Chapter 6

Laura Smith.

She stood blankly before the Count’s bedroom doors. The tray she carried was laden with a hearty breakfast: honey and milk, coffee mixed with condensed milk, freshly baked bread with whipped cream, and vibrant seasonal fruits. It was an entirely ordinary meal for the Count. The only striking oddities were the faint ripples trembling across the surface of the milk and the clattering waltz of the knife and fork. The maid’s hands, gripping the tray, were shaking violently.

I must never let him know I saw it.

If I do…

Laura Smith shook her head with all her might, desperately trying to shake off the gruesome decapitation she had accidentally witnessed on her way to milk the cows. Why had she decided to feign ignorance instead of reporting the thrill-killer? Logic had no place here. Forcing a bright, polite tone, she announced her presence. Knock, knock.

“Good morning. I have brought a light meal.”

“Huu… bring it in.”

“Yes.”

The moment she opened the door, the pungent stench of all sorts of fluids pooled in the room pierced her nose. Expectedly, the Count’s personal butler was stark naked, busy engaging in utterly obscene acts. It was a completely natural, everyday occurrence—something scarcely worth remembering.

Ah, the Count and the slave are fucking.

He’s sucking the Count’s rear right there.

The Count felt it so deeply he wet himself.

These sheets are completely ruined with bodily fluids and semen; we’ll have to burn them. Ah, the Count is wailing so loudly I’ll lose sleep. I should order high-quality earplugs for the staff.

This was how the minds of the manor’s servants, ensnared by Dragon Speech, typically warped. The red-haired Laura was no exception. Stepping into the dragon’s domain, her pupils glazed over completely.

Dear God. To think I dared attempt to tear these two apart…

This was merely a lingering remnant of her desires acting up subconsciously. No matter how much she regretted it in this moment, the second she stepped out the door, she was bound to repeat the exact same actions like a broken record. Regardless, for now, she could hardly bear the shame of her own presumptuous ambitions. Setting the tray down on the bedside table, Laura hastily backed away and stood in polite attendance.

“Raise your head.”

“Yes.”

The command struck her brain directly. The low baritone, carrying a damp, insidious breath, sent a chill down the nape of her neck. As the maid raised her head without delay, a scene of raw, primal intercourse unfolded right before her eyes.

Squelch, thrust, slurp, suck, smack.

Atop the high bed, one of the Count’s pale thighs—strangers to the sun—was hoisted high into the air. Aside from their elasticity, the Count’s crotch was plump with flesh, and Kyle Blackburn’s pitch-black cock, pressed tightly against him, was busy relentlessly splitting the plump cheeks of his buttocks.

Smack, squish, slop, slurp.

Balls as massively swollen as the extraordinary organ they belonged to sloshed between the young Count’s legs. The sole of the Count’s other foot rested against the servant’s ankle bone. So their height difference is that distinct. Just as the maid Laura was staring blankly, the calf muscles of Kyle, who was fucking ostentatiously, cramped tight.

“Huuk…”

She could tell he was orgasming due to the messy juncture where they were interlocked. Through the Count’s flesh, reddened from friction, a milky-white ejaculate—more fittingly called broth—seeped out. Soon after, the slippery cock, thoroughly drenched in somewhat watery semen, popped out with a thwack, withdrawing entirely. The surface of the organ was bumpy once again.

The wet noise of fresh semen clumping and dropping stickily onto the half-dried semen on the sheets was exceptionally vivid. Caught up in the heat of their lust, Laura’s own body temperature flared. Cold sweat beaded on the temples of the maid who had suddenly been forced into voyeurism.

“I must feed my wife first.”

Even if the world were to end today, my mate must not go hungry.

Kyle twisted and squeezed his cock. He then pushed the extra gathered semen deep inside the resting Rochshan’s anal opening. It seemed he intended to feed him cock-broth instead of milk and bread.

As if he were the most affectionate man in the world, only after spreading his milky fluids evenly across his mate’s engorged intestinal walls with careful touches did the man’s gaze tear away from those clear cheeks.

“Why are you frozen like that.”

Following his words, a long arm reached out past the silk bed hangings.

He grabbed an apple and devoured it in a few bites. It was then. A drop of blood fell onto the thigh of the man sitting on the edge of the bed. It was a nosebleed.

“You look incredibly guilty. Did you do something to the food?”

“……!”

Wiping the nosebleed away with his forearm as if it were nothing, Kyle Blackburn reprimanded the unnaturally rigid maid. Laura Smith, whose heart had already been on the verge of exploding, turned stark white. Just as her guilty conscience flared and she was about to drop flat on her face to beg for a quick death.

“I’m joking.”

With a scoffing smirk, the massive man finished off the rest of the apple. However, her brief moment of relief ended immediately. The second he snapped his fingers together like striking flint, Laura choked and thrashed in the air.

“Urgh, keok…!”

“In truth, the sin you should be begging for is something else entirely.”

The black gaze staring askance at the maid, elbow resting on one folded leg, was frigid. Kyle Blackburn flicked his index finger upward. Simultaneously, the rounded toes of Laura’s shoes lifted completely off the floor, rendering her asphyxiated struggles even more violent.

