Villain's Breeding System: Evolving 999+ Harem into an SSS-Rank Legion-Chapter 131- Cucking the Son
The suitcase hit nothing.
Raven had simply moved sideways. The suitcase continued its arc and the latches, which had not been secured properly, gave way as it struck the headstone of Alexander Dalton’s grave and the case flew open and—
Everything stopped.
The contents of Victor Dalton’s mourning attire suitcase spread across the wet grass of his father’s cemetery.
Vibrators. The silicone kind, multiple sizes, one still in packaging. Anal beads — a graduated set, the purple ones, well-used. A glass toy, impractical for travel but apparently present anyway. Silk restraints, coiled. A remote-controlled bullet in its charging case.
A compact bottle of lubricant, which had cracked on impact and was slowly leaking into the grass.
Victor stood over his father’s grave with his fists up and his face the color of something that has stopped processing input.
The rain fell on everything equally.
Elena stared.
Victor stared at the grass.
Then he raised both fists and ’lunged’.
He made it exactly one step.
His leg went.
Not tripped — went, the way structure gives way, his knee simply not cooperating with forward motion, his body’s architecture receiving a signal it hadn’t authorized and not understanding what to do with it.
He went sideways.
His hip hit the edge of the grave marker.
He went down — not dramatically, not all at once, but in stages, his knees meeting the wet, muddy grass at the foot of Alexander Dalton’s grave, his hands landing in the churned earth, his eyes wide and red-rimmed with the sudden flooding of involuntary tears.
"’WHAT—’" His voice cracked. "’WHAT IS—MY LEG—’"
He looked up.
Raven was looking at him with the expression of a man who finds something mildly interesting.
"’VICTOR—’" Elena stepped forward—
The sound came from behind her.
A deep sound. Not a voice. Not a word.
Just sound, from her own throat, involuntary, absolute.
"’AAAAANNGHHH~~~!!!’"
Her back arched.
Her hands flew out and found the nearest thing — the stone cross — and gripped, her knuckles going white, her whole body locking around a single point of sensation at her core that was pain and was also the most specific, concentrated, total thing she had ever felt in her twenty-three years.
Not inside.
Just — at the entrance. Two inches. Maybe three.
His cock pressing through the fabric that had been pulled aside, the fat head of it forcing her open at the entrance, pressing against something that had never been pressed, the sheer ’width’ of it tearing a fraction at the edge of a membrane she’d had her whole life until approximately right now.
The rain fell.
Victor screamed from the ground.
Elena screamed from the cross.
"HIEEEKK~~~!!! IAAANGHHH~~~!!!"
And Raven stood behind her with one hand on her hip and the half-smirk of a man who has arranged things precisely how he intended.
’"Ba... astr... ad’" 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚
Alexander Dalton’s voice had said something like that. In his last breath. Victor hadn’t been there but maybe both father and son being cucked uttered same words.
"LEAVE MY WIFE ALONE!!"
"HNGH... AHHH... IT HURTS~!!... AAANGH...."
The blood came before she understood what had happened.
Elena looked down.
Her legs were spread — not by choice, but by the specific mathematics of what was behind her, the forward pressure of his cock lodged two inches inside her entrance forcing her stance open, her toes barely touching the cold wet grass, her heels lifted slightly by the upward angle of him pushing through the resistance of her.
The rain ran down her inner thighs in thin lines.
The blood ran with it.
Not a lot. Not dramatic. Just — red, diluted pink by the water, trickling from where her body had given something it couldn’t take back, the evidence of it washing slowly over the pale skin of her inner thigh and dripping from her knee onto the muddy grass below.
She stared at it.
Her whole body was shaking.
Not from cold. The shaking was something else — the full-body response to a pain that was also not entirely pain, the wiring of nerve endings that had never been activated before all activating simultaneously and her brain not having the categories for what to file any of it under.
"Stop—"
Her voice came out as a whisper.
"Stop — Raven — what are you — STOP—"
His hand on her hip. That warm, total grip. Her panties were still hooked on his fingers where he’d pulled them aside, holding the fabric away from where his cock pressed into her, and the position kept her hips angled backward, kept her from closing her legs entirely, kept her open to the pressure that was two inches of him and felt like being split down the middle with something that had no business existing at this size inside anyone.
"RAVEN—"
Her hands were white on the stone cross. The granite was cold and wet and her fingers pressed into the carved edges for structural support because her legs were not currently providing any.
"I WILL KILL YOU—"
Victor. From the ground. Still there, still on his knees in the mud at the base of his father’s gravestone, the scattered evidence of his suitcase around him in the rain — the vibrators, the silk restraints, all of it getting wet in the grass — his face a ruined thing, tear-streaked, his expensive black suit soaking through at the knees, his hands in the churned mud.
"YOU BASTARD — GET OFF HER — I WILL TEAR YOU APART—"
He tried to rise.
His leg refused again. Whatever Raven had done to it — whatever signal had been quietly revoked — his body simply would not cooperate with standing. He got to one knee. Couldn’t find the second. Collapsed again with his hands in the mud, his face going through something that a person in an intact state would classify as a breakdown.
Elena heard him.
She tried to speak to him. To say something reassuring. To manage this the way she’d spent her life managing things, with the level face and the correct words.
What came out was:
"Nnghhh—"
Because Raven’s other hand had moved up her body.
Over the fabric of her mourning dress. Up from her hip, over her ribs, finding her breast through the black fabric, his palm cupping the weight of it from below. His fingers pressing in.
Then he pulled.
The fabric gave at the neckline — not a clean tear, the tearing of something wrenched rather than cut, the bodice of her dress giving way in a sound that was very small and very final. Her breasts fell free into the cold rain.
The cold hit her nipples immediately. The air, the rain, all of it — her nipples hardening in a way that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with physics and everything to do with desire and she couldn’t separate the two.
His hand found her bare breast.
Gripped.
The flesh compressed between his fingers, the warmth of his palm against her wet skin a specific contrast, and her breast swayed with the pressure, jiggling as he kneaded, the weight of it moving in his grip.
"HNN—"
His mouth found the side of her neck.
He tilted her head with his other hand — fingers at her jaw, turning her face sideways and up — and kissed the exposed line of her throat. His lips were warm. His teeth grazed. The sensation went from her neck to her nipple to the place where his cock was still pressing into her entrance and her body connected all three in a signal she had no framework to interrupt.
"Let go—" Her voice broke. "Please — Victor is right there — he can see everything—please—"
