Chapter 3

“Hah, I’m starving.”

Rochshan Owin exhaustedly crossed the threshold of the mansion’s entryway.

Handing his cane and silk top hat to the elderly butler who had hurried out to greet him, the Count’s face was utterly haggard. His eyes were sunken, and his tangled hair was plastered with festival confetti. It was his first time returning home after ten grueling days of all-nighters.

Of all things, just days before the festival’s premiere, the head of the giant dragon statue ambitiously erected in the capital plaza had snapped right off. The King had flown into a rampage; the foreign sculptors who had tried to flee were arrested in droves, and Rochshan, who had been sitting quietly, was dragged in right alongside them on the sole charge of having lobbied them. Then, out of nowhere, they decided to hold him accountable for the shoddy construction. A strict royal command was issued: if he didn’t want to rot in the underground dungeons on various embezzlement charges, he had better voluntarily step up to manage and supervise the statue’s repair work. Hah. What choice did I have? When they say jump, you jump.

If skimming a couple of bottles of high-grade wine was a crime, then it was a crime. The young Count Owin was semi-forcibly thrown into the dust pit of the repair construction site. After battling the architectural blueprints day and night until his eyes practically fell out, the festival finally opened without a hitch.

‘All that crowd is money. It’s all money.’

Before an audience gathered from all corners of the nation and beyond, the black dragon statue was finally unveiled. Its spiral horns gleamed under the blazing midday sun. None could hold back their awe at its magnificent majesty. Looking down at them, King Philip burst into hearty laughter. Soon after came a deeply, incredibly, overwhelmingly, tear-jerkingly generous order to disperse.

‘You have all worked hard. Go home and rest.’

The court historian likely recorded that afternoon as follows: <Dozens of retainers, overworked until they resembled corpses, finally attained their freedom and poured out of the palace gates.> Rochshan was one of these very corpses.

“My word. Your Grace, you have returned… Oh my!”

“Careful. You’re going to drop it.”

Even if he was exhausted as waterlogged cotton, would the gentlemanly demeanor ingrained in his very bones disappear?

Stretching, Rochshan swiftly caught the maid Laura by the shoulders. Bustling across the lobby, she had been on the verge of spilling the mountain of ingredients piled in her arms. Having averted an imminent disaster, the Count casually hefted the pig’s front leg resting at the top of the pile onto his own shoulder.

“To the kitchen?”

“Ah, there’s no need for you to…”

“There is a need. You’ll get hurt at this rate. What the hell are the other bastards doing?”

Frowning, the handsome man took the lead. Flustered into walking closely beside him, Laura’s cheeks flushed a faint pink. She stole a sideways glance at him.

Her employer, who had slightly missed the prime age for marriage, possessed an exceptionally elegant jawline. The Adam’s apple resting above his shirt collar was sensual, and the straight drop of his shoulders was flawless. And what about the hand currently steadying her balance? It was masculine, yet the knuckles were slender and smooth. It was simply a marvel. He was a man sculpted like fine porcelain, from a single strand of hair down to his toenails.

But he’s disgusting.

Flustered by the sudden surge of contempt, Laura hurriedly lowered her gaze. She was abruptly seized by the urge to scream and shove the Count away. She shuddered. Because.

This man, so abominably… takes… him. Even though he’s a man. Just a man. How dare he.

“From now on, make the hall boys do this kind of work,” Rochshan said. “Or that new footman we just hired. Every time I see him, he’s yawning. He must think I pay him a salary just to yawn.”

“Um. He probably didn’t have time to yawn today. The male servants were summoned to the banquet hall since morning. The Head Maid was incredibly excited. She said it was her first time bringing out absolutely every single piece of tableware in the estate. Ah, she said she even found a 300-year-old antique.”

“Is that so? We must have had a lot of guests coming and going.”

“A lot, yes.”

“Ah. I did tell the laborers protesting for food at the construction site to just go to my house and eat if they were that desperate.”

