The journey to the Imperial Military Academy lasted six full days and six long nights.
The carriage never stopped for more than an hour at a time in the day, only to change horses, refill water, and allow the driver a brief rest. Inside the velvet-lined box, time blurred into heat, rhythm, and surrender. Victor claimed Agnes without pause, day bleeding into night, night into day. The shadow-wards he placed on the windows and door muffled every sound; no one outside would ever know what passed between them.
On the first afternoon, after he had already taken her against the panel, he pulled her onto his lap facing him. Her thighs straddled his hips. He guided her down slowly, watching her emerald eyes widen as she sank onto his thick length inch by inch. Agnes bit her lip to stay quiet, but when he bottomed out, she let out a trembling moan and wrapped her arms around his neck. He held her there, unmoving, letting her adjust to the stretch. Then he began to rock her small and rolling motions at first, then lifting her and dropping her harder until the wet slap of their bodies echoed again.
She came twice like that, once from the deep grind against her sensitive pearl, once when he pinched both dark nipples at the same time and thrust upward sharply. Each time her walls clamped down and rippled, milking him until he spilled inside her with a low growl.
That night he took her on the bench again, on her hands and knees this time. He gripped her silver braids like reins, pulling her head back so he could watch her face in the faint glow of the shadowflame brazier. He drove into her hard and fast, the carriage swaying violently with every thrust. Agnes tried to muffle her cries against her forearm, but he ordered her to let them out. She obeyed. Her voice rose, broken pleas of "Master… deeper… please…", until she shattered again, soaking his thighs. He followed moments later, flooding her until the excess dripped down her legs.
The second day passed in a haze of slow, languid claiming. He laid her on her back across both benches, legs hooked over his shoulders, and took her with long, deliberate strokes pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in to the root. He watched her breasts bounce with each plunge, watched her face contort in helpless pleasure. When she begged to come, he denied her slowing to torturous rolls of his hips until tears gathered in her eyes. Only when she sobbed his title did he allow it, driving hard until she screamed and clenched around him so tightly, he could barely move. He came deep inside her again, holding still while her body fluttered and milked every drop.
Nights were rougher. When the carriage stopped at remote posting houses, Victor carried her, still naked beneath his coat, into the private room reserved for noble travellers. There, on wide beds with fresh linens, he bound her wrists to the headboard with shadow tendrils, manifestation of his powers and took her from behind while she knelt on all fours. He slapped her rounded backside lightly each time making her gasp and push back for more. He entered her in one hard thrust, setting a punishing rhythm until the bedframe creaked louder than the carriage ever had. Agnes came so hard she soaked the sheets; he followed, spilling inside her until it leaked out around his length.
On the fourth day he sat her astride him again, but this time facing away. He made her ride him; hands braced on his thighs while he played with her heavy breasts from behind. He rolled her nipples between his fingers, tugged them, pinched until she whimpered. When she slowed from exhaustion, he gripped her hips and thrust upward hard, forcing her to take every inch until she shattered again. He came with her, filling her so completely that when she finally lifted off him a thick stream of his seed poured down her inner thighs.
The fifth night he took her standing, pressed against the carriage wall her legs wrapped around his waist. The motion of the moving vehicle drove him deeper with every jolt of the road. Agnes clung to his shoulders, nails digging in, moaning into his neck. He kissed her hard, swallowing her cries, and pounded into her until she came with a muffled scream against his mouth. He followed, spilling deep while her walls fluttered and squeezed.
By the sixth morning Agnes could barely walk straight. Her thighs were marked with faint fingerprints, her breasts tender from constant attention, her core swollen and sensitive. Yet every time Victor looked at her, she flushed and parted her legs instinctively, ready for him again. He took her one last time before they reached the academy gates slow this time, face to face on the bench, her legs around his waist, his hands cradling her backside as he rocked into her with deep, rolling thrusts. She came quietly this time, tears slipping down her cheeks whispering "Master… I'm yours…" over and over. He finished inside her with a low groan, holding her close while they both caught their breath.
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When the carriage finally rolled to a stop before the towering iron gates of the Imperial Military Academy, snow dusted the black spires and the stone walls shimmered with protective wards. Victor stepped out first, coat fastened, expression cold and composed. Agnes followed, uniform immaculate again, silver braids re-tied, cheeks still faintly flushed. No one looking at her would guess what had passed in the six days behind those curtained windows.
A liveried servant from the VonHoff family waited just inside the gates with a sealed scroll and a set of keys.
"Master Victor," the man said, bowing low. "Your family has secured private quarters for you. The villa is ready. This way."
Victor took the keys without comment. Agnes fell into step two paces behind him as they crossed the academy grounds. Students in dark uniforms hurried past some glancing curiously at the silver-haired noble and his silver-haired maid but Victor ignored them. His mind was already mapping corridors, faces and weaknesses.
