Chapter 1: Crown Prince Privilege (R-18)
As I stood on the polished deck of the airship, my gaze drifted downward, sweeping over the endless tapestry of floating islands that stretched out beneath us.
A profound, gut-deep sense of boredom began to creep into my mind, a heavy and familiar weight.
Is this really it? This otome game world?
It's so boring.
And so utterly predictable.
The air was thick with the sound of it. The high, artificial laughter of noble girls filled the space, their gossip a meaningless drone. The noble boys weren't any better, huddled together and whispering about which girl they wanted to screw or date.
Over in the corners, the lowborn students shivered, the boys staring with a pathetic mix of desire and inferiority, while the lowborn girls shot calculated glances at the highborn nobles.
I could practically read their thoughts, figuring out which noble cock would be the most worthwhile to suck for a quick ticket up the social ladder.
Sometimes, I genuinely hated how repetitive their entire existence was.
The conversations were a broken record, the ambitions so naked and shallow.
And I was the center of it all. There was never a shortage of girls, noble and commoner alike, angling to earn my favor, desperate for a chance to suck my dick and secure a place in my orbit.
After all, I am the Crown Prince, the most powerful and desirable man in the Holfort Kingdom.
Well, when the boredom becomes too much to bear, I don't mind playing their little game.
I'd drag whichever pretty thing caught my eye into a dark corridor of the palace, shove her short academy skirt up to her waist, and fuck her senseless against the cold stone wall until she couldn't remember her own name.
If she's a virgin, she becomes my maid, I take the first blood, I claim her.
Simple.
If she's NOT a virgin, meaning her hymen wasn't broken by me? I shove money in her hands and throw her out. I'm done with her the moment I'm finished.
Yeah, yeah, I know someone's gonna say:
"Bro, hymens can break from sports, exercise, or accidents! You can't judge a virgin by that!"
Let me stop you right there. This is an anime world.
In hentai, in ecchi, in every anime logic scenario ever, a girl bleeds when it's her first time no matter if she's an athlete, a nerd, a fighter, a damn gymnast.
First time = hymen breaking + blood.
Simple.
This world follows THAT logic.
Not biology class.
The girl standing beside me pulled me from my thoughts. She had vibrant orange hair, sharp green eyes, and a body that was both well-endowed and gorgeously proportioned.
Right now, a deep scowl was etched onto her beautiful face, her mind undoubtedly racing, trying to figure out what new scheme I was concocting.
She was visibly pissed off, and she had every right to be. The glare she shot me was sharp enough to cut glass.
Yet, her tone, when she spoke, was forcibly polite, strained through the rigid filter of my royal status.
"Are you doing this deliberately, Your Highness?" she asked, her voice tight. "Do you have any idea how long I had been looking forward to the engagement between me and..."
Her words hit a wall.
She couldn't finish her sentence.
The memory of it, the public humiliation, the moment her ex-fiancé coldly declared she was no longer fit to be his bride was too much.
Her composure shattered, and she broke down right there on the deck, her body shaking with silent, helpless sobs.
Of course, that little detail about her feelings isn't the point. The real point, in her opinion, is that her fiancé breaking up with her was a deliberate trap set by me, the Crown Prince who stood before her now.
That fiancé, Jilk, wasn't just some random noble. He was one of my entourage. But again, that's not the point either.
The real point is what's happening in her head right now. She's remembering how I, this bastard prince, systematically took advantage of her trust.
She's replaying the memory of how, after I took her virginity in that first, supposedly secret encounter, I started forcing her to keep having sex with me.
I used the threat of exposing our affair to Jilk to make her comply, turning her own fear into my leash.
Looking back, how could she not have been suspicious?
The timing was too perfect.
This whole chain of events—Jilk's cold dismissal, the sudden end of their engagement, it all started right after I first had her.
The pieces were all there if she'd dared to put them together.
Moreover, my methods weren't exactly subtle. I always insisted on raw, unprotected sex. I pushed her legs apart and creampied her deep inside her pussy, over and over again, filling her up until it dripped down her thighs while growling that she wasn't allowed to take any contraceptives.
My intention was blatantly obvious: I wanted to knock her up. I wanted to put my child in her womb, to brand her as mine permanently.
I had absolutely no intention of letting her picture-perfect relationship with Jilk continue.
"Well, that's very much hurtful, Clarice," I said, looking at her with a mask of feigned injury.
My voice was a masterclass in false sincerity. "I never interfere with your love life, do I? Jilk was obviously the one who dumped you. What does that have to do with me?"
My eyes, however, betrayed the act, gleaming with nothing but cold amusement at her entire predicament.
"You...!" Clarice spat out, her composure finally snapping as she pointed a trembling finger directly at my face.
The scene instantly drew attention.
A bunch of those spoiled noble brats stopped their mindless chatter, their heads swiveling in unison to stare at us.
Their whispers began to weave through the air, a hushed, judgmental chorus.
"What's wrong with Clarice?"
"How dare a mere earl's daughter point her finger at the Crown Prince?"
"Is she tired of living?"
I kept my infuriating smile firmly in place as I watched her. "Well, you know, there's no point in staying angry at the wrong person. If you need to hate someone, hate Jilk. I never had the time or the inclination to manage who he falls in love with."
It was a perfect, placid lie, delivered with a shrug.
Clarice let out a heavy, defeated sigh as she finally noticed the weight of the stares and the rising tide of whispers around us.
The fight seemed to drain out of her, replaced by a numb exhaustion.
"Whatever..." she murmured, her voice hollow.
Then, she did something that truly surprised me.
She looked directly at me, her eyes holding a challenge laced with self-destructive fury.
"Come to my room with me." Her voice was low, but clear enough for those nearby to catch. "Since Jilk didn't want me, let's see if he can keep calm after he finds out his ex-fiancée is sleeping with his best friend and his beloved prince."
Okay...
This woman was clearly broken.
There were people everywhere, noble peers who could destroy her reputation with a few well-placed words, yet she had just blatantly, publicly invited the Crown Prince to her bedroom for sex.
I didn't know whether I should admire her sheer courage or be concerned by her palpable madness.
However, I didn't retreat or hesitate. I knew better. I understood that in this raw, vulnerable moment, this woman wasn't seeking gentle comfort. She wanted something intense, something destructive. She wanted a partner who wouldn't abandon her scene, who was willing to dive headfirst into her madness and match her self-destructive spiral.
