The Elf Who Craves Pudding (4) - Survival Instincts Sound the Red Alert
My survival instincts blared a crimson warning. Every emotion I had coalesced into human form, screaming at me to bow my head before the elf standing right in front of me. But acting on instinct would only lead to the worst possible outcome.
I clung to my fraying reason and pulled a handkerchief from my pocket.
Think. What did I do wrong?
I needed time to sort through the situation. With deliberate slowness, I wiped my mouth, piecing together my mistake.
Did she figure out I went out and had fun with Esilly?
If the elf had realized I'd spent a delightful time with Esilly—not fighting, but enjoying myself—it would explain her current fury. Should I badmouth Esilly here to soothe her anger?
Once my mouth was clean, I opened it to speak but hesitated.
Wait.
A series of clues raised doubts. The way she'd greeted me didn't fit.
If she was upset about Esilly from the start, she wouldn't have smiled so brightly when we ran into each other at the restaurant.
Clearly, when she'd emerged from the kitchen, her smile at me had been pure and unclouded—no hint of hidden rage. Her emotions had been calm until then.
So where had the anger come from? As my mind raced like an abacus, I pinpointed it: the pudding.
That was the only thing left.
Is she mad because I ate the pudding?
That I devoured a mere dessert and now she was radiating murderous intent? It made no sense, but it was the most likely culprit right now.
First things first: confirm the facts.
I folded the handkerchief, tucked it away, and casually pointed at the pudding plate.
"By any chance... this pudding here..."
"Master. There's no pudding there."
"...The pudding that was here—wasn't it meant for me?"
The elf's eyebrow twitched with irritation. That confirmed it: she was pissed about the pudding.
It wasn't prepared for me, and I'd eaten it anyway. That must be why she was this furious.
Was there a way out?
No. None.
Unless I could miraculously regurgitate the pudding in perfect shape, it was impossible. I was trapped on all sides, utterly screwed.
No matter how I racked my brain, the only option in this mess was to run.
I stayed as calm as possible, gripped the table, and rose from my chair.
"I'll go for a little walk."
"Master."
But of course, the elf wouldn't let me off that easily. Her red eyes, brimming with pure rage and nothing else, glared at me with lethal intensity.
"Dinner will be ready soon. Take your walk after we eat."
"...Then I'll head to the study."
"You should handle work tomorrow. Stressing over it isn't good for your health, right?"
"R-right."
Sweat beaded in my palms. Scrambling for another excuse, I seized my last hope.
"Ah! I need to check on the head butler. He's got a cold—I should see how he's doing myself."
"No need to worry. His cold's all better; he said he'll be back on duty tomorrow."
"Even so, as head of the family, it's only natural for me to—"
"Sit."
My excuses died in my throat. It was a clear warning: push her further, and she wouldn't hold back. I obediently sank back into the chair.
I'm done for.
What would happen now? Would she drag me off to the Great Forest and make me her slave...?
As horrifying visions filled my head, the elf slowly parted her lips.
"Master. It seems like you need to give me a harsh punishment."
That was an odd thing to say.
"Harsh punishment? When you haven't made a single mistake, how could I...?"
Before I could finish, the elf dropped the teapot and cup she'd been holding.
Clang!
Glass shattered, black tea splashed everywhere, and shards scattered across the floor. Staring in disbelief at her mad stunt, I watched her lips move indifferently.
"Sorry. My hand slipped, and I made the 'mistake' of breaking the teacup. A strict master like you would surely educate a worthless slave like me properly, right?"
How the hell is that a mistake, you bitch...!
I was seething with injustice, but rebelling here might actually get me killed. Stay calm. This was actually an opportunity.
Instead of killing me or hauling me to the Great Forest, she was offering to settle for harsh punishment. The problem? That punishment meant sex.
From our last sexual torment session, I knew she craved it from me.
But not right now. It's too soon.
Sex with her was a test—for both of us. Fail it, and she'd deem me a useless human. The future awaiting someone who couldn't prove their worth to her was anything but bright.
I needed preparation. Some way to satisfy her.
"Ten days."
Steadying my resolve, I opened negotiations.
"In ten days, I'll punish you harshly."
Give me ten days. That's enough time to become a man who can satisfy you and take the lead in bed.
The elf pondered my plea. Her hesitation spelled the end of talks after about three seconds.
"Ten days is too long, Master."
"Then a week..."
"In a week, you'll have forgotten my mistake."
Was she referring to herself or me with "my mistake"? Swallowing a groan at her ambiguous words, I raised my right hand and spread it wide. Five fingers obscured her emotionless face.
