Even If It’s Depraved - Chapter 36

Cradling her chin gently in his hand, he whispered.

“It’s all right if you spit it out.”

“…”

“Though I’d prefer it if you swallowed.”

Not wanting to risk displeasing her son in even the smallest way, Brunhilde forced her throat open and swallowed the fluid. For some reason, it reminded her of swallowing Franz’s seed when she was pregnant with Carlos. Even in her depravity.

Her son, gazing at her with an ecstatic expression, reached out. He rubbed his fingertip over her slick, wet lips. Then he bent, pressed his lips to her temple, and murmured.

“You did well, Mother.”

“Haah…”

“I’ll pretend I never said I wouldn’t adopt the child.”

His lips, trailing slowly down the hair by her ear, pressed against the corner of her mouth. He licked up the lingering traces of his release, then pulled back.

He wiped his still-glistening length once with his palm, then dressed himself. He even straightened her clothes for her.

A moment later, he laid Brunhilde back against the pillow, pulled the blanket up to her chin, and kissed her forehead, her fine hair now thoroughly disheveled. His long fingers carefully stroked her cheek as he bid her farewell.

“I’ll be going now, Mother.”

“Yes…”

“I’ll see you tomorrow at the same time.”

At the promise of another perverse night to come, her breath caught for an instant—but she managed a smile, contrary to her true feelings.

Beneath the blanket, she pressed her hand against her slightly swollen belly.

* * *

From the next day onward, she waited for her son without sleeping. She had to offer her body to his desires.

The one small mercy was that Carlos refrained from penetration.

Knowing well Brunhilde’s aversion born of the curse, he cleverly avoided her greatest source of revulsion. Their relations thus stayed within boundaries that did not include insertion.

She would suck Carl’s c**k, or he would suck hers.

Or they would press their naked lower bodies together, rubbing without penetration.

Whenever she showed resistance as the intensity gradually increased, her son—smiling as if to say it’s all right—would bring up Emily.

It was a threat wrapped in gentleness.

If Mother pushes me away again, I might develop unfavorable feelings toward the child… he would murmur. And Brunhilde, as if under a spell, would apologize and open her body.

That day was no different.

“I missed you so much, Mother.”

He had rushed in and devoured her lips. The moment he pulled away, he pulled her onto his thigh.

The e******n straining against his g***n was so hard it seemed ready to burst through his clothes.

Biting her earlobe, breathing hot against her, her son began to move his hips in shallow motions. He rubbed his length against her b******s, then pulled down both his trousers and undergarments together.

Freed from the thick fabric, his c**k pressed stiffly against her cleft. He rubbed his shaft against her clothed flesh and whispered darkly.

“I want to do it in the same position as yesterday.”

“…Carl, that’s…”

“I’ll be careful not to put it in. It was fine yesterday, wasn’t it?”

His hands, wrapped around her, had already found her b*****s and begun to knead them.

Since she had followed his orders and worn no b****t binding, the brush of fabric against her sensitive n*****s was acutely felt. Cursing her own body for responding even to her son’s touch, Brunhilde hesitated. Then, with trembling hands, gathered her skirts and lifted them to her waist.

When she faltered, unable to bare herself completely, Carlos’s long fingers slid up her thigh and pulled the scrap of fabric halfway down her leg.

Soon, his warm fingers invaded her heated depths.

“Ah…”

Her flesh, already fevered from kisses and caresses, was already wet.

Carl, satisfied, explored her for a moment. Then, once she was sufficiently heated, withdrew his hand.

His c**k, now even harder, prodded between her thighs as if it would soon pierce her.

“Now, lie down on your stomach.”

His tone was gentle, but the command was no less coercive. Brunhilde braced herself on the sheets, and bent her knees. Her son lifted her skirts completely.

She felt the calloused tips of his index and middle fingers parting her flesh. Then his shaft, long and hard, laid itself along the cleft of her mound.

He did not insert it into her entrance. Instead, he nestled it between her folds, the top side of his c**k pressing flush against her labia.

His coarse pubic hair brushed against her perineum, as if he were buried in. He shifted, pressing upward so his shaft nestled deeper in her cleft, then bent over her. Covering her back, kneading her heavy b*****s, he began to move his hips.

“Nngh…”

His length slid back and forth along the parting of her thick labia, like a rammer tamping a charge. Brunhilde exhaled a low, guttural breath.

There was no penetration, but the long, grinding friction against her folds and c**t was intensely stimulating. Her already slick labia grew sopping wet with arousal leaking from within.

And all the while, his fingers never stopped rubbing, pressing, and twisting her stiffened n*****s.

Even as she hunched her shoulders, afraid his tip might slip inside her entrance, she couldn’t suppress her physiological moans. Her head fell back as heat pooled beneath her soles.