“What are you doing?”
Tyllian asked in a low voice.
Those were the words Ash wanted to say.
“I’m touching your butt.”
“So why are you…!”
The absurdity of the situation hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken questions and Ash’s growing panic.
He felt a profound sense of exasperation, a mix of fear and disbelief.
How could his Master be so utterly oblivious to social norms, to the very concept of impropriety?
“What kind of silent permission is that? Master, if you really do that outside, it’ll be a huge problem. I told you I can’t defend you even if the guards arrest you!”
Ash was afraid his Master would say something like, “That Omega seduced me first,” like any other criminal.
He envisioned the inevitable scandal, the public humiliation, and the sheer impossibility of explaining such a bizarre defense to anyone, let alone the stern castle guards.
Where should he even begin with this clueless person?
It was like trying to teach a fish to climb a tree – fundamentally impossible.
“Oh, I see. I won’t do it to anyone else. I’m not interested. Only you are fun for me.”
The casual declaration, delivered with an almost childlike innocence, was simultaneously horrifying and strangely comforting.
“That’s a relief.” Ash was relieved. It seemed he wouldn’t have to see his Master in prison, at least not for public indecency involving unwilling participants.
The thought alone was enough to make him shudder.
“What’s a relief?
But Tyllian looked bewildered, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“Ash, lift your butt, please. It’s hard to touch. I can’t even see the hole.”
The request, delivered with such earnestness, pulled Ash back into the immediate, humiliating reality.
‘Is it a relief?’
Listening to his Master, Ash became confused too.
He did lift his butt, a reflexive obedience born of years of servitude and an ingrained inability to refuse his Master’s peculiar whims.
But…
Tyllian’s voice rose, edged with an incredulity that Ash rarely heard from the usually composed knight.
“Why are you complying with that?”
“Huh?”
Why?
Ash wondered if this was even something to think about.
If someone asked him to do something he could do, something that didn’t pose any immediate danger or difficulty, why wouldn’t he?
And it was his Master, after all.
His Master, who had always been a figure of unquestionable authority, even when that authority manifested in the most bizarre ways.
“…Because it’s not difficult?”
Ash offered, the words sounding weak and pathetic even to his own ears.
He braced himself for Tyllian’s reaction.
“What…!”
Tyllian seemed so heated that he was speechless, his face a mask of disbelief and rising anger.
Can knights collapse from high blood pressure too?
Ash watched his reaction nervously, a morbid curiosity mingling with his growing anxiety.
His mother had fainted from anger once, a vivid memory of a terrifying domestic scene.
Tyllian, though, would probably just start lecturing Ash, a fate almost as dreadful as actual physical harm.
“Tyllian, you’ve gotten a lot angrier than I remember. So, am I supposed to help Ash escape with your assistance, or not?”
The Master’s voice, calm and unperturbed, cut through the tension.
Squish, squish…
The sound of his Master poking the hole was explicit, undeniable, and utterly mortifying.
Ash’s face flushed a deep crimson, the heat spreading from his cheeks to his ears, a visible testament to his intense embarrassment.
Tyllian, looking between Ash and his Master, pressed his temples, as if trying to physically contain the headache brewing behind them.
His voice came out like a sigh, a sound of profound resignation.
“…You may do so.”
The concession was grudging, but it was a concession nonetheless.
“Ash. Do I have to help Tyllian escape too? That’s troublesome.”
Ash wished he wouldn’t say things like that directly into his hole, the words vibrating against his sensitive flesh, intensifying the already overwhelming sensations.
“Doesn’t your magic make it irrelevant whether it’s two or three people, Master? You’re an Archmage.”
His Master wasn’t swayed by flattery, however; he merely hummed in consideration.
“Of course, but some people are born with strong magic resistance. Tyllian Manor is one of them. When I used to play with you with magic, it wasn’t intentional that I excluded Tyllian. Tyllian’s body has strong resistance, so direct magic has almost no effect on him.”
“Playing with magic” referred to the game where he would cast a spell on young Ash, making him float up into the sky and then bringing him down repeatedly.
Ash called it “High Jump,” a delightful, exhilarating experience.
Tyllian, however, detested watching Ash play like that.
It was because it might be dangerous, a concern that Ash had always dismissed.
Ash had foiled Tyllian’s interference by saying, “You can just watch and help if something happens.”
