BW C52(NSFW)

Chapter 52(NSFW)

 

After that, Taemuk trampled Hoeun at will, without restraint. As if it wouldn’t matter if Hoeun died like this. No—perhaps he meant to kill him. Just as he had driven an arrow into that nobleman’s brow, without hesitation, with cruelty.

It wasn’t long before Hoeun, who had been resisting fiercely, let his limbs go slack. He understood that this act—this pain—was like a fever.

No matter how he thrashed and refused, it was a pain he could not end by his own will. Until the subject of the pain was satisfied, he would have to either lose consciousness or be reduced to a mash and just endure.

Though wet, Hoeun looked up at Taemuk with dry eyes. Suddenly, Taemuk’s movements began to speed up.

“Ugh, hff! U-ugh…”

Strength returned to the limbs he had only just managed to loosen. After the rending, the crushing within his belly, the splitting inner walls were hideously painful. It felt as if everything inside his body had been pulped.

Then Taemuk pressed one hand to Hoeun’s thin shoulder, bent his back, and came closer. At the same time, the member in his belly swelled abruptly. It went hard as a stone.

That alone brought pain enough to flicker his vision on and off, and then it began to press in, deeper and deeper.

“Hhmp…”

Hoeun’s eyes went very wide. Without even blinking, tears streamed down. It was torture in all but name. He even found himself thinking he would rather be torn apart by a monster.

Whether fortunate or not, at some point Taemuk’s endlessly advancing member was blocked. It wasn’t that Taemuk had stopped; it was that Hoeun’s small body could take no more of him.

But Taemuk did not retreat. Beasts were like that by nature. Until hunger was sated to satisfaction, they could not stop.

Gripping Hoeun’s spare body, Taemuk shook him side to side and roughly dragged him down.

“Ughk…”

Under the vast pain, Hoeun’s head fell back. His ribs stood out sharp. He felt all too vividly the press, the mangling, the crushing inside him.

And at last, the massive member entered the small opening to the hilt. Hoeun’s buttocks and Taemuk’s pelvis met with not a hair’s breadth between them.

“…”

Hoeun froze, unable to utter even the stifled groans he had been letting out.

It felt as if his belly would burst. Not as a figure of speech, but as if the organ would genuinely tear through his abdomen. His body, tensed before death, clenched below against his will.

And in that instant—

“Kh…”

Taemuk straightened his back with a low groan. Hoeun felt a warmth deep in his belly. He could not tell whether it was Taemuk’s seed—or whether, indeed, his belly had been torn within.

“Haa…”

Taemuk’s great body shuddered in tremors. At a glance it looked like spasms from climax—but it was not.

He flung his eyes open. The fine vessels raised over his eyeballs burst all at once, making his eyes red as a monster’s. The sternomastoid stood out, his shoulders drew back, his muscles swelled in a rush. It looked as if he had been struck by “lightning.”

For a time, Taemuk stayed just like that. He did not breathe; he did not blink.

Then, at some moment, he screwed up his face. The bandages wound round and round him were choking him like a noose. As his body swelled, muscle bulged up between the bands.

Irritably, he tore at the bandages. Soaked in blood and toughened, they came away with a fibrous rasping.

“…”

Half-fainting, Hoeun watched through a blurred gaze. And a strange scene unfolded.

Taemuk’s body was little better than rags—gouged and torn in gruesome places—yet it… began to heal. Wounds, of course, heal over time—but he had never once seen “healing” with his own eyes.

The blood that had been running in rivulets stopped. Bones that had been broken and shattered set themselves back together with neat clicks. Blood filled in above, muscles tightened into place. Then from the wound edges, intact skin began to roll in like small waves.

That phenomenon occurred simultaneously across all the wounds on Taemuk’s body. Even his eyes, red as a monster’s, returned to white in an instant.

“Shit…”

Taemuk shivered all over. A rapture beyond pleasure swallowed him. His sight flashed gold, then finally volatilized into pure white.

Salvation. Taemuk had been saved.

There was no other way to describe it.

“…”

Seeing this, Hoeun finally understood a guide’s power. He had known a guide could give strength to a Military God—but to heal wounds as well?

Taemuk’s body was soon made whole. Not even the smallest scar remained. Only the stains of the blood he had shed a moment before were left as traces.

At the sight, Hoeun felt relieved. Not relieved that Taemuk had healed—but relieved that this act might end. Taemuk was healed. So this too would end—so he thought.

