Margaret's hand fumbled, and the vial of potion shattered, splattering corrosive liquid across the ground. The grass, touched by the fluid, instantly turned into scorched earth. A few droplets splashed onto her high-heeled shoes, eating through the pearly white satin, leaving behind black craters.
Kicking off her shoes, Margaret crossed the land emitting a pungent white smoke, walking barefoot toward Damon.
Damon was already kneeling on the ground. The hybrid orc's ears were keen, and at the moment the vials hit the ground, he sensed Margaret's arrival.
In fact, he should have caught the subtle change in the air even earlier. However, Damon's mind was in disarray, immersed in dirty and base desires, tormented by his own moral corruption.
As a result, his perception of the outside world had dulled, mistaking the sound of the grass being trampled for a cat pouncing on a butterfly.
Miss Margaret didn't have a pet, but Duke Russell had a mistress who adored such creatures. She kept a fluffy forest cat that patrolled the mansion daily, occasionally lounging in Miss Margaret's garden.
Now he knew he had made a mistake.
There were no cats around. The imagined Miss Margaret stood in a sea of white roses, her pretty blue eyes expressing unexpected astonishment. She wore a long green floral dress, looking serene and elegant, like an elf who had mistakenly wandered into impure territory.
As for Damon himself, he hadn't even had time to clean up his genitals stained with seminal fluid.
On both knees, his pants still hanging open, revealing a small patch of well-defined abdominal muscles. Azure scales extended from his chest to his lower body, outlining the sinister shape of a scorpion's head in the groin area. These inhuman features even enveloped the weighty testicles, presenting two different colors on his genitals.
When Margaret's gaze lingered on this area for a second, Damon's body tensed.
"No, please, don't look again," he pleaded.
He bent over, fingers deeply embedded in the damp grass, each syllable uttered resonating with overwhelming despair. Yet, the orc's countenance remained impassive, and his coarse voice maintained its monotony. Through the long and torturous years, Damon had forgotten how to manipulate facial expressions, accustomed to silence and stoicism.
Margaret couldn't perceive his pain.
She only realized that her personal guard harbored desires for her. Perhaps that was the reason he sought intimacy.
...Quite unexpected.
With a mix of offended displeasure and strange curiosity, Margaret lowered her gaze to Damon's lower body.
It was somewhat flaccid now, but still intimidating in size, completely deviating from human standards.
The physiology textbooks from her early education briefly covered the structure and common data of male reproductive organs. Dermat far exceeded the human average, but Damon's was somewhat beyond conventional knowledge.
Excessive in size and with a bizarre appearance, disregarding the color and scales, its tip even curled upward, resembling the head of a hammer used to drive in nails.
"What... is this?" Margaret lifted her foot, pointing at his genitalia, "What kind of racial feature is this?"
Her movement was minimal, but Damon seemed greatly startled, jerking back. In doing so, the hot, fleshy rod made direct contact with Margaret's instep, producing a not-so-subtle sound.
Smack.
Margaret flinched, momentarily taken aback as she was absorbed in studying the situation, forgetting how she should react to the affront.
This thing... is quite heavy.
She curled her toes, feeling a fiery pain on the instep.
"I'm sorry..." Damon apologized.
Damon made a hard sound as if he had been sentenced to death. He couldn't look up at Margaret's face, and his view was again dominated by her bare feet. They were parts he had peeked at countless times, small and lovely, with toes so rounded he could wrap them in one hand.
Now the pale, delicate insteps were imprinted with light red marks.
-- were the marks of an ugly sex object withdrawn.
Damon's erection was irrepressibly renewed.
He closed his eyes, flexed his sharp claws, and clawed violently at his lower body, trying to tear the disgusting desire to shreds.
"What is this for?"
Margaret stopped Damon's self-mutilation.
She cried out, crouching down to observe his face. The hybrid orc's handsome face showed little expression, but the bright red pupils were trembling and contracting, and the flesh of his cheeks twitched a few times.
For a moment, just a moment-Margaret finally saw through him.
"You like me?"
Damon moved his lips, failing to make a sound.
Margaret hugged her knees and after a few seconds of contemplation asked again, "You want to make love to me?"
Damon slowly raised his eyelids and looked intently and silently into the young girl's beautiful, soft face. His insides rolled with a burning desire to destroy, and cold desperation rolled through his organs like a storm.
Yes, I want to make love to you.
I want to rip your dress to shreds, knead your tits, nibble on your neck and drive my cock into your soft, tender pussy. Fuck you without a break, push open the fragile mouth of your uterus and cum against the walls again and again until your uterus is filled.
I want to hear you cry, to hear you scream as you come, huffing and slapping me and insulting me as a bitch in heat. And then smile at me again, stroke my face, and lavish meager affection in soft, compassionate tones.
My lord, I longed for you so much.
Even wanted to eat you with your skin.