During wartime, especially a war against such barbarians, women become nothing more than resources to plunder and be plundered. Even if the Empire provided support, it was hard to believe soldiers in wartime would keep their lust in check forever.
Sahara faintly knitted her brows at the foam-slicked hand sliding up her thigh. It was only part of washing, but perhaps because of the torment all night, she felt herself dampen by habit.
“I can see… why Mother was worried.”
A towel carefully wiped along the inside of her thigh. Feeling his fingers through the towel underwater, Sahara bit her lip. When she shifted her hips away, he caught her knee.
“There’s a lot on you. We need to clean thoroughly.”
“I-I’ll do that part.”
A slick finger touched her groin. Pretending not to notice the heat rising to her cheeks, Sahara grabbed his hand.
“Shh. We have to scrape out what’s inside. We didn’t use any contraceptives, you could get pregnant.”
“You can’t do it alone.” —Cheshire, now settled close between her legs before she knew it, whispered low. As if to ask isn’t that right, he lifted his eyes to her face. She could no longer hide the flush flooding her cheeks.
“Or can you do it yourself?”
Holding up the hand that had been teasing her inner thigh, he asked. By herself? To remove the semen? Sahara swallowed and, with trembling eyes, looked down at her parted groin. Even underwater, she could see the mess of marks he’d left last night.
“You’ve never even put a finger in?”
“It’s your own body, isn’t it?” —Cheshire asked as if it were strange. Is it strange? Sahara lowered her hand and felt along her sex. As he said, it was her own body, yet she hadn’t even known there was such an opening. No, she knew in theory, but…
“……”
Something larger had gone in, there was no reason a finger couldn’t. Still, Cheshire’s gaze, watching to see how well she did it, stung with shame. It felt like he was blatantly exposing how flesh had moved in and out of her all night.
When Cheshire sat her on the edge of the tub, the body hidden beneath the water was laid bare. His eyes urged her on, and Sahara aligned the fingers that had been fumbling at her sex with the tingling inner place.
As she slowly pushed in, a wet sensation wrapped around her finger. Slick moisture coated it, and Sahara hunched her shoulders. Embarrassed by Cheshire’s gaze, she tried to cover herself with her other hand, but he quickly caught it.
“You have to show you’re doing it right. Stretch inside a bit more. Let it run out.”
At his cool, teacherly tone, Sahara thought she might faint from embarrassment. He came closer, as if to observe how much she did, and stared at the parting flesh.
Like petals opening and nectar falling, it ran down her finger. The semen he’d spilled inside her through the night and the arousal she herself had shed mingled, endlessly wetting her fingers.
“Deeper. My seed was planted up here.”
Cheshire cupped her lower belly as he spoke. He was right, but even with her finger fully inside, there was no way she could reach that far. Feeling his hand knead her lower belly in a dull circle, Sahara squeezed her eyes shut.
“I’m… sorry.”
Saying it because she felt she couldn’t possibly get it all out, Cheshire pulled away the hand covering her and tugged her toward him.
Splash! She lurched as he dragged her into the water, a spray rising all around. Before she could gather her wits, Cheshire was on her, kissing her. He devoured her lower lip, sucking and wetting it. Swallowing something sweet—saliva or water, she didn’t know—Sahara clutched the tub to keep from slipping under.
“Ah—!”
Where her fingers had just been, he entered in one thrust. When the wet heat of him touched the raw places with the bathwater, pain rang through her waist. As she lost her grip on the tub, Cheshire caught her by the hips and lifted her.
“……!”
Suddenly seated on his thighs, Sahara clung to his shoulders as the thick flesh speared deeper than her navel. Her vision swam. Bracing herself with tense thighs, she felt him take one of her breasts into his mouth. On the breasts already mottled with red marks, he obsessively pressed new ones, teasing her areola with his tongue.
“Mm.”
Sahara forced down a moan. Cheshire licked the deep valley of her water-soaked breasts and looked up at her heated face. A wet face, parted lips. With her eyes lowered and breath ragged, she looked not merely mature but like a temptress ripened to a heavy, melting fullness.
Wet hair streamed over the round curves of her brow and cheeks, and moisture beaded at the ends of her thick lashes. The flush of her cheeks and earlobes was breathtakingly indecent. That a woman exuding such lewd allure had been a virgin last night. Even Cheshire, who had taken that virginity, could scarcely believe it.
