Chapter 298: Master’s little bitch [1]
The training courtyard looked like a war zone.
Deep trenches gouged the packed earth. The thick morning mist had long since evaporated, burned away by the sheer, explosive friction of their clashing mana.
CLANG!
Arthur was thrown backward again. His boots carved twin grooves into the dirt. He hit the ground hard, rolling over his shoulder just in time to avoid the razor-sharp arc of Samantha’s katana.
The blade sheared cleanly through the stone pillar he had just been standing in front of.
"You’re reacting, not anticipating!" Samantha barked.
She didn’t even sound winded. Her skin-tight black combat suit was slick with a light sheen of sweat, her chest heaving slightly, but her blood-red eyes were as sharp and predatory as ever.
"The Blood Lotus Art isn’t just speed. It’s rhythm. If you can’t read the tempo, you die."
Arthur spat a streak of blood into the dirt.
He stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His ribs ached. His forearms were bruised purple. A shallow cut stung across his cheek.
But beneath the surface, his new Minor Regeneration skill was humming. It rapidly knit the torn muscle fibers back together.
He grinned.
"I’m learning the tempo, Master," Arthur said, rolling his shoulders. "You just hit really fucking hard."
"Excuses will get you slaughtered," Samantha shot back.
She twirled the katana and dropped back into her lethal, low stance.
"Again."
Arthur raised the Abyssal Fang.
He knew raw swordplay wasn’t enough. Samantha had a decade of frontline combat experience against actual demons. Her technique was flawless. If he played by her rules, he would lose every single exchange.
But Arthur wasn’t here to play by the rules.
You told me to use everything I have to survive, Arthur thought, his golden eyes narrowing.
He silently triggered a system skill.
[Sensual Pheromones: Tier 3 – Activated]
An invisible, intoxicating pulse radiated from his body. It didn’t smell like cheap perfume or magic. It was raw, primal, and dangerously subtle. It carried the heavy, magnetic musk of an apex predator, designed to bypass rational thought and strike directly at the biological core.
[Oh, biological warfare against your instructor?] Sol’s voice echoed lazily in his mind. [I raised you so well.]
The atmosphere in the courtyard shifted instantly.
The cold, damp air grew heavy. It thickened with a dark, intoxicating musk that bypassed magical barriers and targeted the primal instincts of anyone within ten meters.
Samantha charged again, her blade arcing toward his neck.
But halfway through her swing, her breath hitched.
The strike slowed by a fraction of a millisecond.
It was all Arthur needed. He ducked under the blade, his arm snapping out to grab her wrist. He twisted, using her own momentum to throw her off balance.
Samantha stumbled, her boots skidding across the gravel.
She caught herself instantly. But her chest was suddenly heaving. A dark, feverish flush crept up her neck, staining her flawless skin.
She glared at him, her crimson eyes narrowing into slits.
"Biological warfare, Arthur?" she hissed, her voice dropping into a dangerous, husky register. "Fighting dirty?"
"You said it yourself, Master," Arthur smirked, twirling the black sword in his hand. "Demons don’t have ethics. They use every weapon at their disposal to break their enemies. I’m just adapting to the battlefield."
Samantha didn’t blush. She didn’t cower. She didn’t break eye contact.
Instead, a feral, predatory grin split across her face.
The pheromones hadn’t made her helpless. They had made her aggressive.
"Good," she growled.
She threw her katana into the dirt.
Before Arthur could even blink, Samantha lunged. She didn’t use her sword. She didn’t use her magic. She used her raw, overwhelming physical stats.
She tackled him with the force of a battering ram.
Arthur hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from his lungs. The Abyssal Fang slipped from his grasp, clattering against the stones.
Samantha instantly straddled his waist. Her hands slammed down, pinning his wrists to the dirt with an iron grip.
The heavy, volatile friction of her thick thighs pressing against his hips was undeniable. The pheromones were flooding her system, pumping liquid heat through her veins, but her dominant personality utterly refused to yield control.
"You think a little scent is going to tame me?" Samantha sneered.
She leaned down until her face was inches from his. Her breath was hot, ragged, and smelled of mint and raw adrenaline.
