Chapter 819 - 818- A Noblewoman

Chapter 819: Chapter 818- A Noblewoman

The wave of impotence swept through the crowd. Man after man, reaching for his own erection, found nothing. Flaccid. Unresponsive. As if the cock between Viktor’s legs, the massive, impossible, monstrous cock, was emitting a signal that suppressed all others. The incubus pheromone, thick and overwhelming, filling the narrow alley, saturating the air. Every male within range, every human man with a functioning libido, found himself incapable of arousal.

The mother-in-law, bent over the tree, heard the confusion. Her teary eyes, looking sideways, saw the men grabbing their crotches. Saw the frustration. Saw the impotence.

’Wait. Why can they not get erect?’

The thought was automatic. The academic curiosity, the same instinct that drove her daughter, fired despite the circumstances. She looked at the men. At their faces, lustful but frustrated. At their hands, grabbing, pressing, finding nothing.

’They want me. Their faces. Their eyes. They are lusting over me. But they cannot... is it him? Is he doing this?’

She thought, for a terrible, wonderful moment, that she was not hot enough. That her thick body, her saggy breasts, her stretch marks, her age, had rendered her undesirable. That the men, seeing her exposed, had lost interest.

But the faces told a different story. The eyes, hungry and frustrated. The mouths, open and panting. The body language, leaning forward, straining to see more. They wanted her. Desperately. Violently. They just couldn’t respond.

Viktor slapped her ass.

The sound cracked through the silence. Her cheek rippled. The flesh, soft and thick, deformed under his palm and rebounded. She yelped. Her hands, covering her pussy, flew to her face. The exposure, the slap, the sound of his palm on her flesh, sent a wave of heat through her body.

"Come on, mother-in-law," he said. His voice was loud. Deliberately loud. Loud enough for every man in the crowd to hear. "Isn’t it fun?"

He leaned close. His mouth found her ear. The whisper, meant only for her, was audible in the silence.

"Notice. Those fuckers can’t even get an erection."

She trembled. Her eyes, wide and wet, swept the crowd. The men, grabbing themselves, looking confused, looking frustrated, looking at her with hunger in their eyes and nothing in their pants.

’He did this. He did this to them. They want me but they cannot... because of him. Because of his... his smell. His pheromones. He is... he is making them impotent. While he...’

She screamed.

His cock, pressing against her pussy entrance, pushed in. The head, thick and blunt, spread her lips. The walls, wet and yielding, parted. The heat, immediate and overwhelming, filled her. He pushed deeper. Two inches. Three. Four. The walls gripped. The muscles clenched. The friction, raw and incredible, built.

"Fuck," he groaned. His voice carried. "Your ass is tight as ever, mother-in-law."

The words, spoken to the crowd as much as to her, were a declaration. A claim. A statement of ownership. He was telling every man present that this woman, this thick, collared, exposed, noble woman, was his. That he had fucked her before. That he would fuck her again. That her tightness was his to assess and her body was his to use.

He started to hump. His hips moved. The rhythm was slow at first. Deliberate. Each thrust, measured and controlled, drove his cock deeper. Five inches. Six. Seven. The walls parted. The entrance stretched. The friction built.

Pah. Pah. Pah.

Her body, bent over the tree, absorbed each impact. Her ass, thick and soft, rippled with each thrust. The flesh, pale and marked with red welts from previous encounters, jiggled. The motion, rhythmic and hypnotic, drew the crowd’s eyes like moths to flame.

Her tongue came out. The motion was involuntary. The pleasure, building in her core, spreading through her body, short-circuited her motor control. Her mouth opened. Her tongue, pink and wet, extended past her lips. Her eyes, rolling back, showed the whites. The expression was obscene. The face of a woman being fucked past the point of composure.

Her gloves, the lace pushing her cleavage up, were slipping. The bodice, straining under the pressure of her breasts, was failing. Her boobs, heavy and full, were escaping. The nipples, dark pink and stiff, peeked over the fabric. Each thrust drove them further out. The flesh, soft and heavy, swung with each impact. Up. Down. Up. Down. The motion was violent. The weight of her breasts, unrestrained by the failing bodice, created a chaotic rhythm.

Milk leaked. Not a trickle. Not a thin stream. A spray. The letdown, triggered by the stimulation, by the pheromones, by the overwhelming cascade of sensation, was violent. Thin streams of white, arcing from each nipple, hitting the tree, the ground, the wall beside them. The milk, thick and sweet, ran down the bark. Down the stone. Down her own body.

Her pussy, impaled on his cock, was bulging. The lips, stretched around his girth, were pulled taut. The clit, engorged and bare, was visible. Each thrust dragged the flesh inward. Each withdrawal pulled it outward. The motion, the friction, the relentless in-and-out, was driving her toward the edge.

She screamed. The sound, raw and primal, echoed through the alley. It bounced off the crumbling walls, off the boarded windows, off the dirty cobblestones. The crowd heard it. Every man heard it. The scream of a woman being fucked so hard she couldn’t contain the sound.

"Don’t let them see me like this!" she cried. Her voice, between screams, was desperate. Pleading. The voice of a woman whose last shred of dignity was being shredded by each thrust. "Please! Not in front of them! Not like this!"

He fucked her harder. The pace increased. His hips, slamming forward, drove his cock deeper. Eight inches. Nine. The head hit her cervix. The barrier, firm and round, yielded. The cock pushed through. Into her womb.

Pah Pah Pah Pah PAAAH!

"AAANGH...!! ... HAAANGH...!! ... OUNGH...!! ... HIEEENGH...!!"

Her body convulsed. Her back arched. Her breasts, free of the bodice now, swung violently. The milk, spraying in thick streams, hit the wall beside them. The white fluid, running down the dirty stone, looked like paint on a canvas. Her pussy, clenching around his cock, squirted. The fluid, thin and hot, sprayed from around his shaft. It hit the ground. The tree. His thighs.

The crowd watched. In silence. In impotent, frustrated, aroused silence. Their eyes, locked on the spectacle, devoured every detail. The swinging breasts. The spraying milk. The squirting pussy. The thick, noble woman, collared and bare, being fucked against a tree in a slum full of criminals.

"Why is her skin so clean?" someone whispered. "She is milky white. Is she some kind of noble woman?"

"Really? A noble woman? In a place like this?"

"Isn’t she a slave? Look at the collar."

"Her skin is too clean for a slave. Noble. Definitely noble."

"A noble woman being fucked by a masked man in the slums. What is the world coming to?"

"Her skin is like milk. Look at her ass. Not a mark from the sun."

"Her boobs. The milk. She is lactating. Is she pregnant?"

"Look at how she is taking it. Look at her face. She is enjoying it."

"The tongue. The eyes. She is gone. She is broken."