100x Rebate Sharing System: Retired Incubus Wants to Marry & Have Kids-Chapter 359 - 358 - Introducing the Guests to the Priestess
The tail retracted fully, Viktor’s black spade-tipped appendage curling back against his spine and disappearing beneath the hem of his shirt.
Olivia stood on legs that had no business holding her upright. She swayed, her massive breasts bobbing with the movement, milk still beading at her darkened nipples. Viktor’s arms remained around her waist—lazy, possessive—not so much supporting her as simply ’owning’ her, the way a man holds something that belongs to him.
He looked down at her face.
Mascara painted in black streaks down her cheeks. Lower lip swollen from biting. Golden-blonde hair a disaster—matted, tangled, half-plastered to the side of her throat where he’d left a mark that wouldn’t fade for days.
She was ruined. Absolutely ruined.
And still the most devoted expression he’d ever seen.
"’Hahh’... ’hahh’..."
Her breathing slowly steadied. Her golden eyes cleared by degrees, like fog burning off a morning field, until she was looking up at him with something clear and warm and absurdly tender for a woman who’d just been wrecked six different ways.
Viktor’s smirk softened to something he’d deny if anyone asked about it.
He let his hands move on instinct.
One slid lower, cupping the swell of her ass through what remained of her priestess robes. The fabric was thin enough that he felt heat radiating off her skin, felt the soft yielding give of her flesh as his palm pressed in.
He groped slowly.
’Full.’ Like a ripe fruit. The kind of ass that would bounce visibly if he let his hand drop and give it one firm smack—and god, he was tempted.
Olivia made a sound low in her throat. Not a protest. Just an acknowledgment that she felt it, that her body registered every touch now with that heightened sensitivity the essence transfer had left her with.
Viktor leaned down.
His nose found the curve of her neck, pressing against the soft skin just below her jaw. He inhaled. Deeply. The smell of her was sweat and milk and something floral beneath it all—temple incense baked into her skin from years of ceremony. Utterly obscene mixed with the scent of sex.
Olivia’s knees buckled slightly.
He let her lean into him, her enormous breasts smashing flat against his chest. He felt them through his shirt—warm, heavy, damp with milk—spreading against him with that yielding softness that had nothing to do with ordinary flesh. She was ’impossibly’ soft. Like something designed specifically to press against a man and make him stupid.
Viktor chuckled, the sound rumbling up from his chest.
"’Hahh’—" Olivia shivered at the vibration. Her fingers curled into his shirt.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, his hand still firmly occupying her ass.
The system window had materialized in his peripheral vision, blue-edged and pulsing with new information.
’’[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]’’
’’[BREEDING GOD DOMAIN UPDATE]’’
’’[DESIGNATED VESSEL: OLIVIA — PARTIAL BREEDING ACCEPTANCE REGISTERED]’’
’’[STATUS: MINOR INCUBUS ESSENCE TRANSFER COMPLETE]’’
’’[OLIVIA HAS ACCEPTED A PARTIAL DESIGNATION AS BREEDING GOD VESSEL]’’
’’[CURRENT CAPACITY: 34% — AWAITING FULL CONSUMMATION FOR COMPLETE DESIGNATION]’’
’’[BENEFITS ACTIVE: HEALED PATIENTS DEVELOP SEXUAL ATTARCTION TOWARDS GOD (PASSIVE) | APOSTLE BODY BECOME TO GOD’S LIKING | BODY SENSITIVITY x3 WHEN BREEDED BY GOD | LIFESPAN EXTENSION | ]’’
’’[NOTE: FULL DESIGNATION REQUIRES IMPREGNATION. CURRENT STATUS: INCOMPLETE.]’’
Viktor stared at the last line.
’Incomplete.’
He dismissed the window with a blink, his attention returning to the woman pressed against his chest. His hand tightened on her ass—hard enough that Olivia gave a sharp wince, her breath catching—before relaxing into a slow, deliberate knead.
She buried her face against his collarbone.
"’Nngh’—you’re... you’re doing that on purpose..."
"Obviously."
Her head tilted up, golden eyes meeting his. She was still flushed, cheeks stained deep rose, lips bitten red.
She bit her lower lip.
He could see the question building in her expression—that eager, slightly desperate look she got when she wanted something and hadn’t yet learned how to ask for it directly.
"What next—"
"You," Viktor said, cutting her off with effortless authority, "are too excited."
Olivia blinked.
A beat.
"...oh."
"Let’s meet and greet our guests first." Viktor released her ass—her muffled sound of loss was noted and filed away with satisfaction—and stepped back, straightening his shirt.
He looked her over with the critical eye of a man assessing something he owns and needs presentable.
"Fix your robes," he said. "You look like you’ve been thoroughly fucked against an altar."
"I ’have’ been thoroughly fucked against an altar."
Viktor paused.
He looked at her.
She looked back at him with those enormous golden eyes, and it took him a second to realize she had no idea how close she’d just come to getting pushed back onto that altar for round three.
"’Fix your robes’," he repeated, quieter.
Olivia scrambled to comply, her heavy breasts swaying as she reached for the fabric.
’’’
The walk from the temple to the manor was short enough to be irrelevant and long enough for Olivia to almost compose herself.
’Almost.’
