3. A Night as Magical as Juliet's
Honestly, peeing the bed wasn't that big a deal.
The maids handled laundry like that on a regular basis anyway.
Maybe it was a bit heartless, but all Yuli had done was nudge the schedule forward a little.
The real problem was if word got out.
Especially if it spread to high society.
Yuli was already treated like she hadn't come of age just because she missed the adult ceremony. If rumors started calling her a bedwetter on top of that?
She didn't even want to imagine it.
Once Adrian fully took over as lord, she might have to flee to some forgotten corner of the world where no one knew her.
Even if it was just some petty territory gossip, high society had a way of letting every embarrassing detail spread like wildfire.
"I've told everyone to keep their mouths shut for now."
"Yeah..."
"We have plenty of blankets, but I'm not sure if there's a mattress left that suits your tastes. I'll do my best to find one quickly."
"..."
"If we can't get a new mattress by tonight..."
"...And if we can't?"
"You might have to sleep with the young master."
Yuli's face, already as pale as her hair, drained of what little color it had left.
She'd never wanted to pass out so badly in her life.
It was evening now, and I was finally ready to crash for some real sleep.
After a full day of training, my body didn't ache with fatigue, but I felt bone-tired anyway. Maybe it was memories from the academy. Or just echoes from my past life.
Click.
The soft hinges welcomed me silently.
I eyed the wide, plush bed—perfect for a dive right in—
"Eek?!"
"...?"
Someone had beaten me to it.
My sister had stolen my cozy nest.
She looked dead set on sleeping here, decked out in a full negligee nightgown set.
"...What the hell?"
"W-what do you mean? I'm sleeping here."
"Who said you could crash in my room?"
"Me, that's who."
"..."
I racked my brain. Why was my sister trying to bunk in my room of all places?
A nightmare? Nah, she wasn't the type to get spooked like that. And it wasn't even bedtime yet.
Something to talk about in the middle of the night? If so, why was she already tucked in like she owned the place?
Playing at childhood nostalgia? She hated sharing a bed more than anyone back then.
I eliminated the plausible excuses one by one until only one stuck.
"Sis."
"Yeah?"
"I'm not gonna do that kinda stuff with you."
"...Huh?"
"That's why you came looking for me, right?"
"...What 'kinda stuff'?"
"You know..."
Did I really need to spell it out? She'd spent half the day bickering with me about how hitting her belly was her weak spot.
I kept it short and waited. She got it quick enough—her pale face flushed with color before she buried it in the white pillow.
"You crazy bastard!!"
Whoosh—I caught the flying pillow midair with ease.
"What else you got?"
"Plenty! Lots!"
"Then why're you here?"
"I... uh..."
"...?"
She clammed up again.
This wasn't some prank, was it?
"No answer, and I'm not holding back."
"W-what're you gonna do?"
"Dunno. Call the butler. Or roll you up in the blanket and toss you in the hall."
"..."
"Like I said, answer me or—"
"...I p-peed myself."
"...Come again?"
"I peed the bed!!"
"..."
Was she messing with me?
I grabbed the pillow and stalked over. She shrank back on instinct, like she thought I'd go feral.
"...Gonna hit me?"
"What do you think?"
"..."
Swish. She peeled back the blanket.
I thought she was finally getting up... but no.
She hiked up her nightgown, baring her defenseless lower belly.
"...What the hell are you doing?"
"Y-you're gonna... h-hit me, right?"
"..."
"Might as well... do it here..."
"You seriously trying to fuck with me?"
"...Not gonna hit me?"
"Why the hell would I hit you over this? You want it or something?"
"..."
Yuli looked speechless.
She didn't drop the nightgown, just kept stroking her lower belly—like she had no intention of hiding the obvious red mark.
"Sis."
"Y-yeah...?"
"Did someone hit you?"
"N-no?"
"Then what's that on your belly?"
"...I dunno. It just hurts."
"..."
It clearly had a story, but she wasn't spilling.
Looked like a fist—or something blunt—had done it, so I didn't pry.
But I needed to know who.
I climbed onto the bed without shoving her off.
The mattress dipped under my weight, tilting her right into my arm.
I didn't push her away—just leaned in close.
She recoiled from the waist up, but her plump thighs kept her lower half planted.
Perfect angle to inspect her belly.
"This looks like a fist mark."
Gulp.
With my face so close, I heard her swallow loud and clear.
She didn't even try to avoid my stare fixed on her belly.
One hand drifted to cover her panty line, like that was her priority.
It didn't block much anyway.
"Ah, ow...!"
Yuli flinched with a whimper.
"...Hurts?"
"...Yeah."
"How? Skin scraped? Or throbbing inside?"
"...Just the skin."
That was a shame.
Earlier today, she'd been going on about how a belly punch made her womb clench—like some mangled fetish fantasy.
If she'd felt that inner throb this time, she'd know it was all bullshit.
"I'll put some ointment on it."
"...Okay."
I hopped off, grabbed a jar from the room, and came back.