“A few days ago. You babbled useless nonsense to Rochshan.”

The gaze directed at the woman agonizing over oxygen deprivation was colder than inorganic metal. His reprimanding baritone dripped with mounting irritation.

“Who do you think you are, daring to challenge my nest.”

“F-Forgive… hic.”

“I told you to act freely as you pleased, not to upset my mate.”

While Kyle himself had largely authored the script for this grand play, it was Philip who had advised casting the red-haired maid—who had appeared out of nowhere a few years ago—as an additional actress.

‘A banquet dish always requires an unexpected seasoning.’

He had added an analogy perfectly suited for a man obsessed with sweets.

‘Like sprinkling salt on a dessert, for instance.’

Quite a plausible persuasion had followed.

‘How else can you make Rochshan burn with desperate anxiety? Your threats of marriage aren’t enough. To make it feel real, you need a genuine third party. A woman. It might be childish, but it works wonders, I tell you.’

What a bother.

Initially, he absolutely loathed this bitch. Seeing her snoop around the entire manor to collect all sorts of rumors and discord for her own amusement was intensely irritating.

He had been on the verge of exposing her foul-smelling secret to kill her, right when he cast Secret-Eating upon her. Unexpectedly, Kyle Blackburn discovered a surprising use for her.

He had been pondering how to direct the roughly drafted stage. Laura Smith, as it turned out, was perfect to use as a joint to tie the isolated sinners together. Thus, she, who became the final addition to Blackburn’s troupe, was a woman whose massive ambition fueled her soul.

Laura Smith, who had a history of laundering her name and identity, was intensely captivated by Kyle Blackburn’s authority even while finding him repulsive. Knowing one’s place and giving up one’s desires were two entirely different realms.

Loving silk stockings, deep down she desired the seat beside the omnipotent dragon. Therefore, the moment she stepped out of her room, without needing any encouragement, she voluntarily began throwing herself at the deputy butler Kyle Blackburn. Fully deluded into thinking she truly loved him.

The problem was that her obsession had recently become unnecessarily blatant.

Thanks to this, Rochshan’s mood had soured, and his childhood habit of biting his fingertips when anxious had relapsed to the point where his beautiful, mother-of-pearl fingernails were ruined. Kyle was also sick and tired of the unjust interrogations asking if he planned to have a child with another bitch. Fuck. Blue veins bulged fiercely on the infuriated Kyle’s forehead.

An actor who ruins the stage with overacting requires discipline.

“Kkyaak!”

Snap. The moment Kyle Blackburn snapped his fingers again, the maid Laura stumbled forward through the air, dancing on the tips of her toes until she reached the bed.

“Look closely.”

The glaring beast grabbed the chin of his master, who was sleeping on his side. Despite the dry patches blooming at the corners of his lips from the exhausting chain of intercourse, Rochshan Owin remained devastatingly beautiful.

“You said you liked handsome men.”

“Ack…”

“We’re of the same breed then. I’m a sucker for a pretty face, too.”

Smooch. Bending down to kiss Rochshan’s temple, Kyle glared at the gasping maid.

Do you truly believe a face like yours can compare to the beauty of this Count? The mocking implication was undeniable. The face of the suspended virgin instantly flushed red.

There was no need to spell it out. Count Owin, mocked as a celibate bachelor prouder than a pyramid, was a beauty among beauties, renowned even in the capital.

His brilliant blond hair like spun honey, his famously celebrated jewel-eyes, the graceful ridge of his nape, and a skin texture so pristine it glowed without a speck of powder. If one hadn’t been captivated by the sight of him laughing cheerfully even once, they would surely fall to hell for their lying tongue.

“Not only that, but I also look at the body.”

“……!”

“I’m incredibly picky about sexual compatibility, too.”

It was blatantly obvious that his standards were abnormal.

“This nipple, how is it? Isn’t it beautifully ripe?”

The black-haired servant, who had licked away the Count’s half-dried tear stains like a dog, gathered the Count’s bare chest and displayed it ostentatiously. Protruding through the webbing of his fingers were a pair of nipples, darker than fully ripened grapes and seemingly ready to burst. A wet sheen glistened on the bumpy areolas, which had run dry of milk for a while.

The maid, who couldn’t speak due to the chokehold, suddenly collapsed near the bed as if her strings had been cut. Coughing violently, Laura barely managed to force out an answer after a long while.

“Th-They are far too large.”

“Compared to the women in the dens you used to roll around in?”

“The flowers of the street do not give up their breasts easily. The more obvious it is they’ve been handled, the less appealing they become… Yes, no one possessed breasts that so clearly screamed they were monopolized by one person like the Count’s nipples.”

“I can’t understand it. The bigger they are, the better they taste.”

The man, who possessed a bizarre aesthetic sense yet condemned ordinary tastes, lunged at the core of the Count’s nipple. Suck, smooch… smack. The sound of heavy salivation followed. Laura saw it clearly. Kyle’s bright red tongue wrapped around the plump nipple-berry, his lips puckering as he sucked so hard the areola stretched severely. A pitiful moan leaked from the sleeping man, and a drop of milky-white fluid gathered at the corner of his mouth as his Adam’s apple bobbed. Goosebumps erupted down Laura’s forearms. It was an instinctive revulsion.