“Your Grace. You might faint in shock when you see this month’s food expense report…”

The conversation between the Count and the maid as they walked in step was quite harmonious.

Rochshan Owin was rather close with his estate’s servants. Because he provided generous wages and benefits, the majority of them were long-term employees. They were the ones who had endured Margaret Owin’s tyrannical days, hoping for Rochshan’s reinstatement. He was grateful to them. Even more so because their long tenure meant they didn’t resort to petty tricks.

“How is your family doing?”

“Very well, thanks to you, Your Grace. Oh, my older sister Angea had her third child last month. When you sent swaddling clothes dipped in holy water as a gift to ward off illnesses, she was overjoyed.”

“That is something to celebrate. Send her my regards.”

“I certainly will. She’ll be thrilled.”

In other words, it meant it was difficult to arbitrarily fire an employee he disliked for personal reasons.

An awkward silence pooled between the man and woman heading down to the kitchen below the poultry yard, looking for all the world like a close brother and sister. It was a classic case of dreaming different dreams in the same bed. Laura was battling an inexplicable internal disgust, while Rochshan was busy hiding his jealousy aimed at this voluptuous maiden. Soon, meaningless small talk resumed. Silence was not the etiquette of a gentleman.

“How is work lately, Laura? Is it too exhausting?”

“Even if it’s hard, looking after the estate is rewarding. And the Deputy Butler helps out a lot, too.”

“…Deputy Butler?”

“Ah, Mr. Kyle Blackburn.”

“M-Mr.?”

The jealousy he had pushed down momentarily overflowed.

Embarrassed by his voice reflexively pitching high, Rochshan cleared his throat, ahem. He barely managed to control his expression.

What kind of honorific do you use for a slave?

Deputy Butler? I never assigned him such a position.

He almost interrogated her about it, but his exceptional memory saved him from losing face. He could only blame his own past actions. Damn it. He recalled the time he had severely interrogated and kicked out some riffraff who had looked down on Kyle as a slave, and how he had immediately lined up all the servants and threatened the hierarchy, telling everyone below the Head Butler to shut their mouths and obey. Yes. The person who had absurdly made the slave bastard a master of the estate was none other than Rochshan himself.

“…Anyway, it’s a relief to hear he’s treating you well.”

Relief, my ass. Kyle Blackburn is dead today.

The moment we’re alone, I’m going to grab him by the collar and shake him, Rochshan decided. Does he think I granted him this extravagant luxury just so he could go around freely dripping kindness everywhere? Arrogant bastard. I specially exempted him from menial chores just so he could focus on taking care of me…

“Right, if you have any other requests, come find me anytime. As you know, the high job satisfaction at our estate is also my pride.”

What’s the point of taking my anger out on a maiden bewitched by that bastard? The bastard doing the bewitching is the son of a bitch. Refreshing his mindset, Rochshan tried to wrap up the conversation with insincere hypocrisy. It was then. As if waiting for this exact moment, the red-haired maid stopped the Count just as he reached for the pantry door handle.

“Um. P-please sign here.”

“Ah.”

She handed him an application form so worn and folded it was pilling. It reeked of her having waited for an opportunity all this time. Taking the paper, Rochshan looked at her for a moment. Her hands, continuously wiping against her linen apron, were trembling. Her nervousness was glaringly obvious.

“It’s an application for the Nest mass wedding.”

An unexpectedly gentle tone flowed from him. The Count’s narrowed gaze landed on the maid’s fingertips, blistered from eczema.

“I took tomorrow off, you see.”

“To go see the festival?”

“Yes. While I’m out, I thought I’d take care of this…”

There were two application forms.

To apply for the Nest mass wedding, the signatures of two guarantors were required. It was customary to list the signatures of a parent and an employer. Rochshan’s gaze fell on the forms. More accurately, on the names of the applicants. Laura Smith. And Kyle Blackburn.

Kyle, Blackburn.

