Chapter 1: Hypocrisy (9)
A finger, tracing every crease as if counting them one by one, slowly pushed inside. Even with just a single knuckle breaching him, the foreign sensation was undeniable.
“Always so insatiable, begging for it. Look at you now—mouthing at my finger like you want to devour it.”
The finger slid deeper. Just as the Grand Duke said, his insides seemed to writhe, hungry to consume it. Or perhaps it was simply his body’s natural response, guiding the intrusion toward that sensitive spot. Either way, the truth was undeniable: even a single finger could reduce him to this state of arousal.
No real foreplay had even begun, yet his inner walls already softened, slick and yielding. Ronen’s erection stood rigid, leaking thick, sticky fluid. The Grand Duke chuckled as he repeated the shallow thrusts of his finger, in and out.
“Like a rutting piglet.”
The insults had long since lost their sting. They rolled off him now, meaningless.
The bare finger—unlubricated—stretched him raw, the entrance burning, but even that discomfort faded with time. Or perhaps his body was simply preparing itself, conditioned by countless repetitions of this act. His flesh had been reshaped to fit the Grand Duke’s demands.
Sensing the resistance ease, the Grand Duke drove his finger deeper, probing the depths where that desperate, aching spot resided. The gentle prods sent shivers through Ronen’s hips.
“I hear two of your hair ornaments went missing.”
Ronen, who had been unconsciously focusing every nerve on the invading finger, forced himself to relax and answer. “…I lost them.”
A pause. Then, almost musingly: “How careless.” The Grand Duke’s voice turned colder. “Do you have any idea how much those were worth? Your debt just grew. You couldn’t pay it off in ten years of whoring yourself out.”
This time, Ronen stayed silent.
Grand Duke Canis already knew the truth—Ronen was aware of that. The soldier who had failed to find the child had returned one of the jewels, but Ronen had no intention of mentioning it. The audacity of it all: smuggling a filthy street urchin into the carriage, distributing his belongings as if they were Ronen’s own, and then daring to lie to his face.
And those eyes—the way Ronen had looked at Eckart. The Grand Duke had seen it: the tender, endless depth in those pale green irises, the way they softened with something like affection. A creeping, uncontrollable revulsion slithered through him, the urge to wrap his fingers around that slender throat and squeeze until it snapped. He restrained himself—barely.
The night was still young, and he had plans to keep Ronen here for a while, to re-educate him thoroughly. War was over; soon, he would have to visit the Ilknur Kingdom. Months, at least, would pass before his return. If Ronen was to remember his master in that time, every inch of his body would need to be marked—thoroughly.
The finger, now buried to the knuckle, curled forward, scraping against that sensitive spot. Ronen’s body convulsed, his flushed face buried in the pillow as he bit back a moan. The pressure, the stretch, the precise, relentless prodding—it was too much. His insides boiled, on the verge of rupture.
The Grand Duke, who knew his body’s every weakness, tormented him further, stroking that spot until pleasure bordered on pain. Ronen’s muscles locked, overwhelmed by the sharp, relentless waves of sensation.
If only he would be rough, painful—then Ronen could endure it as punishment. But no. The Grand Duke was cruel in the worst way: he gave him pleasure. Helpless, drowning in it, reduced to nothing but a trembling, gasping wreck beneath him.
“Already so wet for me.”
A long string of clear fluid soaked the sheets. The shame of it—how his body betrayed him, how it wanted this—gnarled in his chest. No matter how he resisted, he always ended up like this: taking a man inside him, writhing in pleasure, lost to it.
A second finger joined the first, thick and long, stretching him wider. The intrusion erased the last remnants of his guilt, his walls clinging greedily to the invasion.
Ronen’s mind flickered to Eckart’s hands—rough, calloused from years of gripping a sword, the knuckles thick. He imagined those veined fingers wrapping around him, claiming him, and his body responded, tightening around the Grand Duke’s fingers.
A hot breath ghosted over his ear.
Even that reminded him of Eckart—the low, gravelly sighs that had seeped into his fantasies, the way his voice might break if he ever let himself moan. The thought of Eckart’s austere face flushed with arousal sent a shiver through him. Would he even make a sound? Or would he bite it back, the suppressed groans leaking between clenched teeth? The image made Ronen’s insides clench again.
