Chapter 808 - 807- Taking the Duo

Chapter 808: Chapter 807- Taking the Duo

Vespera’s head tilted. The blindfold — still tied, the black cloth covering her eyes — shifted. She frowned. The academic reflex — the need to organize information, to present it clearly, to structure her knowledge — fired despite the circumstances. Despite the nakedness. Despite the magic circle glowing beneath her. Despite the lingering warmth of the ceremony.

"Class A," she started. Her voice was measured. Clipped. The lecture-hall voice, the one she used when addressing two hundred students who hadn’t done the reading. "The senior class. The top cohort. There are four — well, five, if you count the transfer — students who consistently rank at the top."

She held up her hand. Her fingers — ink-stained, slender — extended one by one as she counted. The gesture was unconscious. The habit of a professor.

"First is Crown Prince Leo." Her index finger. "He enrolled three years ago. Combat-focused, but his theoretical work is... adequate. Not exceptional. Adequate." The slight pause before adequate told me everything about her opinion of royalty in academia.

"Second is a fairy race student." Her middle finger. "Linel. She’s — well, she’s part of the Seelie Court lineage. Her mana control is extraordinary. The best I’ve ever seen in a student. But her theoretical foundation is weak. She relies on instinct rather than understanding."

She paused. Her brow furrowed beneath the blindfold. I watched her face — the way her lips moved as she accessed the mental filing cabinet, the way her jaw tightened when she considered each student’s weaknesses.

"Third is another woman. Marcus — no, Marin. Marin Ashford. She’s a noble from the eastern territories. Specializes in barrier magic. Very talented. Very stubborn. She challenged my interpretation of the Voss theorem last semester." A small, grudging smile. "She was right. I corrected it."

"Fourth is Sofia." Ring finger. "Sofia Pendragon. Not related to the royal family, despite the name. She’s a commoner — the first commoner to enter Class A in fifteen years. Her mana reserves are... frankly, they shouldn’t exist. She has more raw power than students from magical bloodlines. We don’t know why." The professor’s confusion — the frustration of a scientist encountering an anomaly — was audible.

"And fifth — Elena Heartfield." Her pinky extended. "Elena is... interesting. She’s a late enrollment. Transferred from the Varian Institute last year. Her specialization is—" She paused. "Actually, her specialization is unclear. She tests well in everything. Master of none, but expert in all. If that makes sense."

"It does," I said.

"There are a few more girls in the class — but those five are the ones who matter. The ones who will shape the kingdom’s magical landscape in the next decade." She held up her hand, the five fingers spread. "Why do you ask?"

I didn’t answer. Because I wasn’t listening anymore.

While she talked — while she counted names on her fingers, while she organized her students into neat academic categories — I had moved. Slowly. Quietly. My body — lean, silent, the muscles controlled — shifted downward. I leaned. Seated myself on the floor beside the mother-in-law.

The mother lay on the magic circle. Her blindfold — the white cloth — still tied. Her breathing was slow. Even. The post-orgasmic calm of a woman whose body had been pushed to its limits and was now floating in the warm haze of afterglow.

My hand found her blindfold. My fingers curled beneath the fabric. I lifted.

Her eyes opened.

Her face — younger, smoother, the skin luminous from the absorbed seed — was inches from my cock. The head — dark, swollen, leaking pre-cum — hung before her. The scent — musky, heavy, the concentrated pheromones of an incubus in full arousal — filled her nostrils.

Her eyes widened.

She looked at me. At my cock. At me. Her mouth opened — to speak, to protest, to whisper — and I pushed. My cock head pressed against her lips. The contact was warm. Wet. Her mouth — that prim, proper mouth — opened reflexively, the muscle memory of hours of face-fucking taking over.

I pushed deeper. The head slid past her lips, past her teeth, onto her tongue. Her eyes — wide, terrified — darted sideways. Toward Vespera. Toward her daughter, who sat three feet away, blindfolded, counting names on her fingers, completely unaware that her husband’s cock was in her mother’s mouth.

"Mmrf—!!" The mother’s hands came up. Pushed against my thighs. Her fingers — soft, desperate — dug into my muscles. She tried to push me away. Tried to turn her head. Tried to break free.

Her hands — pushing, sliding, fighting — found my balls. Her fingers wrapped around the sack. Gripped. The pressure — involuntary, the desperate clutch of a woman trying to push a man away — had the opposite effect. My cock hardened. The shaft thickened. The head pushed deeper into her mouth.

I grabbed the back of her head. My fingers tangled in her hair — the silver-streaked brown strands wrapping around my fist. I held her. Firm. Not cruel. Firm.

I pushed her down.

My cock slid into her mouth — past the tongue, past the ridge, into the throat. The passage — warm, wet, tight — gripped me. She gagged. The sound — guttural, wet, the involuntary contraction of her throat — squeezed the head beautifully.

I laid down. On my side. On the magic circle, the glowing symbols beneath us. The position — sixty-nine, my cock in her mouth, my face at her pussy — was deliberate. Strategic.

Her pussy — hairy, wet, the lips swollen — was inches from my face. The scent — sweet, musky, the concentrated arousal of a woman whose body had been conditioned to respond to me — filled my lungs. I spread her thighs. My hands found her ass — thick, soft, the cheeks heavy in my palms. I pulled them apart.

Her anal — still slightly gaping, still red from the hours of use — and her pussy — wet, open, the inner lips visible — were exposed. I leaned forward. My tongue found her clit.

"MMMRF—!!" Her scream — muffled, choked, the sound trapped behind my cock — vibrated through my shaft. Her body jerked. Her hips bucked. Her thighs clamped around my head — the soft flesh pressing against my ears, the warmth enveloping me.

I sucked. Hard. Her clit — swollen, sensitive, the nerve endings firing — was between my lips. I pulled. The flesh stretched. Her back arched. Her hands — which had been pushing against my thighs — went to my head. Gripping. Pulling me closer.

I ate her pussy. My tongue — broad, wet, skilled — explored every fold. The inner lips — thin, delicate, the skin translucent. The entrance — wet, hot, the muscles clenching. The walls — soft, ridged, the texture of arousal. I licked. Sucked. Fucked her with my tongue — pushing inside, curling, finding the spot that made her hips buck.

Pah. Pah. Pah.

The sound — wet, rhythmic — was my tongue thrusting into her pussy. Each thrust matched by a muffled moan from her throat. The vibration — the sound traveling through my cock, the resonance building — was incredible.

"GLLMMPH—!! GLLM—!! HMMMPPH—!!"

Her tears fell. Running from the corners of her eyes, down her temples, into her silver-streaked hair. Her nose ran. The mucus mixed with the saliva, the fluids dripping down my shaft, pooling at the base.

She was choking. My cock — seven inches deep, the head in her throat — blocked her airway. Her body fought — the gag reflex firing, the throat convulsing, the lungs demanding air.

I didn’t stop. I sucked her clit harder. My fingers — two, three — pushed into her pussy. The walls clenched. The fluid — hot, copious — leaked around my fingers, running down my wrist.

She orgasmed. Her body seized — her back bowing, her legs locking, her pussy clamping down on my fingers with crushing force. The contractions — rapid, involuntary, each one a wave of pleasure — rippled through her entire body. Her throat — already tight around my cock — clenched. The gag reflex and the orgasm combined, creating a suction that was almost painful.

"MMMMRF—!! MMMRF—!! MMMM—!!"