Chapter 23 - Helena’s Heart Changes

The chirping of crickets slowly faded as the sun barely rose on the horizon, marking the end of early morning; however, due to the clouds, it was not warming at all.Silence now filled the garden area, a stark contrast to the violent splashing and desperate moans that had echoed just moments before.

Helena lay limp on the damp grass beside the pond, her body a battlefield of pleasure and pain.

Her thick, mature frame was pressed against Viktor’s side, one heavy breast spilling across his chest like a dollop of warm cream.

The heat radiating from her skin was a testament to the storm that had just passed through her. His cock, once a brutal invader, now lay shrunken and soft against her inner thigh, a mere five inches of placid flesh.

A violent tremor wracked her body, a delayed aftershock of her shattering climax. She buried her face into the crook of his arm, the scent of his sweat and their shared fluids filling her senses.

Shame, hot and sharp, prickled beneath her skin. "Master..." she mumbled, her voice hoarse and broken. "Please... please don’t use that... that type of thing on me again."

Viktor chuckled, a low, satisfied rumble in his chest. His hand, which had been resting on her hip, slid down to cup the heavy curve of her ass cheek.

He squeezed the thick flesh, enjoying the satisfying handful it made. "What thing?" he asked, his tone deceptively innocent.

Her whole body flinched. She trembled against him, her face pushed deeper into his arm as if she could disappear into his skin. "The... the aphro-aphrodisiac..." she stuttered, the word tasting like poison on her tongue.

"I lied."

His words were simple and blunt. Helena stilled completely.

"Come on," he continued, a smirk in his voice. "That wasn’t an aphrodisiac."

Slowly, hesitantly, she lifted her head. Her eyes, swollen and rimmed with red, blinked at him through a tangled curtain of damp hair. "Sorry?" she whispered, confusion clouding her features. "But... but the heat... my body was on fire..."

He watched her, his gaze tracing the tear tracks on her flushed cheeks. A few strands of her dark hair clung to his chest.

A slow, lazy smile formed on his lips. He leaned in, giving her swollen, kiss-bruised lips a gentle peck. "It was your body," he said, his voice a low caress, "making love to my dick."

’!’

The meaning of his words crashed into her with the force of a physical blow. Her face, already flushed, burned a deeper shade of crimson.

A montage of humiliating images flashed through her mind: her own voice, screaming and begging for more; her hips bucking shamelessly against his; the way her pussy had convulsed and milked his cock as if it had a mind of its own.

All of it had been her. Her own unfiltered, desperate lust.

A fresh wave of heat washed over her, centering between her legs where her abused hole was still burning and weeping a mixture of his seed and her fluids.

The inner lips of her pussy felt raw and stretched, chafed by his relentless assault.

She flinched as if struck, a mortified gasp escaping her. She scrambled to sit up, turning away from him, wanting to dig a hole and bury her head in the cool earth.

Her mature body, usually held with such poise, was now a portrait of total embarrassment, her thick back and trembling shoulders exposed to his gaze.

"Pfft..." A quiet chuckle broke the tension.

He moved behind her, his knees sinking into the soft ground.

His arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her back against his chest.

He enclosed her folded legs, his hands sliding up to cup her heavy breasts, which spilled over his forearms.

He mashed them together, his thumbs idly brushing against the hardened, dirt-ridden tips of her nipples.

"I’m sorry for being so vulgar," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "But I want us to be like... like a real couple. And to be truthful, except for porn videos, I’ve never seen how a real couple lives."

His words were a strange comfort, yet one part snagged her attention. "P-porn, what?" she mumbled, her mind too numb to process the foreign term.

He chuckled again, a soft sound that vibrated through her back. He realized then how different this world was.

He nuzzled the sensitive spot behind her ear, his lips brushing her skin.

"Nothing," he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "But your voice... it’s so beautiful. I can’t help but want to hear it."

"Un~!?" A shiver ran down her spine. Her body trembled, but this time it was different.

He wasn’t her young master in that moment; he was a man who knew how to make her heart thump, how to make her feel like a woman desired.

The raw shock began to warm into something else, something confusing and potent.

Seeking safer ground, she decided to change the subject. "What... what was that herb, then?" she asked, her mind latching onto the one piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit. "If it wasn’t... that?"


