My Husband Has A Weird System.

Victor sat close to the small fire, staring at the cave mouth. The blizzard had died down, but the cold still sneaked in, sharp and persistent. Every minute that passed without her made his chest feel tighter.

He let out a long, slow breath as Bella’s small shape appeared through the white haze. She walked steadily, dragging two heavy wolf pelts behind her. The fur was already scraped clean, the hides neatly rolled at the edges. Bundled on top were large cuts of meat, stripped of fat and sinew, plus a few sturdy branches for the fire.

Everything looked prepared and precise, like someone had taken their time with a very sharp tool.

She stepped inside, cheeks flushed pink from the wind, sapphire eyes shining with a quiet, tired pride.

“Look, Dad,” she said softly, setting everything down near the warmth. “Two wolves. Meat for us, skins to keep warm… and some wood too.”

He knew exactly what kind of wolves roamed out there in this weather. Mana strengthened beasts that were bigger, faster, and meaner than any normal animal. Even a low-rank Hunter would think twice before taking on two of them alone. Yet here was Bella, tiny and fragile-looking, wearing nothing but thin lace, coming back with both their hides and enough meat to last for days.

She was trying so hard to look strong, but he saw it: the faint redness rimming her eyes, the way her lashes were still clumped together. She’d cried out there. Probably more than once.

His throat felt tight. “That’s plenty, Bella,” he said, voice low but steady. “More than enough. No more going out there. Stay inside. Rest now.”

She nodded right away, soft and obedient. “Yes, Dad.”

Bella knelt by the fire and started unpacking what she’d brought. Victor watched her back for a moment, relief slowly loosening the knot in his chest.

She’d made it back. She was safe.

His eyes drifted lower without meaning to.

The cold had done its work. Through the sheer black babydoll, her nipples stood out hard and dark, straining against the damp lace like they were begging for heat. Small, perfect peaks that rose and fell with every breath she took.

Bella must have felt his gaze. Her hands moved on instinct, and one arm came up to cover her chest. But the motion tugged the too-short hem of the babydoll upward. The thin fabric rode high, baring the smooth curve of her ass and the soft, bare lips between her thighs. In the flickering firelight, her pussy looked flushed and slightly parted, glistening just enough to catch the glow.

Victor’s breath caught. He stared for a heartbeat too long before forcing his eyes away. He cleared his throat, rough and awkward.

Bella’s cheeks went bright red. She quickly smoothed the fabric down, though it barely covered anything, and turned half away from him.

She busied herself adding more wood to the fire, then reached for the stone pot and the meat, keeping her back to him as the flames grew brighter.

Victor quietly gathered a thin thread of mana and sent it flowing into his eyes.

[Observer] activated.

The world snapped into sharp focus. Every detail of Bella became clear — not just the surface, but deeper, down to the level of cells and tissue.

What he saw made him freeze.

Her body was impossibly clean. Perfect. The cells looked brand new, no damage, no waste buildup, no weak spots. It was the exact kind of purity you only saw in a freshly ranked-up F-class Hunter right after their first purification.

Every part of her had been scrubbed at the deepest level, impurities gone, weak cells replaced with stronger ones.

But there were no mana lines. No glowing blue circuits running through her muscles or veins like a normal Hunter. No core pulsing in her chest. Nothing. Just… emptiness. A pitch-black void where mana pathways should have been.

Hunters purified their bodies every time they ranked up. The process stripped away impurities, flushed out damaged cells, and rebuilt everything with higher-quality versions.

It wasn’t like weight training that made muscles thick and hard. Purification didn’t change the basic structure. Soft tissue stayed soft, skin stayed supple, and curves stayed gentle. It only upgraded the quality inside, tougher fibers, faster healing, insane durability.

A F-rank Hunter could get hit by a truck and walk away with just bruises, because their cells were that much better. Bella’s body was exactly like that. Soft. Plush. Feminine. But underneath, she had gone through dozens of purifications without ever awakening mana.

Victor’s mind raced back. Before he left for that final S-rank mission, Daniel had been completely ordinary, with no mana, no awakening, and nothing special. Yet in that frantic moment racing back to the city, Victor saw his son take a full-power strike from an S-rank boss, and still survive. That kind of toughness wasn’t human without awakening. It was at least A-rank.

What the hell had Daniel done to himself?

And what had he done to Bella?

Victor exhaled slowly, trying to pull his focus back. But his enhanced vision didn’t listen right away.