After that, Tyllian was forced to merely observe Ash’s “High Jump,” his face a mask of barely suppressed anxiety.
“Wasn’t it because Tyllian disliked it that you didn’t use it on him?”
Ash was surprised, a sudden realization dawning on him.
He had learned a secret after 10 years, a small piece of his past that now clicked into place.
“That’s also true.”
“I never wanted to play such a game.”
The answers came simultaneously, one a nonchalant confirmation, the other a vehement denial.
“So, if I have to help Tyllian escape too, it’ll be a bit difficult.”
His Master’s words shifted back to the escape plan, the bizarre conversation seamlessly flowing from one absurdity to the next.
“There’s no need for that. Just tell me where you are going with Lord Ash, and I will go there.”
Tyllian’s voice was firm, resolute, a clear indication that he had thought this through.
“Wouldn’t you be the first one suspected if Ash disappeared? There’s no guarantee you wouldn’t be interrogated and reveal his whereabouts, nor is there any guarantee that you wouldn’t be tracked.”
The Master’s questions were logical, pragmatic, a surprising shift from his usual whimsical demeanor.
“Unless the escape is ostentatious, it would be difficult for them to notice Lord Ash’s absence. You only need to avoid meal times. That’s the only time a servant enters Lord Ash’s room. If you target a long period between meals, for example, the nighttime, Lord Ash’s disappearance won’t be discovered until at least the next morning.”
Tyllian’s plan was surprisingly detailed and well-reasoned.
“That’s a good idea. Ash, do you agree to escape at night?”
Squish, squish…
The relentless stimulation continued, a constant, distracting presence.
Could they not stop this and just talk?
Ash’s toes curled up from the intense stimulation of his sensitive area, a physical manifestation of his escalating pleasure and discomfort.
“O-okay.”
He managed to choke out the single word, his voice thin and reedy.
“At the evening shift change, I return to my quarters. I will prepare lightly and leave the castle. How I use my time outside of duty is my freedom, so there will be no reason for anyone to follow me. Even if someone tried, I wouldn’t let them.”
Tyllian’s confidence was reassuring, a steady anchor in the swirling chaos of Ash’s current predicament.
“That’s reassuring.”
Squish, squish…
Ash covered his mouth, biting down on his knuckles to stifle the sounds that threatened to escape.
Unable to relieve the escalating pleasure through vocalization, he rubbed his head frantically against something firm and unyielding.
He felt a firm thigh, the familiar texture of Tyllian’s well-muscled leg.
As Ash continuously rubbed his cheek against Tyllian’s thigh, seeking some form of grounding or release, Tyllian let out a sigh-like groan, a sound of strained control.
“Lord Ash. Just a moment, it’s hard to hold back…”
“Ah. Yes, Tyllian. Ash likes it when you’re forceful, you know.”
The Master’s voice, devoid of malice but full of mischievous intent, was a direct assault on Ash’s already fragile composure.
“What did he say?”
Tyllian’s voice was tight, a low growl that vibrated through Ash’s skull.
“Uuugggh… No, no, don’t listen!”
Ash squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could disappear.
The fingers probing his backside increased to two, adding a new dimension of pressure and fullness.
Lying on his stomach with only his butt raised, a position of utter vulnerability, Ash stifled a moan as he gave his back to his Master, a silent plea for mercy that went unheard.
His Master deliberately avoided the most sensitive spot, a cruel teasing that only heightened the anticipation.
He must have felt Ash’s reaction when he brushed against that place, the way Ash’s muscles clenched and his breath hitched.
Afterward, his relentless poking and scratching around that area was incredibly annoying, a maddening dance around the precipice of pleasure and pain.
Ash was desperate, his body screaming for release, for something to end this exquisite torture. In the midst of it all, his Master even tried to slander Ash, a casual betrayal that stung almost as much as the physical sensations.
Even if that wasn’t his intention, he was trying to give misleading information, to paint Ash in a light that was both untrue and deeply humiliating.
As it was, Tyllian already seemed to think Ash was an irredeemable scoundrel, a mischievous troublemaker, so what would happen if his image worsened even more?
Of course, that didn’t mean Ash wasn’t a scoundrel, at least in some aspects.
He had a penchant for getting into scrapes, for pushing boundaries.
But becoming a pervert was a different story entirely!