His hand slid from her breast, trailing a hot path down her quivering stomach.

It passed over the matted patch of dark hair between her legs, the coarse texture a stark reminder of their recent intimacy. His fingers didn’t stop there.

They gently rubbed the swollen, outer lips of her vaginal slit before coming to rest flat against her lower abdomen, pressing down gently over her womb.

"I told you already," he said, his voice losing its playful edge, becoming serious and absolute. "But... you’re pregnant now, Helena."

The world tilted. The warmth in her body turned into an inferno, her skin flushing a violent crimson.

The air grew thin.

It was the last spark, the final piece of a horrifying reality clicking into place.

She felt herself grow faint, the world swimming before her eyes.

"Please..." she uttered, the word a desperate, fading plea. "Please don’t joke with me, Young Master."

"Hm, a joke?" Viktor’s voice was dismissive, his hand still resting on her belly. "Yeah, forget that—wait?!"

The word caught in his throat. His hand, which had been pressing so confidently against her womb, suddenly felt like it was resting on a live bomb. It wasn’t a joke. He had used a fertility herb. He had bred her. The system notification had confirmed it. And now... now what?

The confident smirk vanished from his face, replaced by a dawning horror. A real pregnancy? What the hell did he know about a real pregnancy?

Sure, he had a wealth of knowledge about herbs and biology now, but that was all for when pregnancy occurs.

What was he supposed to do when her belly started to bloat?

When she was crippled by morning sickness? Herbs can do the trick, but what the hell would he do about what to feed her except medicines?

He’d lived with a fat belly that looked like he was nine months pregnant himself, a constant reminder of his pathetic past, but this was different.

This was a living child growing inside a woman.

In two lifetimes, he had never seen it, never dealt with it. The sheer, overwhelming reality of it crashed down on him.

Feeling his hand suddenly retreat as if her skin had burned him, Helena looked up, her brow furrowed with concern. "Are you alright, Young Master?"

His gaze was distant, his mind racing. He turned to her, his earlier swagger gone, replaced by a raw panic. "Helena," he said, his voice broken and uneven. "By the way... have you ever... have you ever helped a pregnant lady? In her... labor?"

Helena blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift. She thought for a moment, her own shock and shame momentarily forgotten in the face of his distress. "Un, yes," she answered softly. "When you were in the mistress’s belly, I was by her side until—"

"Stop, stop! I understand." Viktor cut her off, his face flushing with a deep, burning shame. The image her words conjured was mortifying.

He had just brutally fucked and impregnated the very woman who had assisted his own mother during her pregnancy with him.

The woman who had been his nanny, who had cared for him his entire life.

A wave of self-loathing washed over him.

He had been driven by pure, selfish lust for her mature body, and now the consequences were real and terrifying.

’Fuck that...’

He needed an expert.

He needed someone who knew what to do. His mind latched onto the most logical solution. "Let’s visit the village first," he muttered to himself.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly pushed himself to his feet. He extended a hand down to Helena. "Let’s go hire some maids from the village, Helena."

She took his hand, allowing him to pull her up. As she stood, the sudden movement sent her heavy breasts jiggling. "But I am already here, Young Master—" she began, her voice filled with confusion.

He cut her off by pulling her flush against his naked body, wrapping her in a tight hug.

His eyes, no longer panicked but glinting with a renewed, predatory possessiveness, stared down into hers.

"Hush," he whispered, his voice a low growl. "You are my wife now, not a maid."

Before she could process his words, his mouth crashed down on hers.

"Mmmpph—!?!"

It was a deep, consuming kiss, his tongue plunging past her lips to claim her completely as if trying to tell himself that this time he would have some stress relief.

His hands molded to her body as if trying to merge her with him.

One hand slid down her back, over the curve of her thick ass, and his fingers sank between her cheeks.

He spread the soft flesh apart, exposing her puckered, twitching asshole to the cool air.

Her eyes welled with fresh tears as she felt the humiliating, intimate touch.

She saw the teasing, dominant fire in his eyes and her will shattered completely.

She shut her eyes, her mind filled with a single, traitorous thought.

’F-forgive me, my lady... I seem to be falling for the young master.’