Ash’s eyes widened in shock.
He couldn’t believe it.
“You said you’d let me go if I sucked you off?!” he blurted, his voice raw with disbelief.
“Shhh… Ash. Healing magic isn’t a cure-all. If you keep shouting, you’ll hurt your throat. How many times do I have to remind you?” his master replied, a calm, almost serene expression on his face that only fueled Ash’s indignation.
“That’s what you’re worried about?! This—!”
Ash started, but his words caught in his throat.
Ash stared at his master, his mind reeling.
He was so stunned that he couldn’t even process it.
“Did you… just take away my voice?”
“Shhh… Isn’t it nice and quiet now?”
His master peered at Ash’s face, then smiled faintly.
He gently wiped away the tears welling in Ash’s eyes, a gesture that was unsettling in its tenderness given the circumstances.
“That wasn’t our deal. You were supposed to excite me.”
“I did excite you!”
Ash opened his mouth reflexively—and his voice came back, startling him.
“What the…?”
Could his master just give and take someone’s voice like that?
Ash felt dazed, as if he’d been dropped into some bizarre, unreality.
He studied his master anew—Cecil Moore, the “Grand Sorcerer,” his mother’s teacher, a man even his father addressed without honorifics.
It suddenly hit him just how powerful his master truly was.
He really was a mage, capable of wielding miracles at will.
He’d just never used that power to force Ash into anything… until now.
His master could have been terrifying if he wanted.
But did that scare Ash?
…No.
Ash had already seen too much to be fazed.
This was the same man who tripped over flat ground, claiming he “forgot how to walk because he was too deep in thought.”
Ash had no idea what that meant—he just figured all mages were eccentric.
“You almost got excited. But you didn’t do anything. You just begged me to stop, crying like a mess,” his master stated, his tone disappointingly neutral.
“That’s—!”
How could he say “you didn’t do anything” after shoving his cock down Ash’s throat?!
Ash immediately looked down at his master’s crotch.
The evidence was right there—!
“Why… is it soft again?”
“Exactly,” his master agreed as if it were obvious.
Ash couldn’t believe the limp flesh in front of him.
“The cum… the ejaculation… Where is it? You really didn’t come?”
Ash frantically checked his own body—no sticky fluid.
He crawled forward on his knees, patting down his master’s chest, thighs, the sheets, even the rug.
Nothingz
There wasn’t even the scent of semen.
Ash had never slept with a beta, but surely male ejaculation had some smell, pheromones or not.
He had to face reality.
His master hadn’t finished.
“I can’t even seduce a decades-long celibate?!”
No—this reality was unacceptable.
Ash shifted the blame to the world instead.
“Why does it keep going soft?!”
“Who knows? It was never very reliable to begin with.”
“Do you have erectile dysfunction? Have you not used this thing in, like, a hundred years?”
“Hmm…”
Then, a realization struck Ash, one that settled over him with a sudden, unsettling clarity.
“Ohhh. It must be broken!”
For the first time, his master’s half-lidded eyes flickered with emotion.
He gave Ash a look of utter disbelief—a raw, unguarded expression that vanished as quickly as it appeared—but Ash missed it entirely, too consumed by his own groundbreaking deduction.
“You wouldn’t know since you’ve never used it, but ED is a medical condition. No matter how good I am, I can’t fix that for you,”
Ash explained, a wave of profound pity washing over him.
He felt a deep, unexpected sympathy for the man before him.
“A master who spent his whole life buried in research… I always wondered why he was still single despite his looks. Now I know.”
Ash’s brow furrowed in concern.
“Maybe his master had pinned his last hope on Ash. Even a Grand Sorcerer had limits—some things couldn’t be fixed with magic.
And if this was truly a persistent, unyielding medical condition, then what hope was there for anyone?
Ash was, after all, quite confident in his own bedroom prowess.
“I’m no slouch in bed, but if even I couldn’t get it up, nobody could,” he declared, a hint of genuine disappointment in his tone.
His master sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of ages.
“What a shame.”
“Right? What are you gonna do? You’re still in your prime—appearance-wise.”
“Hmm.”
“Being a Grand Sorcerer isn’t all perks, huh? I thought you didn’t age at all. But I guess this part does. It doesn’t look old, though…”
Ash was too busy lamenting to notice his master reaching out.
“Huh?”
Ash blinked, startled from his thoughts.
Was he supposed to take his hand?
He grabbed it, expecting to be pulled gently to his feet—only to be yanked onto the bed with surprising force.
