Aftercare (2)
I made my way to the entrance Princess Emily had come in through and tried the door, but sure enough, I couldn't so much as open it.
If I wanted to leave, I needed Vincent's permission.
"Vincent, I want to wash up."
When I failed to open the door and turned to look at him instead, Vincent came over and opened it for me himself. But he didn't send me through it.
"I need a wash too, so you three wait in the annex. This is the marital bedroom, after all."
I really wish he'd quit it with the "marital" talk.
I had no intention of letting them pile up any more misunderstandings than they already had, which meant I needed to find a way to break the covenant's precepts as quickly as possible. There might yet be a woman who became my wife someday, after all — letting her see me like this would cost me dearly, and win me nothing.
"This time, do try to show some restraint."
"Hero, please don't keep us waiting too long."
"Hey, you're not washing together, are you? If you make us wait for your 'extra rounds,' I'm coming after you."
At that unmistakable order to clear out, the three of them each tossed off a parting remark and vanished beyond the door.
"Shall we go wash up now, then?"
"...Yeah."
Vincent closed the door, turned the lock on the handle, then opened it again. Beyond the open doorway lay the perfectly ordinary, spacious parlor of a log house.
"What is this? How?"
"Pretty amazing, right? I wanted somewhere to live with you, Adela, so I asked the dwarves and the elves for their help. This is the house they gave me."
"Those people actually agreed to help you?"
"Yes, hubby. I'm more capable than you gave me credit for, aren't I?"
The moment the word hubby hit my ears I recoiled in revulsion, and Vincent seized on it to steer me firmly toward the bathroom.
It was a spacious arrangement of bathtub and steam room.
"The dwarves and the elves each refused to yield on this part, you see — neither would give an inch to the other."
As Vincent began filling the great jar and the tub, I offered to let him go first, hoping to make it plain that I had no intention of bathing with him.
"Want to wash first?"
The problem was that Vincent had no such intention at all.
He seized my hand and shoved me into the stall where warm water fell like rain, then stepped in after me.
"I've always wanted to try this."
"I just want to wash, Vincent."
"I'll wash you. And you can wash me, Adela."
Then, high-handedly, he ran his hand down my water-slicked body. I tried to back away and put distance between us, but the stone walls hemmed me in, leaving me nowhere to go.
"Nnh, stop it. Why do you always have to be like this?"
"I went through hell fighting the Demon King. I think you owe me a reward, Adela."
"I-I can't give you what you're hoping for."
I shook my head and pushed at his solid frame with both hands, but it was hopeless against the strength pressing in on me.
"Look at this, Adela. It's scented soap — apparently it's so rare only nobles ever get to use it."
Vincent shut off the rain of water, took the soap from the dish mounted on the wall, worked up a lather, and began rubbing it over my body. In a situation where even an innocent scrub-down could send indecent shivers through me, he started in on an outright erotic massage with hands made slick by the suds.
This bastard clearly thinks he can do whatever he likes with me.
With slippery, foam-covered hands he seized my breasts, then stroked down over my lower belly and the join of my thighs. He massaged the tender hollows of my armpits until I squirmed, rubbed at my inner thighs, drew his fingers down along my spine and then reached around to knead my buttocks from below. He tickled my sides, pinched my nipples and rolled them between his fingertips, coaxing my body toward heat.
By the time he had lathered me over and over until I was coated head to toe in suds, his lewd ministrations had already set me burning, and the strength had drained out of my legs.
"Now it's your turn, Adela."
Vincent set the soap back in its dish.
"Can you pass me the soap?"
I had no idea why he was making me do this in the first place, but I was simply grateful he'd finished before I came from the massage alone. My plan was to get through it fast and mechanically, before any real arousal could take hold, and get out — and knock these notions out of Vincent's head while I was at it.
But Vincent didn't hand me the soap.
"There's plenty of lather already, isn't there?"
he said, and pulled me into his arms. My breasts flattened against his hard muscle, smearing suds between us.
Had this been what he wanted all along?
"Does it really have to be like this?"
I held out in a staring contest against his expectant gaze, but in the end it was I who gave ground.
"...You're a pervert..."
He clearly had no intention of letting me go until I'd done what he wanted anyway. The only rebellion available to me here was to be careful not to get aroused while I scrubbed him down with my own body. I refused to even imagine the sight of myself fawning over him, rubbing myself against his frame like some devoted little wife.
"When this is done, we rinse off and go straight out. Right?"
"Sure, sure."
His careless answer made me uneasy, but it wasn't as though I had any other option. I pressed myself against him and kept scrubbing, and it seemed more bearable than I'd feared — I was just letting out a breath of relief when his arms wrapped around me and his hands began toying with my rear. I caught those hands and pressed him to keep his promise.
