Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate-Chapter 150: Master* (3)

"Like what you see, my dear maid?"

She froze.

Not from fear.

Not this time.

But because… it wasn't what she remembered.

Elysia stared—still kneeling, still wide-eyed—as the full weight of him stood before her, hard and proud and… larger. She remembered it, vaguely, from her earlier days in the manor—accidental glimpses in drunken corridors, back when he'd stumble half-dressed from bath to bedroom without shame or awareness. It had never looked like this.

Not this solid. Not this heavy.

Not this imposing.

She blinked, mouth parted.

Damien saw it. And he smirked.

"Losing weight," he said with a soft laugh, "is good for all kinds of things."

And then—he stepped closer.

Guided her wrists gently, wrapping her fingers around him with deliberate care.

"Here," he murmured, voice dropping lower. "Touch it."

She did.

Her fingers curled around the base, tentative and trembling. He was hot. Not just warm, but burning, the kind of heat that made her gasp, her palm twitching from the shock of it.

"Hiss—"

The sound tore from Damien's throat, unguarded. Sharp. He twitched in her hand, hips jerking forward ever so slightly as her skin met his shaft.

"Master?" she whispered, looking up.

His breath was uneven.

That wasn't practiced.

That wasn't rehearsed.

It was real.

"Move your hand," he said, quieter now. His voice curled into her like smoke. "Like this."

He placed his hand over hers, guiding her. A slow rhythm—up, down, a little twist at the top. She followed his lead, fingers gliding over the thick length of him, slicked now with the faint sheen of arousal from the tip. The texture, the weight, the throb beneath the skin—it all made her thighs press together.

Damien leaned in.

Closer.

His mouth brushed her neck again, lips dragging from collarbone to the curve behind her ear, and she shivered violently when he kissed it—soft, warm, possessive.

"Aaah—… Master—"

She moaned, hips twitching again where she knelt.

Because—his shaft. It was brushing against her belly now, hot and firm, rubbing just beneath the swell of her ribs as he moved closer. The contact made her pulse spike, made her breath catch again. It felt like it was claiming space inside her without even entering.

And then—her nipples.

They grazed his chest.

Just lightly at first. But then he leaned in more, and the slick, aching peaks pressed fully against the hard planes of his body.

And it hurt.

No—not pain. But sharp. Raw.

Still sensitive from the orgasm he'd already given her, they throbbed now with fresh need as they rubbed against him.

She gasped.

Her hand still moved over him, guided but trembling, as her body began to respond all over again.

Damien kissed her neck once more.

Damien's mouth brushed her temple—once—before he moved.

Swift. Certain.

He pushed her gently back onto the bed, guiding her down with a hand to her shoulder, and Elysia sank into the sheets without protest. Her eyes never left him.

She looked up, breath caught in her chest, watching as he hovered above her. His chest rose slowly, steadily, and his gaze—calm and fierce and sure—burned down into her with a weight that made her thighs press together in instinct.

And then—he reached for her waistband.

Her breath hitched.

Without a word, he hooked his fingers into the hem of her training pants and slid them down.

Inch by inch.

The fabric peeled away from her hips, her thighs, her calves, until it left her bare from the waist down. The cool air kissed her skin, and she flinched—not from cold, but from exposure.

Her legs.

So pale. So slender. Years of training had carved lean strength into them, but now, laid bare beneath his gaze, they felt delicate.

"..."

Her eyebrows twitched, barely a movement. But Damien saw.

This was new. All of this was new. Even after everything—the blood, the scars, the steel she'd moved through in silence—this vulnerability felt… different.

Because she wasn't fighting.

She was offering.

"Hm," Damien murmured, and then—he tossed the pants aside, casually, almost dismissively.

Like they didn't matter.

Like all that mattered was her.

He leaned in.

Lowered himself over her.

And kissed her again.

It wasn't forceful. It wasn't hungry.

It was steady.

Reassuring.

"I'll be gentle," he murmured against her lips. "It will hurt a little… at first."

She nodded once, though they both knew—pain was not her enemy. She had been trained to survive pain. To endure it. What unsettled her now wasn't the ache to come—it was the intimacy.

And he knew it.

Damien smiled, brushing his lips against her jaw.