At least, Ash thought so, desperately clinging to that last shred of self-respect.
“His hole is so sexy and cute, even just doing this much…”
The Master’s words, delivered with a smug satisfaction, were the final straw.
“Ah! Agh, ugh! Ah! H-hic…!”
Suddenly, his Master thrust his fingers in, a violent, almost aggressive movement that made a distinct sound like “thump, thump.”
The force of the entry stole Ash’s breath.
Even after swallowing all the knuckles of his fingers, he seemed about to insert his thumb almost entirely, pushing Ash to his absolute limit.
When the previously untouched spot, the very core of Ash’s sensitivity, was forcefully poked, Ash’s vision flashed white, a supernova of sensation.
His hole stretched to its absolute limit, protesting the sudden intrusion, and the inner walls, swollen with excitement and engorged with blood, received the stimulation with heightened, almost unbearable sensitivity.
His Master had been subtly, almost imperceptibly, loosening his hole throughout their entire conversation, the prolonged stimulation gradually relaxing and preparing his eager flesh.
So, the inner walls were already moist, slick with pre-ejaculate, ready and willing.
It was loose enough to softly accept anything inserted, a testament to his Master’s subtle manipulation and Ash’s own deep-seated arousal.
In fact, even without the recent foreplay, Ash had been aroused for a long time, the simmering heat beneath his skin a constant companion.
His inner walls had started to get wet from when he was merely rolling around with his Master, the closeness and casual intimacy enough to ignite a fire within him.
The hungry hole ravenously swallowed what entered, eager for more, even if it wasn’t a penis.
His inner walls eagerly tried to swallow the fingers deeper, pulling them in with a desperate suction.
Ash could feel his entrance twitching, contracting around the invading fingers, and he couldn’t bear it any longer.
The rough thrusting, done with no delicacy or pretense, felt incredibly good, a raw, primal pleasure that consumed his entire being.
“St-stop…!”
Ash made a crying sound that was beyond comprehension, a choked sob that was more animalistic than human.
Lick.
The sudden, wet sensation of his Master licking his perineum, the delicate skin between his anus and scrotum, was so intensely pleasurable it was painful, a paradox of sensation.
Nothing truly hurt, yet his mouth kept uttering sounds like, “It hurts, I don’t like it,” a desperate, contradictory plea.
“Ugh, I don’t like it…!”
The moment his Master’s tongue licked the junction of his hole and the invading fingers, a precise, agonizingly perfect touch, Ash came.
His member, which had been striking his stomach with insistent thumps, ejaculated semen in a frantic burst, a torrent of hot fluid.
Dirtying his stomach and the sheets beneath him, Ash trembled, his entire body racked with the aftershocks of his climax.
The climax alone, however, didn’t release all the built-up pleasure, only the initial wave.
His butt formed deep dimples, contracting intensely, sucking the fingers deeper, an involuntary reflex of intense pleasure. “…!”
“Isn’t it cute? I thought Tyllian would find this interesting. I was right.”
His Master’s voice was triumphant, filled with a perverse delight.
Ash barely managed to open his mouth, his voice hoarse and raw.
“What kind of perverted… who would like something like this… Do you think Tyllian is like you, Master?”
He tried to sound indignant, but the words lacked conviction.
But something struck Ash’s cheek, a sudden, heavy impact.
Something with a heavy, menacing volume stood menacingly beside his face, a stark, undeniable presence.
It was Tyllian’s penis, now fully erect and throbbing.
“…It got even bigger than before?”
Ash couldn’t believe it.
The sheer size, the pulsing engorgement, was astounding.
He looked up at Tyllian with a dumbfounded expression, his mind struggling to process the visual information.
Then he discovered something unbelievable, something that made his already chaotic thoughts spiral further into confusion.
‘Huh?’
“Lord Ash. This is…”
Tyllian’s explanation wasn’t clearly heard, lost in the ringing in Ash’s ears and the lingering echoes of his own climax.
What caught Ash’s eye instead was the knight’s hand, resting casually on his thigh.
His palm was wet with fluid, glistening in the dim light.
It was unmistakable.
As if he had just masturbated and released himself…
Ash stared at the hand, then at the impressive erection, and back to the hand.
“But why is it hard again?”
The question, a simple, bewildered query, hung in the air, unanswered, as the absurdity of the situation reached its peak.