“It’s most arousing when they bulge right through a shirt, boldly standing out. It exceptionally satisfies the desire for conquest, you could say.”

“Y-Yes, I see…”

The dazed Laura Smith absentmindedly agreed.

In her promiscuous past, she had frequently seen not only prostitutes but male escorts as well, yet absolutely no one had nipples like these.

Weren’t nipples on men merely vestigial organs that stopped developing? Because of this, she could deduce just how brutally the Count’s chest had been fondled. Their abnormal obsession and twisted affection felt all the more real.

How much must he have nursed and sucked him for them to become like this?

Psychopaths.

Crazy bastards.

Unbearable curses circled her throat, but Laura Smith somehow managed to force a contorted smile. Sweet-talk spilled automatically from her lips.

“I can truly feel your profound love, sir.”

“Hah. You flatter well. I should learn a thing or two.”

Pleased by the obvious empty words, the black dragon chuckled.

Soon after, Kyle’s massive hand slid down to the lower belly of the whining, sleep-drunk Count. He pressed firmly just beneath the plush, fleshy navel. A considerable amount of worry colored his black gaze.

“I’m worried sick. If he’s to bear my child, he needs to awaken and shed his skin first.”

“A child, sir?”

“Why. Did you think you were the only one who could give me one?”

She felt as though those pitch-black pupils had stabbed right through her.

Maintaining her smile became impossible. Cold sweat rolled down the back of Laura Smith, who had been struck right on the mark. At that, Kyle, wearing a thick sneer, lightly swept through the Count’s golden pubic hair.

“Even this part sparkles, it drives me insane.”

Gripping Rochshan’s shriveled, drooping little penis, the servant let out a sticky breath.

“Have you ever seen something this small?”

“N-No, sir.”

It was the truth. Laura had decidedly never seen such a pathetic organ before. It made her wonder if only his lower half had stopped growing despite his height and build.

“Right? He’s so cute I could die.”

Kyle Blackburn, thoroughly satisfied with his own solitary standard of beauty, buried his face even deeper. The back of his black-haired head completely covered the Count’s crotch. Squelch, slurp, suck, smack, slop. The sound of sucking something slightly larger than a nipple battered the maid’s eardrums.

“Let me, hic, sleep, pleeease…”

It was at that moment.

The beautiful Count, waking fitfully in a daze, weakly grabbed the black head of the slave clinging to his groin like a leech. His tossing pelvis trembled violently. Regardless of his heavy drowsiness, his body seemed to heat up on its own.

“Nothing else, huu, is coming out…”

“Keep trying. Slurp, you never know, something might come out.”

Even with his eyes half-open, Count Rochshan Owin entirely failed to notice Laura Smith’s presence. This, too, was the dragon bastard’s trickery.

“Ahng, aheu, aht.”

The Count sobbed like a thin thread of silk. Naturally, his thighs, spread wide like an amphibian’s, spasmed intermittently. Above, his nipple-berries also hardened and erected. Not much time passed. Watery noises mixed into the biting sucks of the slave, who was clamping the Count’s knees down with both hands and sucking fiercely. True to his assurance, it seemed something had indeed secreted from the Count’s insignificant penis.

“Eung…!”

With his waist floating in the air and twitching, he dropped heavily with a thud, and it was over. The Count was even a premature ejaculator.

“See. You can cum more.”

Swallowing a mouthful of Rochshan’s ejaculate—which had turned thin like sugar water due to the pregnancy’s influence—Kyle finally spat out the cock that was as small as a baby sweetfish. Using the pointed tip of his tongue, he dug into the wrinkled foreskin, sucking up every last drop of the residual sweet nectar. To that dragon, every inch of the Count’s body was undoubtedly a banquet overflowing with juices.

The sexual arousal transferred.

Between the thighs of the non-human caressing the body of his nest—who was lost in a daze, immersed in the afterglow of a light orgasm—a cock akin to a lethal weapon sprang up rock-hard. As the volume of the shaft visibly thickened, the foreskin at the tip peeled back purely from the core’s strength, revealing a cock-head so scorching hot it seemed to steam. To speak plainly, the reddish glans was the size of a fist, and its rim was extremely distinct and thick.

No wonder the Count’s anus stretches so severely every time he pulls it out.

Seeing Kyle’s hideous object—dark-reddish and massive enough to belong on a giant’s body—up close once again, the maid’s complexion rapidly deteriorated.

It was a lethal weapon similar in length to a petite adult’s forearm, and even thicker.

Taking something like that inside your body would tear you apart. Laura firmly bit her gums and shuddered in disgust. It was a lower body she would never want to receive, even as a paying customer.

“You could never get this wet, of course.”

At that moment, the man’s voice, laced with languid breaths, reached her. His boasting about his nest had only just begun.

Kyle Blackburn lightly kneaded the testicles dangling like bells between the Count’s defenselessly spread legs. In an instant, he split the plush cheeks of the buttocks with both hands.

