fantasy novels Chapter 543 - 542- Tied with Chain Bridge
Chapter 543 - 542- Tied with Chain Bridge
Viktor, beneath all of this, had his face buried in Helviana’s chest.Both arms around her, pulling her against him, her breasts pressed to his face from above — she was positioned across him, her chest at his mouth level, his arms holding the small of her back, pressing her down into him as if she were specifically a chest-delivery device and everything else was secondary.
He sucked.
The milk came from her in a steady, warm, continuous stream, and he took it with the focused, unhurried attention of a man who had found something he liked and saw no reason to rush.
Helviana’s spine curved.
Her head fell back.
Her hands found the back of his head — not pushing, not pulling, simply ’there’, the way a woman’s hands find the head of someone doing something to her breasts that has made thought difficult.
’"Mmnh~— haahh~— Mas...ter~— mnh~— please~—"’
Her hips were moving.
Involuntary. Small. The rhythmic, searching press of a woman whose body was responding to stimulation that wasn’t targeted at her primary locations and had therefore rerouted the signal through everything available.
Viktor felt her hips moving.
His mouth curved around her nipple.
He bit lightly.
’"AAHHNN~!!"’
He released.
Looked at the ceiling above him.
At the sound of the room — Eliantra being bounced on his cock by two women, her cries continuous and structural, the slap of her landing on him filling the air; Helviana trembling in his arms, her breasts leaking against his face, her hips making their small, involuntary confessions; Rehana’s hands on Eliantra’s hips working with the old maid’s in synchrony; the old maid’s face — younger by another degree every hour — carrying the composed expression of a professional fully engaged in her function.
The sound of all of them.
His room.
His women — borrowed, owned, inherited, found.
He thought about Eliantara’s Daughter the heroine who killed him in past life.
Elena.
’Fuck... that bitch.’
He looked at the desk.
At the golden chain with the nipple hooks.
At the anal beads.
At the wooden dildo sitting at the end of the arrangement with the patient, inanimate confidence of something designed for a purpose.
’Tch.’
PHACK!!
Rehana and the old maid, working on some private synchrony, dropped her down fully.
"KYAAANGHHH~!!!♡♡!!!"
"Bring the chains."
Two words. Flat. The voice of a man who has decided something.
Rehana moved first. The old maid half a step behind her. Both of them leaving Eliantra’s hips simultaneously — the mistress, suddenly unsupported, lurched forward with the graceless stumble of a woman who had been relying on two sets of hands and found them gone without warning.
She fell directly onto Helviana.
Chest to chest.
Both women landing in a heap of heavy, warm, milk-damp flesh and tangled limbs, Eliantra’s full breasts mashing flat against Helviana’s with the soft, wet impact of two very full things meeting.
"MNGH~!!" — Helviana, receiving the impact.
"—ngh—" — Eliantra, making it.
They lay there for a moment, both breathing, both flushed, both staring at each other from approximately three inches of distance in the specific, deeply uncomfortable intimacy of two women pressed together who would not have chosen each other’s proximity.
Eliantra’s cheek was against Helviana’s cheek.
Their nipples touching.
Both of them leaking.
Eliantra turned her face away first. The reflex of nobility encountering a commoner at an unacceptable distance, the training of a lifetime operating even in a room where she had just been bounced on a man’s cock by two other women for twenty minutes.
Rehana returned.
The old maid returned.
The golden chain between them — each holding one end, the crescent hooks catching the lamplight, swinging gently.
Viktor sat up.
He looked at the chain.
At the two women in the heap.
At their nipples — both stiff, both dark, both wet, both currently accessible.
He reached forward.
His fingers found Eliantra’s left nipple first.
The pinch was precise and deliberate — index and thumb, closing on the stiff tip with the specific grip of a man who knew exactly how much pressure a nipple hook required. The crescent hook opened, the metal cold for one brief instant against the flushed, oversensitized skin, and then it closed.
Eliantra’s body arched.
"NNNGHH~!! What—what are you—VIKTOR—"
The other end of the chain. Helviana’s right nipple.
He attached it.
The chain pulled taut between them — a six-inch span of gold links connecting Eliantra’s left nipple directly to Helviana’s right, the hooks seated at both tips, the tension of it pulling each woman’s breast slightly toward the other.
Both women looked down at this.
At the chain.
At each other.
"What are you doing—" Eliantra started.
"—husband—" the word came out of her mouth with the specific, alarmed quality of a woman who has realized that the man in front of her is in a mood that does not respond to vocabulary.
"Are you—" Helviana, simultaneously. "—have you gone mad—this is not how—"
He attached the second chain.
Right nipple to left nipple. The mirror arrangement. Both now connected — Eliantra’s right to Helviana’s left, Helviana’s right to Eliantra’s left, each woman’s breasts tethered to the other’s in an X of gold links that pulled their chests together and ensured that movement by one would be registered immediately by the other.
Both women made the sound of women understanding a situation they had not consented to clearly enough.
"NGH~!! It hurts—please—Viktor—the hooks—MNNGHH~!!!"
"AAHHNN~!! Master—master this is—NNH~!!"
He was not done.
The third chain was shorter. Thinner. The hooks at each end smaller — the clit hooks, the ones shaped differently from the nipple hooks, the size and curve of them carrying specific, targeted intent.
Both women saw it.
"NO—" Helviana, voice going up an octave. "No, absolutely not, I am a commoner but I am not—"
"Stop this immediately—" Eliantra, the mistress voice fully engaged, the cold authority of a woman who administered a territory attempting to assert itself over the situation. "I will not be connected to a commoner’s—"
Viktor hooked Eliantra’s clit.
"AAAAAANGHHHH~!!!! NGH—NGH—REMOVE IT—REMOVE IT—MASTER—"
The sound she made when the hook seated — small, sharp, cold metal finding the most sensitive thing her body owned and holding it — was the sound of every remaining piece of Eliantra Westing’s composure leaving the building simultaneously.
Helviana tried to move backward.
The nipple chains pulled.
Both her nipples yanked forward with Eliantra’s movement, the hooks biting, the pain immediate and sharp and traveling directly to the same place the pleasure did.
"NGHH~!! AAHHNN~!! Don’t—DON’T MOVE—" Helviana aimed at Eliantra.
Viktor hooked Helviana’s clit.
"KYAAANGHH~!!! NGH~!! HAAHH~!! I SAID—I SAID NO—MASTER THIS IS—"
The chain between their clits pulled taut.
Six inches of gold between two women’s most sensitive places, the hooks seated, the tension calibrated.
Both women were crying.
Not the theatrical crying of discomfort being performed. The actual, genuine, tear-running, breathing-broken crying of women in real, sharp, very specific pain who were also — and this was the part neither of them could address out loud — aroused in a way that the pain had no business contributing to but was contributing to completely.
Their breasts were mashed together by the chains. The X of gold links between their nipples pulled their chests inward, their full, heavy, milk-warm tits pressing flat against each other’s, the nipples hooked and pulled and sensitive and leaking between them.
The clit chain kept both of them from separating below.