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sweetie fairy

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Claude opened his eyes and saw a small human standing by his pillow. 

A miniature of a woman, tiny enough to sit on his palm, with white hair and pink eyes and wearing a purple dress. 

Right, anaesthetics, he thought, and closed his eyes. 

When he opened them again, the tiny person was still there, now with her hands on her hips. Upon a closer examination, he saw that she had an angry expression on her face, and her mouth was moving, trying to shout something at him, like...

"...rude! Hiding your teeth like that..."

Claude scrunched his eyebrows, trying to make sense of the situation with what little thinking power he had left after the wisdom teeth removal. 

"Tooth fairy?" he asked, pronunciation slightly slurred.

When he was younger, tiny people like her visited his room at nights, whenever he lost his baby teeth. They were always surprised to see him awake so late, and told him that he had to go to sleep. Their job was to take the tooth and leave a gift in exchange, and apparently it was something they could only do while humans were asleep. 

Naturally, little Claude used to exploit this by holding his teeth hostage and forcing the fairies to play with him until he tired out. 

(In his defense, he was lonely and didn't have any friends back then.)

At any rate, it had been a long time since he'd reminisced of those nights, Claude realized. He never knew tooth fairies came to adults, too, but...

"...don't have time to waste, so please, hand them over."

...he wasn't complaining, not when this one was so easy on the eyes. He wasn't sure exactly how fairies aged, but her physical proportions suggested that she was older than the round, chubby ones from his childhood— maybe a young adult, like him. 

She still looked rather babyfaced, but hey, babyfaced adults existed. The sheer, skimpy dress she wore certainly didn't look like it was designed for children. (Not that he knew much about fairy fashion.)


Suddenly curious as to what material her clothes were made of, Claude reached out to grab the edge of her skirt with his index finger and thumb.

"Did you hear m— hey!"

The fairy stumbled back in shock, and the whole dress tore away. 


The answer to his question: it was made of a petal-like material. Also, fairies did not wear underwear. 

Sorry, Claude thought, but the word didn't come out. He hadn't done that on purpose, he truly hadn't— but the anaesthetics were messing with him, making him act strange. 

Making him stare at her bare body, tiny but perfectly formed.

"You pervert!" she shouted, trying to hide herself behind her arms a second too late. 

Claude fussed to place the scraps on his palm and hold it out. The fairy scrambled to retrieve them, but discoordination on both of their parts resulted in her stumbling over, face down, onto his hand.

It was probably inappropriate that he looked at her helpless backside and thought, that's a nice ass. 

And whatever self-control he had in the situation left when she squirmed, her soft torso rubbing against his fingers— so with an internal utterance of, fuck it, not like this can get any weirder, he lifted his other hand and placed a pinky on her lower back.

The fairy went still, perhaps out of fear. Claude made sure to be gentle as he began to stroke her, first on her ass, then her upper thighs, then between them, againsy a tiny spot that felt wetter and hotter than the rest of her skin. 

Eventually— very slightly— she bucked against his finger, trying to establish a rhythm. When he abrubtly took it away, he saw that the tip was slightly moist. 

The fairy wriggled in his hand, obviously frustrated. 

"You liked that, didn't you," he teased, to which the fairy responded by pounding her fists against his palm. (It didn't hurt one bit.)

His boxers were getting uncomfortably tight now, so he reached down to pull them down. The fairy jolted, sitting upright with her eyes wide like (miniature) saucers.

"Relax, relax," he whispered. "I won't put it anywhere near you. I doubt it's physically possible to, well, you know."

She muttered something under her breath, probably something like, "You better not." 

Claude slightly grinned as he grabbed the base of his cock and adjusted his position to be more comfortable. He moved his other hand so that the fairy would be within a comfortable viewing distance, then lightly cleared his throat. 

"It's not fair if I'm the only one who gets to feel good, is it," he said. "You can use my hand, if you'd like."

For a few moments, she simply sat there with a disgruntled, embarassed expression as he began to slowly pump his shaft. Her legs were crossed and her arms were still covering her tiny (both to him, and to her own frame) breasts, but Claude found that he didn't need to see all those parts to grow aroused. 


Having such a delicate, tiny creature in his hand, bare and helpless, while he did something so vulgar and lewd. 

All that fantastic nostalgia from his childhood, overlapping with this decidedly adult activity. 

It was surreal, and exciting.

"Such a pretty fairy..."

The atmosphere must have gotten to her, too, because slowly, her arms unfurled, and she began to toy with her breasts, tiny hands pinching and fondling miniscule pink nipples. When her other hand went between her legs, Claude forced his own breathing to slow so he could listen to her noises. 

"Yes— like that."

She seemed to respond well to encouragement, judging by how she moved to straddle one of his fingers. She was dripping wet now, slick covering his skin as she began to slide her hips back and forth, eyes closed and tongue sticking out. 

Claude's hand sped up to match her— imagining that, she'd do that on his cock if she could, and if that wasn't possible, she'd still use every inch of her little body to get him off. 

What an adorable sight that would be, he thought, balls tightening as his orgasm built. 


The fairy came seconds before he did, shivering and back arching and crying out loud enough for him to hear. She then collapsed forward in his palm, flushed and sweaty. Once he wiped the cum his other hand off on his stomach, Claude pet her on the head with his fingertip— 


—where she suddenly kissed him, lips oh-so-tiny yet soft.

Claude lay there for a few seconds, dazed. 

Or, considering what she was, charmed might have been the more accurate word.

The fairy hopped off his hand when he stirred again, presumably to leave.

"Wait, wait," he said, rolling to other side of the bed. "You have to take the teeth, right?"

Claude opened the nightstand drawer and took out a plastic container and a headband. He opened the container and placed the teeth in front of the fairy, then held up the headband against her torso. 

"Sorry about your dress earlier," he said, carefully wrapping her in the fabric. 

The fairy sighed and took over covering herself in the makeshift dress, somehow securing it around herself without any strings or safety pins. She then raised her hands to her mouth to shout,

"I'm an employed adult, you know, not a child— I can easily buy a new one!"

Claude chortled, but before he could ask about how fairy economies and job markets worked, his eyelids slid down. 

"...heard some humans were into fairies like that, but... never thought... hmph."

He caught some words of her muttering to herself as he sank into sleep— and he hadn't noticed it before, but she had a rather nice voice, too.

"...Oh well. Here's your gift."