If I chickened out now, if I left her to face the social slaughter alone after she'd thrown down the gauntlet, our entire arrangement would be over. The delicate threat I used to keep her having sex with me—the threat to her relationship with Jilk—was now useless.
That bridge was already burned to ash. She had nothing left to lose, and if I failed her now, I would lose my hold over her completely.
In the past, it was all thanks to my close friendship with Jilk that this was even possible. He trusted me so completely that he thought nothing of bringing his own fiancée to my private palace on my personal floating island, introducing her to me.
We shared a lavish meal, eating with relish and drinking until we were all thoroughly drunk. Jilk, unable to hold his liquor, eventually passed out cold right there in the middle of the dining room. Meanwhile, Clarice, after unknowingly drinking the powerful lust potion I had slipped into her wine—a special concoction I'd acquired from the black market—was becoming hot and sexually aroused beyond her control.
Her cheeks flushed crimson, her thighs rubbed together, and her breathing turned shallow and needy.
Her lust skyrocketed a hundredfold.
She didn't care who I was. She didn't care that her fiancé was snoring five feet away.
Clarice climbed straight into my lap, grinding against me, whispering filthy things in my ear while her hands fumbled with my belt.
I didn't hold back. I dragged her onto the dining table, flipped her around, yanked her dress up to her waist, and took her virginity right there, bent over the polished marble while Jilk slept like the dead.
She moaned like a bitch in heat, loud enough to echo through the hall, begging me to go harder as I pounded into her from behind that I'm still surprised Jilk didn't wake up.
When she finally woke up sober and fully conscious, the horror of what she had done crashed down on her.
Clarice was terrified and tried to escape, to pretend it never happened.
I kept her there, pulled her back, and spent the next two days fucking her in every corner of the palace: against the balcony railing, on the silk sheets of my bed, in the shower, on the grand staircase.
The final time I pinned her down in a deep mating press, slamming into her until her eyes rolled back, tongue lolling, drooling, passing out from the sheer intensity while I pumped load after load deep inside her womb.
Every second was recorded.
Crystal-clear footage from the hidden cameras I'd installed everywhere.
Her first desperate seduction, her shameless moans, every position, every orgasm; everything was saved forever.
It's because of this irrefutable evidence that she has always remained compliant, never daring to speak a word about the incident to anyone.
But now, with her engagement broken and her social standing in tatters, the dam of her composure has finally broken, leading to her recent outburst.
And now, here we are.
Clarice is sitting on the edge of her bed in her dormitory room aboard this sophisticated airship, wearing nothing but a set of sexy black lingerie that hugs her curves.
Her nipples poke hard against the lace, her thighs already glistening.
She stares at me with a deliberately seductive gaze.
"Your Highness," she purrs, "do you dare to claim me now, in front of everyone? Do you dare to mark me as yours? Let my moans spread through these walls and let them all know that I am nothing more than your personal slut..."
I cut her off sharply, my voice leaving no room for her games. "Since you already know you're a slut, then you should also know that I don't take orders from a slut, Clarice."
I looked down at her, my expression cold and commanding. "On your knees. Open your mouth. Prove to me that you're even qualified to be my slut."
"Yes, Your Highness!" Clarice saluted playfully, a flicker of her old fire returning, before she eagerly dropped to her knees before me.
Her smooth hands worked quickly, unbuttoning my trousers and freeing my huge, already hardening cock, which she began to grope and stroke with practiced reverence.
"I guess you're not so bad yourself, huh, Your Highness?" she teased, looking up at me through her eyelashes. "I'm not sure if your precious Angie could even take something this impressive..."
I didn't let her finish. I shoved my cock deep into her mouth without hesitation, cutting off her comparison to Angelica, my official fiancée.
She gags for only a heartbeat before relaxing her throat, taking me deep.
"That's none of your business, slut," I growled, my hand tangling in her orange hair to hold her in place. "Your only job is to suck. Now keep sucking."
She obeyed immediately, finally understanding I was in no mood for her jealous chatter.
A low groan of pleasure escaped my lips as I enjoyed the feeling, her mouth working hard around me, her tongue swirling and her head bobbing as she tried in every way she knew to please me and prove her worth.
It's good to be me, indeed.
...
Your plan had come to fruition.
Every step had been executed flawlessly—each piece moved into place exactly as you intended. Now, nothing could stand in your way. Absolutely nothing.
You, the very embodiment of darkness, had infiltrated the largest holy institution on Earth, embedding yourself within its highest echelon despite being the sworn enemy of light. The irony was almost poetic. With your position secured, you now held absolute control over the very force meant to oppose you.
And with that power came the right to wage Holy War.
At a mere command, you could cleanse the battlefield of all who opposed you—crush every force that so much as hinted at being a threat to your interests.
Even the Counter Force, the so-called will of the planet, whispering its desperate plans into the ears of its chosen heroes—it no longer mattered.
Because now… you were the one listening.
There was nothing they could plot that you wouldn't know. No schemes, no divine intervention, no last-ditch effort from the world itself could undo what you had set into motion.
You had already won.
You were simply operating on a different level now.
No longer a conqueror marching across battlefields—but a ruler pulling the strings from the shadows.
The world thought the Papacy remained untouched, that the great Holy See was still the pillar of faith, guiding its followers through divine will.
But behind its golden halls, behind its hallowed words of faith and salvation…
It was you.
You, controlling it all.
You, wearing the face of Pope Leo I, the gentle, benevolent shepherd of the people.
You, smiling with warmth, with kindness—the same expression the real Pope once wore.
The priest standing beside you had once been your disguise, the one who helped cement your place in the church. But now, his role was over.
He stood there silently, his presence nothing more than a loyal shadow, bound to you for eternity.
But there was no need for him to follow you any longer.
It was time to dismiss him.
Of course, you couldn't simply erase him without reason. That would draw unwanted suspicion from both the world and the Counter Force.
No—this required a performance.
A convincing act.
A solid, undeniable reason why you needed to remove him.
And so, with a knowing smirk, you prepared for the final move in this grand deception.
"Father John, I've heard you adopted a girl and placed her in our church as a nun. What exactly is your plan for her?"
Your voice was calm, measured, yet carrying an edge of curiosity that wasn't entirely innocent. The priest before you—Father John—smiled warmly in return, as if he had no recollection of the brutal fate you had bestowed upon him in the past. There was no sign that he had once died by your hands, no trace of the fact that he had been turned into an undead, now eternally bound as a soldier in your shadow legion.