Immediately, the raw, unclosed anus, cooked to a bright red, was exposed in its entirety. The mucosa at the entrance, its wrinkles severely swollen, was gaping vertically. Like a woman’s lower half spread open right after sex, the inner flesh could be glimpsed. Into that obscenely gaping hole, four fingers plunged deep with a thwack in a single breath.

“Ah, haa.”

Every time Kyle expertly scissored the Count’s hole, the wet noises amplified.

“G-Good.”

“Me?”

“Stop talking nonsense, just thrust into my hole more… hic.”

The half-asleep Count blindly grabbed and pulled the servant’s bangs. The finger-banging of the pouting slave accelerated. As he did, the Count’s hole grew slick and wet, as if oiled. Soon, stains resembling urine marks began to dot the bedsheets beneath his buttocks.

It was an unbelievable volume of fluid to be secreted from a man’s ass.

Leaning the back of his head against his servant’s chest, the Count’s big toes, eyes squeezed shut, trembled mercilessly. He had reached a light climax. Only then did the insolent fingers probing the Count’s anus peel away from the clinging mucosa and slip out.

The inner passage, where semen and slick juices were tangled like spiderwebs, was clearly visible. Clumps of semen gathered here and there on the circular red flesh looked like chunks of cheese, turning her stomach.

“Unlike you, my nest wants to take me in at any moment, so he secretes a ton of love-juice like this.”

The boasting continued, falling on deaf ears as the very subject of the dragon’s pride couldn’t hear a word.

“He’s maddeningly pretty, he’s a total slut, and he drips water everywhere.”

Kyle Blackburn’s voice sank even deeper.

“Plus, look at how densely packed his wrinkles are. It’s impossible not to fall for him.”

Rochshan Owin was truly born with bewitching, obscene blood in his veins.

It was his maternal lineage.

This unfortunate, innocent blond Count had perfectly inherited the vulgar, brazen nature of the desert tribes, who parasitized authority figures regardless of gender.

Endowed with a natural talent for seduction and an eye for recognizing a conqueror to cling to at first glance, it was perhaps inevitable that the boy Rochshan had taken a liking to the shackled Kyle Blackburn. For Kyle, it was earth-shattering luck. A nest who was sparkling and beautiful from head to toe, and who couldn’t live without sex and masturbation.

“If it weren’t for that fucking bitch, we would have mated much sooner.”

If Philip Bright-Ash was the most damned bastard to Kyle Blackburn, the most damned bitch was undoubtedly Margaret Owin. Not only had she ruthlessly abused his precious nest, but she was the very instigator who had brainwashed her hated nephew with a disgust for sodomy.

If Rochshan hadn’t been plagued by this entirely useless restriction, Kyle wouldn’t have had to hide in a closet and masturbate.

Perhaps it was a compensation mechanism.

Kyle, who had been kneading Rochshan’s buttocks, couldn’t hold back any longer. Following his master, who had collapsed sideways in his sleep, he too lay down lengthwise. The spike-like cock slowly slithered between the Count’s cheeks, and before long, the groins of the two men were fully flush against each other.

On the soft, goose-down-filled sheets, two pairs of calves tangled together.

Only the lower halves of the two men faced frontward, instep stacked upon instep. The unspeakably hideous log-cock split the mate’s anal opening, generating loud squelching sounds. The maid, who had suddenly scored the best seat in the house to watch the intercourse of two handsome men, grew increasingly pallid. She looked ready to hurl.

“Why that expression?”

“Because the noble lord’s organ is excessively… large, sir.”

“And what of it?”

“I feel pity for the Count who has to take it all in…”

“Hah, you know nothing.”

Of course, no ordinary human could possibly handle Kyle Blackburn’s organ. Was it not of a length and girth that would induce dislocation, hernia, and incontinence within a single night? But his mate was anything but ordinary.

It had to be this size to properly rub and thrust against all of Rochshan’s erogenous zones. Reaching past the colon to thoroughly batter the womb was impossible without a truly massive cock.

How many times had he abused Dragon Speech just to become the perfect mate for this one?

It was a continuous string of grueling nights.

To possess a cock far more imposing than Rochshan’s dildos, Kyle had locked himself in his attic quarters every night, kneading his own dick. Under the guise of practicing sex, he had crushed a coarse hemp pillow and fucked it so hard his cock-head was rubbed raw. That said it all.

Through such agonizing effort, Kyle’s organ shed its skin little by little, growing almost daily. The pain of his skin tissue tearing and stretching at a terrifying speed was truly comparable to the agony of a severe burn.

Thus, Kyle Blackburn had genuinely tried his hardest. To become Rochshan’s man.

The observation that his organ was nauseatingly huge was essentially a compliment to his hard work. Embracing Rochshan once more, Kyle glared at Laura Smith. His metallic voice pierced straight into that laughable red head.

Look closely. See if someone like you could ever handle me.

Soon, Count Owin’s thigh was hoisted even higher, hooking over Kyle’s hip bone.