The last thing he felt before losing consciousness was a soft touch on his cheek, and overwhelming relief. 

It was several days before Claude went to his favorite dessert café again. His recovery from the wisdom teeth extraction was unusually quick, with minimal swelling, but it never hurt to be safe, so he waited as long as the doctors had instructed, and then some. 

"Three shots of syrup, please. Plus five chocolate chip cookies— and a velvet cake muffin, please, thanks."

And for some reason, he'd been craving an awful lot of sweets since then. 

Surely it can't have anything to do with that fairy, he thought, turning around with the cup of mocha latte and paper bag full of sweets—


—and almost crashed into someone. 

Claude blinked and glanced down at the slim young woman in front of him. 

Snow white hair, purple sweater, and, a patterned headband tied around one of her sidelocks. 

"Rude," she muttered under her breath, then looked up at him. "Please, do watch where you're goi—"

Claude couldn't help but grin when she cut off mid-sentence, and flushed pink like her wide eyes. 

"Sorry about that," he said. "Guess I can't say that I didn't see you, huh?"


He winked and shook the bag of cookies at her. 

"If you've got time to waste, I'll treat you to these, and more."

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Lysithea was forgetting something. 

It was something important, but aside from that, she couldn't remember anything specific. Which was frustrating, because she had good memory, didn't she? She was smart. 

Yes, Lysithea remembered, she was an intelligent person. She was good at remembering things. She was a model student, a scholar, and—

"Good morning, Lyssie. Slept well?"

—she came, back arching and moaning, just from a single thrust of her husband's half-erect cock inside her. 

"Ooh... oh..."

Claude shifted, adjusting their position so she lay on her back as he covered her with his body, making sure his length wouldn't slip out. Lysithea felt her head go blissfully blank as he used her pussy to stroke himself hard again, body reacting with another orgasm.

"Ah, looks like you're getting bigger here," she heard him say in a slightly teasing voice, hands squeezing her breasts. "I guess you're already preparing to feed the baby, hm?"

Halfway through an automatic response of, please, please, more, I need your cum, something faint lit up in the back of her mind.

"Claude," she gasped, pussy tightening to a rough thrust. "Claude, I—"

He cut her off with a kiss, warm and firm, one hand stroking her face, other on her thigh. A pleasured groan into her lips, and Lysithea locked her legs around his waist, pulling him as close as possible. 

Because this was— what was it, again?

Right, a reward. 

This was her reward, for working so hard and enduring so much. Claude always told her that she deserved to feel good, to indulge herself in all that she ever wanted— from pretty clothes to sweets and delicacies to him, her wonderful husband who would do anything for her. 

Kiss her, touch her, praise her, pump her full of cum and give her a baby. 

Claude had looked so elated when he heard he was going to be a father, too; so Lysithea told him that she wanted lots of children, that she wanted him to knock her up again and again, that she wanted them to feel good and be happy all the time, just like this. 


And of course, she was happy. 

She loved her husband, and she loved his warmth above her, inside her. 

She loved the baby growing in her belly, and all the kids they'd have in the future; her family, her entire world—

Lysithea's eyes snapped open.

"Claude," she whispered again, frantic. "Something's— something's wrong."

Claude froze, sat up. His eyes were filled with fear (and something else?), but his voice didn't shake as he asked,

"What do you mean? You feel sick?"

Lysithea whined as he held her hands, trying to think. 

She used to be good at thinking, but it was so difficult these days; even now, she was more preoccupied with the thick cock and load in her cunt, and not—

"No, but— forgot something," she said. "I... I think I forgot something."

A sigh of relief. Her husband reached down and pressed a thumb on her swollen clit, making her rut into his hands.

"You forgot something?" Claude's voice was gentle, soft, relaxing. "What did you forget?"

Lysithea squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated, forcing her hips still. A part of her wanted nothing more than to feel good, to come again and again on Claude's cock while he toyed with her nub, but something told her that remembering this was more important, more urgent—

"Nh, ah, ah— !!!"

—a tweak on her nipples and everything was lost, washed away. Lysithea shook on the mattress, hot liquid spraying between their lower stomachs. 

In the aftermath, she felt her legs spread fall away from Claude's waist, spread obscenely wide. They spasmed sporadically while she panted, head and body filled with nothing but unrestrained pleasure.

When Lysithea finally caught her breath, Claude leaned back down for a kiss.

"So?" he asked again, "What did you forget?"

Lysithea blinked. 

"...I'm not sure."

Another kiss. 

"Well, if you can't remember, then I'm sure it's nothing important."

Another blink. 


Claude chuckled, stroking her face. Lysithea wasn't sure what was so funny, but her husband seemed happy, so she giggled, too. 

She just kept giggling, light and airy and joyful, a noise she made only for him and nobody else.

"Try to relax now," Claude whispered, hand trailing down her jaw, to her neck, to the pretty collar he gave her as a gift. "You're going to be a mom, you know? It's not good to be stressed."

Lysithea nodded, feeling silly that she was ever worried when Claude was around. 

Claude, who loved her so much that he gave up everything to save her life. 

Claude, who she cared about more than anything else in the world, who was the only thing in her world, who—

"...I love you."

—made her forgot about that land far away, and all the sad memories it held. 

(But weren't there happy memories, too?)

(After all, that was where she met him, fell in love with him, and fought alongside him, so her parents could—)

(Her parents.)

Claude husband smiled, adjusted her collar, and placed a kiss on the heart-shaped lock. The gold chain from her neck to the bedpost glittered in the morning sunlight. 

As her husband lifted her into his arms for a hug, it made happy tinkling noises, similar to her own giggles.

"I love you, too."

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"Huh, so you managed to stay conscious through that."

The girl on his bed didn't answer, hiccupping and gasping, still in the same position he left her in the morning— face down, ass up, legs spread apart and fixed on bars, wrists bound together behind her back. A strip covering her pussy seemed to provide a modicum of modesty, but it was fixed inside by two dildos, stuffing and stretching both of her holes, while a node delivered electric shocks to her clit. 

Khalid whistled and sauntered over, picking up the cane on the nightstand. A few gentle taps on her buttocks, then a hard smack, and she spasmed, letting out a not-quite yelp. 

"Kill me," he heard her whisper, more to herself than anything else, "kill me, get it, over with,"

Another hard whack. She went quiet. 

Khalid admired the prominent red welt on the pale skin, lazily brushing a finger over it.

"Now, now, I thought you knew me better than that, Lysithea."