"She will be our pillar of faith and light in the church. Or, if she desires, she may remain as an ordinary nun," Father John answered, his voice carrying the gentle weight of kindness.
A lie.
Or perhaps he truly believed it, despite what you knew about the girl in question.
"Let me speak with her, Father John," you said, a slow smirk playing at your lips. "Someone chosen by you could never be ordinary."
Father John nodded and led you through the church's dimly lit corridors, toward his humble residence. The scent of burning incense still lingered in the air, blending with the distant echoes of whispered prayers from the faithful. When you finally reached the chamber, the door creaked open, revealing a young girl seated inside, her delicate fingers tracing the edges of a holy scripture as she read.
She was beautiful in an unnatural way—silver hair cascading over her shoulders, skin pale as moonlight, eyes hollow yet haunting. There was something off about her, something that made even the flickering candlelight struggle to touch her properly.
Father John's expression softened with an almost fatherly affection as he turned to her.
"Prelati, meet Pope Leo." He gestured toward you with reverence before turning back to her. "Pope Leo, this is my daughter—Francesca Prelati."
At the sound of her name, the girl slowly lowered her book, her gaze lifting to meet yours.
Unlike the many believers and citizens of Rome who gazed at you in awe, their eyes filled with blind faith, hers held nothing.
No admiration. No reverence.
Just emptiness.
And then—one word left her lips, quiet yet piercing.
"Why...?"
She didn't introduce herself. She didn't bow. She didn't offer respect or even pretend to.
She simply asked—why.
A single word, yet layered with countless questions.
And you, of course, already knew what she truly wanted to ask.
"You will replace your father, my child," you said, your tone both gentle and absolute. "You have so much potential... so much power hidden inside you. A destiny greater than this—greater than these walls, greater than their prayers. I can train you. I can mold you into something far beyond what this place could ever offer."
You leaned in slightly, your hand brushing against her silver locks, stroking her hair with the kind of care that masked dangerous intentions.
"Or..." you mused, tilting your head slightly, "...are you truly content with this quiet little life?"
She didn't flinch at your touch. She didn't shy away.
Instead, she held your gaze—unwavering, unshaken.
Eyes as bottomless as the abyss.
Then she spoke, her voice cold, yet laced with understanding.
"You see through me, old man."
A small, almost amused smirk touched the corner of her lips—mocking, unafraid.
"You know I'm not the girl you're looking for."
There was no hesitation. No self-doubt. No belief that she was unworthy of your offer.
No—her rejection wasn't out of weakness, but out of something far more dangerous.
Because you had seen through her, through the carefully woven illusion she played for others.
She was never meant to be an obedient, gentle little nun.
Her eyes already told you the truth—she was the kind of girl who would let the world burn if it meant she wouldn't have to suffer.
A selfish creature. A dangerous one. A perfect candidate.
"The grace of God is vast as the sea, my child," you said, your voice laced with amusement. "We do not judge who you are. Only how firm your faith is. You pray to Him, you believe in His teachings, and that is enough."
Your smile widened ever so slightly.
"But tell me—will you come with me and face your destiny? Or do you wish to stay here, wasting yourself away in mediocrity?"
You chuckled, as if all of this was just an entertaining game to you.
"Or perhaps..." you mused, eyes gleaming with knowing, "you believe that becoming Merlin's disciple is the better choice?"
The moment you spoke his name, her entire body stiffened.
The flicker of disbelief in her eyes was brief, but it was there.
You had caught her off guard.
"How did you know?" she whispered, her voice no longer cold—but genuinely shaken.
"The God knows, my child. How could you ever hide from Him?"
Your voice was soft, almost fatherly, as your fingers moved through her hair—slow, deliberate strokes that carried the warmth of a gentle guardian. It was not a touch of force, nor of possession, but one that lingered with purpose, as if cherishing her.
Francesca stiffened beneath your touch. Her breath hitched, her body tensing as if her very soul was rejecting the affection you offered. Her eyes, once hollow and devoid of faith, flickered with something more conflicted—a question, a hesitation.
And yet—she did not pull away.
Your fingers continued to stroke through her hair, threading through the soft strands, cradling her like a child that had never known love.
Her lips parted, her voice barely above a whisper.
"What would happen if I refused?"
"You can refuse," you assured her, your tone unshaken, unwavering. "But remember, child—God always remembers. Even if you cannot see it now, even if the present blinds you, the future holds His judgment. He never forgets."
Slowly, deliberately, you released her. The weight of your touch disappeared, leaving behind the unmistakable sensation of freedom—a choice that was now hers alone.
You turned to Father John, your voice steady.
"Let's go, Father John. We shall give the child some space."
The priest nodded in solemn understanding, his movements calm and measured.
But before you could take a step, before you could walk away—
A desperate hand clutched at your robe.
Fingers trembled against the holy fabric, tightening as if the very act of letting go would tear something vital from her soul.
Her eyes—once empty, once dead—now burned with something else.
Hatred.
Not towards you. Not towards Father John.
Towards Him.
"Why?" Her voice wavered, but beneath it was rage. "Why doesn't God want me to leave?"
The venom in her tone was undeniable. This was not the lost, fragile girl who had once drifted through faith without question. This was someone awakening—someone realizing the chains that bound her, someone who did not accept her fate.
She had thought herself abandoned, unworthy. And yet, the moment she considered leaving, the weight of His memory choked her, reminding her that even in betrayal, even in defiance—
He would never forget.
And she hated it.
You gazed at her with patience, with understanding. But your words remained the same.
"It is not for me to suggest, my child. You are free to leave."
Gently, you took her hand, prying her fingers from your robe with the same tenderness as a father guiding a lost child. There was no force, no condemnation, only a quiet, unshaken faith.
But Francesca hesitated.
For the first time, she hesitated not because she was lost—but because she finally knew what she wanted.
Her eyelids dropped slightly, her breath coming out slow, measured.
"I hate Him," she whispered, her voice almost trembling.
Then, stronger, more certain: "I hate God."
She lifted her gaze to meet yours, eyes no longer empty—but filled with defiance, with rebellion, with a desperate hunger.
"Teach me, teacher," she pleaded, voice thick with something dark, something twisted. "Teach me how to take revenge on God."
But your voice did not waver.
"No, child. I will never teach you against Him."
She blinked. And then, without missing a beat, her tone shifted.
"Then teach me how to be free."
Her voice was like a blade—sharp, determined.
"Until I am strong enough," she continued, her grip tightening again, "to tear myself away from all of this."