She was still belly-up, staring blankly at me.
Did it hurt that bad?
I unscrewed the lid and scooped a glob of white ointment onto my finger. Her eyes flicked from my face to my hand.
"Might sting."
"..."
No reply. Probably bracing herself.
I eased my finger onto her belly, following her gaze.
"Hyah...!"
Sensitive, obviously. Red mark like that meant it was a solid hit.
But why hadn't she said a word to me about it?
Well, now I knew. Whoever it was, messing with the acting lord like this? They were in for it.
"Ngh, oof...!"
"You okay?"
"Y-yeah? ...Uh-huh."
Something was off—she nodded too hard.
One finger wasn't cutting it, so I added my middle one, spreading the ointment evenly.
Every touch made her belly quiver.
Not just reflex—her whole body trembled with it.
"Hng...!"
"...You sure you're fine?"
"I-I'm f-fine, haa... I said I am...?"
"..."
She looked like she could barely hold it together.
Breathing ragged—how the hell was she gonna sleep like this?
Her head lolled just enough for her gasps to hit my ear dead-on.
This was serious.
"Eek, th-that... ahn...!"
"Sis?"
"K-keep going."
"..."
"Keep... going...?"
"...'Cause it hurts?"
"N-nooo...!"
"...Then why?"
"Y-you're... p-putting... o-on ointment... right...?"
"..."
She cut off mid-sentence and grabbed my hand—the one on her belly.
Trying to pry my fingers apart, forcing all of them in.
"A little... like this... use your whole... hand...!"
I didn't resist. My palm spread wide, slicking through the ointment already coating her skin.
Warm from her body heat—I felt every bit of her temp.
"Eep... haa...!"
"..."
I kept going, just like she wanted. No words.
Slow strokes, occasional presses with the base of my fingers—her reactions went wild.
Her thighs clenched and twisted, locking rigid. Her upper body shuddered against me.
She clutched my shoulder, temples pressed to it, barely holding on. This happened a few times.
"Sis."
"Ha, hng... yeah...?"
"You really came to my room 'cause you peed the bed?"
"Haa... y-yeah, I did...? Ah, eek... there, more...!"
"..."
She looked less like a patient and more like someone getting teased.
Could rubbing her belly alone do this to a person?
From her little brother, no less, who'd been around her whole life.
"Sis."
"Hnn...!"
"Be straight with me."
"Uh, uhn...!"
"Who hit your belly? Or did someone actually hit you?"
"..."
"Answer."
"S-someone... hit me...!"
I switched back to two fingers—but pressed harder. Enough to poke her belly with each little shift.
"Who?"
Poke, poke, poke...
Her thighs twitched harder under the pressure.
"Answer."
"...H-haa, ngh...!"
"Who hit sis's belly?"
"...M-me...!"
"...Why?"
Genuine question. And the punishment? Pure spite.
Press...
"Eek...!"
"Why'd you hit yourself?"
"C-curious...!"
"About what?"
"In the b-book... they keep... targeting the belly... f-focus on it... ah, hng...!"
"So you did it yourself?"
"Y-yeah, hee...!"
What a sight.
Reading about some guy tormenting a belly in a book and deciding to punch her own?
But in the book, it was another man doing it—part of the play.
Why twist it into solo self-punishment?
Who even gets off on poking their own undeveloped belly?
Press—
"Ahh, eek?!"
"Punishment."
"P-punish...?"
"You just peed the bed like an idiot."
"Ugh...!"
"Then tried to crash here all casual. This is for that."
"Eek...!"
"Reflect. Apologize."
"S-sorry...!"
"Sorry for what?"
"P-peed... and then... ahn...! Ah, hyah...!"
Just pressing her belly shouldn't make her feel it like that—straight out of some degenerate comic.
She was reacting exactly like those.
"M-making excuses... one night... isn't enough... y-you comforted me... eek?!"
Her belly spasmed under my prods.
Something primal clicked.
Dangerous. If I kept this up...
"Sis."
"S-sor—"
I tried pulling away, but no dice.
Her hands kept dragging my wrist back to her belly.
At this rate, my bed would end up like hers.
No way in hell.
I shoved my hand under her thighs and hoisted her up.
"Eep?!"
She reflexively clung to my neck—easy carry.
I swung her legs off the bed's edge. Success.
"Ah, Adrian...?"
Leaving her like this would be like winding up a bomb and walking away.
Better to defuse it.
That's why I'd pressed her belly that last time.
"Ugyaaah?!"
Pshh, splish...
A pathetic little stream.
Soaked her panties, trickled down her thighs off the bed.
I watched the hot pussy juices drip onto the carpet—plip, plip...—no touch needed to feel the warmth.
"Ngh, hnn...!"
The bedwetter twitched in the afterglow.
"This what happened earlier too? Sis."
"..."
She just shook her head frantically.
"Then?"
"..."
"Bedwetter."
"Nooo...!"
Thud.
Her timid swat at me—her face redder than I'd ever seen.