The Collar
The moment I stepped into the room, Veronica flicked a glance at her attendant. The servant bowed at once and slipped out the door.
"Don't just stand there. Sit down, Miss Katrina."
"Ah—yes. Thank you."
I offered an awkward smile and lowered myself onto the sofa across from her. Sitting face-to-face like this, Veronica was—
"Is there something on my face?"
"Ah, no. Nothing in particular..."
"Hmm~?"
She was stunning. Sharp, striking features, punctuated by eyes the color of rubies. Hair black as pitch, falling all the way to her chest. Her chest... fuck, those tits were enormous.
No. Not the time.
For a split second my lower half nearly stirred beyond my control. Getting hard in a skirt? That would be an unsalvageable catastrophe. My eyes jumped from her face to her chest and then groped for somewhere—anywhere—else to land. There was nowhere safe.
A soft trickle of liquid. Whether Veronica hadn't noticed or simply didn't care, she poured the black tea in silence. Only after a full cup settled in front of me did my homeless gaze finally find a place to rest.
"It's quite a journey from the capital. You must be exhausted."
"I took the train most of the way, so I'm all right."
"The main house would be more comfortable than the Detached Villa. If you'd like to change rooms, just say the word."
"That's very kind of you."
The awkward conversation dragged on. Could I even call this a conversation? Every time it started to go somewhere, I was the one chopping it off. It wasn't as if I wanted to be like this—but what if I got caught? With every ounce of focus locked on my pitch, my inflection, the shape of every syllable, I couldn't actually attend to what anyone was saying.
"I hear even the capital isn't entirely safe these days?"
"What are your hobbies, Miss Katrina?"
"Do you like painting? I've recently started learning..."
And so the lead stayed in Veronica's hands from start to finish. At least she steered clear of fashion and romance—subjects I wouldn't have survived.
"How do you like the tea?"
"Yes, the aroma is lovely."
"It is, isn't it? A gift from an acquaintance with a rather deep knowledge of tea."
Lovely wasn't the word. The scent was strange—a little bitter, a little sweet, and wholly unfamiliar. Whatever it was, it was not ordinary black tea. Still. You don't say that about a cup someone has gone to the trouble of serving you.
Mid-conversation, we happened to lift our cups at the same time. The taste of the tea spread across my tongue. A brief lull settled between us as we both savored it, and I couldn't explain why, but every time my eyes met Veronica's, something in my chest went tight. Those red irises staring straight through me sent a chill down my spine. Once again my gaze, with nowhere decent to go, retreated to the teacup.
Veronica set her cup down and propped her chin on one hand. Her thumb tapped lightly against her own cheek. Her eyes had not left Katrina once.
When is that going to take effect?
This is getting dull.
"So whose idea was the crossdressing?"
"Pffh—?!"
The sudden fastball nearly sent the tea in my mouth across the table. Shit. Did she figure it out? Is my life over?
"Father told me everything."
"Ah. The Count..."
So when you said your daughter knew the circumstances, my lord, this was included? I had assumed—obviously—that the crossdressing would stay buried.
"Don't worry. I'll keep your secret."
"Yes. Thank you..."
"So whose idea was it? A hobby, perhaps?"
"Absolutely not! I was dead set against it, but Father—!"
"Hmm~ Your father, was it?"
"Haa..."
The tension drained out of me all at once, and the strength went with it. All that care over how I sat, how I spoke—pointless from the first word. Veronica was smiling, as if she found the whole thing delightful.
My throat felt scorched. I reached for the teacup to wet it. Or rather—I tried to.
"Huh...?"
I stretched toward where the cup should have been, but my hand only stirred empty air. I tried again. The wavering cup refused to be caught. I lifted my head, and the room, Veronica—everything—rippled in every direction.
"Looks like the drug is finally kicking in."
"Nngh..."
What was that supposed to mean? I wanted to ask what she had done to the tea, but the words would not come.