For the first time, you smiled.
A true smile.
Not the hollow, hypocritical smile of the Church. Not the false warmth of empty faith.
A genuine, undeniable warmth.
"Come with me, child," you said, voice filled with promise. "I will show you the correct way."
Francesca stared at you, then slowly, obediently, she rose to her feet.
She followed you.
With unwavering submission and faith.
Chapter 1: Let the game begin!
When others chickened out and ran away like bitches, our MC sat on the bench silently while Sun Wukong wreaked havoc in the street, causing a commotion in Fuyuki City.
He hoped that Sun Wukong would kill him along with those folks; there was no hope for him alive in the first place anyway.
Especially since he had no golden finger.
Rather than dying under the experimentation of a magus passing by, he chose a quick death at the hands of God.
As soon as he crossed over, he was thrown into some serious bullshit.
If no one is targeting him, he doesn't believe it.
After all, in Campione, there is no plot about Sun Wukong suddenly wreaking havoc in the middle of a park, especially where he crossed into this world.
Moreover, the name of Fuyuki City is enough to make him guess who's responsible for it.
Who else except Alaya and Gaia?
It's not that he was cynical about it, but as someone who researched the Fate world, there was no one better than him who knew how the Fate world worked, especially when mixed with the Campione world.
He knew that this world was very unfriendly to a traverser like him.
His fate would be like that of heroic spirits in the past—dying because of various accidents or, worse, being used as an experiment by magi and targeted by the will of the world in various ways.
Gaia and Alaya were very malicious to beings like him, so it wasn't surprising that this incident was caused by them to kill him.
Even Artoria Pendragon couldn't escape from their poisonous hands.
Falling in love with Emiya Shirou was arranged by them, so she would give up her plan to resurrect Britannia and participate in various scams in the Holy Grail War with the evils of the world.
She won the Holy Grail Wars, but she got nothing.
The Counter Forces themselves promised her that as long as she won, she would get what she wished for, but the truth was that what she got was a scam.
Even Artoria fell into their trap; how could he compare with a hero?
At least dying at the hand of God was not a bad way to die—it was better than dying at the hand of an asshole like a magus.
So, he wouldn't run away like a bitch like them, but face death like the man his parents raised him to be.
Oddly, Sun Wukong didn't target him at all. Instead, she sat on the bench beside him, grinning ear to ear as if the destruction in front of them was none of her fucking business.
Did I forget to mention that Sun Wukong is a woman? Indeed, she is.
"Do you know why I didn't finish you like I finished them off, young one?" she asked.
"You have the perfect answer for my trouble. Even Alaya decided to off you with her own hand by sending me here, but no. I'm not here to become her puppet. I'm here to send a message."
"And you are the perfect fit for the criteria of a delivery boy who could send them a message."
"How about we become friends first before we talk about the message?"
"It's not your usual day to become friends with a deity, is it? Especially a heretic one," Sun Wukong chuckled mischievously.
She was intrigued by this guy's calm demeanor in front of chaos, reminding her of when she faced off with a coalition of Buddhas head-on.
Instead of fearing them, she embraced them and determined to teach Buddha's lesson.
She showed no hesitation in giving him an invitation to become her friend for the calmness he showed in front of a god.
"How about it, young man? Do you want to become a friend of a god?"
"It's an honor for me to become friends with a god. Probably my name would be recorded in history because of it?"
"You sound like you think what I said was an invitation to death, young man," Sun Wukong amusedly replied.
"Well, becoming a messenger of God seems like a death sentence for me," he chuckled.
"Nonetheless, I accept your offer, Sun Wukong. If death is the answer to my vengeance against them, then I will accept your invitation of death."
"Since you accept my friendship, then let me explain who this chick Alaya is."
The knowledge Sun Wukong shared with him was no different from the knowledge he knew from the Fate World.
They were still meddling cosmic bullies seeking targets among weaker parties with the potential to threaten their existence.
"Become a Campione, young man, only by becoming a Godslayer that you have the qualification to spit on them and become the perfect messenger for me, Sun Wukong."
"Pardon?" he said, confused about why becoming a Campione really mattered.
Moreover, did gods really easy to be killed at will?
If they were as easy to pick as cabbages, he would have become a Campione long ago.
"There is no time for explanation, young man. You only need to know that a Campione would be blessed by the power of the very existence they killed."
"You will meet Pandora in the future; let her explain, or the person on the ground for that job."
"You only need to answer: Do you want to become a Campione or not?"
"This would define what kind of individual you are as a person."
"Will you become a victim of the machinations of Fate or crush them?"
"The choice is yours."
[Congratulations, Player, you have been granted the power of choice to control and shape the narrative, to alter the foundation of fate and the fabric of reality itself. Choose wisely.]
Option 1: Accept Sun Wukong's offer and become a Campione.
1. Sun Wukong +20 affection
2. Sun Wukong +20 trust
3. Gain all of her powers from myth.
4. Open path to Pandora's route.
Hint: When you choose this path, you will establish yourself as Pandora's ally and a Campione; her help would be crucial to your future. Even Gaia and Alaya would need to think twice before messing with her.
Option 2: Reject her on the ground. You don't want to be a Campione but be taught by her personally.
1. Sun Wukong +40 affection
2. All knowledge and martial arts that Sun Wukong learned in life.
3. Open path to Sun Wukong's route.
Hint: You will gain an opportunity to romance the deity herself. However, if you choose this path, you will miss the opportunity to align yourself with Pandora. She will not help anyone who is not her child. Moreover, this path is riskier because Alaya and Gaia's hostility towards you is so great that if you fail to complete this path, you and Sun Wukong would encounter true death.
Option 3: Refuse both of them. You don't want to participate in the cosmic game between them.
1. Gain neutrality from Alaya and Gaia.
2. Third Magic.
3. Open path to the Holy Grail War's route.
Hint: By refusing Sun Wukong's offer, you will greatly reduce the vigilance and hostility of Alaya and Gaia. They will probably try to recruit you to their cause and throw you into the Holy Grail War, asking you to destroy them in return. They will not intervene with you ever again and give you nice boons for your service. Whether you will try to stab them in the back or be truly loyal to them, only time will tell.
When he wanted to accept, suddenly, a bunch of wall of text appeared in front of him.
The time suddenly came to a halt when the choice was present before him, making him believe that the golden finger in front of him was bloody real.
Only he who stood still could move freely, while the rest were frozen like statues.
Even Sun Wukong was no exception.
So, what should he choose?