"I’ve commanded legions of bloodthirsty men. I don’t submit to a weapon. I wield it."
Arthur tested his grip. She wasn’t budging. Her physical strength was terrifying.
"You’re awfully close right now, Master," Arthur taunted, his voice a low rumble.
He thrust his hips up just a fraction, letting her feel the rigid, aching heat straining against his trousers.
Samantha’s breath hitched again, but her red eyes only darkened with absolute authority.
"I told you I was going to break your bad habits," Samantha whispered.
She shifted her weight. She didn’t back away from the contact; she leaned heavily into it. She ground her hips down deliberately, a slow, punishing roll that trapped his bulge directly beneath her center.
Arthur gritted his teeth, a sharp groan tearing from his throat.
"I set the pace on my battlefield," Samantha commanded, her tone dripping with absolute power.
"If you want to play dirty," Samantha whispered, her voice dark and dripping with superiority, "I’ll show you exactly how a commander takes what she wants."
She released his wrists, but Arthur didn’t even try to push her off. The heavy, pooling lust had completely paralyzed his desire to escape.
Samantha reached down to the collar of her sleek, black leather combat suit. With a slow, deliberate motion, she yanked the heavy metal zipper downward. The sharp sound of the interlocking teeth parting echoed loudly in the quiet courtyard.
She unzipped it all the way to her navel, then kept going, parting the suit past her waist, straight down to the base of her crotch.
Arthur’s breath stopped entirely.
She wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
Her heavy, dripping pussy was on full display, glistening beautifully in the cool morning light. Her outer lips were plump and flushed a deep, angry pink, swollen with the heavy blood flow of her immense arousal. A thick, clear droplet of her syrupy nectar clung to her swollen clit, trembling for a second before slowly tracing a path down to her slick entrance.
The scent that hit Arthur’s nose was intoxicating—a heavy, potent mixture of dark vanilla, sweat, and raw, unfiltered feminine lust.
"Look at it," Samantha ordered, her tone brooking no disobedience. "Look at what your little pheromone trick did to your master."
Arthur stared, absolutely mesmerized. The sheer, naked exposure of her most intimate flesh, contrasting against the sharp, militaristic black leather of her suit, was a visual masterpiece.
"You’re soaking wet," Arthur rasped, his throat dry.
"And whose fault is that?" Samantha purred, her eyes narrowing with predatory intent. "You made me this wet. Which means it is your responsibility to clean it up."
She lifted her weight off his hips. Arthur barely had time to process the loss of friction before Samantha was moving up his body. She dragged the exposed, soaking wet folds of her pussy straight up his abdomen. The hot, slippery moisture of her juices smeared a wet, glistening trail over his dark training jacket, branding him with her scent.
She didn’t stop until her knees were planted firmly on the dirt on either side of his head.
Arthur looked up. The sky above was completely eclipsed by the heavy, magnificent curves of her thick thighs and her dripping, exposed core hovering just inches from his face.
"You are my bitch today, Arthur," Samantha growled, staring down at him with absolute supremacy. "You think you’re some untouchable genius? Down here in the dirt, under my weight, you are nothing but my toy. Open your mouth."
Arthur didn’t hesitate. The primal urge to taste her overwhelmed whatever remaining sliver of pride he had left.
He opened his mouth.
Samantha didn’t lower herself gently. She dropped her hips, straddling his face with a rough, heavy thud.
The world went completely dark. The oxygen in the courtyard vanished, replaced entirely by the suffocating, boiling heat of her crotch pressing down onto his nose and mouth. The sheer weight of her thighs locked his head in place, trapping him in a fleshy, inescapable vice.
Arthur’s tongue lashed out on pure instinct.
He tasted her. It was an explosion of sensory overload. The flavor was rich, heavy, and intoxicating—a perfect blend of sweet nectar, the salt of her sweat, and a faint, metallic tang of raw, unyielding adrenaline.
His tongue traced the soft, damp skin of her outer folds, savoring the slick, syrupy wetness that coated his lips. Samantha let out a loud, shuddering moan above him, her fingers tangling ruthlessly into his dark hair.
"Yes," she hissed, her voice vibrating through his skull. "Eat your master’s pussy like the good little bitch you are."
