Side Story 1.4
Instinctively clutching her wrists, she staggered back and stared at the man. Slouched in his chair with one hand propping his cheek, the Crown Prince gazed down at her with bored eyes—like a god made flesh. Hair like molten gold, a face so radiant it dimmed even that brilliance, a body carved as if by a master artisan. From head to toe, an unreal beauty.
She could swear: even if he’d been a lowborn vagrant, women would still crave him. But he was the Crown Prince. The man expected to become a mage rivaling the first emperor, Abrixa, the one destined to stand at the empire’s pinnacle—was it any wonder she coveted him? Even his c**k was magnificent.
Tonight, she’d thought she’d finally have him. One more step was all it would’ve taken—but she couldn’t ignore that warning.
Biting her lip, Larissa Basset bowed. The hand clutching her skirt trembled faintly.
“…I shall take my leave tonight, Your Highness.”
Watching her scurry away like a whipped dog, the Crown Prince scoffed. Pathetic, to overreach without the spine to follow through. Had she charged at him despite everything, he might’ve acknowledged that much audacity.
Come to think of it, that slave had been far bolder. She’d refused his future self every single time. Stuck to her convictions even against an emperor. Chose to lose her mind rather than yield…
“Strange creature.”
His muttered words carried the faintest hint of laughter.
That night, as he lay in bed trying to sleep, he abruptly sat up. Sleep wouldn’t come.
He knew the reason. Unfulfilled desire. In the timeline before time was reversed, he had slept with Larissa Basset – but now he’d sent her away untouched. The pent-up lust now simmered relentlessly within him.
Leaning against the headboard, he swept his bangs aside.
Should he summon a woman?
Though he’d always taken care of himself before, the thought of defying his future self’s implicit demand to remain celibate until meeting that slave made him consider dragging just anyone into his bed. Yet when it came to actually doing it, he found himself unwilling.
In the end, he decided to handle it alone as usual.
After soundproofing the area with magic, he unfastened his trousers. The heavy flesh sprang free as he grasped it, hardening quickly after a few strokes.
He wasn’t imagining anything special. Physical stimulation alone had always been enough before.
The veins on his toned arms bulged as he worked himself, his forearm and biceps flexing with each motion. The thin sleeping robe did little to hide the dynamic movement of his muscular arms.
As his gloved hand moved methodically along his length, a woman’s face suddenly flashed through his mind like a light switching on –
Swollen red eyes from crying, saliva-smeared lips, unfocused black pupils, disheveled black hair.
“Tch!”
His vision swam as his teeth clenched. His c**k gave a violent twitch before erupting uncontrollably.
This explosive release was unprecedented. It had burst forth before he could even think to stop it. Completely, utterly beyond his control.
The intensity of pleasure, unlike anything he’d ever experienced, threatened to overwhelm his mind entirely.
His p***s swelled taut again, as if demanding release. Driven by instinct, he gripped it roughly, continuing to imagine that slave. There was no shortage of material—recalling every act his future self had committed with her, the seventeen-year-old Crown Prince kept pleasuring himself.
“Nggh, haah, khh.”
The expressions she’d make when feeling pleasure, the delicate fragility of her touch so pitifully endearing, the faint scent of her skin only noticeable when burying his nose against it and inhaling deeply, the fragile moans she’d helplessly let slip when overwhelmed by pleasure after struggling to hold back.
The muscles in his arms bulged as he clenched the bedsheets. Amidst the violent friction, his desperate moans mingled until white fluid surged forth. His second climax.
He took a moment to steady his breathing. His heart threatened to burst. The sensation of all his blood rushing to his c**k made him lightheaded. Waves of impossible pleasure made his vision flicker. Yet he didn’t stop. No he couldn’t.
Gripping his e***t shaft, he indulged in pleasure again. Over and over, imagining that black-haired, black-eyed slave. Recalling the sensation of their first kiss, he hurtled toward his final climax before collapsing against the chair back, gasping for air.
He was drained. Not physically, his mind was utterly exhausted from the overwhelming stimulation. His consciousness still swam hazily. Even his first time m**********g hadn’t been this intense.
After sitting dazed for a while, he noticed the sticky glove coated in saliva and the ruined bed. With a flick of magic, both were restored to pristine condition, as if nothing had happened.
Sighing, he lay down. As rationality returned, disbelief and revulsion flooded in. To lose control like that, climaxing repeatedly like some animal in heat over a slave.
He couldn’t believe he’d sunk to such depravity. It was unacceptable.
Was this really reality?
Why?
Why was this reality?
Separate from his turbulent emotions, perhaps due to exhaustion—he fell asleep almost instantly, pushing aside shock that should have kept him awake all night. Unlike the future Emperor who barely slept, the teenage Crown Prince still needed plenty of rest.
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