Gulp…
‘I’m going to lose my mind. I’m going to lose my mind. I’m going to lose my mind. No, focus… I’m going to lose my mind! What are you doing?!’
The frantic thoughts echoed in Ash’s skull, a relentless drumbeat against the rising tide of sensation.
He could feel his own wet entrance twitching, a response he despised and yet couldn’t control.
Ash wanted nothing more than to close his eyes, to retreat into the comforting darkness, but he knew it wouldn’t make his Master close his.
The piercing gaze was a tangible weight, pinning him in place.
Of course, this was the consequence of being a pervert, wasn’t it?
In other words, he was an abnormal sexual deviant.
The label seared, even though it was an internal accusation.
It implied the existence of a “normal” sexuality, a path his Master had likely long since abandoned.
Ash lamented inwardly, a silent scream of despair.
‘Is this truly the only way?’
The question hung in the air, unanswered, heavy with the weight of circumstance.
This was already the third time. It might very well be his last chance at whatever elusive freedom or escape his Master offered.
Ash steeled his resolve, forcing down the panic that threatened to engulf him.
‘Let’s do it.’
The grim determination settled over him like a shroud.
Open his throat?
Swallow the semen?
The very idea sent a tremor through his exhausted body, yet he forced himself to confront it.
He could do it.
What couldn’t he do in this gilded cage, under this man’s absolute command?
What shred of his former self remained that he hadn’t already sacrificed?
With a ragged inhale, Ash bit down on the penis again, adjusting the angle to make swallowing easier.
The sensation was cloying, almost sickeningly sweet on his tongue.
Simultaneously, he released a fresh wave of pheromones, hoping to hasten the inevitable.
His hands, acting on an instinct he no longer recognized as his own, began to massage his Master’s testicles, coaxing a deeper response.
A pleasant, low voice rumbled from his Master’s backside, a sound that resonates deep within Ash’s core, both repelling and arousing.
“Ah… Your skill has improved. You really do have a talent for this.”
The words, spoken with such casual appreciation, snapped something within Ash.
He couldn’t hold back; the indignation was too potent. With a choked sound, he spat out the penis, the wet thud against his thigh disgustingly loud in the otherwise silent room.
“Can you not talk when your mouth is full?!”
His voice was hoarse, raw with barely suppressed fury.
His Master’s only response was a calm, almost amused, “Mhm, okay.”
Then, a sudden, searing warmth covered his opening.
“Ah…!”
Ash gasped, his previous anger dissolving into a frantic, involuntary moan.
He heard his Master’s low laughter, a soft, predatory sound, before a wide, wet tongue began to lap at him.
It was incredibly wet, strangely soft, and utterly alien.
The sensation was intense, overwhelming, drowning out all coherent thought.
He could almost hear the lapping, lapping, lapping sound of his Master’s tongue, a relentless, deliberate rhythm.
He was being licked so diligently, with such focused attention, that a strange heat bloomed in his stomach, spreading rapidly through his limbs.
Ash’s backside, already thoroughly soaked with pheromones, was wet even before his Master began this new assault, but now it felt drenched, slick and exposed.
The opening, which had been repeatedly opening and closing in a desperate, pleading rhythm of its own, was no different.
The liquid that moistened his inner walls kept flowing out, a steady stream.
Something continuously overflowed from the spring within his lower abdomen, as if drawing water from a well that would never run dry.
The sensations were building, overlapping, pushing him closer to a precipice he both dreaded and yearned for.
A tongue, sharply pointed and insistent, parted his entrance and entered, attempting to lick the inner wall.
Ash arched involuntarily, a desperate, silent plea on his lips.
“You need to concentrate,” his Master’s voice purred, closer now, almost against his ear.
“Just…!”
Ash managed, a strangled protest.
And he had told him not to talk!
The hypocrisy was galling, yet he was too far gone to truly care.
He swallowed a groan, a thick, desperate sound.
A moan felt as if it would escape with it, a betrayal of his resolve.
‘But wait.’
