Chapter 2

“I must take my leave now.”

Clink.

Setting down his cold porcelain teacup, Rochshan rose from his seat. He tugged at his tie, flawlessly straightening his attire. Margaret let out a disgruntled squawk at her nephew’s impending departure.

“Where do you think you’re going? I am not finished speaking.”

“Even so, I cannot keep the Grand Duke waiting when he has come to discuss a 1.2 million krogel merchandise contract,” Rochshan replied smoothly.

Surrounded by steep, craggy mountains like a natural fortress, the small northern kingdom of Tuska consisted mostly of barren land. Because of this, the nation had long relied heavily on its tourism industry. Its lava plain tours in the dormant volcanic region and the myth of the ‘Mad Black Dragon’ were particularly famous. Now, the money-crazed King Philip had decided to outright make this black dragon the kingdom’s official mascot. The blueprint for the Black Dragon Festival had just been announced, making this the monumental inaugural year backed by an astronomical budget.

Naturally, there was an overwhelming amount of work to be done. As a merchant overseeing the supplies and decorations for the festival, Rochshan was currently one of the busiest men in the nation. He certainly had no spare time to worry about something as trivial as marriage.

“Have a safe trip back, Aunt.”

Fortunately, Grand Duke Vizak’s arrival provided the perfect pretext to escape this tiresome gathering. Tossing out the excuse of discussing state affairs, Rochshan swiftly fled the drawing room before she could catch him by the tail.

“You’re late,” he hissed at his servant waiting outside.

In truth, upon hearing of his aunt’s impending visit, Rochshan himself had frantically dispatched a carrier pigeon to the royal palace, throwing a tantrum as he demanded they ‘send any high-ranking official immediately.’ It was also Rochshan who had instructed Kyle to wait for the opportune moment to disrupt the meeting. Toward a master who cunningly spun such petty schemes while pretending otherwise, the expressionless Kyle merely shrugged.

“Didn’t I intervene at the perfect time?”

“I said you’re late! If you had delayed even a second longer, my eardrums would have ruptured.”

“She was wailing quite piercingly, as if squeezing it out of herself,” Kyle noted.

“She does this every week. It’s completely exhausting… wait, what is this?”

His hurried, fleeing footsteps slowed significantly before coming to a complete halt. They had just rounded the western corner, reaching the center of the velvet-carpeted corridor. Leaning against the circular staircase railing, Rochshan snatched the luxurious card offered by his trailing servant. The moment he spotted the black dragon crest stamped on the front, a wave of displeasure washed over him. Kyle immediately confirmed his ominous premonition.

“It is a wedding invitation His Majesty delivered through Grand Duke Vizak.”

“…Shut up. I’ve told you repeatedly. I do not have the time to care about such things right now.”

Riiiip. Tear. Gritting his teeth, Rochshan viciously shredded the rather thick paper, tossing the pieces away in a fit of nerves. The card was an invitation to the so-called ‘Nest Wedding.’

The Nest Wedding was a mass marriage ceremony for commoners, serving as part of a state-sponsored welfare policy held every three years. With the government fully subsidizing the wedding expenses in the plaza, coupled with the superstition that couples joined at this time would receive immense blessings, the event’s popularity was skyrocketing by the day.

It was truly absurd. Hadn’t the black dragon originally been an object of terror and disgust in this country? The legendary first king had founded this very nation upon the earth where he had slain the mad dragon of the north. For generations, the majority of the populace firmly believed that ‘the curse of the murdered dragon still exists.’ Yet, look at them now. It was laughable how the entire country was so frantically busy commercializing a being whose name they once hesitated to even utter.

One could attribute this to the King’s uncanny ability to sniff out profitable ventures, but…

“Hah. Commemorating the black dragon’s mating season? They’re just slapping words together. As if anyone knows when a dragon goes into heat.”

“From the moment its mate’s sexual desires bloom,” Kyle stated.

“What?”

“…Or so the books say,” the slave added.

“Wait a second. You read a book?” Rochshan demanded, his beautiful face filling with disbelief. “You? When you barely managed to learn the alphabet recently?”

Kyle did not argue, choosing to remain silent.

There was no need to mention that he had deliberately played the fool because watching Rochshan jump around in frustration—yelling about why he couldn’t understand—while personally teaching him the letters was endearing. Nor was he obligated to reveal the truth: that he acted like a slow learner simply to create more opportunities to strip his master naked and fuck him senseless under the guise of ‘soothing’ him.

‘Say a word… ah, ugh… starting with B!’

‘Baby, ball, balloon, basket.’

‘Ah, ah, haah…!’

‘…Budget availability, battlefield interdiction, being-for-itself. Hnnng.’

Rochshan’s teaching method was highly customized: Kyle was allowed one thrust for every word he memorized. By the time Kyle had ruthlessly pounded into him enough to make it sound like his bottom was falling out, Rochshan would lose his mind and completely forget to count the words. He probably couldn’t even remember half the specialized terminology Kyle had spouted.

‘Let’s move on to C now.’

‘That’s for tomorrow, haah…!’

‘Review must be thorough. Isn’t that right?’

Had they reviewed all the way to F that day? He remembered Kyle finally ejaculating with the word ‘fuck.’ Kyle had surely driven into him thousands of times, to the point his foreskin must have been raw. It was no exaggeration to say he had smoothly recited thousands of words. Yet, showing off an erudition that rivaled a copulating encyclopedia proved utterly futile. The master, who would whimper in terror that his gaping anus wouldn’t close, would appear the next day miraculously well-dressed, nagging him in the exact same manner as before.

‘You stupid bastard.’

And then, less than an hour later, Rochshan would find himself pinned beneath Kyle, toes curling as he moaned sweetly. Instead of the scratching of a pen nib, their lessons were drowned out by the wet, slapping sounds of a cock relentlessly plunging in and out.

Fucking studies. How enjoyable.

As Kyle narrowed his eyes, briefly reminiscing about those past pleasures, his master—entirely oblivious to the thick erection already forming in the slave’s trousers—let out a sharp snort.

“I would sooner believe the theory that King Philip personally gets pregnant and births his own children than believe you are an avid reader.”

It was true. If a human did not wish to believe something, they would willingly blind themselves to the truth. That was human nature. Rochshan ruthlessly mocked Kyle by dragging in the wild rumors surrounding the King.

Those royal rumors were endless. Gossips never stopped wagging their tongues about a monarch who managed to produce multiple children without a Queen. Their conspiracy theory generally went like this: Why is it that the child is consistently born first, and only afterward does a concubine step forward claiming to have given birth? There must be a secret behind these deliveries. The rumor of the King’s own pregnancies was just one of the many jokes they tossed around for a laugh.

“Anyway, never accept something like this again. Understood?” Rochshan snapped.

“How can I refuse when it is handed to me?”

“Tell them you don’t have hands to take it.”

“Are you telling me to act like a cripple?”

“Why? Can’t you do it?” Rochshan challenged, his jeweled eyes shimmering radiantly as he glared at Kyle.

The aging bachelor deliberately crushed the shredded pieces of the invitation under his boot for all to see. Why hide it? He genuinely despised this mass mating tradition. Receiving this invitation exactly three years ago had made his blood boil, and this time was no different.

It was a season overflowing with marriage proposals, driven by peer pressure and mutual instigation. In other words, a time when marriageable men and women were snatched up in droves. Furthermore, since this year’s Nest mass wedding coincided with the premiere of the Black Dragon Festival, public anticipation had long since pierced the heavens.

But calling it an invitation was a polite fiction. In reality, it was practically a conscription order designed to drag out any unmarried household members. The problem was that there were exactly two unmarried servants in this estate: Kyle Blackburn, who was the same age as the Count, and… Maid Laura.

The voluminous red-haired girl distinctly blushed whenever she was in front of Kyle. Rochshan nervously swept back his bangs, kicking aimlessly at the floor. Observing his master’s visible discomfort in silence, Kyle finally spoke up.

“Of course, if you wish it, I could hack off both my hands and offer them to you right now.”

