One Year of the Abduction Summoning Slave Contract! The Stay-at-Home Slave Rolls in Bed, Recalling Naughty Deeds While Awaiting His Mistress
A full turn of the seasons had passed, and it had already been a year since I arrived in this world. This place had its four seasons too, but the climate didn't shift much between them, so Sylvia's outfits hadn't changed all that drastically.
She'd been a second-year for a while now and was currently serving as the student council secretary. She planned to run for council president in her third year—talk about a sense of the times. The pathetic stares directed at her had all but vanished within the academy grounds. That was part of why I was holed up alone in the dorm, looking all mopey.
If I hung around the student council room with her, she'd always cling to me and refuse to let go. For the other girls, whose progress with their slaves was comparatively slow, watching us cuddle was entertaining enough at first. But if it went on nonstop, they'd get annoyed. So I'd say goodbye whenever I headed to the council room.
Sylvia, who used to hate being apart from me even for a moment, had grown a bit more relaxed about it now. In fact, she savored the brief separations, turning our reunions into dramatic embraces where she'd nuzzle in and sniff my scent like it was a delicacy.
Physically, she looked the same as ever after a year. We'd done naughty things without fail every single day, and I'd worked her body relentlessly, but her stunning figure and inner health remained flawless. All thanks to being a witch. That mana-infused flesh of hers could recover fully overnight, no matter how harshly it was used.
The heightened sensitivity we'd developed along the way stuck around permanently, which seemed downright sadistic, but since she saw it as a blessing, there was no room for argument. The women of this world were born with the proper masochistic sexuality—no teaching required. They naturally held the right values, though you still needed to explain how those instincts formed and what they felt like.
Every now and then, you'd get the rare oddball with strong powers who claimed it was weird to crave submission to a man. Those types would spread impure ideas, resonating with other normal women who just felt a lack of men in this world. They'd rant about true exploitation—not this fake stuff—and building a paradise for real women by pushing men harder.
Of course, that nonsense never caught on. I shook my head.
I'd heard those stories and dismissed them as idiotic... but faintly, I sensed they might actually be feasible. Probably just my imagination. No way such extreme ideology could sway normal people, right?
My owner was an elite among the lewd women who dreamed of being ravished by a man. A beautiful, cute girl who'd thoroughly guarded her chastity toward her slave as a noble, only to evolve into an even more depraved version of herself. Missing her as she attended student council, I lay back on the bed.
Damn that auto-cleaning magic—Sylvia's scent was long gone. I recalled how I'd given in to her pleas for an outdoor exposure bitch night walk, leading my obedient bitch on a shameful naked quadrupedal stroll.
Her heavy, massive breasts jiggled toward the ground with perfect bounce, just barely not touching. Her painfully erect, pointed nipples were tightly clamped by the nipple rings I'd gifted her. With leather cuffs binding her arms and legs, she crawled on her knees and elbows, her stiff nipples scraping the floor with every step, making her cum wildly.
Her exquisite sense of taste had reverse-engineered the lactation drug from Witch City, secretly brewing her own personal batch. Fighting back tears to obey her slave's command not to cum without permission, she strained to follow as I tugged her dog collar, her pained expression heartbreaking.
It was Sylvia's debut as a bitch—fawning over me as a flesh slave, cum toilet, cock receptacle, slave cow, sow, begging to be fucked. Her already pathetic, weak nipples were folded short by her cramped quadrupedal gait, grinding against the ground like mad.
I'd trained them into endless orgasm idiot nipples, where lactating made her cum and cumming made her lactate, so milk dribbled out in little spurts—but she desperately held back from fully spraying. Side note: We'd named that vicious cycle of cumming from lactating, then lactating from cumming—something so idiotically weak—Ouroboros Orgasm after discussing it with Sylvia. A bottomless pit of inescapable infinite climaxes.
Sylvia's eyes were on the verge of glazing over, but she fought desperately. I was just proud of my obedient bitch owner for resisting her lust and following her slave's orders. Sure, she'd begged for this in the first place and was reveling in the thrill, but pointing that out would be poor form.
Biting her molars hard, she suppressed her orgasms at 99% through sheer willpower, squirting tidal pussy juice, drooling love nectar, and leaking milk in dribbles. Every taut pull on her collar made her scamper on all fours after her slave self, leaving a trail of female fluids on the ground.
My impression of that juice trail was oddly out of place... oh yeah, it reminded me of Hansel and Gretel. Anyway, unlike her usual sly, perverted grin, Sylvia's face was beet red that night, reveling in peak humiliation.