A flicker of doubt, a desperate attempt at rational thought, pierced through the haze of sensation.
Hadn’t his Master promised not to do anything until Ash gave up first?
Was he breaking his promise so easily, like a sly snake slithering over a wall?
Ash snapped back to attention, his mind reeling, but quickly grew confused.
Had he not actually promised?
Come to think of it, he seemed to have vaguely dodged the question, his words ambiguous, elusive.
This person really was…
‘He’s daring me.’
The realization was a cold splash of water, momentarily sharpening his focus.
His Master was testing him, pushing his limits, daring him to break.
At any rate, his Master was not a liar, not in the strictest sense, even if he twisted words to his own advantage.
Ash had a talent for nighttime activities, a natural aptitude he’d discovered under this man’s tutelage.
Even though he wasn’t used to sucking another’s, hadn’t his skill already become this excellent?
The bitter pride in his own perverse talent was a strange, unsettling feeling.
Ash opened his throat once more, forcing it wide, and took the penis deep inside, past the thick head, then withdrew it from his throat again, a rhythmic, almost mechanical motion.
He repeated this action, a strange dance of submission and desperate perseverance.
It wasn’t particularly difficult in a physical sense, but it felt like he was reaching his limit, mentally and emotionally.
Keeping his mouth open continuously meant he had no time to swallow his saliva.
His tensed jaw felt like it would dislocate, aching with the prolonged effort.
His throat was swollen, raw from the repeated thrusts.
Even though he wasn’t doing it on purpose, a squelching sound came from his mouth, wet and undeniably lewd, almost vulgar in its raw intimacy.
An automatic gag reflex made him bite down on the penis, and his head felt dull, a throbbing ache behind his eyes.
The dizzying sensation below merged with his taste buds, creating a bizarre, confusing overlap that made it feel almost as if he were sucking something exquisitely delicious.
He was definitely sucking with his mouth, the action undeniable, but it felt simultaneously as if his opening was being poked, invaded.
Yet, there was no feeling of satisfaction, no release.
Instead, his lower body grew increasingly restless, a coiling tension building within him.
His opening continued to gape, swallowing the caressing tongue, each movement deeper, more insistent.
Ash’s penis had been thudding against something for a while now, an insistent pressure against his own engorged flesh.
It felt like some part of his Master’s skin, but he didn’t want to imagine the exact location, the full implications of their tangled limbs and intertwined bodies.
He only felt that he couldn’t take it anymore, that his reserves were completely depleted.
Just a little.
Just a little more… the mantra whispered in his mind, a desperate plea for endurance.
Unbeknownst to him, tears welled up and spilled from Ash’s eyes, tracing hot paths down his temples.
They said one shed all sorts of fluids during intimacy, that bodies released everything held within, but he had never shed so many tears, never felt such a profound wellspring of sorrow and exhaustion, except when he was with his Master.
At one point, his breath caught in his throat, a sharp, painful hitch.
“Good…” his Master sighed, a sound of deep contentment.
He thrust his hips, a final, powerful movement.
The moment Ash’s throat was pierced deep, a gurgling, surging torrent of semen flowed down, filling his mouth, his throat, his very being.
His vision blurred white, then turned to a chaotic, overwhelming black.
The world spun, a dizzying mess of sensation and nausea.
“…Cough, cough!”
Ash wretched, carefully withdrawing what was in his throat, the metallic tang of cum coating his tongue.
Immediately, a violent fit of coughing erupted, tearing through his chest, forcing him to fold over, gasping for air.
‘Finally.’
The single word was a prayer, a desperate hope.
“Cough…!”
He sobbed, the sound raw and broken, pleading with a silent, unseen entity.
‘Ugh.’
Seriously… he was utterly exhausted, drained of every ounce of energy and will.
“Promise, cough! Keep… cough!”
Unable to move his limp, shaking body off his Master, Ash continuously convulsed, the aftershocks of the forced climax still wracking him.
He didn’t even notice his Master’s pubic hair brushing against his forehead, a perverse halo in his disorientation.
