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“Master…”
None of this feels real, buried to the hilt in Kim Dokja’s tight cunt, feeling each hitch of breath emanate from him, muffled and faltering within his wrinkled, unruly robes. Kim Dokja’s groans echo out into the air, into Yoo Joonghyuk’s ears, his normally kempt appearance ruined with each one of Yoo Joonghyuk’s thrusts. The pheromones he usually keeps tight under wraps exudes in the air—not a single breath able to be taken without getting a lungful of his scent—a flowery smell resembling the beginnings of spring, sprinkled with a sweetness that exudes outwards each time Yoo Joonghyuk batters against Kim Dokja’s womb.
Yoo Joonghyuk hadn’t known that Kim Dokja taking a stray shot for him would’ve resulted in this. Fending off demons on their route, only a second of attention unpaid resulted in a debt on his body for however long it would take.
For Kim Dokja to suggest dual cultivation first, the situation must’ve truly been dire. Demons themselves had only grown in power with the stirrings in the southern regions. But Yoo Joonghyuk—a terrible man—couldn’t help but accept Kim Dokja’s proposition, despite what Kim Dokja had meant to him.
A master almost a decade older than he. A cultivation prodigy—a master swordsman. Kim Dokja was so well-renowned around their region that his omega status was practically hidden—the general assumption of his secondary gender being a beta. But Yoo Joonghyuk knew better than that, having been raised by Kim Dokja—having been told off for calling him Master, goaded to call him hyung at any moment’s notice.
Having watched Kim Dokja for a majority of his life, Yoo Joonghyuk began to feel something different—something untypical of a master-disciple bond. Kim Dokja wasn’t simply a master to him—having cooked meals, albeit horrendous ones, for him—having raised him and Yoo Mia after he’d been abandoned by his parents, picked up by the clan that Kim Dokja had abandoned shortly after realizing his potential.
He’d taught Yoo Joonghyuk everything, how to fight, how to survive, how to breathe in such a cruel world. Kim Dokja was his everything—his star, a guiding beacon in the night sky—a sky lantern that burned so bright it would leave a lasting mark for eternity to come.
Yoo Joonghyuk shouldn’t have accepted Kim Dokja’s proposition. He should’ve waited it out—found another solution for Kim Dokja. But such feelings—festering within his heart, had destroyed the sanctity that Kim Dokja’s image had previously wrought. Now… his mind had been tainted with the desires of demons—hedonistic lust driving him forth, craving for more and more. Strokes of his own hand covering his cock could barely satisfy him as of current—and thus, his desires sought to seek out the true target they’ve been focused on all along.
He’d seen Kim Dokja’s cunt—pink and pretty, clit peeking out small like a pearl within a clam—glanced at it through the veils that barely hid the showers in the inns they’d travelled between before—but that was only from afar. Now close enough to bruise Kim Dokja’s womb, his fat cock ramming and clinging within Kim Dokja’s tight pussy, he laments not having been able to feel this before.
“Master,” Yoo Joonghyuk breathes. “Does—does this feel good?”
God knows that it feels good for Yoo Joonghyuk. Each inch of his length is clenched down on, a rhythmic motion exerted by Kim Dokja’s cunt, squeezing down onto him like a python’s grip. It’s more satisfying, more warm than that of his own hand—and each breath of Kim Dokja’s tantalizing pheromones only draws him closer to where he desires to be—the peak of the tallest mountain he’d been forced to trek.
“Joonghyuk-ah,” Kim Dokja cries. “Joonghyuk-ah, ngh—ah!”
It must feel good for Kim Dokja—his pheromones practically squeezed out of him like juice from a persimmon, his stagnant breathing exhaled only once in a moon, his hands jittering and shaking, grasping on Yoo Joonghyuk’s robes. The force dug down into the fabric is so harsh it wouldn’t be a surprise if holes had been punctured through from Kim Dokja’s strength. They stop as soon as Yoo Joonghyuk’s thrusts resume, aiming right at Kim Dokja’s womb—his cunt erratically fluttering with each impact against it.
“Too much, too much.” Kim Dokja gasps, gulping down a large breath—groaning immediately after. “Too much, Joonghyuk-ah!”
Even if it’s too much for his Master, Yoo Joonghyuk can’t stop—no. His movements, this undying, diseased lust, has spread throughout his body like demonic energy, unable to be sapped out even as he grows closer to completion. He’ll only be happy if his Master is his and his alone.
And the only way to do that is to mark Kim Dokja. Mark him and make him his mate, make Kim Dokja wholly his by filling him with his seed—making him with Yoo Joonghyuk’s child, belly and teats swollen, enough to dissuade any foolish ideas from Kim Dokja’s brain—settling him down into a state of safety, right beside Yoo Joonghyuk. A happy family, him and Kim Dokja both—their child right beside them, along with Yoo Mia. A happy family with his Master, and his Master alone, basked in pheromones, living free of demons within a quaint forest.
But in this position, he can’t. So all Yoo Joonghyuk can do is make do. He laps at the exposed skin of Kim Dokja’s collar, before biting down—teeth puncturing skin, tongue laving blood. A strangled sound flits from Kim Dokja’s lips, vibrating through his entire form, and Yoo Joonghyuk can only grit his teeth as a wave crashes over him, Kim Dokja’s entire body quaking in his arms, still as his cunt grips down onto Yoo Joonghyuk, walls milking his cock.
“Master,” Yoo Joonghyuk groans. “So tight around me, so good.”
A sharp thrust—an obscene slap, the filtered noises of everything around them—harsh creaking, rustling of fabric, the smell of Kim Dokja’s arousal, cloyingly sweet—the picture of lust, a hedonism Yoo Joonghyuk used to despise. Now, he’s fallen into the same trap, fallen for his Master, the one who’d raised him. But, he would trade nothing for this, trapped within Kim Dokja, his cock knotting, stretching Kim Dokja so wide something gushes against his clothes, a sharp squeal ripping itself from Kim Dokja’s mouth.
It takes a second longer for Yoo Joonghyuk to recover, and even longer for Kim Dokja to recover.
Only then is he able to realize what Kim Dokja has done. The lewdity of his body, the obscenity of it all—Kim Dokja truly was something else.
“You squirted, Master,” Yoo Joonghyuk growls.
A small sort of keen, pathetic and little, escapes Kim Dokja’s throat. As Yoo Joonghyuk flips their positions, the beginning of more, a high-pitched noise is elicited from Kim Dokja.