Juliet's Night Like Magic
Juliet's Night Like Magic and The White Knight's 49 Shadows had undoubtedly brought me success. Even though they were written by some nameless author, they'd become books that no one in the empire's social circles was unaware of. And someone must have made a fortune off them. Not me, the actual writer, but some other bastard raking in the cash.
'Ha...'
I briefly tallied up the potential earnings in my head before giving up on the thought. Just a little mental math revealed the staggering sum, and it pained me to imagine it. If only I knew how to peddle them to the illiterate commoners, I'd be rolling in dough for real. No need to dip into the territory's funds like last time—I could've smashed the casino with my own pure profits. No scolding from sis over gambling with estate money, either.
'Hm...'
Still, it wasn't all for nothing. I'd become the only person in the empire capable of writing novels this vulgar. Even after reading through those plagiarized knockoffs from the bindery, my conviction hadn't wavered. Simply put, they were all garbage. Not that the writing was terrible—they were at least legible as prose. But that's where it ended for me. Descriptions had to be meticulously detailed while showcasing a depravity you wouldn't see in vanilla sex. My copycats couldn't touch that. They might ape the title roughly, or at best mimic the vibe, but they could never replicate the core vulgarity of the text.
Of course, in a world where missionary is the only position anyone knows, what else could I expect? Even the mercenaries' tales only ever mentioned normal stuff, no matter how much I prodded. They even gave me looks like, Does this guy not even know how sex works?
In that sense, the positions I introduced in my writing were truly revolutionary. Like making her stroll naked. Or forcing her to finger herself in front of her master, describing exactly where her fingers were and how it felt. I bet the part that shocked them most was the fellatio. No one here has even attempted it, so they wouldn't know how painful teeth on the glans can be. To them, a dick is just a tool for impregnation via pussy. Who'd think to put that in their mouth? It's a meat rod that was pissing just moments ago.
Anyway, if there's one takeaway my writing left me with, it's this: "It has to be vulgar first and foremost."
I'm one of the very few in this world who can write truly depraved novels. That's the unshakable truth, whether during the writing of this latest one or now. And I have to stick to this concept.
If I wrote anything else, they wouldn't even recognize it as me.
The impression I've left on this world's people is singular: the author of The White Knight writes vulgar shit. Nothing else. Naturally, since I've been chasing dopamine through depravity.
"...So, next material."
A ton sprang to mind. After millennia of pent-up lust met illustration and comics in my old world, it bloomed into a garden of fetishes. Hitomi's golden age, in short. Materials numbering over a million on those sites? Still untapped here.
As long as this world stays unfamiliar with them, Hitomi is my bottomless well of inspiration. And the tags it spits out... I sifted through the ones that surfaced.
male:yaoi, male:femboy—rejected. Not my thing. If someone with that taste had isekai'd here instead of me, maybe they'd write it.
female:yuri, female:female_only—same deal, rejected. Though this one's actually to my taste.
Whoa! Two pussies! I'd only ever browsed yuri on Hitomi for dopamine hits anyway. A single pussy drops your pants; two is just double the fun. But in novel form? Different story. With inner monologues to nail, I lack confidence in an all-female cast. I'm no Osamu Dazai who penned No Longer Human or Schoolgirl—how the hell would I know women's hearts?
"...Looks like that's all there is."
I kept filtering. Once only iffy ones for prose remained from the standouts, I organized my ideas and recalled what this world might swallow now.
'Adultery, or...'
SM.
To keep it all fictional and plausible on paper, the latter fits.
People would drag SM into reality, sure. Sexual inclinations exist everywhere. Bluntly, is my fiancée Kiara just a crazy exhibitionist pervert? Hardly. She had the kink latent; my novels just awakened it. Same for anyone trying SM after reading mine—they're clueless newbies.
Besides, I'm not introducing SM from scratch. I sprinkled hints in The White Knight plenty, just subtly, without graphic detail.
But adultery's a whole other beast. It's everyday reality. The scene I witnessed at the adult ceremony proves it. Unless I'm Tolstoy satirizing noble affairs in something like Anna Karenina, better to ditch it outright. SM aligns close to my tastes; NTR or adultery, not so much. Milfs might be an exception.
Maybe flip the master-slave dynamic this time.