Before he knew it, he was on his back, sinking into the plush mattress.
Only then did he realize how uncomfortable his earlier position had been.
The rug in his room was soft, but it was no match for an actual bed.
“But Master, why did you lay me down like this?”
Ash wondered if his master had made a mistake…
“I can’t just take this humiliation lying down.”
“Master? Your eyes—”
The usual languid expression on his master’s face was now strangely animated.
Even his eyes gleamed, and the shadows beneath them seemed lighter, as if lifted by magic.
Wasn’t Master’s eyelids supposed to be under a spell, preventing him from opening them fully?
Just as Ash was startled by this, something even more shocking happened.
His master buried his face between Ash’s thighs.
The bridge of his nose pressed against Ash’s scrotum through the thin fabric of his underwear and sleep pants.
“Hah—!”
Ash reflexively grabbed the sheets, his fingers digging into the soft material.
The blanket beneath him twitched under his hips but didn’t budge further.
His master, however, was different.
“Ah. So it’s here,” his master murmured, a note of quiet triumph in his voice.
As if realizing something profound, his master tilted his head slightly.
His cheek pressed against Ash’s erection with just the right weight, the soft warmth of his skin gliding over it.
Ash clamped a hand over his mouth, stifling a gasp that threatened to escape.
His other hand was too busy clawing at the sheets, a desperate attempt to pull away, though he didn’t even know why he was stifling himself—just that he shouldn’t make a sound.
Truthfully, he shouldn’t even be feeling this… this intense surge of sensation that threatened to overwhelm him.
“You’re sensitive,” his master observed, his voice a low, fascinated hum.
Ash’s gaze was drawn to him, helplessly fixated.
He couldn’t help it.
His master was breathtakingly beautiful—so much so that it almost felt unnatural, a work of art come to life.
And now that ethereal beauty was caressing him, touching him with an intimacy that sent shivers down his spine.
How could Ash, a self-proclaimed master of nighttime pleasures, possibly look away?
“Hng…” a soft groan escaped Ash’s lips despite his efforts.
“You react so well. Your body is worth the effort.”
When his master chuckled softly, the vibration traveled through where their skin touched, directly into Ash’s core.
Ash squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to regain some semblance of control over his rapidly unraveling senses.
‘Think of something else. Something disgusting.’
He mentally screamed, a frantic plea to his own mind.
The image of Tyllian’s nagging face flickered in his mind before morphing into something else entirely—the knight’s excited expression as he roughly shook Ash, demanding his attention, his presence filling Ash’s space…
‘That was actually really hot.’
Backfire.
Complete and utter backfire.
Ash groaned internally, his desperation growing.
‘No, no! Not him! Owen Mills. Owen Mills. Owen, Owen—!’
Ash shook his head, trying to dislodge the unwelcome thoughts, desperately trying to summon the face of his detested half-brother, a man he could reliably count on to ignite his irritation and squelch any burgeoning arousal. Ignoring the stimulation below was no easy feat, but Ash managed to focus, forcing Owen’s image to the forefront of his mind.
Owen’s aristocratic features glared at him with disdain, his usual haughty expression intact.
But then, something strange happened. Owen’s sharp, condescending face softened, regressing into the boy he once was—Owen during his growth spurt, when he towered over Ash day by day, a constant reminder of his physical superiority.
His younger self stared at Ash in disbelief, his pupils trembling, lips parted. Ash couldn’t understand why he was looking at him like that, the raw emotion in Owen’s gaze a confusing anomaly.
With a twisted expression, Owen spat out each word like venom: “That vulgar stench… What the hell have you been doing?”
‘Ah, damn it.’
He shouldn’t have thought of him.
Now he was just irritated, with zero effect on his arousal.
In fact, if anything, the irritation only heightened his body’s sensitivity, making the current sensations even more profound.
Ash’s body was already well-trained—anywhere touched could easily excite him.
Normally, he’d appreciate that, priding himself on his responsiveness, but right now, he resented it for the first time in his life.
A plea, raw and desperate, burst from his lips: “Wait—!”
But it was too late.
His master’s lips moved along his length, a slow, deliberate exploration that sent shockwaves through Ash’s entire being.
The thin fabric of his clothes, usually efficient at their job of providing a barrier, did nothing to protect him now.
And the pressure wasn’t just external—it came from inside, too.
His master swallowed Ash’s cock.
The head slipped into a tight, wet heat, and Ash nearly screamed, his breath catching in his throat, a silent cry echoing in the sudden, overwhelming intimacy.