Bella was still kneeling by the fire, slightly bent forward as she arranged the meat strips. Her position made the thin babydoll ride up completely. The round cheeks of her ass parted just enough, and there — framed by soft skin — was the tight pink ring of her asshole.

With [Observer] still active, Victor saw it in microscopic detail.

The skin was perfectly smooth and flawless, not a single blemish, not even the faintest roughness. It gleamed softly in the firelight, pale pink at the outer edges fading into a warm, deeper rose toward the center, alive and healthy-looking.

Only at this impossible level of magnification could he make out the finest layer of downy peach fuzz, so delicate and sparse it was almost invisible to the naked eye, like the softest whisper of silk lying flat against the skin.

As Bella leaned forward to adjust the meat over the fire, her position shifted. The round cheeks parted just a little more, and the tight ring relaxed slightly, not fully open, but enough for the rim to bloom open a fraction.

In that brief moment, Victor’s enhanced vision slipped past the surface.

He caught a glimpse of the inner walls, smooth, glossy pink, glistening faintly with the body’s natural moisture. The delicate folds inside looked untouched, velvety, contracting gently with her breathing before tightening again into that perfect little pucker.

Bella knelt before the low fire, her back deliberately turned toward Victor. She focused on the meat, trying to slice the thicker pieces into thinner strips with the edge of a flat stone. Anything to keep her hands busy. Anything to avoid facing him right now — half-naked, the sheer babydoll doing nothing to hide how much the cold had made her body react.

At first it felt like nothing more than a stray draft — a soft, teasing brush against the sensitive skin between her cheeks. She dismissed it as the cave’s chill playing tricks.

But the sensation didn’t fade.

It grew. Steady. Deliberate. A gentle, insistent pressure right at the center of her tight ring. Not painful. Not rough. Just… there. Pressing. Slowly coaxing the puckered entrance to relax, to part just a fraction.

Bella’s breath hitched. She turned her head slightly, just enough to glance over her shoulder.

Victor was staring.

Not at her face. Not at her breasts or the curve of her hips.

Straight at her exposed asshole.

His eyes were fixed, unblinking, pupils blown wide in the firelight. He didn’t seem to notice she was looking back at him. He was lost — completely absorbed in the sight of her most private place.

Bella’s heart slammed against her ribs.

The pressure intensified. Her sphincter clenched instinctively… but it didn’t close.

It couldn’t.

Bella’s sphincter clenched hard—instinctive, desperate, a futile attempt to shut out the intrusion. She squeezed with everything she had, every muscle in her pelvis contracting in panic.

It did nothing.

The tight ring didn’t close. It couldn’t.

That warm, invisible pressure simply refused to yield. It pressed forward with calm, merciless patience, like a thick, unhurried finger made of heat and will alone. The resistant muscle trembled… then slowly, humiliatingly, began to give way.

She felt it happen in excruciating detail.

First the outer rim: that delicate, puckered star of pale pink skin stretched taut, the fine wrinkles smoothing out as the circumference reluctantly widened. Each tiny fold was forced to unfurl, the skin growing thinner, shinier, almost translucent under the strain. The color deepened from soft rose to a flushed, glistening coral as blood rushed to the surface.

Then the inner ring—the stronger, smoother band of muscle just inside—yielded next. It parted with a slow, wet bloom, the edges rolling outward like the petals of a flower reluctantly opening at dawn.

Bella could feel the exact moment the seal broke: a tiny, slick pop of tension releasing, followed by the cool cave air kissing flesh that had never been exposed before.

Her asshole was no longer a neat, closed knot.

It was an oval now—soft, vulnerable, obscenely open.

The rim quivered helplessly around the invisible girth holding it apart, the stretched muscle forming a perfect, glistening frame of rosy flesh. Inside, the walls were revealed in shameless detail: smooth, velvety rose-pink mucosa, slick with her body’s own reluctant lubrication, catching the firelight in wet, pearlescent gleams. Tiny ridges and folds—delicate, secret textures that no one was ever meant to see—rippled faintly with each panicked flutter of her insides. Deeper still, the tunnel narrowed again into warm darkness, but even there the walls were being gently coaxed apart, forced to display their glossy, untouched intimacy.

Every tiny contraction only made it worse.

