Milking Therapist and Penis-in-Charge Maid (4)
“What excellent semen, Miss.”
Her voice remained perfectly calm. The voice of someone simply doing her job. Yet just as a sommelier might feel a quiet thrill upon encountering a truly exceptional wine, a faint note of pleasure could be detected in Gyeoul’s tone. Only faint, of course. Perfectly restrained.
“The viscosity, the marine tang, the way it clings to the throat… every aspect is superb. I could confidently rate this as top-grade.”
A calm compliment. Its subject, however, was the quality of her own cum. The contradiction, the sheer absurdity of it all, created a bizarre, incomprehensible sense of alienation.
“Mmm, gulp… Even upon second tasting, it is unmistakably top-grade.”
Those words became the spice that drove Trisha’s cock even harder, throbbing with greater need.
“It feels as though my tongue and esophagus might fall pregnant at any moment. This semen carries your vitality, your lust, and those filthy, base desires. Truly magnificent.”
“Ah, ahaha…”
Trisha let out an awkward laugh.
“Th… thank you?”
She decided to play along for once. There was a saying that when in the capital, one should walk like the capital’s people. Perhaps it would be wise to fully immerse herself in this scenario? To properly enjoy the “content” that was the hypnotized Gyeoul.
Rather than simply watching the stage from the audience, if this was a participatory play, then the audience ought to join in actively. Logically, Trisha’s reasoning was sound.
But it wasn’t a conclusion born of rational thought. Instinct had already reached the answer first; reason had merely scrambled afterward to attach a plausible justification.
It was an attempt to frame the extraordinary, dizzying pleasure Gyeoul offered as mere “performance,” to separate it from her normal self, her everyday self, her identity as the imperial princess.
Because her subconscious—unlike her foolish conscious mind—had understood immediately.
This is dangerous.
This woman named Gyeoul is dangerous.
Just a little more. If she allowed herself to drink in even a little more of the pleasure this woman offered, the next empress of the empire would vanish. In her place would be nothing but a well-trained bitch in heat, cock standing stiff like a tail, whimpering and begging for the gift of pleasure.
Any of the other students who encountered the current Gyeoul would likely think the exact same thing.
Dangerous.
The Gyeoul before us now is dangerous.
Males dominate females through pleasure. They strike and violate with pleasure to subjugate. Yet females also dominate males through pleasure. They drown and strangle them with it.
Then who is the victor? That depends entirely on the individual case.
And Gyeoul? Was she the one who ended up dominated by males through pleasure? Or the one who dominated them?
The answer to that question was not yet known.
What was certain, however, was that against the current Trisha, Gyeoul held an unshakable advantage. Trisha had sensed it on an instinctive level, which was precisely why she was trying to maintain psychological distance.
But that was none of Gyeoul’s concern. She was simply on duty.
And as a milking therapist, she could see that Miss Trisha’s condition required immediate and thorough treatment.
The number of ejaculations required until her mind returns to clarity… at minimum ten, at maximum around twenty.
Her objective as a milking therapist was to drain every last drop until Trisha could no longer feel any sexual desire whatsoever.
It seems I’ll need to continue milking until the semen becomes sufficiently thin. I must be careful not to strain the penis in the process.
The latter concern—protecting the health of the cock—belonged to her role as penis-in-charge maid rather than milking therapist.
While Gyeoul was calmly organizing these thoughts, Trisha, who had been wondering exactly what parameters this hypnosis operated under, finally spoke.
“Um… by the way, what exactly are you? You keep calling me ‘Miss.’ Are you supposed to be my maid?”
“What a sudden question.”
Gyeoul shook her head. So she was choosing to be uncooperative after all? Still, since the question had been asked, she had no choice but to answer.
“I am Miss Trisha’s milking therapist and penis-in-charge maid.”
“Milking… what?”
“Milking therapist, and penis-in-charge maid.”
Gyeoul frowned slightly. Why was she pretending not to understand? That nonchalant attitude, bordering on deliberate irritation, caused the psychological barrier Trisha had erected—the one that tried to view Gyeoul as nothing more than a “character”—to tremble.
“S-so… it’s a dual position?”
“Yes, a concurrent role. Milking therapy and penile health management are clearly distinct duties.”
Gyeoul spoke with perfect composure. She didn’t understand why Trisha was feigning ignorance, but if that was how she wanted to play it, Gyeoul would simply explain everything to the end.
