NTR: Minor Villain Wants to Be the Main Villain - Chapter 97

Chapter 97: Making of a Cuck!

Lui laughed so hard he had to clutch his stomach, triumph painted all over his face.

“Done.”

Artis said, his voice cool and steady as he stood, making Lui’s laughter falter for just a second.

Juliana gave Artis a slow, sultry smile before rising from her seat with an almost exaggerated grace.

She stretched her arms out, the satin of her robe clinging to her every curve like it was sewn onto her body. Her back was to Lui, which only made the suspense worse for him.

Artis stepped to the side, his movements deliberate, his smirk widening. Lui’s confidence remained intact, though, because surely this wouldn’t go well. But then…

Artis leaned down, his hands starting at Juliana’s shins. The motion was slow, deliberate, and undeniably erotic.

His fingers slithered upward, the satin robe whispering against her skin, and that’s when Lui noticed something that made his triumphant grin freeze.

No panties. No bra. Just pure, sinful temptation beneath that robe.

Artis’s veiny hands kept climbing, and Lui’s smile began to crack like cheap glass.

Those hands slid higher, gripping her thighs with a confidence that screamed I’ve done this before, and I’m damn good at it.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, Artis’s hands found their way under the curve of her plush, impossibly round ass cheeks.

And that’s when it happened—Artis hooked his fingers, grabbed her firmly, and pulled her body slightly closer to his.

A soft, breathy moan escaped Juliana’s lips, her head tilting back as if she were savoring the moment.

“N-n-n-not there!!! H-h-her legs! Grab her legs, dammit!”

Lui stammered, his voice cracking like a rusty hinge, but it was already too late. Artis’s hands were right where he wanted them—sinking into Juliana’s plush, bountiful ass like it was made of clouds.

Artis turned his smirk on Lui.

“The dare was to lift her, right? Not how to lift her. I’m just getting… comfortable.”

He said, his tone dripping with mock innocence. His fingers flexed for good measure, making Juliana gasp softly.

“And, well, your wife doesn’t seem to have any objections, does she?”

Lui’s eyes darted to Juliana, hoping—praying—for some kind of ally in this madness. But no. Her face was beet red, her lips parted, and her eyes locked onto Artis’s like she’d just found religion.

She was smiling, too—a small, genuine, dangerous smile that made Lui want to crawl into a hole and die. Their faces were inches apart, and the tension was so thick you could cut it with a butter knife.

“H-h-he’s right, husband,” Juliana managed, her voice breathy, almost dreamy. “The dare was just to lift me up.”

“S-s-still! Grab her legs! Her—OH, FUCK!”

Lui’s protests turned into a yelp as Artis, with the casual strength of a man who probably did this kind of thing for sport, hoisted Juliana off the ground like she weighed less than a feather.

Juliana gasped, her arms instinctively wrapping around Artis’s shoulders as his hands—still firmly gripping her ass—dug deeper into her flesh.

The robe shifted slightly, giving Lui an unwanted glimpse of her bare thighs. Artis wasn’t even breaking a sweat, his cocky grin still plastered across his face as he adjusted her in his grip.

“She’s lighter than I thought, honestly.”

Artis said, his tone almost dismissive, like he wasn’t cradling a grown-ass woman by her ass in front of her flustered husband.

He tilted his head just enough to lock eyes with Lui, his grin dripping with smugness. It wasn’t just a smirk—it was the fuck-you smirk of the century, and Lui hated it with every fiber of his being.

But then Artis upped the ante. As he hoisted Juliana higher, her soft, bountiful MILF boobs grazed against his face.

Not a brush, not a casual pass—oh no. Full-on boob contact. And Lui, sitting on the sidelines like a goddamn cuckold, could see every infuriating detail.

The curve of her breast pressed into Artis’s cheek, the way her robe shifted just enough to tease the hardened outline of her nipples. And that smile. That goddamn cocky smile.

“So fluffy…”

Artis murmured, his voice like a purr as his lips practically skimmed her skin. Then, with a deliberate pause, he added,

“Her weight, of course. Nothing else.”

Lui’s face turned the color of a tomato—half from rage, half from the very noticeable bulge forming in his pants.

He clenched his fists so tight it felt like his knuckles might pop.