...
Your plan had come to fruition.
Every step had been executed flawlessly—each piece moved into place exactly as you intended. Now, nothing could stand in your way. Absolutely nothing.
You, the very embodiment of darkness, had infiltrated the largest holy institution on Earth, embedding yourself within its highest echelon despite being the sworn enemy of light. The irony was almost poetic. With your position secured, you now held absolute control over the very force meant to oppose you.
And with that power came the right to wage Holy War.
At a mere command, you could cleanse the battlefield of all who opposed you—crush every force that so much as hinted at being a threat to your interests.
Even the Counter Force, the so-called will of the planet, whispering its desperate plans into the ears of its chosen heroes—it no longer mattered.
Because now… you were the one listening.
There was nothing they could plot that you wouldn't know. No schemes, no divine intervention, no last-ditch effort from the world itself could undo what you had set into motion.
You had already won.
You were simply operating on a different level now.
No longer a conqueror marching across battlefields—but a ruler pulling the strings from the shadows.
The world thought the Papacy remained untouched, that the great Holy See was still the pillar of faith, guiding its followers through divine will.
But behind its golden halls, behind its hallowed words of faith and salvation…
It was you.
You, controlling it all.
You, wearing the face of Pope Leo I, the gentle, benevolent shepherd of the people.
You, smiling with warmth, with kindness—the same expression the real Pope once wore.
The priest standing beside you had once been your disguise, the one who helped cement your place in the church. But now, his role was over.
He stood there silently, his presence nothing more than a loyal shadow, bound to you for eternity.
But there was no need for him to follow you any longer.
It was time to dismiss him.
Of course, you couldn't simply erase him without reason. That would draw unwanted suspicion from both the world and the Counter Force.
No—this required a performance.
A convincing act.
A solid, undeniable reason why you needed to remove him.
And so, with a knowing smirk, you prepared for the final move in this grand deception.
"Father John, I've heard you adopted a girl and placed her in our church as a nun. What exactly is your plan for her?"
Your voice was calm, measured, yet carrying an edge of curiosity that wasn't entirely innocent. The priest before you—Father John—smiled warmly in return, as if he had no recollection of the brutal fate you had bestowed upon him in the past. There was no sign that he had once died by your hands, no trace of the fact that he had been turned into an undead, now eternally bound as a soldier in your shadow legion.
"She will be our pillar of faith and light in the church. Or, if she desires, she may remain as an ordinary nun," Father John answered, his voice carrying the gentle weight of kindness.
A lie.
Or perhaps he truly believed it, despite what you knew about the girl in question.
"Let me speak with her, Father John," you said, a slow smirk playing at your lips. "Someone chosen by you could never be ordinary."
Father John nodded and led you through the church's dimly lit corridors, toward his humble residence. The scent of burning incense still lingered in the air, blending with the distant echoes of whispered prayers from the faithful. When you finally reached the chamber, the door creaked open, revealing a young girl seated inside, her delicate fingers tracing the edges of a holy scripture as she read.
She was beautiful in an unnatural way—silver hair cascading over her shoulders, skin pale as moonlight, eyes hollow yet haunting. There was something off about her, something that made even the flickering candlelight struggle to touch her properly.
Father John's expression softened with an almost fatherly affection as he turned to her.
"Prelati, meet Pope Leo." He gestured toward you with reverence before turning back to her. "Pope Leo, this is my daughter—Francesca Prelati."
At the sound of her name, the girl slowly lowered her book, her gaze lifting to meet yours.
Unlike the many believers and citizens of Rome who gazed at you in awe, their eyes filled with blind faith, hers held nothing.
No admiration. No reverence.
Just emptiness.
And then—one word left her lips, quiet yet piercing.
"Why...?"
She didn't introduce herself. She didn't bow. She didn't offer respect or even pretend to.
She simply asked—why.
A single word, yet layered with countless questions.
And you, of course, already knew what she truly wanted to ask.
"You will replace your father, my child," you said, your tone both gentle and absolute. "You have so much potential... so much power hidden inside you. A destiny greater than this—greater than these walls, greater than their prayers. I can train you. I can mold you into something far beyond what this place could ever offer."
You leaned in slightly, your hand brushing against her silver locks, stroking her hair with the kind of care that masked dangerous intentions.
"Or..." you mused, tilting your head slightly, "...are you truly content with this quiet little life?"
She didn't flinch at your touch. She didn't shy away.
Instead, she held your gaze—unwavering, unshaken.
Eyes as bottomless as the abyss.
Then she spoke, her voice cold, yet laced with understanding.
"You see through me, old man."
A small, almost amused smirk touched the corner of her lips—mocking, unafraid.
"You know I'm not the girl you're looking for."
There was no hesitation. No self-doubt. No belief that she was unworthy of your offer.
No—her rejection wasn't out of weakness, but out of something far more dangerous.
Because you had seen through her, through the carefully woven illusion she played for others.
She was never meant to be an obedient, gentle little nun.
Her eyes already told you the truth—she was the kind of girl who would let the world burn if it meant she wouldn't have to suffer.
A selfish creature. A dangerous one. A perfect candidate.
"The grace of God is vast as the sea, my child," you said, your voice laced with amusement. "We do not judge who you are. Only how firm your faith is. You pray to Him, you believe in His teachings, and that is enough."
Your smile widened ever so slightly.
"But tell me—will you come with me and face your destiny? Or do you wish to stay here, wasting yourself away in mediocrity?"
You chuckled, as if all of this was just an entertaining game to you.
"Or perhaps..." you mused, eyes gleaming with knowing, "you believe that becoming Merlin's disciple is the better choice?"
The moment you spoke his name, her entire body stiffened.
The flicker of disbelief in her eyes was brief, but it was there.
You had caught her off guard.
"How did you know?" she whispered, her voice no longer cold—but genuinely shaken.
"The God knows, my child. How could you ever hide from Him?"
Your voice was soft, almost fatherly, as your fingers moved through her hair—slow, deliberate strokes that carried the warmth of a gentle guardian. It was not a touch of force, nor of possession, but one that lingered with purpose, as if cherishing her.
Francesca stiffened beneath your touch. Her breath hitched, her body tensing as if her very soul was rejecting the affection you offered. Her eyes, once hollow and devoid of faith, flickered with something more conflicted—a question, a hesitation.
And yet—she did not pull away.
Your fingers continued to stroke through her hair, threading through the soft strands, cradling her like a child that had never known love.
Her lips parted, her voice barely above a whisper.
