Even If It’s Depraved - Chapter 21

His mother’s thin fingers, gripping the sheets, turned white-knuckled with tension. Her slick inner walls tightened around him, clenching firmly. Carlos could hold back no longer—he came inside his mother.

“Ah… ah…”

“Haah… my beloved Brunhilde…”

Having received her son’s seed, she wept again—caught between euphoria and the weight of perversion. He slid his arms beneath her shoulder blades, wrapping around her, and kissed her gasping jaw.

“I love you, Mother.”

“…Hngh…”

“I’ll keep making you feel good.”

After a brief lick to her lips, the son began suckling at her bare b****t again. His p***s, softened after release, slowly swelled once more, filling her.

“Ah—nngh!”

Stimulated by her son’s tongue, Brunhilde arched her hips, letting out a moan. She squeezed him tightly, rubbing her thighs together.

Unfortunately for her, the night was still long.

As if morning would never come.

* * *

Franz’s death was ultimately ruled a suicide.

Now seated as head of the house, Carlos closed the case himself, declaring, “My elder brother could not bring himself to break the oath he swore in the name of God—and, unable to relinquish the power he held, chose to end his own life.”

His funeral was so modest that only a handful of mourners attended. It was a pitiful end for a man who had governed House Brandt as its acting head for over a decade.

And on the night Franz’s coffin was laid to rest, Carlos—dressed in mourning—came, as always, to his mother’s room.

“Were you crying, Mother?”

“…Carl.”

Brunhilde’s face was streaked with tears. Sitting beside her, Carlos brushed the dampness from her cheeks with the back of his fingers.

When she flinched instinctively at his touch, he spoke in a tone feigning comfort,

“Don’t be too sad. I’m sure my brother has gone to a better place.”

“……”

“To die by your hand… I wonder how blissful that must have been.”

Now fully grown, her son’s hand slid along the side of her neck and pulled her closer. His lips lowered calmly, brushing against the opposite side of her nape, and between parted lips, the warmth of his tongue traced along her skin.

“I’ll make sure you’re not too sorrowful. I’ll comfort you.”

“…Please, not today…”

It’s the day of your father’s funeral. But she could not bring herself to say those words aloud.

Carlos watched her twisted expression up close, then gently pressed his lips against her trembling ones. He bit softly into lips that tasted of tears, parting them, and slid his tongue deeper inside.

Every time their tongues met and parted, a wet, sticky sound followed. His c**k, which had already been half-hard when he entered his mother’s room, was now fully e***t. He pulled back slowly, loosening the kiss, and gazed into her eyes, lovely as violets at dawn.

“Brunhilde, lie down.”

“Don’t do this, Carl. Please—even now, we can still—”

“You liked it when my brother f****d you from behind. I’ll do the same for you.”

He lifted her resisting body and laid her face-down on the bed. Pushing her thighs apart to raise her hips, he gathered her black mourning dress.

He pressed his lips to his mother’s trembling entrance first. As his tongue pushed between her folds, the tight passage slowly began to moisten. He pushed deeper, parting her lips, and felt the plump, swollen nub nestled inside—the place where her lower mouth clenched tight.

“Don’t—hngh!”

With just a few strokes of his tongue, she jerked her hips. Her fingers twisted in the bedsheet as she squeezed her thighs together. He wrapped his arms around her knees and forced her legs apart. Sliding his head between her thighs, he tilted his face up and his lips found that sensitive nub.

“Haah—ah!”

When he sucked at her c**t, spreading her folds with his mouth, Brunhilde began to rock her hips. He gripped her thighs tighter and worked his tongue—pressing hard against the swollen flesh he’d captured with his lips. Lewd fluid gushed out.

To have such a sensitive body beneath such a demure face. If only you could see your own pretty face, flushed with arousal right now.

He tapped the rounded nub with the tip of his tongue, and she let out a pained moan, her thighs tightening around his head again. The pressure against his temples only fueled his hunger. Carl buried his face completely between her legs and sucked the swollen pearl with exquisite care.

“Ahh—ah! No—no—hngh!”

At some point, his finger had slipped inside her. Her tight walls, already clenching from his tongue, wrapped wetly around his index finger. He rubbed and stroked, pressing deeper—and Brunhilde, overwhelmed by pleasure from both her c**t and deep inside, finally let out a long, raw cry.

“Ahh—ahh—ngh…!”

Her climax made her inner walls spasm and flood with moisture. The way her flesh sucked at his finger made him sigh. Carl licked a long, slow stripe up her folds and pulled back.

Kneeling there, listening to his mother’s ragged breathing, his e***t c**k pulsed with need. His underwear felt damp with precome.

“Mother, you’re beautiful.”

“Carl—Mother can’t—this isn’t—”

“And delicious, too.”

He pulled his finger from her clenching warmth and sucked it clean. The sound of his tongue lapping was obscene.