With their waists subtly twisted into a mating posture, the dragon-man’s genitalia sunk into the taut lips of the hole, burying itself completely to the root like a mudfish burrowing into silt. Immediately, the dark, bruised-looking testicles slapped against the base of the hole like heavy ornaments. Deep thrusting commenced instantly.

“Ah, huk, a-uk…”

At that moment, Count Owin—who had prioritized sleep over dense rectal insertion sex—woke up.

Beneath his delicately trembling eyelashes, brilliant pupils were revealed. Still hazy, his eyes failed to recognize the horrified red-haired maid.

“Mmm, eung, eung.”

The bridge of the Count’s sharp nose quickly flushed red.

Rochshan, with a rosy tint spreading all the way to his cheekbones, quickly grabbed his upper belly above the navel. The slave lying beneath him like a shadow had invaded all the way up there. However, the unpleasant sensation of foreignness faded in an instant.

Panting, the Count reached behind him and clawed at his servant’s black hair. He made an overwhelmed expression at the sensation of the cock gouging and crossing the narrow curves of his colon like a threaded screw. Breathing in sharply, his underarms grew plump. His sparse, fully exposed body hair sparkled golden, devoid of shame.

“Hut, Master. Does it feel, good?”

“It feels good. Ah, so good. Thrust deeper, just like usual…!”

“Like this?”

The shadow lurking behind him instantly seized the Count’s pelvis and began to violently buck his hips.

“Ack…!”

A startled moan tumbled out immediately.

At the same time, the Count’s underdeveloped penis shuddered, and his lower half went rigid. It was the prelude to an orgasm. The insidious shadow didn’t stop, continuously bouncing the embraced body upward. Blue veins bulged fiercely on the instep supporting his weight.

Smack, smack. Every time the plump buttocks vibrated, the desperate, ragged breaths of the two men tangled in off-beats. The stimulation of battering the rather firmly shut cervix was intense for both of them.

“Right there is good, eung!”

With his deeply ripened nipples standing erect, the Count’s voice pitched high like a bird’s.

It was the boundary of early morning, honest in its pleasure without a hint of coyness. The lower belly of the handsome man, who had voluntarily spread his crotch wide like a frog, caved in frequently.

Beneath his pathetic penis, his perineum—stuffed full of cock—swelled heavily. His unrealistically gaped anus twitched, desperately trying to lick the root that was plastered thickly with slick juices. Soon, a smooth hand that knew no hardship groped around down there before grabbing the massive balls that jingled like fan accessories.

“Haeuum…”

And then, didn’t he knead them to his heart’s content, licking the foul-smelling bodily fluids coating his palm as if they were delicious? It was unimaginably bewitching and vulgar. Dumbfounded by this spectacle, Kyle’s contorted face looked one second away from utter madness.

“Rochshan, fuck, you really are… acting like the most noble creature in the world, and then.”

“What? Ah, right there is good, hit, hit harder. Harder…!”

Whose solemn command was this?

Kyle, binding Rochshan’s upper body, diligently carried out the order. The bumpy, pitch-black organ slid in and out of the hole, splashing slick fluids everywhere. The speeding scrotum battered the perineum until it was numb. The juncture, where the friction was so fierce one might fear it catching fire, instead suffered a flood. The lubricating water poured endlessly, soaking the front and back of the thighs of the men engrossed in sex.

Trapping Rochshan’s completely sideways-tilted upper body between his forearms in a sliding motion, the servant raised his own body in reverse. It became a riding position once again.

Like riding a well-tamed horse, the muscles of Kyle’s waist, buttocks, and back of his thighs drew rugged ridges. It was while he was grinding his hips, plunging his cock-head deep into the hidden valley of the womb as if scrawling his name. The deputy butler and the maid locked eyes.

Can you take me like this?

The cynical, questioning gaze piercing through his sweat-drenched, parted hair was so dark it was horrifying. Caught in a silent bind, Laura Smith couldn’t endure the whip-like glare and gripped her hands tightly together with all her might. Choking, a wheezing sound barely squeezed through her esophagus.

“Auk… if you do it like that…!”

“Why. You also like it when I gouge the area close to the opening, don’t you, sir.”

Rochshan’s voice, which had been smoothly submerged in ecstasy, suddenly turned shrill.

It was because the copulating Kyle bastard had abruptly varied his thrusts. Kyle quickly bared his teeth, biting down on Rochshan’s wing-bone as if to pin him. It was to prevent his half-prostrate master from turning around to protest. Slowly licking a freckle-like pale mole on the skin, the servant, restraining the Count with interlaced fingers, twisted his lips and smirked.

“Then the stimulation is, hit, too strong, I feel like I’m going to cum right away… you damn bastard…!”

“Then you can just cum again.”

He could swim in that tearful voice.

Yanking the escaping waist back, Kyle abruptly grabbed Rochshan’s crotch. Gently shaking and firmly rubbing the bump—which was more of a stunted nub than a cock, trembling as if holding back urine—instantly intensified the sobbing.

“Fuck, you already made me cum all over your mouth. Oh, huk, even my piss, everything. You son of a bitch, are you planning to turn me into a mummy?”

