Pussy Evaluation Time
I'll grade that pussy for you. When some asshole screws you over, the best thing is to make them feel like the one who's fucked.
For example, right before I enlisted, some military doctor at the draft board suddenly started talking down to me like I was shit.
If I'd fired back with the same attitude, it would've tanked my physical exam grade for sure. So I handled it real smart.
—Yeah, baby. What's up?
Man, I can still picture that doctor's face clear as day. He dropped the rude shit and switched to polite speech real quick.
Who knows, maybe that's why a healthy guy like me ended up with a 4th-grade exemption and public service duty.
Either way, the point is, taking shit lying down ain't my style.
"Are you okay...?"
"Yeah, I'm fine."
Surprisingly, incubi have insane recovery on their faces alone. My broken, twisted nose snapped right back into place without any splint. Shattered teeth started regenerating bit by bit.
I lost too much blood and needed a transfusion, but whatever—that's secondary.
Incubi live off their looks, so maybe that's why facial regen is top-tier. Teeth too? Wild.
"Don't ever pull that shit again, got it?"
"Of course."
Thanks to that, I saved on implants. Still, she hurt me, so time to return the favor in kind.
"Does it have to be her? There are plenty of ways to get revenge."
"Yeah, it has to be Morgana."
"Uh... why?"
Rasca was extra chatty today. She already hated Morgana's guts, and now she seemed even more pissed.
"'Cause even though her personality's trash, her face and body are worth eating."
Why Morgana and no one else? 'Cause she's hot as fuck.
I wouldn't have risked my neck messing with Rasca if she didn't turn me on.
"Ahh... yeah, that makes sense."
"Right? You're quick on the uptake, Rasca. Love that."
"Ehehe."
I stroked her soft hair and tipped back my glass.
Movies always say strong whiskey disinfects wounds. Truth is, mediocre whiskey on a cut feeds the bacteria with its sugars and makes shit worse.
This was just to check if the wound still stung.
"No pain means you're all healed up. Good. Ready to head out?"
"Um, wait..."
"Yeah?"
"You know... there's something I want."
Rasca fidgeted, clearly holding something back.
"Oh, I get it. If you want a kiss, just say so, Rasca."
"But saying it out loud is embarrassinggg."
"Hm."
A big girl like her—bigger than me—acting cute and begging for a kiss? Adorable.
I petted her head for a good long while, then pressed my lips to hers.
"Hehe... that was so good."
"Alright, heading out for real now."
"Okay!"
The old Rasca would've never let this fly. Treating the werewolf gang boss like a puppy? Mark of Submission is OP.
If I could turn that rude vampire bitch into this...
Oh, I'm absolutely gonna. I'll ram my cock into that vampire's pussy for daring to break my teeth without knowing her place.
Back in Morgana's dream.
The setting was the massage parlor again.
"This is weird. You definitely... I mean, I..."
"No idea what you're talking about, ma'am. I'm just a lowly imp who's always run this massage shop."
Guess pissing her off in reality left her confused even here. Whatever, not important.
"Right... yeah, imps are all small and frail anyway. Faces all look the same."
I'd seen an imp once. Yeah, short as hell, males and females alike.
Money-grubbing too, every last one.
"This way, please."
But imps love cash more than sex—that's where we differ.
Heard they get sick and die without enough money.
I wither without sex, so that's why I'm putting Morgana under me.
"I'll prep the massage bed now."
"Mm, yeah. Just strip, right?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Hypnosis had her hooked good—she undressed without a peep.
Beautiful body, every damn time. Flawless, not a blemish anywhere...
Vampires hate sun, so pale skin stays perfect? UV rays wreck skin, after all.
Tits are a bit small, though. Not tiny, but next to Rasca's jiggling F-cups? Flat as a board.
"We'll start with a breast massage today."
"Never heard of that one."
"Of course it's new to you."
I just made it up.
"It's an ancient technique from some eastern empire, given to an emperor who ruled it all. Massages the breasts to circulate your qi, boost yin energy, and promote growth."
"Breast growth..."
Small tits a complex? They're plenty big already.
But she hates Rasca, tits probably part of it. Makes sense.
"Lie on your back first, show me your stomach."
"Okay..."
Morgana lay down without question. Silver hair flowed like molten silver.
"Oh, like I said before—mouth on the cock first."
"For cleaning? Got it."
"Perfect."
I swung around to the head of the bed, stuck my dick out for her to suck. Then, with hands coated in aphrodisiac, I flicked her nipple.
The perky bud on her swollen tit quivered. That was my cue—I thrust my hips forward.
"Glrk..."
My cock slid slow and deep into her throat.
Already choking? Morgana teared up, staring at me with wet eyes.
I ignored her, focused on the breast massage. Pinched and twisted the trembling nipple hard, then dragged down, grabbing her whole tit.
Pudding-soft breast meat squished in my grip.
"Grk, glurk... krrk."
Her face paled as air cut off. Legs shook—pain? Didn't matter. I pounded harder.
"Lady Morgana, the massage is going great. Just endure a bit longer."
"Glrk! Rrk!"
She was suffering bad—pounded my thigh, trying to pull off.
I kept going.
"Gu... guu..."
"You alright?"
"Ah... ugh."
Her legs went slack—not giving up resistance, just no strength left.
Limp now, her lithe body stilled. She could escape my cock easy. She's got the power, the status.
But not in this dream.
Why? I commanded her not to.
No escape for her. If I wanted, I could choke this bitch to death with my dick.
Wonder if dying in a dream kills you for real.
No experience there, don't wanna test it.
So I pulled out. Shluuup—long meat slick with spit slid from her throat.
"Haaak... haaah... fuuuuh! *Cough! Cough*, ahhh..."
On the verge of blackout, Morgana hacked up spit like a fountain. Pathetic for a gang boss.
I squeezed her tits harder. Felt like they'd burst.
"Ha... is this really how it's done?"
"Yes."
"R-right. You've never been wrong before, so I'll trust you."
Trust my ass. This was just starting.
I mauled her tits rough, then slid hands to her armpits—fake massage for show.
Now, slow-cook her.
"You didn't make me cum."
"C-cumming's important?"
"Of course. Are we doing this right, Lady Morgana? At this rate, no massage."
Her face twitched. Pride stung—failed a needless task.
"No good. Guess we'll do it another way."
"H-how?"
"Simple. Spread your pussy."
Time to make her pay for touching my face.