"What would happen if I refused?"
"You can refuse," you assured her, your tone unshaken, unwavering. "But remember, child—God always remembers. Even if you cannot see it now, even if the present blinds you, the future holds His judgment. He never forgets."
Slowly, deliberately, you released her. The weight of your touch disappeared, leaving behind the unmistakable sensation of freedom—a choice that was now hers alone.
You turned to Father John, your voice steady.
"Let's go, Father John. We shall give the child some space."
The priest nodded in solemn understanding, his movements calm and measured.
But before you could take a step, before you could walk away—
A desperate hand clutched at your robe.
Fingers trembled against the holy fabric, tightening as if the very act of letting go would tear something vital from her soul.
Her eyes—once empty, once dead—now burned with something else.
Hatred.
Not towards you. Not towards Father John.
Towards Him.
"Why?" Her voice wavered, but beneath it was rage. "Why doesn't God want me to leave?"
The venom in her tone was undeniable. This was not the lost, fragile girl who had once drifted through faith without question. This was someone awakening—someone realizing the chains that bound her, someone who did not accept her fate.
She had thought herself abandoned, unworthy. And yet, the moment she considered leaving, the weight of His memory choked her, reminding her that even in betrayal, even in defiance—
He would never forget.
And she hated it.
You gazed at her with patience, with understanding. But your words remained the same.
"It is not for me to suggest, my child. You are free to leave."
Gently, you took her hand, prying her fingers from your robe with the same tenderness as a father guiding a lost child. There was no force, no condemnation, only a quiet, unshaken faith.
But Francesca hesitated.
For the first time, she hesitated not because she was lost—but because she finally knew what she wanted.
Her eyelids dropped slightly, her breath coming out slow, measured.
"I hate Him," she whispered, her voice almost trembling.
Then, stronger, more certain: "I hate God."
She lifted her gaze to meet yours, eyes no longer empty—but filled with defiance, with rebellion, with a desperate hunger.
"Teach me, teacher," she pleaded, voice thick with something dark, something twisted. "Teach me how to take revenge on God."
But your voice did not waver.
"No, child. I will never teach you against Him."
She blinked. And then, without missing a beat, her tone shifted.
"Then teach me how to be free."
Her voice was like a blade—sharp, determined.
"Until I am strong enough," she continued, her grip tightening again, "to tear myself away from all of this."
For the first time, you smiled.
A true smile.
Not the hollow, hypocritical smile of the Church. Not the false warmth of empty faith.
A genuine, undeniable warmth.
"Come with me, child," you said, voice filled with promise. "I will show you the correct way."
Francesca stared at you, then slowly, obediently, she rose to her feet.
She followed you.
With unwavering submission and faith.
Chapter 1: Let the game begin!
When others chickened out and ran away like bitches, our MC sat on the bench silently while Sun Wukong wreaked havoc in the street, causing a commotion in Fuyuki City.
He hoped that Sun Wukong would kill him along with those folks; there was no hope for him alive in the first place anyway.
Especially since he had no golden finger.
Rather than dying under the experimentation of a magus passing by, he chose a quick death at the hands of God.
As soon as he crossed over, he was thrown into some serious bullshit.
If no one is targeting him, he doesn't believe it.
After all, in Campione, there is no plot about Sun Wukong suddenly wreaking havoc in the middle of a park, especially where he crossed into this world.
Moreover, the name of Fuyuki City is enough to make him guess who's responsible for it.
Who else except Alaya and Gaia?
It's not that he was cynical about it, but as someone who researched the Fate world, there was no one better than him who knew how the Fate world worked, especially when mixed with the Campione world.
He knew that this world was very unfriendly to a traverser like him.
His fate would be like that of heroic spirits in the past—dying because of various accidents or, worse, being used as an experiment by magi and targeted by the will of the world in various ways.
Gaia and Alaya were very malicious to beings like him, so it wasn't surprising that this incident was caused by them to kill him.
Even Artoria Pendragon couldn't escape from their poisonous hands.
Falling in love with Emiya Shirou was arranged by them, so she would give up her plan to resurrect Britannia and participate in various scams in the Holy Grail War with the evils of the world.
She won the Holy Grail Wars, but she got nothing.
The Counter Forces themselves promised her that as long as she won, she would get what she wished for, but the truth was that what she got was a scam.
Even Artoria fell into their trap; how could he compare with a hero?
At least dying at the hand of God was not a bad way to die—it was better than dying at the hand of an asshole like a magus.
So, he wouldn't run away like a bitch like them, but face death like the man his parents raised him to be.
Oddly, Sun Wukong didn't target him at all. Instead, she sat on the bench beside him, grinning ear to ear as if the destruction in front of them was none of her fucking business.
Did I forget to mention that Sun Wukong is a woman? Indeed, she is.
"Do you know why I didn't finish you like I finished them off, young one?" she asked.
"You have the perfect answer for my trouble. Even Alaya decided to off you with her own hand by sending me here, but no. I'm not here to become her puppet. I'm here to send a message."
"And you are the perfect fit for the criteria of a delivery boy who could send them a message."
"How about we become friends first before we talk about the message?"
"It's not your usual day to become friends with a deity, is it? Especially a heretic one," Sun Wukong chuckled mischievously.
She was intrigued by this guy's calm demeanor in front of chaos, reminding her of when she faced off with a coalition of Buddhas head-on.
Instead of fearing them, she embraced them and determined to teach Buddha's lesson.
She showed no hesitation in giving him an invitation to become her friend for the calmness he showed in front of a god.
"How about it, young man? Do you want to become a friend of a god?"
"It's an honor for me to become friends with a god. Probably my name would be recorded in history because of it?"
"You sound like you think what I said was an invitation to death, young man," Sun Wukong amusedly replied.
"Well, becoming a messenger of God seems like a death sentence for me," he chuckled.
"Nonetheless, I accept your offer, Sun Wukong. If death is the answer to my vengeance against them, then I will accept your invitation of death."
"Since you accept my friendship, then let me explain who this chick Alaya is."
The knowledge Sun Wukong shared with him was no different from the knowledge he knew from the Fate World.
They were still meddling cosmic bullies seeking targets among weaker parties with the potential to threaten their existence.
"Become a Campione, young man, only by becoming a Godslayer that you have the qualification to spit on them and become the perfect messenger for me, Sun Wukong."
"Pardon?" he said, confused about why becoming a Campione really mattered.
Moreover, did gods really easy to be killed at will?