Hah.

The crooked, clumsy handwriting was absolutely not that bastard’s. Even knowing this, the dark circles under his eyes twitched with fatigue. He almost swung the pig’s leg resting on his shoulder at the woman in front of him.

“I had no idea. Were you two in that kind of relationship?”

Fortunately, the execution of such vicious violence ended in his imagination. Casually organizing the forms, Rochshan offered the tense maiden a radiant smile.

“Um, the Deputy Butler doesn’t know yet.”

“Aha…?”

“P-please don’t speak ill of me for being vulgar. I know how uncultured it is for a woman to propose first. But I really don’t want to miss this opportunity.”

“An opportunity, you say.”

“I happened to overhear something.”

“My, how exciting. Tell me. I’m quite curious to know where you saw a rosy potential in that bastard who’s as dense as a bale of hay. I thought he was a prick who only cared about sleeping, eating, and shitting?”

Not only did he carelessly drip kindness everywhere, but he even gave her the opening to propose?Fuck, I need to put a chastity belt on his cock. What? He’d rather chop his whole dick off and gift it to me than fuck another cunt? What a load of bullshit.

This bastard, all talk, handing out empty promises, probably scattering his cum all over the remote mountains and popping out bastards like peas in a pod. Grind. The eyes that silently ground their molars looked ready to shoot sparks. However, the maid, entirely preoccupied with her shyness after revealing her cute plan, seemed completely oblivious to the Count’s gaze flashing with all colors of madness.

“Marriage happened to come up during a break, and the Deputy Butler rarely added a word. He said he was planning to have multiple children… It caught my ear. If so, wouldn’t there be a chance for me? My sisters who married all had many children. Everyone around me says my bloodline is blessed with easy labors… So naturally, I too…”

Laura’s breathless voice faded away.

So, you want a child.

From that raven bastard.

That was the core of her lengthy explanation. The moment he registered the point in clear sentences, a ringing in his ears as sharp as an awl shook his skull, inducing dizzying vertigo. Did the piercing sound eventually subside? Even then, the curly-haired maid was still busy calculating the odds of whether her proposal would actually succeed.

I just want to cruelly rip those lips off. Rochshan twisted his stiff jaw and sneered. In the end, his shallow self-control hit rock bottom. A jealousy as sharp as a razor blade shot out before he could suppress it.

“But you know. An upcoming bride shouldn’t have fingernails looking like that. It’s unsightly. It keeps catching my eye and ruining my mood. Yes, shall I send you an exclusive manicurist?”

It was an incredibly abrupt, well-packaged piece of contempt.

Ugly.

Only then did Laura’s mouth, which had been chattering endlessly about her marriage plans, snap shut.

Just for a brief moment. The girl with the light brown eyes wasn’t intimidated in the slightest. Instead, she even glared back at the Count. True to the rumors that she had once ruled the entertainment district before failing to secure a marriage for social mobility and retiring early, she didn’t lose ground in the battle of nerves. The maiden, who had returned to the estate wearing expensive stockings just a few years ago, shamelessly whispered a question back.

“Excuse me. Your Grace, do you prefer a firstborn son or a firstborn daughter? Well, of course, you can’t just give birth to exactly what you want. Ah, my nails are perfectly fine. This is just what the hands of an ordinary housewife raising children and managing a household look like, after all…”

Her retaliation, pretending to be innocent, was so effortless.

By subtly emphasizing her reproductive capabilities, Laura Smith broke Rochshan Owin down far too simply. Staring right into his momentarily frozen face, she even smiled brightly. It was absolutely maddening. To suffer such humiliation over a single, solitary deficiency.

Kyle Blackburn is mine.

I already took that bastard’s cock a long time ago.

I poured enough of his semen into my stomach to fill a bathtub and then some.

Unable to scream and grab her by the hair to throw her to the ground like a street thug, Rochshan felt suffocatingly wronged. Hah. How did I end up in a standoff with a mere maid over a slave bastard? Just what the hell is that bastard anyway? He was so beyond finding it funny that his blood pressure spiked, heightening his five senses.

