From the Tip of the Tongue of the Lowliest Maid - Chapter 112

This work contains scenes of sadistic coercion and hardcore depictions of BDSM. Reader discretion is advised.

Arzeletta whimpered, her eyes brimming with tears, and lifted her hips. Because of his command to stay still, she couldn’t even spread her legs, clinging her tense knees together as she choked back sobs.

Like a stake being driven in, his desire plunged deep into the valley between Arzeletta’s tightly pressed legs, then reappeared. The contrast between her white, smooth thighs and his dark, rough p***s was even more ominous.

“…You’re wet.”

Ragnar’s low voice fell over Arzeletta’s tightly closed face. Arzeletta’s eyes flushed intensely. She understood the meaning.

“You were like this yesterday too.”

“…Ah, yes, My Lord.”

“I wanted to confirm.”

Once again, the powerful man’s male organ plunged deep into her soft thighs. At the gradually louder squelching sound, Arzeletta’s eyes truly swam with tears. Arzeletta still didn’t understand what was happening to her body.

A maid wetting herself in the Lord’s arms—it was only embarrassing. But regardless of her feelings, the wet sounds grew more explicitly intense. It seemed they would become louder than the quiet splashes of the spring water.

Ragnar’s member, having withdrawn from between Arzeletta’s legs, was thoroughly wet. It was the water Arzeletta had secreted. As if he knew, as if confirming his victory, he moved his firm waist and plunged into her.

“…Am I frightening you?”

He asked. Arzeletta looked up at him again.

It was true that he was frightening. He was a person who had never not been frightening. And at the same time,

“……”

Arzeletta nodded slightly.

She was afraid of what she would become for him. She was afraid of her own blindness, and afraid of her destiny, not knowing where to go. And at this moment,

…She feared her own body, which was reacting so helplessly to him.

“…So that’s why you’re this wet?”

“Ah, no…”

“……”

“That’s… not it.”

Arzeletta whispered. At her honest answer, Ragnar’s calm eyes narrowed slightly. Perhaps it was a very faint semblance of a smile.

“…You might be surprised.”

Ragnar’s voice was so low and heavy that Arzeletta realized, a little belatedly, that it was his own form of consideration.

The man leaned down. Arzeletta’s legs were trapped by the Holy Knight’s mighty muscles. He held Arzeletta’s legs captive between his knees, and slowly began to pick up speed.

Arzeletta’s lips, gasping helplessly at the utterly unfamiliar experience, were once again swallowed by Ragnar’s. Arzeletta breathed a short breath into him.

Everything about Arzeletta tickled Ragnar. The woman’s texture, so weak and soft it seemed it would melt away like cotton candy, made the strong Lord anxious.

And his will only grew stronger the more anxious he became. He gripped Arzeletta. So that even if she melted, she would melt within his hands.

Squish, squish.

“Ah, ahh…”

“…Arzeletta.”

When her name was called, Arzeletta nodded helplessly. She also seemed to shake her head from side to side. It was the first time Ragnar had called her name, but Arzeletta didn’t realize it.

Above the wet sounds of flesh meeting, the low chirping of crickets and the bubbling of spring water settled quietly. Only a night owl, with eyes flat as fish, witnessed the utterly immoral and lewd scene of the powerful man desiring the maid.

The owl rolled its round face. It was a bizarre sight, no matter how many times he saw it. He was the sole witness to the events that transpired today.

“…Ugh.”

The unwavering thrusting of his hips stopped. Ragnar bit his lip hard. His brows furrowed fiercely.

The Lord’s p***s was withdrawn from between Arzeletta’s gleaming white thighs. E***t and thoroughly wet with the maid’s moisture, it glistened, almost overflowing.

Ragnar gripped his own with his large hand.

“……!”

Arzeletta gasped, covering her mouth in surprise at the hot sensation that immediately enveloped her lower abdomen.

What drenched her was the desire of that great Holy Knight. Hot, fishy seminal fluid streamed ceaselessly from his p***s, which was thoroughly wet with her own shameful moisture.

The quantity was too much. Arzeletta shivered her eyelashes, receiving all of the hot e*******e Ragnar poured over her.

Arzeletta understood, in this moment, precisely what it meant to allow her body to a man.

“…Arzeletta.”

It meant having something like this lethal weapon deeply embedded in her most delicate flesh, and leaving such hot, unfamiliar fluid to overflow inside her belly.