Chapter 348 - Stimulating the New Slave
He kept one hand on her breast, thumb circling the stiff nipple he had just freed.
The other slid down the smooth plane of her stomach — unhurried, deliberate — like a man who has all the time in the world and intends to use every second of it.
The thin white training pants clung to her hips, damp already at the crotch from the slow, patient rubbing he had given her through the fabric while she slept.
He hooked two fingers beneath the waistband and drew them downward with deliberate laziness — inch by inch — letting the cool air kiss each strip of skin as it came free.
The pants peeled away like a second skin, sliding over the swell of her thighs, past her knees, until they pooled at her ankles.
He tossed them aside without looking, eyes already moving back up.
Her sleeping body had no idea it was being unwrapped.
It just breathed — slow, even, oblivious — while her skin prickled softly in the cool air like it was already answering to something it hadn’t been introduced to yet.
Beneath, her panties were simple white cotton — modest, unadorned — the kind a girl who trains in a dojo wears without a second thought.
A dark bloom of wetness had soaked through the center, the fabric clinging.
Raven smiled against her collarbone.
He dragged those down too — slower still — fingers trailing the path of fabric as it cleared her thighs and joined the rest on the floor.
She lay completely bare beneath him now.
Every curve and secret exposed in the amber lamplight — full, heavy breasts rising and falling with each sleeping breath, waist dipping inward before flaring wide at the hips.
And between her thighs, a thick, dark thicket of untamed hair — lush, wild, unmanicured — hiding the pink folds beneath like something that had never once been offered to anyone.
He stared at it for one long, quiet second.
Strange for a young woman her age.
Beautiful for exactly that reason.
The sight made something primal uncoil low in his gut, slow and hungry.
He was already completely naked, his upgraded cock standing thick and nine inches of rigid heat against his abdomen.
The veins ran the length of the shaft, standing out like carved cordwork, the flushed head already glistening at the tip.
Raven lowered himself over her again.
His mouth found her left breast first — lips closing around the nipple with slow, wet suction, drawing it deep, tongue rolling in long, lazy circles.
Her body answered before her mind could.
A faint, sweet trickle of milk — impossible for a virgin, impossible for a woman who had never nursed — beaded at the tip and slid warm and faintly sweet across his tongue.
Her body was preparing itself.
Sweating, blooming, ripening at a biological level that had nothing to do with consent and everything to do with what his presence was awakening in her — a breeding response, ancient and indifferent to sleep.
He sucked harder, cheeks hollowing, pulling deeply, and more milk flowed — warm, thin rivulets tracing the curve of her breast and dripping from the underside onto the sheet below.
A soft, muffled sound escaped her throat. "Mmh..."
Barely formed.
Half-dream.
Her brow furrowed the faintest amount, and her lips moved without producing anything, like a woman reaching for a word just out of reach.
He kissed upward — slow and claiming — from her breast to her collarbone, to the curve of her throat, until his mouth sealed over hers.
Her lips parted instinctively under the pressure, the sleeping body surrendering the warmth of her mouth without resistance.
He slipped his tongue inside, tasting her, owning the kiss without hurry.
His hands slid down her thighs simultaneously and spread them — wide, deliberate — knees bending outward, the thick bush of dark hair parting to reveal the glistening pink folds beneath.
Even in sleep, her body softened.
Not fought. Not flinched. Just — opened.
Raven moved like a tiger then.
Low, predatory, every muscle beneath violet-tinged skin rolling with fluid purpose as he descended between her spread thighs.
His tongue parted the dark curls first — a single slow drag, finding the slick heat beneath — before he pressed his full mouth against her pussy and began to eat.
Broad strokes. Entrance to clit. Patient. Thorough.
One large hand reached upward to grip both breasts at once, the wide span of his palm covering each heavy mound, thumbs rolling the leaking nipples in slow alternating circles as milk continued to bead and run.
"Mmmh..." — the sound from her throat was quieter than a whisper, caught behind closed lips, barely more than vibration.
She was dreaming of something warm.
Something that pressed against her from every direction and smelled like heat and night and the particular weight of a body that knew what it wanted.
His tongue plunged into her entrance — deep, deliberate — and her hips lifted faintly off the mattress without any instruction from her brain.
Her thighs trembled on either side of his head, twitching with each stroke.
He sealed his mouth over her clit and sucked.
The reaction was immediate and total — her back arched hard off the bed, spine lifting clean, her heavy breasts swinging upward and slapping back against her ribs with a soft, wet smack.
A gush of clear fluid hit his tongue — hot, sudden, her body squirting against his mouth while her mind remained completely lost.
Her thighs clamped shut around his head on reflex before falling open again, helpless.
"Mmh— ahhh..."
The muffled sounds that broke through her chest were soft and broken, dragged upward from somewhere deep and involuntary — not moans, not quite — the sounds a woman makes when her body is speaking a language her sleeping brain doesn’t have words for yet.
Something warm.
Something pressing and slick and relentless, pulling the heat out of her core in long, unwilling ribbons while she floated somewhere she couldn’t name.
He kept his mouth working, drinking her down, fingers pinching and rolling her nipples together. Milk ran freely between his knuckles.
Her body shook through the unconscious orgasm in slow, rolling tremors — not violent, not sharp — the deep, helpless kind that leaves a woman limp and leaking and entirely unprepared for what follows.
Only then did her eyelids flutter.
Lashes lifting halfway — hazy, unfocused eyes catching the amber light for one fragile second before the violet glow of his fingertips brushed her forehead.
"Numb the mind," he murmured, barely above a breath. "Let the body feel everything."
The magic sank in like warm water — flooding her thoughts, dissolving the edges of consciousness into something soft and compliant, keeping her floating exactly between sleep and waking.
His fingers returned to her pussy.
Slow, deliberate circles over her swollen, soaked clit — and above her entrance, like ink blooming in wet paper, a soft pink mark began to form.
[Slave Mark — Level Zero initiated. Owner recognition engraving in progress.]
"Kenji...?"
The name came out thick and sleepy — not quite a question, not quite a dream — her eyes fluttering again before the lids drifted shut, lashes trembling against her flushed cheeks.
Raven’s mouth curved.
He leaned in close, voice low and warm against the shell of her ear. "What are you doing, sleeping through this?"
Two thick fingers pressed against her entrance — slick with her own juices — and slid inside.
Slowly. Carefully. The virgin tightness gripping his knuckles immediately, walls fluttering with panicked clenching even while she lay passive.
Something inside her twitched.
Some part of her that was not asleep, not quite, caught the pressure and the stretch and catalogued it as foreign and overwhelming and too much and wanted more simultaneously.
He curled his fingers, stroking her inner walls in slow, exploratory arcs, feeling them mold around him — tight, untouched, impossibly soft.
His mouth returned to her breast, lips sealing around the nipple, sucking hard while milk ran freely down his chin.
"I’m claiming what’s mine."
He said it around the breast — the words warm and muffled against her skin, half swallowed by the suction.
Her lips curved.
A dazed, dreamy smile — unguarded, helpless — the expression of a woman whose sleeping mind had just heard something it recognised and didn’t know how to be afraid of yet.
"You bastard..."
The words came out slurred, barely formed, soaked through with breathy warmth. "I’ll kill you if you stop... don’t stop... my body feels... strange..."
Strange.
Like every nerve ending had been rewired overnight to point at a single source of heat she couldn’t locate or name.
He bit down on the nipple — not hard enough to wound, hard enough to shock.
"Nngh—!"