Comfort
"Ah…!"
Darin let out a soft gasp as her eyes fluttered open.
The moment she woke, she understood that every memory of her young son—every tender recollection of the past—had been nothing more than a dream.
And what filled her vision at once was the coat Kael had discarded. Its surface glittered with a proud array of badges and medals. The extraordinary hero the House of Bayorn had produced had achieved feats of staggering magnitude, even setting aside the defeat of the Demon King.
That such a man was her own son.
Darin tried to smile with pride—yet strangely, the smile would not come.
"Heh… heh heh…"
So she forced one onto her face. Her lips curved upward, but the corners of her eyes drooped, and the result may well have looked grotesque. Still, if she did not do at least this much, she felt she would go mad.
She had been happy. She was supposed to remain happy. Why, then, were these dark feelings rising so suddenly through the fabric of her ordinary days?
Darin deliberately turned away from the answer and looked instead at the mirror before her. She was wearing a pure white dress even more luxurious than the one she had worn the day before.
In that carefully arranged image of a new bride, there was not a single trace of the fallen woman who had lain with her own flesh-and-blood son.
Moreover, her skin was soft and clean, as though she had only just finished bathing, and her hair was still slightly damp.
What a devoted child. To wash his soiled mother’s body so thoroughly, every inch of her—there could not be a more filial son anywhere in the world.
Yes. There could not be a son like him anywhere.
My Kael has always been a boy of the purest heart.
She needed to get up and go see him. It must have been mortifying for him to look upon his mother’s bare body, and yet he had washed her with such care and even dressed her in new clothes.
She would thank him. And she would ask when those medals on his dress uniform had been bestowed.
He would no doubt make a gleeful fuss of it all over again—but after decades spent at her son’s side, what was there left to be embarrassed about?
Her shoulders and waist, her legs and thighs—her entire body ached. Forgetting that she had never done anything so strenuous, Darin pushed herself upright.
"Ngh…!"
And then it happened.
Her entrance fluttered open and expelled something. The viscous fluid began to trickle down between her thighs.
Darin went rigid with tension. Instinctive revulsion stopped her cold. She did not want to feel this sensation any longer.
But within seconds, countless streams of milky white fluid ran down her thighs and poured out in volume—
—and fell with a wet spatter, soiling the floor.
A full day had passed, and still the concentration of the semen had not thinned in the slightest. It was thick beyond measure.
"Uwaaah…"
Darin’s whole body trembled as she reached between her legs and touched herself—this, from a Viscountess who had never once in her life masturbated, so shameful was the act.
The white, faintly rank mucus clung stickily to her fingers. Regardless, Darin kept scraping the inside of her sex.
Whatever had filled her womb had no business being there.
While your own son was violating you, why was your lower half so wet?
Mother, your flesh is maddeningly tight.
It’s your first time—you ought to look me properly in the eyes.
Fragments of that agonizing despair, and the truths she had refused to face, tore through her mind.
"Kyaaaaah…!"
As revulsion, rejection, and a host of other dark emotions surged up, the girl could only scream and thrust her fingers into herself. Her hands were as soft as her pink sex, so there was little danger of injury even as she scraped out the semen—but even so, her motions were far too rough.
With the aphrodisiac’s effects gone, her mind snapped fully awake. Whatever contraceptive properties the drug her son had given her might have possessed, she was still of childbearing age. Anything was possible.
If she were to become pregnant with her son’s child…
"Hahk…!"
Her breath caught in her throat.
And so Darin had no choice but to thrash all the harder.
To scrape out the semen, a lady spread her legs in the most indecent fashion. The sight of a woman bent forward, digging between her own thighs, was not that of a noblewoman—it was that of a vulgar commoner fighting an unwanted pregnancy.
But what did that matter to Darin?
This was a matter that would decide whether she hanged herself or not.
Her body still had not come to its senses. Even as her sex expelled the pooled semen, it fluttered and clenched, as though begging for that delicious cock she had swallowed the day before.
Kael was no ordinary superior male. Even the body of a mother he had forced into congress still carried the aftershocks of heat.
But such physical responses only tormented her further. The unforgivable sin of incest ravaged the body of a small, fragile girl.
"Aaah, please, I don’t want this, uwaaah!!!"
The lewd, wet sounds of flesh being probed filled the bedchamber as endless streams of semen coated her fingers and soiled the floor. Spatter. Drip. The Viscountess shrieked like a madwoman and repeated the act again and again—until
"…Mother. What are you doing?"
A man’s voice, sharp as a drawn blade, settled against her ear.
"……"
Darin froze. She could not even turn her head. When she had first woken, there had been no one she wanted to see more than her son—yet now that yesterday’s despair had come flooding back, there was no one she wanted to face less.
"K-Kael, I was just…"
So she kept her gaze fixed downward, reading his mood. Her son was dressed in a white formal uniform that matched her own dress perfectly. A man with no fiancée—where was the woman he meant to take as a bride, that he should play at being a groom like this…
"Is your son’s seed so filthy to you?"
