BW C51(NSFW)

Chapter 51(NSFW)

 

NONCON

 

“General! Please don’t!”

Hoeun pushed at Taemuk’s hands, cried out, and even tried to scramble backward. But it was useless. In the end, even his trousers were yanked clean off, and his bare legs were exposed.

“No, no…”

Horrified, Hoeun covered himself with his hands. But he couldn’t stop the chill that brushed his crotch. Gooseflesh prickled up his thighs. Somehow it was a chill that brought tears to his eyes.

“D-don’t look, don’t look…”

Shaking his head side to side, Hoeun fumbled over the cot for a blanket. Though his lower parts had been grabbed once before, this was the first time his trousers had been removed. Perhaps that was why—more than shame, he felt fear. It felt as though he had committed a very grave wrong.

Grunting, he tugged at the blanket pinned beneath Taemuk and, failing that, decided to flee. With one hand he covered himself; with the other he braced on the cot and raised his upper body. He was just about to stand when—

Taemuk snatched one of his ankles and hoisted it.

“Ah—”

Hoeun toppled straight back. The hand covering himself fluttered aside. He hurried to cover himself again. At that moment, something touched between his thighs—something very, very hot, hard, blunt, and big.

“…”

Blood draining from his face, Hoeun raised only his head and looked down. Taemuk’s member was positioned between his thighs. Why put that there—what for? As Hoeun faintly knit his brows—

It pressed in. Against his rear.

“G… General?”

Hoeun called out in a trembling voice. But Taemuk didn’t even look at him. His pupils, black without a speck of light, looked as if someone had poured pitch into them.

Hoeun, creaking, shook his head.

“General, d-don’t. I don’t want this. Please don’t. Don—ugh!”

But Taemuk, unheeding, began to push.

The tightly sealed folds were firm yet yielding. They did not open, but wherever Taemuk applied force, they dented inward. Hoeun felt intense pain.

“I—it hurts, it h-hurts… It hurts.”

His clear face wrinkled all over. He had been sickly all his life, yet this pain was new. It was nothing like a fever or a chill. Still Taemuk pressed. It felt less like he was trying to open the hole than to burst it.

“G… General…”

With trembling hands, Hoeun pushed at Taemuk’s thigh. He would have pushed his face or chest if he could, but that was the only place his hand could reach.

The instant his hand touched the body hot as a burning brand, Taemuk’s lashes went stiff. All nerves strung tight with fear, Hoeun did not miss that small change. Sensing instinctively that something had gone wrong, he snatched his hand away—but it was already too late.

Taemuk’s member began to drive in more forcefully. The pain grew more intense. It felt like being stabbed by a dull blade.

“Ugh…”

But his rear did not easily admit Taemuk—as if mirroring Hoeun’s heart.

Taemuk, headlong, kept applying strength. But even if he did, there was no way the rear—smaller than a mouth—could take the huge organ that even his mouth could not accept.

“Fuck…”

Taemuk ground out a curse. Then he tossed the ankle he’d been holding to the other side. Hoeun’s torso faced forward while his lower body was twisted halfway around—an awkward posture. With one hand Taemuk gripped his hips; with the other he drew his buttock wide to the side.

“G-Gen—General. General…”

Sensing peril, Hoeun called out urgently. But mid-word, his body was yanked downward—the speed enough to fling the wisps of hair on his brow straight up.

It was a very short drop, yet Hoeun felt as if he were falling from a cliff.

And then—

Thump.

Next—

Rip.

“…”

For a heartbeat, Hoeun stared blankly, not even breathing. Then the corners of his eyes slowly crumpled. Tears welled and shimmered in his pupils.

“Hhic…”

Taemuk’s member had finally torn in through the back. It was only the tip, but the pain was by no means small. The junction burned as if set on fire.

His rear felt like it would split—no, as if it had split. Along with a searing, blazing heat, he felt a hot liquid seep between the joined flesh.

To call it merely painful was not enough. He felt he might die—he might truly die. Under the unbearable pain, his thin white thighs trembled and spasmed.

“Haa…”

Taemuk, by contrast, threw back his head with a sigh. His thick Adam’s apple stood out, as if tearing through skin. At times he let out a sound that might have been a moan, or perhaps a sigh—and that breath was searingly hot. It all but steamed like visible mist.

