From the Tip of the Tongue of the Lowliest Maid - Chapter 132

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

Even in the darkness, the pink flush of her highly aroused cheeks was vivid. Every time the man’s tongue delved into every corner of her small, soft mouth, the maid’s slender body twitched. Following her quiet movements, the shadows pooled in the maid’s contoured body swayed.

In Ragnar’s world, in his entirely black space, only Arzeletta’s body was white and clear as a bead. Adorned only with the red moonlight upon her white nakedness, Arzeletta closed her eyes and received his kiss.

Her wrist, grasped in Ragnar’s hand, was slender and delicate. Every time Ragnar’s thumb slowly rubbed her tender wrist, Arzeletta’s hands and feet simultaneously curled up. The maid’s body, twitching beneath the Holy Knight’s formidable physique, was as soft as a flower petal.

“Haa.”

Exhaling a hot breath through her slightly parted lips, Arzeletta looked up at Ragnar. The man’s face, stoic and firm, yet at the same time like someone deeply wounded, was now familiar.

Ragnar’s two hands grasped Arzeletta’s white, voluptuous b*****s. Her soft flesh distorted between his firm fingers. Her sharply e***t peaks were gently rolled between the man’s long, exquisite fingertips, then swallowed onto his tongue.

“Haa, My, Lord…”

Arzeletta writhed, arching her back. Her innermost abdomen already throbbed with the sensation of his tongue licking and sucking her n*****s, making her feel as if she would lose consciousness, yet even amidst this, all of Arzeletta’s reactions were gentle and careful.

Ragnar observed Arzeletta’s weak writhing with dark, persistent eyes.

It could have been her nature or a habit. The tendency not to cause a significant stir, to firmly cover her mouth with both hands even the moment a moan escaped.

Her cautiousness made Arzeletta’s presence seem even more precarious. Like a piece of glass that would shatter at the slightest wrong touch.

Arzeletta, with eyelashes wet and panting beneath him, was adorable. When he sucked her n****e with a smack, the sensitivity that made her shoulders shiver as if experiencing it for the first time, disoriented Ragnar.

Beneath the light of the stained glass, filled with various holy relics and engraved with Impellias’s crest, Arzeletta’s red, dainty n*****s glistened, thoroughly wet with Ragnar’s saliva.

“…Arzeletta.”

Ragnar called Arzeletta’s name. It was a voice that sounded heavily scraped from deep within.

Ragnar’s hand parted Arzeletta’s tightly pressed legs. The space between her legs, which opened without resistance at his touch—the soft, delicate entrance that seemed as if it would bruise from just a slight, painful brush—was again thoroughly wet enough to soak his fingers today.

Even as her body trembled as if it would shatter with a little more stimulation, with a little louder moan.

“You’re wet.”

Squish, as Ragnar’s long, knobby finger carefully massaged the inside of her opening, Arzeletta’s delicate body twitched again as if startled.

A distinct splashing sound was audible wherever his fingers touched. It was a reaction too obvious to conceal.

“…Today too.”

Arzeletta hid her flushed face within her disheveled hair.

She felt embarrassed. Despite it being a ritual repeated every day for nearly twenty days now, this moment’s shame never grew familiar.

To expose her body completely before this austere man and to become wet merely by being touched was conduct that should bring shame, both as a resident faithful to this strict domain and as a devoted maid.

But this was not Arzeletta’s will. Her body becoming so wet that it soaked this noble Lord’s bedsheets every day, even to her own dismay.

Arzeletta raised her hand to try to cover herself below. She knew it was meaningless, but it was an instinctive will. Though she was quickly restrained as her wrist was held in the man’s hand.

Why, exactly, was her body so pleased with the Lord? Arzeletta asked herself.

Feeling somewhat despairing at her body’s reaction, disconnected from her heart. Yet, even at this moment, she felt sad about her senses reacting so sensitively to his fingertips.