"Five days. That should be enough to punish you properly."
"Hmm. Five days..."
Crunch.
She stepped over the glass shards toward me. Blinking her beautiful red eyes, she lifted her slender, delicate hand and folded down my pinky finger.
"Four days."
A playful smile curved her lips.
"Four days should be fine, don't you think, Master?"
Ten days had shrunk to four. It was a tight deadline with no room to breathe, but I had no choice. With the elf angry, she held all the power—I was at her mercy.
The butterfly effect from that damn pudding pissed me off to no end, but there was nothing to be done. I'd eaten it, after all—not anyone else.
"Fine. Four days... should be enough to break your chastity without issue."
"It won't just be mine, I believe."
Her expression relaxed languidly. The murderous glint faded from her eyes, signaling the deal was sealed.
A heavy wave of relief settled in my chest. As tension ebbed and I leaned back in my chair, the kitchen door opened, and the head chef emerged.
Spotting me, his face lit up with a warm, genial smile.
"My lord! You've been waiting."
He carried a dish in each hand: one creamy pasta, the other rye bread sliced into neat bites.
"Perfect timing—the food's just finished. I put my heart into this one; please, give it a try!"
He set the plates and utensils on the table before me. Steam rose invitingly, fresh from the pan.
The elf glanced at the creamy pasta, circled the table, and sat beside me. That struck me as odd.
Normally, she'd bring a dog bowl and eat scraps at my feet like food waste, right?
No dog bowl today, no groveling at my feet. What was she up to?
I shot her a sidelong glare before turning to the chef.
"Head chef, the food is welcome, but why creamy pasta all of a sudden?"
"Ah, we had fresh milk in the freezer, so I used some."
"Fresh milk? You sourced it from the dairy farm?"
"Pardon? Wasn't it you who brought it, my lord?"
"Huh? What are you talking about? I've never been to the dairy farm..."
The elf tugged at my sleeve. Turning, I met her innocent gaze looking up at me.
"Master. Don't you remember? You went to the dairy farm with me and milked the cows."
"When did I ever go to a dairy... Oh."
A chilling realization prickled my skin.
Did she make this with her breast milk?
Nothing else explained the "fresh milk" the chef hadn't bought. After sending Leviham back to the cathedral, I'd returned from the bathroom to find the study—and the bucket—gone. I'd assumed a servant cleaned it up, but the culprit was her.
And now this elf planned to feed me creamy pasta made from her own milk? It was so absurd I was speechless. This damn woman...!
As if I'd indulge your insane fetish...!
"Go on, eat up, Master."
"Of course."
But sometimes, a man has to swallow his pride. I didn't want to rile her up again after she'd finally calmed, so I twirled some pasta on my fork.
My eyes were on the food, but my nerves were locked on her. Her piercing stare unnerved me more than expected.
She wants my reaction.
She must crave hearing what pasta made from her milk tasted like. Pathetic hobby, but I could indulge her.
Suppressing my disgust, I chewed. A smooth, nutty flavor filled my mouth. It wasn't bad, but knowing the source kept my stomach churning.
"How is it?"
I couldn't let it show. Composed, I murmured,
"Not bad at all."
"Would you want more?"
"Perhaps."
"Hehe. If you want, you could drink it straight from the source."
Hard pass from me. I stayed silent, and she dropped it.
Ten minutes later, I'd polished off the pasta and cleared the plate. My stomach felt off, but bearable.
"Delicious. Your skills improve by the day."
"Thank you, my lord!"
Beaming, the chef whisked away the empty plate and vanished into the kitchen. Alone again, the elf let out a light chuckle.
"Pfft."
I wasn't sure what the laugh meant, but her mood had lifted. As I watched her, she leaned toward me.
Silver hair cascaded over my shoulder; beneath neat lashes, red eyes gleamed softly. Starlight from the evening sky bathed her face in blue.
"Master is truly..."
Like a playful cat, she stroked my thigh.
"...how much milk will you milk from me?"
Her hand paused at my crotch, then withdrew as if nothing happened.
"I'm looking forward to it."
Her sly smile was seductive, but mine didn't twitch. The anticipation in her metaphor sounded like a threat to me.
But yielding to threats wouldn't ensure survival. Steel resolve, I gripped her chin and lifted it.
"Look forward to it, you filthy worm."
Our gazes clashed in the air. Esilly was right. I wouldn't lose to you.
Just as always, I'd reign over you as your cold-blooded psychopath master.
I'll become whatever you want. Anytime... to protect everything that's mine!