When she tried to clench again, the stretched rim simply pulsed outward—throbbing visibly—like a hungry little mouth gasping for air. The motion pulled the delicate inner folds taut, making them glisten brighter, more indecently wet. A thin, clear thread of natural moisture gathered at the lower edge and slowly slid down toward her perineum, trailing over the sensitive skin before dripping onto the stone floor.

She was dripping from her ass.

Not from anything entering her—just from being held open. Just from being looked at so deeply, so ruthlessly, that her body had no choice but to prepare itself.

Bella’s thighs shook. Her face burned so hot she thought she might faint. The shame was suffocating—her father-in-law was watching her most forbidden hole get slowly, elegantly ruined by nothing more than his eyes. And yet her pussy was throbbing in time with each helpless flutter of her stretched rim, fresh slickness coating her folds, running in warm rivulets down the insides of her legs.

The pressure didn’t retreat. It settled deeper.

Now the invisible force felt thicker—more insistent—like the blunt head of something far too large nudging insistently against the slick, quivering walls inside her. Not thrusting. Not fucking. Just… occupying. Holding her open from the inside out, letting her feel every millimeter of exposure, every shameful inch of her rectum laid bare to his unrelenting stare.

She whimpered again—higher this time, almost a sob.

Her asshole pulsed around the phantom intrusion: open… close… open… close… never quite managing to shut, never quite managing to hide.

Bella’s mind reeled, piecing it together in fragments between the waves of humiliating pleasure.

She knew what this was.

It was his gaze.

Victor’s stare had weight. Depth. Strength. The kind only an S-rank Hunter could unconsciously wield when every ounce of his attention locked onto one tiny point.

A Hunter's focus could manifest as raw pressure, a psychic force honed from years of battling gates and monsters. It was like how an elite Hunter could pin down a lower-rank one without lifting a finger—pure intent, concentrated will, crushing the air around them until submission was inevitable.

Normally, it required deliberate effort: a surge of mana, a sharpened mind. Hunters didn’t "accidentally" wield it to harm innocents; the power demanded ironclad control, conscious activation.

In contrast, when they focus too intensely without meaning to, it can occasionally lead to undesirable physical effects.

And right now, Victor's gaze was pouring into her. He wasn't just looking at her asshole; he was fixating on it, his intensity unwittingly channeling into a tangible force.

His eyes bored in, and with them came that pressure: warm, insistent, parting her open as if his very consciousness was flooding her most intimate space.

Peering at every fiber, every glistening fold, dissecting her from the inside out with nothing but his stare.

The realization hit Bella like a gut punch, amplifying the sensation a hundredfold.

She could feel him... observing.

Not casually glancing, but scrutinizing at a hyper-detailed level, like a scientist under a microscope. Every tiny wrinkle in her inner walls, every subtle vein pulsing beneath the slick mucosa, every quiver of the delicate ridges—she knew he was seeing it all. Mapping it. The invisible pressure wasn't random; it was his awareness probing, stretching her wider to expose more, to delve into the textures she'd never even thought about herself. The velvety smoothness of her rectal tunnel, the faint, rhythmic contractions of the muscle trying to resist— all laid bare under his unwitting inspection. It felt like his mind was inside her, tracing the glossy pink depths with ethereal fingers, cataloging the warmth, the wetness, the forbidden intimacy of her body's hidden core.

A sudden draft from the cave whispered across her exposed skin, and Bella gasped—sharp and involuntary—as the cool air slipped inside her opened hole. It wasn't just brushing the rim; it was lulling deeper, chilling the sensitive inner walls that were never meant to feel the open breeze. The cold contrasted brutally with the warm pressure of his gaze, making her insides clench in futile protest, the slick folds tingling with a mix of vulnerability and unwelcome arousal. Goosebumps prickled along her spine, but lower, in that stretched-open space, it was a strange, icy intimacy—like being invaded by the elements themselves because of him.

She twisted her head further, stealing another glance over her shoulder. Victor's eyes were glazed, distant, his expression slack-jawed and entranced. He looked lost—utterly submerged in whatever vision her asshole was providing, his pupils dilated to black pools in the firelight.

Was he even aware anymore? Or had his focus pulled him under, drowning him in the details of her most private anatomy?

Bella's stomach twisted with uncertainty. It reminded her of Daniel—her husband—and Ethan, his brother. They'd done this before: tugging her pants down in playful moments, spreading her cheeks to stare deep into her holes, their fingers teasing the rims before their gazes turned vacant, mesmerized by the sight. They'd zone out like that, lost in the hypnotic allure of her body's secrets, and it always left her flushed and conflicted.

