100x Rebate Sharing System: Retired Incubus Wants to Marry & Have Kids-Chapter 391 - 390- Mira Pissed Herself

Fast. More than dripping now — ’flowing,’ the sweet-warm rush of it filling his mouth immediately, spreading across his lips, running down the side of his face as he couldn’t take it all at once, warm and thin and sweet and relentless. He swallowed, gripped her harder, pulled more, and she made the sound again — the relief-sound, the pressure easing, her shoulders dropping by the specific degree that happens when something that was too full becomes less full.

He drank.

"Slurpp...."

His eyes closed.

His hands rubbed her back — both hands, long strokes from shoulder to lower back, the motion of someone giving and receiving simultaneously, her belly warm and round against his sternum, her milk running down his throat and his chin and pooling warm on his chest.

Helena’s lips found his chest.

She was lying over him now — both of them reconfigured, her body across his, upside down in the position of someone who had needed something and had gotten it and was now boneless with the aftermath. Her cheek pressed against his stomach. Her mouth moved against his skin without purpose, lazy, warm.

Above them, Mira had paused to look.

She looked at Helena’s enormous body draped across Viktor — the belly resting on him, the breasts still leaking against his face, his hands moving on Helena’s back.

The heart-shapes in Mira’s eyes pulsed.

She looked at her own belly.

At the full ache of her own breasts, which had been accumulating their own pressure.

At Viktor’s cock, still seated inside her, still full, still warm in the grip of her ass.

Her jaw set.

She started moving again.

On her own this time.

PAH. PAH. PAH!

"Hngh~!! AANGH~!! Oungh~!!"

Mira’s pace had changed. The careful managed descent of before was gone — she was bouncing, genuinely ’bouncing,’ the pregnancy belly swaying forward and back with each movement, her breasts swinging under the half-open dress with the heavy pendulum motion of something with serious weight and no restraint left.

Her milk leaked at both nipples. Thin streams of it, shaking loose with each bounce, spotting the bed below her.

"HIEK~!! NGH~!! AANGH~!!"

His cock was hitting somewhere — the deep interior pressure of anal at this angle and depth combined with whatever the pregnancy had done to her internal geography — that was making her thighs shake independently of everything else.

’’His cock — in my ass — and I can feel it against my womb from the inside — through the wall — I can feel both things simultaneously and my pussy is—’’

Her pussy was clenching.

With nothing inside it.

Clenching and releasing in the rhythm of her own bouncing, the exterior muscles responding to the interior pressure, and the stimulation of that — the empty clenching, the wet slick nothing of it — was building into something she wasn’t going to be able to—

"WAIT—"

PAH. PAAAH!

"AANGH~!! HIEK~!! I’M — I’M—"

Mira ’squirted.’

The jet came from her pussy — hard, sudden, the full-force release of a body that had been building pressure in both directions and had found the one exit available. It hit forward, arced, and came down—

On Helena’s hair.

Warm. Mixed with the other thing — the complete involuntary double release of a pregnant woman whose body had been vibrated past its last boundary — both things at once, the clear and the warm, the orgasm and the accident of it, landing in a hot stream across Helena’s silver-brown hair where she lay against Viktor’s stomach.

Everything stopped.

Viktor’s cock clenched.

He felt Mira’s ass tighten around him with the full force of her orgasm — the complete involuntary lockdown of every muscle in that region simultaneously — and his body answered before his brain could form any opinion about the circumstances.

He came.

Inside her ass. Deep. His hips pressing up into her as she pressed down, the pulsing heat of it, the full release into the locked grip of her tightened ring, and Mira’s eyes rolled back—

Her head tipped forward.

Her hands found the bed in front of her.

The belly swayed and settled.

Helena had gone still.

She lay against Viktor’s stomach with warm moisture tracking down through her hair and her face turned slightly to the side and her expression — Viktor couldn’t see her expression from his position, but he could feel the pause in the way she’d stopped breathing.

He could feel the calculation happening.

One second.

Two.

Helena lifted her head.

Very slowly.

She looked at Mira.

Mira looked at Helena.

Mira’s eyes were the eyes of a woman who had just experienced two things simultaneously and was now experiencing a third thing, which was: comprehensive understanding of what she had done.

