“If I had known that the bedroom activities weren’t harming Ash, I would’ve made my cute disciple happy sooner.”
The master’s voice, a low rumble, filled the confined space of the bedroom, a space that had become all too familiar to Ash in its various states of disarray and intimacy.
He leaned back against the plush headboard, watching Ash with an unreadable expression, a slight curve to his lips that could have been amusement or something deeper, something far more predatory.
Ash, still slightly breathless from the recent turn of events, felt a familiar blush creep up his neck.
“You’re telling me…”
Ash mumbled, his voice hoarse, a stark contrast to the master’s languid drawl.
He offered his master a gentle, if somewhat strained, smile.
It wasn’t like his master would ever truly understand common sense, not when it came to these matters.
Logic and reason seemed to evaporate like morning mist whenever the master’s desires entered the equation.
“…it would be better, wouldn’t it? I’m a mage, so I have a spirit of inquiry, but I don’t want to risk losing my magic. There were no problems when I used Ash’s neck…”
The master mused, his gaze drifting, seemingly lost in thought.
Ash felt a chill run down his spine at the casual mention of his neck, remembering the strange, almost ritualistic way his master had fed from him, the unsettling sensation of being a conduit for some unknown energy.
It was a memory that still made him shudder, even now, in the aftermath of a different kind of closeness.
“No! I don’t think so. I had a problem, though?!”
Ash interjected, his voice rising in protest, the memory of that particular discomfort still vivid.
He wouldn’t let his master gloss over it as if it were a minor inconvenience.
“Oh…? You had a problem…?”
The master’s eyes, which had been half-lidded in contemplation, widened slightly, a flicker of surprise in their depths.
It was a rare expression on his master’s usually composed face, and Ash found himself momentarily distracted by it.
“Yes. My neck hurt!”
Ash declared, a hint of indignation in his tone.
The pain had been real, a dull ache that lingered for hours afterward, a physical manifestation of his unwilling participation.
“Ah.”
The master’s eyes, which had widened, returned to normal, the surprise quickly fading, replaced by that familiar, unreadable gaze.
He gently reached out, his fingers brushing against Ash’s neck, a soothing gesture that, despite himself, made Ash lean into the touch.
“That’s because you’re not used to it. It’s similar to magic. If you open a pathway and use it often, there’s less strain on your magical circuit. And pain can be removed with magic. It might take longer to get used to it, though…”
The master’s explanation was delivered with the same calm, pedagogical tone he used when discussing complex magical theories, as if Ash’s physical discomfort was merely a minor technicality to be overcome.
“I… I don’t want to get used to it?!”
Ash exclaimed, pulling back slightly from the master’s touch, a mixture of exasperation and genuine alarm in his voice.
The very idea of “getting used” to such a thing sent shivers down his spine.
After all, only his master did such things.
If it weren’t for his master, Ash wouldn’t have even allowed it, not in a million years.
The thought of anyone else engaging in such an act was utterly repulsive.
And comparing it to a magical circuit—is that even a proper analogy?
Ash wondered, his mind reeling.
A magical circuit, at least, served a purpose, a noble pursuit of power and knowledge.
This, on the other hand, felt… debasing.
“A magical circuit is at least useful, but what good is getting used to something like this?!”
Ash’s voice was strained, the question echoing the turmoil within him.
He simply couldn’t fathom the master’s logic, if one could even call it that.
“But you don’t even use a magical circuit, do you? I’ve never seen you use magic in practice…”
The master countered, a hint of playful teasing in his tone, as if enjoying Ash’s distress.
It was true, Ash had no talent or interest in magic, a fact that often caused his master a degree of bemusement.
He preferred a quieter, more practical life, far removed from the arcane arts.
“That’s… but!”
Ash spluttered, trying to find a coherent response, but his mind drew a blank.
How could he argue against such a seemingly simple observation, even if it completely missed the point?
“I think you’ll find this more useful than a magical circuit. Don’t worry.”
The master’s words were delivered with a calm assurance that only served to increase Ash’s anxiety.