A shiver. He wondered if that was from another orgasm, or from hearing her name. 

"I prefer to not take lives when I can," he continued, "and it would especially be a bad look, if I threw away a gift from the Leicester Alliance like that, right?"

Khalid caught a small noise, like a held back sob. It must have been humiliating for someone so proud to be treated as she had— as a bargaining chip, a toy to be presented to appease the king of another land. 

When she first arrived, a part of him had, through all the suspicion, pitied her. 

"And only for the very minor crime of—"


"—trying to assassinate the king, too."

It had been a mistake. 

Approaching her in the library at nights, trying to get past her sharp walls with the books and treats, only to let his own guard down in the process. Talking to her under the stars, thinking they were kindred souls and that he could trust her, forgetting she was merely a tool for his ambitions. 

Hearing her say that she loved him in his bed and believing it, like it wasn't part of a long game, meant to end with him dead and her puppeteers— his enemies— laughing.


He did have to respect her for having the patience to play it. 

Lysithea's lower body collapsed when Khalid removed the bars, legs still spread wide apart on the sheets. There was a moan when he took the strip between her legs out, gaping holes squeezing at nothing. He could easily fit three fingers into her rear hole, and she came again when he traced her slit, sounding more like an animal than a human as hot liquid soaked the sheets below. 

"So eager," he said, not teasing but mocking, using one hand to stroke himself hard and the other to roughly grope her ass. 

When he straddled her waist and positioned the head of his cock at her entrance, Lysithea gasped. She thrashed and struggled as much as she could in her tired state, but a hard tug on a fistful of white hair easily put it to a stop. 

"Now, since I'm a generous man, I'll give you a chance to redeem yourself," Khalid said, other hand gripping her shoulder. "If you show me that you're the obedient little toy you were sent here to be..."

A hard thrust downwards, a pained squeal. 

Khalid smiled and leaned forward, so that the next words could be whispered in her ear:

"...I'll spare your life, and your homeland."

Pained cries filled the room for rest of the night, as poisoned and sweet as they were. 

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The preparations were as detached and professional as could be. 

A veterinarian, few stable hands, and some servants. Cool metal tools, poking and turning for a thorough examination. Herbal salve applied with brisk motions, by hands trained for efficiency rather than care. 

"The specimen is ready, Your Majesty."

Lysithea, naked and gagged, found herself on the receiving end of such treatment. 

"Send her in," came the king's— her husband's— voice. 

The servants shoved her through the stall, then onto the floor on her hands and knees underneath the white wyvern. Khalid seemed to pay no mind to her, instead focusing on his mount— his first friend, as he'd once told her. 

"I know it hurts, I know," he cooes. "It's going to feel better soon, so hang on, okay?"

To think, he used to speak to her like that, too, not so long ago. 

But Lysithea barely had the time to ponder that before she felt something massive at her entrance. Not a cock, as Khalid's mount was female— but female wyverns had pseudo-penises, ovipositors through which they laid eggs. It was often a painful process for the wyvern, she'd once read, and a common remedy was wrapping the organ in something slippery and warm. 

"Now, just put it... right here,"

Her pussy was already stretched and sore from her previous ordeals, and the salve made her sopping wet, as though she was excited by any of this. 


Yet none of it could have prepared her for the burning pain of the animal's organ entering her. 

A wyvern had no concept of starting slow, or letting her adjust; all it knew was chasing its own instincts for relief, thrusting in all at once. Lysithea cried, clawed at the hard floor, and tried to move her hips away, but the sheer girth didn't let her budge so easily, practically rendering her stuck.

"Looks like the specimen's a bit dysfunctional," Khalid said to one of the servants, casual and offhanded. "We better check and see if anything's wrong afterwards."

Lysithea went still. 

Through her own heavy breathing, she heard Khalid chuckle. 

"...Or maybe not. I heard some do need a little breaking in before they act like they're supposed to."

A fresh wave of humiliation wrecked Lysithea's body. 

Act like she's supposed to. Because that's what she was now— a docile, obedient tool and toy, not only for the king and his men, but also for animals. 

The days where Khalid would sit with her, at the library or in his bed, asking her about her homeland or the books she read, were gone.

He'd only use her as a a cocksleeve from now on, or breeding stock, if she was lucky. Perhaps he intended to fuck her after this, calling her all sorts of filthy, degrading things with the same voice he once affectionately teased her with—

"Oh— !!!"

—and her own body betrayed her, toes curling and cunt clenching around the ridged girth. 

The wyvern cried out as well, flapping its wings and shifting around, forcing Lysithea's hips to move in tandem. Through tears, she saw Khalid's legs step forward. He must have pet the wyvern, judging by how quickly it calmed down. 

"There, there, girl. We're almost done."

If she closed her eyes, she could pretend he'd murmured that for her. 


When the egg began pushing in, she was limp and devoid of strength. The smooth shell nudged against her womb, and would surely have made its way in, had Khalid instructed them to add something to the salve to open her cervix. It hurt, but dulled in comparison to the pain of being so brutally stretched earlier. 

"K-Khalid, Khalid, Your Majesty— !!"

And some sick, shameful part of her, the same one that came again and again from all of his punishments— still called out his name as she convulsed with another orgasm.

"And... looks like that's it," she heard him say, when the ovipositor slid out of her hole, leaving her gaping and dripping. "Good girl, good girl. You did well— here, have a treat."

Shuffling noises, then disorientation, as the servants grabbed her by her arms and legs and lifted her up. Lysithea caught a glance of her lower stomach, distended around the large egg inside.  

The last thing she heard before everything went black was,

"Make sure she's ready to use again by tomorrow."

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"You're disgusting, big brother."

Claude couldn't respond to Lysithea's (the smaller one's) insult, hands holding her legs up and apart as he desperately lapped at her pussy. 

She lay on one of the many tables in Askr's grand library, on top of his jacket while their study materials were pushed off onto the floor; the juice and cum would surely ruin the fabric by end of the night, but his garments were barely a concern. Lysithea had previously complained before that laying on the cold table was uncomfortable, and as the older brother, he had an obligation to provide everything his "little sister" needed. 

"I can't believe you'd do this where, nh, others can see," she continued, reaching down to grab a handful of his hair. "What are people going to think, if they— oh!"

