Her heart clenched like a fist around broken glass.

The pleasure still thrummed through her veins—her pussy clenching emptily, leaking the last weak spurts of her orgasm into the dirt—but it twisted now into something desperate and hollow.

'Useless. A waste.'

The words echoed louder with every step he took away from her.

"No... no..." Mira whimpered, pushing herself up on trembling arms. Dirt clung to her sweat-slicked skin, her torn dress hanging in rags around her thighs.

Her massive tits swayed heavily as she moved, nipples still raw and throbbing from his abuse.

She couldn't let him go. Not like this. Not after he'd awakened something feral inside her, something that had been starving for years.

"WAIT! Young lord, please—don't leave me!" The scream tore from her throat, raw and broken, echoing through the garden.

Viktor stopped.

He turned slowly, his chubby frame silhouetted against the rising sun.

His eyes narrowed, taking in the sight of her—sprawled on her knees in the dirt, face streaked with tears and drool, green eyes wide and pleading.

Her thick body trembled, pussy still glistening and exposed, cream dripping down her inner thighs in shiny trails.

A smirk tugged at his lips, but he schooled his expression into something softer. He approached slowly, deliberately, like a predator circling prey that's already surrendered.

Mira sobbed harder as he drew near, her delicate hands coming up to wipe at the tears streaming down her dirt-smudged cheeks. Her fingers trembled, smearing the mess further. "P-Please... I-I'll do anything... anything you want. I'll try to please you, I swear... just don't... don't throw me away..."

Her voice cracked on the last word, fresh sobs wracking her body. She looked up at him through wet lashes, green eyes shimmering with desperation.

The widow who'd survived poverty and loss, now begging on her knees for a noble's approval.

Viktor chuckled low in his throat, the sound warm but laced with dark satisfaction. He knelt down on his toes in front of her, bringing his face level with hers.

His soft belly pressed against his thighs, underwear still tented obscenely with his hard cock.

"I was kidding, come on," he said, his voice gentle now, almost affectionate. He reached out, brushing a thumb across her cheek to wipe away a tear. "Just don't cry."

But in his mind, the truth burned bright: 'A trashy fat noble manipulating woman? How low will I fall.'

Mira blinked up at him, confusion and relief warring in her tear-filled eyes. The shift in his tone hit her like a lifeline, pulling her from the abyss.

Viktor reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, dried herb—twisted and green, smelling faintly of earth and something sharper, more primal. He held it out to her on his open palm.

"Here."

Mira stared at it, sniffling. Her hands hovered uncertainly. "W-What is this?"

"This is to make you pregnant."

Her eyes widened, blinking rapidly as confusion flooded her features. "What? But... how could I?"

She glanced down at her own body, at the sagging tits and the soft, marked belly that had carried Toby years ago. "I'm... I'm an old woman. I don't have fertility left. And even if... why would you want a child from me? Men just... just use women for their holes, don't they? Fuck them and leave..."

The words tumbled out in a rush, laced with the bitterness of her late husband's indifference and the harsh realities of village life. She'd been used before—fucked mechanically, never cherished. Never bred with intent.

Viktor shook his head, his expression firm. He reached out, placing a finger gently—but possessively—on her soft belly, right above her pubic mound.

The touch sent a shiver through her, her skin pebbling under his fingertip.

"From now on, you're my wife. Toby is my son." His voice dropped lower, commanding. "You already know I can claim your pussy, your ass, all your holes. But I want to claim your womb."

He pressed his finger harder, circling the spot where her stretch marks faded into smooth skin. "Give birth to my child. Whenever I want."

Mira's eyes widened further, fresh tears spilling over. Her breath hitched, chest heaving as sobs turned to something deeper—gratitude mixed with overwhelming emotion.

Memories flashed: the evil men torching her home, flames licking the night sky, her clutching Toby as Viktor appeared like a savior, pulling her from the ashes.

She grabbed his hand with both of hers, pressing it harder against her belly. Her mouth opened, lips trembling. "Y-Yes... yes, my lord... my husband..."

She leaned forward, taking the herb from his palm with her lips. Her tongue darted out, licking the remnants from his skin—salty sweat mixed with the herb's bitterness.

She chewed slowly, swallowing with a soft whimper, her eyes never leaving his.

Viktor smiled, smoke forming from his exhaled breath as he watched her lick his hand clean. Her tongue was warm, tentative at first, then bolder, tracing the lines of his palm like she was worshiping him.

His thumb moved to her mouth, slipping between her full lips. He stretched her jaw open gently, hooking the pad against her cheek.

Her mouth gaped, tongue visible and wet, drool already gathering at the corners.

"Will you not show your body to your husband, honey?" His voice came out husky, teasing, the endearment dripping with possession.

Mira's eyes trembled, but she nodded eagerly, warmth blooming in her chest for the first time in years.

She reached for the remnants of her dress, fingers fumbling to open the torn fabric at her cleavage.

But Viktor grabbed the neckline first. His fingers curled into the cloth.

"...You need rough work to heal your body, Mira."

RIIIP!

The sound echoed through the garden as he tore it open completely. The fabric split down the front, falling away to either side like discarded rags.

Her massive, saggy tits spilled free.

They jiggled heavily, the weight pulling them downward in natural, obscene arcs. The pale flesh quivered with the motion, stretch marks faint silver lines radiating from her areolas like tiger stripes.

Her nipples—thick, inch-long nubs—stood erect in the cool air, already leaking tiny beads of milk from the earlier abuse and her body's lingering lactation instincts.

Mira gasped, her eyes widening as she knelt there, completely exposed.

Her clean-shaved pussy came into view below—pink petals still swollen and glistening from her orgasm, the tight pink asshole above it winking shyly.

Her belly showed fully now, soft and rounded with those tiger-stripe stretch marks, evidence of the child she'd birthed.

A true MILF body—mature, used, fertile in its raw honesty.

Embarrassment flooded her. Her hands flew up instinctively, one covering her belly, the other cupping her pussy. "N-No... my belly... it's ugly... the marks... my husband said they were hideous, proof of... of being stretched out..."

Her voice cracked, old insecurities rising like bile.

But Viktor grabbed her wrists, his grip firm but not cruel. He pulled her hands away, parting them from her body.

Her tits swayed freely, her pussy exposed again—lips parting slightly to show the wet pink inside, clit peeking out like a needy button.

He leaned in closer, eyes raking over every inch: the sagging udders with their veined, heavy globes; the stretch-marked belly that screamed motherhood; the shaved cunt that she'd maintained like a secret slut.

"Oh," he murmured, voice thick with hunger, "so I found a tigress in the wild, huh?"

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