“What?” Startled by the unexpected reply, Rochshan’s eyes widened like a rabbit.

“I won’t cut them off. You aren’t genuinely telling me to do it. I have at least that much tact now.”

“Hah, tact? Don’t make me laugh. In the past, you…”

Furious at the slave’s smug, ‘I-know-it-all-now’ attitude, Rochshan flared up.

When had it been?

I don’t need a pretty face. I want a handsome, manly face like yours.

It was a childhood complaint he had voiced long ago. At those words, the young slave, who had been acting as the young master’s footstool, had abruptly stood up. Glancing expressionlessly at Rochshan, who had tumbled to the ground, Kyle strode over and instantly drew a decorative ceremonial sword from the wall. He was a hair’s breadth away from slicing his own neck off with the gleaming blade when Edwin, who had miraculously witnessed the scene, barely managed to stop him. Rochshan had never seen his gentle father so furious. Toward the young master who had been so terrified he had wet himself in shock, the slave boy—blood dripping from his split skin—had answered with absolute bluntness.

‘You wanted it, so I was going to give it to you.’

His own face. By chopping his neck off entirely.

“…Forget it. Let’s not even talk about it.”

What tact could he possibly have after pulling a stunt like that? Rochshan swallowed the sheer absurdity rising to his uvula. How many times had his blood run cold because of this socially inept bastard who couldn’t distinguish a casual remark from a genuine command? But what was the point of resentfully dragging up those convoluted tales now? Would the bastard even understand? He would probably just yawn.

Ultimately, the trauma had become Rochshan’s burden to bear. Ever since that day, he had harbored an aversion to sharp blades—the very reason he had chosen to keep books and an abacus close instead of a sword. Furthermore, Rochshan had never again mentioned that Kyle’s appearance was to his liking, terrified of what the lunatic might do next. Oblivious to his master’s inner turmoil, the black-haired slave tried to gauge the Count’s cryptic expression.

“You seem displeased,” Kyle noted.

“You think?”

“Why? Because of your aunt’s nonsense?”

“…”

“I heard she called me wicked and obscene.”

Had he been eavesdropping outside? Rochshan’s irritation paused for a moment. In a flash, a thick sexual tension began to swirl between the two men.

It was then. Gathering the shredded pieces of the invitation scattered at his master’s feet, Kyle slowly straightened his knees and stood up. Suddenly, Rochshan was struck by the illusion that the slave’s shadow had lengthened. Watching the man approach, the Count quietly swallowed dryly. As he always thought, this bastard was far too handsome for a lowly slave, possessing a peculiar, otherworldly detachment. It felt as if slicing his cheek with a sharp knife would reveal striking blue blood rather than red.

Were slaves from the royal palace just built differently? Unconcerned with passing trends, Kyle’s ruthlessly cropped hair was blacker than graphite. His relatively pale face boasted sharp, distinct features, and his shadowed eyes were chillingly cold. His pupils, in particular, were as intense as crushed ink. It was a bizarrely commanding appearance.

Thinking back on it, any arrogant noble or crazed mad dog would invariably lose their nerve and tuck their tails in front of this lowly servant. Part of it was because Kyle was notoriously strong, but it was primarily due to his uniquely untouchable aura. There were times when even Rochshan, the very man who held his leash, found himself holding his breath before this foul-smelling raven.

Even so, he is nothing more than a wingless beast without fangs. No matter how great he thinks he is, he’s still just a slave.

Yet why did his knees tremble so? Even now, Rochshan found himself paralyzed, crushed beneath the greedy gaze of the slave casting a shadow over him. How long had he been exhaling shaky, tense breaths? Without an ounce of hesitation, the raven bastard reached out and began toying with the gold-spun hair covering Rochshan’s ear. It was a blatant sexual advance. This servant absolutely adored his master’s gleaming hair.

“She called me arrogant and vulgar. What do you think about that?”

“You aren’t a wench…”

“But I’m the one fucking you, aren’t I?”

“Ugh…!”

The massive hand that had been stroking his smooth cheek trailed down to map the nape of his neck. With swift, practiced familiarity, Kyle unbuttoned the vest Rochshan wore underneath. Almost simultaneously, he pinched Rochshan’s nipple fiercely right through the fabric of his shirt. Sparks instantly flew behind the Count’s eyes, his body trembling violently. Every time the distinct nub was pulled beneath the silk, his jaw arched back reflexively. His sharp nose flushed red in an instant.

“Ky-Kyle, you bastard… what are you doing right now.”

“Is that why you’re angry?”

“What, haah, are you talking…!” His words were severed by a moan.

Pressing flush against his master, the slave began to vigorously grind the nipple. He dug in with his fingernails, continuously gnawing at the sensitive peak. Lighting a fire by stimulating the peripheral nerves like that left Rochshan powerless to resist. Before he could properly scold the bastard for the sexual harassment, he stumbled.

“Nngh…”

His hips hitched up unconsciously, a sweet whimper leaking from his slightly parted lips. They were lips trembling in a terribly appetizing manner. Thus, Kyle decided to steal his breath.

Smooch, smack, mwah… He continuously pecked at his master’s mouth before sliding his tongue inside like a snake seeking its burrow.

“Mmph, nhh.”

“Mmm…”

Bright red tongues rubbed together obscenely. The sight of two tongues mapping the insides of each other’s mouths so fiercely that their cheeks hollowed was incredibly explicit. In the blind spot of the corridor, the golden and black hair of two beautiful young men tangled. The sound of the embracing men tilting their heads and sucking on each other’s lips echoed for quite some time. It was an entanglement so filthy that even an eavesdropper would have looked away.

Unable to control the trembling in his waist, Rochshan found himself wrapping his arms around the back of Kyle’s head. As Rochshan clung to him so desperately, Kyle’s eyes curved into a pleasant smile. Finally biting and releasing the mucosa of his master’s lower lip, the raven slave whispered low, their wet breaths mingling.

“You must have felt like your hidden shame was exposed. Am I wrong?”

“…Shut up.”

“That embarrassing truth that you’re absolutely crazed for cock. Ah, not using it, but taking it.”

“Cut the bullshit!” A sharp, tight-jawed retort exploded from him.

The veil of indecency had suddenly been ripped away. Shocked out of the kiss’s lingering afterglow, the Count roughly grabbed the collar of the presumptuous bastard who was still clinging to him and pecking at his lips. However, his forceful attitude was merely a facade.

His panting cheeks were flushed a rosy hue, and his beautifully shaped lips, slick with saliva, looked unbelievably lewd. They looked exactly like lips coated in pre-cum after thoroughly sucking a cock. It made Kyle want to shove his dick right in. Letting out a sigh, Kyle tried to stick his tongue out to wipe Rochshan’s dirty lips, but his opponent merely bared his fangs defensively like a feral cat.

“Damn it… listen closely, you bastard. I am absolutely not a homosexual. Understood?”

“I know. Master only likes my cock.”

“Hey!”

“How can we brand your orientation when there’s no control group to compare it to?” Kyle’s tone implied: Why emphasize something so obvious?

He simply shut down the argument. Even his angry lips were endearing, so Kyle resumed the kiss, still holding him by the collar. Using his ignorant brute strength, he pried Rochshan’s hands away and interlaced their fingers. Slurp, smack… The wet sounds quickly followed. The sheer pleasure of their tongues tangling and rubbing together sent shivers down Rochshan’s spine, but separate from that euphoria, he felt so suffocated he was on the verge of losing his breath.

Does this bastard even know what a shameful secret is?

The stigma of being a pervert was nothing major. The privileged class was crawling with people who fooled around promiscuously. However, the story changed entirely when a flawless, high-ranking noble began sucking another male’s cock instead of a woman’s cunt.

The moment this ugly secret was exposed to the world, Count Owin would instantly plummet from the pursuing hunter to the hunted prey. His noble reputation would undoubtedly be dragged through the mud, and the miserable labels of ‘whore’ or ‘harlot’ would follow him until the day he died.

