Chapter 105: Devoured Purity (Part 4)

For the rest of the morning, Kaoru Hoshitani was used by Rika Kawasaki as nothing more than Fitness Equipment.

At first, she used him as a Barbell to work on her arm strength.

Then came the Push-Up Rings session; Rika Kawasaki pinned him directly to the floor, curling him up to serve as a Cushion.

Her broad palms pressed to either side of his shoulders, and as she lowered her body, her entire weight crushed his chest and abdomen.

Kaoru Hoshitani felt the air in his lungs squeeze out in an instant, a metallic tang rising in his throat.

He could clearly smell her overwhelming scent—a unique Hormone smell belonging to a powerful Female, so strong it forcefully invaded his nose, completely masking his own naturally fresh Pheromone.

When Rika Kawasaki finally finished, Kaoru Hoshitani looked as if he’d just been pulled from a river, not a single patch on his body left clean, covered head to toe in her sticky, acrid sweat.

Normally, standing within a meter of Kaoru Hoshitani, one could smell the pleasant Pheromone he exuded; but in his entire life, his scent had never been so foul.

The smell didn’t just cling to his skin; it felt as if it seeped into his pores, penetrated his blood, even wound itself around his Soul, impossible to dispel.

For several hours straight, Kaoru Hoshitani felt, without the slightest barrier, the immense energy stored in Rika Kawasaki’s athletic body—she barely had to exert herself, and could easily lift, flip, and toy with his forty-five kilogram frame.

In her hands, he was no more than a lifeless Puppet Toy, powerless to resist.

Rika Kawasaki spent three or four hours, using such an extreme method, to completely awaken every Genetic Factor in Kaoru Hoshitani’s cells.

Every exertion, every domineering movement, every downward glance was like a branding iron, etching the image of a powerful Female deep into his mind, impossible to erase.

And he, such a weak Male, could do nothing in the face of such absolute strength but passively endure, let her do as she pleased, not even daring to imagine resisting.

“How is it, is that all you can take?”

Rika Kawasaki’s voice came from above, slightly hoarse from exercise and full of lazy satisfaction, but even more so of unhidden mockery.

She did not leave right away, but stood there at ease, head slightly bowed, gazing down at the little man sprawled limp as clay on the Mat, fingers too weak to curl, his body trembling uncontrollably.

Sweat traced the toned lines of her neck, slid over her sharply defined collarbones, and disappeared into the sweat-soaked edge of her tank top.

Her chest rose and fell gently with her steady breathing; on her face was the satisfaction of an artist evaluating her work, lips curving with a playful, almost cruel amusement.

After admiring his completely dazed appearance for several seconds, she moved.

First, she lifted a foot—a bare, tanned foot.

Its sole, touched by the Mat, was streaked with dust and sweat, yet in the sunlight, it did not look dirty at all, instead radiating a wild, realness.

She raised it, her movements slow and deliberate, as if in slow-motion, full of intent and declaration.

Then, steadily, she pressed the entire ball and part of the arch of her foot onto Kaoru Hoshitani’s pale, sweat-soaked cheek.

The sole was warm, slightly damp, its rough, vital sensation and the humiliating pressure impossible to ignore.

She could feel his cheek muscles tense instantly, and the tiny tremors under his skin.

She even pressed a little harder, rolling his soft, cold cheek beneath her foot, causing his face to distort slightly against the rough Mat.

“Hmm? You like the smell of Females, don’t you.” She bent lower, her voice a devilish whisper thick with malice. “This is your reward. Open your mouth.”

“Cough, cough…! Qui—cough! Ugh…”

Kaoru Hoshitani jerked his head away, choking violently on the pungent scent so close to his nose and mouth.

His cheeks reddened quickly from pressure, suffocation, and overwhelming shame, tears springing again to the corners of his eyes.

And yet, even so, when he was forced to turn back and look up, those once bright, clear eyes—like a fawn’s, wet and innocent—now held nothing but endless emptiness.

His focus scattered, pupils dilated, unable to reflect any image at all, as if his Soul had truly been drawn from this battered body and scattered.

At the same time, a powerful, savage voice—like an echo from ancient times, crossing endless eons—howled, screamed, and commanded in the ruins of his consciousness, drowning out all remnants of reason and shame.

“Submit! Submit to the powerful Female! Offer everything! Accept the strongest Gene! Inheritance!”

That pitiful little mind, under the dual, hours-long torment of body and soul, had already become a pot of thick, chaotic mush, with no strength left to resist the deafening roar of instinct.

In the darkness of his pupils, it was as if a blurry, eerie pink heart flickered, symbolizing the complete collapse of his final defenses and the inescapable mark of submission.

Then… under that woman’s high, commanding, expectant gaze—one that brooked no denial—he, trembling, opened his colorless, swollen lips, still streaked with dust and tear tracks, little by little, like a rusty machine forced into motion…

———

Time lost all meaning.

Kaoru Hoshitani had no idea how he was carried out of the gym, or how he passed through the silent, empty corridors of the villa.

By the time some dim awareness returned, his body was already enveloped in a familiar, incomparably soft embrace.

The last glow of sunset struggled through the only gap in the heavy curtains, casting a narrow beam—colored like old honey—across the dim, luxurious bedroom floor.