Trembling in fear of being seen despite the late hour, aroused by her own slutty state, tormented by the orgasms from her remodeled weak body's nipples scraping. Then we ran into someone. Luckily, it was a woman. Relieved not to expose herself to any man but me, she still came hands-free right there from the shame of being seen.
Ignoring the shocked woman's reaction, Sylvia melted into a lovable, tongue-lolling face, spraying genuine orgasm bitch nectar everywhere. Roaring through her squirting orgasms—milk, nectar, and tides gushing out in bursts—she drowned in the inescapable cycle of her remodeled pathetic squirting pussy: squirt to cum, cum to squirt. "Haaang~!"
I knelt on one knee beside her, stroking her fluffy silver hair like a puppy's with the hand holding the leash, further stimulating her masochism as I gave a harsh order.
"Stop. Orgasm—cut! If you can't stop cumming right now, no sex when we get back to the room?"
The onlooker's jaw dropped, nosebleed trickling. Drool spilled from her gaping mouth too. I showed off my bitch owner Sylvia's obedience: instantly quelling her full-body climax at her slave's command, stroking her head as she let out a strained groan between clenched teeth, quickly soothing her furrowed brow.
The stranger, gaping at the dream scenario for all women, was probably a junior who'd joined after Sylvia's promotion—we didn't exchange names. Having given her an unforgettable shock, I scooped Sylvia up princess-style and bowed politely.
Calling a limb-folded, fluid-soaked naked body "princess" was a stretch with those glossy black leather cuffs, but her overwhelming beauty made it fine. She'd exhausted herself holding back the Ouroboros orgasm, then suppressing it drained her completely. No more bitch walk possible, so I carried her back to the dorm.
The dorm door opened. Not a memory—the real door. I bolted upright in bed.
"My—slaaaave~! Your mistress is hooome!"
I'd just started to rise when Sylvia came charging in; I caught her, tumbling back onto the bed. Pressed together missionary-style, she buried her face deep, sniffing my scent greedily, then lifted her head and stuck out her tongue.
Licking my lips demandingly—it was her signal for a tongue kiss. I obliged. Our tongues tangled wildly. Like finger-wrestling, she lewdly intertwined our fully extended tongues outside our mouths, even grinding her body against mine in a tight hug.
After a long, sloppy makeout, she pulled back satisfied, planting a loud smooch on my lips.
"Yuseong, there's outdoor training next week. Wanna come with?"
"Obviously. You think I'd skip?"
"Heehee! Yay!"
No need to even ask. Of course I'd go. Even after a year here, Sylvia always consulted, asked, and requested things from her slave. I'd told her she could treat me more casually, no holds barred, but she lectured that there were unspoken rules: a female owner fumbling awkwardly with her slave early on was just how it was.
Getting shy or demure in front of your own slave was, strictly speaking, something to brag about as a noblewoman. This world's common sense never ceased to amaze.
Even so, her smirking with half-lidded eyes while claiming to be demure? Words didn't match actions. ...But she was cute, so I let it slide. Yeah, this pretty mistress was only demure for me.
Anyway. Other cadets still needed forceful commands for skinship with their slaves, but since I aggressively fucked my owner on my own, she had to cater to her slave as a proper mistress. Obviously to get herself even hornier as a masochist.
What a shameless, perverted beauty of a mistress... I couldn't help but marvel.
I'd answered without thinking, but outdoor training—what was that?
Squirming on the bed, I asked, and Sylvia explained.
"It's a three-day, two-night monster combat experience."
"Monsters? Uh, not too dangerous, right?"
"For us, after dealing with the Demona tribe and Ifrit? It's a picnic! Well, figuratively. ...You know not to underestimate it, yeah?"
"Course not. Think I'd do that? The only thing I underestimate is you during sex."
Sylvia's cheeks flushed adorably, and she giggled bashfully.
That night, I threw her a little party. Not celebrating one year in this romantic world where lines like that worked—no, it was to thank her for making me her slave a year ago. As a stay-at-home pillar husband who could fight if needed, I went with finger foods.
Borrowing the kitchen, I stepped up confidently before fidgety Sylvia, drawing on my solo living experience. Truth be told, she was way better with her hands, but sincerity mattered here, right?
Dark Bringer, bored, joined to wash veggies and shift into a kitchen knife form as we tackled Korean dishes. Nailed galbi jjim and dak galbi. Nothing fancy, but Sylvia ate it up happily.
One tiny flaw: during after-party bedtime service, her cum tasted even better, leaving me a smidge deflated. Ngh, urgh! As my semen slurped out of my urethra into her, I shrugged it off—good vibes were all that mattered.