When he held her by the waist and gave a light shake, she slid her knees and sank down completely onto Cheshire’s thighs. As one eye narrowed with a swallowed moan, Cheshire couldn’t help himself and devoured her breasts greedily. He even tasted the strands of hair fallen over her chest with his tongue, then gripped Sahara’s waist and thrust up inside her.
What on earth was in her belly—though he had held her all night, it was as tight as the first time; no, even tighter. Wet and narrow, her clinging flesh tangled thickly with him, and he simply couldn’t restrain himself.
On top of that, a firm, healthy body with not an ounce of extra flesh and those full, high breasts. Her face flushed scarlet, wet with sweat and water, was seductive.
How could this be? Cheshire thought as he licked Sahara’s long, white nape. No matter how much he embraced her, the thirst would not be quenched. After he spilled himself, it was only for a moment; one look into Sahara’s dark eyes and desire surged anew.
It was like a fever. With his head burning, Cheshire burrowed into her, drew a moan from Sahara’s lips at last, and made her gaze grow feverish.
He rubbed persistently at the spot where she felt it. Her insides, already gripping tight, quivered as if in spasm. He took Sahara’s swollen nipple into his mouth and sucked hard.
“Ah.”
Sahara threw her head back. Flushed all over, she held her breath and trembled. Her copious juices gushed down as her insides convulsed and clamped down hard. As she choked on her breath again and again, Cheshire sucked at her nape and spilled his seed in her deepest place.
When he slowly leaned her back against the tub and withdrew, her face showed that she was only then realizing what he had done.
“To take it out…”
So he hadn’t meant to help her take it out. Muttering, Sahara bit her lip and lowered her gaze. She felt she was about to shoot him a reproachful look. He’d told her to put in her fingers and take it out herself… Sahara covered her sex with one hand and drew in her thighs, still trembling. She felt empty below, and the spasms wouldn’t stop.
“Please… stop.”
She truly felt like either her head or her body would give out. At Sahara’s small plea, Cheshire pulled her into his arms by the shoulders and kissed the crown of her head.
“We’ll really stop for today. Instead, skip morning training. Otherwise, I’ll make you rest for real.”
At words that were half soothing, half a threat, Sahara let out a small sigh and nodded.
Cheshire finished washing her, dried her with a large towel, and tucked her back under the covers.
It was the first late morning of Sahara’s life.
Trouble Is Always Close By
The Chancellor, Count Pope Sigott, hurried down the corridor of the imperial palace, his fat belly wobbling. His destination was the Emperor’s office.
“Your Majesty, the Chancellor—!”
“Out of the way.”
Pope shoved the doorkeeper aside, threw the door open, and strode in. The Emperor, seated at his desk looking over documents, furrowed his brow. Before he could scold him for his rudeness, Pope asked without so much as a greeting,
“Your Majesty, have you heard the news?”
“What news?”
“So you haven’t!”
If he had, he wouldn’t be wearing such a bored look. Pope cleared his throat loudly. His to-tell-or-not-to-tell air made the Emperor snap.
“Chancellor, have you nothing to do these days?”
As if about to dump work on him, he asked, and Pope twitched his plump cheeks and dropped a bomb.
“Your Majesty! It seems your seditious, shadowy wish is about to come true!”
“What?”
“His Highness the Crown Prince and Countess Iloud were getting along very well yesterday. It was almost to the level of an engagement announcement.”
“An engagement announcement? All of a sudden?”
What on earth had happened? The Emperor asked again, unable to believe it. He had indeed harbored such a wish (sordid and seditious, as Pope put it), but he himself had thought it a dream that could never come true.
“Well, to begin with, the Countess appeared wearing the very dress Her Majesty the Empress wore when announcing her engagement to you. And she had Isabella’s Tear—the jewel owned by Her Highness the Princess—pinned in her hair.”
Wear what? The Emperor knit his brow.
“You mean that purple dress?”
“They danced a song—or rather, before even finishing one—they went out onto the balcony and didn’t return.”
What happened is obvious. Pope waved a hand, as if unwilling to be crude.
“He is always close to women, but he’s not the sort to get that close.”
He had met many women and gone to bed with them, but there was not a single woman he had truly kept that close. If there had been anyone, the Emperor—who was eager—would have pushed for an engagement or marriage, but Cheshire walked that line to perfection. Since he had first stepped into society, he had met and toyed with countless women aspiring to be crown princess, yet none had been able to bring up marriage. It was truly remarkable. No wonder Cheshire was reputed to be born for society and political maneuvering.
Leave a Reply