If they were as easy to pick as cabbages, he would have become a Campione long ago.
"There is no time for explanation, young man. You only need to know that a Campione would be blessed by the power of the very existence they killed."
"You will meet Pandora in the future; let her explain, or the person on the ground for that job."
"You only need to answer: Do you want to become a Campione or not?"
"This would define what kind of individual you are as a person."
"Will you become a victim of the machinations of Fate or crush them?"
"The choice is yours."
[Congratulations, Player, you have been granted the power of choice to control and shape the narrative, to alter the foundation of fate and the fabric of reality itself. Choose wisely.]
Option 1: Accept Sun Wukong's offer and become a Campione.
1. Sun Wukong +20 affection
2. Sun Wukong +20 trust
3. Gain all of her powers from myth.
4. Open path to Pandora's route.
Hint: When you choose this path, you will establish yourself as Pandora's ally and a Campione; her help would be crucial to your future. Even Gaia and Alaya would need to think twice before messing with her.
Option 2: Reject her on the ground. You don't want to be a Campione but be taught by her personally.
1. Sun Wukong +40 affection
2. All knowledge and martial arts that Sun Wukong learned in life.
3. Open path to Sun Wukong's route.
Hint: You will gain an opportunity to romance the deity herself. However, if you choose this path, you will miss the opportunity to align yourself with Pandora. She will not help anyone who is not her child. Moreover, this path is riskier because Alaya and Gaia's hostility towards you is so great that if you fail to complete this path, you and Sun Wukong would encounter true death.
Option 3: Refuse both of them. You don't want to participate in the cosmic game between them.
1. Gain neutrality from Alaya and Gaia.
2. Third Magic.
3. Open path to the Holy Grail War's route.
Hint: By refusing Sun Wukong's offer, you will greatly reduce the vigilance and hostility of Alaya and Gaia. They will probably try to recruit you to their cause and throw you into the Holy Grail War, asking you to destroy them in return. They will not intervene with you ever again and give you nice boons for your service. Whether you will try to stab them in the back or be truly loyal to them, only time will tell.
When he wanted to accept, suddenly, a bunch of wall of text appeared in front of him.
The time suddenly came to a halt when the choice was present before him, making him believe that the golden finger in front of him was bloody real.
Only he who stood still could move freely, while the rest were frozen like statues.
Even Sun Wukong was no exception.
So, what should he choose?
...
Chapter 1: Crown Prince Privilege (R-18)
As I stood on the polished deck of the airship, my gaze drifted downward, sweeping over the endless tapestry of floating islands that stretched out beneath us.
A profound, gut-deep sense of boredom began to creep into my mind, a heavy and familiar weight.
Is this really it? This otome game world?
It's so boring.
And so utterly predictable.
The air was thick with the sound of it. The high, artificial laughter of noble girls filled the space, their gossip a meaningless drone. The noble boys weren't any better, huddled together and whispering about which girl they wanted to screw or date.
Over in the corners, the lowborn students shivered, the boys staring with a pathetic mix of desire and inferiority, while the lowborn girls shot calculated glances at the highborn nobles.
I could practically read their thoughts, figuring out which noble cock would be the most worthwhile to suck for a quick ticket up the social ladder.
Sometimes, I genuinely hated how repetitive their entire existence was.
The conversations were a broken record, the ambitions so naked and shallow.
And I was the center of it all. There was never a shortage of girls, noble and commoner alike, angling to earn my favor, desperate for a chance to suck my dick and secure a place in my orbit.
After all, I am the Crown Prince, the most powerful and desirable man in the Holfort Kingdom.
Well, when the boredom becomes too much to bear, I don't mind playing their little game.
I'd drag whichever pretty thing caught my eye into a dark corridor of the palace, shove her short academy skirt up to her waist, and fuck her senseless against the cold stone wall until she couldn't remember her own name.
If she's a virgin, she becomes my maid, I take the first blood, I claim her.
Simple.
If she's NOT a virgin, meaning her hymen wasn't broken by me? I shove money in her hands and throw her out. I'm done with her the moment I'm finished.
Yeah, yeah, I know someone's gonna say:
"Bro, hymens can break from sports, exercise, or accidents! You can't judge a virgin by that!"
Let me stop you right there. This is an anime world.
In hentai, in ecchi, in every anime logic scenario ever, a girl bleeds when it's her first time no matter if she's an athlete, a nerd, a fighter, a damn gymnast.
First time = hymen breaking + blood.
Simple.
This world follows THAT logic.
Not biology class.
The girl standing beside me pulled me from my thoughts. She had vibrant orange hair, sharp green eyes, and a body that was both well-endowed and gorgeously proportioned.
Right now, a deep scowl was etched onto her beautiful face, her mind undoubtedly racing, trying to figure out what new scheme I was concocting.
She was visibly pissed off, and she had every right to be. The glare she shot me was sharp enough to cut glass.
Yet, her tone, when she spoke, was forcibly polite, strained through the rigid filter of my royal status.
"Are you doing this deliberately, Your Highness?" she asked, her voice tight. "Do you have any idea how long I had been looking forward to the engagement between me and..."
Her words hit a wall.
She couldn't finish her sentence.
The memory of it, the public humiliation, the moment her ex-fiancé coldly declared she was no longer fit to be his bride was too much.
Her composure shattered, and she broke down right there on the deck, her body shaking with silent, helpless sobs.
Of course, that little detail about her feelings isn't the point. The real point, in her opinion, is that her fiancé breaking up with her was a deliberate trap set by me, the Crown Prince who stood before her now.
That fiancé, Jilk, wasn't just some random noble. He was one of my entourage. But again, that's not the point either.
The real point is what's happening in her head right now. She's remembering how I, this bastard prince, systematically took advantage of her trust.
She's replaying the memory of how, after I took her virginity in that first, supposedly secret encounter, I started forcing her to keep having sex with me.
I used the threat of exposing our affair to Jilk to make her comply, turning her own fear into my leash.
Looking back, how could she not have been suspicious?
The timing was too perfect.
This whole chain of events—Jilk's cold dismissal, the sudden end of their engagement, it all started right after I first had her.
The pieces were all there if she'd dared to put them together.
Moreover, my methods weren't exactly subtle. I always insisted on raw, unprotected sex. I pushed her legs apart and creampied her deep inside her pussy, over and over again, filling her up until it dripped down her thighs while growling that she wasn't allowed to take any contraceptives.