"N-no, that’s not— uwaah…"
It was not filthy. It was not filthy—and yet it was filthy precisely because it was inside her body.
Darin felt the full weight of the disaster that had befallen her. It was no longer a lie.
Her son’s brief words had made it certain: yesterday had not been a fever dream.
"Haa…"
He sighed and shook his head. Aside from a faint note of dissatisfaction in his tone, he looked as calm as if nothing at all had happened the day before.
"It doesn’t sit well with me. Watching the woman I love scrape my essence out of herself by force."
The white-haired giant wore the dejected expression of a man spurned. It was the sort of handsome face that would have captivated any ordinary noble daughter. But from Darin’s position, it was nothing but loathsome. She was the one whose heart was truly being torn apart.
"You—how could you do this to me?"
Even as she trembled with fear, the resentment swelling inside her was nearly impossible to contain. She was not demanding repayment for having raised him with such devotion. She was asking why he had needed to wound his mother this way.
"I’m sorry."
Kael admitted his guilt at once. At this stage, how could he possibly deny it?
But the fact that he could apologize to his mother also meant he no longer needed to hide his heart.
"I did it because I love you far too much, Mother."
Having given his honest answer to her question, Kael immediately dropped to one knee—and held out a brilliant bouquet of flowers.
The blossoms he offered were the pure white mandarin flowers Darin loved most, mixed with an abundance of rare and costly ornamental plants of every color. A single such bouquet could have purchased a commoner’s entire house.
For the woman he loved, even this much seemed to cost him nothing. If he ever became someone’s husband, he would surely be a devoted one.
Kael had often expressed his affection for his mother this way. And the flowers he had prepared this time were more dazzling than any before.
On any ordinary day, Darin would have looked moved and thanked her son—scolding him, even, for wasting such expensive blooms on his mother.
"That’s not what this is about!!!"
But today, those bouquets only filled her with a maddening revulsion. Of course they did. She was not so far gone as to accept them gladly.
With a furious cry, the woman struck the bouquet aside—
"Ah…"
—and the man let out a pained sigh as he looked down at the scattered flowers. Anyone watching would have wondered how she could be so cold to such a romantic; his face was full of sorrow.
"Haha…"
But the man’s sorrow did not last long.
"I understand. You must have been terribly shocked."
Kael adjusted his posture and took hold of Darin’s arm. She recoiled in horror and tried to throw even that off, but the strength in his grip was immense. She could not shake free no matter how she struggled.
"But please try to understand. You are far too desirable a woman for me to renounce simply because we share blood."
Desirable—the word did not refer to her appearance alone. To Kael, that was merely secondary. For long years he had cherished the pure heart of his own mother.
"Let go of me!"
Darin shouted and struck her son across the cheek. It was the first time in her life she had ever raised a hand against Kael.
But as one might have expected…
The solidly built man did not so much as shift an inch.
"You may hit me as much as you like."
His tone was gentle, but the gaze of the beast was relentless. With eyes full of satisfaction, he traced the female body he had claimed as his own the day before.
Her neck, her breasts, her navel—and down to the cleft that still carried a lewd scent. Her body was covered in the marks of his greedy sucking.
His eyes traveled slowly downward until at last they settled on the sex where her pubic hair grew. Seeing how little of his seed remained, he felt a petty surge of spite. He had filled her so thoroughly, and yet she had expelled it as if it were nothing.
Kael ran a finger up the calf where his semen had dripped, and slowly pushed it all the way back into her entrance.
"Hahk?!"
The seed that had flowed out was swept up and driven once more between the woman’s thighs. With his fingertip, Kael returned the gathered white fluid to his mother.
"Haven’t you always told me, ever since I was small?"
A wet, squelching sound.
"That one must never spill one’s food."
Whether her body was stirred by her son’s molestation or not, it responded to the heat of pleasure—and, seizing the moment, her lower half even began to suck softly at his thick finger. Pleased by her reaction, the man’s face filled with a beast’s lust.
"After swallowing so much yesterday, do you want still more?"
"N-no—you know that’s not it!"
"Your upper lips say no, but your lower lips are so honest, aren’t they?"
"Aaah, Kael, please—please don’t say things like that…"
The Viscountess’s face twisted as tears scattered from her eyes. Was this child truly her son? Had some demon stolen his soul on his travels? The suspicion was useless. Unfortunately, this man was without a doubt her son.
"…Mother."
Kael was puzzled. Every time his mother showed weakness, all he wanted was to push deeper. He had always known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that a streak of sadism lived in him when he entered battle—but he had never imagined it would be this strong.
But I mustn’t go too far.
Yesterday he had failed to master his emotions. Today, however, was the day after their first congress. He ought to grant his mother a brief respite in which to calm herself.
Kael knew that to win a woman’s heart, a man must not be too cruel. It was a lesson his own mother had taught him.
"Go away. I said go away…"
Without a word, her son drew his mother—who was muttering like a madwoman—into a firm embrace.
Just as she had once comforted him, in the days when he himself had been in pain.