Chapter 773 - 772 - A Commoner Lady in the Hands of a Sex Demon

Chapter 773: Chapter 772 - A Commoner Lady in the Hands of a Sex Demon

My cock drove into her — past the entrance, past the tight ring of muscle, straight through her cervix. The impact was immediate. Her body seized — her back arching, her wings snapping open, her fingers clawing the edge of the dustbin. Her pussy clamped down with crushing force.

|| He’s inside me — all the way — my womb — he’s in my womb —||

I could feel her thoughts through the bond. Panicked. Overwhelmed. Joyful.

Her tears fell. Fat drops hitting the wooden dustbin, splashing on the crates below. Her belly — slightly bloated, not pregnant but full-looking from the internal pressure — bulged visibly. My cock was ten inches. Her body was built for maybe five. The mathematics of what I’d just done was written on her flesh — the visible distortion beneath her skin, the shape of my cock visible through her lower abdomen.

"Oh my god," she gasped. "It hurts — it hurts so much —"

I pulled back. Her walls gripped me — sucking, reluctant, the flesh dragging along my shaft as if trying to hold me inside. I paused at the entrance. Just the head inside. The cool air hit the wet shaft.

"Should I stop?"

Her tail — intertwined with mine — tightened. Her wing reached back, grabbing the fabric of my vest — which I wasn’t wearing, but her hand found my forearm instead, her fingers digging in.

"No." Her voice was shaky. Defiant. "I am stronger than those human women. Fuck me harder."

I smiled.

And slammed.

Pah Pah PAH!

"OUNGH~!! HAAANGH~!! HIEEENGH~!!!"

I fucked her. Hard. Fast. Merciless. Each thrust drove her forward against the dustbin — the wooden structure creaking, shifting, scraping across the cobblestones. Her small body was light enough that each impact lifted her slightly off the ground. Her wings beat uselessly — fluttering, scattering pink feathers across the alley. Her tail, locked with mine, served as a handle, and I used it — pulling her back onto me with each stroke, meeting my thrusts with her own weight.

Pah Pah Pah Pah PAAAH!

"AAANGH~!! Master — OUNGH~!! — it’s — HAAANGH~!! — too deep — AH~!! — my belly — HIEEENGH~!! — I can feel it — OUNGH~!! — in my belly — AH~!!"

Her belly bulged with each thrust. Visible. The skin — pale, smooth — pushed outward with every stroke, the outline of my cock visible beneath her flesh. She looked down. Saw it. Her eyes went wide.

|| That’s — that’s his cock — I can see it — inside me — my body is —||

"Master — I can see it — HAAANGH~!! — it’s moving — OUNGH~!!"

Her tears fell freely. Her mouth was open, drool running down her chin. Her rose-quartz eyes were glassy, unfocused. I grabbed her hair — pink silk between my fingers — and pulled. Her head came back. Her neck exposed. I kissed her throat. Bit the tendon. She screamed.

Pah Pah Pah Pah Pah Pah PAAAH!

"YES — OUNGH~!! — harder — HAAANGH~!! — break me — AH~!! — Master — HIEEENGH~!! — I’m yours — AAANGH~!! — break me — OUNGH~!!"

Her pussy was a vice. The walls clenched and released in rapid, rhythmic pulses — each contraction timed to my thrusts, her body milking me with desperate, instinctive efficiency. The wet sounds were obscene — flesh on flesh, the squelch of her juices, the slap of my balls against her clit.

Then the door beside us opened.

The alley was narrow. The building beside the dustbin had a side entrance — a wooden door, plain, unremarkable — and it swung inward. A woman stepped out.

She was thick. That was the first thing I noticed. Not fat — thick. The kind of body that was built for comfort, for warmth, for softness. Wide hips, heavy thighs, a waist that flared dramatically from her chest. Her breasts were large — heavy, straining against the fabric of her blouse, the buttons threatening to surrender. She wore a simple dress — brown, practical, the kind worn by working women. Her hair was dark brown, pulled back in a bun. Her face was round, soft, pretty in an unassuming way. Her skin was a warm almond tone — healthy, smooth, the complexion of someone who worked indoors.

She carried a basket of dried herbs. She was humming.

She saw Mira and Helena first — two women standing at the alley entrance, their expressions composed, their postures relaxed. She opened her mouth to greet them.

Then she looked down.

She saw Elara — bent over the dustbin, pink hair disheveled, tears streaming, wings fluttering, being fucked by something she couldn’t see. Because I was invisible. My cock — pistoning in and out of Elara’s pussy, slick with juices — was visible to this woman only as Elara’s pussy stretching around nothing. Her belly bulging with no visible cause. Her screams echoing from an invisible source.

The herb basket hit the ground.

Dried lavender, sage, and unidentified roots scattered across the cobblestones. The woman’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened. Her eyes were wide — dinner-plate wide — fixed on the impossible scene in front of her.

"What —" Her voice came out as a whisper. "What is —"

Elara, mid-scream, turned her head. Saw the woman. Her face — tear-streaked, drooling, utterly destroyed — went crimson.

"N — no — HAAANGH~!! — don’t look — OUNGH~!! — please — AH~!!"

The thick woman couldn’t move. Her feet were rooted to the cobblestones. Her eyes were locked on Elara’s pussy — watching the lips stretch and contract, watching the juices drip, watching the belly bulge with each invisible thrust. Her hand went to her chest. Her breathing quickened.

I felt it through the bond. Not from Elara. From the air itself. The woman’s arousal — faint, confused, involuntary — spiked. My incubus pheromones were leaking. Even invisible, even not directed at her, the ambient aura of a sex scene involving an incubus affected everyone within range.

Mira snapped her fingers.

The woman’s eyes rolled back. Her knees buckled. She crumpled — a controlled collapse, her body folding gracefully as consciousness left her. Mira caught her with telekinesis before she hit the ground, lowering her gently.

I pulled out of Elara. My cock emerged with a wet, obscene sound — slick, throbbing, the head dark purple. Elara whimpered at the sudden emptiness, her pussy gaping, dripping.

I turned to Mira. "Don’t just shut someone’s brain down without giving them a better way to fall."

Mira raised an eyebrow. "She was screaming."

"She was confused. There’s a difference." I walked to the unconscious woman. Lifted her in my arms — she was heavier than Elara, her thick body solid and warm against my chest. Her head lolled against my shoulder. Her breath was slow, even. Her breasts pressed against my arm — soft, heavy, the warmth radiating through her blouse.

"Which room is hers?" I asked.

Helena pointed to the door she’d come out of. "This leads to the apothecary’s storage room. She works here."

I carried her through the door. The room was small — cluttered with shelves of dried herbs, bottles of tinctures, stacked crates of raw materials. A narrow cot sat against one wall — clearly where she rested during breaks. Beside it, a desk covered in ledgers and calculations.

I laid her on the cot. Gently. Her head settled on the thin pillow. Her body — thick, soft, unconscious — sprawled across the mattress. Her dress had ridden up during the fall, revealing her calves — full, shapely, the almond skin smooth. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath, heavy and round, the neckline of her blouse pulled tight.

I looked at her. Really looked.