“That’s why I…” Ah!

Don’t be mistaken, Rochshan wanted to scream. I’m merely playing with you as a dedicated prostate toy, nothing more, nothing less. Hah, fooling around? Discard your arrogant thoughts immediately and know your place as a tool being used.

He had intended to sternly reprimand him the moment the kiss broke, but he failed. The stimulation on his nipple had suddenly intensified. Startled, Rochshan lost his balance and nearly tumbled over the railing. A sturdy forearm shot out nimbly, yanking his waist back. Masculine veins bulged prominently on the back of the hand and wrist pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Strange,” Kyle murmured.

“What is… hnnk.”

Rochshan was abruptly dumped into Kyle’s arms. Fiddling with the inside of the Count’s shirt as he held him, the servant tilted his head crookedly.

“Look at these breasts.”

“Ah!”

Pop. Before he knew it, his ass had been grabbed and his shirt buttons ripped open. Unconsciously baring his snow-white chest, the gaze fixed on Rochshan’s nipples grew increasingly heated. His chest, scattered with a few moles like constellations, was already entirely covered in bite marks from being mercilessly sucked and chewed.

Flick, flick. The owner of those bloody bite marks flicked the nipple that had long since lost its pure color.

“Is it okay for a man’s nipples to look like this?” he smirked, twisting the corners of his mouth.

It was nothing short of sinister. Looking down, Kyle relentlessly fondled the soft, textured nub whose milk glands had developed from overstimulation. Eventually, he even licked his lower teeth, seemingly smacking his lips in anticipation. Ah, aht, aah. Groaning every time the swollen peak was stimulated, Rochshan couldn’t bear it any longer. He grabbed the back of the bastard’s head and forcefully pushed him away.

“Who do you think made them change like this? Huh?”

Crazy bastard! Even as Rochshan yanked with enough force to rip his scalp off, Kyle kept smiling. He looked incredibly satisfied.

“Because of me, obviously.”

Flick, flick.

“They got this big because I chewed, sucked, and babied them by sliding them in and out of my dick hole so much, didn’t they.” His clumsy, broken honorifics remained unchanged.

Regardless of actual penetration, there had been countless times Kyle had simply sucked on his nipples for hours on end. Was that all? Kyle loved having sex while shoving Rochshan’s hard nipples into his own urethra. Apparently, he enjoyed the sensation of spitting out the bodily fluid-soaked nubs from his slit.

‘Your nipples have officially lost their virginity, at least.’ The bastard would giggle with a strange sigh.

‘Because you fucked my dick hole.’

He would thrust his pelvis obscenely against Rochshan’s chest, pounding into the nipples.

‘How is it? Does it feel good? Feel like your tits are going to burst?’

A barrage of nonsensical questions was standard. The fact that his handsome face remained completely serious during it all was simply baffling.

‘What a load of tit…!’

‘Why? It’s my dream,’ Kyle would reply. ‘Fucking you to death while semen leaks out your bottom and milk drips from your top. I’m debating whether I should even let my kids drink it.’

‘What kids, you bastard?’

‘Let’s just have five. Small ones… fuck… Just imagining you with a bulging lower belly carrying my spawn feels like my balls are going to explode. Take responsibility. I’m going to shoot inside you ten more times.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous…’

‘Then just seven more times.’

‘Ah, euugh, haak…!’

‘Haa… I love fucking you so much. I feel like I’m going crazy, hnn, no, I’m already crazy. I’m practically only living for this shit I do with you, honestly… You know? Rochshan, mmm, Master… answer me. Are you crazy for me too?’

‘I’m not crazy! I completely hate it…!’

‘Hate it… Then stop clenching so tight. Do you like me, Master?’

‘I said I hate it!’

‘What about my cock, then.’

‘…’

‘Answer prettily. You can’t just say you only like my dick. Or I might pin you down and ravage you for a week straight, day and night.’

‘…!’

‘Rochshan, do you like me?’

Rochshan never answered him until the very end.

‘You’re just dying to leak my cum from your ass, aren’t you.’

And so, Kyle kept his promise.

Chuckling as if it were a joke, he had furiously ravaged Rochshan’s hole. He had pumped so much inside him that day that semen stained Rochshan’s underwear for days afterward. Seven times? Bullshit. He skipped all his meals the next day and was creampied at least twenty times. Once he shoved it in, he would finish five or six times as a baseline. Unable to keep up with the bastard’s stamina and virility, it was a common occurrence for Rochshan to pass out cold mid-sex. Only regaining consciousness much later, clutching his loose, gaping hole while worrying about every little thing had become a daily routine.

‘I told you not to cry. You’re not going to get a prolapse. You’re much tighter and sturdier than you think.’

Whenever Rochshan fretted that he wouldn’t even be able to control his bowels, Kyle would let out a languid sigh, crawl up the bed, and coax his master in his clumsy honorifics.

‘Spread your legs and hold your balls up. I’ll suck your hole until it closes.’

Having the massive man lie flat on his stomach, resting Rochshan’s scrotum on the crown of his head while sucking his hole had now become a mandatory procedure. After licking the folds of inner flesh caked in his own semen, he would playfully suck on the cute, flaccid cock and bite the thick perineum… It was truly a marvel. By the time Rochshan’s consciousness grew hazy from the sticky, intimate afterplay, his tragically loose hole would miraculously clench shut.

‘Then you have to suck me now, too.’

Next, it was Kyle’s turn to receive service.

The arrogant slave would shove his master’s gleaming head right into his own filthy crotch. He would generously apply medicinal ointment to the inside of the lips that gasped at the pungent, masculine scent.

‘My foreskin is raw, too. You see how red and swollen it is. The head is bloodshot, too… So rub the medicine in thoroughly. Evenly, from the head down to the base.’

‘You crazy bastard, seriously, whenever you open your mouth…’

Why are you asking me to apply it with my tongue when I have perfectly good hands? Even as he hurled curses, the Count dutifully bobbed his head up and down. He licked the unmelting lollipop meticulously until his jaw ached. Then, letting out a low groan, the bastard would grab his own testicles and rub them against Rochshan’s lips.

‘The balls, too.’

‘Are your balls scraped up, too?!’

‘Yeah. It hurts from slamming against your perineum so much. Take them in your mouth and suck them good.’

He was shamelessly brazen without batting an eye.

This was a bastard who lacked the eloquence to haggle a measly 10 krogels, yet uniquely boasted the filthiest mouth in the world when it came to sex. If there were tiers to vulgarity, Kyle Blackburn unquestionably possessed the highest grade of trashy tongue.

But it takes two to tango. What kind of breed was Rochshan Owin, then? He, too, was a hypocrite who secretly thrilled at the bastard’s lewd whispers, clenching his bottom hole tight in response. You could say he was the quintessential nobleman—spouting lies with his lips and weaving slander with his silver tongue.

“You filthy bastard, ah, aah.”

“Well, look who’s talking.”

Knowing him intimately, Kyle twisted his lips. Hooo. The slave’s hot breath brushed against Rochshan’s collarbone.

An intense gaze lusted after his nipples. The Count’s stiffly erect breast nubs were as large as a thumb joint, their unusually dark red hue contrasting starkly against his translucent skin. He could guarantee that Rochshan’s nipples were far larger and more prominent than those of any brothel wench. Though he himself seemed oblivious to it, the areolas with their developed milk glands were quite plump and soft. They were breasts that tasted excellent when sucked.

On that finely-built, attractive chest hung incredibly erotic nipples that urged a man to bite them.

Having been tormented and caressed countless times, the nubs had grown so large that a single layer of a shirt could no longer hide their embarrassment. This was the reason Count Owin always wore a vest. Naturally, he had also stopped allowing servants to attend him in the bath. Only his exclusive slave, Kyle, was permitted entry into his master’s bathroom.

It was obvious what the two did in there.

They would passionately suck the nipples floating in the goat milk bathwater before loudly splashing about to fuck right in the tub. Gripping the wet shirt clinging to Kyle’s hard muscles, Rochshan would lose his mind and grind his hips wildly.

