"So... you wanna go back home..?" Damien asked, his voice soft in the quiet aftermath of the evening.
Hestia nodded, leaning her head against his arm. "Yeah... Let's go home..."
The walk back to the manor was a quiet communion. Hestia held his hand, cradling it against the soft warmth of her chest as she leaned into his taller frame. There was a comfort in their silence, a mutual need for the sanctuary of familiar walls.
Upon entering, the usual lively hum of the Hestia Familia home was absent, replaced by a deep, almost watchful quiet. "Damien... I'll be in the onsen... Join me later," Hestia said, her voice trailing off as she headed for the bath, seeking solace in the steam.
Damien offered a small, tired smile and a nod, watching her go before he turned his attention to the empty living room and kitchen. A flicker of concern cut through his fatigue. 'Haruhime.'
The silence felt too complete. He moved through the first floor, then took the stairs two at a time, a low-grade alarm tightening his chest. Her assigned room was empty. Hestia's room, empty. He checked the remaining guest rooms, each one still and vacant. A cold prickle ran down his spine. 'My room maybe?' The thought was both a hope and a dread.
He pushed open the door to his own chamber.
The sight that greeted him was not one of danger, but of devastating, deliberate vulnerability.
Haruhime knelt in the center of his bed, bathed in the gentle, flickering glow of numerous candles placed around its perimeter. She was positioned with her legs folded gracefully beneath her, facing him, her back straight. She was utterly, breathtakingly nude. The soft light traced the elegant lines of her body, catching on the gentle swell of her breasts and glistening on the delicate, exposed folds between her thighs. Her golden tail swayed in a slow, hypnotic arc behind her—a vision of a celestial fox, offering herself.
"My Hero... You are back," she breathed, her voice a hushed melody. "I have been waiting for you. This is my thanks to you... I am to offer you my everything. I will belong to you completely." Her Green eyes held a heartbreaking mix of devotion and deep-seated conditioning. "Never have I had a normal life. All I've learned is to be submissive, and subservient, and all I know what to do is how to sexually pleasure a man, as I was trained by the Ishtar girls. My life holds no value for nothing else... So here and now, I offer you myself. As you to be my own personal owner. For being the hero you are."
Damien's eyes widened, taking in the profound tragedy of the scene—the beauty weaponized by trauma. A heavy sigh escaped him, not of annoyance, but of profound sorrow. Without a word, he reached for his jacket hanging by the door and tossed it gently toward her. It settled over her shoulders, the fabric providing a merciful curtain for her breasts and lap.
"Haruhime," he began, his voice calm yet firm as he sat on the edge of the bed beside her. "Why do you think I saved you?"
She looked up at him, her gaze unwavering in its conviction. "Because you are a Hero."
"Would a Hero," he asked gently, "claim a virgin maiden and make her his property only because he saved her?"
She hesitated, her lower lip trembling slightly. "No... He would not. But I am not a maiden. I am no princess. I'm a simple brothel whore who had been sold for mere Valis. You stopped me from suffering that fate, yes... But that is all I know. Everything I have ever learned was to please a man. If all the skills I have are made to pleasure men, and have them enjoy me... Then I thought... by at least submitting to a man who deserves it... An owner who loves me and saves me... You, my hero... then I'll be useful."
Damien's expression softened into a sad smile. He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear she hadn't realized had fallen. "While I appreciate that... and don't get me wrong, I won't deny such an offer might be... compelling... but not now. Not when you have been through so much."
He leaned closer, ensuring his words reached the part of her that was still learning to be a person, not a possession. "Take your time. Learn about me more. Judge if I deserve you. Judge if life with me is as great as you think. Then do this. For now... try to live every moment for your own pleasure, not mine." His voice gained a gentle strength. "Also... you are not useless. I don't know if you remember, but you saved my life with that magic boost. Haruhime... you're a hero, too."
He rose from the bed, giving her space, his figure a silhouette against the candlelight as he moved toward the door.
"I'm a hero...?" The question was a fragile whisper, filled with a dawning, unfamiliar hope.
Damien paused at the threshold, looking back with a warmth that held no demand. "Yes, you are. Now go get some deserved sleep."
He closed the door softly behind him, leaving her not with the emptiness of rejection, but wrapped in the protective fabric of his jacket and the revolutionary idea of her own worth.
.....
The steam from the onsen clung to the evening air, thick and fragrant with mineral spring and cherry blossom. Damien emerged from the shower room, a simple towel slung low around his hips, droplets from his damp hair tracing paths down his defined chest.
"Hestia… you wouldn't believe what just happened," he called out, his voice a mixture of residual adrenaline and relief. "I thought Haruhime was kidnapped and, lo and behold, she was… Whoa."
His words evaporated.
There, on the smooth stone edge of the steaming pool, was Hestia. She was reclined, only her legs dipped into the milky, azure-tinged water. And she was utterly, breathtakingly bare.
The scene hit him with a physical force. Moonlight and lantern glow painted her skin in silver and gold. A single, glistening droplet of onsen water clung to the delicate valley between her breasts—full, rounded, and tipped with peaks that tightened in the cool air. His gaze, helpless, followed that droplet's lazy descent. It traced a shining path over the gentle swell of her breast, down the plane of her stomach, pausing at her navel, before continuing… down.