The bleak chill radiating from the underground stone walls seeped into his skin. The Count soon laughed at himself. True. There were plenty of other grievances knotted in his heart that he couldn’t dare complain about. Take this underground pantry, for example. He had once counted the number of bugs inhabiting this place. There were 3,027 of them.

“I don’t happen to have a pen on me. I’ll sign it as soon as I return to my study, Laura.”

“Oh my, how kind of you.”

The groceries in Laura’s arms bobbed. Rochshan, hiding his defeat under his tongue, smiled back. Ah. Opening the swinging door inward, he subtly asked.

“I still think it’s a waste for you. That guy is a slave, isn’t he? The lowest of the low. I keep him around because I have the means to, but as a husband… don’t you think? Laura, if you want, I could look for a much better groom for you. Does it absolutely have to be that bastard?”

“I want him.”

“Why.”

“He’s handsome, isn’t he.”

“…”

“I don’t expect anything else from a husband. I’m just going to live off his looks.”

Confirming Laura’s firm matrimonial goals, Rochshan made a renewed vow. Alright. I’m going to beat this Kyle Blackburn son of a bitch to death. Prattling on about wanting kids—something that should only hype up the mood in bed—outside and attracting useless flies. How dare he make me this exhausted.

“So, where might His Greatness, Sir Handsome Face, be right now?”

As if deeply moved by the world’s most romantic drama, the handsome man’s entire face was dyed with lingering emotion. With an exaggerated expression, Rochshan cleverly interrogated her for the location of his target.

“If you mean the Deputy Butler, he’s currently in the kitchen.”

“The kitchen?”

“Yes. The Head Chef came all the way up to the lobby screaming that they were short-handed.”

“Haha. Don’t tell me he’s actually cooking.”

“Oh, surely not.”

“…”

“…”

Both of them immediately fell silent, recalling the exact same incident.

Not long ago, the Head Chef had taken sick leave after his appendix burst. Left with no choice, the remaining staff took turns cooking meals, and a massive catastrophe struck during Kyle’s turn. Calling the taste “indescribable” would be a mercy. Within half a day, more than half the personnel who ate his cooking collapsed from food poisoning.

‘We were a bit short on meat, so I caught a few field mice outside and boiled them in.’

Someone must have poisoned the food. The culprit, revealed in the interrogation room where even the guards were mobilized, had the audacity to ask back instead:

‘Did it taste bad? I couldn’t really tell. My sense of taste is dull.’

He even added a complaint: ‘Besides, isn’t human food seasoned way too heavily?’ The master of the house, who had participated in the interrogation, had probably flipped his lid and passed out from sheer frustration.

Ever since then, a legendary unwritten rule was born in the Owin estate: No matter what happens, never hand Kyle Blackburn a ladle. If he even tries to cook, strike him unconscious with a cast-iron pan. In this scenario, extenuating circumstances will be recognized, and charges of attempted murder will be dropped.

Finishing their reminiscing, the Count and the maid simultaneously began to sprint in a panic. Toward the kitchen.

“Kyle!”

“Deputy Butler!”

Bang!

Sprinting down the narrow underground corridor and throwing open the kitchen door, blood instantly splattered.

A white leg immediately flew into the air. The two, who had barged in full of worry, stopped breathing for a second. They thought the man slamming a meat cleaver onto the cutting board was chopping up a human thigh.

“Your Grace.”

A voice as deep and hollow as the bottom of a well.

The impromptu butcher, raising an eyebrow, wiped a drop of blood splattered on his cheek with the back of his hand. Thwack! He brought the cleaver down viciously onto the cutting board. In a single stroke, the calf of a skinned deer was chopped in half.

“You can place the pig’s leg over there.”

“Huh? Oh, right. I will.”

He suddenly became very compliant.