‘Ah, Kyle, my tits, m-more, ngh, suck them more… Right there, ah, suck them while you thrust…!’

Whenever the Count’s pupils shimmered with that mysterious allure, Kyle Blackburn fell entirely captive to him. He was overcome with the urge to voluntarily fulfill every single one of his desires. The incarnation of a libertine who could make his seduced lover’s blood boil like lava—that was Rochshan Owin.

“Just looking at these breasts I raised…” Completely bewitched, Kyle’s head drooped lower and lower. “You’re the one who is more wicked and vulgar than anyone else.”

He wanted to suck these seductive nipples until Rochshan screamed that they were going to fall off.

Grinding his teeth softly, the servant couldn’t hold back and lunged forward out of habit. Black hair brushed the collarbone. He was just about to grab his master’s ass and suck those nubs—slurp, smack—when it happened.

Smack!

He was slapped fiercely across the cheek.

A burning sensation, like being seared with a torch, instantly spread to his forehead, freezing all his movements.

After the sharp crack that seemed to claw at the ceiling chandelier faded, Kyle, whose head had been knocked entirely to the side, slowly righted it to look down at the master still in his arms. His cheek was quite swollen, and beneath his jet-black bangs, the sharp peaks of his dark eyebrows jutted up. Why? He seemed to be questioning the reason for the punishment.

Fuck, seriously… I teach him and teach him, and there is no end to it. Finally resorting to physical violence, Rochshan despaired once again at Kyle’s intelligence. He gritted his teeth silently at the idiot.

“I told you not to lunge at me to suck my tits just anywhere, you lecherous bastard.”

“Ah.”

“Where did I say fucking is exclusively allowed?”

“…Only in a locked room with no one else around.”

“And didn’t I tell you not to try and strip me like you’re about to pound me out of nowhere? Haven’t I talked your ear off about how there is an order to things?! Do you have any idea how many shirts have been ruined because of you… damn it.”

Somehow, the content of his lecture had veered slightly off course.

He wasn’t reprimanding his atrocious titles or lack of etiquette. Nor was he threatening to sever the tendons of the appalling hands that dared to handle the noble body of his master so recklessly.

Paradoxically, Kyle Blackburn was a lowly commoner while simultaneously holding a rather special status. Regardless of everything, he was a gift bestowed by the Royal Family. Not only could Rochshan not cruelly beat something given by the King, but the fact that they were the exact same age was also a problem. The servant he had played with like a childhood friend had soon become the Count’s ultimate attachment object.

Thus, no matter how hopeless of an idiot he was, throwing him away was simply not an option. What could he do if he was born a defective product? Since things had come to this, he had to fix him and use him somehow. Like a damn antique that requires way too much maintenance… Sighing heavily enough to sink the earth, the Count grabbed the slave’s cheeks, intending to shake them wildly like bread dough.

He despised him more than anyone, yet couldn’t even properly scold him.

Rochshan himself might very well be the main culprit who ruined this insolent slave’s personality. Kyle allowed himself to be shaken docilely in the hands of the beauty, who was more fickle than nimbostratus clouds crossing a mountain range in mid-summer.

“The order.”

“…First, observe the surroundings.”

“And.”

“Thoroughly confirm there are no peeping eyes or eavesdropping ears.”

“And then.”

“Set the mood.”

“How?”

Like a wasp unable to adapt to an ant colony, Kyle would probably never grasp the etiquette of a noble household for his entire life. Of course, correcting his outrageous way of speaking was also a lost cause. Having given up on that long ago, Rochshan’s desires were quite modest: Just pretend enough to hide it from others, please. And have a little bit of manners, for God’s sake.

He wasn’t demanding perfectly cultured, high-society fucking.

But the sensation of being pounced on by a foul-smelling, grotesque beast in the middle of a filth-covered marketplace occasionally made the master of the estate profoundly depressed. Call it the innate nature of a breed raised on silver cutlery, silk bedding, and expensive wine. Regardless, there was an absolute baseline of compromise drawn deep within him.

So, Kyle, who possessed less tact than the dirt on the floor, had only recently realized this and was nowadays trying his best to set this so-called ‘mood.’ Even now, his pitch-black pupils rolled around in a full circle, studying Rochshan’s reaction.

Though his results were a complete failure.

“Are you in heat?”

“Try again.”

“…Are you in heat, sir? Have you gone into heat? Could it be that you are in heat?”

“Try again.”

“I have an erection. Can I fuck you?”

Smack!

This time, his face was knocked in the opposite direction.

“…My cock is springing to attention. May I shove my dick into Master’s back-cunt?”

Was it because the sentence lacked proper subject-object structure? Kyle, having completely missed the mark, enunciated his words with crisp precision, but the result was disastrous once again. Smack! The cheek that had just been hit was slapped again.

“I will fuck you deeply, well, for a long time, and diligently.”

Smack!

“…I will dedicate my utmost sincerity to licking the Elder’s nipples, cock, balls, and the very inside of his back-cunt hole.”

Smack!

“Unbelievable. The ‘Elder’? Really?”

“…You.”

“What about me.”

“…You’re too difficult.”

Perhaps feeling wronged by the consecutive slaps, Kyle grumbled. A drop of blood welled on his split lip. Pretending to be weak—how laughable. Shaking his wrist, which ached from the recoil of hitting him, Rochshan let out a sharp snort.

“You’re just incredibly stupid. Even a beast in mating season wouldn’t court a mate like that, you bastard.”

“…”

At that, Kyle’s face took on a strangely guilty expression. Soon, the massive hands gripping the Count’s ass fell away.

The man, expressionless yet visibly sullen, belatedly began to straighten his master’s clothes. He had finally chosen the correct answer. A highly distinguished figure from the royal palace was visiting, after all; this was hardly the time to set up an erotic stage.

“I suppose we should stop. The Grand Duke is waiting.”

“Aha. Is your brain finally working?”

“…I will bring a fresh shirt. Once you have changed, I will escort you straight to the detached residence’s study…”

Now it was time to reward him for getting the right answer.

Cutting off the servant’s newly polite tone, the heels of Rochshan’s shoes lifted slightly off the floor.

Slurp… Lacing his fingers behind the bastard’s head and pulling him in, the kiss deepened. Mmm, ngh. Low groans slipped through the wet sounds of their tongues mixing. A moment later, the Count, having pulled and released the soft tip of his partner’s tongue, hooked a cunning smile onto his lips.

“Making the other party wait a while is also a negotiation tactic.”

The moment he whispered against the earlobe, the two men’s gazes crossed.

Glance. By merely side-eying the storage closet built into the wall midway up the spiral staircase, the Count’s sophisticated seduction was a success. In a single breath, Kyle hoisted the Count over his shoulder and practically flew toward the closet. Behind him, the shredded wedding invitation fluttered to the ground like breadcrumbs in a fairy tale. Bang! From behind the wall that was violently slammed shut, erotic moans soon began to echo. It was the sound—easily heard anywhere in the Owin estate—of the Count getting his back hole fucked by his excessively handsome servant.

“Hmm? Are you raising birds? Canaries?”

Only the hard-of-hearing Margaret failed to distinguish between their moaning and the chirping of birds.

“They are males, yes.”

“Yes, two of them.”

It was just before the old woman boarded her carriage to return home, having exited the estate through a corridor on the exact opposite side of where the two men were frantically fucking. She pricked up her ears, and the two servants who had followed her out to see her off chimed in. It was the stableman, Giggs, and his daughter, Laura.

“Such a racket. They must be birds with booming voices.”

Clicking her tongue briefly, Margaret locked the lacquered carriage door.

***

“Ah, aah… mng, hnng, ngh, ah, ah, ah!”

Saliva trailed freely from his slender, fully arched jaw.

Every time he was bluntly pounded—thud, thud—against the inner wall right before the passageway curved deeper and more intimately inside him, sparks flashed before his eyes. His stomach was unbearably full. The sensation of his entrails being forced wide open and crushed tight was so intensely satiating that it made his entire body shudder. The position, skewered and suspended, was terrifyingly thrilling.

