BW C16(NSFW)

Chapter 16(NSFW)

“……”

Taemuk walked right past Hoeun. He collapsed onto the bedding with a heavy thud, then swept back his hair—now darker from being damp—with the broad palm of his hand.

“……”

Hoeun had half-turned away, staring only at the tent. From beyond his ear came the sounds of Taemuk’s presence: the folding and dragging of his robe, the creak of the bedding under weight, his breathing, and then…

“Come here.”

His voice.

Even when called, Hoeun remained still, not realizing the summons was meant for him. A beat late, his body gave a startled twitch.

“Ah… yes.”

Hesitantly, he shuffled toward him.

Taemuk, seated on the bedding, had one knee bent upright, leaving everything below exposed. Yet he showed not the slightest trace of embarrassment. Instead, Hoeun’s eyelashes fluttered in frantic disarray.

That the onlooker should feel more discomfited than the one being seen—what a laughable thing.

“Sit.”

Taemuk commanded again. Hoeun faltered. There were no chairs here, nor even cushions.

After a moment’s hesitation, he knelt upon the wooden backrest instead of the bedding. He straightened the hem of his clothes, which had been caught between his legs, then folded his hands properly together and assumed a perfectly upright formal posture.

It was neat and correct—movements that carried the unmistakable dignity of a yangban.*

Then, as he raised his gaze toward Taemuk—

“Ah!”

Taemuk’s massive hand seized Hoeun’s small chin in one sudden snatch. Hoeun’s posture collapsed at once. He reflexively grasped Taemuk’s wrist.

“G-General?”

“……”

But Taemuk gave no reply. His thumb pressed down upon Hoeun’s plump lower lip—not merely gently, but as though he intended to burst it.

“Mmgh…”

Hoeun jerked his head back, clutching Taemuk’s wrist all the harder in an attempt to tear his hand away. Yet the more he resisted, the stranger the light that flickered within Taemuk’s eyes.

“Let go—release me. General, please, enough…”

Taemuk kneaded Hoeun’s face relentlessly: mashing his lips, tugging at the philtrum to twist his expression into something grotesque, even forcing his thumb between his lips to scrape against his neat teeth.

Each time, Hoeun’s body jolted with tremors. Soon the pain in his jaw grew so sharp he could no longer even beg to be freed.

Everywhere Taemuk’s hand passed, tingling pain lingered. Even without looking, Hoeun could feel his skin had flushed scarlet. And the hand itself was so searingly hot, his skin burned as though from fire.

“Hhh… uhh…”

Hoeun’s clear features contorted in anguish. Each time, the corners of Taemuk’s lips arced faintly, almost imperceptibly.

Then, all at once—

“Hyat!”

Taemuk grabbed the back of Hoeun’s head and shoved it downward. Hoeun’s upper body, defenseless, pitched forward in a near bow. His long braided hair whipped wildly, smacking against Taemuk’s thigh. Naturally, Taemuk felt no pain.

“Suck.”

At that command, Hoeun’s face twisted in shock.

“Wh-what…?”

What was he suddenly supposed to suck? There was no laundry to be found here. His robe? But it was only damp with water, otherwise clean. Or perhaps the bloodied uniform? But was that even something an Guide should do? If ordered, he could try… but still, Taemuk would have to release him first. How was he meant to do laundry with his head held down like this?

Such thoughts tumbled through Hoeun’s mind, his eyes rolling. But then Taemuk pressed his head lower, forcing it down with brute strength. Hoeun’s face sank further, while his backside jutted up disgracefully.

And then, contact.

Against his cheek.

Taemuk’s genitals.

Only then did Hoeun understand what Taemuk meant by “suck.” Realization dawned in horrified shock, his face blazing scarlet as though about to burst.

“Th-this… what is this…?”

He could scarcely believe it—yet the thing against his face was undeniably that. And pressed against his cheek, its presence was horribly distinct.

Hot like Taemuk’s hand, solid as though with sinew inside, its surface oddly soft, carrying a foreign musk.

And long. Far longer than Hoeun’s own face. And so thick, it seemed less a man’s organ than some beast—like a serpent, or some other creature.

“Hurry. Do it.”

