41. A Midsummer Night's Dream
41. A Midsummer Night's Dream
Light cuts diagonally through the window frame.
Wearing a hanbok that emphasizes grace to match the atmosphere of the antique furniture decorating the room, I kneel demurely, waiting for someone.
The solemn atmosphere rising up to my toes, the scent of natural wood unique to traditional hanok houses—it's all so sickeningly familiar now.
Turning my head to look out the window, the image of myself as a child under seven playing with her so-kind father flickers before my eyes. Hong Seolhwa averted her gaze from a memory that had become far too blurry from some point onward.
"The head of the household summons you."
Beyond the paper door, the silhouette of a pitch-black shadow calls me. Yes, I know. It's obvious. It'll be about the betrothal that I've heard so many times my ears are worn out. Hong Seolhwa let out a deep inward sigh and carefully rose to her feet.
"You've come."
"Yes, harabeonim."
When I was young, that voice was so warm and dependable. But why is the same voice now so eerie and unpleasant to hear? Hong Seolhwa sank into memories, recalling the happy past she could never return to.
"I'll get straight to the point. The date for the betrothal has been decided."
"...!"
"Three days from now, at the Hedeltz family's main mansion. It was actually decided long ago, but it's been delayed a little."
"......It's fine."
Hong Seolhwa's eyes trembled for a moment upon hearing the words, but soon regained their calm. She wasn't deaf either—she already knew the news that the wedding would be held before this festival ended.
Since she had been aware of it for some time, she had been mentally preparing herself all along. But hearing those words directly from the grandfather she respected was definitely a different feeling. Much, much heavier.
"......Are the rehearsal preparations complete?"
"Yes, harabeonim."
So that's how elegantly you can phrase asking whether I've finished preparing to become an obedient trinket for a man I'll meet for the first time at the wedding ceremony. She unconsciously bit her lip.
The reason she still hadn't met that man face to face was simple. Apparently, the thought that a noble and graceful woman would give her virginity to a man she met for the first time was very exciting. She didn't want to recall it, but it was one of that man's fetishes she'd heard hundreds of times and could never forget.
Paul Hedeltz. 62 years old.
The third son of the prestigious Hedeltz family of the empire, a business prodigy called the Midas touch, one of the wealthiest men in the empire, second to none.
He maintained neutrality without any interest in the competition for the head of the family, surviving the power struggle with ease, and maintains a smooth relationship by providing funds to the second son, Verhel Hedeltz, who secured the position of household head.
His hobby is solely indulging in women's beauty. Having been rejected by his first love as a child, it seems to have become a trauma, and he collects every beautiful person on the continent regardless of gender.
He prefers women with a graceful and modest disposition, and must always be addressed as 'husband-nim'. His preferred food is mainly meat. He has a severe shrimp allergy.
......His preferred positions are primarily rear-entry, and since he doesn't even spare the back...hole, it must always be prepared. After sucking it with the mouth, one must always swallow it. He also enjoys when the person chokes and tears up from lack of breath. He prefers bunny girls.
And various other things. This was a story she'd heard hundreds of times since the betrothal was arranged, until her ears bled. Her eating habits, even her sleep patterns, have all been changed to suit his preferences. Even the humiliating and vulgar acts and jargon that would require extra money even in back-alley brothels have long since become familiar through continuous education.
"......Are you truly alright?"
The harabeonim before me asked. Not his usual voice, sharp and cold like a honed blade, but a voice with a warm fragment melted into it, as if turning back the clock sixteen years. I answered.
"......I'm fine."
...Actually, I'm not fine. Harabeonim. That's only natural. What woman in the world would be happy to marry a potbellied middle-aged man forty years older than herself? I'm a woman too. An ordinary woman who is sometimes moved by small gifts, whose heart flutters reading romance novels hidden away on a bookshelf, who dreams of a wedding that everyone in the world would envy, with a prince on a white horse who will one day hold me warmly.
The dreams I had as a child have become just dreams, and only cold reality awaits me before my eyes. Thinking of myself being used for a few years as a convenient sex slave and then being thrown away miserably makes me feel like crying. The happy moments with Yuriel I experienced just yesterday feel like a midsummer night's dream.
Yes, Yuriel. What is Yuriel doing right now?
I sit here in this cold room, pretending to calmly accept the destined tragedy, drowning in despair, but the Seowol Festival is still bustling and noisy, brightly illuminating the summer night sky. Yuriel is probably enjoying the festival, intoxicated by the exuberant atmosphere.
Maybe she's on a date with her boyfriend—was it Siwoo?—cuddling and being lovey-dovey? No, she definitely is. I'm sure.
Rumor has it they're an adorable couple who stick together so closely they're almost always attached at the hip. They're probably enjoying the festival together right now, glued to each other.
Whenever I happen to be with her and ask about him, she always spouts bad things—that he's an asshole, that there's something wrong with his personality. But I can tell. The overflowing affection and trust for him are hidden in her seemingly indifferent words. Sometimes I even envy him. I wonder how he managed to get so close to Yuriel, who's famous for not paying attention to others.
They're probably walking through the academy holding hands privately, sharing stories only they know, or experiencing the various booths lining the streets together, welcoming the festival's fervor.
......Maybe, after enjoying the festival, they're in their own room, locking eyes and shyly making love......?
No, that's going too far. The Yuriel I've seen so far is a girl so pure it's almost miraculous. To the point that if you met a unicorn, the unicorn would probably pounce on her first. I bet she still believes that if you hold hands while sleeping, a baby will appear. At most, she'd blush furiously and be shy after just a peck on the lips.
