Chapter 671 - 670- Viktor’s Eyeing a Maid... what a bastard...

Chapter 671: Chapter 670- Viktor’s Eyeing a Maid... what a bastard...

"You can have her in your way, husband," Mira said. Her voice was warm. Loving. The tone of a wife handing her husband a gift — not a sex slave, not a heavenly demon, but a ’present.’ Wrapped in chains and delivered with a kiss.

Viktor took the leash. His fingers wrapped around the chain. He gave it a small tug — testing. Nora’s body jerked. The collar pulled her head forward. Her neck arched. A small, strangled sound escaped her throat.

He chuckled.

"Aren’t you a pervert?" he said. The words were directed at Mira. The tone was warm. Appreciative. The tone of a man who had just been handed a heavenly demon on a leash by his naked wife and was genuinely impressed by the gesture.

Mira kissed his back. Her lips found the space between his shoulder blades — the skin warm, damp with sweat, tasting of salt and sex. She pressed her body against his. Her tits — the heavy, milk-filled mounds — flattened against his back. Her belly — the post-birth softness — pressed against his lower back. Her arms found his waist again.

"Snuggling like a romantic wife," she murmured against his skin. Her lips moved as she spoke, leaving wet trails. "Anything for you, husband."

Then she paused. Her green eyes — looking past his shoulder, at Helena’s limp, fucked-stupid body on the bed — narrowed slightly.

"But why haven’t you taken out the child from Helena now?" she asked. Her voice carried a flicker of suspicion. The perverted MILF calculating. "Do you like her body that much?"

Viktor laughed. The sound rumbled through his chest, through Mira’s body pressed against him.

"I have sensed a demon summoning," he said. His voice was casual. Explanatory. The tone of a man discussing strategy, not sex. "So I thought — wouldn’t it be better to fuck a few more women, get more powers, and make Helena a bit stronger than you?"

He turned. His body rotated in Mira’s arms. He faced her now — her naked body pressed against his front, her tits against his chest, her green eyes looking up at him. Blank. Waiting.

He looked down at her. His hands found her hips. Then moved. Down. Over the curve of her ass. His palms cupped the thick, heavy cheeks. His fingers dug into the soft flesh — the same flesh he had fucked minutes ago, the same flesh that had been pressed against the mirror while he destroyed her.

He squeezed. Groped. His fingers sank into the pale, thick ass flesh, the deforming under his grip.

"Because, you see—" He leaned down. His mouth found her ear. His breath was hot. His voice dropped. Low. Private. The whisper of a man telling his wife a secret.

"I know you are going to bully my other wives, baby." His teeth found her earlobe. He bit. Not gentle. The sharp, sudden, ’I-am-marking-you’ bite that sent a jolt of electricity through her body. "If you become too strong."

The bite hit.

Not just the physical sensation — not just the pain of teeth on cartilage. The incubus energy behind it. The 100x-multiplied pheromone that his saliva carried, that his touch transmitted, that every point of contact between his body and hers radiated. The energy entered through the bite — through the broken skin, through the nerve endings in her earlobe — and traveled.

Down her neck. Down her spine. Through her belly. Into her cunt.

Mira came.

Her body flinched. Her eyes went wide. Her mouth opened. No sound — the orgasm was too sudden, too intense, too ’there’ for her vocal cords to respond. Her pussy — the shaved, puffy, post-birth slit — clenched on nothing. And squirted.

The fluid hit his thigh. Warm. Clear. Thin. The stream lasted two seconds — a short, sharp, ’I-didn’t-see-that-coming’ burst that ran down her inner thigh and pooled at her feet.

"Haah—♡" The sound that escaped her was not a moan. Not a scream. A gasp. The sound of a woman who had been ambushed by her own orgasm.

Her arms tightened around him. Her face buried in his chest. Her body trembled — small, rapid, the aftershocks of the bite-induced climax.

"Yes," she gasped against his skin. "Indeed."

Then, quieter. Softer. The voice of the perverted MILF buried beneath the goddess.

"I cannot bear when these idiots cannot serve you properly."

Viktor laughed again. The sound was warm. Genuine. The laugh of a man who loved his wife — all of his wives — in their own particular, perverted, broken ways.

On the bed, Helena watched. Her brown eyes — still half-rolled, still glazed from the anal destruction — tracked the exchange. The perverted attitude directed at Mira. The bite. The orgasm. The gasp. The ’I-cannot-bear-when-these-idiots-cannot-serve-you-properly.’

’She’s...’ Helena thought. Her internal voice was tired. Exhausted. But present. ’She’s handling an entire army. She’s commanding a heavenly demon. She’s walking around naked with the power of a god. And the moment he touches her, she becomes...’

’A cock-addicted slut.’

Helena sighed. The maternal woman — the nanny, the first wife, the woman who had raised him — closed her eyes. Her body sank into the soaked mattress. The sheets were ruined. The pillows were ruined. She was ruined.

But the sound that came from the bathroom — when it came — would be worse.

Viktor walked toward the bathroom.

The leash in his hand pulled taut. Nora — still chained, still collared — was dragged. Not walking. Dragged. Her knees scraped across the stone floor. Her hands — tied behind her back — couldn’t catch her. Her legs — chained at the ankles — couldn’t push her up. She slid. Like a dog. Across the floor of the lord’s chambers, through the doorway, into the bathroom.

"Stop, you bastard!" she screamed. The magic circle had faded — Mira had dismissed it when she handed the leash to Viktor. The demoness’s voice was back. Full volume. Full rage. "STOP! I am a heavenly demon! You cannot—"

Viktor tugged the leash. Her body jerked forward. Her chin hit the bathroom tile.

"I can," he said. Simply. Without turning around.

Behind them, Clara followed.

The young maid — nineteen, three days past her birthday, her hands still shaking from what she had witnessed — moved. Not because she was ordered. Because she was drawn. Her eyes were on his back. On the muscles shifting beneath the pale skin. On the tail swaying behind him. On the leash in his hand, the chain connecting to the collar around the demoness’s neck.

Her body was responding. The pheromones — saturating the air, the incubus energy that filled every corner of the manor — had been working on her since she entered the room. Her pussy was wet. Had been wet since she watched him fuck Helena. Had been wetter since she watched him chain Nora. The fabric of her undergarment was soaked. The moisture was visible on her inner thighs, the thin sheen of arousal that her body produced without her permission.

Viktor looked over his shoulder. At Clara. At the young maid following him into the bathroom.

He smirked.

The expression was small. Knowing. The ’I-know-what-you-want-and-I-can-give-it-to-you’ smirk of a man who had been reading women’s desires since his incubus bloodline awakened. He could smell her. The arousal. The virgin arousal — thin, sweet, tinged with the nervousness of a body that had never been touched.

He nodded. A small dip of his chin. As if saying: ’follow me.’