Wine and Poison Chapter 27 - Secret

“Why are you touching me there, of all places?”

 

Scylla’s face looked like she was about to cry, flushed so red it seemed ready to burst. 

 

Did she really know nothing? It was almost comical. 

 

Had her age been buried in some mountain cave? 

 

Langsion muttered to himself, words laced with something between sarcasm and mockery.

 

His thoughts were biting, but his heart was pounding. The unbearable pleasure made him strangely careful. 

 

What should he say to satisfy her curiosity? 

 

Even though the situation was something a newly adult maiden didn’t need to be taught, his delight never faded.

 

“You have to touch here like this for the water to come out.”

 

“Stop it. You can just put it in.”

 

“Master… do you like tearing flesh and seeing blood?”

 

“What?”

 

“Even if that’s your preference, Master, no. I don’t like it. I want your first time to be really satisfying.”

 

“B-but this is…”

 

Squelch—

 

The wet, squelching sound tickled his ears. 

 

Even while they talked, Langsion kept stroking Scylla’s lower lips with his fingers. He watched her scarlet face—burning with shame and embarrassment she couldn’t hide—and continued playing with her.

 

His fingers sank into her folds. 

 

Slick, soft, warm. Old body or young body, the feeling was the same.

 

A sensual heat glowed in Langsion’s flushed cheeks and dark eyes. He let out a sigh. The touch was so unbearably soft that he wanted to stay there forever. 

 

The more love-juice flowed, the softer the flesh became, and his fingers slid lazily inside her. 

 

Scylla’s breathing grew rougher in time with his movements.

 

At last, Langsion touched the untouched entrance. Scylla’s nape stiffened. The doubts that had sunk beneath the surface rose again like a leaf floating up from the bottom of a lake.

 

But he refused to let her dwell on unnecessary thoughts.

 

Slurp—

 

He gently sucked the dry-apple-peel skin of her neck. 

 

Scylla shuddered. Langsion smiled as he watched the clear goosebumps spread across her face.

 

Her face burned bright red, her dark eyes dazed and unfocused. 

 

The usual sharp, quick-witted version of her—the sly, leisurely expression—had completely vanished, drowned in an atmosphere so thick with eroticism that Scylla found herself speechless. 

 

Thump—

 

The sound of her heartbeat grew louder.

 

The finger that had been slowly caressing around her entrance finally pushed inside. 

 

Just one knuckle had entered, yet Scylla jerked her hips at the unbearable foreign sensation. It’s uncomfortable. 

 

So uncomfortable I could die. 

 

With that exact expression on her face, Langsion pressed his wet lips against hers. 

 

The kiss was tender, the way one soothes a whining child, but instead of calming Scylla, it only drove her further into a place where she could find no air.

 

In a mind gone white, Scylla blurted out whatever came to her.

 

“You seem to have quite a lot of experience with this.”

 

She had instinctively grasped at the one topic that might let her escape this suffocating atmosphere. 

 

But Langsion dodged the question with a wicked, teasing smile. Then, to keep her from dwelling on suspicion, he slid his finger even deeper.

 

“Nngh…”

 

Diverting Scylla’s attention had been entirely successful.

 

“My, my… it’s been left untouched for so long that it’s completely sealed tight. Can you feel it? Just one finger barely fitting.”

 

“It—it hurts. Ah, stop, don’t move.”

 

“Master only knows how to say it hurts.”

 

“…”

 

“Is it really that unbearable?”

 

So unbearable that proper words wouldn’t even come to mind?

 

The corner of Langsion’s mouth curved upward. The arrogance and practiced ease on his face didn’t suit the mask of the disciple he was wearing at all. 

 

Scylla’s expression twisted.

 

“You…”

 

At that moment, he added a second finger. When he slowly rotated both fingers inside her, stretching the walls wide, Scylla’s mouth fell open in a sharp gasp.

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

Scylla couldn’t answer at all. 

 

Just as he said, her body—unused for so long it had practically aged prematurely—was no longer elastic like a young person’s. 

 

The inside of her had narrowed until even a fountain pen would have struggled to pass through.

 

Just the forceful stretching of her insides with his fingers was enough to make Scylla feel an overwhelming pressure. 

 

Langsion studied her expression for a moment, then slowly withdrew his hand from between her legs. 

 

Without hesitation, he slid lower. He grasped her knees—now completely drained of strength—and spread them apart, settling himself between them. 

 

Anxiety crept into Scylla’s panting face.

 

“What are you… going to do now…?”

 

“With the way Master is right now, this will feel much better.”