“Watch closely, Lui,” Artis said, his tone oozing with condescension. “I’m gonna teach you again. Nice and slow, okay? Pay attention, buddy.”

Then, with infuriating precision, Artis started to slide Juliana down. Her breasts dragged agonizingly slowly across his face, her nipples now stiff and poking visibly through the satin fabric.

Juliana let out a soft gasp, her cheeks flushed, and Lui swore he saw her bite her lip.

“And then,” Artis continued, his grin widening as he looked directly at Lui, “you bring her back up. Like this. You see? That’s how a real man does it.”

With a smooth motion, Artis lifted Juliana again, this time burying his entire face into her cleavage like he was diving into a fucking cloud of heaven-scented marshmallows.

He took an audible inhale—yes, the bastard sniffed her—and let out a satisfied hum, like he’d just tasted the finest wine.

“You got that, Lui? Got the fucking idea yet?”

Artis grinned, sliding Juliana down agonizingly slow, like he was unwrapping the most sinful present ever.

“Ahhh…”

Juliana moaned, her voice betraying her as she tried—and failed—to suppress it. Her body wasn’t just responding; it was throwing her under the bus, hard.

“Seems like you’re enjoying this, huh, dear Mommy?”

Artis teasedas his hand remained very much in the danger zone.

“It’s not every day someone lifts me like I’m a spry twenty again, baby.”

Juliana cooed, flashing a cheeky smile.

Lui’s jaw tightened as he watched the spectacle unfold.

Every instinct screamed to smack Artis upside the head, but he was frozen, caught between rage and some other unwelcome feelings bubbling below his belt.

‘He’s not lifting you, wife.’

Lui thought bitterly.

‘He’s groping you like a fucking pervert and rubbing his face all over your tits. You can’t possibly think this is normal!’

Artis, clearly sensing the tension, smirked wider.

“Since you’re loving it so much, Jul, how about one more lift? But this time… at a different angle.”

He punctuated the suggestion with a light, patronizing tap on her flushed cheek, like she was some lovesick teenager swooning at his charm.

Meanwhile, his other hand remained firmly planted on her ass, his middle finger sinking into the abyss between her cheeks like he was mining for treasure.

From where Lui sat, the full glory of Juliana’s plush, round ass was on display, the curve of her crack perfectly framed by her robe.

Artis’s hand looked like it was one good squeeze away from disappearing entirely, and Juliana? She didn’t seem to mind one fucking bit.

Lui’s fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white, but his eyes stayed glued to the scene—more specifically, to her ass and that goddamn hand.

His brain screamed, ‘Look away! This is your wife!’ But his dick had other ideas, pitching a tent in his pants like it was camping season.

Artis caught his gaze and chuckled, giving Juliana’s ass a deliberate squeeze that made her gasp and arch into him.

“You watching closely, Lui? Taking notes? This is what happens when you know how to handle a real woman. Maybe someday you’ll learn.”

Lui’s face burned, half with rage and half with shameful arousal. He tried to summon a retort, but all that came out was a strangled growl.

“A-another angle?”

Juliana asked.

“Yep, you will like it. Trust me.”

With a sly grin, Artis heaved Juliana’s body like she weighed nothing, flipping her around until her back was flush against his chest.

Her ass, round and inviting, pressed snugly against his rock-hard bulge, which was straining against his pants like it was begging for parole.

“What… what are you doing now?”

Juliana stammered, her voice breathy and confused but dripping with something she wasn’t ready to admit.

“This, my dear, is the advanced lifting technique—reserved for real men.”

Artis declared with a cocky smirk, throwing a pointed glance at Lui, who was turning fifty shades of pissed and flustered.

Before she could question further, Artis leaned down, his hands gliding possessively over her thighs until they gripped firmly just above her knees.

With a practiced heave, he lifted her into a full fucking Nelson position, her legs spread wide like she was auditioning for an eagle mascot.

Juliana’s robe, betraying all sense of modesty, parted just enough to expose a tantalizing glimpse of her most private treasures, though the very edge of the fabric teased at covering her completely.

From Lui’s seat, the sight was both mortifying and mesmerizing, his jaw hanging open like a broken hinge.

“This… this is…”

Juliana bit her lip, her face flushed with both embarrassment and undeniable arousal. Her gaze flicked to Lui, who was glued to the scene, his cheeks as red as a virgin at his first strip club.