Chapter 349
Chapter 349
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 349
Chapter Title: The Witch's Sensual Novel (2)
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1.
Having finished her busy work, Countess Lucy hurried to the dining room with excited steps.
Today's dinner with her beloved Diana.
She had even instructed the chef to prepare special dishes for Diana, who had seemed rather down lately.
Diana's favorite pheasant over lamb.
It was made from game hunted that very morning with a crossbow, which carried a more intense aroma and wild flavor than farmed meat, making it a true delicacy.
"My dear daughter, how was your day?"
A feast of gourmet delights spread across the table.
The countess was startled by Diana's sullen expression as she slouched into her seat across from her.
Her face was as dark as if storm clouds had gathered.
"Daughter? Are you alright?"
"......"
The countess asked worriedly, but Diana merely glanced up briefly before lowering her gaze again, offering no proper reply.
Shocked, Lucy asked once more.
"Diana, did something happen?"
"No, nothing happened."
No matter how she looked at it, something seemed amiss.
Even as the countess pressed with concern, Diana tossed out curt responses in a brusque tone, draped a napkin around her neck, and picked up her silver knife.
"Today we have your favorite pheasant dish! Eat up, my dear—Mommy's fine, so have plenty!"
"Yes, thank you, Mother."
Lucy had even exaggerated her cheer a bit, but the response was lukewarm.
The way she hacked at it with her knife or stabbed it with her fork and chewed the pheasant meat felt utterly tasteless, like rubber chunks served on a plate.
Was this her second rebellious phase?
A few years ago, when puberty had hit Diana, she'd acted similarly.
After that, baths that they used to take together became separate, and they started sleeping in different rooms as if it were the most natural thing.
The confusion and disappointment Countess Lucy had felt then could fill an 800-page novel with no room left for margins.
Even as a mature witch of high standing, this was her first time as a mother.
But having been through it once before, she could handle it more calmly this time.
"Daughter, is something bothering you? Or making you feel hurt?"
Blindly interrogating a child about changed behavior was bad for emotional development or genuine communication.
She had learned from experience that forming empathy with a gentle tone and gaze was key.
As she gazed at Diana with a soft smile, those crimson eyes hesitantly peeked back at the countess.
"No matter what it is, if there's a problem, tell Mommy! I'll fix it all for you!"
"...Thank you for the meal."
But things went the opposite of what she expected.
Diana set down her utensils with a clink and left the dining room in quick strides.
"Huh?"
It looked like walking at a glance, but before Lucy could stop her, Diana vanished swiftly.
The countess stared blankly at her retreating back.
2.
Hidden truths inevitably warp relationships.
Now that she knew her mother's secret hobby, Diana couldn't treat her the same as before—and she'd half-expected that.
But...
"Haa... ugh, ughh..."
After dinner, Diana headed straight to the rear garden connected to her room.
It was a bathhouse covered by a massive glass dome, where warm hot spring water flowed year-round.
Diana submerged herself in the center, curling up like a fetus as she wrestled with her turmoil.
The third volume of Demon Deliveryman she'd found in her mother's study today.
Its contents were utterly shocking.
Lewd acts between men and women that Diana had never even imagined.
1 stack.
The witch depicted as helplessly becoming the man's plaything.
2 stacks.
And the author being her impeccably prim and proper mother.
3 stacks.
Learning three brutal truths in a row, each enough to shatter faith in the world, explained why she couldn't focus on dinner.
Her mother's appearance strikingly resembled the novel's heroine, adding to the confusion.
She couldn't help glancing at her mother's breasts, only for images of the witch in the book having hers tickled to flash in her mind.
-Blub blub blub blub
Bubbles rose from where Diana submerged.
It couldn't be, but what if it was her mother's autobiography?
The descriptions matched her mother's looks too closely, and the details felt suspiciously vivid.
Yet even entertaining the thought felt like committing a grave sin, leaving her fidgety and restless.
At the same time, she couldn't pretend ignorance and act normal, which only made her more anxious.
The book's contents were all unknowns.
Diana hugged herself in the water, recalling every provocative line she couldn't forget.
It was strange.
She'd thought trashy content like that would fade quickly...
Instead, it burned in her mind like a branded scar.
"Puha...!"
Short of breath, Diana surfaced and gasped for air.
It'd be a lie to say she wasn't disappointed in her mother.
It felt vulgar, and the massive shock made her heart pound.
But...
What if...?
The bound and tickled witch was described as leaking sticky love juices from her womanhood.
She didn't know why.
She had no idea what love juices were, how they formed, or their purpose.
But what happened after inserting the penis there?
And moreover...
Diana's hand unconsciously brushed between her legs.
Beneath the soft gray pubic hair, slick from the water and barely noticeable, lay a narrow slit.
She washed it for hygiene, but she'd never wondered why there was a hole there...
"It really goes inside here?"
