091. My Slave is Too Good – Master's Unconscious Flashback♡ Overcoming Shyness Naked in the Barn, Mooing and Being Milked♡
Twenty years old. Not a particularly advanced age, but still an adult. I, Sylvia Armani Rune Lumer, who had lived my whole life as a noble, harbored one burning wish.
I would become the seed-bearing bitch of the man I enslaved.
Born as a woman infused with mana, my life's path had been set—to live as a witch. That's when I realized I could claim a man as my own, the victor's life. It was a dream I'd naturally cherished as a woman. Something every noblewoman yearned for. Not just receiving a man's seed and getting pregnant, but becoming a thoroughly obedient flesh toilet slave toy from the master's position, living a life of lewd torment.
I could make it happen. As a noble, it was possible.
The very word "slave" held a strange magic that tugged at women's hearts. In truth, slaves ranked even below servants—a harsh treatment that objectified people as property. And yet, it was women who truly wanted to become slaves. But societal responsibilities prevented it. Innately desiring to be female slaves, they couldn't find happiness in forcibly lording over others.
All noblewomen merely propped up the world out of duty. So they established new laws and etiquette. Their one hope: slave sex. Being mercilessly fucked by their one personal possession, a male slave. That was every noblewoman's deepest wish. They endured growth waiting for the day of the slave contract. They handled noble duties thinking only of slave sex. It was the leisure time to sweetly spend with their slave that gave them strength amid the tedious noble routine.
There was a theory that ancient women were protected by men. A thousand years ago, when mana utilization was discovered and history's great figures were all women, ancient history lost credibility, seeming like mere fantasy. Wild packs were typically led by males. There were rare exceptions, like seed-bearing queen-centered ecologies, but most followed male leaders.
Yet humanity flipped that—women occupied 99.9% of the upper classes. Then the inexplicable happened. Men, as if refusing to be born, became overwhelmingly outnumbered at birth compared to women. Newborn males grew smaller over time. It worsened with each generation. They became fragile, like things to be protected. And above all, their numbers dwindled. Far fewer were born than women.
Ironically, an era of male competition dawned among women. Ultimately, absolute beauty standards fell under male judgment. In this skewed sex ratio, only nobles could own a single man. They held the right to form slave contracts without rejection. It was an emergency measure prepared before men grew scarce.
Of course, layers of legal protections were essential to prevent even great nobles from abusing their precious male slaves. But as a power bloc, they also imposed duties on slaves to torment their masters as much as they pleased, allowing full indulgence in luxury.
Caught in this societal tide, men lost their masculinity, becoming outwardly pretty but effeminate. Men preferred sturdy, strong yet beautiful women. I, with my unusually delicate appearance among women, had a complex about it.
So I was afraid. What if the boy I summoned via Familiar Summoning despised me? The worry kept surfacing. It wasn't unfounded. Men already shunned contact with women. Generations of women—from the previous, the one before, and beyond—had exploited and enjoyed men without restraint. Young nobles like us couldn't even naturally tease same-age boys lewdly, let alone train them into men who fucked to our tastes.
A man who would fuck his master without hesitation? That was the last generation from decades ago. Still, I couldn't give up. I wanted to be a pet pussy goat. A slave livestock cum dump. A toy semen toilet played with roughly!! If I couldn't seduce the man I enslaved with lewd eyes, what was the point of enduring witch training all this time!
Precious men were growing fragile, protective in appearance, and preferred women were sturdy and beautiful? Fifty years ago, before I was born, my mother Cliana Armani Rune Lumer wasn't treated as ugly like me, I'd heard. Partly because she'd earned respect with achievements earning her the moniker "Livestock Cliana."
Anyway, Mother's slave seed was a huge musclebound hunk, not cute at all. Rare now, but common back then. Mother insisted her looks weren't scorned then. Why only me! Well, slave seed doted on me, and I adored him as the man who'd sown Mother's seed. But I couldn't understand Mother's utter infatuation. He wasn't cute at all. I figured she loved him just because he was hers. And naturally, women only had eyes for the man who took their virginity.
