Chapter 355- Who Am I?
His palm slapped the side of her breast so hard the milk sprayed sideways and she screamed — not only pain, because her pussy clenched around him at the exact same moment and she hated herself for it with a completeness that made her vision swim.
"’Say it.’"
"...master." A whisper. Wrecked. She barely recognized her own voice in it.
The smirk she felt against her cheek was not kind. It was satisfied, the way a craftsman is satisfied when the piece finally fits.
’
1:00 AM. Two hours.
The blue shimmer pulsed. She gasped at the warmth and didn’t know why.
He turned her face-up on the mattress.
Then he climbed over her chest.
His cock settled between her breasts — thick, still flushed, unhurried — and he pressed them together with both palms, squeezing the full, leaking weight of them inward around him, and began to move.
The head emerged from between her breasts with every forward thrust, touching her chin, her lower lip — and on one deliberate, slow stroke it pressed to her mouth.
Her lips parted.
’No. I didn’t—’
But they had. On their own. Her tongue ran across the tip before the decision registered, and the sound he made — low, unrushed, self-satisfied — ran down her spine like a fingernail drawn along a wire.
PAH. PAH.
Not flesh this time — the slow, wet rhythm of it. The slick pull of milk-slicked skin.
"Hnnn~... Mmmph~..."
Her moans were softer now. That terrified her more than the loud ones had. The loud ones had sounded like fighting. These sounded like something else entirely — something she didn’t have a clean word for yet but that her body seemed to have memorized.
’
He bound her ankles to the headboard.
Upside down. Shoulders on the mattress. Hips in the air. Her entire lower body a column of flesh pointing at the ceiling, feet tied above, head hanging slightly off the far edge of the mattress.
Blood rushed to her skull. The room tilted.
PAH! PAH! PAAAH!
He fucked her pussy from below — standing between her inverted legs, driving up into her from beneath while gravity pulled her down onto him, while the hook swayed directly above her cunt like a pendulum, while her own breasts fell back into her face with every impact.
"AAANGHH~!! HIEEK~!! NNN~!!"
’It’s — from this angle — why does it reach somewhere — ’
The orgasm that broke her this time was silent. She had run out of sound. Her mouth opened and nothing came and her whole body seized in a full, wracking convulsion, her bound ankles pulling the headboard, her thighs trembling in the air, the squirt that came raining back down across her own stomach in a warm, humiliating cascade.
She stared at the ceiling upside down and thought nothing.
Her mind was a white room with the door left open.
2:00 AM. Three hours.
He set her cross-legged in his lap, facing away from him — but he hooked her legs back over the outside of his knees, spreading her thighs open completely across them, and lowered her down onto his cock from above.
Then he leaned forward. And with her weight on him, her thighs pinned wide over his knees, her arms still bound between their bodies, he began to roll his hips in a slow, grinding orbit — not pounding, but ’rotating’, working his cock in a long, lazy circle inside her that found angles with no name and no catalogue entry.
’What — ’what’ is that — ’
"Hnnn~... O-Oungh~... MMPHH~..."
Kira’s head fell back onto his shoulder. Her face was a ruin — open and completely unguarded. Nothing left to guard with.
His hand ran up her stomach and closed around her throat above the collar. Not tight. Just ’present’, the way a hand resting on a door is present.
"How many hours has it been?"
She couldn’t answer.
He reached down and pulled the clit chain.
"AAAH~!! T-three — three hours — "
"And how many times have you come?"
Her throat worked. Her face crumpled.
"I... I can’t count — "
He pulled the chain again.
"’MASTER.’" The word tore out of her — not dialogue, not decision, pure reflex, the way you shout touching fire. "Master — I can’t — my body — I don’t understand what you’ve done to me — "
"Your body understands perfectly." His lips at her temple. Voice almost gentle. "It’s just ’you’ who hasn’t caught up."
’
2:31 AM.
He set her on his cock facing away — but he reclined back on his elbows and went still. Just waited. Let her sit, stuffed full, his cock deep and motionless inside her.
She lasted six seconds.
Her hips moved.
She told them not to. They moved anyway — a small, desperate roll forward that dragged him inside her in a way that lit her spine end to end — and then they moved again, and again, and she was rising, she was lifting, she was ’slamming herself back down’ with her own thighs while the sound that came out of her was not a protest and had never been a protest.
PAH! PAH! PAAAH!