He truly believed it, didn’t he?
That this strange, intimate act was somehow more beneficial than the pursuit of magic itself.
“I’m worried about you, Master!”
Ash retorted, a genuine concern for his master’s sanity overriding his embarrassment.
Ash was dumbfounded.
It was true that he had no talent or interest in magic, but was it even remotely sane to suggest that consuming someone else’s bodily fluids was more useful than magic?
The thought was utterly absurd, a testament to his master’s peculiar worldview.
“It seems you don’t particularly want to learn.”
The master sighed, a sound that conveyed a sense of resignation, as if Ash was simply too stubborn to grasp a profound truth.
“Is there anyone who wants to learn that?!”
Ash cried out, his voice incredulous.
The very notion was preposterous.
Who in their right mind would seek out such an… education?
“Don’t view the world so narrowly. All kinds of people live in it…” his master said languidly, his gaze sweeping across the room, as if contemplating the vast and varied tapestry of humanity.
If I, who tolerates Master’s preferences, am not broad-minded, then who is?
Ash wondered silently, a flicker of exasperation crossing his features, but didn’t ask.
On second thought, he didn’t particularly want to hear the answer.
He could only imagine the bizarre examples his master might offer.
“I’m too soft on my young disciple, I suppose. Since you dislike it, I want to let you off the hook again.”
The master’s words, delivered with a faint, almost regretful smile, brought a fresh wave of indignation to Ash.
What about what he’s done so far…?
Did he erase from his memory that he sucked on my chest when I said no?
The thought was unspoken, but the memory burned brightly in Ash’s mind, a stark reminder of his master’s capacity for both tenderness and utterly disregard for boundaries.
“That sounds like a good idea! Forcing it won’t be efficient, after all.”
The master’s voice, now laced with a new kind of enthusiasm, cut through Ash’s internal turmoil.
Ash watched him, still perched on the edge of the bed, feeling a fresh wave of apprehension.
He knew that look, that gleam in his master’s eyes. It usually heralded a new and often perplexing experiment, with Ash as the unwitting subject.
“Indeed. Then, how about we satisfy desires using Ash’s chest in a way that isn’t dangerous? Caressing the nipples and inner armpits doesn’t harm you. That’s been confirmed.”
The master continued, his tone academic, as if proposing a scientific hypothesis.
Ash’s eyes widened slightly.
He had vaguely remembered his master’s earlier pronouncements regarding the lack of “harm,” but the way he presented it now, so clinically, sent a shiver down Ash’s spine.
“So, that is… simply put…?”
Ash ventured, a knot forming in his stomach.
He had a terrible feeling about where this was going.
He was already familiar with the master’s unique interpretations of “simple.”
“Simply.”
The master confirmed, a slight tilt of his head, as if he were about to impart a profound truth.
His master explained, as if teaching a lesson, a faint smile playing on his lips, a smile that always made Ash wary.
“I want to rub my urethra, glans, and shaft against Ash’s nipples, chest, and inner armpits to ejaculate.”
Ash didn’t like it…
He felt a wave of nausea wash over him.
The very thought was… unsettling, to say the least.
It was a level of intimacy he hadn’t anticipated, a suggestion that blurred lines Ash hadn’t even realized existed.
“I, I think it would be best if Master just stayed still.”
Ash said, his voice surprisingly firm, despite the tremor in his hands.
A sudden surge of defiance, born of sheer discomfort, propelled him forward.
He couldn’t let this happen, not like this.
“Oh…?”
The master’s eyebrows rose in surprise, a flicker of curiosity replacing the earlier enthusiasm.
He seemed genuinely taken aback by Ash’s unexpected initiative.
“I’ll take care of it for you.”
Ash declared, his decision made.
He couldn’t stomach the thought of being subjected to his master’s peculiar new method.
It was better to take control, to manage the situation on his own terms, even if those terms were still incredibly awkward.
With a swift, decisive movement, Ash laid his master down.
Their positions, with Ash previously pinned, were now reversed.
The master, still looking somewhat surprised, offered no resistance, simply watched Ash with that same unreadable gaze.