She walked beside Viktor through the garden path, late afternoon sunlight turning everything golden. Her hair was smoothed back into something approximating dignity. Her robes were straightened, properly fastened, not visibly scandalous.
But her nipples pressed against the fabric in two very obvious points, the milk-dampness creating faint circles at her chest that no amount of folding could hide.
And every step reminded her of what had happened. Her thighs felt the sensitivity with each movement, the whisper of fabric against skin turned electric.
She kept her chin high.
Viktor walked with his hands loose at his sides, completely unbothered, as if he hadn’t just dismantled her entire sense of self in a temple.
He opened the manor’s side door, gesturing her through.
Inside—
Sound.
Voices. Multiple women’s voices layered over each other in the unmistakable pattern of a household finding its feet. Laughter, somewhere. The particular cadence of conversation between people who are still strangers but have been deposited in close enough proximity that familiarity is forming whether they planned for it or not.
Viktor and Olivia stepped into the main receiving room.
Five faces turned toward them.
’’’
Vivian had been sitting on a low settee, a teacup balanced on her knee, Helena and Mira arranged on either side of her like warm maternal bookends. The tea had helped. The food had helped more—Helena had produced something from the kitchen with remarkable speed, soft bread and cold cuts and sliced fruit, and Vivian had eaten with the barely-contained desperation of someone who’d been surviving on dried provisions for weeks.
Gwen sat across from her, awake now, a thin blanket over her lap. Her weapons were gone but she didn’t seem to have noticed yet, or had decided not to raise it in present company. Her silver-blonde hair was loose, her pointed ears unhidden here. She looked young. Younger than she acted.
Kaida sat beside Gwen, not speaking, but her posture was watchful in the way of a woman who trusts people slowly and protects what she decides is worth protecting faster than thought.
Bella was on the floor near Gwen’s feet, somehow, playing with the fringe on the blanket. Her golden cat-eyes tracked every movement in the room.
Elara sat a little apart, her pink hair pinned back, watching everything with sharp quiet eyes while her hands rested on her belly.
When the door opened and Viktor stepped through, the room shifted.
Not obviously. Not dramatically. But Mira’s lips curved in an expression Vivian couldn’t fully read. Helena’s posture relaxed by a single degree. Kaida’s chin lifted.
The woman behind Viktor made Vivian go still.
She was—
’Oh.’
The priestess was striking in a way that stopped thought. Enormous blonde hair still slightly disheveled despite visible effort. A face built for icons—high cheekbones, golden eyes, the kind of classical beauty that ended up painted on cathedral ceilings. Robes that were white and clean and somehow couldn’t hide the extraordinary figure beneath them, the heavy curve of breasts, the thick softness of hips.
She walked slightly behind Viktor, close to him, her presence somewhere between escort and devotee. There were marks on her throat that the collar of her robe didn’t fully cover.
Vivian processed this. Filed it somewhere.
The priestess’s eyes swept the room and found the two elves—Vivian first, then Gwen. Something in her expression went immediately gentle, with none of the calculation Vivian had learned to watch for in strangers.
"Oh," Olivia said quietly, moving forward. "You’re both alright."
Her voice was still slightly rough—Vivian didn’t want to think about why—but it was warm. Genuinely warm, the kind that had nothing to do with obligation.
"My name is Olivia." She stopped a few feet away, not crowding. "I’m the priestess here."
Gwen looked between her and Viktor, her expression skeptical. "Priestess of what?"
"Of the temple," Olivia said.
"’His’ temple," Gwen said.
"...yes." Olivia’s cheeks went faintly pink. Her hands folded in front of her chest in a practiced gesture that may have been habit or may have been hiding the state of her robes. "He—our lord has established—"
"You’re flustered," Mira said, from the settee, in the tone of a woman enjoying herself immensely.
Olivia’s pink deepened to rose.
"I am ’not’—"
"Your hair’s still—" Kaida pointed to the left side of Olivia’s head.
"—’perfectly fine’—"
"It’s got a thing," Bella said helpfully, making a vague gesture.
Olivia reached up, patted at the offending section of hair with visible dignity, and then very determinedly looked back at Vivian and Gwen.
"As I was saying," she said. "I hope you’ve been made comfortable."
Vivian blinked. Then, despite everything—despite the past several hours, the alley, the teleportation, the complete upheaval of their entire situation—something in her chest unclenched by a fraction.
There was something about the priestess. Something that cut through the strangeness of this place. A quality that Vivian associated with people who actually believed in something, who had learned to offer comfort not as a service but as a reflex.
The warmth radiated from her like heat from a hearthstone. Easy. Natural.
Gwen noticed it too—Vivian watched her daughter’s shoulders drop by a single tense degree.
"We have," Helena answered gently, one hand resting on her belly. "We’ve been keeping them company."
"The food was—" Vivian started.
"He hasn’t cooked yet," Mira said.
Vivian looked at her. "...pardon?"
Mira’s green eyes moved to Viktor with an expression that was equal parts fond and deeply, deeply smug.
"We gave you basic provisions because we didn’t want you hungry. But—" she tilted her head toward Viktor, "—he cooks."
Viktor, who had been leaning against the doorframe with the particular patience of a man who knows exactly what’s about to happen, straightened.
"I’ll start," he said simply.
