Extra's Life: MILFs Won't Leave the Incubus Alone-Chapter 279 - 276: The Night Has Just Begun

The Crystal Pavilion rose at the exact center of the capital like a blade of frozen starlight driven into the city’s beating heart. White marble walls veined with rose quartz caught the late-afternoon sun and shattered it into rainbows that arced across crowded plazas; towering crystal-capped spires refracted every stray beam until the entire structure seemed to breathe light.

Inside, the grand central ballroom stretched impossibly wide—an oval sea of polished black obsidian floor ringed by tiered balconies held aloft by gilded columns carved with coiling dragons and star-lilies in full, impossible bloom. Overhead, dozens of enormous chandeliers floated on invisible mana-threads, their thousands of crystal facets already beginning to glow with soft, anticipatory fire.

Today the Pavilion belonged to women alone.

No male footmen carried trays. No armored guards with visible blades patrolled the corridors. Only female staff—clad in crisp black-and-silver livery, hair neatly pinned, movements silent and efficient—glided through the halls: arranging fresh mana-orchids whose petals pulsed with faint inner light, uncorking bottles of chilled rosé, tuning delicate harps and lyres so their strings would sing with aching sensuality later.

Beyond the outer gates a velvet rope line snaked for blocks; behind it, hundreds of common women pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, waving handkerchiefs and cheering every arriving carriage as though the women stepping down were living saints come to walk among mortals.

By mid-afternoon the first noble wave had already claimed the lower balconies. Gowns in every jewel shade imaginable—sapphire velvets, emerald satins, garnet silks slashed with gold—moved in glittering clusters.

Frost March duchesses stood tall in ice-blue, Verdant Coast countesses shimmered in sea-green and sunrise gold, Ashen Plains marchionesses wore smoky obsidian and blood-red.

Three hundred and twelve confirmed names on the list, perhaps a dozen more slipping quietly through discreet side entrances. Laughter rose like perfume; wine glasses clinked; cheeks were already flushed from the intoxicating freedom of a space without fathers, husbands, brothers, or sons.

From the highest private balcony—reserved for the hosts and the most exalted guests—Aiden and Sheela watched the procession unfold.

Sheela wore midnight sapphire so tight it might as well have been painted onto her skin: the neckline plunged daringly low, barely containing the heavy swell of her breasts; twin slits rose to mid-thigh, parting with every breath to reveal long, pale legs. Mana-crystals sewn into the fabric caught the light whenever she shifted, turning her into a living constellation.

Her sky-blue hair was swept into an elegant updo threaded with silver dragon-scale pins; between her breasts hung a single sapphire the size of a quail’s egg on a platinum chain that rose and fell with each quickened breath. She stood pressed hip-to-hip against Aiden, one arm looped possessively through his, body radiating heat like a banked furnace.

Aiden—today simply himself, no papal mask—wore a tailored black coat over a charcoal shirt open at the throat, white hair bound loosely at the nape. Golden eyes scanned the entry gates with the calm patience of a predator who already knew his prey would come to him.

Below, entertainers filtered onto the obsidian floor: masked acrobats in nothing but silver body-paint and scraps of gauze, comedians testing bawdy limericks written exclusively for female ears, a renowned Verdant Coast soprano warming her voice with soft, sensual arpeggios, string quartets coaxing harmonics that already carried an undercurrent of ache and invitation.

"Everything ready?" Aiden asked, voice low.

Sheela nodded—smile slow, wicked, utterly devoted.

"Everything. The Pavilion is sealed—no man crosses the outer wards without my personal sigil. Wine cellars stocked with your special vintage. Private suites prepared: silk restraints hidden beneath pillows, scented oils warmed in crystal vials, enchanted mirrors that show only what the occupant most desperately wants to see.

Entertainers are all women or masked convincingly enough to pass. Security—female inquisitors loyal to the church—stationed discreetly. And the cards..." She leaned closer; the heavy swell of her breasts pressed firmly against his arm, nipples already visibly peaked beneath sapphire silk. "...are being slipped into the most promising hands even now."

Aiden’s gaze never left the gates.

Sheela’s breathing grew shallower, cheeks flushed deeper, thighs pressing together beneath the gown.

"My lord..." Her voice trembled with raw need. "I’ve spent more than half my personal fortune on this. Drained the Draconic coffers for the wine, the musicians, the bribes to keep the city watch looking the other way. I’ve done everything you asked—more. Don’t I deserve... my reward?"

She turned slightly—pressing the full, soft weight of her breasts against his side, dragging hardened nipples across the fabric of his coat in slow, deliberate circles.

"Please," she breathed, lips brushing his ear. "I’ve been aching since dawn. My pussy hasn’t stopped dripping since I watched you dress this morning—since I saw that thick cock straining against your trousers. I need you inside me. Now."

Aiden’s mouth curved—just a fraction.

Without ever taking his eyes from the arriving carriages, he reached down, unzipped his trousers with one smooth, practiced motion.

