Duchess Rozena: The Morning After Round Two
Only rough panting and the sticky squelching of fluids filled the room. The frenzied, pounding sex finally came to an end. The woman who'd been writhing in ecstasy beneath me just moments ago—Rozena, one of the great Seven Dukes who ruled the Demon Capital—lay sprawled out on the bed like a starfish, completely spent.
Her red eyes were rolled back in pleasure, showing only the whites, and a thick strand of drool dangled from her parted lips. From her swollen, flushed pussy poured a steady stream of my thick cum—pumped deep inside her—mixed with her own gushing juices, bubbling out without cease. It was the perfect picture of a thoroughly conquered, depraved bitch.
But as the hot rush of orgasm faded, cold reason snapped back into my head. I'm fucked. Sure, she'd wanted it, and we'd gotten swept up in the moment, but this was blatantly crossing the line. Even if I consoled myself that she was leagues above those ignorant street she-devils, noble demons were notorious for flipping attitudes after bed. They'd cling like mad during sex, screaming how good it felt, only to succumb to shame and fragile pride afterward—maiming male prostitutes or ripping them apart outright. This was the Demon Capital, after all, full of such crazed bitches.
I swallowed dryly and cautiously eyed her. Her gaping pussy still twitched, as if reluctant to let go of the pleasure's afterglow, dribbling clear fluid in rivulets.
"Um... Duchess? Are you okay?"
I called out in a timid whisper, but she seemed totally passed out. Eyes still rolled back, she mumbled vulgar nonsense like "Haaah... so good... cock... more..." No sign of stirring anytime soon.
Guess I'd satisfied her properly, but honestly, this was ridiculous. A so-called Seven Duke, knocked out cold from just one brutal animalistic pounding? She acted all high-and-mighty and aloof normally, but her pussy endurance was third-rate at best. Bizarre.
Well, whatever—at least I'd uncovered a fatal, intimate weakness of one of the Demon Capital's rulers. Valuable intel in its own way.
Sigh. My original plan was to pour drinks, flatter her, wrap up after one round, and bail. Somehow, I'd ended up dragged to the master bedroom, fucked her brains out, and turned her into a proper bitch. A massive fuckup. My life was in her hands now, but first, she'd have to wake up from her stupor.
With a heavy heart, I headed to the plush sofa in the corner to wait obediently for her revival. I needed to brainstorm survival strategies, but maybe from overexerting myself earlier—betting my life on those savage thrusts—exhaustion crashed over me like a tidal wave the moment I sank into the cushions. My eyelids drooped heavily, and before I knew it, sleep claimed me.
When my eyes snapped open, the scene before me clashed wildly with last night's debauched mess. There sat Duchess Rozena on the sofa, perfectly dressed, legs crossed, leisurely reading the newspaper. Gone was the drooling bitch howling under me—the epitome of refined, imperious power now reigned.
I gaped inwardly, blurting "Uh... huh?" before scrambling up, bowing at a perfect ninety degrees.
"Good morning, Duchess. Did you sleep well?"
They call it "day wins over night," right? Even if she surrendered pathetically to pleasure at night, come dawn, she flipped back to total dominance. Textbook case.
It wasn't night anymore, and I was just a lowly male prostitute serving nobility. She gave a curt nod to my greeting, elegantly sipping her coffee. With a chin tilt, she gestured to the lavish breakfast spread on the table, inviting me to eat.
"Thank you," I replied politely, cautiously taking the seat opposite.
Thus began the suffocatingly silent breakfast.
God, this is painfully awkward. No way could I joke about last night's wild fuck like "Enjoy yourself yesterday?" One wrong move, and those cold, indifferent eyes would bore into me with "Want to die right now?"—snapping my neck in an instant.
Desperate to shatter the tension, I launched into flattery. "Is breakfast to your taste? The morning sun's lovely today."
Without glancing up from her paper, she muttered, "Adequate."
How the hell do I navigate this? Short deliberation led to one conclusion: Just get her out safely. Her usual schedule, as I knew it, was breakfast, a bit of downtime, then departure.
Yeah, escort her to the door unscathed. Resolved, I stood.
"Duchess, I'll wash up quick."
Just in case, I added, "If you'd like to ease last night's fatigue more, I can call our masseuses."
Her gaze finally shifted slightly from the paper, red eyes rolling my way. "Call them?" she asked lowly.
I spat enthusiasm like a salesman. "Yes! Illusion's Banquet has dedicated masseuses on standby 24/7. Their hands are killer. Nobles always rave after one session—it's a big reason we're famous. Highly recommend!"
But her response was icy. "No need. Go wash up."
She dismissed me curtly, eyes back on the paper. Her haughty dismissal ironically relieved me; I bowed. "Understood. Be right back."
I hurried to the bathroom, praying silently for a quiet morning.
As all schedules wrapped and guests exited Illusion's Banquet, three top-tier carriages—arrayed in splendid formation for high nobles—gleamed out front. Other nobles emerged with satisfied strides, slinging their all-night male prostitutes over shoulders or waists.
Reni especially looked drained, cheeks hollowed from exhaustive milking, but true to pro form, he wore a flawless, sultry smile.
"Reni, you were incredible last night. That waist work wasn't messing around," his wolf beastkin client grinned, kneading his firm ass firmly. She slipped him three gleaming gold coins as a tip, praising his efforts.
"Aaaang~ Sis! I thought you'd break my back for real~ But glad you enjoyed! Thanks~ Next time, you gotta request me again, okay?" Reni pocketed the gold, batting eyes and clinging coquettishly to her thick arm.
That's a true Demon Capital pro, I thought, impressed amid the rowdy, lewd farewells.
Amid the clamor, only Duchess Rozena and I walked in stony silence.
Post-shower, she hadn't uttered a word to me. Well, once: "If you breathe a word about last night—me being a virgin, or anything that happened—I'll tear your limbs off and hang them in the Demon Capital square."
Aside from that chilling murder threat, she treated me like air.
"Oh dear, Duchess! Esteemed guests! Did Illusion's Banquet satisfy? We're honored by your visit to our humble establishment! We eagerly await your return!"
Countess Lilith, owner of the brothel, curtsied in her glamorous dress, pouring out oily flattery.
Nobles boarding carriages bore obvious afterglows of pleasure; ace male prostitutes smiled till the end, seeing them off perfectly.
In the bustle, Duchess Rozena silently boarded the grandest lead carriage, emblazoned with overwhelming crests. Escorted by guards, she never glanced my way—not even as the door shut and it rumbled off. No backward look.
Thoroughly ignored, but it felt like the path to survival. Relief washed over me.
As the ornate carriages vanished in dust clouds, the lined-up male prostitutes sighed in unison.
Then, straightening, Lilith slowly turned, staring me down. Her red lips curled in a deep, intrigued smile, eyes gleaming with unprecedented excitement and delight.
"Hehe~♡ Demian, how on earth did you serve that haughty Duchess all the way to a second round?!"
Her eyes sparkled brighter than ever.