Countless motes of dust spun fiercely and silently within the shaft of light, like a miniature storm with no one to witness it.

The illusion of peace vanished in an instant.

His entire field of view was swiftly filled and consumed by the aggressive, tanned shadow of someone climbing onto the bed.

Against the weak light, her silhouette loomed over him like an insurmountable mountain, her presence carrying an even more secret, coiled intent.

She leaned in, and the shadow covered him completely, the familiar, suffocating oppression returning at once—deeper now than in the gym, with an intimacy and danger that left no escape.

Kaoru Hoshitani’s heart clenched; he knew that this time, there truly was nowhere left to run…

Torment… just like the past six days, no different at all…

Yet he could no longer hold out, collapsing completely with such frightening ease.

A hint of sorrow flashed in those hollow fawn-like eyes; tears overflowed from their corners, sliding down his cheeks.

That four-hour “warm-up” had long since ground all his remaining will to resist into the finest powder, scattered to the winds.

Now, his skin—once jade-like and almost transparent—glowed with a feverish, precious ruby red, shame burning from his cheeks down to his neck.

Fine beads of sweat seeped from his brow, nose, and the hollow of his neck, not from heat, but from utter tension and collapse.

Each shallow breath filled his lungs with Rika Kawasaki’s strong, domineering Female Hormone, the scent now almost tangible, clogging his throat, making his head spin, his heart race as if it might burst through his chest.

【Please…stop torturing me…anything is fine…I give up…I won’t resist anymore…I really won’t…】

Kaoru Hoshitani’s lips, now red and swollen, parted slightly, opening and closing like a fish out of water, but no coherent sound emerged—only broken, trembling breaths and silent, desperate sobs.

His shoulders quivered uncontrollably, hands clenching the sheets beneath him so tightly that his knuckles turned white, as if that was the only straw he could grasp in the boundless abyss.

Yet how could the yellow-haired woman, so versed in control and deriving pleasure from his collapse, fail to see he was truly at the brink of mental breakdown?

In fact, she delighted most in seeing him stripped of every mask, exposing his vulnerable core, and refused to let go just as she was about to “harvest” her prize.

The true pleasure of the Hunter is in the last struggles and submission of the Victim.

She raised her hand—not gentle, but almost appraising—her fingers swept through his sweat-dampened bangs, smoothing the cold black strands clinging to his skin behind his ear, revealing his smooth forehead and those tear-filled, lifeless eyes.

There was a ritualistic quality to her movements, as if she was preparing a sacrificial offering.

Her tone was deliberately gentle, soaked in venomous comfort, the opposite of her harsh commands from the gym, but all the more chilling.

“Is it hard to bear, little Kaoru?” she whispered, warm breath brushing his damp lashes.

“Just say it, don’t keep it inside. Tell me, what do you want now? Hmm? Shall we feel good together?”

Before her words finished, she lowered herself, planting a kiss on his trembling lips—gentle, yet full of absolute possession.

Not deep, just a fleeting touch, but it branded him, making his whole body shudder.

“Say what you want,” her nose nearly brushed his, her eyes reflecting his broken figure at this close distance.

Her voice grew even lower, softer, hypnotic—every word tapping on his fragile nerves. “It’s not your fault, you’ve already done so well, held out for so long, that’s amazing, isn’t it?”

Her thumb stroked his swollen lower lip, the callused pad moving slowly along its soft curve, feeling his uncontrollable shiver.

“It’s all her fault, your useless Girlfriend, she couldn’t satisfy you or protect you, that’s why you ended up like this, suffering so much. So, no need to blame yourself, be good.” Her voice was sweet as honey, cold as a blade.

“It’s simple—just open your mouth and say the words that have been swirling on your tongue…I know they’re right there, you’re ready, aren’t you? Say it, and you’ll be free.”

How pitiful and ironic it was that what finally snapped the last thread named “will” in Kaoru Hoshitani’s mind was not more brutal physical oppression or humiliation, but Rika Kawasaki’s carefully crafted, sugar-coated “gentleness” and understanding.

This false empathy and absolution negated all the pain, struggle, and endurance he had endured as an individual more thoroughly than direct violence ever could, blaming his fate on external factors and instinct, stripping away his right to be a Victim, pushing him into a pit of self-blame and total surrender.

His long, tear-dampened lashes quivered violently, like a dying butterfly’s last flutter.

Then, the last faint glimmer in his eyes was extinguished.

As if he had spent the last of his life, or finally rendered a verdict on everything, he slowly, heavily closed his eyes.

Tears still seeped from the tightly shut corners, but all the air around him suddenly shifted, becoming a dead stillness of utter surrender, as if his Soul had finally left this tormented shell, leaving only an empty vessel awaiting final command.

The bedroom fell into absolute silence, broken only by their uneven breaths and the indistinct background noise of the distant city outside.

That golden patch of light slowly moved across the floor, growing narrower and fainter, like the last trace of hope slipping away.

After a long time, those swollen lips forced out from the depths of his throat a suppressed, soul-wrung whimper—faint, trembling, floating into Rika Kawasaki’s ear, as soft as a sigh, as heavy as a falling meteor.

“…please…”

“…I…”