The Fruit of Obedience
Submission of exactly this kind — this was the result Ervan had hungered for all along.
He tipped his face up toward the night sky and let a broad smile spread across it, then yanked hard on the leash. Even with Serina's choked, whimpering cries ringing out ahead of him, his grip never slackened; if anything, he pulled all the harder.
"Ngh— aghk— haaah—!"
Straightening his head again, Ervan spotted her doubled over on the ground, choking against the collar, and ambled toward her at his leisure.
"Dear me. That was painful, was it?"
"Hhk— hahk... n-no... nnh... ah..."
Even as he took her by the shoulders and hauled her upright, she went on quivering delicately, as though savoring some pleasure of her own.
"Then let us get you out of these, shall we?"
And watching that pretty face flood with embarrassment, Ervan tasted a pleasure of much the same kind.
"......Yes."
Still seated, she managed her hands with visible effort, worked off both shoes, and held them out to him carefully.
"...Here... you are."
"I'll keep them safe for you. Now the rest, please."
Rising slowly, Serina undid the knotted laces and began, at the same unhurried pace, to draw her gown down.
Not a shred of resistance remained in her bearing. And yet the way she labored to make each motion last must have come from the dread of baring her skin beneath the open sky — for her leisurely undressing stirred something in Ervan's chest, little by little.
Would the Goddess herself look like this, were she to show herself in the flesh? It was nothing like the faint allure he had once glimpsed through the weave of her robes. As her bare figure came fully into view beneath the moon, it almost seemed that the light itself had resolved to adorn the saintess.
Before long the gown slipped free and fell away, and Serina stood wholly bare — both hands gathered modestly over her stomach as she gazed up at him.
He knew exactly what those brimming blue eyes were saying. She was pleading with him to spare her. Her throat burned red with excitement, tears spilling freely down both cheeks — and presented like this, what man's heart could fail to be moved?
"Saintess."
"Yes."
"There is something I must tell you. I will make things a little easier for you, so let us talk as we walk."
Serina nodded. Ervan released the holy law he had laid upon her and waited to see what she would do — then watched her, faintly surprised. He had assumed that freed to this extent, she would walk at his side. But the saintess dropped to the ground and began to crawl again, and it was only when the leash began to pull at his hand that Ervan stirred.
With a quiet chuckle, he allowed himself a long moment to admire the sight of her from behind. The sway of her hips as she crawled, the pale line drawn along her soft skin — her figure, so alluring it might have been meant to tempt the man behind her, made him concede at last that his thoughts had begun to stray.
"Saintess. Do you remember when the Cardinal spoke of a knight named Lartel?"
"............Yes."
"Of late, news of that man has reached us from every quarter. His past conduct has come under scrutiny in turn. Above all, the freeing of the elf we had barely managed to capture, and the killing of the Deimus Church's faithful — even the kingdom counts those as grave matters."
Serina kept her silence, and Ervan went on.
"And five days ago, we received a request: that he be taken alive, and brought back together with the Hero."
Serina stopped dead where she stood. Ervan halted behind her and watched her sink to her knees.
"...Please spare his life."
"Hm. May I ask why?"
"He's someone I'm deeply grateful to — he kept me safe. If it weren't for him, I might have lost my life before I ever reached this place."
"That may well be so. But the Church desires something else."
Ervan settled himself comfortably on a tree stump nearby and drew the leash in until Serina was close before him. When she knelt once more and looked up, he continued.
"I will give you a choice, Saintess. If you wish for the knight to live — and for yourself to return to the comfortable life you once knew — then plead with the Goddess."
"...Plead... with her?"
"Yes. Only when your stigmata is restored can what you desire be granted. How does that sound?"
"...I'll try. Keep your promise."
Ervan set her bundle down on the ground, and quietly undid his belt.
Serina crawled in between his legs without needing to be told, took him in hand, and began to service him with slow, thorough devotion.
It was a satisfying result. He had meant to hold this in reserve as a final resort, but if it gave Serina purpose — if it drove her to give her utmost toward restoring her stigmata — then he considered that a fine outcome in its own right. Nor did he need to speak what he had left unsaid. She knew it well enough, he was certain: that everything would unfold smoothly only if she served the Church with the full devotion of a saintess, exactly as it demanded.
"Saintess. Do you remember what I told you some time ago? I recall teaching you a fitting posture for occasions like these."
Serina ran her tongue once around him, then released her grip and drew both hands behind her back, lacing her fingers together. Leaning forward like that pressed her chest against his thigh.
"Attend properly, Saintess, and once your stigmata is restored, I will in turn petition His Eminence the Cardinal to see that the Hero is dealt with."
Serina answered with deed instead of word.
"Mmph... nn..."
Bowing her head, she took him deep into her throat, and though her moans broke with discomfort, her head never stopped moving.
"Slrp... schlp..."
Ervan was greatly pleased by her diligence. More than anything, the way her legs kept twitching, seeking to rub her thighs together, proved that she could no longer contain her own arousal — and he found he could not simply sit still.
Ervan laid his right hand on the back of her head. The light suited the saintess's body remarkably well; even a small measure of it let him fix her head firmly to his palm. Without hesitation, he drove her head down.
"Hngh—?!"
At the sensation of him striking deep into her throat, he lifted her head only to bear it down again, while his free hand slid lower between her thighs and began to stroke her slick, tender flesh.
With the added stimulation below, Serina's tongue went rigid and stopped — but only for a moment.
"Hah... slrp... slrrp..."
She set her tongue to work once more, and a few minutes in, it was Serina who broke first. Her toes curled, and he could see her body go taut for an instant. Just as her waist began to shudder, Ervan drew his glistening fingers out of her.
He examined the fingers soaked with her arousal for a moment, then carried that hand to the nape of her neck. Painting over the place where her faded stigmata was engraved, he began to shake her head with real force — he had been on the edge for some time now.
"Hnk! Hnn— nnghk!"
Buried to the depths of her throat, he released everything into her mouth, and she swallowed it down even as her body shook. Only after hearing her gulp three times or so did Ervan finally withdraw.
When he let go of Serina completely — her face scarlet — she broke into cough after cough, yet her gaze stayed fixed on a single point.
"Do you wish to continue?"
"............"
She ended by giving him one dazed look, then pushed herself up. Crossing to him at a languid pace, she wrapped both arms around his shoulders and pressed her upper body flush against his.
Serina's role ended there. Once he had confirmed her grip on him was firm, Ervan hooked his arms beneath both her legs, lifted her slight body a little, and guided himself inside her.
"Haaahk!"
Soaked as she was, she was still narrow and tight — so tight that reaching her deepest part took an age, and Serina voiced a long, drawn pain the whole way there.
Before long she slumped against him as though spent, her chin hooked over his shoulder, her body trembling finely. Perhaps the pain had not yet faded, for the nails of the hands clasped around his back were digging into him hard.
Ervan didn't care. He could feel her pounding heartbeat through her chest pressed to his own — proof enough that Serina was drunk on sensation — so there was nothing to trouble him at all.
Besides, it had been Ervan himself who taught her, long ago, that in the moments when she must surrender to pleasure, she was to hold on with all her strength — just as she was doing now.
The thought that, at long last, the training he had repeated and impressed upon her over those past days was bearing fruit set him buzzing with excitement. This saintess could no longer defy a single word of his.