Now, with Victor—Dad—it was worse. A thousand times more taboo. She froze, heart pounding, mind a whirlwind of confusion.

What was she supposed to do? Cover up? Snap her fingers to break his trance? If she did, he'd snap out of it mortified, the air between them poisoned by awkward shame. She couldn't bear that—ruining their bond over something so... intimate. But staying like this? Letting him keep "looking" while her body betrayed her with fresh waves of heat? She was mortified, yes, but the arousal was undeniable: her pussy aching, clit throbbing in rhythm with the phantom pressure in her ass.

Baffled and horny, she bit her lip harder, trying to play it cool, to pretend nothing was happening. Just focus on the meat, she told herself. Act normal.

But then... it shifted.

The pressure inside her changed—deepened. It was moving now, that invisible rod of intent sliding further in, probing past the initial stretch. Deeper into her rectum, nudging against the curving walls with a slow, deliberate glide. The sensation intensified: fuller, more invasive, like a thick, warm presence filling her inch by inch, pressing against sensitive nerves she'd never known existed. Her asshole fluttered wildly around it, the rim quivering as the "gaze" delved deeper, exposing even more of her inner secrets to his unwitting scrutiny.

The pressure deepened inexorably, Victor's gaze-turned-force slithering further into Bella's rectum like a warm, ethereal serpent uncoiling in her depths.

It wasn't a sudden thrust—no, that would have been mercifully quick. Instead, it trundled forward with agonizing slowness, a steady, gliding intrusion that mapped every inch of her inner walls as it went. She felt it vividly: the invisible "rod" thickening subtly as it advanced, stretching the velvety tunnel wider in its wake, the slick mucosa yielding with a soft, internal squelch that only she could sense. The sensation was a chaotic storm—uncomfortable at first, a foreign fullness pressing against her body's natural resistance, making her guts twist with a dull, insistent ache like being overfilled from the wrong end.

It was strange, too: not flesh, not heat from a lover's touch, but something intangible yet palpably solid, a psychic probe that hummed with Victor's unconscious energy, vibrating faintly against her sensitive nerves and sending bizarre tingles radiating outward, as if her asshole were being electrified from within.

And beneath it all—god, the pleasure. It crept in uninvited, a forbidden thrill that made her toes curl against the stone floor. Each incremental slide nudged hidden bundles of nerves, sparking waves of ecstasy that mixed with the discomfort like sweet poison in bitter wine.

Her inner walls rippled involuntarily around the advancing pressure, clenching and releasing in futile spasms that only amplified the bliss, turning the strange invasion into something embarrassingly erotic. It felt like being fucked by a ghost—slow, relentless, impossibly deep—her rectum blooming open layer by layer, the ridges and folds massaged into quivering submission. The cool cave air still whispered inside her, chilling the exposed depths, but now it contrasted with the warm "gaze," creating a maddening hot-cold friction that made her hips twitch, her pussy clench in sympathy, leaking more slickness down her thighs.

Bella's body betrayed her further, arching downward in a reflexive crouch—her back curving like a cat in heat, elbows digging into the ground as she hunched over the forgotten meat. She told herself it was to endure, to brace against the overwhelming sensations flooding her core, but the movement only aligned her asshole more perfectly with Victor's line of sight. Her cheeks spread wider naturally from the position, the puckered entrance now thrust upward, straight and unobstructed, like an offering to his entranced stare. That shift allowed the pressure to glide even deeper—effortlessly now—plunging past the initial curve of her rectum into straighter, tighter territory, filling her to a depth that made her eyes water. The invisible force bottomed out against a particularly sensitive spot deep inside, pressing there with insistent warmth, sending jolts of raw pleasure shooting up her spine and making her vision blur.

She clamped her hands over her mouth harder, nails digging into her cheeks as she fought to stifle the moans bubbling up. A low, throaty whimper escaped anyway—muffled but audible in the quiet cave—her breath coming in ragged, hitching gasps. From the outside, if anyone could see, and Victor certainly was, even in his daze, her asshole looked utterly transformed: no longer a shy, wrinkled star, but a gaping, flushed chasm under the unrelenting pressure.