His knees threatened to buckle. Hestia's legs were parted, open without a hint of shame, and he watched, mesmerized, as that same droplet finally lost its fight with gravity. It slid through the soft, neatly trimmed curls and disappeared between the glistening, delicate folds already gleaming with a different kind of moisture.
"Hi, Damien," she breathed, her voice a husky melody that cut through the steam. "I've been waiting for you." She rose slowly, water sheeting off her naked form, every curve and dip a masterpiece in the hazy light. "I… I am not ready for the real thing. Not yet. But…" She stepped towards him, her eyes holding his with fierce tenderness. "I love you. And I want to prove it. So… let's continue my massage from back then, shall we?"
She took his hand. Her skin was impossibly soft, warm from the water. She led him, wordlessly, to a padded massage table set discreetly in a sheltered corner, surrounded by bamboo screens and floating lanterns.
"Hestia… you don't have to do this," Damien managed, his throat tight. "There's nothing for you to prove. I.."
Her hand moved, not to his face, but to the knot of his towel. With a gentle tug, the fabric fell away. His hardened cock, freed from its constraint, sprang forward with a force that made the thick head slap audibly against her moistened lower lips before rebounding to rest heavily against her abdomen.
"Ahh…!" A sharp, pleasurable gasp escaped her. She looked up at him, her eyes dark and determined. "I think you're ready for this. I am ready for this. So don't stop me." Her palm pressed against his chest, a gentle but insistent force. "Now, lay down."
Objection died before it was born. A dam of desire, built over countless shared looks and charged moments, finally shattered. He lowered himself onto the table, the padding yielding beneath his back.
Hestia didn't hesitate. She climbed atop him, straddling his hips. The wet, heated core of her settled against his straining shaft, a torturous, sublime friction without entry. She leaned down, capturing his lips in a deep, searching kiss that tasted of mint and spring water. Then her mouth moved to his neck, nipping and sucking gently as she began to rock herself against him, sliding her slickness along his length in a slow, deliberate rhythm that drew a ragged groan from his chest.
Her kisses trailed lower—over the hard planes of his pecs, down the defined ridges of his abdomen. "You're so… perfect," she murmured against his skin, her breath hot.
Then her hands found him. One, then two, wrapping around the girth of his cock. A stunned, delighted shock widened her eyes. Even with both her small hands fisted together, a significant, flushed tip and more length remained exposed.
"Damien," she breathed, awe-struck. "Are all men… like this? I look at this… and I have this weird, hungry feeling…"
Damien let out a strained chuckle. "I don't think so. But I'll tell you what to do, if you don't mind?"
"No! Please… tell me."
"Start by kissing it," he guided, his voice rough. "Taste it. Then take it into your mouth, slowly. Don't force it. Just find a rhythm you're comfortable with. Let your instincts guide you."
Nodding with solemn determination, Hestia lowered her head. She placed a reverent kiss on the swollen head, then let her tongue dart out for a tentative taste. A hum of pleasure vibrated in her throat. Salty, musky, uniquely him. The scent was intoxicating, pulling her deeper into a haze of want. She opened her lips, taking as much of him as she could. It was a stretch—her small mouth could only accommodate a portion of his impressive girth—but she persevered, her movements growing bobbing and more confident.
A deep, guttural moan from Damien was all the encouragement she needed. Emboldened, she increased her pace, her movements growing more confident, more frantic. Pleasure began to coil tight in his gut, threatening to snap. In a moment of raw, primal need, his control shattered. His hand came to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair, not to guide but to claim, pushing her down deeper, setting a relentless, demanding rhythm of in and out.
It was intense, almost too much. The stretch burned slightly, the intrusion profound, but the sensation of him taking charge, of being used for his pleasure, sent a violent thrill through her. She could feel her own arousal gushing, a hot trickle down her inner thighs. The pressure within him peaked. With a final, powerful thrust of his hips and a firm hold on her head, he held her deep as he erupted.
Hestia's eyes watered, a tear tracing a path down her flushed cheek as she swallowed convulsively, the thick, warm release flooding her mouth with a taste that was surprisingly, addictively sweet. When he finally released her, she pulled back with a gasp, drawing in ragged breaths before swallowing the last of him. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, looking up at him.
Seeing the dawning horror on his face—the realization that he'd lost control and been too rough—she didn't hesitate. She launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck in a fierce hug.
"Damien! That was... THAT WAS AMAZING!" she cried, her voice vibrating with exhilaration against his shoulder. "I loved it! It was so good.... I've always been afraid of something like this... so depraved, so sexual... But... I loved it! I love you! So, thank you!"
The tension drained from him. He wrapped his arms around her slender back, holding her close. "Me too, Hestia. I loved it. I'm... happy you liked it too."
She pulled back, her eyes shining. "Yeah! I want more! From now on, let's do this at least once a day? Okay?"
A genuine, relieved smile touched his lips. "Sure."
Hestia beamed at him with utter sincerity. Then she felt a distinct, heavy slap against her backside. She glanced over her shoulder. Damien's cock, rigid and undeterred, stood proudly against the small of her back. A slow, wicked smile spread across her face as she turned back to meet his gaze, her own eyes alight with renewed hunger.
It was, indeed, a very long night after that.
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