"Shh. Don't worry. It's just an ordinary sleeping draught."
Veronica's voice, from the sofa across the table, sounded as if it were arriving from a great distance. My eyelids grew heavy. My body grew heavier. I pitched forward.
Veronica looked down at me slumped across the table.
"Hngh... hh-hngh..."
The last thing I saw before the memory went out was her wicked little smile.
A cool sensation pulled me back. The drug still clung to me; my eyelids were lead.
"Nnh..."
I forced my eyes open onto a ceiling I did not recognize. Instinct sent the order to move, but my arms and legs were bound—arms stretched above my head, legs forced apart and locked in place. A humiliating position. Worse: the clothes I had arrived in were gone, and so was the enchanted artifact. I was completely naked.
"You're finally awake. Kat—no. I suppose I should call you Leopold now?"
I turned toward the voice. Veronica was looking down at me, her eyes bright with curiosity and anticipation—the look you give a new toy, or a puppy.
"What the hell is this?! Untie me right now!"
"Don't yell. The soundproofing in here is terrible. What do you think happens if someone hears you and walks in?"
"Nngh...!"
"It'd be a problem if they found out you're a man. Right?"
She smiled as she said it, and her hand came down to stroke my chest—soft, almost tender. The smile itself was so affectionate that a stranger walking in might have mistaken the two of us for something else entirely.
"Why... why are you doing this? Why me?!"
"I was bored."
"What?"
"...You wouldn't understand, but I've been terribly bored for a long time."
I hadn't expected a decent reason. This was a woman who had drugged the son of her father's friend on first acquaintance. But bored? This insane bitch—
"Does the reason even matter? What actually matters right now..."
Her hand traveled slowly down my stomach.
"Nnh—!"
Her hand closed around my cock. My whole body jerked. I had never felt anything like it—another person, a woman, touching me there. Veronica began to stroke me, slow and unhurried. The same fingers that had poured tea a little while ago were wrapping around my cock and working it.
Fear. Shame. And a pleasure I could not stop. They tangled together until my head was a wreck.
"Stop... stop it...!"
"Katrina. You're awfully wet for someone telling me to stop."
Wet. That was a word you used for a woman.
She had already abandoned the long strokes. Now she set about tormenting the head—cupping the glans in her palm and turning her hand in slow, tight circles.
"Haaahn—!"
"What a girlish little moan. Is that why the dress suits you so well?"
"Th-there's no waaay that's—♡?!"
"Haha. I'm afraid I didn't catch that."
At some point she had settled on the edge of the bed, close enough to whisper against my ear. Her heavy breasts swayed nearer for it. Every time she moved her arm to work my cock, they rolled with her.
I had been holding back as hard as I could. The visual on top of everything else finished me.
A thick, wet spurt—
Leopold couldn't even manage an I'm coming or an I'm close. He just came, ugly and helpless, semen fountaining from his cock. He hadn't properly touched himself since the war began. All that accumulated spend sprayed not inside a woman, but all over a woman's room—soiling the bed she slept in, the carpet she walked on, even the clothes she was wearing.
A sticky, clinging sound.
While Leopold thrashed through the aftershocks, Veronica studied the hand that had just been working him. It was glazed in semen. Every time she spread her fingers, the stuff stretched between them like melted cheese. She brought it to her nose. Fishy. Damp.
...Not to my taste.
In the books, the heroine always went on about the scent of a male and buried her nose in it.
Veronica wiped the semen off her hand without much ceremony.
"I'll send for you now and then. You know what happens if you don't come."
Leopold didn't answer. He only nodded, his eyes full of despair. A satisfying reaction, right to the end.
I somehow made it back to the Detached Villa and collapsed onto the bed. The women's clothes were uncomfortable. I hadn't washed; my skin felt clammy. But today had been too long to care about any of that.
Leopold stripped off only the enchanted artifact and fell asleep—thinking, perhaps, that this mansion with Veronica in it might be a more frightening place than any battlefield.