Mounted on top of his master, Ash held both his own and his master’s genitals together.
The warmth, the softness of their flesh pressed against each other, was an immediate and undeniable sensation.
As he stroked both shafts with his hands, a strange combination of clinical detachment and rising arousal, his own immediately reacted, a familiar hardening that surprised him with its intensity.
Ugh.
He thought he was tired, physically and emotionally drained from the day’s bizarre events, but direct stimulation still felt good, undeniably so.
A little more stroking and he felt like he’d ejaculate, a sudden, almost desperate need building within him.
The immediate response of his own body was both a relief and a source of irritation.
Ash, encouraged by the quick response, or perhaps just eager to get this over with, kneaded his master’s testicles, the soft, yielding flesh surprisingly sensitive, and stroked his lower abdomen.
His master watched Ash’s actions with apparent interest, his eyes tracking every movement, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips.
His hair, strangely colored from the aftermath of various magic explosions and experiments, was, as always, slightly disheveled and pressed against the mattress, a riot of silver and gold against the pristine white.
His pale face, wearing a languid expression, was like a cat in the sunlight, utterly relaxed, completely at ease.
Even as Ash stroked his shaft, his master remained still, serene, as if feeling nothing more than a gentle caress, utterly unmoved by the escalating tension of the moment.
“Ah…”
Ash sighed, a sound that was part frustration, part mounting exhaustion.
He felt like his arm would fall off at this rate.
The continuous motion was surprisingly strenuous, and his own rising arousal was a distracting discomfort.
Pffft, Ash’s semen spurted out, a sudden, warm release that brought with it a wave of physical relief.
However, his master’s remained unchanged, completely flaccid, utterly unresponsive to Ash’s efforts.
He somehow expected this.
A part of him, the cynical, resigned part, had predicted this outcome.
It was just his master, after all. Nothing was ever straightforward.
“What’s wrong with you, Master?! Why can’t you come even when I touch you?!”
Ash finally burst out in frustration, his voice echoing in the sudden silence of the room.
The question was loaded with a mixture of exasperation, bewilderment, and a touch of genuine offense.
He had put in the effort, after all.
His master didn’t scold his impatient disciple.
He simply gave the answer, his voice calm, almost meditative, as if stating a self-evident truth.
“Well, it’s not fun.”
“Fun?!”
Ash exclaimed, his eyes wide in disbelief.
The concept of “fun” seemed entirely misplaced in this context.
What did stimulating sensitive areas have to do with fun?
Even for Ash, bedroom activities were “fun,” but that referred to the process leading up to it, the anticipation, the shared intimacy, the eventual release.
What was sought in bed wasn’t pleasure, pure and simple?
Was it not the culmination of desire?
“Is making someone’s neck swell fun? Was tormenting people with your boot fun for you, Master?”
Ash challenged, the words tumbling out before he could stop them, a desperate attempt to inject some common sense into the conversation, to hold a mirror up to his master’s peculiar worldview.
He knew it was a risky move, but at this point, he was too exasperated to care.
“Oh…?”
His master blinked, an expression on his face as if he’d never thought of it that way, a genuine surprise rippling across his features.
It was a rare sight, a chink in the master’s usual impenetrable demeanor, and Ash found himself momentarily captivated by it.
For once, his master seemed genuinely perplexed, truly considering Ash’s words.
“So that’s how it is, then? I wondered why it was enjoyable, and I suppose it was because Ash suffering and squirming was cute. Seeing that was fun for me, wasn’t it?”
The master mused, his voice soft, almost introspective, as if he were unraveling a complex magical theory, rather than admitting to a deeply unsettling truth.
The revelation hung in the air between them, thick and heavy.
“No…! Don’t have fun tormenting me!”
Ash cried out, a fresh wave of mortification washing over him.
He was flabbergasted, utterly speechless.
What was he admitting to?
The casualness with which his master confessed to finding Ash’s discomfort enjoyable was beyond belief.
It was like a punch to the gut, a twisted revelation that made Ash’s stomach churn.