The rim was stretched into a wide, oval hole—glistening coral-pink edges pulled taut and thin, quivering with each internal pulse like the mouth of a deep, inviting pit. The inner walls were partially visible, slick and rosy, folding outward slightly from the strain, the tunnel descending into shadowed warmth that seemed to swallow the firelight. It was obscene—a perfect, yawning void held open by invisible will, the edges throbbing visibly as if begging for more, a thin sheen of moisture beading at the lower curve and dripping slowly, betraying how her body was adapting, welcoming the violation despite her mind's protests.

Deeper still, the gaze pressed on, and Bella wondered how much more she could take before breaking.

Bella’s consciousness began to fray at the edges, like silk threads unraveling under too much tension. The cave, the fire, the forgotten strips of meat—all of it blurred into soft, distant haze. Her world narrowed to the single, obscene point of connection: the warm, unyielding pressure of Victor’s gaze sliding deeper inside her rectum, slow and deliberate, like a thick, invisible shaft forged from pure fixation.

She had to open her mouth to breathe. Her lips parted on a shaky exhale, saliva pooling under her tongue before it spilled over—first a thin string, then a slow, glistening drool that dripped from her chin and pattered onto the cold stone between her knees. She couldn’t close her mouth again; every shallow pant demanded it stay slack, tongue lolling slightly as another helpless whimper escaped.

She was being fucked by her father-in-law’s eyes.

And she was… enjoying it.

The realization burned through the fog in her mind, hot and shameful and undeniable. Her pussy throbbed in vicious pulses, clit swollen and aching without a single touch, slickness running in steady rivulets down her inner thighs, pooling beneath her.

Every time that phantom rod of his concentrated stare nudged another sensitive curve inside her—pressing against the velvety walls, stretching the narrow tunnel wider, gliding past hidden ridges that made her whole pelvis flutter—she felt a fresh spike of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

He was looking at everything. Every glistening fold, every faint ripple of muscle trying to clench around nothing, every secret inch of her rectal passage all the way toward the deeper curve where her colon began to narrow again. His gaze was inside her, mapping her, owning her most forbidden depths with ruthless, unconscious thoroughness.

She tried—god, she tried—to claw her rationality back.

Think about him. Think about Victor. Not this. Not the way his eyes are raping your ass right now. Remember who he is to you.

But the memories that flooded in only made it worse.

She saw his broad back first—the solid, dependable silhouette that had always been there when the world felt too big and too empty.

Victor and his wife had been the closest thing to parents she’d ever known. They fed her, clothed her, taught her, held her when she cried.

Victor especially. He was safety. Strength. The man who carried her on his shoulders through festivals when she was small, who taught her how to hold a knife properly, who looked at her with quiet pride when she graduated.

And like every girl who idolizes the steady, towering figure of her father, Bella had harbored that secret, childish crush—the innocent heat in her cheeks when he smiled at her, the way her heart stuttered when his big hand ruffled her hair.

Her first crush had been Victor.

And now he was fucking her.

Not with his body. Not with cruelty or intent. But with that same overwhelming presence, condensed into something far more carnal: a long, rigid shaft of psychic force born from his trance-like fixation, plunging deep into her asshole, holding it open so wide she felt like a gaping tunnel under inspection.

The rim of her hole was stretched into a thin, trembling ring of flushed pink flesh—almost translucent at the edges—quivering helplessly around the invisible girth.

From his angle it must look like a dark little crater: deep, glossy, yawning open to reveal the slick rose-pink walls descending into shadow, the delicate inner textures rippling with every involuntary contraction, the faint gleam of natural lubrication catching firelight as it slowly welled up and dripped. A living, breathing hole, forced to display itself completely because his mind refused to look away.

Bella’s back arched lower still, forehead nearly touching the stone now, ass presented high and shameless. The new angle let the pressure sink even deeper—past the second curve, nudging into territory so intimate it made her sob quietly behind her teeth. Her whole body shook with the conflicting storm: horror at what was happening, grief for the innocence of those old feelings, and a raw, animal lust that refused to be silenced.

She drooled again—thicker this time—string after string falling from her open mouth as another deep, rolling wave of pleasure rolled through her core.

She didn’t know how much longer she could hold on before something inside her broke wide open.

The psychic shaft of Victor’s consciousness finally reached the absolute deepest point inside Bella—nudging right up against the tight, final curve where her rectum gave way to the sigmoid colon, that hidden, hypersensitive terminus no one had ever touched, let alone invaded so thoroughly.

The impact was instantaneous.