"From now on, my dear maid…"

He moved his hips forward—slowly—until the thick heat of his shaft pressed against her slick folds. He didn't push in. Not yet. He rubbed along her entrance, sliding himself up and down her soaked valley.

Elysia shuddered.

Her hands clutched the sheets again, hips twitching at the friction, at the unbearable intimacy of his body parting hers without even entering.

"You're marked as mine."

He said it like a brand.

Like a vow.

And then, again—he moved, hips grinding forward with just enough pressure to make her gasp.

"Is that clear?" he asked, voice low, eyes burning down into hers.

Elysia met his gaze.

And for a moment… she could feel it.

The space he left open for her. Even now. The restraint coiled inside his frame. He was waiting—for her. Not just her body, but her will.

She could say no.

He would stop.

But she wouldn't.

"...Yes, Master."

Her voice was barely audible. But it carried.

Damien's smile curled at the corners.

"Heh…"

And then—he moved.

Slowly. Carefully.

The head of his cock nudged past her entrance, sliding inside inch by inch. The heat of him stretched her, filled her—invaded her—and she gasped, her legs tightening around his hips without meaning to.

He stopped—just short of her maidenhead.

His mouth dipped to her ear.

"It's okay," he whispered. "Leave everything to me."

She nodded. Just once.

And then—he thrust.

All at once.

His hips snapped forward, and the resistance tore.

"Mhhnng—!"

Elysia's moan was muffled—bitten down, pressed into his shoulder, into her own clenched lips. Pain bloomed white-hot for a moment, sharp and full, but she didn't cry out. She wouldn't give that sound shape.

Not even now.

Her breath came quick. Shallow.

Damien stilled inside her, holding her close, one hand cupping her face, the other braced beside her head.

He kissed her temple again.

And waited.

As for Damien…. Buried deep inside her, motionless, holding his breath like it might tether him to the edge of control he was so desperately clinging to.

Fuck.

The word hissed through his mind like steam against steel.

She's too tight…

His jaw clenched. Not from effort—but from restraint.

It took everything in him not to move.

Not to slam forward and give in to the blinding, all-consuming pleasure pulsing through every nerve.

Her walls—

Gods above, her walls were like a fist around him. Hot. Wet. Desperately clutching at his cock as if trying to memorize the shape of him. He could feel every flutter, every unconscious twitch of her body as it tried to adjust, tried to accept the intrusion of his presence inside her.

And he hadn't even moved.

His hands tightened at her hips.

His breath came rough against her ear.

His entire body screamed to thrust again.

To bury himself to the hilt and claim.

But he didn't.

Because this—

This was hers, too.

This had to be unforgettable.

Not just for her.

But for him.

So he shifted—slowly—leaning over her trembling form, and instead of moving his hips, he brought his mouth down.

To her breast.

His tongue flicked over the stiff, flushed peak, and her breath hitched immediately. Still sensitive. Still raw from before. She let out a small sound—soft, high, confused between pleasure and lingering ache.

Then he bit.

Not hard. Not enough to mark. Just enough to ground.

"Mmh—ah… Master—"

He closed his lips around her nipple and sucked, slow and deep, while his cock throbbed inside her like a second heartbeat. He focused on the weight of her breast in his hand. The taste of her sweat on his tongue. The way her body arched, just barely, into his mouth.

It helped.

Just enough.

Because this—

This was one of the things he loved most.

Not the sex.

Not the power.

But this moment—right now—when he turned pain into pleasure. When he gave a woman her first time in a way that no one else ever could. When he carved himself into her memory so deep, no other man could ever touch her again without finding him there first.

He pulled back just slightly, letting her nipple fall from his mouth with a soft pop, and looked down at her.

She was flushed.

Panting.

But the tension in her brow was fading. Her hands no longer clawed the sheets—they rested at his sides now, trembling but open. Accepting.

Damien exhaled.

"Good girl," he whispered.

And then—

He moved.

Just a little.

A slow drag of his hips, barely an inch—just enough for her to feel it.

And enough to make him want to lose his fucking mind.

He moved again.

Slower this time. Measured. Like each motion was being tested against his will.

The tight drag of her walls along his length as he pulled back just a little—then pressed in again—sent a pulse of white heat straight to his gut.