Squuelch, slop, smck, slrrp…

“Ah, it’s g-good. Good.”

Goosebumps erupted all over Rochshan’s bare arms as he endured the relentless fucking.

The sensation of friction, soaked in sticky fluids, was incredibly vivid. How the distinctly shaped glans scraped against his inner walls; how the thick foreskin, putting a log to shame, was chewed up by the inner folds, stretching and contracting; and just how deeply the corona carved into the very end of his rectum—it was all so clear he could perfectly map it out in his mind.

Damn it. He loved every bit of it so much he felt like he was going crazy. The sheer, terrifyingly magnificent pleasure of having not just his prostate, but every inch of his inner flesh crushed and mashed by that massive cock made it impossible to hold onto his sanity. The Count’s beautiful eyes blurred with physiological tears.

Why on earth did an act like this—being mercilessly skewered by a hot spit—feel so incredibly good? Was it, as some might criticize, because he had suffered from an affection deficit during his anal stage of development? If so, why was his stomach throwing a fit specifically and only in response to this bastard’s cock? He simply couldn’t understand it.

“Ah, euugh, ah, hnnng…!”

Without knowing why, Rochshan panted until his tongue went dry. Every time he was repeatedly thrust into, his low, beautiful voice hitched reflexively.

“Rochshan.”

The voice of the man gripping his rear, tearing him open and pounding into him endlessly, was also terribly hoarse. As if burned by that raspy tone, the hairs on the back of Rochshan’s neck stood on end. His five senses were scrambled, reality slipping further away. Lost in the ecstasy of getting fucked, sweet saliva pooled in his parted lips and dripped down his chin.

Ah. When… when did I start rolling in bed with this bastard?

His body—reason crushed and sexual instinct reigning hypersensitive—began to trace back to that exact moment in the past when this primal urge was first triggered.

It was around the time Aunt Margaret was summoning young ladies from the capital under the guise of hosting a social tea party.

What even was a lust-fueled puberty? Was it something you ate? Having grown up dry and emotionless, Rochshan was constantly drafted into her gatherings to play the role of a decorative doll. As a tall, handsome groomsman with flowing blonde hair, porcelain skin, and jewel-bright green eyes, he more than satisfied his aunt’s desire to show off, and it seemed he had thoroughly captured the young ladies’ hearts. Not a day went by without girls swooning from “anemia” into his arms or “tripping” to fall against him.

In the midst of that, his first kiss was stolen.

It was a day he had naively accepted a lady’s request to help look for her dropped hair ornament. Caught off guard, Rochshan was shoved into the thornbushes of the rose garden and had his lips plundered by her.

Nausea abruptly surged up his throat.

Without realizing it, he ended up making a retching motion—gag. It was a terrible response, but with no time to consider his partner’s feelings, Rochshan shook off the panicked lady and bolted. For some reason, he felt nothing but despair and sorrow. So, as he always did when he was hurt, he desperately wanted to lean on Kyle’s shoulder.

Kyle. Kyle Blackburn. My slave. Where the hell are you?

Rochshan ran until his breath caught in his throat, finally reaching the stables. It happened to be the day they were washing the riding horses that had been cooped up all winter. Near the back of an exceptionally glossy black horse, he spotted Kyle’s jet-black head of hair.

‘Ky…’

At the same time, broad shoulders and a sharply tapering waistline came into view. Along with heavily muscled buttocks and thighs packed with condensed elasticity. The ankle bones capping the long calves stretching below them were impossibly perfect.

Soon, the barefoot Kyle sensed his young master’s presence and turned around. He was stark naked, the ends of his hair dripping wet.

‘Young Master.’

Despite being shorter than Rochshan, the same-aged servant’s pelvis sat much higher. He had assumed the boy did nothing but slack off every day, but surprisingly, his physique was exceptionally built. Shocked by the body of his companion whom he hadn’t properly looked at in a while, Rochshan’s green eyes widened. Suddenly, the roof of his mouth went bone-dry.

The shadows along the contours of Kyle’s abdominal muscles were extremely deep. Furthermore, in the V-line where both iliac crests narrowed toward his navel, a thick, black bush thrived. But the most horrifying sight lay elsewhere.

The heavy genitalia dangling below that… wasn’t it tilting upward and springing into a hard erection the moment he saw Rochshan?

‘Ah, this.’

It seemed he had poured the hot water—prepared especially for washing the horses—over his own head. Like a black stallion snorting, Kyle shook his wet hair and casually flicked his penis toward the frozen young master. Thwack.

‘It does this sometimes.’

Perhaps feeling stifled by the reddish head, he even went a step further, directly pulling back his foreskin to expose the glans and roughly rubbing it. To put it crudely, the head of his cock was the size of a fist.

Unlike his perpetually sullen and gloomy face, the genitalia—which looked as if it had been explicitly sculpted by concentrating all manner of shameful lust—shamelessly and rapidly expanded in volume. Eventually, it transformed into something resembling a thick horn. It was an incredibly massive, hideous penis covered in bulging veins. No joke, it was the size of a forearm. The prime stallion next to him boasted a long dick, but Kyle’s equipment rivaled it.

Not only that, the pair of testicles hanging beneath the thick base of the shaft were proportionately massive. As if conscious of Rochshan’s gaze, which simply couldn’t peel away, the heavily wrinkled balls twitched continuously.

My God. That’s what the genitalia of a peer entering his youth looks like? Rochshan simply couldn’t believe it. It felt like he was trapped in a bizarre dream.

‘Why are you staring at it so marvelingly? This is all because you’re so pretty, Young Master.’

‘Wh… what?’

‘You’re all sparkly and pretty, so I got hard without even realizing it.’

The black-haired boy grumbled, glaring sideways at his master.

It was an absurd, victim-blaming shift of responsibility. But the Rochshan of that time was a naive fool who had barely even experienced a natural wet dream, let alone an unconscious erection. Unable to dismantle the servant’s forced sophistry—which amounted to nothing more than a cheap flirtation—he could only fluster about.

It was strange. The bastard was the one standing stark naked without an ounce of shame, yet it was Rochshan’s own heart that was pounding so hard it threatened to burst through his ribs. The steep, rapid heartbeat in his ears drowned out all other trivial noise.

Before he knew it, the displeasure from the garden was completely forgotten.

Instead, he was struck by Kyle’s naked body like a bolt of lightning at high noon. The shock of witnessing a vividly erected, raw cock completely overwrote the memory of that disgusting kiss.

Clutching his violently pounding chest, Rochshan managed to stumble backward. His esophagus had constricted, making it hard to breathe. He could only barely manage to let out thin, ragged gasps.

In the meantime, having confirmed there was no one around them, the raven slave smirked.

‘Young Master. You’re a man too, so you understand, right?’

‘Understand what? Such a filthy thing…’

‘Filthy? I haven’t even used it yet.’

‘Liar.’

‘Why? Because the color is dark? This is just because my blood circulation is too good, so all the blood rushed to it. It might also be because I masturbate often… ah, right.’

Like tasting a dish for seasoning, Kyle pressed his thumb firmly against the furiously red, angry glans and released it, seeming to realize something.

‘Come to think of it, we’ve never masturbated together.’

‘…!’

‘Should we do it together this time?’

‘Absolutely not!’

The shriek tore from him reflexively. Rejecting Kyle’s horrifying invitation with a single slice, Rochshan turned and sprinted away.

He took the mansion’s stairs three at a time and locked himself in his room in broad daylight.

Even as he curled up in bed and pulled the covers over his head, his heart still ached with its violent pounding. Kyle’s massive male organ and the clear pre-cum sticking to his thumb flashed through his mind endlessly. For some reason, his lower abdomen clamped down frustratingly tight. The boy twisted his waist like a newborn snake.

‘Hnnng.’