Bella’s entire body seized in a violent, full-body convulsion—jolt-jolt-JOLT—spine arching so hard her forehead cracked against the stone floor with a dull thunk. Every muscle locked at once, then released in frantic spasms.

Her vision whited out.

A strangled, animalistic “Nngh—aaahhh!!” tore from her gaping mouth, saliva spraying in thick strings as her jaw worked uselessly.

She couldn’t hold back anymore.

The orgasm crashed through her like a dam bursting—raw, brutal, unstoppable. Her pussy clamped down on nothing, clit pulsing wildly, and then the floodgates opened lower still. A hot, hissing psssshhhh erupted between her trembling thighs as she squirted and pissed at the same time—clear, forceful streams arcing out in erratic spurts, splashing across the cold cave floor in loud, wet splatter-splat-splat puddles that quickly merged into a warm, shameful lake beneath her. The acrid-sweet scent of her release filled the air instantly.

She couldn’t bear it—the overwhelming sensation of being so completely claimed inside her ass.

Her rectum began to bear down instinctively, powerful, rhythmic contractions trying to expel the intruder: squeeze… push… squeeze… push… like her body was desperately trying to shit out the thick rod of Victor’s mind itself.

But the invisible shaft filled her so perfectly, so unyieldingly, that every raking contraction only dragged her slick inner walls tighter around it, amplifying the obscene friction.

Her asshole fluttered and gaped in protest—plip-plip-plip—tiny wet sounds echoing as the stretched rim pulsed outward with each futile push.

The violent spasms, the choked, keening moans she could no longer fully stifle—“Mmmph—hnnngh—aaah!—Dad!”—and the desperate, milking resistance of her hole finally snapped Victor out of his trance.

His eyes refocused with a sharp blink.

He saw it all in horrifying clarity: his daughter-in-law hunched on all fours before him, ass presented high, cheeks spread wide, her once-tight little star now transformed into a wide, glistening, obscene crater—rim stretched thin and rosy, inner walls partially everted in slick pink folds, the deep tunnel yawning open like a hungry, breathing mouth. And inside—god—his own consciousness was still lodged there, thick and immovable, feeling every frantic ripple and squeeze of her rectal muscles desperately trying to force him out.

He felt it. Every contraction. Every slick, rhythmic clench-push-clench as her body tried to birth his gaze like an impossible turd. The intimate feedback loop was excruciatingly vivid—he could sense the velvety heat, the glossy texture, the way her deepest walls fluttered in humiliated panic around his psychic intrusion.

Panic flooded him. What the fuck am I doing?

Instinctively, he yanked his consciousness back.

The withdrawal was sudden, brutal.

Bella’s scream cracked the air—“AIIIEE!”—as the thick shaft of his mind dragged free in one long, merciless glide.

Her inner walls clung desperately, the slick mucosa catching and pulling outward in a slow, wet shlrrrrrp—like a fat, invisible cock being unsheathed from a too-tight sleeve. The rim of her asshole stretched even further for a heartbeat, everting into a lewd, puffy ring of glistening flesh before finally snapping back with a filthy plop-pop.

The sudden friction against her oversensitive walls—combined with the violent emptying—triggered an even fiercer climax. Her whole pelvis bucked wildly—thump-thump-thump against the stone—as another gush of piss and squirt sprayed out in messy arcs, pssssh-pssssh-pssssh.

Her asshole gaped wide open now, unable to close properly: a dark, throbbing pit rimmed with flushed, quivering muscle, the inner folds still partially prolapsed and glistening, making soft, wet schlick-schlick sounds with every aftershock contraction. A final thick droplet of her own slick hung at the lower edge before falling with a quiet plip into the puddle below.

Bella collapsed forward, face-first into her own mess—belly pressed to the warm, wet stone, limbs splayed, ass still twitching high in the air. Her hole continued to wink and gape rhythmically—wink… gape… wink… gape—each involuntary flutter accompanied by a tiny, obscene squish.

Victor sat frozen.

Before him lay the wreckage of what he’d done: his daughter-in-law sprawled in a spreading pool of her own piss and arousal, trembling, drooling, ass ruined and open, the most intimate part of her body still pulsing in aftershocks from his unconscious violation. The firelight danced across the slick, gaping mess of her hole, turning it into something simultaneously vulgar and hypnotically beautiful.

He didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what to say.

He could only stared—at the ruin, at her, at himself—paralyzed by the enormity of what his gaze had just done to the girl he’d once carried on his shoulders like his own daughter.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!