From the Tip of the Tongue of the Lowliest Maid - Chapter 123

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

“My Lord, My, My Lord… Haa.”

Arzeletta, crying profusely and pleading with him, was pitiful.

He felt as though if he plunged in now and merged their deepest flesh, all his yearning would be satisfied. And if he didn’t, he didn’t know how long Arzeletta would suffer.

…What ultimately stopped him was a singular will.

“Hmph…”

Arzeletta’s body, again parting her lips to receive his tongue, sank into a more languid state. Her b*****s, relentlessly sucked and touched by him, leaving red marks, were again grasped in his large hand.

The red peaks, sharply risen as if constantly urging him, were lovely. Every time his finger pressed those peaks and rubbed them with his fingertip, Arzeletta twitched her waist.

Swallowing Arzeletta’s exhales and gently kneading her b*****s, Ragnar gripped his own p***s with his other hand. It was already e***t to its limit.

Even in the faint moonlight, Arzeletta’s body was transparent. His swollen member, touching her skin, was a grotesque sight no matter how many times he looked.

This could not possibly harbor good intentions. The devil was not in the woman, but in himself.

Ragnar moved his hand over Arzeletta’s body himself. It was a slow, deliberate action.

Arzeletta, who had been flushed and receiving Ragnar’s kisses, soon understood his intention and lifted her gaze.

“It will be alright.”

As if realizing the distress in Arzeletta’s green eyes, Ragnar said soothingly. Ragnar, who again pressed his lips to Arzeletta’s as she closed her eyes, put more strength into the hand gripping his own.

Arzeletta was still barely breathing, relying on Ragnar’s kiss for air. Her rapidly beating heart thumped against Ragnar’s palm, which rested on Arzeletta’s chest. Ragnar slowly moved his hand.

It was an unhurried act, yet Ragnar’s eyes, looking down at Arzeletta, were bloodshot. Thick veins also appeared on his neat forehead, where his silver hair was slightly disheveled.

He was dedicating all the self-control and patience he had ever offered to God, to this woman. To the most, the very lowliest being in his domain.

“Hmph, ah…”

“……”

“My Lord, haah.”

Arzeletta bit her lip. Something hot and viscous drenched her lower abdomen.

Ragnar’s e*********n was long, lasting enough to produce a splattering sound. Arzeletta lay beneath his body, receiving the e*******e that poured over her.

Arzeletta’s eyes were red. Ragnar’s e*******e, flowing from her belly, trickled between Arzeletta’s legs. The overflowing e*******e, thoroughly soaking her soft pubic hair, seeped into the crevice of her pressed thighs.

“Why…”

Arzeletta whispered softly, leaning against Ragnar’s chest as he raised her. It was so painful, and even though he was in such pain, he ultimately did not take her.

“Just bear it a little longer. Only tonight.”

“……”

“The antidote will be ready soon.”

Arzeletta, who had looked up at him for a moment, nodded. Her poisoned heart was still beating rapidly, commanding her to quench its thirst.

She couldn’t defy the Lord’s will. It was the Lord who decided to take someone. Not she, the maid.

Arzeletta leaned into Ragnar’s arm as he lifted her. Ragnar somehow carried Arzeletta’s naked body to the bathtub as if he was used to it, like a princess.

“I will stay by your side until the antidote is made.”

“Ah…”

“You’d be in pain if you had nowhere to lean.”

Arzeletta sank into the bathtub with Ragnar.

The red stained glass brightened subtly. It was the deepest part of the night, or the earliest dawn, a time that could be called either.

It was a very faint light, but one could feel that dawn had begun. Arzeletta was still buried in Ragnar’s bed, gasping for breath.

Just as he had said, Ragnar was Arzeletta’s refuge all night.

By now, counting kisses had become meaningless. All night, she had breathed through Ragnar’s breath, and he repeatedly cooled and warmed her with his hands.