So he looked up at Taemuk and waited for him to withdraw the stake-like organ he had driven into him. He might have taken the chance of that loosened guard to flee, but he hadn’t the strength left.

Indeed, Taemuk drew his member back. Even that was painful; Hoeun’s eyelids fluttered—

Thud!

“Uhhk!”

Taemuk, halfway through withdrawing, shoved back in again. Hoeun felt his whole body go cold.

“Uh—uh, uhhh…”

He shook his head side to side, but Taemuk kept his gaze fixed below. In his face, a thirst still lingered. It was also the look of someone thoroughly addicted.

Hoeun realized: if this continued, he might die. With a superhuman effort, he twisted his body over and began to crawl forward. The member lodged deep in his backside slipped out with a wet slide. But before he could rejoice, his waist was seized and he was hauled back.

“Mm—mmph—mm! Mmh!”

Hoeun kicked backwards wildly. Garments loosened only in front fluttered and fell over his white buttocks; Taemuk irritably swept them aside. Then he slid the organ back into the slightly parted opening.

Into the hole made slick with blood and seed, Taemuk’s member slid smoothly in. It was an easy entry, but Hoeun’s pain did not lessen in the least. The organ that skewered his belly at a stroke only tormented him.

“Hhhngh…”

Hooking his fingertips like claws, Hoeun tried somehow to crawl forward. With his feet he pushed at Taemuk’s knees or belly. At his ceaseless scrabbling, a furrow formed between Taemuk’s brows. Clicking his tongue, he slammed a palm down on Hoeun’s back.

Under that force, Hoeun’s upper body bent sharply forward, and his torn under-robe collapsed over his head.

“Ghk…”

Crushed under Taemuk’s hand, Hoeun could neither flee nor even breathe. With his mouth stopped as well, the suffocation was doubled.

Meanwhile, Taemuk tormented him to his heart’s content. With Hoeun’s posture, buttocks raised, there could be nothing better for ramming in the organ at will.

“Hh—uh… Mmph…”

Between his thighs grew damp. Each time Taemuk’s member went in and out, a grotesque fluid—a mixture of his seed and blood—seeped out in thin threads.

What had pooled stickily at the hole beaded at the perineum, caught on the scrotum, then trickled slowly down his thighs. Over it, Hoeun’s limp member dangled and bobbed, flopping in time with Taemuk’s movements.

“Ugh… hff…”

His cheek pressed into the bedding, Hoeun could open only one eye, and he wept in heaving sobs. He had been afraid even when he could see Taemuk; unable to see, he was more afraid. He tried to turn his head to see him, but Taemuk took it for defiance and pressed his back down harder.

Once the thrusts deepened, they never grew shallow again. Rather, they only grew deeper, endlessly.

Each time his buttocks slapped against Taemuk’s pelvis, the sound of smacking like a flogging rang out. Between those sounds, came the noises of the massive organ going in and out—suk-suk, thuk-thuk, thump.

“Hh—uh…”

Hoeun’s thin back shook in tremors. His knees buckled. He wished he could simply fall—but Taemuk pressed his back down with one hand and held his pelvis up with the other, so he could not.

Hoeun’s tears speckled the blanket. The black blanket swallowed the traces without a mark.

“Hh—mmph…”

Hoeun lay on his side on the cot. One leg rested over Taemuk’s shoulder, the other was pinned beneath him, and in his belly Taemuk’s member still coiled.

His hair, grabbed and yanked by Taemuk, was messily disheveled. Several loosened strands stuck uncomfortably to his sweat-slick brow, temples, and nape.

“Hhic!”

Head thrown back under the pain that refused to dull, Hoeun thrashed. Spittle smeared wet at the corners of his mouth. It leaked out because of the cloth rammed deep down his throat.

The disheveled hair, the disgusting drool—none of it suited the always neat and clean Hoeun, and yet it suited him too. A white cloth takes stains well.

“…”

Thudding his member up, Taemuk stared fixedly at the disordered Hoeun. Then suddenly he thrust his fingers into Hoeun’s mouth. Already stuffed full of cloth, his mouth opened wider still. At the feeling of his lips about to split, Hoeun grimaced.

Taemuk pulled the cloth from his mouth. Wet through from Hoeun’s constant biting—hard as a board—the cloth came away trailing silvery threads. Hoeun drew a great breath—haaah. His tongue and teeth, crushed under the cloth, ached. The corners of his mouth stung and smarted.