Free Web NovelChapter 529: Chapter 528- Gatherings of Men
The first man to speak was the tax embezzler — a slight, precise man named Culliver. He kept the county’s books and had been adjusting them for the better part of four years, quietly redirecting funds into channels with his name on them.
He cleared his throat. Unfolded his papers.
"I — the matter of the eastern district assessments — there has been, in the records, a discrepancy—"
He stopped.
Viktor’s hand in Eliantra’s hair had tightened.
Not viciously. Deliberately. The firm grip of a man initiating something heavier.
Her head began to move.
It was no longer the exhausted, sustained, slow work of the last hour. This was far more purposeful.
His hand guided her, setting a demanding rhythm. Her mouth accepted it fully. Her throat opened around him, the sound changing register — the wet, deep, internal noise of a woman’s throat taking devastating depth.
The suppressed, reflexive "Hnnmph~♡" that came with it was muffled entirely against his leaking shaft.
Her heavy breasts swung with each forward push of her head. The stiff, dark peaks dragged against the inside of the desk’s frame, leaving small, glistening wet streaks on the wood.
Her fingers found his thighs and gripped tight.
Fresh tears built at her lash line and tipped over. They ran down her already-stained cheeks, dropping from her chin with each obedient bob of her head.
Viktor’s eyes never left the room.
"Continue," he said. Still looking at Culliver.
His voice had not changed.
Culliver looked at his papers.
At the desk.
At Viktor.
He continued.
One by one they talked.
The tax ledgers. The grain stores. The forged supply contracts. The protection arrangements that had bled the territory’s smaller merchants for three years. The whisper campaigns against the mistress’s character. The arranged departures of household staff.
Renwick — face sweating, hand moving repeatedly to his collar — confessed the servant removal in a flat, careful voice that had all the warmth of a man reciting a recipe.
He did not mention the fantasy. He did not mention what he had intended to do once the house was empty and the woman isolated. His cock, limp and cold, felt nothing.
Viktor listened to all of it.
He absorbed it the way a river takes the rain — the information entering him and being processed somewhere deep and unhurried while the surface of him remained calm.
His hand continued its work. His expression remained the calm mask of a man following a reasonable business discussion.
"Slurp... chuu~ glpp.♡"
Below the desk, Eliantra had begun to understand.
Not from the words themselves. She could hear them, the voices of the men who had spent years carefully dismantling her territory while looking her in the eye and calling her ’my lady’.
But the words were arriving to her through the strange, pressure-altered hearing of a woman whose blood was all rushing to her chest, her throat, and her bruised knees.
She understood through "him".
Through the way his hand had tightened in her hair when Culliver began. The way the rhythm he set was patient and deliberate. It communicated something very clearly: "I have brought these men here. I am making them confess to you. I am giving you this."
Her throat worked around his throbbing length.
"Mmmhnnp... ahnn~♡"
Her eyes, tilted up to his face from below the desk, were streaming.
Not from pain. Not from the sheer depth of him stretching her throat or the ache in her knees. Not even from the raw-rubbed soreness of her lips after hours of this deep, wet friction.
It was from something that lived behind the sternum. Something that had been pressed very hard for a very long time and was now, unexpectedly, given somewhere to go.
She had been the strong woman. The mistress. The lady who handled her husband’s death alone and her territory’s decay alone and her people’s slow, systematic betrayal alone. She had held the posture and the title and the cold spine because nothing else had been available.
And now this strange man with black hair and purple eyes who had arrived like a consequence and spent the night reclaiming what she had been too exhausted to protect...
He was giving her back her territory from the same position he’d spent the night putting her in.
On her knees.
With her mouth full of him.
While the men who had stolen from her confessed.
The specific, particular, deeply undignified gratitude of this made her throat close around him harder. It made her move her head with more purpose.
The sound that escaped around his cock — "Mmnh~— Mmnhh~♡♡" — carried something far beyond mere technique.
"Slrrrp... shllck.♡"
Viktor felt it.
He looked down at her.
Her eyes, already streaming, found his. Red at the rim. Mascara tracked fully down both cheeks.
Her lips stretched wide around his thick shaft, her chin slick with his leaking pre-cum. Her heavy breasts hung forward, swaying, nipples pebbled and hard.
The other woman still worked devotedly at his base, tongue slow and thorough, mapping the heavy weight of his balls.
Something moved across Viktor’s face. Not theatrical. Small. The expression of a man who has noticed something he already knew.
He leaned down fractionally. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓
"Want to show them whose woman you are?" he said.
His voice was very quiet. Private. The room, still producing confessions, could not have heard it.
Her eyes widened.
The tears tipped over in a fresh wave. Her brows drew together. The instinct of protest was there, you could see it, the reflex of a woman who had never been possessed by anything, who had been a title and a responsibility and a managed facade for years.
Then his hand fisted in her hair.
And he came.
The sound that poured from her was thick, wet, and smothered against his flesh. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com
"MMMPH~!! Mmmphhh~!! Mmngh~!!♡♡"
A long, rolling vibration tore through the entire underside of his cock and resonated through the solid wood of the desk itself. It was the sound of a woman’s throat receiving far more than it was ready for, and taking it anyway.
Her throat worked in rapid, desperate pulls. Swallowing. Swallowing.
"Glp... glpp... nggh~!♡"
The overflow escaped the tight seal of her lips. Thick, hot ropes of it ran down her chin, landing in heavy white drops on the bare skin of her swinging breasts.
Her nostrils flared with the effort of breathing around the sheer, flooding fullness of it. Her fingers dug into his thighs hard enough to leave crescent marks.
And then — the strange thing.
The thing that made even the second woman pause and look.
The seed began to vanish.
Not wiped away. Not dripping off. "Vanishing."
It absorbed into the skin of her lips, her chin, her flushed chest wherever the thick fluid had landed. As if her body were accepting it at some fundamental, sub-dermal level.
Her face — tear-tracked, flushed, overwhelmed — was clearing. Strand by strand, drop by drop, his essence disappeared into her.
Her eyes, the whole time, were fixed on his.
The gratitude in them was so naked it looked like something else entirely.
Viktor straightened.
His hand released her hair.
He lifted his eyes to the room.
The confessions had stopped.
Seven faces stared back at him from their seats. Papers flat on the desk, hands still. It was the stark quiet of men who had just heard a woman come apart below a desk and were now reconsidering the entire morning.
The sound of her filled the room.
A soft, recovering, "Mnh~... Mnh~♡" still rising from below the wood. The slow return of her breathing. The faint, wet sounds of the second woman dutifully finishing her work, licking him clean.
Viktor looked at each man individually.
One face. Two faces. Seven.
"Sigh... I want to fuck them so hard but you bastards are here."