 

“…”

 

“Don’t worry. I won’t do anything bad to you.”

 

At first, Scylla had believed those words, but not anymore. Her face full of distrust, she tried to sit up. 

 

Langsion gripped her thighs tightly and buried his face between them. 

 

What madness is this! 

 

Scylla’s eyes widened until they seemed ready to tear. 

 

Instinctively,y she grabbed a fistful of his hair to pull him away, but he had already extended his tongue and pressed it deep into her folds.

 

Beneath the pale, shattered moonlight, his tongue looked strikingly red as he moved it lewdly. 

 

The upturned corners of his eyes dripped with a reddish, lascivious heat. Who is this person? 

 

It felt to Scylla as though she were facing someone entirely new, someone completely unfamiliar.

 

“S-stop it.”

 

“This way it won’t hurt.”

 

Even the slightly muffled way he spoke was unbearably embarrassing. The soft, slick sensation—like a slug had settled there—was utterly alien. 

 

Scylla became painfully aware that she was drunk. She should never have given in to Langsion’s temptation. 

 

It was true that, until now, she had quietly regretted never once experiencing the kind of passionate sex everyone else seemed to talk about so freely. 

 

But reality crashed into her all at once. 

 

What was she doing at her age? And in such a ridiculous, shameful position…!

 

Everyone else does this kind of thing?

 

Scylla, who had always imagined sex as nothing more than the simple joining of genitals, felt her face burn as though it were on fire. 

 

Regret surged through her in waves.

 

“No—stop. I won’t do it. I’m not doing this. L-Langsion!”

 

Langsion ignored her protests entirely and latched onto her with wet, greedy suction, lips sealing tight around the swollen pearl of her clit before dragging downward in long, deliberate pulls.

He made no effort to hide it—on the contrary, he stretched his tongue out obscenely far, letting her see the glistening pink muscle curl and flick before plunging back in. 

 

When Scylla caught sight of his mouth—shiny, flushed, dark, strings of her own slickness stretching between his lips and her folds—her eyes stung with humiliated heat. 

 

She whipped her face away, unable to endure the sight.

 

“Master.”

 

His voice poured over her like warm, melting chocolate laced with smoke, coating the inside of her ears and sinking straight down her spine.

 

“Does it really feel only bad?”

 

“…”

 

“Truly only bad?”

 

She kept her gaze averted; her shoulders shook with fine, helpless tremors.

 

“Look at me, Master. I want to watch every twitch and flutter on your face while you come apart.”

 

The words pinned her eyelids shut even tighter.

 

“You’re cruel, Master. You let me taste you, let me get this hard, and now you want to leave me like this? If you stop now, I won’t sleep—I’ll lie awake throbbing, leaking, replaying the exact shape of your cunt against my tongue all night.”

 

What in the world has gone so wrong?

 

Before the question could leave her lips, his mouth descended again. 

 

This time, he devoured her with single-minded hunger, tongue scooping up every fresh bead of arousal that welled out, swallowing audibly. 

 

He pressed the flat of his tongue hard against her entrance and vibrated it—rapid, filthy little tremors that sent electric shocks racing up her pelvic floor. 

 

The tender inner walls clenched involuntarily around nothing; her thighs, already slick with sweat and her own fluids, quaked violently against his cheeks. 

 

A silent, predatory smile curved his buried lips.

 

For flesh that had known no man’s mouth in decades, the speed of her response was almost obscene. 

 

Langsion opened wider, engulfing her entire vulva in wet heat. 

 

He created a tight seal and sucked—hard—hollowing his cheeks until the delicate tissues were drawn taut into his mouth. 

 

A lewd, rhythmic slurping filled the air as thick, slippery arousal was pulled out in long, glistening strands that coated his chin and dripped back onto her skin. 

 

The scent of her—musky, sweet-sour, unmistakably aroused—rose sharp and heavy between them.

 

Scylla writhed, hips jerking in conflicted little bucks—half escape, half chase. 

 

Broken whimpers slipped from her despite herself, each one startling her more than the last. 

 

The once-iron-willed old woman was reduced to trembling limbs, heaving chest, and a core that fluttered and spasmed under relentless attention. 

 

Every detail fed the dark, molten hunger in Langsion’s gaze: the way her knuckles blanched as she gripped his hair, the fine sheen of sweat on her inner thighs, the helpless ripple of her lower belly each time his tongue curled inside her.

 

Slurrrp—

 

Chuuuup. Slurp—slrrrp—slrrrp—

 

The wet, obscene sounds echoed louder than her ragged breathing.