Slap. Squelch. The Weekend Melts Away
Slap. Squelch.
The weekend melted away. The room was dark. I'd drawn the curtains. The recording crystal on my desk was emitting a green glow, projecting the screen.
"Aaang!♡ Darling, Descartes, darling…♡ I can't be without youuu…♡"
On the screen, my girlfriend was taking the prince's massive cock in cowgirl position, panting desperately. Her sweat-soaked cherry-blossom pink hair swayed. Through her obscenely spread pussy lips, that thick dick plunged in and out endlessly.
That vulgar moaning. The slick saliva. Every time the glans battered her narrow cervix, pussy juices sprayed everywhere. The squelching grind as it crushed all the way to her womb.
"Haa… fuck… just one night apart."
The woman I loved was fawning over some other guy, getting fucked like a slut.
I leaned back against the bed and slipped my hand into my pants. A pinky-finger-sized, pathetically tiny clitty dick.
Its minuscule surface made it hypersensitive—even a slight shake sent tremors through the whole thing. I barely gripped it between thumb and forefinger, rubbing up and down.
On screen, the prince slapped her cheek and ordered her to curse me, a mere commoner. She eagerly joined in, spitting my name like it was a bug.
—Stroke, slide.—Pat pat pat pat.
A crushing sense of defeat that brought tears to my eyes. Shame fueling a mad surge of depraved arousal. Thin precum dripped from the tip of my tiny glans. The prince was filling the depths of her that my little pecker could never reach anymore.
I missed Rozalia's tight, love-warmed pussy, heated to perfection.
Using footage of her pathetic corruption as my side dish, I jerked my worthless little clitty all weekend. My cum was watery as piss. I lost count of how many times I came. The room reeked of stale semen and my pathetic self-loathing.
"Ngh, ah…!" —Splurt. Spurt!
Thinned-out cum like watered-down piss splattered weakly onto my stomach. I collapsed to the floor, panting, and in the end, watched the scene where she got hit in the face with a used condom and pissed herself—over and over. Like that, the weekend completely melted away.
Rozalia turning into the prince's bitch is so fucking hot…!—Click! Screeech!
🌸
Monday morning. Imperial Academy knight faculty, Cell Broad Hall.
The lecture hall was twice as rowdy as usual. All the cadets' eyes were glued to the entrance.
"Kyaa! Prince Descartes…!" "His Highness is in the knight faculty…!"
The female cadets' breathless shrieks and murmurs. Flowing golden hair. Clear blue eyes. Overwhelmingly superior looks. The third prince, Descartes von Rugria, entered the classroom with a gentle smile. That princely mask on his lips.
I knew exactly how that bastard treated women like lowly cum dumps in bed.
"Your Highness."
Even Instructor Setina, overseeing the arena, cleared her throat and straightened up.
"I didn't expect Your Highness to choose knight faculty as an elective. Will you be observing?" "Treat me casually, Instructor. I'm just a cadet who got interested in swordsmanship."
The heavy air from their status gap. Setina politely guided him to the VIP seat. Descartes sat leisurely. Then, his blue eyes zeroed in on one person amid the crowd.
Rozalia. She was leaning against the corner wall in her usual lavender dress. Her head-sized tits and hip lines obscenely outlined through the fabric.
"Next. To the center."
Setina's dry voice rang out. A hulking figure stomped to the arena center. Silver hair, red eyes. Berga Silverstein. His gaze flashed toward Rozalia in the corner.
"Come out. Rozalia von Bloomhart."
He growled, gripping his wooden sword tight. Like a beast poisoned with rage to wash away his last humiliation.
Rozalia yawned lazily and strolled out. Her drowsy gait. Each step made her massive royal tits heave heavily.
"This time, draw your sword. That damned Rose Swordsmanship or whatever—I'll smash it with raw power."
Berga hoisted his wooden sword over his shoulder. Killing intent radiated everywhere. Rozalia didn't even touch the wooden sword at her waist. Arms dangling loosely, full of openings.
"A sword?"
She scoffed coldly.
"I don't need one for trash like you."
"…Die!"
Veins bulged on Berga's forehead. The giant exploded forward. A savage overhead smash. The air ripped with a sonic boom.
Rozalia didn't dodge. Her slender waist slid half a step sideways. The instant Berga's weight pitched forward—
Her small toe flicked the back of his knee.
"Guh!"
Berga's stance crumbled. Simultaneously, her pale palm uppercut his jaw from below.
Thwack—!
"Grk…!"
The massive body floated into the air. Then face-planted into the dirt. A dull thud kicked up dust.
One exchange. Pure barehanded martial arts, without even drawing her sword.
"Think brute force breaks everything? You're no better than a dumb animal."
Rozalia coldly looked down at Berga coughing on the ground. Eyes detached from the world, aloof and transcendent. Untouchable serenity. The arrogance of an enlightened genius incarnate.
The classroom fell dead silent. No one dared speak. I glanced at Descartes' profile.
"……."
His blue eyes, seated, twisted grotesquely. A precarious expression like his mask might shatter. His lips glistened wetly.
This arrogant, beautiful genius lady. A woman of such noble grace no one could touch.
Under him, drooling with her pussy spread wide like a vulgar cum rag. A horny female monkey passing out from her ass getting roughly pounded.
That vicious gap ignited primal male urges for possession and conquest. Descartes' gaze turned creepily sticky.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Applause shattered the silence. Descartes rose. Cadets parted. He walked slowly to the arena center.
"Impressive. Such refined movement, Lady Bloomhart."
A warm, elegant voice. Fairy-tale prince face. Rozalia's gaze turned to him.
That instant. Her absolute golden eyes trembled faintly. Disarmed. The melted look she only showed me. And last night in the video, to Descartes.
"Your… Highness…."
Her voice cracked faintly at the end.
"But don't get too rough. Your beautiful hands got dirty, didn't they?"
Descartes pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket. Gently wrapped her hand, tenderly wiping her fingertips.
The noble ladies gasped in envy. A romantic fairy-tale scene.
A romance fantasy moment. As Descartes leaned to her ear while wiping—
I saw it clearly. His handsome lips moving secretly.
"…Don't act so superior, you bitch."
A whisper only she could hear.
"Your place is on my cum-soaked bed. Like yesterday, croak like a frog, spread your legs, and piss yourself."
"Hng…!"
Rozalia's slender shoulders quivered. Under her tight high-leg dress, her plump honey thighs clenched and rubbed fiercely. She bit her lip hard; red flush spread to her eyes instantly.
Gaslighting. Pretending to praise her noble facade in public. Dragging out her deepest, shameful core by force.
Her rapeseed golden eyes drowned in shame, depravity, and insane pleasure. The arrogant sword genius who crushed Berga vanished. In her place stood a bitch in heat, ready to squirt from between her legs.
"Ah…."
Rozalia's lips parted slightly.
In that extreme temperature shift, her golden eyes helplessly melted. Cheeks flushed red.
The moment she gazed up at the prince in a daze—her eyes flicked for a split second to me behind him. Then, slyly behind her back, she flashed me a V-sign with two fingers.
A secret signal no one else caught.
I felt a dull ache in my crotch. My girlfriend, putting on a show of being tamed by another man right in front of me, wagging her tail.
"How about it, my lady? Care to join my afternoon tea after class?"
Descartes tossed an irresistible offer with a kind smile. Rozalia nodded like a horny pup, face red.
"Yes… it would be an honor, Your Highness."
The hunting dog put on her own collar.
I stood frozen in the classroom corner, blankly watching. The front of my pants. From the tip of my unnoticed pathetic little clitty, sticky precum oozed out once more.