“You should reflect on this. What if tormenting your disciple is your only source of fun?!”
Ash demanded, his voice laced with a desperate plea for his master to see the absurdity, the sheer wrongness of his confession.
He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation, that he was even entertaining the idea.
“But Ash, you have to understand this part. What a person finds enjoyable isn’t something they can control, is it?”
The master countered, his voice gentle, almost reasoning, as if trying to impart a profound philosophical truth.
His gaze was unwavering, a placid calm that only served to heighten Ash’s agitation.
“No! Don’t be so unashamed! I’m only letting it slide because it’s me; if you did this to someone else, it would be a huge problem!”
Ash retorted, his voice rising in exasperation.
He was trying to be stern, to inject some semblance of societal norms into his master’s warped reality, but his own trembling voice betrayed him.
The thought of his master inflicting such twisted “fun” on an unsuspecting stranger sent a fresh wave of panic through him.
“I’m not interested in anyone else but you,” his master muttered, his voice dropping to a low, almost intimate whisper.
The words, while intended to be reassuring, sent a strange shiver down Ash’s spine.
It was a possessiveness that was both flattering and terrifying.
Ash flinched at the cold sensation against his backside.
At some point, unbidden and unnoticed by Ash in his state of emotional turmoil, his master’s hands were kneading his butt, the firm, knowing touch a stark contrast to the casualness of his words.
He spread Ash’s buttocks apart with both hands, parting the cleft, and rubbed his penis against Ash’s perineum, a subtle, rhythmic pressure that sent a jolt through Ash’s already overstimulated body.
A dense pheromone enveloped Ash, a scent that was uniquely his master’s, an intoxicating blend of arcane magic and something intensely animalistic.
The scent was dizzying, clouding his senses, making it difficult to think, to resist.
Ash felt instantly drawn into the middle of a flower garden, a bizarre, almost hallucinatory sensation, the sweetness and warmth of the scent overwhelming.
The area between his legs became slick with moisture, an involuntary response to the intense arousal that was now building, a betraying flood of desire that he couldn’t control.
“Hmm, I see. Ash already knew something I didn’t. You really do have a talent for this…”
The master murmured, his voice a low, throaty rumble, a hint of genuine surprise and delight in his tone.
The words were a perverse compliment, a confirmation of Ash’s involuntary responses, and Ash felt a fresh wave of shame wash over him.
“Nngh, it tickles, ah… don’t rub…”
Ash whimpered, his voice barely audible, a desperate plea that was more a moan of pleasure than protest.
The sensation was exquisitely agonizing, a tingling, burning pleasure that threatened to overwhelm his senses.
He found it difficult to maintain his balance, the world swaying around him.
The strength left his supporting arms, and he toppled forward, collapsing against his master.
A firm yet soft embrace caught him, his master’s arms wrapping around him, holding him close.
Rubbing his face against the smooth chest, Ash melted completely, utterly lost to the sensations, his will dissolving like sugar in hot water.
“So, even knowing you were being tormented, you felt good, Ash? It almost seems like you like pain. How is it, Ash? Are you too out of it to answer?”
The master’s voice, a low whisper in Ash’s ear, was laced with a knowing amusement, a triumphant note that made Ash’s face burn.
He was being seen, truly seen, in his most vulnerable state, and the realization was both humiliating and strangely arousing.
A long finger entered his opening, a sudden, intrusive pressure that made Ash gasp.
It felt so hot inside, a surprising heat that was instantly followed by a sensation like cool ice had been inserted down there, a paradoxical tingling that made him writhe.
That sensation, again, was ticklish, an unbearable lightness that made him feel as if he would float away.
“A little more, just a little more…”
Ash pleaded, his voice thick with unfulfilled desire, a desperate plea for more of the exquisite torment.
His rational mind had all but abandoned him, replaced by a primal need for release.
The other hand, gripping his buttock, inserted another index finger into the opening.
Two fingers spread the opening from both sides, stretching him, preparing him for what was to come.