My intention was blatantly obvious: I wanted to knock her up. I wanted to put my child in her womb, to brand her as mine permanently.
I had absolutely no intention of letting her picture-perfect relationship with Jilk continue.
"Well, that's very much hurtful, Clarice," I said, looking at her with a mask of feigned injury.
My voice was a masterclass in false sincerity. "I never interfere with your love life, do I? Jilk was obviously the one who dumped you. What does that have to do with me?"
My eyes, however, betrayed the act, gleaming with nothing but cold amusement at her entire predicament.
"You...!" Clarice spat out, her composure finally snapping as she pointed a trembling finger directly at my face.
The scene instantly drew attention.
A bunch of those spoiled noble brats stopped their mindless chatter, their heads swiveling in unison to stare at us.
Their whispers began to weave through the air, a hushed, judgmental chorus.
"What's wrong with Clarice?"
"How dare a mere earl's daughter point her finger at the Crown Prince?"
"Is she tired of living?"
I kept my infuriating smile firmly in place as I watched her. "Well, you know, there's no point in staying angry at the wrong person. If you need to hate someone, hate Jilk. I never had the time or the inclination to manage who he falls in love with."
It was a perfect, placid lie, delivered with a shrug.
Clarice let out a heavy, defeated sigh as she finally noticed the weight of the stares and the rising tide of whispers around us.
The fight seemed to drain out of her, replaced by a numb exhaustion.
"Whatever..." she murmured, her voice hollow.
Then, she did something that truly surprised me.
She looked directly at me, her eyes holding a challenge laced with self-destructive fury.
"Come to my room with me." Her voice was low, but clear enough for those nearby to catch. "Since Jilk didn't want me, let's see if he can keep calm after he finds out his ex-fiancée is sleeping with his best friend and his beloved prince."
Okay...
This woman was clearly broken.
There were people everywhere, noble peers who could destroy her reputation with a few well-placed words, yet she had just blatantly, publicly invited the Crown Prince to her bedroom for sex.
I didn't know whether I should admire her sheer courage or be concerned by her palpable madness.
However, I didn't retreat or hesitate. I knew better. I understood that in this raw, vulnerable moment, this woman wasn't seeking gentle comfort. She wanted something intense, something destructive. She wanted a partner who wouldn't abandon her scene, who was willing to dive headfirst into her madness and match her self-destructive spiral.
If I chickened out now, if I left her to face the social slaughter alone after she'd thrown down the gauntlet, our entire arrangement would be over. The delicate threat I used to keep her having sex with me—the threat to her relationship with Jilk—was now useless.
That bridge was already burned to ash. She had nothing left to lose, and if I failed her now, I would lose my hold over her completely.
In the past, it was all thanks to my close friendship with Jilk that this was even possible. He trusted me so completely that he thought nothing of bringing his own fiancée to my private palace on my personal floating island, introducing her to me.
We shared a lavish meal, eating with relish and drinking until we were all thoroughly drunk. Jilk, unable to hold his liquor, eventually passed out cold right there in the middle of the dining room. Meanwhile, Clarice, after unknowingly drinking the powerful lust potion I had slipped into her wine—a special concoction I'd acquired from the black market—was becoming hot and sexually aroused beyond her control.
Her cheeks flushed crimson, her thighs rubbed together, and her breathing turned shallow and needy.
Her lust skyrocketed a hundredfold.
She didn't care who I was. She didn't care that her fiancé was snoring five feet away.
Clarice climbed straight into my lap, grinding against me, whispering filthy things in my ear while her hands fumbled with my belt.
I didn't hold back. I dragged her onto the dining table, flipped her around, yanked her dress up to her waist, and took her virginity right there, bent over the polished marble while Jilk slept like the dead.
She moaned like a bitch in heat, loud enough to echo through the hall, begging me to go harder as I pounded into her from behind that I'm still surprised Jilk didn't wake up.
When she finally woke up sober and fully conscious, the horror of what she had done crashed down on her.
Clarice was terrified and tried to escape, to pretend it never happened.
I kept her there, pulled her back, and spent the next two days fucking her in every corner of the palace: against the balcony railing, on the silk sheets of my bed, in the shower, on the grand staircase.
The final time I pinned her down in a deep mating press, slamming into her until her eyes rolled back, tongue lolling, drooling, passing out from the sheer intensity while I pumped load after load deep inside her womb.
Every second was recorded.
Crystal-clear footage from the hidden cameras I'd installed everywhere.
Her first desperate seduction, her shameless moans, every position, every orgasm; everything was saved forever.
It's because of this irrefutable evidence that she has always remained compliant, never daring to speak a word about the incident to anyone.
But now, with her engagement broken and her social standing in tatters, the dam of her composure has finally broken, leading to her recent outburst.
And now, here we are.
Clarice is sitting on the edge of her bed in her dormitory room aboard this sophisticated airship, wearing nothing but a set of sexy black lingerie that hugs her curves.
Her nipples poke hard against the lace, her thighs already glistening.
She stares at me with a deliberately seductive gaze.
"Your Highness," she purrs, "do you dare to claim me now, in front of everyone? Do you dare to mark me as yours? Let my moans spread through these walls and let them all know that I am nothing more than your personal slut..."
I cut her off sharply, my voice leaving no room for her games. "Since you already know you're a slut, then you should also know that I don't take orders from a slut, Clarice."
I looked down at her, my expression cold and commanding. "On your knees. Open your mouth. Prove to me that you're even qualified to be my slut."
"Yes, Your Highness!" Clarice saluted playfully, a flicker of her old fire returning, before she eagerly dropped to her knees before me.
Her smooth hands worked quickly, unbuttoning my trousers and freeing my huge, already hardening cock, which she began to grope and stroke with practiced reverence.
"I guess you're not so bad yourself, huh, Your Highness?" she teased, looking up at me through her eyelashes. "I'm not sure if your precious Angie could even take something this impressive..."
I didn't let her finish. I shoved my cock deep into her mouth without hesitation, cutting off her comparison to Angelica, my official fiancée.
She gags for only a heartbeat before relaxing her throat, taking me deep.
"That's none of your business, slut," I growled, my hand tangling in her orange hair to hold her in place. "Your only job is to suck. Now keep sucking."
She obeyed immediately, finally understanding I was in no mood for her jealous chatter.
A low groan of pleasure escaped my lips as I enjoyed the feeling, her mouth working hard around me, her tongue swirling and her head bobbing as she tried in every way she knew to please me and prove her worth.
It's good to be me, indeed.