Docilely setting down the front leg, Rochshan tried to justify his obedient attitude. From ancient times, they said you never mess with a crazy bastard holding a knife. Right. That much was fine, but the moment he turned around, he felt his internal organs twisting. The maid, having beaten him to the punch, had pulled out a handkerchief and was wiping Kyle’s cheek.

“My, blood even splattered here. Stay still. I’ll wipe it for you.”

Her coquettish voice resembled a high-octave register. It brought to mind the piano keys skewed to the far right. Soon, Rochshan’s gaze dropped below the hem of Laura’s skirt. Slender calves wrapped in tightly woven stockings. Small feet that could fit in the palm of a hand. The qualities he did not possess. Like a womb.

He realized it.

It was time to pull out the blade of revenge he had hidden under his tongue along with his defeat.

“I’m hungry.”

One sentence was enough.

“Have you not eaten? Don’t they even feed you at the royal palace?”

“Something about vegetarianism being a trend or whatever. Serving only dried-up weeds, how could I have any appetite? Why else do you think all the construction workers ran away to our house?”

Keenly understanding the Count’s monologue, Kyle used his elbow to shove away the maiden dreaming of a proposal. Thunk. He aggressively jammed the blood-soaked butchering knife into the cutting board to block her off, as she was clingy and annoying.

Haha.

The sight of the woman, turning pale with terror and unable to approach any further, was quite pleasing. Leaning back against the sink with both hands behind his back, Rochshan chuckled loudly for her to see.

“It’s clam chowder. Eat up. It’s leftovers, but it’s still warm. It should hold you over until dinner is ready.”

“You didn’t make this, did you?”

“Absolutely not. You said if I ever cooked again, you’d strangle me to death.”

The tall slave holding the soup bowl stood close, blocking the ceiling light. Engulfed in his shadow, Rochshan opened his mouth like a baby bird, ah. The two men stood flush against each other, as close as if they were sharing a cigarette, or rubbing their cocks together having sex. It was a suspicious intimacy no matter who looked. He didn’t care. Rochshan rolled the liquid on his tongue as if savoring Kyle’s semen.

This thick, chunky texture feels exactly like your first load of cum. It’s so thick that even when I suck it with my mouth, it gets caught in your slit and doesn’t come out easily.

He whispered silently, mouthing the words so the third party couldn’t hear, just like when they jerked each other off in narrow crevices.

Even though Rochshan was by no means short, Kyle’s monster cock would often stab high above his navel. The raven bastard would gently roll a ripe nipple under his fingerprint and groan, saying he felt like going crazy because Rochshan’s cute dick kept poking his balls.

‘Huu… planning to eat my balls, too?’

He even recalled the whisper pressed against his temple.

‘Good. Then I can just eat your navel.’

He had been fucked in the navel until his stomach skin burned.

As if they would stop at just masturbation. Naturally, his rear had been breached countless times as well. The ridiculously strong bastard had stood for three hours straight, hooking both of Rochshan’s legs over his forearms while fucking him against the wall. By the time he opened his eyes, he was being pounded in bed.

“My my. An apron, huh.”

Did you touch your dick while I was gone?

“It suits you better than I thought?”

Does your cum even come out when you don’t have a hole to fuck?

“Your Grace… sir.”

“Hm? What?”

I’ll have to taste it later. See whether you came or not while I was away. It’s been a while, I should bite down on your cock.

It was rare for Rochshan to talk dirty like this. Unable to grasp the situation, Kyle’s pitch-black gaze deepened. The blonde beauty, a mischievous dimple forming at the corner of his mouth, simply smiled without explaining the whole story. He slyly lifted the apron tied around the servant’s sturdy waist.

It was exactly as he expected. The crotch, which Laura Smith couldn’t see, was bulging. He was satisfied. Always so quick to get hard. You perpetually horny bastard. An insult that was also a compliment. Rochshan flicked Kyle’s glans with his fingernail. The fabric felt remarkably thin. The sensation of the pointed corona was vivid.