It was so tight even one finger seemed scary.
Obviously, ingrained as an 'unclean place,' she'd never tried.
The description said the engorged penis was about 17cm—roughly the length of her handspan or a bit more.
And its girth barely fit in a ring made by thumb and index finger...
Wouldn't it kill you?
And what did you do after inserting it?
"Ugh..."
Diana shook her head like a wet dog after a bath, flinging off droplets.
She knew dwelling on this was unhealthy and wrong.
Yet it wouldn't wash away from her mind, just like when she'd seen the twins kissing that male witch.
Not even dunking her head fully in the hot spring helped.
Finally, Diana resolved herself.
She'd just read a bit further, up to that point.
3.
The dead of night, when even plants slumbered.
The Yesod estate lay shrouded in silence.
Winter seemed to have arrived early; even with corridor windows tightly shut, a chill seeped through without a cloak, sending shivers down the spine.
Diana tiptoed down the hall, careful not to let her slippers drag.
The late-night maids who simmered jam in giant pots had retired; in this deep hour, the sparse candle flames in sconces couldn't fully banish the shadows of the vast Yesod corridors.
"Hoo..."
Diana slipped past with bated breath, down the stairs to her mother's study.
She'd planned to wait until morning.
Until the countess went out and the study was completely empty.
But unable to sleep, Diana overcame her mounting reluctance and embarked on her midnight adventure.
Countess Lucy Yesod kept a regular sleep schedule, and the study was quite distant from her mother's bedroom—a fact that bolstered Diana's courage.
Thankfully, she reached it without encountering any maids tending the candles.
Her mother hadn't stopped by today; everything remained as she'd left it.
Diana manipulated the statue to open the secret room and placed an oil lamp on the table.
"Hoo..."
Perfect infiltration success.
Closing the door made it a sealed chamber.
This being her second time—or perhaps due to the heavy, settled air calming her—she surveyed the room more steadily.
Shelves there held at least three dozen quills and fountain pens.
Ink bottles her mother used for work and white-out for corrections caught her eye.
In a way, this was her mother's writing studio.
But that wasn't the point.
Diana adjusted the gas lamp to illuminate the book well and sat in the chair.
"Hoo..."
Deep breaths steadied her pounding heart as she opened Demon Deliveryman.
Her trembling fingers calmly turned the pages until she reached where she'd left off.
The point where the deliveryman had just exposed his penis and inserted it.
"......!"
Even Diana's vivid imagination, aided by the countess's precise descriptions, couldn't fully picture the scene.
Limitations of text.
No matter how detailed, it paled against a single photo or video clip.
Still, Diana couldn't close her gaping mouth.
The witch's flooded entrance, melting slickly.
The rigid manhood forcing into that tight mucosal crevice.
The deliveryman pinned her down as if binding her and began thrusting his hips.
The description went like this:
His motions held no mercy.
He pried the witch's white thighs to their limit, as if pinning or raping her by force.
Into the exposed, inverted butterfly of her folds, he shoved his hardened flesh and pressed down.
Her depths were hot like a starving mouth, slick and tight yet soft.
He roughly gripped her breasts, ignoring resistance, and rocked his hips back and forth.
Diana's face heated up in an instant.
The soft oil lamp glow wasn't scorching her cheeks.
"H-How, how can it be so... disgusting..."
As if regretting seeing something she shouldn't, she squinted and even covered one eye with her hand—yet her crimson eyes raced across the lines relentlessly.
The witch's canvas-white body.
Savage bite marks marred that fresh feminine form.
On her delicate skin, teetering on the edge without drawing blood, beads of ecstatic sweat glistened between pleasure and pain.
'Make me pregnant... with your baby...'
The witch didn't resist.
Not when he bit her nape, nor when he twisted and squeezed the fragile fruit of her precious, sensitive nipples.
'You spout nonsense whenever you're fucked. Witches can't get pregnant, you know?'
Pressing the round entrance at her deepest core flooded her mind with thick, dizzying pleasure.
Amid his sharp mockery, the witch shed pitiful tears.
Tears of a female in bliss.
'I know. But I want it. Your baby seed, deep inside me.'
'If you want it that badly, no helping it. Spread your legs wider?'
'I'll spread them. If you want. Whenever you want. As long as you want.'
Their entwined bodies grew fiercer.
Lightning thrilled the witch from crown to toe.
Her hips bucked unwittingly, her clenching hole gripped the hot rod painfully tight, toes curling like in a dance.
'Haaaa!'
The witch's back arched like a bridge.
The man pinned her neck to prevent escape and emptied himself into her most sacred place.
As thick white semen defiled her insides, the witch smiled in delight.
"......"
Her expression was like tasting an unfamiliar local dish of odd flavor.
Yet amid it, her face flushed red like the novel's witch.
Apprentice Witch Diana Yesod had finally learned how babies are made.