Chapter 831 - 830- The Daughter wants an Answer

Chapter 831: Chapter 830- The Daughter wants an Answer

The carriage arrived at the castle gates as dawn bled through the clouds.

Inside, the mother-in-law’s hips swung up and back in a rhythm that had nothing to do with the carriage’s movement. Her thick ass, bare and reddened, clapped against his thighs with each descent. Her hands, gripping his shoulders, were white-knuckled. Her mouth, open and drooling, produced sounds that were not words. Moans. Whimpers. The broken, animal noise of a woman who had been riding cock for the entire journey.

Pah! Pah! Pah!

"AH...!! ... HNNGH...!! ... OUNGH...!!"

Viktor, seated on the bench, let her do the work. His hands, on her hips, guided the pace. Not fast enough. He slapped her ass. The sound, sharp and wet, echoed through the cabin. Her cheek rippled. She yelped. Her hips, stung into compliance, moved faster.

Pah Pah Pah Pah PAAAH!

"OUNGH...!! ... HAAANGH...!! ... I cannot... AH...!! ... HIEEENGH...!!"

Her ass, thick and heavy, rose and fell. The cheeks, spread by his hands, revealed the anal, still gaping from the night before. His cock, buried in her pussy, slid in and out with each bounce. The shaft, slick with her arousal, glistened in the dim lantern light. The head, hitting her cervix with each descent, made her scream.

She clenched. Her ass, gripping his thighs, tightened. Her pussy, clamping around his cock, convulsed. The orgasm, building since they left the slum, crested.

"I cannot live without you," she gasped. The words, torn from her throat by the climax, were raw. Honest. The confession of a woman who had been broken so thoroughly that the pieces no longer fit back into the shape of a countess. "I cannot... I cannot... please..."

He groaned. His hips, bucking upward, met her descent. The impact, cock to cervix, was brutal. His tail, wrapping around from behind, found her pussy. The appendage, slick and scaled, pushed in alongside his cock. The double penetration, cock and tail in the same hole, stretched her beyond reason.

She screamed. The sound, muffled by his shoulder, vibrated through his chest. He grabbed her breasts. Both hands. Squeezed. The milk, thin and warm, sprayed from each nipple. He leaned. Took the left in his mouth. Sucked. The milk, sweet and hot, hit his tongue.

"Even I cannot without this pussy," he grunted. The words, spoken through a mouthful of nipple and milk, were muffled but clear. The confession of an incubus who had found a vessel worth keeping.

He came.

The cum, thick and hot, pumped into her. Rope after rope. The heat, spreading through her core, triggered another orgasm. Her body, impaled and filled, convulsed. Her pussy, clenching around his cock and tail, milked him. The fluid, cum and her own arousal, leaked from the stretched opening. Down his balls. Down his thighs. Onto the seat.

The carriage halted.

The driver, outside, said nothing. The man had learned, over the journey, that silence was the appropriate response to the sounds coming from within.

Viktor pulled out. His cock, slick and semi-hard, emerged with a wet sound. The cum, white and thick, leaked from her pussy. The tail, withdrawing, added its own contribution to the mess.

He opened the door. Stepped out. Turned. Offered his hand.

The mother-in-law took it. She emerged, legs trembling, into the morning light. Her short dress, stained and wrinkled, clung to her body. Her panties, absent, left her pussy bare beneath the skirt. Her blouse, misbuttoned, revealed her cleavage and the edges of her areolas. Her hair, tangled and wild, framed a face that was flushed, tear-streaked, and glowing.

She looked, to any observer, like a woman who had been thoroughly and repeatedly fucked.

Which she had.

The castle doors opened. The headmistress emerged.

Vespera Thorne, headmistress of the Royal Academy, stood on the steps. Her robes, formal and pressed, were immaculate. Her hair, pulled back in a bun, was precise. Her face, composed and professional, was the face of a woman in charge.

Until she saw her mother.

The composure cracked. Her eyes, sweeping over the mother-in-law’s appearance, cataloged every detail. The teeth marks on her neck. The hickeys on her collarbone. The dried seed on her inner thigh, visible beneath the short skirt. The flush on her skin. The glow on her face. The way her body moved, loose and sated, like a woman who had been filled and emptied and filled again.

"Where have you taken my mother?" Vespera said. Her voice was controlled. Barely. The words came through clenched teeth.

Viktor, standing beside the mother-in-law, was calm. His posture, relaxed and confident, was that of a man who had done nothing wrong and couldn’t imagine why anyone would think otherwise.

"Nowhere," he said. "She wanted to go for a walk."

"A walk?" Vespera repeated. The word, loaded with incredulity, was a weapon. "A walk. Then why is her state like that? Do not lie to me, Viktor. I know it was not a dream."

The reference, to the morning after the ceremony, was deliberate. She knew. She had known since she woke, since she saw the teeth marks and the dried seed, since she felt the ache in her body and the memory of the magic circle. She knew it was real.

Viktor sighed. The sound was genuine. The sigh of a man who was tired of pretending and saw no reason to continue.

He walked. Toward her. Stopped. Standing directly in front of her, close enough that she could smell the musk on his skin, the sex on his clothes, the mother on his fingers.

"I know it was not," he said. His voice was low. Private. The voice of a husband speaking to his wife. "But you have to understand. I just want to help your mother. Not die out of old age."

Vespera stared. The words, absurd and impossible, registered. Then failed to register. Then registered again.

"What the hell are you saying?" she said. Her voice rose. "Are you lying to me? What kind of nonsense is that? That by having sex you are going to help her in any way? It is cheating. It is manipulation. It is..."

She stopped.

Because she was looking at her mother.

The mother-in-law’s face, illuminated by the morning sun, was wrong. Not wrong in the way that a face is wrong when it is bruised or damaged. Wrong in the way that a face is wrong when it is too young. The wrinkles, the lines that had deepened over the past decade, were faded. The skin, which had been weathered and aged, was smooth. Clear. Luminous. The dark circles under her eyes, the ones that had been permanent for years, were gone. The sagging of her cheeks, the looseness of her jaw, the thinning of her lips. All reduced. All reversed.

She looked twenty years younger.

It was not possible. It was not something that cosmetics or magic could achieve, not without enormous cost and obvious artifice. This was natural. This was her mother’s face, but at forty instead of sixty. The same bone structure, the same features, the same eyes. But smoother. Firmer. Younger.

Vespera’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. No words came.

’How? What has he done to her? What has he done?’