"You said we'd go out the moment we were done washing. Everyone's waiting outside, remember?"
"Then they can wait a little longer."
He took my hand and made me touch that other self of his, which had at some point flushed burning hot. The heat of it felt like it would scald my palm.
"No! You promised, so keep it!"
When I snatched my hand back and said it flatly, he seemed to give up.
"Fine. Sorry."
"Good, as long as you understand."
Seeing him so meek for the first time in ages brought the old days to mind. Back then, he'd been a model disciple — well-behaved, obedient, quick to learn.
"I'll scrub your back, so turn around."
"You're going to try something weird, aren't you?"
"What do you take your hubby for?"
"A hopeless wretch who kidnaps and cages the master he's finally reunited with and rapes her for two days straight."
I made sure to aim for where it hurt most.
"And then you made me swear some twisted oath under the covenant's precepts, on top of it all."
Wash up fast and get out. Give this one an inch and he'd be up to something strange again.
I rinsed away the suds and made for the stall's exit — and Vincent's arm barred my way.
"...What now?"
"Where's the fun if you walk out like that?"
I wrapped my arms around myself and braced to defend.
"I told you, I don't want this!"
Vincent closed a distance that had already been far too small.
"Don't come any closer!"
"All that squealing is adorable. It's like watching a little animal."
My eyes met Vincent's. Looking into them was like meeting the pupils of a beast of prey — a gaze locked on its meal. His eyes seemed to say it plainly: You are the prey and I am the predator. From here on, taking you is simply my right, the natural order of things.
Then, without warning, he flashed a grin, bared his teeth like the predator he was, and came at me as if to bite and tear.
Mine was hardly the kind of skill that would be cowed anywhere in the world. Yet the moment I stood before him, I became nothing more than a herbivore bleating noisily.
I am not prey! I'm not your meal!
I refused to retreat, glaring back with wide, defiant eyes. Vincent smacked his lips, looking amused.
"It's no fun if you just lie back and take it."
His hand shot out toward my chest. I twisted my body, trying to keep it from reaching me, but he only pressed closer still, until I could feel his every breath against my skin.
"Turning your back on a wild beast, Adela? Are you asking to be eaten?"
He'd ended up behind me, holding me against him, and dread washed over me at the overwhelming presence pressing into the cleft of my rear.
"Don't."
"Why? Go on — scream some more."
That easy, unhurried voice, saying as clear as day that I was already in his clutches, left me hollow with despair.
Vincent pressed on, almost ostentatiously. Pinning my body — which until then had merely been cradled in his arms — with those iron-hard arms of his, he suddenly worked his fingers against my clitoris until I couldn't have stayed standing on my own to save my life.
"Nnnghh! No — don't touch me there!"
Before my legs could buckle beneath me, I clung to the wall. And then, as though he had been waiting for exactly that, the scorching head of his cock knocked at my entrance.
"Adela, I'm putting it in."
"What? Putting what in—nngh!?"
That far-too-enormous cock forced me open and drove inward with its massive bulk, and it felt as though my belly were swelling into the very shape of him. Vincent pushed his hips deeper yet, as if even that weren't enough, and when his glans met the mouth of my womb I was being shoved flat against the wall, my breasts crushed against the stone.
"Adela, your insides are starting to take my shape. Such a shame you said you're not pregnant yet, hm? I'll top up your supply of seed."
"You can't just—nngh! —go trying to get a woman pregnant with that kind of—haah! —careless attitude, aahh...!"
"What are you talking about? You're my wife! Act like one! Taking your husband's seed is a wife's duty!"
As Vincent began to move his hips, the soft folds within me clung to his cock and dragged along its length. When he turned the water back on, it felt almost as though we were coupling beneath a warm rain.
"Aaahhn! Stop — no, I don't want this!"
And it wasn't only water trickling down my thighs. From my entrance, which had been sucking greedily at the cock that plunged deep and dragged my inner folds out with every retreat, love juices came gushing forth.
Had my body always been this easy to please?
My reactions only spurred him on, and Vincent swung his hips with even greater abandon. Under the heavy pleasure of each thrust, my mind and my flesh alike began to melt.
"Haah... Adela, your insides are delicious."
He murmured it against my ear, savoring my body as though it were some supreme delicacy, and left kiss-marks along my nape like a beast gnawing at its mate. Even if I screamed, no one would come.
My breasts suffered next. He seemed to love the way they sprang back against his palms, drinking in the fullness that overflowed both hands as he rolled my nipples between his fingers.
All I could do was brace myself against the wall and endure — to keep my consciousness from scattering under the pleasure.