After pausing like that for a moment, Taemuk lowered his head. His eyes now flashed in a way they had not before—an ominous light.

“N… no—no. No.”

Not even knowing what Taemuk was about to do, Hoeun shook his head first. But Taemuk, unconcerned, dragged his body downward. Hoeun clutched the bedding until his fingertips whitened, but that did nothing against Taemuk’s strength.

Drawing Hoeun in, Taemuk at the same time leaned his body forward. Under that force and weight, the hole that had barely admitted the tip began to take, little by little, the thick, long shaft.

There came another hair-raising sound—or feeling—of tearing, and something wet slicked around the join. At the same instant, half the long, thick organ speared into Hoeun at a stroke.

“Ah…”

Clutching the blanket, Hoeun hunched his back, as if struck in the gut by an assailant. His body shook and shuddered. His vision went milky. Without even realizing he was crying, tears streamed down.

Why does it hurt so much?

How can an act between humans be so excruciating?

Is Taemuk punishing him?

For what—because he was insolent?

Or was it because he was lacking that he hurt? Because he was an unfit, inferior guide for him?

All manner of thoughts crowded in. But Taemuk did not look into Hoeun’s state or his feelings. Like a galloping horse, he plunged mindlessly into Hoeun from behind.

“It h-hurts too m-much…”

Pale as paper, Hoeun stammered in a tiny voice. The torn rear throbbed beyond words. He felt his body would be split in two—like the monster that Taemuk had cleaved in the village.

“Stop—ugh—please, stop…”

“…”

Still, Taemuk gave no answer. He was looking at Hoeun, and yet not seeing him.

Taemuk began to move his hips. The organ pushed the hole wide as it entered, and stretched it as it withdrew. With the sensation of torn flesh being churned, heavy tears streamed ceaselessly down Hoeun’s eyes.

“Hh—ah—ugh—hurts—i-it—ughh…”

Writhing in pain, Hoeun struck and shoved at Taemuk’s shoulder, chest, forearms—anything he could reach. Soon his palms were smeared red with blood, because the bandages wrapped around Taemuk’s whole body were soaked through.

At times, some places on that iron-hard body were oddly soft. But Hoeun had no spare strength to think on that. He felt he might die at any moment.

“Don’t… do this!”

Unable to endure it, Hoeun cried out—half a scream, half a frenzy. His sharpened voice sliced the air with a clean ring. Then, at last, Taemuk, who had not so much as pretended to hear, screwed up his face. He clamped a hand over Hoeun’s mouth. He clearly covered only the mouth—but his hand was so large that from nose to chin, half of Hoeun’s face was blocked.

“Too noisy… Please just… shut up…”

Uncharacteristically, Taemuk drew out his words. Pain seeped into the crumpled corners of his eyes. Hoeun’s cries seemed genuinely hard for him to hear.

“…”

At that sight, Hoeun’s hands, which had been gripping his forearm, slid down. His tear-wet eyes, larger for the moisture, fluttered and trembled.

Did Taemuk now hate even the sound of his voice? Well, it would be no wonder. He was already an inadequate guide, and here he was, struggling not to do what was expected.

But still—what could he do about the pain. What could he do about pain that made him want to die.

“…”

While Hoeun, mouth and even nose covered, shed silent, heavy tears, Taemuk glanced around. Then, sweeping up shredded silk garments in his hand, he began ramming them into Hoeun’s mouth at random.

Hoeun protested and cried out, but with the cloth his sounds came out muffled—hukk, kup, ugh—thick and dull. Taemuk’s brow eased a little. Silencing Hoeun’s voice pleased him, it seemed.

Resetting his grip on Hoeun’s hips, Taemuk drew back—and slammed in, hard.

“Ungh—! Hh, hhk—mmph—hff…”

Hoeun’s stunned groans trickled out faintly. The deep thrusts gagged him. But even that he had to swallow back, blocked by the cloth stuffed down to his throat.

“Haa…”

“Hoo—ugh—nn—hff…”

Taemuk’s languid moans and Hoeun’s smothered ones could not mix; they slid past each other.