No self-plagiarism complaints yet. Once folks crave stimulation, they'll eat up my stuff anyway. Time to go all-in and test reactions.
These days, no woman in the empire probably awaits the mailman more eagerly than Kiara—barring the mailman's wife, maybe. Adrian's words from the adult ceremony's final day still burned fresh.
'When the new work drops, I'll give it to you...'
With context lost, only the promise lingered. How does he even know the author? Theories abounded: old friends, bonded over the novel, or maybe Adrian himself.
...No way.
She dismissed the last lightly. All she knew: Adrian knows the White Knight author. Nothing to do but pine until the sequel.
"Young miss—"
"Anything from Adrian?"
"...Yes. Correct."
"Br...bring it right now. Ahem. I'll be waiting."
Kiara barely maintained her marquis's daughter dignity. The maid-delivered package from Adrian nearly shattered it entirely.
Gulp. She swallowed hard, easing the wrapping open with painstaking care—lest she damage the book inside. Her caution paid off; the pristine volume landed perfectly in her hands.
Slowly, she savored the title.
"Juliet's Night Like Magic...."
Mysterious, sure. Typical of empire literature, though. Better than blindly picking others. And Kiara knew exactly what Adrian's gift held.
...This must be the sequel.
He wouldn't send random junk. So the name on the cover was the pen name, too.
"Sade Zahermazoh...."
She murmured it a few times. Pseudonym, obviously, but who cared? Names never mattered.
Reading aloud lasted only a moment. No confidence for voicing the contents.
...Juliet's days were this monotonous. Mornings: primping with maids' aid, admiring her beauty in the mirror. Lunch: tepid teatime chatter, devoid of meaning. Evening: scrubbing an unsoiled body, easing unearned fatigue. Night: sleep, awaiting another dull cycle. A life this tedious left only death at its end—a lamentable truth....
"...What."
Familiar. Kiara's gut reaction nailed it. The idle nobility's lot—those without lands or posts. Endless gossip filling a void, wondering if that's all life amounted to. Why she'd plotted thrilling outdoor escapades.
Maybe Juliet sought the same escape....
...This man before her was the sturdy slave always at market, rags his only garb. She gazed with her usual impassive eyes, but instinct drew them to his collarbone peeking through tatters. Lax arms. Massive, thick hands that could snap cold manacles. Heart pounding unbidden, Juliet stepped back from the bars. Steadying her ragged breath, she composed herself.
Pounding? For me?
Had boredom finally snapped her mind? Distance be damned, her eyes lingered on his vacant gaze, empty of desire....
Slurp—Kiara sucked in escaped drool, wiped her sleeve, and turned the page. Absorbing Juliet's lustful turmoil as her own, devouring every word. Scenes and emotions etched deep, even if sentences faded.
......Overly obedient. That dashed Juliet's hopes. The market slave hadn't seemed so spineless—his hollow eyes held some enigmatic aura. But now? Even his tongue on her sex lacked vigor. A stray alley mutt would wag harder.
"Is this your best?"
"......As a slave, yes."
Gulp. Juliet probed unwittingly.
"Then...?"
Curiosity urged her. If limits were the issue, remove them.
"As not a slave—what would you do?"
He paused. His gaze captured her. Instinct screamed: the market stare was back.
"May I?"
"......Ha."
Absurd laugh from Juliet. Did he need permission spelled out?
"Of course......"
Before words finished, a massive shadow eclipsed her view. Eyes locked on his hulking frame.
"Juliet."
Daring utter her name. Whipping was due. Yet her body wouldn't tense.
"Kneel. Eyes too high."
"...Ha?"
Crack—Her head snapped. Unfamiliar agony froze her. Eyes refocused on him as they swung back.
"I said kneel, you haughty bitch."
"Y-You right now—"
Thud—Fist sank into her gut. Agony roiled from deep within, like retching. Clutching her belly, gasping, curling tight—pain unrelenting. Kill the insolent slave now, striking without leave....
...She should. But why did her heart... throb with unprecedented thrill?....
"Ngh...."
A slick sensation snapped Kiara from immersion. Alien wetness below her skirt.
...Soaked.
Hand slipping under confirmed it. Realization soured to resentment fast.
"Adrian...."
But grudge faded quick.
"Sending this midday... what am I supposed to do...."
Schlick. Lost in the mood, her finger moved on instinct.