From their intertwined bodies, his Master’s voice rumbled, deep and resonant.
“I didn’t expect it to be this quick. A shame. But it can’t be helped.”
“What… cough! Can’t be, cough!” Ash managed, his voice still ragged.
“I’ll keep my promise.”
“Cough!”
Ash was filled with a sudden, unexpected wave of elation.
The promise!
It was real!
But he was too physically drained, too utterly spent, to rejoice properly.
The feeling was a faint, shimmering light in the overwhelming darkness of his exhaustion.
‘I’m never making a bet like this with Master again.’
He vowed, though he probably wouldn’t have time for bets anyway, not in the foreseeable future.
Escape!
He was finally leaving this dreadful room!
The thought propelled a tiny spark of life back into him.
Just then, a chilling, distinct sound echoed from beyond the door.
Knock, knock.
“Ah.”
Ash tried to sit up, a sudden burst of adrenaline, but accidentally hit his Master’s penis.
‘Why is that hard again?’
The thought flashed, absurdly, through his mind, but he didn’t care.
Nothing mattered but the sound from the door.
“Shh,” Ash hissed, urgently putting a finger to his lips, his eyes wide with a mixture of panic and desperate hope.
His Master’s eyes widened in return, a flicker of surprise in their depths.
Ash cleared his throat, forcing his voice to be calm, collected, as if nothing untoward had happened.
“…Why? If it’s food, leave it outside. I’m not in the mood to eat right now.”
He tried to project an air of bored indifference, hoping to convey that he was simply resting.
“…Are you not feeling well?”
The voice from outside was familiar, laced with an underlying concern that Ash hadn’t heard in days.
Ash almost coughed again, the familiar tickle in his throat threatening to betray him.
It was Tyllian.
Tyllian had returned.
His heart pounded a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
He didn’t know why, not precisely.
Relief?
Trepidation?
A confusing mix of both.
“Tyllian?”
Ash called out, his voice still a little strained, but softer now, tinged with a fragile hope.
“Yes.”
Tyllian’s reply was curt, almost cold.
“You’re here?”
“Yes.”
Tyllian’s replies remained curt, clipped.
As if they had never fought, never exchanged a single heated word, never had their relationship fray at the edges.
This was definitely not a good sign.
But Ash’s current situation was arguably worse.
‘What? If he’s not going to reconcile, why did he come back?’
The question burned in his mind.
Of course, the answer was obvious, agonizingly so.
To guard Ash.
To carry out Owen’s orders.
When Ash had angered him with his foolish nonsense, Tyllian had ignored him, had deliberately avoided him, no matter how much Ash had sought him out, no matter how desperate his silent pleas.
Even though their relationship had clearly worsened, shattered into fragments, he had returned to obey Owen’s cold, impersonal command.
How could he do this?
How could he be so detached, so professional, when Ash felt so raw and exposed?
‘He said he liked me.’
The memory was a fresh wound, stinging with betrayal.
All thoughts of apologizing vanished from Ash’s mind, replaced by a surge of bitter resentment.
Even though he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done wrong, he’d felt like he was at fault and had fully intended to apologize, to swallow his pride and beg for forgiveness.
But why should he have to beg so much, endure such humiliation, only to be met with this cold, distant demeanor?
Tyllian wouldn’t even accept his apology.
He had abandoned Ash and chosen Owen, chosen duty over any personal connection they might have shared.
“I heard you eat when you’re awake.”
Tyllian’s voice was firm, unyielding, devoid of any warmth.
“What do you care? Leave it,” Ash snapped, his voice a little too sharp, betraying the turmoil within him.
“Why are you not feeling well?”
Tyllian pressed, a hint of concern finally creeping into his tone, though it was quickly overshadowed by a rigid formality.
“I feel great. Couldn’t be better, in fact?”
Ash retorted, trying to sound breezy, nonchalant.
He knew he was doing a terrible job.
His current position and state of disarray made any pretense impossible.
“Why are you feeling great?”
