nyslfriends Chapter 619 - 618- A Fucable Company Commander
Chapter 619 - 618- A Fucable Company Commander
The thought was a bomb.It detonated in her chest, the blast wave traveling outward through her body — her hands shaking, her knees buckling, her stomach dropping, her pussy clenching, her mind shattering.
Celestia. Her sister. Her elder sister. The woman who had saved her in the training yard. The woman who had taught her the sword. The woman whose belly she had touched, whose baby she had delivered, whose son she had raised.
Celestia had fucked her own nephew.
The word ’aunt’ — the label that Evriana had worn like armor, the word that she had used to protect herself from her own desires, the word that meant ’this is wrong and you know it’ — crumbled.
If Celestia had done it — Celestia, the eldest, the heir, the one whose authority was second only to the matriarch — then the word ’aunt’ did not mean what Evriana thought it meant.
The wall was gone.
The excuse was gone.
The armor was gone.
And the thing that had been hiding behind it — the desire, the want, the particular, burning, years-long, carefully suppressed, never-acknowledged need that she had felt since the day Viktor turned eighteen and she had looked at him and had not seen a nephew but a man — was suddenly, terribly, unavoidably visible.
Viktor slammed.
PAAAH!!
"AAAAAHHH~!!♡♡♡!!"
He came.
The thick, hot, flooding release into Berenga’s ass — the pulses pumping deep, the seed filling her, the cum trickling out around his shaft, running down her thick thighs, dripping onto the forest floor.
He pulled out.
His cock emerged — thick, wet, glistening with cum and blood and the particular, obscene, unmistakable evidence of everything he had done. The seed dripped from the head, falling on Berenga’s ass, on the moss, on the leaves.
Evriana turned.
She pressed her back against the tree. Her hand over her mouth. Her eyes — wide, wet, trembling — staring at nothing.
Her lips, behind her hand, formed the word.
"Ste—Celestia..."
The name that had been a sister’s name was now something else. A confession. A permission. A key.
"What?" she whispered to the dark. "Celestia? Celestia had sex with him?"
The question was not for anyone.
It was for herself.
For the woman who had spent twenty years telling herself that the word ’aunt’ meant ’never’. That the label was absolute. That the desire was wrong. That the thoughts in the dark, private, unexamined corners of her mind were sins that she would take to her grave.
Celestia had already done it.
An aunt had already fucked him.
The wall was gone.
And Evriana Ktorian — princess, sword, thirty-nine years old — stood behind a tree in the dark, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wet, her pussy wet, her mind reeling, and realized that the only thing standing between her and the thing she wanted was a word that no longer meant anything at all.
’One day,’ the seven-year-old had said. ’I will marry you, Aunty.’
"One day," she whispered.
The forest was dark.
The moans had stopped.
And Evriana Ktorian pressed her forehead against the bark and closed her eyes and let the tears fall.
’I... need to leave.’
Evriana’s heart clenched.
The particular, tight, breath-catching, chest-compressing clench of a woman who had just watched a bomb go off and was standing in the silence after, counting the damage. Her fingers pressed against the bark behind her, the rough surface digging into her palms, the pain grounding her in a body that wanted to float away.
’As I thought,’ she said to herself. ’Sending that woman to Viktor — I messed up.’
The thought was a stone in her stomach. Heavy. Sinking. The particular, nauseating, gut-dropping weight of a woman who had orchestrated a plan and was watching the plan succeed in the worst possible way.
She had sent Berenga to seduce him.
Berenga had been seduced instead.
And now — now the commander was lying on the moss at the edge of the pond, her massive body limp, her legs spread, her pussy and anal leaking his seed, her tits covered in teeth marks, her eyes rolled back, twitching. Destroyed. Claimed. Owned.
And Viktor was still there.
Still hard. Still hungry. Still standing in the moonlight with his cock glistening and his tail swaying and his violet eyes carrying the particular, patient, unsatisfied gleam of a predator who had eaten one course and was waiting for the next.
Tears slid.
Down Evriana’s cheeks. The slow, warm, silent tears of a woman who was grieving something that had not yet been lost. Because the loss was happening — right now, in front of her, in the moonlight, at the edge of a pond where a woman lay ruined and a man stood ready and Evriana stood behind a tree with her hand over her mouth and her heart in her throat.
’It was a mistake,’ she thought. ’A big mistake.’
The thought repeated. Echoed. Bounced around the inside of her skull like a trapped bird, each iteration carrying a new weight, a new implication, a new angle of devastation.
’I sent her to him. I gave him that woman. And now — now maybe she has become his favorite. Maybe he has fallen for her. Maybe the woman who was supposed to be a tool has become the thing he wants, and I — I who was supposed to be the one who —’
She couldn’t finish the thought.
The word ’love’ hovered at the edge of her mind, refused to land, circled like a bird that would not commit to a branch. She did not let it land. Could not. Because landing meant admitting, and admitting meant acknowledging, and acknowledging meant that the thing she felt — the burning, years-long, carefully suppressed, never-examined thing that lived in the dark corners of her mind — was real.
She breathed.
The long, slow, controlled, deliberate breath of a woman who was trying to regulate her own body through sheer force of will. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. The technique she had learned for combat, for crisis, for the moments when a sword was in her hand and the enemy was in front of her and fear was a luxury she could not afford.
But there was no enemy here.
Only Viktor. And the woman. And the pond. And the moonlight. And the particular, devastating, inescapable reality that Evriana Catorian — princess, sword, thirty-nine-year-old aunt — was standing behind a tree, crying, because the man she wanted was standing twenty feet away with his cock in another woman.
’Maybe I do not have a chance,’ she thought.
The thought was cold. Final. The particular, leaden, sinking feeling of a door closing.
’I already gave him that woman. Even though Celestia had sex with him — now he has another one. Another woman. A younger woman. A stronger woman. A woman whose body —’
She looked at Berenga.
At the commander’s thick hips. At her massive, heavy tits, the dark pink nipples still stiff, the areolas wide and visible even in the moonlight. At her body — the broad, powerful, bull-kin frame that was designed for bearing weight, for taking impact, for the particular, dense, resilient, fuckable quality that the Catorian bloodline produced.
’Her body was made for getting fucked,’ Evriana thought.