“Ah, here’s a pen.”

From an angle invisible to others, he ruthlessly massaged the massive cock.

Scratching the glans wildly through the fabric quickly made pre-cum leak. The clear, sticky liquid seeped through the cloth, leaving a long smear on his thumb. Rochshan smiled again. Intoxicated with a sense of superiority to the top of his head. Knock, knock, he tapped on Kyle’s arm, where veins were bulging as he clenched his fist, and pulled a portable pen from his vest pocket.

Wait.

Act like a dog.

He twisted the bastard’s cock, which couldn’t even be fully grasped in his hand, to signal him. He dropped the apron he had been teasing him with. At that, several more capillaries popped out on the arm of the slave who was clenching his fists to endure it. Rochshan smiled again. Because watching him endure it while practically drooling wasn’t a bad sight. Nor was the way those black pupils, burning with desire, glared at him. Imagining being thrown down and skewered right this instant, he gently pressed the silver pen nib to the tip of his tongue to taste the ink. Less fishy than semen, more bitter.

Without delaying further, he was just about to sign the mass wedding application Laura had requested.

“Hey, you. Are you going out tomorrow by any chance?”

“Even if you beat me to death, I’ll be glued to the estate.”

I’m going to fuck your cunt hole all day long.

As Rochshan asked in passing, Kyle also mimicked the Count and answered by mouthing the words. At that, the eyes of the beauty scribbling his signature narrowed seductively. He liked the answer.

“Oh my. Unfortunately, he says he is, Laura.”

Thus, there was only one signed application form.

He tossed the remaining one into the baking oven. Immediately, the acrid smell of cheap cotton burning filled the air.

“Here you go. The application.”

“…!”

“Have fun tomorrow.”

And if you have any more requests, tell me anytime.

A savage space where the flesh of beasts was stripped and bones were deboned. Returning the widowed application, Rochshan completely drove out the maiden who stepped backward.

Fuck, you insignificant thing who doesn’t even know her place.

How dare you covet my cock.

In my own estate.

Did she notice the flip side of that bright smile? Laura Smith’s face instantly turned pale, and without even saying goodbye, she crumpled the application in her hand and sprinted away. The sound of her heels echoing off the walls gradually faded. Immediately, Rochshan let out a low moan at the body heat wrapping around the back of his neck. Crushed by the heavy body, he felt like he was going to melt into a puddle. The pungent smell of blood stung his nose.

The door locked.

The master of the estate was promptly flipped around and slammed down onto the prep counter—clatter. In a single breath, his tight pants were stripped off, and his firm buttocks were split wide open. His plump, ripe asshole, looking just like cunt lips, was twitching with anticipation between the valley.

“Driving a person crazy the second you get back…”

Kyle, letting out a sound through clenched teeth that sounded like a boiling point, urgently drove into the inviting hole.

It had been exactly thirteen days since they last had sex. The two men, overlapping chest to back, shuddered as if it were their first time. Slop, smack… Soon, the sound of thick, chewy thrusts echoed magnificently.

“Ah, ah, aah, ngh, hah…!”

Clear saliva dribbled from the corners of Rochshan’s mouth as he moaned, being pounded into. Kyle caught the honey with his tongue. Naturally, their sweet-tasting tongues stuck together like dripping sealing wax. The kiss was as long as lovers’. The adulterous men, reuniting after a long time, finished three rounds of fucking right then and there.

“Food! Where did the food go?!”

Eventually, the Head Chef, who had been commanding the banquet hall, couldn’t bear the wait and dragged his heavy body down to the kitchen. He couldn’t help but be shocked out of his wits, enough for his tall hat to tumble off. The kitchen was a disaster zone. A cutting board with a knife stuck in it lay overturned on the floor, and all sorts of mashed vegetables and crushed fruits were splattered everywhere like a murder scene.