Direct stimulation to his genitals must have been too much. Ultimately, a kick flew backward. The Count, knocking the servant over with the sole of his foot, staggered and climbed atop the long body. His buttocks, glistening as if oiled, split apart, clearly exposing the gaping, unclosed anus.

That was a reproductive organ, not an excretory one.

The lips of the rear-pussy, smeared with fresh and stale semen-drool, twitched.

Completely unaware he was displaying his sex-drenched, intimate hole, the Count grabbed Kyle’s cheeks with both hands. Mwah, smooch. He kissed the thin lips he had pursed like a bird’s beak. It was an offensive of affection pouring out from sheer inability to hold back. Instantly, Kyle Blackburn made a melting expression. It was hard to believe this was the reaction of a reptile that considered most humans as nothing more than high-grade livestock.

Could you cherish me like this?

Seizing the moment’s opening, Kyle’s ecstasy-filled pupils glared askance at the panting, breathless Laura Smith. It was a glaringly ostentatious look.

Do you think you can mimic these sweet moans with your petty acting?

It was an impossible demand.

The maid’s fabricated unrequited love outside the door had been exposed long ago.

With her limbs bound and even her gaze forced, the red-haired Laura barely gasped in just enough air to avoid suffocation. Cold to her fingertips with humiliation and shame, her entire body crumpled like a piece of paper under a sense of defeat she—born with renowned looks—had never experienced before.

Yet simultaneously, it was incredibly unjust.

How could anyone truly love a horrific monster like him? It was akin to lusting after a reptile or an insect. Just imagining it made her skin crawl. A true sentiment, separate from coveting his supreme authority, suddenly popped out.

He doesn’t even know to be grateful I was pretending to love him…!

How could anyone cherish such a grotesque, disgusting creature so much?

Thus, it was somewhat natural that she felt equally nauseated by the perfectly fine-looking Count. She found it hard to suppress her contempt for what she viewed as a sexual deviant.

In truth, Laura Smith’s revulsion was also a natural response for a citizen of Tuska. While partly due to the education in a barren country where the birthrate was paramount, forcing heterosexuality and tabooing homosexuality—above all, wasn’t she also a descendant born and raised on the land forged by the first king’s grief and screams? With only a difference in degree, she, like all successive nests, couldn’t help but instinctively abhor dragons. Just as she couldn’t forgive a nest who treated such a dragon favorably.

Goosebumps erupted from her wrists to her forearms in a revulsion that exceeded her limits of tolerance.

Therefore, the intercourse between the two men unfolding right under Laura Smith’s nose was no different from a horrific punishment. A sex entirely distinct from the homosexual relations she had seen to the point of sickness in the frenzied dens she had navigated thus far continued unhindered.

Beyond the bed hangings, things were blurry and indistinct.

However, it was clear that Count Owin hadn’t fully awakened even during this intense intercourse. With Kyle Blackburn’s organ deeply inserted, he turned his body and snuggled into his childhood slave’s embrace.

The two men tangled together like two snakes draped in white skin.

“Suck my nipples. Right now…”

Whining in his sleep, he had somehow transitioned into a reverse-riding position, straddling with his knees spread.

Shameless, Rochshan personally brought his chest to Kyle’s lips and began to rub against them. From his freckle-dusted back all the way down to his buttocks, he was covered entirely in obsessive handprints and bruises.

“Should I suck them for you?”

“Chew, bite, lick, pinch, and pull, do it all, hurryyy.”

His reason submerged, Rochshan was ruthless. He grabbed his own buttocks, spreading them wide, and rode a seesaw on top of Kyle. Sometimes he rolled his waist, mimicking Kyle’s usual movements. The grinding of his hips was surprisingly flexible. He was truly a heavenly seductress and nothing less.

“Huu…”

Thanks to Rochshan’s determined grinding, even Kyle’s moans grew thick and heavy.

“Ah, Master, keu, euk.”

The black dragon moaned freely as well. He didn’t have a status that required saving face to begin with. Hearing this, Rochshan, whose gaze was blank and unfocused, rejoiced. He was filled to the brim with the satisfaction of pinning his slave down and rendering him helpless. To match, Kyle’s face was vividly crumpled in a look of sheer ecstasy.

With Rochshan riding atop him, Kyle’s eyes swiveled sideways again. To ask Laura Smith one more time.

Can you make me tremble with joy so lewdly like this?

You want to be my bride? Instead of Rochshan? Is that even plausible?

With just a murderous glare, he shattered a woman’s ambition into tiny pieces.

The maid scratched at the velvet of the carpet rug with her barely moving fingertips, making a skritch sound. Right on cue, Kyle Blackburn violently thrust his hips upward, beginning to pound into Rochshan.

“Ah, good, ah, Kyle…!”

The juncture of their union, splashing with juices, was laid bare right before the red-haired maid’s eyes. The Count’s utterly stiffened back was convulsing intermittently. She could indirectly tell just how intense an orgasm he was experiencing.

“How good is it. I’ve already lost my mind, you see.”

“D-Dying… I feel like I wouldn’t have any regrets if I died fucking you like this, really…”

It was a sleep-drunk sentiment, but precisely because of that, it was profoundly honest.

