VIP Reception (3)
I sank down beside Duchess Rozena ever so gently, oh so cautiously, just like the other male prostitutes. Whoa... this is fucking terrifying. Just approaching her felt like sharp killing intent stabbing into my skin. But honestly, there was no denying she was breathtakingly beautiful—stiflingly so. Her jet-black hair was neatly pinned up, and that beauty mark right under her lip exuded a deep, intoxicating allure. And that violently curvaceous body? Her breasts strained against her thin clothes like they might burst free at any moment, paired with a perfectly sculpted waist and hips. She just sat there, radiating overwhelming pheromones, yet at the same time, a chilling dread hung in the air, like she could snap my neck without a second thought.
"Then, noble ladies, I hope you all enjoy a very pleasurable and sweet time with our lovely boys~"
Countess Lilith said that with her signature leisurely smile before slipping out of the VIP room. The moment the door clicked shut, the real orgy party kicked off. The other male prostitutes were already like dogs in heat, nestling into the laps of the noble demon women who'd picked them, pouring drinks, nuzzling their cleavage, kneading their thighs—full-on explicit service. Sucking sounds mixed with saliva—schlurp...♡—and the lewd friction of flesh on flesh echoed from every direction. But my side? It was a goddamn Siberian tundra.
I wet my parched lips and carefully opened my mouth.
"Um... Duchess? Shall I pour you a drink...?"
My voice trembled just a little—no way it was my imagination. She glanced at me, then replied in her curt, emotionless tone.
"Do it."
I let out a silent sigh of relief inside, answered with a quick "Yes, ma'am," and carefully filled her glass with the finest wine. I had to fight like hell to keep my shaking fingertips from giving me away. There was a reason I'd rejected those tacky outfits and insisted on this stuffy formal suit—a meticulously calculated master plan. Think about it. Even someone as terrifying and ruthless as Duchess Rozena had to have male prostitutes who'd survived her service. Which means? She's not some psycho who rips men apart on a whim without reason. So the ones who died must've done something to deserve it. Flip that around: if I do absolutely nothing, maybe I won't die? I don't know exactly what pissed her off in the past, but it's obvious. They probably got cocky, tried rubbing up against a high-and-mighty ice queen like her, or went for intimate touches too soon—and boom, heads rolled. Sure, demon women are obsessed with men, but there's always exceptions. My conclusion? Do absolutely nothing from the start. Bare-minimum service. Quietly pour drinks, clap when others laugh, mechanical reactions like "haha"—that's it. Survive this first round, and I'd pocket the fat stack of gold Lilith promised. Perfect plan. Hahat! I cheered inwardly.
"Here, please drink up."
At my polite urging, she downed the wine in one go without a flicker of expression. To keep things lively, I asked, "Would you like another?" She set her glass down and cut me off: "No."
After that, she just sat there, lips sealed, statue-still. Her stoic, silent nature made the air suffocatingly heavy. Awkward as hell for a host with nothing to say, but for me? Ideal. Jackpot. Quietly kill time like this, and I'd save my neck and make bank.
But she couldn't just sit like a stone Buddha forever. Over on the other sofas, sticky friction sounds and the other boys' moans were already filling the room. My side felt like a frozen wasteland. If she'd groped me first or forced a kiss, I could've played along with some moans. But Duchess Rozena just stared blankly into space, not touching me with so much as a fingertip. So what now? As her entertainer, I had to fill the time somehow—conversation it was. I licked my burning lips and tried the most basic small talk, polite and cautious as hell.
"Um... if I may ask, where are you from, Duchess?"
She slowly turned her icy gaze my way.
"Obsidian Castle in the north."
Short and dry as dust.
"Whoa... the north is a bit far from Heruen, but not impossibly so with a carriage or portal, right?"
I exaggerated my reaction to keep the thread going. She gave a tiny nod. "Mm."
Her inscrutable stonewalling sent a bead of cold sweat down my back, but I pressed on.
"I've only been in the Demon Capital a short while, so I haven't seen much beyond Heruen. I hear the north around Obsidian Castle gets tons of snow and is pretty cold—is that true?"
It was a decently curious question, I thought. She idly traced the rim of her empty wine glass with a slender finger.
"Blizzards are common."
Talking to a wall. She stuck to one-word answers or two at most, never asking back or showing interest. But I was grateful for this suffocating interview vibe. While the others panted and writhed half-naked under rough demon hands, here I was in my neat suit, chattering about the weather.
"I see. Heruen's weather is so fickle, it's tough to adjust sometimes. I'd love to see the northern snowscapes someday if I get the chance."
I let out an awkward haha. She replied, "Is that so."
Still no clue what killed the previous boys, but this bland, boring chat wasn't stirring her killing intent. Perfect survival strat! I cheered inside and racked my brain for another safe topic.
As that thread petered out, I ventured carefully: "Duchess, what do you usually do in your free time? Any hobbies you're fond of?"
She fiddled with her wine glass, gaze distant.
"Training."
Predictably curt. But I seized it, eyes sparkling with feigned excitement.
"Of course...! As a duchess, you're already at the pinnacle of the Demon Capital, aren't you? And yet you still train diligently—truly admirable."
A faint shift crossed her expressionless face. Jackpot. I piled on the honeyed praise.
"That relentless self-sharpening is what got you there. Us ordinary folk couldn't dream of such persistence and effort. Incredible."
My blatant flattery seemed to land; her lips twitched ever so slightly.
"Even at the peak, complacency means obsolescence. The Demon Capital waits for no weakling. I simply hone my blade."
A longer response! A good sign from her one-word routine.
"Wise words. I'll etch that mindset deep."
I nodded vigorously in agreement. Around us, the other boys gasped under rough handling, slick moans echoing—but our corner felt like a stuffy academic seminar, wholesome as could be.
"And when you're not training? Any other hobbies? Like reading or listening to music, perhaps?"
She leaned back into the plush sofa, eyeing me steadily.
"I read sometimes. Mostly old tactical treatises or ancient texts."
"Ah! A reader, then. I love books too—though nothing as refined as yours, just light stories."
Her eyebrow twitched faintly—interest?
"Light stories. What kind?"
"Everyday tales of ordinary folk, or adventure yarns from other worlds. Time flies when I'm lost in one."
I answered eagerly. She listened quietly, less icy than before.
"Adventures—heroes slaying villains, that sort of fantastical nonsense?"
"Exactly. Clear good-vs-evil with tidy endings. Real life rarely delivers that satisfaction, so books offer vicarious thrills."
"Escapism, then."
"Haha, you nailed it. But don't we all need an escape now and then?"
"I won't deny it. The weak need such illusions to endure their grueling days."
Her low, blunt voice had warmed—just a touch. Then she turned to me fully.
"Curious. You're not seducing me like the other males."