Thwock…
An embarrassing sound accompanied the rush of air inward, a wet, sucking noise that made Ash’s cheeks flush even darker.
Ash felt his opening gape, stretching wide, accommodating the intrusion.
In an instant, his body flushed, a wave of heat washing over him, and he snapped back to awareness, a sudden clarity amidst the fog of arousal.
The shame, the humiliation, the utter lack of control, all converged to bring him back to a semblance of his conscious self.
“Ah, no, just…!”
Ash gasped, the words catching in his throat, a desperate attempt to articulate his distress.
“Just?”
The master prompted, his voice calm, expectant, as if he were patiently waiting for Ash to complete his thought.
“Stop tormenting me! Can’t you just do it? You know it’s been ready for ages…”
Ash cried out, his voice hoarse with desperation, a raw plea for the inevitable.
From the moment his chest was sucked, his body had been preparing for insertion, a slow, agonizing buildup of desire that had now reached an unbearable peak.
Now, he was so desperate that the itching inside was starting to hurt, a painful ache that demanded release.
His master didn’t seem like he wouldn’t know, Ash thought, a surge of irritation mixing with his desperation. He had to know, didn’t he?
That Ash was at his breaking point, utterly consumed by desire.
Ash could only think that his antics were perverted, a deliberate cruelty designed to push him to the edge.
“But if Ash isn’t tormented enough, I don’t think I’ll be able to come.”
The master’s words, delivered with a detached practicality, were like a cold slap to Ash’s face.
He swallowed hundreds of curses internally, the words forming on his tongue, but he lacked the strength, the will, to voice them.
“It’s too hard. Master, please, n-no? Please do it. I can’t take it anymore…”
Ash pleaded, his voice breaking, a mixture of anguish and desperate lust.
His face was flushed crimson from the heat, his entire body trembling.
His eyelashes were soaked with pleasure, heavy and damp, and his expression was distorted, a mask of desperate desire.
As Ash pleaded with a lustful expression, his master let out a strange gasp, a short, sharp intake of breath.
“Ah, this.”
It was a sound that Ash had never heard from his master before, a raw, almost primal sound that sent a fresh shiver down his spine.
“Faster…!”
Ash urged, his voice barely a whisper, his body arching, desperate for the final release.
He was utterly beyond reason, consumed by the burning need.
Again, a gush, fluid overflowed from inside and spilled out of his opening, warm and slick against his skin.
Ash had to feel that soaking his master’s fingers in a strange way.
It was a sensation of profound intimacy, a moment of complete surrender.
He was too ashamed to open his eyes, the humiliation of his current state almost unbearable.
“Then will you swear? That you won’t be unhappy if you sleep with me.”
The master’s voice, calm and clear amidst Ash’s unraveling, cut through the haze of his arousal.
It was a demand, a condition, a final test of his resolve.
“No matter what you do, Master, I’ll never be unhappy because of you!”
Ash blurted out, the words tumbling out in a rush, a desperate promise born of pure instinct, a willingness to sacrifice anything for the impending release.
He meant it, in that moment, with every fiber of his being.
“Oh…? That, in itself, feels…”
The master began, a hint of surprise in his voice, as if Ash’s absolute surrender had pleased him in an unexpected way.
“Hurry!”
Ash interrupted, unable to bear the delay, the words a raw scream of desperation.
He hit his master’s chest, a weak, almost helpless thud against the firm flesh.
At some point, the restraint magic had released, allowing him to move his arms freely.
It seemed to have been from when he had pushed his master down and caressed him…
Thinking about why his master released the magic then would probably make him question his master’s intentions, his motivations, his very sanity.
Ash stopped thinking.
The sheer illogicality of his master’s actions was too much to process, especially now.
All that mattered was the overwhelming need, the imminent relief.
“Hnngh.”
The next moment, a penis parted his opening and entered, a sudden, forceful thrust that made Ash cry out, a sound that was half pain, half ecstatic relief.
The feeling of being filled, utterly and completely, was overwhelming, a sensation that obliterated all other thoughts, all other feelings, leaving only the raw, visceral reality of the present moment.