* * *
When his trembling arms gave out, Killian pulled him close, crushing him against his chest.
Nael’s voice broke into hoarse cries as he was relentlessly pounded.
“Damn it. If any other man saw you like this, I’d cut their cocks off.”
“Ngh—! Th-that w-wouldn’t… nngh—!”
Two thick fingers shoved into Nael’s mouth, pressing down on his tongue as if marking territory before pushing toward his throat.
He gagged, back arching.
“Hah—!”
Killian’s low groan traveled straight to his brain.
The knowledge that he was the one riling him up sent a thrill through Nael.
His own cock pulsed, spilling streaks of white between them.
“Haah… good… Master…”
The cock ravaging his insides slowly pulled out, and Nael collapsed onto the carpet, now soaked with his release.
His small chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath, his gasps sharp in the air.
His heart pounded as if lodged in his throat.
Rolling onto his back, Nael stared at the ceiling.
His voice, wrecked from screaming, was now hoarse.
The pleasant exhaustion weighed on him.
Ugh… No matter how many times he felt it, the sensation of Killian’s cum dripping from his ass was always strange.
His stomach clenched, sensitive enough to spill with the slightest pressure.
He rubbed his lower belly.
“Does it hurt?”
“N-no… I’m fine. Ah—! M-Master, just… just a break! Hah—!”
His restrained legs were thrown over Killian’s shoulders.
The swollen cock aimed straight for his entrance again.
His cheeks were forcibly spread, and with one thrust, he was filled to the hilt.
The hole, already pliant, sucked him in greedily, pulsing around the intrusion.
“Hah—! Master…!”
Killian fucked into him mindlessly, as if Nael’s hole was the only thing he needed.
Wild thoughts crossed Nael’s mind—what if Killian kept him speared on his cock until his balls emptied, until he came so hard it felt like bursting?
If he fucked him gently, Nael would still whimper, taking it eagerly even through the pain.
Or maybe he’d just pound into him like a madman until he passed out—only to start again once he woke.
Then that pretty face wouldn’t dare smile for anyone else.
“Nael.”
“Ah—! Y-yes?”
Between the lewd slaps of Killian’s balls against him, a warning laced his voice.
“Don’t smile in front of others.”
“…Huh?”
Nael scrambled to remember—had he smiled somewhere?
In front of the children, maybe?
Killian’s possessiveness was twisted.
He didn’t want to become some scowling monster in front of those pure, innocent kids, but the thrusts turned punishing, as if questioning him was a crime.
“Ah—! T-too fast! Ngh—! Hah—!”
Scratched and pinched, the skin around his nipples bloomed into flushed petals, and the lines of his body, streaked with come, were breathtaking.
After untying his bound legs, Killian casually spread them apart and thrust the artificial cock back into his slick, dripping hole.
Between those weakly parted thighs lay his limp cock and the curls beneath it—Nael looked every bit the perfectly debauched fairy.
“Don’t pull it out.”
Unwilling to let that exquisite sight slip away, Killian transferred it onto a white canvas.
Two previous paintings already hung on the wall, blurry in Nael’s dazed vision.
“That… that painting.”
“Hm?”
“Master, it’s embarrassing… Could you take it down? Or at least let me tidy this place up myself?”
Just seeing his own lewd form immortalized in paint made him want to burrow into the ground, but now the servants would pass by and gawk.
Forgetting he wasn’t supposed to move, Nael crawled on all fours toward Killian.
His lower half shifted, making his tail sway lightly.
Clenching tight to keep the toy from slipping out, he nuzzled his face against Killian’s leg.
“Why?”
Setting down the graphite, Killian crossed his arms.
The thick swell of his biceps flexed with even that slight motion, exuding raw power.
The well-defined muscles were something Nael could never hope to have, and he found himself staring half-dazed.
His gaze trailed from Killian’s fingertips, still smudged with graphite, up to his folded elbows and forearms, then settled on his lips.
“Because I’m ashamed.”
“Just that?”
Nael bit back a small complaint at those lips, which dared to ask why after so brazenly painting his spent cock and the hole still leaking spend.
He wanted to keep their intimate, carnal acts between just the two of them, yet they kept being exposed.
Though, given how he’d even panted pathetically in front of Sir Aiden, maybe a painting was nothing in comparison.
Killian had told him to care about nothing else, but Nael still added:
“I don’t want others to see. I wish it could stay just between you and me.”
A sharp, mocking tsk slipped through Killian’s teeth, scraping against Nael’s cheeks like a lash.
The blatant ridicule made his face burn crimson, and he ducked his head.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking.”
“…What?”
“Do you think I’m playing some love game with you? Do you fuss over the feelings of your possessions?”
Nael’s doe-like eyes wavered.
His trembling lashes followed Killian’s movements as the man shook the graphite dust from his hands, black powder drifting like fine ash.
Killian carelessly shrugged on the robe he’d discarded earlier, tying it shut with deliberate slowness.
“An object is just an object. It can’t hold emotions or thoughts. Don’t delude yourself.”
“……”
“Think carefully, Nael.”
With that, Killian leisurely strode out of the room, leaving Nael alone.
“Hmph.”
The canvas held only an unfinished sketch of himself—just the rough outline of his ass, with the fluffy artificial cock the only completed detail.
Hadn’t he only offered his nipples to Killian earlier?
A needle-sharp pain lanced through his chest, as if piercing straight to his heart.
What had happened overnight?
Killian seemed like a completely different person.
Calling him an object, sending messengers, dictating long letters—yet always sharp-edged, like a cactus bristling with spines.
A sulky pout tugged at Nael’s lips, his heart aching faintly.
This wasn’t the Killian who had coaxed him so tenderly, praised him while stroking his well-used body.
No, he had reverted to the cold, icy man he’d first met.
The come smeared on his face had dried sticky and uncomfortable.
Wiping it with the back of his hand, he found it had hardened into a thin film, mixed with tears.
Nael stared at the half-open door.
He’ll come back.
‘When he does, I’ll ask him to hold me. Maybe then he’ll pull me into his arms and pat my head again.’
He clenched down stubbornly on the intrusion in his ass.
Killian had put it there and ordered him to keep it from slipping out—so he wouldn’t touch it until his master returned to remove it himself.
Shifting slightly, he braced a hand against the floor—
“Ah—! Ngh…”
A thin shard of glass was embedded in his palm, forming a small bead of blood.
It seemed the shattered paint bottle Kilian had broken last time hadn’t been properly cleaned up.
The sliver grazed his fingertip, but trying to remove it by hand was hopeless.
It was so tiny it glittered in the sunlight, yet it slipped away whenever he tried to pinch it with his nails.
The stinging pain brought tears to his eyes.
Whimpering, he struggled to pry it out with his nails, but no matter how hard he tried, he made no progress.
Each time he managed to tug it slightly, it slipped free and burrowed deeper.
He glanced around, but there was nothing resembling tweezers.
Frustration gnawed at him.
He couldn’t even step outside like this—not without a stitch of clothing.
A wave of loneliness crashed over him, sudden and overwhelming, like a tide too fierce to hold back with bare hands.
His shoulders shook as he sniffled.
Tears fell in fat drops, and his nose ran uncontrollably.
It felt like his body was expelling every fluid it had.
Left utterly alone, Nael plummeted into the depths of despair.
* * *
