Don't Pull Out Inside Mom!

Lysandra Provence, Jericho's mother. The story of how Robert Provence—the current head of the Provence family and the man who had been the young Jericho's father—followed Lysandra, then merely the daughter of a minor count, for three full days and nights begging for her hand in marriage, had once been the favorite gossip among the empire's noblewomen.

A woman so captivating that the heir to the Provence family—one of the three greatest in the south when it came to the size of their treasure vaults—had clung to her so desperately. Robert's rosy tale of courtship was the kind of story that let even those who had never seen Lysandra imagine, at least in fragments, just how breathtakingly beautiful she must have been.

By the time she accepted his proposal and the two young children who would carry on the Provence name had grown into adults, Lysandra herself had somehow slipped past forty. The beauty that had once seemed as eternal as the sun in the sky had gradually begun to fade with the passing years.

Of course, that didn't mean Lysandra's loveliness had vanished. Her hair still cascaded in lustrous waves, and her pale green eyes sparkled like fresh spring leaves. Her nose stood proudly above full, well-defined features that still held the charm of her youth. The breasts and hips that had grown fuller after two pregnancies now boasted a ripe, mature allure no young woman could match.

If anyone ever saw Lysandra in person, they would immediately understand why young Jericho had once sung about wanting to marry his mother—an Oedipus complex in the flesh. It was only natural that Lysandra felt deeper affection for Jericho, who had grown up in her arms, than for her eldest son, who had been taken away at a young age for the rigorous education required of the family heir.

And now, that beloved son’s cock was on the verge of violating her.

“S-stop this, Jericho,” Lysandra cried out, her voice filled with raw despair.

But even her anguished screams did not make Jericho stop his assault on his mother. His eyes burned a violent red as he rubbed his rock-hard erection against her soft belly. He thrust his hips as if he were already buried inside a woman’s hole, then grabbed her wrists and dragged her toward the bed. He clearly wanted stronger stimulation, greater pleasure.

“Kyaa?! It hurts—let go!”

Wearing an expression of pure terror toward her own son, Lysandra was helplessly pulled along. With the merciless force one might use on a whore, Jericho threw his mother onto the bed and began tearing away the delicate fabrics that covered her skin. The word “tearing” described it far better than “removing.”

“Please, come to your senses, Jericho.”

Lysandra struggled, trying to push her son away, but a noblewoman who had never once held a sword in her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠life could never overpower a vigorous man in his early twenties. With every pitiful moan that escaped her lips, another layer of clothing fluttered to the floor.

Eventually, every scrap of fabric was stripped from her body except for the thin silk panties that hid her most secret place. Half-naked before her son, Lysandra clutched her breasts tightly with her left arm while her right hand desperately tried to cover the pubic hair peeking out from her underwear. Tears streamed down her face.

“This can’t be happening… this can’t be real. Jericho… my sweet, lovely Jericho…”

But to Jericho, whose mind had already been completely overtaken by the drug, his beloved mother’s tearful pleas no longer reached him. The woman before him was nothing more than a female to satisfy his lust.

“Grrruuuh…”

Letting out a grotesque groan that made it clear he had lost all sense of self, Jericho forced Lysandra’s legs apart.

“N-no! Not there—absolutely not!”

Forgetting to even cover her breasts, Lysandra tried to push away her son’s head as it moved between her thighs, but it was already too late. Jericho greedily licked at the swollen mound above her panties. Hot breath pouring out, he coated his tongue in saliva and slurped noisily at her pussy.

The underwear, now soaked with spit, clung transparently to her folds, revealing the exact shape of her cunt to her son. “Haa… please stop. We’re mother and son… the Goddess Elysia will never forgive this… haaah?!”

Lysandra, who had been trying to pull her son’s head away from the forbidden act, suddenly cried out in a moan. It was because Jericho’s rough tongue had finally made direct contact with her bare flesh.

When he shoved the obstructing fabric aside, her glistening, saliva-drenched pussy was fully exposed. He was about to reverse the journey he had once taken out of that very hole. Jericho’s tongue probed deep inside her, stirring her up. This wasn’t an act of affection—it was simply a beast tasting the tempting female before him.

Her inner walls violated by the tip of his tongue, her clit rubbed mercilessly by his coarse tongue, Lysandra’s body began producing love juices against her will. Her pussy could no longer tell whether the man licking her was her son or her husband.

Reacting to the stimulation, the body’s owner barely managed to suppress the lewd cries rising in her throat as she begged her son.

“Hngh… p-please, don’t thrust it in. If we stop here, nothing will happen, Jericho.”

Perhaps her desperate scream—that they must not cross that final line—had reached him. Jericho pulled away from her.

Lysandra looked at her son, drool and her own juices dripping from his chin, and let out a silent sigh of relief inside.

Whew… thank goodness.

She told herself that his sudden violence must have come from the psychological pressure of losing the tournament. If she could just talk to him calmly, her kind and innocent son would surely return. That was what Lysandra believed.

But believing Jericho had given up on raping her was nothing more than her naïve delusion.

“Jericho, at least let your mother put her clothes back on… kyaaaa?!”

The moment she looked at him, Lysandra screamed. Both her eyes were fixed on her son’s lower body.

It’s… it’s huge… much bigger than your father’s…

With his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pants pulled down, Jericho stood there with his massive erection pointed straight at her, waiting. Whether it was the effect of Arwen’s magic-infused aphrodisiac or the last remnants of his instinct desperately preparing to unite with the mother he loved, his cock had grown far thicker and longer than usual.

