Chapter 158: Connection 4
Chapter 158: Connection 4
With my ankle snagged and pinned under a woman's rear, what seeped through me wasn't displeasure—it was curiosity.
Because this bizarre position wasn't the least bit uncomfortable or painful.
My back was bent, my hips hiked upward, and my cock stretched taut in the opposite direction.
A position I'd never end up in under normal circumstances. Shouldn't something be aching by now?
Yet my body remained completely at ease.
Minus the heavy weight settled squarely on my backside.
'No wonder she's got zero luck with men.'
The Incarnation of the Tail-biting Hound was pretty-faced—no question there.
She kept a trim, S-line figure sculpted with lean muscle and carried the exalted social status and clout of an Incarnation acknowledged by a Constellation.
A woman with credentials like that who still can't land a man—either a personality defect or plain lesbianism.
And a lesbian wouldn't be doing this to me.
Her touch was steeped in consideration, like she was well accustomed to handling a man.
Nothing like the fumbling virgins who used to approach me with clumsy little taps.
From getting flung onto the bed to being parked under a woman's rear—the whole sequence came off as polished and natural.
There was just one point of discomfort.
The rigid erection bent backward toward my ass, a complete reversal of its usual orientation.
"Haa, it's bigger than I thought..."
That small discomfort was the sum of it.
A trivial irritation, immediately buried and erased by the slick pleasure blooming from the tip of my cockhead.
Maybe she'd sized me up—on the surface, a small boy hovering around 150 centimeters—and assumed the equipment downstairs would match.
The woman radiated equal parts delight and fluster as she slowly rolled her hips.
A nude woman planted between my spread legs. She tucked my calves under her armpits, clamped them tight, and began to squat, the ridges of her solid abdominal muscles shifting with every motion.
Watching that scene unfold—a genuine spectacle—my mind jumped somewhere unexpected.
'That looks insanely strenuous... is this her textbook form, or just a personal favorite?'
A female-superior pose: man flat on his back, woman mounted on top. But with her hands clamping my legs, she was driving the motion with nothing but pure thigh power.
I couldn't help comparing her to the other Incarnations, who leaned their torsos against my chest or braced their hands on it whenever pleasure drained their stamina.
Her ass slammed down with a smack, as if to banish those idle thoughts.
As her slender waist undulated like a belly dancer's, beads of sweat slick with an obscene sheen rolled across the gleam of her smooth brown skin.
An utterly one-sided, passive male predicament—I could do nothing but watch as she freely shook her hips and pounded away against my upturned rear.
"The magic, is it...? Uuh, ah—"
Even while I was being thoroughly used, the reason I stayed an unhurried spectator was because I wanted to watch that smug, beautiful face crack apart bit by bit.
Had she assumed she could build tolerance to a Dream Demon's magic?
If the first hit scattered her wits into a daze, she hadn't yet grasped that time doesn't bring immunity—it just gets you drunker.
A Dream Demon's magic isn't a fragrance. It's alcohol.
The more you drink, the deeper the intoxication.
You might acclimate. You might grow sensitized to it. You might even learn to tell my magic apart from another's. But the Dream Demon's magic still accumulates inside your body, dose by dose. That part doesn't change.
Registering magic as a scent and going into heat were two entirely separate issues.
"Phew, it looks like this'll take a little longer."
Smack, smack. The rear that had been frolicking atop mine came to a halt. Rather than hammering down hard enough to rattle the bedframe, she started grinding her hips like she was working a millstone.
The sensation of a sweat-slicked ass gliding back and forth against me felt surprisingly good.
'Did her tastes shift, or is she just on the verge of coming?'
The face once brimming with confidence was now stained with bewilderment.
She was probably trying hard to feign composure.
She must have her pride as a woman of this gender-reversed world, too. When bedding a man of higher rank than herself, who'd want to look like a pathetic fool who loses himself to pleasure and spurts in seconds? No one wants to show that ugly side—except maybe a collared pig bastard.
And yet, even as she writhed in pleasure, she never once mentioned stopping—apparently still eager to see her selfish desires through. Well, fine. What man pulls out the moment he's in?
"So, how long do you think it'll take?"
Pinned pathetically under a woman's ass, I nonetheless smiled with perfect leisure inside the slow, measured cadence of pleasure. Reality isn't some exaggerated 19+ parody world where one round of pounding means instant climax, corruption, and collapse. Why would shifting positions a little leave me panting and senseless?
in a fantasy world where Dream Demon magic exists, actual corruption is possible in theory—but the Incarnation of the Tail-biting Hound wasn't a Dream Demon.