"I’m sorry," Mira said.

The word came out small. Smaller than Mira’s words ever came out.

"I’m so sorry, it — it seems my water—" Her voice broke on it. "I didn’t mean to, I didn’t know it was going to—"

Her eyes were filling.

Viktor lay there with her ass clenching around the last of his release and Mira’s tears beginning and Helena sitting up with wet hair.

He put his hand on Mira’s thigh.

She flinched.

"Mira," he said.

"I’m sorry," she said again. "I’m so sorry, I—" Her voice broke properly. "I couldn’t stop it, I tried—"

The tears had started.

Mira crying was — Viktor had seen Mira angry, seen her strategic, seen her laughing, seen her at three AM with aching back asking him not to stop. He had not seen Mira crying about an accident, her enormous belly shaking with the breath she was trying to control, her hands over her face.

Viktor sat up.

Carefully. Managing Mira’s position on him, easing her forward by the hips, her weight redistributed, his cock withdrawing with the wet release of aftermath and Mira making a small sound through her hands.

He reached around her.

His arms went around her from behind, hands flat against her belly — that enormous warm dome, the twins inside it, all of it — and he pressed her back against his chest.

Held her.

"Whoa, whoa," he said.

She was crying in earnest now. The specific crying of someone who had been holding everything together for weeks and had found the precise wrong moment to let go of it, her shoulders shaking, the warmth of her tears on his forearms where they pressed against her.

"Why," he said. "Why are you crying?"

"I’m sorry," she said, for the third time. "I didn’t mean to do it, it just — I couldn’t — young master, I’m sorry, I pissed on—"

"Yes, I know," Viktor said.

"—I pissed on Helena, I pissed on ’you,’ I—"

Helena made a sound.

It was — not a sob. Not a laugh. The sound that lives exactly between them, the sound of someone who has processed an event and arrived at the only available conclusion about how to feel.

She was laughing.

Softly. Her hand was over her mouth. Her hair was wet and her eyes were bright and she was laughing with the contained quality of someone who didn’t want to laugh but had run completely out of the alternative.

Mira looked at her through tears.

"It’s not funny," Mira said.

"It’s a little funny," Helena said, gently.

"It’s not—"

"Mira." Viktor kissed her neck. Pressed his mouth against the warm skin of it, the specific spot that was hers, and stayed there. "Should we take a bath?"

She sniffled.

A pause.

She nodded. A small motion, her chin going down against his forearm.

Viktor looked at Helena.

Helena was already standing — the careful deliberate process of a woman with a belly that large navigating the getting-upright procedure — her damp hair tucked back from her face, her expression warm.

Viktor moved.

The logistics of this were: get to the edge of the bed while managing Mira, who was not going to let go on her own. He crawled to the edge, sliding across the mattress, Mira still pressed against him, and arrived at the side.

He sat.

He positioned her.

She went to the side of him without being asked — her legs going around his hips from the side, her arms around his neck, her belly pressing warm against his stomach, the koala configuration of a woman who had decided she was not walking under her own power and had communicated this through body position rather than words.

He got his arms under her.

Stood.

She was heavy. Pregnant-heavy, the weight of her and the twins distributed in the belly that pressed warm between them, her face tucked against his neck, still sniffling softly. He adjusted his grip — one arm under the back of her thighs, one across her back — and stood with her and started walking.

Helena followed.

He heard her behind him, her steps the careful deliberate steps of the late third trimester, and he said, over his shoulder, without looking:

"Is Mira actually crying."

It was not entirely a question.

Helena made a small warm sound. "Yes."

"I see that."

"She feels terrible."

"I can tell."

Mira’s arms tightened around his neck. "I’m right here," she said, voice still thick. "I can hear you."

"I know," Viktor said. He turned into the bathroom corridor, carrying her.

"I’m sorry," she said again.

He kissed her.

Not the neck — her face, turned toward his, his mouth pressing against the side of her cheek where the tears were still drying, warm and deliberate, the full stop of a statement.

She went still against him. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

"As your husband," Viktor said, his mouth still close, "I am going to need to seal your loosened water-leaking pussy."

Mira made a sound.

Half a sob that had converted into something else entirely on the way out. Her face pressed harder into his neck.

"Hic... You’re terrible... Husband."