He pretended the man behind him was Eckart—sweat-slicked, eyes hazy with barely restrained need. The fingers inside him no longer felt invasive; instead, they stoked the fire, rubbing that desperate spot until he was breathless.
“Nn—”
His hips rocked, seeking more. The fingers quickened, pistoning in and out, each thrust sending jolts through his core. The relentless stimulation blurred his vision, pleasure coiling tighter, tighter—
Then, abruptly, the fingers withdrew.
“Hah—”
The emptiness was worse than the denial of release. His body burned, aching for fulfillment, a whimper escaping his lips before the Grand Duke suddenly flipped him onto his stomach, ass raised. Something thick and scorching pressed against his entrance.
“Hng! Ah—!”
“Kgh—”
The Grand Duke’s cock, slick with precome, rammed into that sensitive spot without mercy. Ronen’s body jerked as if struck by lightning, toes curling, skin paling. He clawed at the sheets, but each brutal thrust sent him spiraling, his body shaking violently.
“Hng, ah, ah! Nn—”
His usual restraint shattered. The moans spilling from him were raw, unguarded. The Grand Duke, who had grown accustomed to Ronen’s silence, found this new abandon intoxicating.
“Hah… hah…”
He pulled back until only the tip remained, then slammed home again, impaling him in one stroke. The dark, veined shaft pulsed between Ronen’s spread cheeks, the wet sounds of flesh meeting flesh filling the air.
Every thrust hammered that sensitive spot. Ronen couldn’t even keep his eyes open; tears blurred his vision as he fought to stifle his sobs.
“Haah… so tight. Today, you’re… nngh… gripping me like you’ll never let go.”
The Grand Duke’s hand clamped around Ronen’s hip, fingers digging in as he pounded into him. The slap of skin against skin was brutal, Ronen’s ass reddening from the force.
Pleasure crested, overwhelming. His cock, already painfully hard, throbbed in the Grand Duke’s grip as he stroked it roughly.
“Ah! S-stop… hngh!”
His body locked, then released in a violent spasm. Cum spurted across the sheets, his walls clenching around the cock buried inside him. The aftershocks left him boneless, gasping, his mind adrift in the haze of pleasure.
His vision swam, his pale green eyes unfocused, drool dripping from his slack jaw.
The Grand Duke wasn’t done. He slowed his hips, savoring the way Ronen’s oversensitive body still trembled around him.
“Ah, nngh—! Wait, please—!”
Ronen’s body protested, overstimulated, but the Grand Duke had no intention of stopping. His thrusts remained shallow, teasing.
“So sensitive today.”
Ronen was moving with him, hips canting back, his moans no longer stifled—not quite screams, but honest, desperate sounds. The way his body clenched, the way his thighs trembled, the flush spreading across his pale skin—it was all perfect. The Grand Duke groaned, watching the way Ronen’s back arched, his spent cock still twitching with aftershocks.
“Hah… Does your knight know? How filthy you are? I should’ve dressed you in something more revealing today—sheer fabric, your chest and crotch on full display. Then any man could see how easily you get hard, how you’d spread your legs for them… and laugh.”
Ronen’s shoulders tensed. For a moment, lost in pleasure, he had forgotten—he had been fantasizing about Eckart just now. Like a common whore, panting and spent beneath a man’s touch.
The Grand Duke increased his pace, driving into him with renewed vigor, targeting that same desperate spot. But now, it brought no joy. Only shame.
Ronen pressed his lips together, his guilt-drowned eyes squeezing shut.
God was merciful. Even sinners could be saved by faith alone.
He prayed—please, let me be worthy—but doubt gnawed at him. How could someone this fallen, this corrupted by desire, ever hear the divine call? Hope, once a fragile thing, had long since been crushed beneath the Grand Duke’s boot. If there was no salvation, then he wished for oblivion instead. A push off the cliff’s edge. Even if hell awaited him, even if eternal flames would consume his soul… it would be better than this.
The chains around his ankles rattled, as if sensing the long night ahead.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