Gods…

He gritted his teeth.

Even now, moving only in shallow thrusts, she felt impossibly good. Too good. It was like her body had been made to take him. To wrap around him and not let go. Every twitch of her muscles milked his cock like a vice, hot and wet and tender from the stretch of taking him whole.

And then—

He heard it.

Her moan.

Soft. Uncertain. But there.

"Ah… aah…"

He looked down, gaze catching hers.

Elysia's head tilted slightly back, her eyes half-lidded with the haze of something new—something raw and consuming. Her mouth parted, breath stuttering out in a pattern he hadn't taught her.

And she moaned again.

Louder this time.

"Mmnhh—M-Master…"

His chest tightened.

There.

That sound.

That change.

He saw it in her expression—the bloom of pain giving way to a different kind of tension. A tremble not of discomfort… but of need. Her hips twitched in time with his movements now. Her legs opened a little more. Her nails flexed at his sides, not pushing him away—but grounding herself to him.

And that was it.

That was all he needed.

His control—already hanging by a thread—began to fray.

He pulled back just a little farther this time, then pressed in deeper.

And again.

Faster now. But still steady. Still restrained.

He didn't slam into her—not yet—but each stroke came with more force, more heat, more claim.

"Ahhh—hah…!"

Elysia's voice filled the air now, breathless moans rising with each thrust, and gods, he could feel her getting wetter. Her walls clutched at him tighter, slicker with every roll of his hips, and the soft, obscene sound of their bodies moving together echoed beneath her cries.

He leaned down, lips brushing her ear as he thrust again, a little harder.

"You feel that?" he whispered. "That's your body—wanting me."

She gasped—high and sweet.

And he groaned into her skin, barely holding back the full force building in his hips.

Damien moved harder now.

His rhythm deepened—no longer testing, no longer hesitant. Each thrust drove him deeper into her slick, trembling heat, and each time he bottomed out, he felt her insides flutter, tighten, cling to him like they didn't want to let him go.

The sound of their bodies colliding filled the room now—wet, rhythmic, obscene.

And her voice—

"Ahh… ahh—M-Master…!"

—her moans were everything.

They drove him. Undid him.

His hands never stopped moving. One braced against the mattress. The other slid down between them—palm pressed warm and steady against her stomach. Her navel.

He rubbed slow, lazy circles there with his thumb, grounding her, stirring the nerves just beneath the skin while his cock stroked deep, filling her again and again. He could feel her tensing under his touch, her hips rising to meet his with every push.

She was so wet.

So fucking wet now—slick and dripping and stretched so perfectly around him that his head spun with the effort of not spilling inside her already.

His body ached.

His balls were heavy, tight, the pressure building fast and hard at the base of his spine.

First time or not—he was close.

Closer than he should've been.

But gods, how could he not be?

She was perfect beneath him—flushed, trembling, panting his name like a spell. He leaned lower, mouth dragging over her shoulder, her collarbone, her throat. The scent of her—sweat, skin, heat—made his cock twitch inside her.

He dropped his lips to her ear.

The left one.

He'd noticed it before. The way she twitched when he passed too close to that side. The way her breath stuttered.

And now—he used it.

"My Elysia…" he whispered, voice low and ragged. "You can let that feeling go…"

And then—he bit her ear.

Gently.

But directly.

Right at the spot she'd never known was hers until now.

Elysia convulsed.

Her body arched under him so violently it knocked the breath from his lungs.

"Ah—! M-Master—s-something—!"

Her voice broke, words dissolving into a cry as her insides clamped down hard around him, pulsing, rippling, milking him with every wave of her release.

Fuck—

Damien groaned, loud, guttural, unable to hold back anymore.

"So—tight—!"

His hips slammed forward one last time, deep—deeper than before—his cock hitting the very end of her, and then he spilled.

Thick, hot spurts flooded her womb as he came, his release pulsing into her again, and again, and again, his whole body trembling with it, lost in the clutch of her climax.

They stayed like that for a moment.

Still joined.

Still shaking.

Her legs locked around him.

His arms braced, holding her like she'd vanish if he let go.

Her breath faltered.

And in the aftermath—

Only silence.

And the slow, warm drip of him still inside her.