Claude paused ever so briefly to catch his breath and let out a groan before sucking hard on her clit, then plunging his tongue into her tiny hole. Had they chosen a less remote spot, or had it been any earlier, her squeal would have notified others of their activities. Or perhaps it still had, since there were quite a few night owls in the Order of Heroes, but they'd simply disregarded it as yet another Askr oddity. 

That was one of the perks of this world, Claude supposed. With so many strange people around, a man who desperately wanted a little sister to fuck, and found one in the younger version of his former classmate was barely— what did expression did the summoner use?— a "blip in the radar."

"Big brother— !!"

And what a perfect little sister she was. 

Fifteen-year-old Lysithea was harsh and quick-tempered and abrasive, so unlike the ones who were openly affectionate and loving, even revering towards their older brothers; yet she'd still learned to come to him if she was scared of ghosts at nights, to demand he spoil her as much as both of them secretly wanted, to wrap her legs around his head as she came into his mouth. 


When her spasms stopped, Claude made sure to lick her thighs clean before kissing his way up her torso, over her creamy stomach, to her nearly-flat chest.

"Hey, I think these are finally getting bigger," he teased, placing a light kiss on each of her budding breasts. "Must be thanks to all the times your big brother made you come, hm?"

Lysithea grumbled and beat her fists on his back, before tugging on his hair to drag his head up to her own. She ran out of breath easily whenever they kissed, but that never stopped her from giving it her all, like it was a fight she had something to prove in. (Sibling rivalry, he supposed.)

"If you're going to keep being such a sick pervert over your little sister," she huffed, reaching down to grab his cock and place the head against her entrance, "you should at least have the decency to fuck me properly, brother."

Claude grinned, hitching her legs up over his shoulders.

"As my little sister wishes."

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Lysithea wondered why this older version of Claude felt so big

After all, it wasn't as though he'd actually gotten taller within the five years. If it looked like he had, that was just the illusion from his hairstyle and his boots, which he'd no doubt carefully picked for that specific purpose. 

But right now, they were both naked in his bed, after a messy make-out session that left his hair disheveled. 

"Shh, relax now."

Part of it was that he'd gotten broader, gained more muscle from years of flying on wyverns and firing arrows from his Relic. And he took advantage of this far too much, taking every opportunity he could to, quote, prank his "little sister," picking her up and spinning her around in the air like a child, and, fucking her in front of a mirror.

It was always so embarassing when he did that; forcing her to look at her own expressions as he pounded into her over and over again, telling her how naughty she was for taking her own "brother's" cock in her pussy.

"Big brother's going to make you feel good here, too."

The same cock that was now pressed against her ass, hard and throbbing and slippery with oil. 

Lysithea swallowed and grabbed his hand. 

"Get going already," she insisted, "but— be careful."

Claude chuckled and stroked her cheek. Lysithea couldn't help but notice that his hand was so stupidly big that it could obscure her entire face. 

"Yes, yes, I will," he said. "I know it's not your cup of tea, but we have to go slow for this one, so be patient, okay?"

"It's not like we didn't prepare," she pointed out, but took a deep breath and relaxed as the pressure against her rear hole increased. 

Taking a cock was different from taking his fingers, of course. There was simply so much more, and a glance below, where her own thin thighs were pressed against his muscular ones while something obscenely thick entered her— 


so that was it, she realized. 

He felt so big because of his cock, because of the way he could use it to fuck her until she was an incoherent mess in his arms. 

"Already halfway in... my little sister's doing great."

The realization soon gave away to pleasure when his fingers began tracing over her clit and pussy, all too delicately compared to what he could do. Lysithea still felt herself tighten and pulse lightly, like a preview of what would come soon. (But not soon enough.)


Then the rest slid in, and Claude had to make a point of covering her chest with his hands before kneading on her nipples, as if to drive home how tiny she was. 

"If you learn how to come from your ass, maybe your body will realize you've become even more of a pervert and help you grow a little faster," he teased, which Lysithea was obligated to huff back at.

But truth be told, a part of her thought, as his large hands slid down to grip her hips in anticipation for the first proper thrust. 

"Make sure you do make me come then, big brother."

Truth be told, she didn't mind being the little one next to him.

Chapter Text

"I wasn't aware that this was... possible."

Lysithea's initial reaction was that of fascination. Her eyes were fixed on the head of his cock, as she carefully slid the lubricated metal rod into the slit— normally a place where she only saw cum spew out from. Claude grinned at her out of habit as he gripped the sheets, an involuntary groan making its way past his throat.

"Okay, slow now— slow, slow," he said, once he felt the sound slip to the base. 

Lysithea obliged, but his nerves refused to calm fully. One thing to do this alone, he supposed, and another thing to trust a partner to do it. 

"Gods, right— there,"

Still, when the rod slid in even deeper and hit his prostate, the tension only enhanced the jolt of sheer pleasure he felt. When Claude managed to glance down in its midst, he spotted Lysithea staring at his cock, face up close like a cat about to pounce on a toy.

"It's all the way in..."

She reached out to poke the frenulum, eliciting a hiss. Some twirls around the head, and he was moaning like an animal in heat, and then—


—Lysithea gripped his shaft a little too hard, the insides his hole suddenly and forcibly pressed harder against the rod. His eyes widened in shock, but his cock grew harder.

Briefly, her grip loosened. Her hand travelled lower, to his scrotum, before squeezing again— gentler, but with the potential of more. 

"Doesn't it hurt?" she asked, using her other hand to tease where the sound stuck out. "Putting something like this in here, I mean."

"A little bit," Claude replied. "But that's part of the fun."

Lysithea sighed and squeezed with both hands. Claude's senses went blank, then returned, just in time to hear her say: 

"You really are a hopeless pervert, aren't you, Claude."

He swore he could have come just from the mix of mocking derision and disgust in her voice. 


Of course it couldn't have been that easy, as the grip around the head stayed surprisingly firm as she began to grope his balls in earnest, handling them like toys to release stress with, like objects she could use and throw away. 

"—yes, Lysithea, gods— !!"

Unbearable hot pain exploded every second, occasionally accompanied by pleasure, as she tweaked the sound with her index finger at the top— or maybe his body was so disoriented that it began confusing the two. 

Claude only realized he had tears in his eyes few seconds after Lysithea suddenly stopped, looking up at him with a quaint gaze. 

"...Uh, is something, wrong?" he managed to ask, in between a few coughs. 

And Lysithea smirked

Which shouldn't have come as that big of a shock to him by now, but his heart still began to pound faster.