Whatever the reason, Jericho’s member was fully ready to violate his mother’s hole. Clear precum dripped steadily from the tip onto the bedsheets. He looked exactly like a beast drooling before its meal.

“Don’t come any closer, Jericho! Is anyone there?!”

Lysandra backed away, desperately calling for help, but only the sound of her son’s ragged breathing answered her.

Jericho grabbed both her ankles and spread her legs wide.

“Ugh… no, not there… to be violated by my own son… this can’t be happening!”

She struggled with all her might, trying to squeeze her thighs together, but in the end Lysandra found herself in a position no mother should ever show her son—her womanhood completely exposed.

Jericho yanked her toward him, then climbed on top of her. One hand pinned her shoulder to the bed while the other gripped the base of his cock, aiming it directly at her entrance. The perfect angle to plunge straight inside.

Lysandra felt the scorching heat of his glans slowly stretching her hole open. Finally accepting the cruel fate of being raped by her own son, she squeezed her eyes shut.

And then, in one brutal thrust, Jericho’s cock was swallowed to the root inside her pussy.

“Haaaaaah?!”

At the same time she let out a scream that was almost a wail, Lysandra’s eyes flew wide open.

He reached places your father could never touch… in a single thrust.

Compared to other noblewomen, Lysandra’s sex life had been rather modest. Her only male partner had been her current husband, and she had never kept a lover. Even with her busy husband, having relations once or twice a month had been enough to satisfy her.

Yet now, a place no man had ever reached in all her forty-plus years had been conquered—not by any other man, but by her own son. Her lower belly convulsed violently from the overwhelming pleasure she had never experienced before.

“Ahh… please, pull it out of Mommy, Jericho.”

She looked up at him with pitiful eyes, but Jericho said nothing. He simply grabbed both her wrists like reins and began slamming his hips.

With every violent thrust, Lysandra’s heavy breasts bounced wildly. His cock began its relentless pistoning. Every time the thick root scraped against her inner walls—squish, squelch, squish—the wet, obscene sounds assaulted her ears.

Even Lysandra herself realized the truth. That filthy, wet sound was caused by the juices gushing from her own most secret place.

“Haaang… aahhh♡”

Her big toe curled tightly as she moaned. Without even realizing it, she was clenching her pussy, trying to squeeze her son’s cock even tighter.

The moral values that had barely kept her sanity intact crumbled like a sandcastle before a wave in the face of raw pleasure. Lysandra’s mind was helplessly dragged into the deep sea of ecstasy.

“This is wrong… I shouldn’t be feeling this from my son’s cock… haaaaaang♡”

Eventually, she confessed out loud that she was feeling pleasure from her own son’s dick. The hands that had once pushed against his chest were now gently ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stroking his back as he fucked her.

Every time their thighs slapped together with a loud smack, smack, her soft flesh trembled violently.

“Haa… it’s reaching so deep, places your father could never touch… it’s my son’s cock♡”

Her hips ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were now bucking up to meet his thrusts. Thanks to that, the tip of his cock easily battered against her cervix. The glans grinding against her womb entrance made his shaft twitch wildly like a salmon fighting its way upstream.

Lysandra instinctively realized her son was about to cum inside her.

“Hngh♡ You absolutely can’t cum inside, Jericho! I might get pregnant!”

Yet there was no longer any fierce resistance like before. Even as her mouth said “no, no,” her arms remained wrapped tightly around his neck. Her pale green eyes had grown hazy and unfocused with depravity. Her pupils were completely dilated.

Finally, the moment came when the semen that had once been created inside her womb would once again flood it completely.

Jericho’s cock, buried deep inside his mother, twitched violently as it began pumping thick, hot cum.

“N-nooo♡ My son’s… my son’s baby seed… haaaang♡”

The instant he came, Lysandra’s entire body began to shake. She was climaxing. And it was from her son’s creampie.

The overwhelming pleasure of hot liquid filling her belly made her gasp for breath.

“Haa… haa… Jericho, are you feeling a little better now?”

Instead of answering, he simply moved his hips again. His cock showed no sign of softening.

“Alright… Mommy will take it all. As much as you want, until you’re satisfied… haaah♡”

And so the depraved incestuous sex between mother and son continued without pause—until Robert Provence, Lysandra’s husband and Jericho’s father, returned home that evening.

After the minor commotion involving Jericho finally ended, Cordelia, Emilia, and I gathered at the secret base of the Sophia conquest party.

In other words, my dormitory room.

The room that had mostly been used as our personal fuck den was, for once, being used for a serious discussion about Sophia.

She was not the kind of opponent we could take lightly while she was in a relaxed mood like Jericho, who was probably enjoying the dreamlike night with his own mother right about now.

From what I’d heard, last year’s martial arts tournament champion had been none other than the freshman Sophia. It had been twenty years since a new student claimed the winner’s seat.

And right now, floating in front of my eyes—where the other two women couldn’t see—was a square holographic window. It was the quest window that had appeared about thirty minutes after we arrived at the room.

This is insane. Hostility +100… They might as well have given me another one of those weird traits from the last quest’s penalty.

Hostility was exactly what it sounded like—the numerical value of an Elysia Story character’s enmity toward Arwen. When I had turned the entire territory into a wasteland, the lord’s hostility toward me had been around sixty. The line he spat at me back then was, “I’ll grind you and your comrades into meat and feed you to a pack of direwolves.”

But hostility 100? At that level, it wouldn’t be enough for Sophia to chase me to the ends of the continent and cut off my head—she’d probably grind my corpse into dust and scatter it across the ocean.

In other words, unless Sophia suddenly dropped dead after a quest failure, this penalty was practically a guaranteed death sentence.

I absolutely could not lose.