Her fingers traced over her lips, licking them with her tongue, leaving a thin, transparent trail of saliva. She moved her hands down to her chest, to her pink nipples, then further down to her lower abdomen, and finally to her pink vulva, pushing her fingers inside so that her saliva mixed with the white semen flowing from the depths of her warm body.
Her fingers were coated in white semen; as she brought them up to her lips, she licked them, moaning in a soft, feminine voice. Then, with a beautiful, enchanting smile, she said to him:
"Look at what you've done to me. "
"All these years, you've violated me, releasing your hidden grudges and suppressed desires on my poor little vulva. I know you enjoy this—destroying my body beneath yours, feeling above me, feeding your ego with my muffled cries while striking my butt with your large penis, watching the flesh of my inner pussy tear with each thrust, entering me and filling me with your white thick semen. That sensation, satisfying your inner desire for revenge… isn't it? Tell me it isn't! Tell me I'm wrong, Cyn!"
Her voice was hot, moans trembling with intensity. The woman's name was Xyrene.
Cyn smiled and gripped her jaw firmly. Her lips pressed together, and her eyes stared straight at him.
"You're an aroused whore!"
She didn't feel insulted, nor did she doubt his words, because he was right—she was aroused. When night fell in her private suite, her only concern was to have him until morning, to be taken. She considered him a tool, only hers, and didn't want to share him with anyone.
Yet inside, she didn't want to be anyone else's tool—this applied even to the king himself. She had never slept with him; most of his wives and concubines never did, except for the queen, his first wife.
So she wanted this relationship with Cyn. He was hers to do with as she pleased, and it was the same with him—he could do with her as he wished.
What she had said before wasn't entirely true, though there was some truth in it. What mattered now was that she had her desire fulfilled. She had aroused him, and his penis was like a rock, signaling it was time for them to enjoy each other again, to use one another to satisfy and feed the hunger and sin within them.
After some time, they lay on the bed, embracing each other. The room was once again filled with that captivating scent of passion—when a real man makes love to a real woman, both experienced, knowing how to caress and pleasure each other. Both took initiative and didn't wait for the other to do everything. Neither felt shame in any position or act during intimacy.
Xyrene was currently indulging in her favorite pastime. She ignored the key hanging around his neck, instead gazing at the left side of his chest, directly over his heart, feeling the faint pulse as if he were lifeless, as if he were not breathing—only an expert could sense the rhythm of his heartbeat. Xyrene was that kind of expert.
But it wasn't his heartbeat that drew her attention—it was what was inscribed on his skin: the tattoo.
A tattoo in the form of an incomplete circle, drawn with blood-like lines, intersected in the center by sharp lines forming a thin cross, with red spots scattered around. It resembled an inverted crescent, yet it bled as if it were a half-moon.
Xyrene traced her finger over the tattoo, or what she called "the Scar."
She spoke casually:
"Ten years, Huh! Still, you feel nothing?"
Cyn ran his hand through her soft purple hair as if he were a lovestruck boy:
"Yes, at least the things you mentioned… perhaps the issue lies in the doses ! I suspect they are insufficient."
Xyrene couldn't understand why—why he felt nothing even after consuming sufficient doses. She was convinced the problem wasn't in the doses; perhaps the fault was in Cyn himself. If that were the case, she could do without him. That was what her mind tried to convince her of—but she couldn't. She wouldn't find another like Cyn. Luckily, she was patient, and that had brought them to this moment.
She spoke in a serious tone:
"Cyn, you know I cannot endure delay. I cannot risk any longer. I need you now more than ever!"
She slipped from his hands and off the bed, moving toward the wardrobe. She opened it—various items lay inside, but one wooden box caught her attention. It wasn't particularly striking, but since Xyrene had come for it in the context of their conversation, it likely contained something extremely important.
Cyn watched her hips and waist sway as she returned to him with the box. He had plans, but the things Xyrene had mentioned made him determined, especially since he possessed the key factor: the Scar.
Xyrene sat beside him and opened the small wooden box, the size of a fist. She knew exactly what was inside.
Cyn wasn't unfamiliar with it either, but this was the first time he had seen this type. It was one of the doses he had consumed—he could tell.
But it wasn't like any dose he had ever consumed before. Its color wasn't transparent or uniform; it was grayish-black, filled with granules like impurities—likely the raw material from which the doses were made.
Xyrene knew Cyn needed no explanation. He was intelligent and keen; she knew that by now, from the first glance, he had already deduced what the box contained.
She spoke:
"This will be the last time! If it fails, perhaps the fault lies within you."
Xyrene thought to herself:
"If the fault is in you, then it's better for you to die, Cyn."
There was no room for emotion. She had watched him grow, observed him orchestrate crimes within the palace, in his lab, or Rather The slaughterhouse .She had watched how he spoke, how he proved himself effective and useful through his plans.
She knew he was cunning, but there were limits to what human strength and mental planning could achieve. He had to rely on the Scar.
He had to sense it, awaken his feelings, and reinforce his instinct toward her.
He had to do this not only for her but for himself as well. Her plans depended on him. If he could not prove useful in this way, it was better for her to eliminate him.
So this was his last chance. The bright side for her was that she wouldn't have to dispose of him herself—he would do it voluntarily if he failed to overcome the effects of the raw dose by awakening the Scar.
If he failed, he would die from its reverse effect.
So this was his last chance. Yet inside, she wished it weren't so. It had taken her years to prepare him. It had cost her a fortune and countless resources. Moreover, it was hard to find someone like him—someone complete, someone capable of pretending, someone indifferent, someone possessing all the traits, someone who could kill without blinking since childhood.
She didn't want her efforts to go to waste.
But now, she had to take the risk.
She would serve him his final meal.
A dose of Core of pain!.
_____
Let me know of any grammar errors, I'll fix them asap!