Thinking that, a corner of my heart suddenly felt gloomy. Talent, love, faith in oneself. The things I've struggled to grasp even a single one of, only to see them drift further away—she seems to obtain them so easily. It stung for no reason.
Actually, at this point, I don't even think I can obtain such things. They've gone too far for me to reach out and grab, and they're far too fantastical for someone like me, who's grown so accustomed to letting things slip from my hands.
I just wanted to see her. I wanted to see her—she who possesses talents anyone would envy, who is in the midst of such a sweet and tender love, who believes in herself so naturally no matter the situation.
I don't know the reason. Maybe I'm projecting myself onto Yuriel. The things I've already given up on, let slip from my hands—have I projected myself onto her, who has already embraced all of them? That thought crosses my mind sometimes.
But it doesn't matter now. Whatever the reason may be. Whether it's for pathetic self-satisfaction, a base desire born from the gap between the past and present that has accumulated and settled since childhood, or simply the product of inferiority. It doesn't really matter.
I just wanted to see her.
Her, who always showed up at the rabbit pen around the time the sun hid every day, greeting me with the world's brightest smile as if she'd been waiting all along.
Her, who said I should try rebelling at least once in this hamster-wheel life, and gave me courage by suggesting we skip class together.
Her, who could have been furious at my terrible gaming skills, but pretended to be on the edge of her seat with obvious acting, trying to teach me the joy of being with a friend.
Her, who, when I asked if I could see her again, nodded without a hint of hesitation and said, "Of course."
......I wanted to see her so badly.
"Hueueueu... hueueueueu... Ooh, oop."
"That's right, now you're finally getting good at it. I'll give you cum as a reward. Chew it well, don't waste any?"
"Uup, uuup, ubup...!"
I shoved my dick into Yuriel's mouth, grabbed her head with one hand, and shook it like an onahole. Unlike before, when her mouth was blocked by my thick cock and she struggled to breathe, now she moves her head on her own with an ecstatic expression, sucking my dick. Watching her tongue move around inside her mouth instinctively to please the male, making the cock feel good, I couldn't help but laugh.
"Alright, I'm going to cum together with you. Got it? One, two, three. I'm coming."
"Oob, obob, ubeu, ubeueup?!?!♥"
As a result of vigorously shaking my hips, along with the rising feeling of climax, a considerable amount of semen poured from my cock into Yuriel's mouth. At the same time, a substantial amount of fluid gushed from Yuriel's already-soaked pussy.
"Good. Don't swallow right away, savor it as much as you can?"
"Umeul, umeulumeul..."
"Good job. Now swallow."
Gulp.
Along with the sound of viscous semen going down her throat, Yuriel's mouth opened wide—Bbee—. Whether due to a female's instinct not to waste even a drop of semen, her mouth was surprisingly clean. At the same time, a significant sense of achievement swelled in my heart.
Since the training had progressed so far that even in a sleep state where she had already lost consciousness, she would open her mouth and stick out her tongue like a bitch in heat just by putting a dick near her face, I had recently been conducting a kind of training on her.
So that she wouldn't blindly suck when a dick was presented to her face,
So that she would savor the smell of the cock with her nose first, and only start sucking when I gave the signal,
So that she would climax disgracefully in time with my ejaculation as her master,
So that she would prioritize the mood of her master, the male, over her own pleasure—
After a week of such training, during her sleep, her body had been reborn as the ideal female body that could go when I said go, suck when I said suck. Of course, her body, already lewd beyond measure, would still squirt a little love juice from her pussy and have a small orgasm just by putting a dick near it, but I decided to leave that as its own separate pleasure.
"You follow orders well, Yuriel. Good work. You're allowed to masturbate freely now."
"...I, I'm gonna cu-cum just from nipple stimulatiooon...! Nipple sti-mu-la-tiooon...! Oho, ohohot..., ohoooot...!"
As soon as my permission was given, Yuriel spread her legs and started fondling her crimson nipples, shaking her hips in the air. This too is my personal creation, made with considerable effort. There's also the method of rubbing her pussy with fingers, but Yuriel doesn't know that method. No, 'I made sure she doesn't know' is the correct expression. Anyway.
Yuriel drools from her mouth, presses her nipples firmly with her fingers, rubs them in circles, struggling to climax. But Yuriel cannot climax without my permission. That is the 'rule' I have embedded in Yuriel's unconsciousness, the rule that must be prioritized above all else—one that Yuriel herself doesn't even know.
"Why, why won't it come...! I, I want to come...! Qui, quickly...!"
"Pfft, that's fucking hilarious. Maybe I should buy a dedicated nipple onahole for you soon."
Yuriel, with a calm face, masturbates habitually on the bed, firmly believing that the adult goods store is the academy's official store, and continues shopping while thinking about which onahole would make her nipples more sensitive, considering it 'common sense to purchase a dedicated nipple onahole for training.' It would be pretty hot.
Outside the room, once the distorted thinking hasn't fully settled, the interference quickly unravels, but at least inside my room, Yuriel is no different from my puppet with a sense of self.
Thinking it would be interesting to make her believe this place is a sparring ground and induce her to challenge me to a pussy-climax match with her usual arrogant face, I said to her.
"Alright, Yuriel. It's time to climax. If you say 'I am Yuriel, Master Siwoo's dedicated onahole,' you can come. Now repeat after me—"
"IamYurielMasterSiwoodedicatedonaholeYurielat♥ Hik, ihiihik?!?!♥"
"Pfft, looks like you were in a hurry. Good job. Now let's do two more climax control training sessions. You can do it, right? This time I'm going to forbid you from climaxing for about 30 minutes, so prepare yourself?"
"Huueu, haeut...?"
The night continues.