"Nothing," she said, starting to pull the rod out ever so slowly. "Just that..."


The rod slammed back in, all too sudden, all too painful. 

"...I'm going to get addicted to doing this, if you look so good in pain."

He managed to chortle back.

"That makes two of us."

Those were the last coherent words he spoke for rest of the long, long night. 

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"Good girl."

The witch's lair was always dark, lit only by a few candles. Claude couldn't keep track of how the days and nights passed, but nonetheless, he was determined to find a way out sooner than later. 

"You're far too pretty to be used and thrown away like all my other subjects," a girlish voice whispered in his ears. "I think I'm going to keep you as my new doll."

Claude said nothing as a tentacle crawled up his inner thighs and over his cock, covered by lacy panties. Every time he fell asleep and woke up again, he found himself dressed in a new pair; it must have been one of the witch's hobbies, he figured, alongside baking sweets and testing new spells. 


A groan escaped his throat when she fondled his chest, over the bra. His cock twitched, entirely involuntarily— she'd done something to him, made his body unnaturally sensitive to certain touches. 

"It's unfair, you know," the witch pouted, pinching his nipples. "I've tried everything and my breasts won't grow an inch, while you have these naturally. Ugh."

More slimy tentacles crawled up his lower body, this time into the panties, stroking his shaft and pressing against his rear hole. Claude couldn't help but squirm. As a result of the spells, he'd come to enjoy being penetrated far more than penetrating. 

Not that he truly enjoyed any of this, of course— but that was just how his body had come to react. 

"Such a big cock, too... some people are just naturally gifted, I suppose," she sighed. "You're a good girl, so you're only going to use them for me, right?"

It was just her spells making him moan at every praise and compliment, making him eager to please her strange, childish demands. 

"Y-yes, mistress."

The witch giggled, reaching up to stroke his face, smooth and cleanly shaved like the rest of his body. 

"Clever girl," she said. "You've figured out what I like to be called."

One of the tentacles, on the thinner side, entered his hole and curled against his prostate. Claude's eyes rolled up into his head from pleasure— yet he also found himself thinking that it wasn't enough.

"More," he heard his voice say. "Mistress... please, more."

"More? You're such a lewd doll," she teased, shoving her hand down his panties to fondle his balls. "But I suppose I should indulge you, when you're asking so politely."

A larger, textured tentacle pushed in without warning, and his hole accepted it with no resistance. His cock didn't grow very hard anymore, but Claude could feel that it wouldn't take much for him to come. 


One thrust, two thrust, then a few more in quick succession, stretching him and assaulting his most sensitive spots. Tendrils crawled their way to his bra, flicking at his nipples before covering them with suction pads.

"Good girl," the witch whispered, pressing their lips together. "I'm right here."

Claude's head went blank as cum soaked his panties, his goal of escape growing further away yet again. 

"Ah, that was nice," Claude said, flopping onto the bed with the lingerie set still on. "What do you say to trying this more often, Lys?"

Lysithea yawned and laid down next to him. A haphazard finger snap, and the tentacles crawling all over the room disappeared. 

"If you so insist," she replied, the haughtiness from her role still intact. "But I do have one condition."

"Which would be?"

"Learn to shave your own damn body, for goodness' sake."

Chapter Text

"It's good to see you again, Lysithea. Have you grown a little since the last time?"

Lysithea didn't respond to the teasing question, shifting slightly in her seat in the office. 

Dr. Riegan, M.D., had been her family doctor since she was fifteen (or at least, that was the setting for the roleplay). She was familiar with his pattern by now— telling some jokes to get his patients to relax, especially the younger ones. The fact he was trying to do it with her must have meant he still thought of her as a child, but this wasn't really the occasion to protest. 

"So," he began again, picking a chart from the desk. "How have you been doing?"

"Fine," she replied. "Some stress from schoolwork, but I've been managing it."

Claude— Dr. Riegan— nodded, scribbling on the paper and flipping through the pages. 

"No unusual changes to your health?"


"Got it, got it. Please take a seat on the examination table."

There was the slap of latex on skin and the tinkling of metal as Dr. Riegan prepared. Lysithea gulped when he turned around and approached her, even though she was far beyond the age where a simple check-up should scare her. 

"I'll take a look at your mouth first. Say 'ahh~'"

Dr. Riegan leaned forward and shone a small light down her throat, then her eyes, then her ears. Each couldn't have taken more than a few seconds, but she swore it felt like at least a few minutes. 

He was so close, close enough that she could catch his scent. He didn't seem to wear any cologne, lest it be an irritant to some of the more sensitive patients, but to her the understated sweet and earthy aroma was— 

"I'll feel your jaws and neck now."

—almost intoxicating, finished Lysithea's train of thought, right as cool gloved fingers landed on the sides of her face.

This isn't the time or place to be spacing off, she chided herself. 

"Open and close your mouth, please."

Yet concentrating didn't feel like a better option, either. Dr. Riegan's fingers traveled down to the sensitive skin of her neck, movement and pressure precise, efficient, clean— and his face was right there, green eyes friendly but calm. 

"I'll check your heartbeat now," he said, hooking the stethoscope into his ears, and Lysithea hoped her heart wasn't beating so loud that he'd notice. 

She flinched when he slipped the bell under her shirt. This was how he always did it, so there was nothing weird about it, she reminded herself, but the slightest noise escaped her throat as the cool metal moved across her skin. 

"And your back."

No reason to be embarassed, Lysithea repeated in her head once again. It's just a checkup. 

Some more rustling and clacking as Dr. Riegan put the supplies away. He sat back down on his chair and picked up the chart again. 

"Just a few more to go," he said. "Be patient, now."

A pause, then a chortle. 

"Get it, since you're a patient?"

Lysithea had to squint him for at that one. Clau— Dr. Riegan immediately cleared his throat.

"Do you drink alcohol, smoke, or use recreational drugs?"


"Does anyone in your household smoke?"


More scribbling on the paper. 

"Are you sexually active?"


Lysithea internally cursed that she stuttered at the last one, but Dr. Riegan was nonchalant, finishing marking up the chart before setting it down on the desk with a tap. 

"Great job, there's just one more thing," he said. "It's Breast Cancer Awareness Month, so we have an initiative to teach young people on the matter. Are you familiar with how to do a breast self-examination?"

This time, Lysithea audibly gulped. 

"I've heard of it," she replied, far too quickly. "I haven't, felt the need to do it so far."