After much hesitation, Rochshan pulled down his trousers and grabbed his own unimpressive genitalia. Barely half the length of his palm, it was miraculously stiff.

Damn it, I’m a man too. I have a cock too… But Kyle’s. Kyle’s thing. That foul-smelling cock was thick enough to overflow even if gripped with two large hands. He hadn’t seen anything like that even in pornographic magazines.

Occasionally, explicit magazines would find their way into the bookworm Rochshan’s study. Suddenly, erotic illustrations depicting a male organ inserting into a female’s genitals came to mind.

He had thought it an extremely unpleasant and unsanitary act. Shoving a pissing rod into a pissing hole. Lacking any ambition to inherit the title, he had assumed he would have no connection to such acts for his entire life. On one hand, he had felt relieved.

That is, until he unconsciously pictured himself spreading his legs like the woman in the drawing and taking Kyle’s cock into his own anus.

In an instant, the urge to ejaculate slammed into his lower belly.

His insides churned as if he had a stomachache, and the centerline of his perineum twitched all the way back to his rear hole. A transparent drop of moisture seeped out from between the tight wrinkles. It was, undeniably, arousal fluid. A lubricant meant to aid smooth insertion—something that was absolutely not secreted by a standard excretory organ.

Only then did his innate instincts awaken, sensing his blossoming sexual desires. His hole getting wet was the very beginning of the process in which the young master’s simple defecation pathway transformed into a promiscuous reproductive organ.

Rochshan truly hadn’t believed the absurd rumors that his father had taken his mother as the Countess because he was crazed for sex with her. A tribe uniquely evolved for seduction and copulation? He had dismissed it as nothing more than the claims of dreamers trying to slander an ethnic minority. That is, until he found himself unconsciously propping up one thigh, spreading his legs, and carefully sliding a single middle finger into his slick back hole to stir it around.

Every time he carefully brushed against the inner mucosa, the back of his eyes prickled. It was an evolution of sensation he had never once felt during a wet dream. He had never in his wildest dreams imagined his insides were this sensitive.

If this finger… were that bastard’s cock…

Ah, his entire body shuddered from that momentary delusion alone. The urge to ejaculate, surging up similarly to the need to urinate, confused him—was it because he stimulated the front or the back?

‘Ah, haah…’

It didn’t take long for the young master’s pale, round buttocks to spasm beneath the blankets.

For a long while, clear tears welled in his eyes, intoxicated by the afterglow. A moment later, wiping his wet hands on the bedsheets, Rochshan screamed and slammed his fists down.

In the end, he had masturbated for the first time. Because he was aroused by his slave bastard’s cock.

It was the belated, physical embodiment of the biological knowledge he had scoffed at as an incomprehensible, barbaric habit. Immediately, heat flared up, making his temples burn.

‘Urp.’

Unable to endure the raw, green scent of his own bodily fluids wafting from his messy nether regions, Rochshan rushed into the bathroom. In that moment, his transitional flesh was completely reborn, reestablished through a mix of guilt, humiliation, and above all, intense sexual desire.

Vomiting stomach acid, Rochshan felt his own hands—the ones that had just finished his first masturbation—were incredibly foreign to him. The wet, teary eyes staring back at him in the sink’s mirror looked like someone else’s face. Yet, the only thought consuming him both inside and outside the mirror was one single thing.

Kyle’s cock.

Kyle’s horse dick.

My slave’s vigorous organ that will soon be pounding into someone’s intimate inner flesh.

He said he jerked off often, so he would probably start having sex often soon. He was handsome, after all. Rochshan had often heard the maids squealing over him.

Absolutely not. Who is he planning to torment with that massively swollen monster? I won’t forgive him if it’s anyone but me.

‘Bleugh, ack…!’

The smell clinging to his nasal mucosa was so nauseating he couldn’t stop retching.

Was it the smell of fodder from the stable troughs, the smell of semen trapped in Kyle’s thick pubic hair, or the smell of filthy desire emanating from his own body? This ambiguous stench—or perhaps distinguishing it was meaningless—kept churning his stomach.

From that day on, the young master of the Owin family developed a secret habit.

During the day, he would bully his servant bastard, and at night, he would pant while imagining that same bastard’s genitals, only to run to the sink and dry heave after an unsatisfying climax.

A persistent low-grade fever plagued him.

It took exactly five years for the un-sublimated heat pooling and boiling in his guts to finally drive him insane. In that time, the two boys grew into fully mature men.

The grand event took place a few days after Aunt Margaret left the estate.

Driven completely mad by his explosive libido, Rochshan stormed into Kyle’s attic room and grabbed the bastard’s cock right as he was changing clothes. The girth of it, too thick to grasp with one hand, was infinitely hotter than any of his countless delusions. He felt as if it was going to burn his palm right off.

‘Take this filthy thing and shove it into my back, right now.’

‘Master.’

‘That’s an order. Right now!’

And just like that, Rochshan Owin finally embraced the organ of Kyle Blackburn he had so desperately desired.

As if disobedience were even possible. The thrilling penetration, immediately yielding to his command, took place. Only then did his insides feel clear. Crying until his eyes swelled from the excruciating pain of his bottom tearing and the faint, undeveloped flashes of pleasure, Rochshan dug his nails into the bare shoulder blades of his same-aged slave and threw himself into the sea of satisfaction.

The elation of finally possessing all of him.

The fulfillment of forcing Kyle’s most private peripheral nerves into his own body.

A psychological orgasm that surpassed the physical ecstasy kneaded his brain into mush. I must restrain myself. This relationship has to be kept a secret. Even as he berated himself, he simply couldn’t lock away the sweet moans bursting from his lips.

Just like right now, in this dusty old storage closet.

“Ah, euugh, hah, hnng, haak…!”

Rochshan’s moans heated the enclosed space, turning it damp.

In the dust-settled darkness, his fine blonde hair gleamed faintly. Kyle, burying his nose into the crown of Rochshan’s head as he fucked him, ground his teeth in a low growl.

“Haa… Lower your voice, ngh. They can hear everything outside.”

Not ‘they might hear’, but ‘they can hear’.

Of course they could.

They were doing this day in and day out. No matter how careful they were in blind spots, there was no way they wouldn’t be discovered. Furthermore, once Rochshan was penetrated, he wailed and moaned loudly, completely oblivious to his surroundings. He was a pseudo-intellectual who only acted prudent.

Master and slave. The Count and his servant. There wasn’t a single person who didn’t know that these two men had been in a honeymoon relationship of fucking and getting fucked for the past few years. The head butler pretended not to hear the lewd cries echoing beyond the bedroom door, and the maids cleaned up the bodily fluids left behind after their trysts, pretending it was spilled drinks.

It was only through Kyle’s absolute authority that this open secret was kept hidden. Rochshan, entirely oblivious to this and still thinking he was spreading his legs in secret, was… how should he put it? To phrase it differently, his brain was innocent. A bookworm idiot who couldn’t even grasp the power dynamics within the mansion, let alone the ways of the world. Seeing him believe he was a great mastermind and a brilliant tactician was just overwhelmingly cute. Kyle chuckled silently.

Kyle Blackburn. The slave had personally, painstakingly designed the miniature garden in which his master lived. Jewels belong in a jewelry box. That was the slave’s philosophy.

“Shh… Do you want to be caught gobbling cock?”

“Mm, mph.”

I’ll play along. Kyle subtly scolded Rochshan. Chewing on the beautiful blonde hair, he clamped a hand over the rosy lips. Just as Rochshan started to choke for air, he removed his hand. As if waiting for it, Rochshan’s gums parted wide to gasp for breath, and a thick middle finger shoved its way in. As Kyle scraped his tongue as if caressing the inner flesh, Rochshan immediately whimpered. Shaking his head, Rochshan sobbed. His pronunciation was slurred from swallowing Kyle’s finger.

“You, you can’t. But you’re too, hic, fast…! Kyle, slow down a little… my hole is going to turn inside out, hnnng…!”

“It’s not turning inside out. It’s stretching just fine. Nice and chewy. Fuu.”