“Am I that good? Me?”

“Heuut…!”

There was no way Kyle Blackburn would miss this opening.

“Yeah, is it good?”

The black-haired slave raised one leg and began bucking his master Count with his entire body. Both were robust men with above-average physiques. The sheer force of their intercourse was unparalleled.

“St-op… I’m, going, to cum again. Hic.”

Laura Smith had seen plenty of scenes where sodomites suffered incontinence. Depending on the position, the stimulation to the bladder could be severe. Naturally, Count Owin, harboring Kyle Blackburn’s massive organ, would be the same. Was there a single part of him not being crushed? Perhaps he had developed habitual incontinence.

At a certain point, the Count frantically grabbed his own pathetic vitals and curled up like a shrimp. Pushing against the chest of the servant he straddled, he requested to control the pace of the sex, but the man beneath him, relentlessly thrusting his hips upwards, didn’t even pretend to listen.

“What do you mean, stop. You like fucking me. You like me fucking you. Answer me, Master. Don’t you like me? Don’t you love me?”

“……!”

It was an impatient interrogation, practically a restriction.

Ultimately, opaque bodily fluids splattered through his trembling fingers. The Count, having lost his ejaculatory function, reached his climax far too easily from the pleasure of expelling what was practically urine. It was a silent zenith. The beautiful blond youth parted his lips, but having lost his words, tears streamed down the corners of his eyes.

“You, you crazy…!”

Soon after, a hand—pretty, yet distinctly masculine—savagely seized the slave’s jaw.

Glaring at the bastard with spiteful jewel-eyes, the Count mouthed a few words. The contents were inaudible, but it was undoubtedly a chilling curse, or a threat. Then, as if his strength had entirely run out, the Count’s golden head fell back limply. She could tell. He had fainted from sheer exhaustion during sex.

At that exact moment, Kyle Blackburn nimbly caught the Count’s falling body.

With this, the endlessly long intercourse finally concluded.

Something the size of a child’s forearm seemed to crawl out of the Count’s rear hole, and after a brief pause, a torrent of semen gushed out.

Laura Smith was forced to watch even Kyle Blackburn’s final clean-up.

Finally, tearing his face away from the buttocks of the Count he had laid flat, the man swept back his messy hair and sat on the edge of the bed. His knees were close enough to touch the maid’s forehead.

The stench wafting from the nearby organ dripping with milky broth was so vile it was unbearable. Laura ended up retching, vomiting up bile from her empty stomach.

It might be a mouthwatering nutrient for a nest mesmerized by him, but to a human, dragon bodily fluids were practically a poison emitting a nauseating stench worse than sulfur’s rotten eggs. How could she not feel a physiological rejection? Laura, coming to her senses after violently throwing up, turned stark blue. Hastily wiping her mouth, she slammed her forehead down at Blackburn’s feet.

“F-Forgive… p-please spare me. I have committed a grave discourtesy…!”

Kyle appeared deeply lost in thought.

“What do you think is his reason for holding out this far?”

“Excuse me…?”

“Does the world end if he says he likes me.”

Laura Smith barely managed to feel relieved. Thank the heavens, Kyle Blackburn was not contemplating taking her life. No, from the start, a maid’s weak stomach had zero impact on him. She was just an annoying gnat, a bug that would be forgotten in an instant, nothing more and nothing less. However, as the questioned gnat, she had to answer to the best of her ability.

“If I may dare offer my opinion, the Count was highly concerned for you, sir. He holds you in his h-heart, but there must be a valid reason why he refuses to answer.”

“So it’s for my sake.”

Just moments ago, Kyle Blackburn had clearly read Rochshan Owin’s lips.

‘Do not listen to this poisoned heart. If you don’t want to die too.’

It didn’t seem like a simple metaphor.

“Meaning he doesn’t want to kill me…”

The conversation, essentially a monologue, cut off there. Kyle Blackburn clenched one hand into a fist and opened it. He could distinctly feel his senses in his hands and feet growing dull.

“Heo-euk…”

Because of the dragon’s aura that leaked out uncontrolled from that simple motion, Laura Smith alone ended up suffering innocent agony. A crushing pressure that felt as if her spine would snap at any moment. A scorching sensation as if her skin were melting and her blood oxidizing. Ah, the gardener at dawn died like this. She couldn’t help but intuit it. The red-haired maid’s lips trembled violently.

“S-Spare me.”

At that moment, Kyle Blackburn was wiping away yet another nosebleed with the bedsheets.

“Ah, spare you? You must know you’ve done something wrong.”

“I know, yes…!”

“What did you do wrong.”

“H-How dare I try to use you.”

“What was that? I can’t hear you well.”

It wasn’t an empty remark. Kyle Blackburn’s blood was boiling. Because of it, human voices sounded faint, as if he were going deaf.

“I coveted the seat of your bride…!”

Thanks to this, the maid had to squeeze her core to continue her confession loudly.

“I-I am a wanted criminal…”

Laura Smith. There was a time when she was known as Lily the black-haired.