A long, "hmm."

"It's true that neither side of your family has any history with breast cancer," he said, "but as you know, it's always better to be safe than sorry with these things."


And Lysithea knew what was coming, but her head still spun when he asked: 

"Would you like a demonstration?"

She furiously nodded in the lieu of a verbal response, which earned a chuckle from him. Still, his tone was nothing but professional as he said, 

"Please remove your shirt and camisole and lay down."

The time between laying on top of the paper-covered examination table and hearing Dr. Riegan's footsteps arrive felt like forever. At first Lysithea stared up at the ceiling lights, but upon realizing that made her eyes hurt, she squeezed them shut instead. A shiver went down her torso; whether that was from excitement or the cool air, she didn't know. 


Dr. Riegan touched the very outside of one breast, two fingers, ungloved and dipped in gel.

"You should do this once a month, two or three days after your period, in the shower or in your bed or wherever you're comfortable," he explained. "Start here, near the armpit, and..."

He moved his hand up and down, moving across her breast; Lysithea couldn't help but whimper, hopefully not in a way that came across as sexual. (Even though it was very much sexual.)

" so," she heard, once the touch subsided. "Use a few different patterns to feel around for any unusual lumps, like the vertical one I just did, as well as a circular pattern—"

This time, his fingers followed the round shape of her breast, inwards toward her nipple, stopping just short of it. 

"—and a wedge pattern, outward from your nipples."

When his fingers brushed over her hardened nub, Lysithea moaned of undeniable pleasure. Once he'd covered the whole area, he gave a brief squeeze with his entire hand, eliciting a squeal.

"Then you repeat on the other side..."

It was completely, utterly inappropriate, but her moans didn't stop the whole way through; Dr. Riegan must not have been phased, judging by how he kept massaging, steady and firm. Once he was done with the other side, he gave another squeeze, this time with a tweak on her nipple.

"And that's about it," he said. "If you notice any oddities, like lumps or discharge, do make an appointment with me, okay?"

"Understood," came out as a whisper. 

Another amused chuckle. Lysithea opened her eyes and glanced up, to see the expected white gown and smiling face.

"Is there anything else you'd like to discuss today?"

Her mouth acted of its own accord. 

"Actually— yes," she blurted out, not incoherent despite her reeling head. "I've been, um, having issues where I sometimes feel— tingling between my legs, so I was hoping you could take a look."

Dr. Riegan's eyebrows raised, but only briefly.

"Of course. Remove your lower garments, please."

Lysithea found herself concerningly unconcerned about her skirt and panties ending up on the floor in the next moment. Now completely naked on the examination table, her thighs were spread open without needing to be instructed to. 

A finger on her outer lip. It stroked and inched closer to her entrance and once again, stopped just short of it. 

"You said that you weren't sexually active, correct?" Dr. Riegan asked. "Are you familiar with masturbating, then? It's an effective way to deal with this condition, not to mention stress."

Lysithea shook her head in an obvious lie. Dr. Riegan just smiled and took her hand, guiding it between her legs so a finger pressed over her clit. 


"It's quite easy to do," he explained. "Just put your fingers here, and start rubbing at a pace that feels good."

Lysithea began to rub, tentatively, as though it really was her first time doing something like this. Dr. Riegan's large hand covered hers and guided her along, and she swore that alone was an aphrodisiac, making her shiver and gasp and squirm under his touch. 

"Once you're comfortable," he continued, moving his other hand to graze over her pussy, "you should be able to—"


"—slip a finger or two right in."

Her hips bucked on their own, trying to take his digits— so much longer and thicker than her own— further in. Dr. Riegan stayed ever so steady, however, curling his fingers up to carefully feel along her insides. Her pussy was dripping now, no doubt having soaked through the sheet of paper underneath. 

"There should be a particularly sensitive spot, against the upper walls," he said. "If you stimulate it, it'll be even more effective—"

Lysithea felt her cunt clamp down.  

"—like that."

A loud gasp, then it was like her body began to run on a program of its own, hips gyrating, lips parting, tongue rolling out. Her expression must have been so lewd, but Dr. Riegan pumped his fingers in and out, steady as ever.

"S-something's coming," she whispered, frantically, "it feels weird, something's— oh,"

In the next second, Dr. Riegan might have said something, probably explaining what was happening. 

"Oh— !!!"

Lysithea didn't hear it, hips lifting into the air as her head as hot liquid gushed out below, her entire nervous system going white hot with pleasure.


She wasn't sure how long it took before she went limp and cooled back down to reality. Likely only a few seconds, but laying there, naked, her juices soaking the examination table— she swore it could have been hours.

"And there you have it," came her doctor's voice, cordial and nonchalant as ever as he pat her thigh. "You did a good job today, Lysithea."

Lysithea caught her breath, turned to her side, looked up at him. 

His expression remained that professional kind of pleasant, but somewhere, deep behind this familiar yet unfamiliar attitude—

"Thank you. But, um..." 

—she saw a spark of something else. 

"...I can't move."

And finally, Claude smirked, removing the white doctor's gown and haphazardly throwing it onto the bedroom floor. 

"Take your time," he said. "I have the rest of the afternoon off."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

"Ma, I've been good today."

Claude's half-insistence, half-whimper came out against her skin. Lysithea hummed and cradled his head, letting him bury his face into her chest, for whatever little softness was there. 

"I didn't pry into things I shouldn't, even though I was curious, and I acted like a proper leader in front of the army," he whispered, one hand reaching up to squeeze her breast. "They trust me."

His voice shook ever so slightly. Lysithea reached down, lightly touching him over his pants. 

"Of course they do," she cooed. "It's because you're a very good boy, Claude."

A shiver. Lysithea stroked his lips open with a finger, then guided them over her nipple. 

"Here," she said. "Ma knows you're hungry after a long day like that. You want something sweet, don't you?"

Claude's suckling was desperate, just like the rest of him. His hips fidgeted uncontrollably when she undid his pants and pushed his smallclothes down, revealing his cock, half-erect and drooling precum. It only took a few strokes to to put him at full mast; he whined around her nipples in response. 

"M-Ma, I want to," he babbled, frantic, "I want to come."

Lysithea tsked, took her hand away from his cock, and shifted to put her other nipple near his mouth. A glance at his face told that he was distraught over the loss of her touch, but he didn't dare complain directly, not when he was supposed to be her good boy. His demeanor was a stark contrast from how he was during the day— Duke Riegan was nowhere to be found whenever he melted in her arms, seeking maternal comfort from the same girl he always teased for being childish. 