When Hoeun froze, unable even to breathe, Taemuk ground his shaft harder against his face, shaking his head side to side. It was as if water-torturing him, and Hoeun, floundering, even dared to push against Taemuk’s abdomen.

“No, no! This cannot be done!”

“Cannot?”

In that instant, Taemuk’s grip slackened, allowing Hoeun to lift his head slightly.

“This—this is not outside? There is no proper door here…”

Everything about the situation was unbearable, but what worried him most was the chance of being overheard. The tent, though heavy and thick, was still but cloth. That meant sound traveled freely both ways. Someone might already be listening to this shameful exchange.

As Hoeun’s face blanched in panic, Taemuk suddenly let out a low laugh. It was not a kind laugh.

“Then shall I build you a house? Lay down golden bedding?”

“That is not what I meant…”

“Do it.”

“General…”

Tears threaded through Hoeun’s voice. Everyone else told him not to, but Taemuk kept commanding him to. Hoeun found it frightening, and wounding. But Taemuk showed no mercy. Impatience shadowed his heavy gaze.

“If you don’t want your ass bared here, better to just suck.”

“……”

“I’m sparing you because you’re a yangban. Be grateful.”

Hoeun did not understand. Yangban? And what did “baring his ass” mean? If it truly meant showing his backside, then certainly, he wanted no part of that.

Hoeun’s lower lip trembled as he begged for clemency.

“General, I beg your indulgence…”

In that moment, Taemuk snapped—yanking Hoeun’s hair upward. His black eyes gleamed with furious fire.

“Damn it, last time you said no for this reason, today for that reason. If that’s how it is, why did you even follow me?!”

“……”

“You still think you’re some noble young master here? Don’t delude yourself. You’re nothing but my Guide.”

“……”

Hoeun’s lashes quivered at those words. Was an Guide not supposed to be precious to a military lord? Closer than family, truer than any friend or partner? Had he misunderstood? Otherwise, how could the word ‘only’ be attached to Guide?

As he sat stunned, as if struck across the face, Taemuk released his head with a toss.

“Do as you’re told. That’s your duty.”

“……”

Duty.

Hoeun repeated the word silently, eyes lowered.

To take that organ in his mouth. Could such an act truly bring peace or vigor to the lord? He had read books on the bond between military lord and Guide, yet none explained the methods. They only said the lord, driven by instinct, would move as he pleased, and the Guide need only follow.

If this was what Taemuk, as his lord, desired… then it was right.

Why was he resisting so desperately? Had he not steeled himself when leaving home, even readying for death itself? How could he balk at something so small?

Hoeun closed his eyes tight, then opened them again.

This was not shame. Not like a prostitute’s act. He was the lord, and Hoeun his Guide; this was, as Taemuk said, simply his “duty.”

“…I will… do it.”

His chin trembled as he spoke low. He ruffled his disordered hair with a palm, then bent slowly forward. Opening his mouth wide, he took Taemuk into it.

“Huuh…”

Even with his jaw stretched as far as it would go, only the tip entered. It carried the faint scent of water—the body had not yet fully dried.

Hoeun stilled, uncertain how to proceed. But then, all of a sudden, Taemuk’s shaft hardened like stone. His breath fanned warm over Hoeun’s pale nape.

“……”

The sudden change flustered Hoeun, but he did not pull away. Awkwardly, he began to suck—like the candy he had once eaten with Deokwoo in the marketplace, slurping it. Taemuk had ordered him to suck, so he obeyed.

Yet Taemuk gave no response. When Hoeun twisted to glance up at him—

“Pathetic.”

With that curt judgment, Taemuk’s hand enclosed his small head, then yanked him forward.

“Ghhk…”

The shaft rammed down his throat in an instant, forcing out a muffled groan. His five fingers splayed wide.

For a moment, he thought a hole had been punched through his skull. The shock was that great. His throat felt as though it would rupture; the roof of his mouth tingled where the tip struck. His tongue, robbed of space, was flattened harshly against the shaft.

Footnotes

1. Yangban (양반 / 兩班) – the traditional aristocratic class in Joseon-era Korea, symbolizing nobility, refined conduct, and high social standing.