“Ngh—it hurts—”
“Hurts…?” Edwin panted, voice rough. “I’m the one in pain, you—fuck—why’re you whining?”
Borrowing one finger—just one—and here Leira was, sniveling like a child. He’d tried to fuck him, but Leira had wilted like a wilting flower. Offered to suck him off, but even that was met with hesitation. Now he was bitching over a finger? Edwin regretted ever showing mercy. He snapped his hips forward, groaning as Leira’s nail—delicate as mother-of-pearl—scraped his inner walls.
“Hngh—shit—!”
“Just—please—come already…”
Leira squeezed his eyes shut, then cracked them open in thin slits. Edwin was always the picture of seductive elegance, but right now—grunting, forcing a finger into his own cock, eyes glazed—he looked less like a nobleman and more like something out of a nightmare. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows over the obscene scene: a man violating himself with another man’s finger.
Leira tried to ignore the strange, squishy warmth pulsing around his pinky. He’d never even seen a woman’s parts—his first time had been his childhood friend taking his virginity in the ass—but he wondered if this slick, clinging heat was anything like a pussy. Lost in thought—
“Pay attention.”
A sharp sting on his cheek. Not painful, but the humiliation burned. Before Leira could protest, Edwin bit his own lip hard, then growled:
“Gonna cry? Feels like I’m close…”
The threat of tears vanished. Leira dropped his gaze, watching in revulsion as his finger disappeared into Edwin’s urethra again and again, stretching the ridged opening wider than should’ve been possible. Humans shouldn’t be able to do this.
As Leira desperately tried to recall the meditation techniques drilled into him as a child, Edwin—panting, abusing his own cock with Leira’s finger—asked:
“Can I come on your face?”
“Uh—ah—”
Leira had endured worse. Like the time Edwin had “seasoned” his milk tea with cum instead of sugar, leaving Leira retching at the memory. Compared to that, a facial was nothing. (Not that he’d enjoy it.)
Desperate to end this, he nodded.
Edwin’s lips curled into a dangerous smile.
“Don’t close your eyes. If you do, I’ll cut this finger off and shove it up my ass instead.”
Leira’s eyes flew open. Before he could process the threat, Edwin yanked his finger free—only to fist his hair. Then—
“Ah—!”
A scorching torrent erupted. Edwin had spent the afternoon strolling the Duke’s private woods; his bladder was full. He pinned Leira’s face in place, drenching him in piss, shuddering in ecstasy as the golden stream painted his flawless skin, soaking into his hair, his lips. Leira gagged as some seeped past his clenched teeth, the bitter taste making him retch.
“N-no—nngh—!”
He thrashed, but Edwin’s grip was iron. Only when the flow slowed did he release him, smearing the last drops over Leira’s face with his cock, laughing like a villain as Leira finally broke into sobs.
***
Squelch.
Leira sat in a bath scented with lavender and rose oil, staring at his pruned finger. Clean now. No trace of the fluids that had violated it.
He’d used my finger to jack off—inside his urethra—then pissed all over me.
The moment the first spray hit, he’d burst into tears, and Edwin—grinning like a demon—had kissed him. Kissed him, with his face covered in piss. Then dragged him to the river to “clean up,” as if that undid anything. The stench still clung to his clothes, seeping into his skin. He’d all but sprinted back to the Duke’s estate, screaming for a bath, slamming the door in Edwin’s face.
“Disgusting…”
Even after scrubbing, he swore he could still smell it. This was worse than the first time Edwin had come on him. How had things escalated this far?
Leira zoned out, tracing the past like a wound.
The Duke’s family—paragons of chivalry, descended from the kingdom’s founders. The Earl’s—renowned for producing geniuses, though Edwin was the first to wield a sword instead of a pen. Leira: the youngest, nameless son of a wealthy duke, delicate as porcelain. Edwin: the Earl’s heir, a freak of nature—towering, muscular, a warrior born into a line of scholars.
They’d grown up together, shuffling between each other’s mansions, sharing tutors, treating each other’s homes like their own. Childhood friends.
Then came the Academy.