It was so utterly pathetic, that she couldn't bring herself to be mad at him. 

"Not yet," she said, stroking his hair. "You have to finish your meal first."

Claude began to suckle even harder, as if there really was milk to empty from her breasts. His pitiful noises spread something warm across her body; Lysithea wondered whether she should try using potions or spells to make herself lactate next time, to fulfill the needs of this helpless little child. 

A finger against his shaft. It was hot, throbbing, so thick that her hands couldn't fully wrap around it. 


When Claude tried to rut his hips into her touch, Lysithea immediately took it away with another tsk. He was doing his best to stay still, she could tell, but it must have been close to his limit now. 

"You're finished?" she asked, when he finally took his mouth away to catch his breath. "Good boy, Claude. Good boy."

Claude reached up to the side of his own face, where her wrist was. His grip was strong and desperate.

"Ma," he whispered, "please?"

It would have been too cruel to deny him any longer. 

With all of her palm, Lysithea began to stroke. Claude's moans told that he wouldn't last long, and sure enough, his balls tightened when she fondled them just a few seconds later. 

He looked up at her, eyes teary and lips wobbling.

"Ma— I'm close, please—"

Lysithea placed a kiss on his forehead. 

"You can come now, Khalid."

Hot, thick liquid spurted out, vigorous and aggressive, unlike the pathetic little boy (her pathetic little boy) it came from. Most of it splattered onto his stomach, some on her hands and sleeves. 

Lysithea glanced downwards. She could have scolded him for getting her clothes dirty, been a more strict "mother," as she usually was. 

But she was also tired from the long day, and from taking care of him. 

"...Ma, love you," Claude muttered, eyes already closed as she lowered his head onto the pillow. 

Lysithea smiled.

"I love you too," she whispered. "Please take good care of me tomorrow."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

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Claude hadn't meant to take Lysithea's panties from the laundry. 

Of course he hadn't, because for all the schemes he cooked up, he was not the kind of creep who stole his classmates' underwear for no reason— much less that of a little kid like Lysithea's. The bloomer just so happened to be there, forgotten, at the bottom of the empty laundry basket after everyone else went through it to take their clothes, and Claude just so happened to be in charge of returning it to the supply closet that week.

Surely Lysithea would've gotten angry, if he showed up at her door with her underwear afterwards and pointed out that she forgot to take it back. That was why he had no option but to grab it, put it in his coat pocket, and return to his room. 

Once again, there were no perverted intentions behind it. Nil. Zero.



And it wasn't as though he could have any, even if he tried. Examining the bloomer on his bedsheet, Claude saw that the design was even more childish than he originally thought: white with pastel pink polka dots and a ribbon in the center. 


He didn't know much about the logistics of female underwear, but he was fairly sure girls didn't wear these past their preteens. Then again, Lysithea didn't look much older than that, so maybe it was appropriate for her, he thought, definitely not imagining how she'd look in the bloomer and nothing else. 

Claude also noted how soft the fabric was— good for delicate skin, he supposed. It was awfully tempting to bury his face into the fabric and relish the texture.

But he didn't, because he wasn't that creepy. 

Instead, he undid his pants, slid his smallclothes down, and rubbed the bloomer over his crotch, to check how the cotton would feel against the area it was meant to cover. 

His cock growing hard was simply a physiological reaction— nothing strange in any way, shape, or form. He was certainly not thinking of how it would feel to slide the puffy bloomers down Lysithea's thin legs to reveal her smooth pussy, or how much he wanted to feel her sit on his face and squirm while he sucked on her sensitive little clit. 


His sudden decision to use the piece of fabric as a cum rag was perfectly rational, too, since he'd just washed the sheets on his bed and didn't want to dirty it. Trying to get cum stain out of the uniform fabric was a bitch, too; finishing into Lysithea's bloomers, quickly hand-washing it, and sneaking it back into the laundry basket next week was clearly the best strategy here.

His hands sped up, but that had nothing to do with the idea of Lysithea unknowingly wearing panties he came into. 

"Oh— fuckfuckfuck, fuck— !!"

And when he came, his mind hadn't jumped forward to pounding her tiny pussy open with his cock at the library, dumping load after load of his seed deep inside, and helping her get dressed again, so she'd go about the rest of her day while his cum leaked out into her childish bloomers.

What was he, a sicko? 

A sicko who jerked off to a little girl, then sat on his bed afterwards, still horny and thinking of how he wanted to bring her back to his room so he could fuck her tight ass and fill her with more cum?


Absolutely not. 

Claude kicked his shoes off, flopped backwards onto the mattress, then gripped his cock for another round. 

Chapter Text

Lysithea realized she'd drank too much.

That was the problem with those sweet-tasting cocktails; without the bitter taste of alcohol, it was all too easy to forget about its contents and keep sipping, glass after glass, until she was tripping over her own feet in the middle of the banquet hall and slurring her words like a child.

"Still awake there, Lys?" 

Until she was laying in Claude's bed, barely able to respond as he stripped her dress and began to grope her bare skin. 


"I was scared you'd blacked out," she heard, Claude's voice casual as ever as he tweaked her nipples. "Wouldn't want you to miss out on the fun because you were asleep."

Hot breath, then a tongue against her neck. Claude licked and bit his down her throat, collarbones, her breasts. Lysithea had a vaguely feeling that she needed to say something— but it was impossible to think, much less resist, as her head filled with fog and her body grew hot.

The kissing continued downwards, large hands grabbing her thighs and spreading them apart, and—

"Already wet, hm?" 

—a alarmed jolt went up her spine when Claude ran his palm down to her lower stomach. 

Her bladder was full, Lysithea realized. Painfully full. Of course it was, when she hadn't gone to the bathroom once while refilling her glass of sweet cocktail... seven times? Eight times? 

"Nh, s...t..."

A finger slipped in before she could protest, then two. She desperately clenched around the digits, much thicker than her own, which only seemed to encourage Claude. 

"Relax," he whispered, forcing a third finger in. "You're going to need to take a lot more than this soon."

That was impossible, of course; and Claude didn't seem to have any intention to help, by the way he roughly pumped in and out, using his thumb to rub her clit. There was more of that jolt, every time he curled his fingers, every time he tweaked her nub— more pressure, more pleasure. 

"Ah— ahh...!!"