To verify, Kyle pulled their pressed bodies apart slightly and split the Count’s buttocks wide open.

The point of penetration, driven right into the center of the flushed red flesh, was explicitly visible. The darkness was no obstacle. The anus, expanded taut without a single wrinkle, was too busy smoothly swallowing Kyle’s dark red genitalia. Along the edges of the tightly packed mucosa, whitish semen foam was bubbling furiously.

“You’re so wet, too…”

Squuelch, slop… smck, slrrp, thwack, thwack.

Having sex with Kyle meant the noise at the point of penetration was loud. It was because the concentration of his semen was exceptionally thick. The volume of his ejaculation was also massive, eliminating any need for separate lubricants. Just the thick, oozing seed combined with the abundant intestinal fluids secreted by Rochshan’s ass was enough to sustain violent intercourse all day long.

“It stretches so well…”

Slap, slap, squish, squish… smooch, smack, mwah.

If their compatibility was good, kissing sounds could even be heard from down below.

Blue veins thickly tangled over the massive organ slipping in and out of the hole. Every time it squeezed tightly through the entrance, the bulging veins on the foreskin were compressed flat. The bloodshot, red mucosa of the hole clung tightly to the cock skin. The way it caved in with the thrusts and then stretched out like dough was incredibly lewd. The more the friction repeated, the more the volume of arousal fluid pushed out of the hole overflowed.

This explicit visual stimulation slammed directly into Kyle’s core. Reflexively, his dense abdominal muscles writhed. Hooo. A breath laden with lust puffed out. Kyle gripped Rochshan’s buttocks hard enough to leave handprints. The lips of the hole eagerly devouring his thick dick were so pretty that even his temples throbbed. A curse slipped out naturally.

“Fucking erotic, shit.”

“Ah, euugh, Ky, Kyle…”

“If only you were a bit longer inside, it would be a perfect fit.”

“Ah, aht, ah!”

“Rochshan, you’re too short… haah.”

It was a shame that whenever he shoved it in, he immediately hit the very end. Because of that, the base of his penis, which he couldn’t push in all the way, was always left out in the cold. Currently, Kyle’s cock was only half-wet. Was it out of disappointment? The base of his penis swelled powerfully. Arousal fluid, leaking like a thread from the bitten hole, gathered on the massive testicles dangling heavily below, before dripping down. Drip.

“Your bastard of a dick is just way too big, you crazy… ah!”

“Is that so.”

Rochshan, about to retort that Kyle was the abnormal one, ended up screaming instead.

A forest fire erupted just behind his navel. It was because the thick glans was firmly, repeatedly grinding—press, press, grind—against the final inner wall. It was a point of sensation he would never get used to, one that made him spasm wildly. Unbearable ticklishness bloomed from his convulsing intestines. Hic, hah, hik… Breathless pants erupted endlessly.

Squish, slop, smack, smooch, slrrp, mwah, thwack…

The beauty with the erotic backline swayed, breached countless times. His pelvis trembled violently, and his brain turned to mush. Every time he was pounded wetly, sparks flashed in his rolled-back green eyes. Overwhelmed by the pleasure, physiological tears streamed down his face, which the slave behind him licked up. Smooch. Chewing on the soft cartilage of an ear, the trashy obscenities resumed. The languid bass seeped into helpless eardrums.

“Then why is my dick so big?”

“You son of a bitch, how the hell should I know. Ughhk.”

“Why wouldn’t you know? It got this big because you wanted a massive cock.”

“Cut the bullshit…!”

“You feel it the most in the place a tiny dick could never reach. Here, in this deep place. I grew my cock just to diligently pound you right here. For you, I made it this hard, this thick…”

“You were already huge from the start, hic.”

“You know it’s gotten even bigger since then, right?”

Slap, slap. As if telling him to feel it properly, Kyle’s hip movements became conspicuously more obscene. Pressing flush against him as if pinning him down, the act of hollowing out the aristocratic master’s scorching inner flesh was so explicit it was hard to keep one’s eyes open. The more he ravaged him with his cock, the more bodily fluids overflowed from the entrance where they communicated. The inner thighs of Rochshan, packed with bite marks, were already soaked as if he had pissed himself.

“Rochshan, I’ll grant everything you desire. I’m a good, obedient slave, aren’t I?”

Kyle’s sweet whispers continued. He sounded like the most submissive, loyal servant in the world.

“Then listen to me when I tell you to stop…!”

“…”

“Hey!”

The addendum that he was a ‘selectively good bastard who only did whatever he wanted’ was absolutely necessary.

“Enough already… stop, stooooop.”

It was hard to endure the layers of pleasure stacking up in his stomach. In the end, Rochshan broke first.

His arm, desperately clinging to the windowsill, trembled. Dizzying vertigo drained the Count’s stamina. Come to think of it, there was no exercise as strenuous as sex. Since he was the one who initiated the seduction, the Count had held on out of pure stubbornness, but he ultimately waved the white flag. However, there was nowhere to run.

“You’ve already done it enough, haven’t you.”

I’ve already come three times.

The exhausted Rochshan sighed. “You bastard who doesn’t know when to quit…”

Shuddering, he tried to escape into the minimal space available, and from between his retreating buttocks, an unbelievably thick organ slipped out—slrrp. Only about halfway. The rest remained neatly caught, parting the wrinkles of his inner flesh. At the throbbing heat nailed into him like a stake, his bitten lips quivered.

“Uu, gh.”

Water droplets thoroughly permeated Count Owin’s beautiful green eyes.

Dimples formed on his tense buttocks. Housing something overwhelming, the bulging lips of his hole strained desperately to spit out the rest of the cock.

He’s trying so hard.

So Kyle considered stopping here for a moment. But wasn’t a dragon a cold-blooded animal that despised the cold? Coveting sticky, scorching inner flesh was a kind of instinct. The man’s eyes narrowed at the unpleasant sensation of his exposed foreskin cooling down. The moment his sharp fangs flashed, he was already gripping the plump ass and slamming back in deeply. The momentum was fiercer than ever.

Thud… thud! He rapidly drove the dark red stake in, and drove it in again.

“Ah, why, ah, aah, ah! Ah! Ah!”

“Fuu, well, seeing you run away makes me want to hunt.”

Furrowing his brow, Kyle clenched his jaw. His cheeks were faintly flushed. “Don’t try to clench so hard.”

Even without trying, Rochshan’s inner flesh was dense and swelled easily, pushing him out. The narrow, winding path seeped with juices and clamped down. The pressure was intensely thrilling. A tremor reversed its way up from the tip pounding the swollen inner walls, making the hair all over Kyle’s body stand on end. Semen boiled vigorously along his vas deferens. Suppressing the urge to blow a massive load, the slave ground his teeth.

“Your cunt meat is boiling hot.”

It feels like it’s going to melt me away.

“You crazy bastard whose tongue needs to be ripped out…! Where the hell do I have a cunt, ngh, huh!”

“Then what else do you call a hole that eats cock?”

It was a rather sharp logic. Conversely, Rochshan, his brain as mashed as his inner flesh, was left speechless.

“C-cunt…?”

“See, it’s my cunt right here. Isn’t this my cunt meat?”

Kyle’s hand crept down below the panting abdominal muscles. He lightly cupped the cute genitalia that had pathetically leaked pre-cum, then dug even further inside. He tapped the swollen perineum—stuffed full of cock—like piano keys, and began stroking the damp hole like a pair of scissors. Damn it… The state he was in left no room for rebuttal. Still, unable to accept defeat, the Count screamed in a hoarse voice.

“Fuck off, it’s not your cunt…!”

“Then is it some other bastard’s cunt?” The interrogating bass was ferocious.

What kind of conclusion was that? Rochshan lamented the deficient common sense of his servant.

“It’s attached to my body, so it’s my cunt… Then is this my cock?!”

Annoyed, he gave a counter-example, snatching the base of Kyle’s cock. Compared to its rock-hard core, the surface was surprisingly soft.

“Yeah.”