“T-thief. A thief! I don’t know what they stole, but…!”

The fussing voice of the old veteran also soon faded away. Your vocal cords are, ngh, great too. Rochshan, already moved to the food pantry and getting fucked, thought to himself.

“Ahh…!”

“Don’t think about anything else.”

Then his nipple was bitten hard. Kyle, incongruously drenched in sweat in the cool space, frowned. Like a beast with itchy teeth, he lowered his head and bit and pulled on his master’s lower lip.

“Because it makes me lonely.”

Hah. Acting weak only when it suits him.

Smooth bastard. He was annoying, yet it softened his heart. How did I end up getting attached to a thing like this, I… ugh. Damn it… His eyes stung. To hide his tears of sorrow, Rochshan hugged Kyle fiercely. Since I was bitten, I’ll bite back. He sank his teeth into the bastard’s solid neck. The moment he chewed down hard, Kyle’s cock, buried in his intestines, swelled massively. Even that felt good.

He was ravaged like that until past midnight.

You need to eat, Rochshan. You said you were going to check if I shot my cum or not. Taste it. It’s thick, right? I didn’t use it anywhere else and kept it stored chastely just for you.

Because Kyle stubbornly forced his cock into his mouth, Rochshan’s stomach felt bloated from swallowing so much semen. Every time he deliberately thrust at the wrong angle, the outline of the cock would distinctively bulge out on Rochshan’s lower abdomen and then sink back in.

“Fuck, hic, it’s too big…”

“It has to be big to fuck all the way into your womb.”

Smooch. The dragon, kissing the trembling lips pooled with tears, forcefully thrust his glans inside. Thwack, it lodged into the immature entrance. Startled, Rochshan’s waist lifted off the floor, and their damp bellies pressed together. They looked like creatures with fused gills breathing as one. Twisting his pelvis, unable to endure it, Rochshan whimpered.

“Because you keep spouting that bizarre nonsense, damn it, it really feels like I’m being stabbed somewhere weird, ah.”

Of course it did, since a womb had only just opened.

The newly formed nest inside Rochshan’s stomach—finally sculpted through Dragon Speech and Dragon Semen—was extremely soft. It was in a state more fragile than a damp, wet eggshell. Therefore, he had to diligently excavate to widen the uterine walls and temper the cervix door with the head of his cock to lock it tightly.

A precious house that would bear many young in the future. He had pounded into this hole and turned the inner walls inside out for three whole years hoping for this moment. Resting his forehead against Rochshan’s damp forehead, Kyle savored the thrill of the fragile womb for a long time. The glans, having passed through a total of three gateways, clenched down damply and softly, making the blood-engorged base of his penis ache. His testicles, too, swelled so taut they felt like they would touch the floor. Seeing the lean muscles of Rochshan’s buttocks and thighs contract sharply, he knew he was holding back a violent ejaculation.

The blood vessels, pushed to their limit, began to boil once again. Kyle slowly exhaled a hot breath against his mate’s eyelid.

“I’ll make this place an erogenous zone for you, too.”

So give me your confession.

“Come to think of it, five seems too few. I want you to birth more than that bastard. Around ten?”

“You crazy bastard. Even a woman would prolapse if she gave birth to that many!”

“Then seven.”

“Why are you counting people in heads of cattle like… augh.”

Hurry up and bear a belly full of my eggs and show me your bulging navel. I want to lick your pregnancy line.

Before he completely lost his mind.

He blocked the lips that were about to yell at him for his pregnancy line nonsense with his own lips. At the tangling tongue, the back of his head exploded like fireworks. I am crazy in love with every single one of your holes. The dragon, trapping his panting nest between his arms, growled. From your lips to your womb, everything is so impossibly lovely. Interlocking their fingers and ravaging him from below, he asked.

“You. Do you like me?”

“…What a garbage way of speaking. Wake up from your dream, while I’m still asking nicely.”

And so, Kyle Blackburn became sullen once again today.