Her core pulsed, hot and ready to burst. A mix of ecstasy and fear rushed through her veins at the suddenly very plausible possibility of releasing her bladder right there, on Claude's bed. 

The relief of realizing she hadn't was short lived, as he pulled his fingers out and flipped her onto her stomach. 

Something thick rubbed against her entrance. Lysithea panicked again, this time managing to open her mouth in an attempt to say something.

"Well, I guess I shouldn't keep you waiting anymore, since you're this desperate for cock," he said, pulling her hips up. "I mean, I know you're impatient, but really... who would've guessed, that the Golden Deer's child scholar—"

"S, ahh— !!"

"—was actually this much of a filthy slut."

This time, the sensation was a lightning strike, running from her lower stomach to her head and fingers and toes in a blink. Claude's cock was thick, forcing her walls wide open— alongside adding more pressure against her bladder. 

He didn't give her time to adjust before he began to thrust, rough and fast. Every movement built up the shameful, painful, delicious heat, pleasure and desperation no longer distinguishable. 

"Oh— close already?"

Lysithea couldn't think, not quite, but her instincts screamed something between, need to go, right now, and can't, not here.

She didn't want to do something so humiliating— so filthy— so childish— in front of him.

"It's okay, Lys. You don't have to hold back."

A brief pause. Lysithea felt more weight across her back, and warm breath against her ears. 

The thrusts changed in angle and rhythm, slower, but methodical and insistent, right into the most sensitive spot in her pussy, and her aching bladder.

"Underneath all that posturing, you've always been an impulsive little kid and a dirty cumdump, right? Just look at what a perfect cocksleeve you are right now."

Tears stung the corner of her eyes. She would have protested those degrading words, were she more sober, but right now, they only made her pussy clench tighter around his cock.

Claude reached around, briefly squeezed one breast, then placed his hand below her bellybutton. He pressed down, forcing a few droplets to dribble onto the sheets

Before the panic could set in, Lysithea felt hot, heavy breathing in her ears.

"Be a good little whore, Lyssie," came a whisper, as lustful as she was dire, "and come for me. Let it all out."

The permission breached something inside. With a sob, she began to release.

"Nnh, no, not..."

Unbelievable waves of shame crashed into her every second, yet she couldn't stop. Shaky stream of urine soaked the sheets below as her cunt convulsed, and ecstasy, every inch of her skin.

Vaguely, she felt Claude finish deep inside with a groan of his own. His cum dripped out onto the sheets when he pulled out, in far smaller quantities than the other liquid. 


Lysithea lay still, defeated, humiliated, and in utter bliss. 

"Good girl," Claude chuckled, flipping her limp body onto the cleaner side of the sheets. "I'll take care of the rest.

There were so many things she needed to say. 

All that came out were incoherent whines. Claude stroked her hair, as though she were a little child, and she couldn't even protest.

"No worries. I'll keep this a secret just between us."

Lysithea drifted off, wishing for it to have all been a dream when she woke up. 

Chapter Text

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The whines of pain stopped when he drew his tongue over her folds, metallic taste spreading in his mouth alongside the familiar tanginess.

It had been Claude's idea, of course; the painkillers and hot water bottles only did so much for the cramps, which were particularly awful this month. A more direct, active approach was in order, he'd convinced Lysithea— and she had, surprisingly, agreed.

"Don't try to kiss me after this," she said, as he hoisted her legs over his shoulders. "I really might end up blasting you with magic if you do."

Claude licked the inside of her thighs, leaving a slight bloody mark.

"Guess I'll have to work harder down here, then."

A huff. Lysithea must have been too tired to grab his hair and pull his mouth back over her cunt, so he did it on his own, lightly sucking her clit before plunging his tongue deep inside. It was warm, slick, and judging by her squirms, more sensitive than usual. 

Then he withdrew.

"Claude," came a threatening voice.

He laughed and kissed the outer lips before diving back in, this time with a thumb on her clit. The insides tightened when he pressed down and rubbed in circles, a small moan accompanying it. Resisting the temptation to tease her some more, he continued, licking away until he could barely taste blood. 

"Ah... nh..."

Lysithea's noises were strained, but sweeter than before. Claude switched between his fingers and tongue, two digits curling inside as he flicked over her sensitive nub, other hand holding her thigh until—


—she came, legs stretching and twitching. It wasn't the intense kind of orgasm that left her reeling for a while, but she finally looked relaxed, breathing softly with her skin flushed. Claude licked and kissed up her stomach, leaving a wet trail mixed with blood.

"Feel better now?" he asked, poking her face with a clean finger. 

Instead of answering or nodding, Lysithea travelled her gaze down his torso. His smallclothes were tight, Claude suddenly realized. Very tight. 

All from servicing her during this time of the month. 

"I think you should use that, too," she said, "just to make sure."

The time between pushing the waistband down and thrusting inside was far too long. 

Claude tried to be gentle, knowing she was in pain; but she was so responsive, sweet moans spilling out with every slight change of angle, slick insides clinging even tighter to him in the stead of her aching arms and legs. 

When he paused to adjust the angle, Lysithea took his hand and placed it over her breast.

"It's sore here," she complained, pouting. "Do something about it."

Claude obliged, leaning forward to place his mouth over the other nipple. He didn't suck or pinch as he usually did, only gently running his tongue and finger over the sensitive nub. Lysithea keened into the touch, sighs soft and hips rocking back into his. 

When he felt heat build below, he took himself away from the small mounds of flesh to look down at her form— eyes closed, lips parted, slight spots of blood across her pale torso, thighs spread around his waist. 


He remembered to pull out a split second close to his release, shaft smearing more blood onto her lower stomach seconds before thick cum spurted out. 

Lysithea's eyebrows were still scrunched together in frustration, however, so Claude reached down to her clit, pressing and rubbing in circles until her entrance fluttered and grew even wetter. 

"...Why did you pull out?" she asked, after catching her breath.

"I read that finishing inside makes the cramps worse," he responded. "It would be hot, mind you, but considering that we're doing this to relieve your cramps..." 

With a huff, Lysithea pulled him down for a kiss, tongue sweeping over his lips. 

"I know you're doing this because you're a hopeless pervert," she said, "so fuck me again, and don't you dare come before I do."

Claude grinned. 

"So much for not letting me kiss you," he teased, stroking his cock hard again. 

He pushed in as Lysithea was about to retort, ready to turn every complaint into pleasure.