After home education, mingling with peer witches, and becoming an official cadet, my arrogance crumbled. Seeing Mother—identical to me—endlessly treated as a flesh slave and fucked countless times, I'd believed I'd be the same! Fifty years, half a century of gradual change left me miserable.
Humanity's male drought worsened, and women's looks evolved to match the boys' faint glances of favor. Research showed mana interfered during growth spurts. Maternal vibes vanished, replaced by reassuring presence. Still beautiful, but breasts shrank, lower bodies sleek—like cheetahs or eagles.
Was it our elite house? Until cadetship, I'd been isolated, receiving intensive noble education at home with minimal outside contact. Partly to prime myself for valuing the summoned slave boy above all. I'd gladly preserved my purity. But the result? Lacking boys' beauty judgments during growth, I ended up with Mother's outdated figure and face.
Realizing cute boys found women like me unappealing, I despaired. Even fellow women scorned my frailty. Fifty years—what's that? What's wrong with me? I honed my skills steadfastly. True strength would change their gazes. But looks mattered. The stares I got stayed the same. Doesn't slave seed's blood work? Why do I look exactly like Mother!?
In the mirror: fluffy silver hair like clouds, big red bunny eyes. Weak-looking. Perky but cute nose, small soft lips. No strong impression. Lower gaze worse. Mother's huge breasts—smaller than her head, a small mercy. Sigh every time. Thin waist. Soft ass flesh. Shins that'd snap if kicked. Feet that'd crush underfoot. What is this? Hate it. Only salvageable: plump thighs. Cuter than boys. Outdated appeal from before. This is me.
I recalled other witches: fierce, beautiful, intimidating in presence. Contrasted with mirror me. Tears welled. Stop! -Never demean yourself as a noble. -Always elegant, dignified. -Thus, the pleasure from slave torment becomes infinite. Those absolute arousing teachings suppressed my self-deprecation. But resentment lingered.
I bristled like a hedgehog. Sharpened my gaze awkwardly. Fluffed silver hair walking lioness-like. Insisting I wasn't weak. My motto: Ignore other women's scorn. Only slaves can look down on me.
'When I summon a boy, I'll crush him first! Overpower from the start, imprint strength, and proudly get fucked as master!'
Chance and obsession got me Mazo Brunhilde's spell. Summoned a special slave. My life changed that day.
'A slave who took my virginity day one!' Unbelievable. Overpowered me aggressively, treating master like slave. Best day ever.
The summoned man was far from my taste—not cute. But eye contact dizzied. Slight tease? Lust-filled eyes sparkled! His desire to fuck me swelled my confidence.
Not cute, but other merits huge. Big frame perfect to cover me. Brawny arms pinned my waist immobile. Large palms, thick fingers suited petting my petite body. Massive cock mercilessly stretched my tiny pussy, molding it slave-sized. He downed women-only stamina mushroom without hesitation, boosting stamina and size, pounding me harder.
Yes, like this. My petty tastes corrected by slave. Standards locked to slave from 1 to 10. Heavy body, thick arms, big hands, huge cock. None in cute protective boys.
Kuhihit! Heart-pounding sweet whispers? Daily "pretty" compliments felt best. Hands shamelessly roaming my body—lewd. Murmurs in ear—shivers. During lewd acts, so persistent! Hng. Noble slave-handling? Coax slowly into fucking women? Pfft. Kuhihit. See him fuck me with thrilling copulation! Like a beast devouring prey. Good I pretended weak. Now habitual, no mercy.
My slave's the best! And he called me prettiest. Kuhihit.
'But why these thoughts now?' Not unwelcome. Better to train stronger or rest nuzzling slave. Why flashback suddenly? Huee…♡
??? Why really? Why these thoughts abruptly? Hn, hngut♡ Feels good somehow. What…? Hekhek…♡ What is it…? Chuuurup… slurp… ♡ ??? Heung…♡