The villa stood apart from the main dormitories, nestled against the eastern wall of the fortress. It was small but luxurious: three stories of dark stone, arched windows, a private courtyard with a fountain. Inside, polished marble floors, heavy velvet drapes, a roaring hearth already lit. A wide staircase led to the upper floors. The master suite occupied the entire top level massive four-poster bed, marble bathing chamber with a deep copper tub, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the snow-covered mountains.
Victor dismissed the servant with a nod. The door closed behind the man.
Silence settled.
Agnes stood in the center of the entry hall, hands folded, eyes lowered.
Victor crossed to her in three strides. He caught her chin, tilted her face up.
"You are filthy from the road," he said quietly. "And so am I."
Her lips parted. "Yes, Master."
He led her up the stairs to the bathing chamber. Steam already rose from the tub servants had prepared it in advance. Hot water scented with cedar and spice filled the deep copper basin. Towels waited on a heated rack. A low bench sat beside the tub.
Victor released her chin. "Undress me."
Agnes moved at once. Her gloved fingers, still pristine worked the buttons of his coat, then his shirt. She pushed the fabric from his shoulders, folded each piece neatly, set them aside. When he was bare to the waist she knelt to remove his boots, then unfastened his trousers and drew them down. His manhood, already half-hard again sprang free. She did not touch it yet; she simply waited.
Victor stepped into the tub. Hot water enveloped him to the waist. He sank down until only his head and shoulders remained above the surface.
"Come here," he said.
Agnes rose. She removed her own uniform methodical and graceful until she stood naked except for the white stockings, she knew he liked to leave on sometimes. She stepped into the tub behind him.
"Clean me," he ordered. "Everywhere"
Agnes knelt in the water. It lapped at her thighs, then her waist as she moved closer. She started with his shoulder's soft kisses along the tense muscles, tongue tracing the faint scars from training. She worked downward chest, nipples, ribs sucking gently, licking the warm water from his skin.
When she reached his abdomen, she pressed her heavy breasts against him. She cupped them, slid the soft mounds along his stomach, letting her dark nipples drag over his skin. Victor exhaled slowly.
"Lower."
She obeyed. Her breasts enveloped his length soft, warm, slick with bathwater. She squeezed them together, sliding up and down his shaft in slow, deliberate strokes. The head emerged between her cleavage with each upward glide, glistening. Agnes leaned forward and took the tip into her mouth sucking gently while her breasts continued to massage the rest of him.
Victor groaned low. One hand tangled in her silver hair not forcing, just guiding.
She worked him like that for long minutes mouth and breasts in perfect rhythm until he was fully rigid again, throbbing between her soft flesh.
"Deeper," he said.
Agnes released her breasts. She took him fully into her mouth slowly and reverently until her lips met the base. She hollowed her cheeks, tongue swirling along the underside, throat relaxing to take him deeper still. Victor's hand tightened in her hair. He rocked gently, shallow thrusts letting her worship him with her mouth.
When he felt the edge approaching, he pulled her off with a wet pop.
"Stand."
She rose, water streaming down her body. Breasts glistened. Nipples tight from the heat and attention.
Victor turned her so her back was to his chest. He pulled her down onto his lap, facing away guiding her until she sank onto his length. She gasped as he filled her again—still sensitive from six days of constant claiming. He banded one arm around her waist, the other hand cupping one breast, rolling the peak between his fingers.
"Ride me," he ordered. "Clean me with your body."
Agnes obeyed. She rose and fell slow at first, then faster water sloshing around them with every motion. Her walls gripped him tightly, fluttering with every descent. Victor thrust upward to meet her, driving deep, making her cry out softly.
He pinched her nipple harder. She shattered, walls clamping down, body trembling, a quiet sob of "Master…" escaping her lips. He followed moments later, spilling deep inside her one last time, holding her close while the aftershocks rippled through them both.
When the water began to cool, he lifted her off him. A final trickle of his seed slipped from her as she stood.
Victor rose. Water cascaded down his body.
Agnes knelt again without being told and took him into her mouth once more. She cleaned him thoroughly tongue gentle, lips soft until he was spotless.
Only then did he step out of the tub. He wrapped a thick towel around his waist.
Agnes followed, drying herself quickly, then knelt to dry his legs, his feet, his length careful, and devoted.
Victor looked down at her naked, flushed, silver hair damp and clinging to her shoulders.
"Welcome to the academy, Agnes," he said quietly. "This is only the beginning."
She looked up at him with shining emerald eyes.
"Yes, Master."
Outside, snow continued to fall.
Inside the villa, the fire roared.
The game had truly begun.
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