“What…?”
Ash was genuinely flabbergasted.
What kind of nonsensical interrogation was this?
“It’s a problem whether I feel good or bad? What do you want to know?”
The words tumbled out, exasperated.
‘You don’t even care about my mood. Go appease Owen.’
He didn’t say that much, though the thought screamed in his mind.
There was no need to completely end his relationship with Tyllian, not yet.
Some part of him clung to the hope that it could be salvaged.
Ash felt a pang of unfairness, a sharp ache of undeserved hurt.
Would Tyllian know how much he was trying, how much he had endured just minutes ago?
Probably not.
It seemed Ash was no longer even a friend to him, merely a charge to be guarded.
Then, something touched his backside, a warm, wet sensation that made him stiffen.
Ash almost cried out involuntarily, the sound stifled by a sudden, frantic intake of breath.
His Master was licking his opening again!
Now?!
The timing was impossibly cruel.
He asked in a hushed whisper, his voice trembling with a mixture of indignation and panic, “What are you doing?”
“Didn’t you say you wanted to mend your relationship with Tyllian?” his Master purred, his voice a low, teasing rumble against Ash’s ear.
“What does that have to do with this…!”
Ash’s protest was cut short as his Master’s tongue dipped deeper.
Lick.
Ash’s thighs trembled uncontrollably, a violent shiver running through his body.
His waist felt weak, utterly without strength.
He was still using his Master as a literal mat, his legs trapped in this compromising situation, unable to move, unable to escape.
The humiliation was unbearable.
“…Please forget the slip of the tongue I made back then.”
Ash pleaded, desperate to distract his Master, to make him stop this cruel torment.
“What?”
Tyllian’s voice from outside the door had gone dangerously quiet, a subtle shift that sent a chill down Ash’s spine.
Ash desperately wanted to focus on his conversation with Tyllian, to salvage whatever was left of their friendship, but who could concentrate when their opening was being prodded and licked with such relentless intensity?
Even Owen wouldn’t possess such admirable mental fortitude!
Squish, squish…
“O-okay, I get it. Go away.”
Ash stammered, his voice choked, trying to push his Master away with a feeble movement of his hips, but only succeeding in grinding himself further against the insistent tongue.
“…Get what?”
Tyllian’s voice was now dangerously low, a predatory growl.
“Huh?”
Ash was thoroughly confused, torn between the agony of his current predicament and the growing menace in Tyllian’s tone.
“Ash-nim. What… what are you doing right now?”
The question was slow, deliberate, each word a hammer blow against Ash’s rapidly dissolving composure.
Tyllian’s voice had dropped to a pitch that Ash knew meant deep, simmering anger.
Ash kicked out haphazardly, a desperate, uncontrolled flailing of his legs.
But instead of dislodging his Master, the finger prodding him from below only went deeper, an intentional, punishing thrust.
“Huh?! I’m not doing anything, not doing anything…!”
Ash cried out, his voice rising in panic, a desperate lie that was immediately contradicted by the sounds emanating from his position.
Squish, squish…
Lick.
Ash closed his eyes, squeezing them shut against the overwhelming reality, the tears that threatened to spill again.
‘Crazy… insane.’
He felt like he was losing his mind, truly losing it this time.
“Ash-nim.”
Tyllian’s voice was closer now, directly outside the door.
“Huh?!”
Ash gasped, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm.
“I’m opening the door.”
“What?! Don’t! Don’t!”
Ash screamed, a raw, desperate sound that echoed through the small space.
Click.The knight completely ignored Ash’s plea, his scream.
The door swung open with a soft, ominous creak.
As soon as he heard his heart plummet, a sickening drop in his chest, Ash reflexively whipped his head in the opposite direction.
It was an instinctive reaction, a pathetic attempt at concealment, a desperate, futile hope.
Not that it would make Ash invisible, nor would Tyllian fail to recognize that the person in this undeniably compromising position was Ash, but… the humiliation, the sheer, crushing mortification, was already a physical weight.