Chapter 884 - 883- Viktor’s Insatiable Plan

Chapter 884: Chapter 883- Viktor’s Insatiable Plan

"I heard it from my maid, who heard it from her sister. He healed a dying child in the marketplace with nothing but a touch. The entire street saw it happen."

"Really. And they say he is the same Viktor Ktorian who caused such a stir at the academy."

"The very same. The territorial lord whose territory is being aggresive nowadays."

Soft laughter rippled around the table. One woman hid her smile behind a painted fan.

"They also say, and this is only what I heard, mind you, that he has a rather passionate reputation with his supporters. Mothers, mostly. Widows. A certain class of woman."

"Mothers! You scandalize me."

"The papers do not mention that part."

"The papers never mention the fun parts."

The princess let them finish. Then she spoke, and her voice cut through the amusement like a blade drawn slowly through silk.

"It does not matter who he was. It does not matter what passions he indulges or with whom. If he possesses real power, his past is irrelevant to us."

The fans stopped. The smiles dropped away like masks at midnight.

"Power is the only lineage that cannot be forged, ladies. Blood can be bought. Names can be married into. But a man who raises the dying with a touch is worth ten armies and three of my father’s finest regiments."

She lifted her cup and drank, eyes cool over the rim.

"Find out where he is staying. Arrange a meeting. I want to look this man in the eye and decide for myself what he is worth."

The ladies exchanged glances. Orders would be given before the tea grew cold. Carriages would be sent before the sun rose.

Somewhere below the terraces, in a rented room above a laundry line, I felt the hook tighten and smiled without knowing why.

Night had fully settled over the capital when I found myself in another narrow street, another cramped room that smelled of cheap incense and unwashed linen.

This woman was younger than the first. A widow of one winter, her husband carried off by the damp cough that took half the quarter every year. She had a soft, full body that hunger had not yet ruined, heavy breasts and wide hips and a nervous, hungry mouth.

She had come to my carriage when word spread that the saint was stopping in her lane. She had a sick mother of her own, she said. Could he...

Her mother was not sick. Her mother was dead five years. She just wanted me in her room, and we both knew it, and the pretense made it sweeter.

Now she was against the open window, one of her legs hooked high over my arm, her hairy cunt fully displayed to the alley below. My cock pistoned in and out of her with long, wet, unhurried strokes.

Each thrust made her heavy breasts bounce and slap against her own ribs. The lips of her pussy clung to my shaft on every withdrawal, shiny and swollen, refusing to let go.

Pah Pah Pah.

"Hngh~!! Oh... oh my god... everyone is... Anhgh?! They are all looking at my..."

"They are. Say hello."

Outside, a small crowd had gathered in the alley. Voices rose in crude delight.

"Is she on her monthlies? Look at the state of her."

"Her husband died last winter, you fool. Who is the man she brought home?"

"God above, look at the size of him. He is fucking her like a street bitch."

"Look at her face! She loves it! The widow loves it!"

Laughter rolled up the alley walls. The woman sobbed, forehead pressed to the window frame, eyes glassy and rolling.

"They can see... they are watching... my neighbors... the baker... oh gods, the baker is down there..."

I leaned close, lips brushing the shell of her ear, while my hips never slowed.

"It is fine. Let them watch. Your body already shows them how much you like being treated this way. Look at the way you drip for me. Look at the way your hips push back."

"It is not... I am not... HNNGH~!!"

A particularly deep thrust wrung a high, broken cry from her throat. Her inner walls seized around me.

PAAAH!

"HYAAAANGH~!!!"

Clear fluid sprayed around my cock, arcing out past her spread lips to spatter the windowsill and drip down toward the street. The crowd roared its approval. Coins clinked somewhere below. Someone actually applauded.

Pah Pah PAH!

"Hngh~! Oungh~!! HIEKK~!!! They are all looking... my cunt is spraying in front of everyone... Anhgh?!"

’Everyone can see my hairy pussy stretched around his cock... the whole quarter is watching me get bred like an animal... and the shame is making me cum harder than my husband ever did...’

I caught the side of her neck in my teeth and bit down, hard enough to leave a mark that would take a week to fade. A mark the whole quarter would see and know the shape of.

She screamed through her orgasm, voice cracking, and went limp in my arms, still twitching, still leaking down her own thighs.

I kept her leg high and kept driving, chasing my own end through the fluttering grip of her finish. Three more strokes. Four. Then I buried myself to the root and let go, groaning low, flooding her in long pulses while her body drank reflexively at me.

When I finally stepped back, she stayed draped over the windowsill, one leg still raised, cunt gaping and dripping in full view of the alley. The laughter continued.

Somewhere in the distance, a new set of cameras clicked.

’A widow advertised to the whole quarter by morning. The story will spread to every laundry line in the city before the papers print it.’

I collected my coat and stepped into the cooler night air. Faces turned away from me in the alley, suddenly fascinated by their own shoes.

One old woman made a warding sign, then looked at the mark on the widow’s neck and made a different sign entirely.

’Noble ladies have a fetish for burying their noses in places they shouldn’t... wouldn’t a saint who lusts be a perfect target to have?’