Chapter 673 - 672- Mira is Total Awesome!!

Chapter 673: Chapter 672- Mira is Total Awesome!!

Her tits were empty — the milk drained by Viktor’s mouth. Her cervix was bruised — not broken, thanks to the panty, but tender. She needed rest. She needed sleep. She needed—

SLAP.

The sound came from the bathroom.

Loud. Sharp. The sound of an open palm hitting flesh. Wet flesh. Thick flesh.

"AAAAHH—!!"

Nora’s scream. High. Broken. The sound of a heavenly demon being spanked.

SLAP.

"AAAAHH—!! STOP—!!"

SLAP.

"AAAHH—!! YOU BASTARD—!!"

Helena’s eyes opened. Her brown eyes — still glazed — found the bathroom door. The sounds continued. The slapping. The screaming. The muffled, wet, ’I-am-being-punished’ sounds that came through the wooden door.

Helena’s lips curled.

"Husband is harder on her," she murmured.

She closed her eyes. The sounds continued. She let them wash over her — the familiar, almost-soothing soundtrack of her husband breaking another woman — and drifted toward sleep.

Inside the bathroom, Nora was destroyed.

The demoness lay on the edge of the bathing pool — the large, stone-lined basin that served as the lord’s bath. Her body was bent over the rim. Her face pressed against the cold stone. Her ass — raised, presented, the thick, pale cheeks exposed — was in the air.

Her hands were tied. Not behind her back — above her head, the chains from the collar’s binding extending to the pool’s stone rim, anchored to the iron rings set into the wall. Her legs were chained too — spread apart, the iron links attached to rings on either side, her ankles pulled wide, her thighs forced open.

The position was absolute. No movement. No escape. No resistance. Her ass was spread. Her pussy — barely covered by the strip of dark fabric that passed for her war dress — was exposed. The thin material was pulled tight between her thighs, the outline of her slit visible through the fabric.

Her entire body trembled. The chains rattled softly with each tremor.

Viktor stood behind her. His hand — open, palm flat — hovered over her right ass cheek.

SLAP.

"AAAAHH—!!"

The impact was hard. The thick, demon-pale flesh deformed under his hand — the cheek rippling, the skin turning from white to pink to red in the shape of his palm. The sound was sharp. Wet. The sound of flesh on flesh, amplified by the stone walls of the bathroom.

"Stop, you bastard!" Nora screamed. Her crimson eyes were wet. Tears — the first tears she had shed in three thousand years — ran down her cheeks. "If you dare—"

SLAP.

"AAAAHH—!!"

He didn’t let her finish. The second slap hit the same cheek — harder. The pink deepened to red. The flesh stung. The demon-kin nerve endings — more sensitive than human ones, designed to register threats at a finer resolution — transmitted every detail of the impact.

"Shut up," Viktor said. His voice was calm. Conversational. The tone of a man giving instruction, not punishment. "Let me just see it."

His hand found her panty — the strip of dark fabric between her thighs. He pinched the material. Pulled. The fabric stretched — pulling tight against her pussy, the pressure compressing the swollen lips beneath. He pulled harder. The fabric snapped back.

SLAP.

The panty — pulled taut and released — slapped her pussy. The impact was sharp. Direct. The thin fabric transmitting the force directly to the sensitive, swollen flesh of her cunt. The lips compressed. The clit — hidden beneath its hood — absorbed the shock.

"AAAAAHH—!!♡!!"

Nora’s scream changed. The pitch shifted. Higher. The ’this-is-not-just-pain’ sound that a body makes when a strike lands on genital tissue and the nerve endings respond with a confusing, ’I-don’t-know-what-this-is’ signal that is neither pain nor pleasure but something in between.

Her thighs clenched. Her pussy throbbed. The fabric was wet — not from the slap, but from her. The arousal — forced, unwanted, the demon-kin biology responding to the incubus pheromones that saturated the bathroom — had soaked through the thin material.

Viktor turned.

His eyes found Clara.

The young maid stood by the bathroom wall. Her hands were clasped in front of her. Her eyes were down. Her cheeks were crimson — the blush running from her hairline to her collar. She had watched. Watched him spank the demoness. Watched the flesh redden. Watched the panty slap. Watched the heavenly demon scream.

Her own pussy was throbbing.

"What’s your name?" Viktor asked.

The question was simple. Direct. The tone of a lord addressing a servant. Not threatening. Not seductive. Just — asking.

"Cl-Clara, Lord," she said. Her voice was small. Nervous. The voice of a nineteen-year-old virgin addressing a man whose cock she had been staring at for the past hour.

"I see," Viktor said. "Remove it."

Clara blinked. The instruction was clear. Not ambiguous. Not coded. ’Remove it.’ Her dress. Her uniform. The maid’s outfit that covered her body.

Her hands moved. Trembling. The fingers found the buttons of her dress — the small, white buttons that ran down the front. She worked them. One. Two. Three. The fabric loosened. The neckline opened. Her collarbone emerged — pale, thin, the skin of a young woman who had spent her life working.

She pushed the dress off her shoulders. The fabric fell. Pooled at her feet. She stood in her undergarment — simple, white cotton. The bra — basic, functional, the cups holding her small, handful-sized breasts. The panty — white cotton, the fabric slightly damp at the crotch, the dark hair of her pubic mound visible through the thin material.

Nora’s head turned. The demoness — chained, spanked, trembling — looked at the maid. At the young woman undressing in front of the man who had just been punishing her.

"Is he forcing himself on you?!" Nora screamed. The rage — genuine, protective, the ’no-one-should-be-forced’ indignation of a woman who had been forced herself — surged through the pain and the humiliation. "YOU BASTARD! What are you doing?!"

Clara looked at Nora. At the chained, bleeding, spanked demoness. At the crimson eyes burning with protective fury.

"No, Lord," Clara said. Her voice was quiet. Steady. The voice of a woman who had made a decision. "It’s not forcing. I just want to bear his child."

Nora’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

The confusion was absolute. Total. The ’what-did-she-just-say’ confusion of a heavenly demon who had expected fear, resistance, tears — and had gotten ’I want to bear his child’ instead.

"Why?" Nora whispered. "Why would you want to get fucked by this bastard? He’s perverted and—"

Clara batted her lips. The gesture was small. Unconscious. The ’I-am-thinking-about-his-lips’ gesture of a young woman whose mind was already made up.

"Because he has changed the town," Clara said. Her voice was warm. The warmth of genuine gratitude. "My mother is able to get a job. Before — before Lord Viktor came — we had nothing. My father took debt. The collectors came. They took our home. We lived on the street."

Her bra fell. Her breasts — small, handful, the pink nipples stiff from the cold air and the arousal — were exposed. Young. Firm. The dark areolas small. The nipples — unstimulated, virgin — were tight, pink, pointing forward.

"Lady Mira paid the debt," Clara continued. Her voice cracked on ’Mira.’ Not Viktor. Mira. The woman who had saved her family. "Lady Mira saved me. Paying the debt which my father took."

Viktor observed. His eyes moved from Clara’s face to her body. From her body to Mira’s absence. He laughed. The sound was soft. Knowing.

Because he knew.

Mira couldn’t do anything without interest. Without calculation. Without the ’what-do-I-gain’ computation that governed every decision she made. She had saved Clara’s family — paid the debt, lifted the burden — because Clara was beautiful. Young. Fresh. The kind of girl that Mira knew Viktor would want.

The perverted MILF had been scouting. Planning. Building a harem for her husband while managing a town and carrying a child.

’That’s my wife,’ Viktor thought. The amusement was genuine.

’What a pervert...’