“For example, if we break down my actions up until now by duty, transforming your overly stagnant, yellowish-tinged semen into something healthier was the work of the milking therapist.”
However.
“Collecting that semen in a bucket and tasting it to assess its condition was the duty of the penis-in-charge. Does this make sense to you now?”
“M-make sense…?”
It seemed continuing the question-and-answer session would be unnecessary.
“Then I shall resume the milking immediately.”
Trisha’s cock was honest. At Gyeoul’s words it swelled instantly, slapping against her rear from behind.
“Nngh…”
Gyeoul’s body quivered at the subtle stimulation, but her expression remained perfectly professional as she continued.
“As I mentioned earlier, from now on I will perform the milking in whatever manner you desire, Miss.”
“!!”
Trisha’s cock pressed upward against Gyeoul’s ass, a thick bead of transparent precum welling at the tip.
“Then—!”
“I will now present the options for your fourth milking. Thighs, armpits, or breasts. Which would you prefer?”
Gyeoul added, as if in afterthought, “The soles of the feet are also available.”
“…”
What was she even supposed to say to that?
“Wh-why are all the choices so perverted?”
The words had burst out reflexively rather than as a considered response.
“Did I not explain this earlier? If you cooperate, I will allow you to choose the method of milking. Naturally, I won’t grant your ultimate desired goal right from the beginning.”
Gyeoul spoke as though this were the most obvious thing in the world.
“At first I will milk you using less pleasurable methods. Should you continue to cooperate, I will gradually allow you access to more and more pleasurable techniques.”
Therefore.
“The first set of choices I am offering are thighs, breasts, armpits, and the soles of the feet.”
“…Nngh.”
Trisha didn’t want to choose. She wanted to shove her cock into the pussy hidden behind those panties right this instant. She wanted to lose her virginity to that soft, wet hole that lay less than ten centimeters away in a straight line.
Yet even she had to admit that Gyeoul’s reasoning was sound. It was the sort of calculated approach one might find in the imperial studies of rulership and tolerance she had been taught.
“Haa…”
Gyeoul suddenly let out a small sigh.
“Miss. You remember the answer I gave when you asked what I was to you earlier, yes?”
“Milking therapist and penis-in-charge maid…?”
Hearing it spoken aloud made the title sound even more ridiculous.
“Do you understand what the ‘maid’ portion of that role entails during this milking process?”
“Huh…?”
Come to think of it, earlier Gyeoul had said that forcing repeated ejaculation to eliminate sexual desire was the milking therapist’s job. Preventing damage to the cock during that process was the penis-in-charge’s responsibility. So what was the maid for?
“Precisely this.”
Gyeoul looked directly into Trisha’s eyes.
“To serve you throughout the entire process.”
She spoke as though stating a self-evident truth.
“If my only objectives were treatment and penile health management, I could simply milk you mechanically as I did before. I would only need to adjust intensity and speed.”
And in Gyeoul’s eyes, Trisha saw something she recognized.
It was the same gaze her longtime personal maids had always given her. She saw it clearly.
“The method I devised in order to respect your wishes as much as possible was to gradually exchange your cooperation for the pleasure I provide.”
Gyeoul bowed her head slightly.
“Please, follow my guidance. For the sake of both of us.”
“…Ah.”
Only then did Trisha truly understand.
It wasn’t that Gyeoul was acting as if this were natural. It was natural to her.
She truly was Trisha’s maid.
Strange modifiers had been slapped onto the title, but her devotion was genuine. She was sincerely serving her.
That was what hypnosis truly meant.
It was different from ordinary theater, and different even from audience-participation plays.
There had never been any actors to begin with.
The excuse Trisha had used as a psychological defense—that this was all just a play—shredded like tissue paper.
Because truth is the most powerful weapon of all.
Just as the academy students had fallen for Gyeoul during Committee Member Week, and had thrown absurd fortunes at her during Prostitute Week as if they were the ones hypnotized.
“I will ask once more.”
The question drove forward like a blade piercing through a paper screen, aimed directly at Trisha’s heart.
“Which part would you like to be milked with? Breasts, thighs, armpits, or the soles of the feet?”
It was time to choose.
“I… I…”
She was trembling. Both Trisha’s lips and her cock.