Living recklessly, she wanted to forge her own destiny. Thus, wearing a ballroom mask every night, she radiated her charms to the fullest, taking countless men as prisoners. Money and jewels overflowed, and she couldn’t contain her bloated ego.

When she finally came to her senses one day, she was lying on the chest of an elderly noble, one of the most prominent in the city. It was at that moment. The curtains of the stage dressing room were ripped open, and sharp nails clawed her cheeks. It was the retribution of the wife of the noble she rode—a foreign royal lady far higher in status than he was.

She luckily managed to flee, but from that day on, Lily became a wanted criminal with a guaranteed death penalty. The charge was grand theft. It was deeply unfair, but she had to swallow the false accusation of stealing a royal heirloom. Because her sin of extorting a married man, having fallen for the absurd lure of rising in status with promises of divorce and remarriage, was undeniable.

I heard she whipped several unconnected maids to death.

To escape the wrath of the Madam—whose rumors were vicious to begin with—the virgin quickly reverted to the red-haired Laura Smith and hurried back to her hometown. The only past she couldn’t completely abandon was her silk stockings. Thus, she crawled into the Owin Count’s household, where her father Giggs Smith had worked his entire life, and got re-employed.

Up to this point, it was a story Kyle Blackburn was also well aware of.

Naturally. This very past was the filthy secret Kyle had sniffed out.

“That old vixen’s reach has extended even here. I found out by chance when I went to town. She actually dispatched bounty hunters all the way to the capital to find me. How she found out I’m from here, I don’t know…”

The back of Laura’s tightly clasped hands shook like an aspen.

“You are a great d-dragon. If I became your bride, I would wield absolute, unbridled power. Even the King wouldn’t be able to touch you, so what does that old bitch matter, glaring with bloodshot eyes trying to kill me?”

Her rambling confession continued.

“I thought I could have her arrested for lèse-majesté for daring to harbor thoughts of harming me, and thoroughly insult and punish her. I thought it would be so satisfying to have her flogged, dressed in sackcloth, put in a dog collar, and paraded through the marketplace…!”

This wasn’t the only true motive laid bare.

“Is that all? I would be draped in the most expensive clothes and jewelry in the country. I could get endless treatments for my ruined hands and feet… Yes, I foolishly coveted the place by your side. I thought the Nest Wedding was the perfect opportunity. I planned to feign love for you while not loving you at all, parading it around town to make it a fait accompli.”

And so, the entirety of the maid’s schemes, which had thoroughly agitated the Count these past few days, were completely exposed.

“So I provoked the Count, who cherishes you. I was confident I’d win. Because the Count values his face and, despite pretending to be cold, is a kind-hearted person. I believed he wouldn’t leave me as an old spinster and would reluctantly give his permission. But unexpectedly, he was stubborn and challenged me head-on. So… so…”

She felt she had to employ even stronger measures.

“So I…”

It was at that moment.

Her body felt so light she wondered if gravity had disappeared. Laura Smith momentarily hallucinated that she was flying. Yet, she was still prostrate on the floor. Her breathing had simply become incredibly easy. It was thanks to the naked dragon sitting on the bed withdrawing his crushing pressure.

“I have no intention of stopping that, so keep doing what you were doing. You’ll serve fine as kindling.”

It was a command that carved itself astonishingly into her brain.

Kyle Blackburn looked down askance at Laura Smith. His Dragon Speech continued.

“Get out. If you have some scheme you were plotting, finish it.”

“Yes, understood.”

Disrupting stability and sparking change. Laura Smith was to be the monumental first domino.

Receiving the order to exit, Laura Smith barely managed a smile. She hastily wiped the floor she had soiled clean with her own sleeve, then backed out of the bedroom.

Click.

As the latch of the doorknob engaged, Laura Smith, standing outside the door, shook her head. Fixing her stray baby hairs, she leaned quietly against the closed door.

What was I trying to do again?

Ah, I need to go see her.

I’ve used all the secret tricks she gave me before. It’s still not enough…

It was truly a damned predicament.

She hadn’t expected it to be this difficult to snatch a single slave away from a bookish Count who lived purely on his own ego and seemed utterly incapable of winning a messy, underhanded love triangle. The Count was unexpectedly unyielding, and the deputy butler treated Laura like a rolling pebble even when she blatantly seduced him.

This wouldn’t do.

To attend the rapidly approaching Nest Wedding with Kyle Blackburn, she needed the assistance of another powerful figure.

“I just have to become his bride, no matter what.”

Then what exactly gets resolved?

Well, whatever.

There were no men left in this neighborhood who would marry her anyway. Everyone just kept quiet about it, but they all seemed to know about her filthy past. Of course, those fools didn’t meet Laura’s standards either. How could those weaklings protect her from the clutches of that old hag witch?

This was no time to dawdle. She had to meet Margaret Owin immediately.

Laura Smith hardened her resolve and walked away from the Count’s bedroom.

Contractors of the Black Dragon’s Secret-Eating Pact generally fell into two categories.

Those who could absolutely never keep the promise, and those who desperately tried to fulfill the contract’s conditions to keep their secrets hidden. Laura Smith was undeniably the latter.