"AAHNGH~!! Nnn— HIEEK~!! AAAA~!!"
She rode him. She rode him with her arms bound behind her back, her breasts swinging forward and slapping together, her milk flying in arcs with every downward slam, the golden hook swaying wildly between her thighs.
His hands came up and pinched both nipples.
The milk ’shot’ forward in two full streams.
"HEEEEK~!!"
He tugged them sideways — cruelly, not enough to tear, just enough to make her arch backward over him like a drawn bow while her ass kept slamming, because her body did not care about dignity anymore, had not cared for at least two hours now.
"MASTER — " Not a word anymore, just the sound her body made when it needed to express the inexpressible. "M-MASTER — I’M — I’M GOING TO — "
His hand covered her nose.
Pressed flat.
No air. No warning. He closed her mouth with his thumb and pinched her nose shut and said, very calmly into her ear, "’Keep riding.’"
’I can’t breathe — I can’t — ’
Her hips did not stop. They ’sped up’, slamming faster with the breath cut off, her vision sparkling at the edges, her body choosing him over oxygen with a clarity that should have been impossible and was simply, horribly, ’true’.
He released her at the last second.
She gasped so hard it came out as a sob.
Her squirt ran down his thighs and soaked the mattress beneath them both.
’
3:00 AM. Four hours.
The blue shimmer was so familiar to her body by now that she turned toward the warmth in her half-sleep the way a plant turns toward light — involuntarily, without knowing what it was or who was giving it.
He had her on her side. One leg raised completely vertical, ankle resting on his shoulder while he knelt beside her — entering her at an angle so acute, so sidelong, that each thrust registered as a long diagonal drag from hip to ribcage, his cock mapping parts of her insides she would have sworn didn’t connect.
Her raised leg shook against his shoulder.
He held it there with one hand on her calf, thumb moving slow circles against her inner ankle, like he had all the time in the world and fully intended to use it.
PAH. PAH. PAH. PAAAH!
"Hnn~... A-aahngh~... Mmm... AAANGHH~!!"
She was so wet by now that the sound of it was obscene — slick and excessive, the sound of a body that had been pumped full and leaked most of it and been filled again and had simply stopped being ashamed of the sound.
’I don’t know when I stopped fighting.’
The thought arrived clean and very small, the way the most important thoughts tend to.
’I don’t know the exact moment. But I stopped. And now I’m—’
His cock dragged back.
Her hips chased it.
’And now I’m ’chasing’ it.’
His eyes met hers over her raised thigh and he smiled — not a villain’s smile, not a smirk, just the slow, easy satisfaction of a man watching something proceed exactly as he intended — and she looked away, because looking at that smile while his cock was inside her was somehow the most devastating thing that had happened tonight.
The clock read 3:31.
She didn’t know how her body had survived four hours.
She didn’t know that it hadn’t — not the version of herself that had walked into tonight with Kenji’s texts on her phone and plans for dumplings and six years of sword training and a self she recognized. That version had been taken apart position by position, hour by hour, thrust by thrust, until what remained was a woman whose hips moved toward him on their own, who said ’master’ without being asked, whose milk ran when he touched her and whose body wept with pleasure and shame in the same breath and could no longer tell them apart.
The blue window shimmered. Unseen.
’[Bloodline Resonance: Deepening...]’
’[Host psychological conditioning: Stage 2 Complete.]’
’[Estimated full Sheath Goddess awakening: 4 sessions.]’
He pulled out slowly. Watching every inch of withdrawal with the patient attention of a man who had just finished building something.
He tilted her chin up.
Her eyes were glassy. Half-lidded. Lashes wet and clumped.
"What are you?"
The silence lasted two seconds.
She answered before she could decide not to.
"...yours." Barely sound. Barely breath. But it was there — small and ruined and completely unforced, born somewhere below the resistance that had long since run dry, born in the body that had spent all night learning what it was being made into.
He studied her face for a long moment. Then he reached down, unhooked the clit chain with the care of a jeweler handling a delicate piece, and folded her against his chest.
The warmth pulsed once more.
She felt it in her bones like a second heartbeat, and she curled into it — and into him — with her eyes already closing and the clock reading 3:31, and somewhere in the dimming corridor of her thoughts the last coherent thing she managed before sleep swallowed her was not the word ’master’, not the word ’wrong’, not Kenji’s name, not her sword.
Just: ’’Who am I now.’’