It had been raining that evening. A curious noble had gathered a group of students—Leira and Edwin included—and unfolded a smutty magazine. Flustered, Leira had crossed his legs, only to lock eyes with Edwin, who’d been watching the whole thing with his usual blank expression. For once, he’d looked… flustered. The contrast had been so absurd Leira had teased him.
Back in their shared dorm, the storm raging outside—
“I don’t get it.”
“What?”
“Why everyone makes such a fuss. I mean…” Leira had scoffed, hiding his own inexperience. “It’s not that scandalous. Not that I’d know, of course.”
A lie. He was a virgin too. But next to Edwin’s hulking frame, he felt like a frail princess, and the humiliation gnawed at him. At least let me pretend I’m not.
Edwin had blinked. Then—
“What do you mean, you ‘don’t know’?”
“Huh?”
“You’ve never stuck your cock in a cunt? Or at least jerked off?”
The words hit like a slap. Leira’s face burned. “B-bo—!” He couldn’t even finish.
But Edwin, unfazed, pressed on. “You have jerked off, right?”
“J-jerked—?”
“Yeah. I haven’t. Have you?”
Leira’s jaw dropped. Before he could recover, Edwin’s hands were at his belt.
“W-what are you—?!”
Panic set in. He lunged to stop him, but Edwin just stared, then—continued.
“I’ve got a problem. It keeps getting bigger.”
“Ack! Put that away right now! Are you not putting it away?!”
“Is this normal? Take a look.”
“Look at what—AAH—what the hell is that?!”
When Leira tried to swat Edwin’s hand away in outrage, what greeted her was a monster. A snake—no, the same massive python she’d seen years ago when the estate’s knights returned from their annual hunt, its thick, veiny coils enough to make child-Leira pass out from terror.
A face so beautiful it could belong to a saint, skin smooth and flawless as the finest marble—yet between his legs writhed a grotesque, blood-red python, veins bulging obscenely.
Leira’s face cycled through colors like a chameleon—pale, then scarlet. Edwin, watching this, gave his mutant sweet-potato-shaped cock a casual flick.
“Ack—!”
The way Leira flinched at every twitch was deeply satisfying. Edwin, who’d spent his life indifferent to others’ reactions, felt something unfamiliar swell in his chest.
Ah. So this is what people feel.
He was almost giddy.
“Leira… it hurts…” Edwin whined, his voice trembling. His usual stoicism crumbled, making him look pathetically young—like the boy who’d once needed Leira’s help to finish a meal.
“It just keeps growing, and it hurts. I don’t know what to do.” His tone was miserable, almost tearful. From the waist up, he looked utterly pitiful.
Leira would vehemently deny it, but deep down, he’d always harbored a sliver of inferiority toward Edwin. Even now, seeing Edwin so clumsy sent a shameful thrill through him, propping up his fragile ego.
“I want to ask someone, but I can’t.”
“Of course you can’t! You didn’t actually ask anyone, did you?!”
“No. I wanted to ask you.”
Why me?
Leira bristled—but then, a strange pride bloomed. The Edwin, genius heir of the Earl’s family, didn’t know how to jerk off? The idea that he, of all people, could teach Edwin something was intoxicating. Never mind that it was just this.
Still, to a freshly minted adult clinging to his last shreds of boyish dignity, this was a momentous opportunity.
“Uh… I’ve… done that.”
“Done what?”
“What you just mentioned.”
“Which part?”
Is this bastard doing this on purpose? Leira glared, then cleared his throat. “Y’know… self—”
“Hm?”
“S-self… relief.”
“Oh. Masturbation.”
The blunt word nearly sent Leira flat on the floor like a deflated soufflé. But he caught himself, squaring his shoulders like a tiny bird puffing up against a predator.
“When did you start? I had no idea people even did that.”
“Well, you’re surprisingly naive. Anyway, I don’t remember exactly. Maybe… around seventeen?”
A lie. He’d only tried it once, at nineteen, and it had been awkward as hell. But seventeen sounded so much cooler. Worldly. Like he was some experienced noble playboy. (Never mind that his brothers and friends had been bedding maids since twelve.)
“Seventeen… That’s early.”
“I-is it?”
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