And Kyle completely shattered Rochshan’s expectations.

“It’s your exclusive cock.”

Not only did he instantly agree to the rebuttal, but he even added a supplementary explanation.

“If it ever hollows out another cunt, I’ll cut it off. I’ll cut it off even if I can’t have sex with you anymore. If it’s useless, getting hard will only be an annoyance.”

“…Hah.”

“Even without this, I’ll have no problem taking a piss.”

“…Hah.”

“When I cut it off, I’ll gift it to you. Since it’s yours. I’ll pickle it nicely in preservative solution so it won’t rot.”

“You crazy… you fucking son of a bitch…”

At this point, he was frolicking alone in a dimension beyond common sense.

He hadn’t changed a bit since the day he offered to slice off his own neck if Rochshan liked it. At the bastard’s unwavering consistency, the back of Rochshan’s neck instantly flushed red. He was absolutely not moved. Rather, he was infuriated to the top of his head.

You son of a bitch who never says the most important words.

You say you’ll cut off your cock for me, so why don’t you confess? Huh?

He wanted to grab him by the collar and shake him until his neck snapped. But considering the Count’s dignity, he couldn’t possibly stoop to begging for love from a mere servant. He would rather stubbornly insist that there was no way he could love someone like him. Even if his unrequited love was trampled on like this every single time. That was the creature known as a noble.

His body went rigid with resentment. At the tightening inner flesh that followed, Kyle let out a hot breath. Skillfully pretending not to know his master’s burning insides.

“Stop sucking on me so hard. You’re going to pull it out… Can I fuck deeper?”

“Don’t make me laugh… ah! Aah, ah!”

He delivered a notification disguised as a request.

Immediately, one of Rochshan’s legs was hooked high over a sturdy forearm. The toes of his other foot lifted entirely off the ground, just like a dancer. Kyle then began to thrust diagonally. He pushed in relentlessly, all the way to the root of his organ. The deeply skewered glans angled itself, excavating yet another terrifyingly narrow entrance.

“A-no, Kyle, stop, I’m sca-sca… ah…!”

“It’s okay. We’ve done it often. Pounding the colon. I’ll go in slowly… Mmm, it’s in.”

He finally passed through the narrow chokepoint.

The union grew so deep that thick pubic hair scratched against the cleft of Rochshan’s buttocks. Hooking his glans diagonally into the relatively firm entrance of the colon, Kyle let out a low, heavy breath. The surging urge to ejaculate manifested in the blue veins bulging on the back of his solid neck. Without delay, he gripped the heavily twisted waist. Just as he was about to savor the violently spasming clench of the hole…

“Nngh!”

Reaching his limit, Rochshan lost his balance and slipped.

The two tall men crashed heavily onto the floor of the already cramped storage closet. The impact caused the surrounding supplies to clatter noisily to the ground. However, Kyle, too busy fucking even as they fell, didn’t flinch when a cast-iron pot dropped and struck him square in the back.

“I’m going to die, ughhk, I feel like I’m dying…”

“You’re not dying. Hah, why would you die when we’re having such good sex.”

“Ah, augh, ah, haah, ugh.”

“Rochshan. Rochshan…”

Smooch, smack, mwah. Unlike the hip movements mercilessly hollowing out his colon, sweet kisses were poured over him.

My one and only nest.

My shackle. My curse.

The dragon’s whispers did not reach his mate, who was wandering in a state of ecstasy.

Sweeping back his sweat-drenched hair, Kyle finally stripped off the underwear that had been awkwardly hanging off one of Rochshan’s ankles. He tossed aside the fabric, stained with semen leaked from his ass after their early morning tryst, and cast a shadow over the now entirely naked Count as he lay back down on top of him. Lowering his intimidating frame, the penetration resumed—thud, thud. A thick tail seemed to sway from the muscular hips grinding wildly into him.

“…”

He was soon covered in sweat from the act of carefully probing the curves that lacked elasticity. The hot scent radiating from the two men pierced the nose. Flesh, soaked in juices, slapped together endlessly. Rochshan was a wine bottle, and Kyle, slipping in and out of him, was no different from a cork. Pulled out, plugged shut; pulled out, shoved shut…

I’m dying. I’m going to die like this.

Amidst Rochshan’s convulsing gasps, Kyle began to ravenously suck his highly erect nipples. It was a fierce bite, strong enough to burst a dried-up milk duct. At the shudder-inducing stimulation, the watery, dark green eyes rolled back further than ever.

“Ah, what do I do, ah.”

It was that moment. A sharp urge to urinate rushed in like a tidal wave.

“Ah, Kyle, no, I… haaak…!”

It broke the precarious Rochshan, conquering him in a single stroke. It was his fourth climax.

By the time his highly arched, spasming waist dropped back down, he had already splattered a thick layer of whitish, cloudy fluid all over Kyle’s stomach. As the mouth-watering, raw scent wafted up, the bastard who had been sucking his nipples like a starved man finally pulled away.

“Rochshan.”

He wiped up the nest’s semen splattered on his lower abdomen and ate every last drop. Savoring the taste of Rochshan, the feverish, pitch-black eyes locked onto the completely ruined master.

“Rochshan.”

“Ah…”

“Rochshan.”

He cupped the flushed cheeks that looked as if they had suffered something terrible, peering into them with sheer ecstasy.

He had gone completely mad. The slave, who had subsequently pumped his own semen into the inner flesh convulsing right after ejaculation, began to slowly, firmly grind against the barrier with a still fully-erect organ. Above, he snatched the lips of his master, who was hovering on the edge of a climactic near-death experience. A sloppy, metallic kiss ensued.

His nest was exhausted, but the dragon’s mating had only just begun.

“Just one more time. Hm?”

“Fuck off, please… you said you listen well… hngh.”

“I’ll come quickly.”

Abominably coaxing his sobbing master, Kyle slid in and out of the hole that had lost the strength to clench. He really did ejaculate quickly this time.

“Uugh.”

The stream of semen striking his inner walls so fiercely made him nauseous. The organ, shoved into an impossible depth and twitching inside him, felt as if it were a living creature in its own right. I can’t do this anymore. Just as a tearful Rochshan desperately tried to crawl away from the dragon’s embrace… Smirk. Chuckling, the slave grabbed his ankle and yanked him back. He crushed him under his weight and began pounding him all over again. In this way, the dragon’s heat simply knew no end.

“Just once more.”

“I seriously, won’t let you get away with this, hnghk, aht!”

“Yeah, I know, so just one more time.”

“I’ll kill you, I’m going to kill you, you fucking bastard…”

“Yeah, you can kill me as many times as you want. So just one more time…”

Time flowed persistently in the darkness, and the ‘one time’ that seemed like it would never end finally reached its conclusion. Only after his master fainted, his insides packed tight with semen well past the colon, did the slave wrap him in clothes and finally leave the storage closet. The sunset was spreading through the corridor window.

“My lord.”

The maids, who happened to be cleaning the stairs, immediately prostrated themselves the moment they saw the dragon.

Looking down at them, Kyle himself was stark naked. Lingering from the heat of the sexual acts, his firm skin radiated a flushed warmth. Beneath the man’s black pubic hair, heavily matted with dried bodily fluids and semen, the peeled-back head of his organ drooped lazily.

Already missing the inner flesh it had thoroughly ravaged, the slit of his glans twitched open and shut. From the reddish tip, his master’s un-wiped arousal fluid dripped steadily. The maids expertly pretended not to see this.

“The Count is exhausted and has fallen asleep. Bring lukewarm water. He cried a lot, so he will be thirsty.”

“Yes, sir.”

Everyone submissively yielded to Count Owin’s slave.

Among them was the red-haired Laura, whom Rochshan was so endlessly wary of. Looking down at the humans’ submission for a moment, Kyle began climbing the stairs barefoot. Humming softly, he entered the Count’s bedroom. Laying the deeply sleeping Count down with utmost care…

“The only blind one here is you.”

Smooch. He pressed a kiss to the chapped lips.