A woman who knew how to handle a man gently but had no clue how to drown him in pleasure. What chance did some well-mannered muscle-girl stand against a Dream Demon in bed?
"Seems like... it'll take a good while."
A beautiful smile flickered across her lips. But the emotions wafting from her body were anything but relaxed. Embarrassment and defeat churned together, with only a sliver of competitive spirit still alive. She was probably thinking something like, "How the hell do you beat a Dream Demon in bed?!"
Maybe because my Dream Demon form had been built on a foundation of Nightmare, emotions tinged with negativity came across as utterly delicious.
At the same moment, the slowly grinding ass lifted upward. A huge mass of flesh, soaked through with liquid I could no longer identify as sweat or arousal. It rose with an obscene, squelching sound, then crashed back down with a wet slap—again and again.
"You're not overdoing it just to chase my magic, are you?"
She'd had a change of heart and was now moving with fierce intensity.
"Hnng, don't worry about me. I'm fine—ah!"
The way she bit her lower lip and faintly furrowed her brow conjured a peculiar eroticism. Even cropped to just the face, a photo would radiate a lewd, lascivious air. Her hardened eyes struggled to push aside defeat and rally her competitive fire.
When our gazes met amid the exchange of magic, fragments of thought drifted toward me. Reading them sparked a small pang of concern. The more I considered it, the more convinced I became: she truly didn't understand Dream Demons at all. Were we simply too rare a species for her to have done proper research?
'Men get spent after they come, so if I push a brutal stamina battle...?'
She seemed to grasp the gist of what a Dream Demon was, but her understanding was dangerously shallow.
Maybe that was why my expression shifted subtly as I watched a person pour effort into a lost cause. Or maybe an elf-boy's face simply telegraphed emotions more clearly than my original body.
She bit her lip until the red turned bloodlessly pale, drew a deep breath, and began pounding away in earnest.
This wasn't the usual in-and-out motion. The stimulation twisted and kneaded from every direction, wringing semen out of me far faster than the three Incarnations' devoted service ever could. Not that I'd bothered holding back my ejaculations much since becoming a Dream Demon in the first place.
...Although, her defeat had been sealed the very instant she inhaled that deeply.
※
Afterward, the Incarnation of the Tail-biting Hound—draped limply across the Academy bed from excessive pleasure—quietly vanished. She'd sworn to bring whatever I desired the next time we met, but the memory of her thighs quivering apart like a frog smacked by a rock didn't exactly inspire confidence.
I was lounging limp in my chair, replaying that midday debauch, when a piercing shout cut through the air.
"So! Why the hell?!"
Fuming amid the disheveled office stood the Heart of the Exiled Serpent—or rather, her clone.
Confirming it was a clone was simple enough. This time, the moment our eyes met, she'd lunged straight for my throat.
I snapped her neck with an audible crack, and yet she stood there perfectly fine. That experience—spinal bones breaking the instant our gazes locked—was the cause of her current screaming fit.
I hated to admit it, but among a Dream Demon's abilities, the power to beguile someone and drag them into a personal domain? The Heart of the Exiled Serpent had me utterly outclassed there.
...An outcome squarely on my own laziness for gallivanting around under the excuse of "Incarnation care" instead of actually developing my abilities.
"No, you said 'let's make a deal.'"
"Yeah. Let's make a little deal."
"You idiotic bitch. Does a businesswoman like you not grasp that a deal requires profit?"
In every other category, naturally, I steamrolled her completely—so it hardly mattered. Physical combat, magic capacity, manipulation techniques, quality—I was superior across the board. And my head seemed to work better than hers, too.
"Obviously I know that, which is precisely why I'm proposing a deal in the first place."
"As if someone of your caliber is holding a better hand than The Incinerating Tyrant."
She'd been stubbornly insisting for a while now, and none of it made a shred of logical sense. Sure, getting your neck snapped right after eye contact might rattle anyone's composure.
But even so—her words sounded like nothing more than bluster and con-artist talk.
She wasn't even a major player among the fallen Constellations, and yet she claimed she could offer better compensation than The Incinerating Tyrant?
Slipping me into a space like this and posturing like some heavyweight—but strip the act away, and she was just a half-pint, pathetic loser of a Constellation who'd provided no support whatsoever and lost her finest Incarnation for the trouble.