His cock sprang free—heavy, veined, already rigid and glistening at the tip.

Sheela dropped to her knees instantly—sapphire silk pooling around her like spilled midnight. She wrapped both hands around his shaft—stroking reverently from base to crown—then leaned forward and took him into her mouth with a low, hungry moan that vibrated straight through him.

"Gods... so warm... so thick..." she mumbled around the head, tongue swirling, lapping up the bead of pre-cum before she sank deeper. Cheeks hollowed; throat relaxed from long, devoted practice until her nose brushed his abdomen and she held there, eyes watering, moaning softly around his length.

Aiden threaded fingers through her sky-blue hair—not pulling, just guiding her rhythm with gentle pressure while he continued watching the gates.

"Who are you waiting for?" she managed to ask around his cock—voice muffled, wet, needy—before diving back down.

"Important people," he answered calmly. "Ones we’ll need for the future. For MySins."

He rolled his hips—pushing a little deeper—making her gag softly before she adjusted, sucking harder, saliva dripping down her chin and onto the creamy tops of her breasts.

"And the wine?" he asked. "My blood vintage?"

She nodded frantically—throat working around him—eyes shining with tears and devotion.

He patted her head like a favored pet.

"Good girl."

Footsteps approached from the side corridor.

Akidna appeared—black maid dress immaculate, glossy hair pinned with silver clips, a single heavy card held delicately between her fingers.

She stopped short—eyes widening at the sight of Sheela on her knees, mouth stuffed full of Aiden’s cock, cheeks flushed and mascara already beginning to run—then smiled slowly, wickedly.

"So even the great Archduchess Sheela Leonidus kneels for you now," she murmured, stepping closer. "Impressive."

Aiden beckoned her with a tilt of his head.

Akidna leaned in—offering the card.

Heavy black vellum, edges gilded, embossed with a single coiling serpent devouring its own tail. Inside, elegant silver script:

*An Invitation to Unimaginable Pleasure

One Night. One Taste.

Surrender and Be Rewarded.

MySins Awaits.*

Aiden scanned it—nodded once.

"Perfect. But they must be drunk on the wine first. Horny. Desperate. The entertainment will handle that."

He cupped Akidna’s cheek—kissed her deeply—tongue sliding against hers in a slow, possessive claim while Sheela continued to suck him with desperate, sloppy hunger below.

When he broke the kiss, he murmured against Akidna’s lips:

"Prepare the performance. Men with perfect physiques—masked, oiled, wearing only the barest scraps of cloth. Let them dance—grind, flex, tease. No touching allowed... yet. Make the noblewomen ache. Make them soak their gowns before the first glass of wine even touches their lips."

Akidna shivered—already visibly wet at the thought—nodded, and hurried away, heels clicking softly.

Aiden pulled his cock from Sheela’s throat with a wet, obscene pop—thick strings of saliva connecting her swollen lips to the glistening head.

She whimpered at the loss—eyes glassy, mascara streaked, chin wet.

He hauled her to her feet—spun her toward the balcony railing—yanked the sapphire gown up over her hips in one rough motion.

No underwear.

Sheela blushed—shy despite everything they had done.

"The panties... they’d only get soaked around you," she whispered, voice trembling. "So I stopped wearing them days ago."

Aiden growled low approval—lined himself up at her dripping entrance—and thrust in to the hilt in one brutal, claiming stroke.

Sheela cried out—hands flying to the railing—back arching sharply as he filled her completely, stretching her open in that perfect, aching way only he ever could.

"Aaahhh! Yes—finally—Aaahhh! So deep—so fucking deep—Aaahhh!"

Below them, the first wave of noble guests looked up—waving cheerfully, smiling, calling greetings to Lady Sheela, their gracious and impeccable hostess.

None of them could see that she was braced against the railing, gown hiked to her waist, massive breasts bouncing wildly with every punishing thrust as Aiden fucked her from behind in full view of three hundred women.

Sheela waved back—hand trembling violently—smile fixed and dazzling—even as her pussy clenched desperately around his pistoning cock, wet sounds barely masked by the rising music.

"Aaahhh—look at them—Aaahhh! Waving at me—Aaahhh! Smiling at me—Aaahhh! While you ruin me—while you fuck me raw right above their heads—Aaahhh!"

The contrast—the polite greetings, the innocent smiles, the sheer obscenity of being filled and claimed while she played perfect hostess—shattered her.

She came—hard—squirting down her thighs in hot, shameful jets that soaked the marble beneath them and trickled toward the edge of the balcony.

"Aaahhh—cumming—cumming in front of them—Aaahhh! They have no idea—Aaahhh!"

Aiden didn’t slow—kept pounding—each wet slap echoing faintly over the railing.

"Wave again," he ordered, voice rough.

She did—smile never faltering—even as another orgasm built inside her, coiling tighter and tighter.

The night had only just begun.