided.
The incubus chemistry — an hour of it, soaked into her skin, swimming in her blood, reorganizing her body’s vocabulary with the patient, inevitable efficiency of something that does not need permission — had simply replaced the word she’d been reaching for with the word her body had been trained to produce.
She heard it come out of her own mouth and felt the ’I did not authorize this’ shame of it.
And then felt the ’why does the shame make it worse’ shame of the shame.
Her cunt clenched tighter around him for it.
PAH! PAH! PAH!
"AAANGHH~!! HNGH~!! PLEASE~!! Viktor~!! SLOW DOWN~!! I’M BEGGING~!!"
Rihana’s hips behind him, relentless. The ’cow-tribe woman adding her full bodyweight to every thrust’ momentum of Rihana pressing into Viktor’s back and humping forward in sync, her breasts flattened against his shoulder blades, her breath hot on his neck, her horns grazing his jaw.
"Master," she said again. For herself this time. Not instruction — the breathless, ’I am also here, I also want’ quality of a woman who has been adjacent to this for too long.
"I know," Viktor said.
He pulled Eliantra’s hair.
The full, working, back pull — her head coming up from the carpet, her neck arching, her face rising to the angle that faced the mirror.
Faced Elena.
Elena.
On the floor.
Sofia’s hand over her mouth. Sofia’s arms around her. Sofia’s bloody face pressed into her neck from behind, Sofia’s blazing horns warm against her skull.
Looking at the mirror.
At her mother.
At her mother’s face — forced up by the hair, facing the glass, facing Elena — the unbearable, involuntary expression of a woman who is being displayed and cannot stop it and whose eyes have gone somewhere complicated.
Not just pain.
Not just shame.
The third thing.
The thing that was worse than both, that Elena could see in her mother’s eyes and could not name and could not un-see and could not do anything about because Sofia’s hand was over her mouth and Sofia’s arms were locked and the mirror was right there.
"Elennnnaa~—" Her mother’s voice.
Her name.
Her mother saying her name in that broken, overwhelmed, not-in-control-of-my-own-voice way — the wrecked quality of a woman who is looking at her daughter while being taken from behind and is trying to communicate ’something’ and does not have access to the words for it.
Elena’s throat moved.
The involuntary swallow of a woman receiving something she has no container for.
"Mmmpphh—"
Against Sofia’s hand.
"MMMPPHH—"
Tears.
Running. Just — running. The ’I did not decide this but my face has’ tears of a woman whose fury has found the place where fury becomes something else.
PAH! PAH!
"HIIEEK~!! HNGH~!! TOO DEEP~!!"
The milk.
From her mother’s hanging breasts — both of them now, the continuous, thrust-timed spray of milk hitting the carpet in matching puddles, the ’her mother’s body producing milk while Viktor pounds her from behind’ reality that Elena’s brain kept trying to refuse and kept failing to.
Viktor looked at Elena.
His eyes over Eliantra’s arched back.
His hips not stopping.
The warm, patient, ’I see all of it’ purple eyes of a man who has arranged every element of this scene with the comprehensive intention of someone who knows exactly what he is doing to a family.
"She’s doing well," he said.
To Elena.
Conversationally.
As if they were discussing the weather.
"Your mother."
PAH!
"HIIEEK~!!"
"Very well."
Rihana reached under.
Her thick arm finding Eliantra’s hanging breast — the left one, the heavier one — and grabbing it, not gently, the working grab of a woman milking something that needs milking, her fingers closing around the base and pulling forward and down.
The milk came in a jet.
Hard. The ’pressure fully released’ spray of it — hitting the carpet three feet ahead of where Eliantra’s face was pointing.
"AAAHH~!!"
"Moo," Rihana said.
Softly.
Not cruelty — the Cow Tribe, ’this is simply what this body does and I am acknowledging it’ quality of someone who has made her peace with the nature of her bloodline and finds it neither shameful nor requiring decoration.
The second breast.
Same treatment.
The milk from both of them now, rhythmic, thrust-timed, hitting the floor in sync with Viktor’s hips meeting Eliantra’s ass.
PAH! PAH! PAH!
"MASTERR~!! TOO DEEP~!! YOU’RE HITTING MY WOMB~!! PLEASE~!! I CAN’T~!!"
Her ass clapping back.
The involuntary, ’body-has-taken-over’ push-back of hips that had received an hour of chemistry and had stopped waiting for instruction — meeting his thrusts, adding to them, the ’I am participating despite everything’ movement of a cunt that has made its own decision.
Eliantra felt it happen.
Felt her own hips moving.
"No—" she whispered.
To herself. Just to herself. The ’I am watching my own body do this’ horror of a woman whose motor functions have been partially reassigned.
"No, don’t—"
Her hips pushed back.
"—stop—"
PAH!
"AAANGHH~!! MASTERRR~!!"
Viktor felt the tightening.
The ’she’s close’ tightening of walls that have been building toward something for longer than she’s admitted.
He looked at the mirror.
At Elena’s face.
The tears. The muffled fury. The ’I cannot look away and I cannot look’ quality of someone trapped between two impossible things.
"Congratulations," he said.
His voice was warm.
Unhurried.
"Your mother."
PAH! PAH!
"HIIEEK~!! AAANGHH~!!"
"Is about to—"
He drove forward completely.
The full, final, balls-deep, hips-flat, no-space-remaining thrust —
Eliantra’s voice.
Not a scream. Not a cry. The ’total, body-level, I have run out of resistance’ sound of a woman crossing a threshold her body had been moving toward despite everything —
"MASTERRRRR~!!"
Her walls clamped.
The rhythmic, involuntary, ’I did not choose this but my body has’ pulsing of her cunt around him — the milk spraying from both nipples simultaneously in the ’orgasm-synchronized’ jets of a body doing everything at once, all at the same time, nothing held back.
Her arms gave.
Her chest hit the carpet.
Her ass stayed up — Rihana’s hands on her hips keeping it there — the completely surrendered position of a woman who has lost the argument with herself.
"Ohh~... ohh~... I can’t stop cumming...!" Her voice. Barely. The scraped, wrecked, ’I am somewhere I did not plan to be’ voice of Eliantra Westing at the end of an hour that had revised everything she understood about her own body.
Viktor looked at the mirror.
At Elena.
His cock still buried.
Still moving.
Slow, now. The ’I am not done but I am taking a moment’ slow of a man who has decided this moment is worth extending.
"She needed that," he said.
To Elena.
The warm, informational tone of someone sharing a genuine observation.
"It’s been a long time."
PAH.
"HNGH~..."
Her mother’s voice.
Low. The low, continuous, not-stopping sound of a woman whose orgasm has not actually finished and whose body has not received permission to stop.
Elena’s tears ran.
Sofia held her.
The mirror showed everything.
"A child to breastfeed when I am done sucking her tits."
[Throb. Throb.]
[System note: 3 Month Gestation Period Activated]