NTR: Minor Villain Wants to Be the Main Villain

Artis chuckled, dragging it out just a little longer—enjoying the way she practically vibrated in anticipation.

Then, finally—

"Yes, for that coin."

"YEA—YEAH!!!"

And sweet mother of tits, she jumped.

Like, actually fucking jumped—her big, soft breasts launched up with her, defying every law of physics before jiggling back down like they had a personal vendetta against restraint.

And her ass?

That juicy, plump, absolute fucking masterpiece of an ass?

It bounced like a sinful prayer answered.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Like a damn festival drum being pounded by fate itself.

She was dancing around with Rai, clueless to the fact that she was giving Artis the most erotic display of motherly enthusiasm he'd ever witnessed.

And Artis?

Oh, he was watching.

Not even subtly.

'Who the fuck is the lucky bastard hitting that every night?'

A deep, visceral jealousy burned in his chest.

Whoever that man was, he better be grateful—because if Artis was in his place, this woman wouldn't just be walking funny…

She'd be crawling.

But then again…

That wouldn't be a problem for long.

Because if there was one thing Artis was sure of—

Sooner or later, she'd be bouncing on his cock instead.

After minutes of giving Artis a front-row seat to the greatest tit-and-ass showcase the marketplace had ever seen, she finally stopped dancing.

And fuck, was she sweaty.

Her chest heaved, her skin glistened, and she had that exhausted, post-orgasm glow—except all she did was bounce around in joy, and somehow it had been the filthiest thing he'd witnessed all day.

Then, she did something dangerous.

She untied her apron and lifted it over her head.

Harmless, right?

No.

Absolutely fucking not.

Because as she pulled it off, the cloth got caught on her face, sticking for a moment—leaving her helplessly blind, arms up, and completely exposed for his viewing pleasure.

And Artis?

Oh, he was looking.

His eyes zeroed in on her tits.

That brown tunic of hers had never stood a chance against sinful eyes like his, but the apron had at least given her a fighting chance at modesty.

Now?

Her breasts were on full fucking display.

Perfect. Round. Full-sized.

The kind that could turn a devout priest into a corrupt bishop in five seconds flat.

He waited, anticipation thick in his throat, wondering—would he see nipple?

Would the gods bless him today?

No nipple.

And then it hit him.

She was wearing a bra.

A fucking bra.

'Finally! Someone decent enough to wear a damn bra.'

Having spent far too much time around women whose breasts just roamed free like lawless bandits, Artis had started to question reality.

Was it fashionable to go braless?

Was there a secret anti-bra cult he didn't know about?

Did the author of this world have a personal grudge against structured undergarments?

But this woman?

She had a bra.

She had support.

She had order in the chaos.

And Artis respected that.

Now, if only he could get her out of it.

Lily finally yanked off her apron, tossing it onto her stall like it had personally offended her.

Then, she did something that should have been illegal in broad daylight.

She fanned herself with her delicate fingers, dragging them down her sweaty throat, cooling her skin in slow, sensual motions that had no business being that erotic.

And the sweat?

Oh, the sweat.

It beaded at her collarbone, trickled over the slope of her tits, and slid right the fuck down into the cavern of her cleavage—never to be seen again.

Artis watched, entranced.

That droplet was a lucky bastard.

He imagined himself as that droplet.

Sliding between those full, soft breasts, lost in the valley of temptation, soaking into the damp fabric that had now turned her light brown tunic a sinful, dark brown.

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'Is this a marketplace or a titty bar?'

Lily exhaled sharply, arching her back slightly as if she knew exactly what she was doing.

"Phew~ Now that's over, where are my manners?"

And then—she fucking bowed.

Bowed.

Like a courtesan greeting a king, she grabbed the hem of her skirt, dipped low, and gave him a sweeping, deep bow—which meant, of course, that her already precariously contained tits jiggled like they were trying to escape captivity.

Rai followed suit with his own polite little bow, but let's be honest—nobody was looking at Rai.

Artis struggled to keep his composure.

This woman was built for sin and here she was, throwing it at him for free.

"This young miss greets the honored guest and hopes to entertain the esteemed guest."

She said, her voice smooth, elegant, and sexy enough to make a priest reconsider his vows.

"My name is Lily, and this is Rai."

Artis blinked.

That?

That was not the voice of a struggling flower vendor.

That was the voice of a woman who knew how to take a man's soul with a smile and a slow grind.

He nodded, doing his best to look at her face and not at the cleavage that was one heavy sigh away from a full-blown wardrobe malfunction.

"Good day, Lily. Looking forward to your guidance."

"Likewise."

She smiled, and damn, it was dangerous.

Not the polite, businesslike smile of a vendor. No.

It was warm, playful, and just a little bit dangerous and innocent at the same time. The kind of smile that could ruin marriages, start wars, and make a man consider throwing his entire life savings at her feet.

As she straightened up from her bow, her tits did a slow bounce, settling back into place, still straining against the fabric of her tunic.

Artis had never envied a piece of cloth more in his life.

The more she acted care free, the more he got view of her assets. Maybe its her way of attracting customers...but whatever it was, Artis was loving it.

He crossed his arms, watching with an amused smirk as she started packing the flowers, carefully wrapping each one in parchment paper with delicate, nimble fingers.