I opened my eyes in my room and stared at the same ceiling as always. Maybe it had all been a dream. I got up as if nothing had changed. I left the bed and walked toward the library. I opened the door... and she wasn't there. As expected, time had consumed her until she vanished.
I walked in, doing my best not to fall apart or give in to guilt. My heart was shattered, with loneliness nesting along my spine like a harbinger of an uncertain future. Something inside me resisted believing Gremory would keep her promise.
It was the start of the day, but my body already felt like it couldn't hold itself up after an endless night. My legs turned weak, my back hunched, and as I set my foot on the library floor, that first step felt as heavy as a world.
How is it possible to feel so tired in a house so cozy and comfortable, where there's literally not much to do?
Loneliness weighs.
I guess it's better to accept that there are days like this. Days when nothing happens and yet your eyes still fill with tears. The present struggles to bury the memories of the past. I miss someone's company—emotionally and physically.
The echo of my steps among the shelves, the vastness of this place...
Why can't I be content?
This is where Gremory spent her last moments. Where she grew old. Where, I suppose, she faded.
On the table I use as a desk, there were books scattered—different from the ones on parasitic entities I used to study.
What was a demon with knowledge of the past, present, and future searching for in old books of sorcery?
She even took over my diary... and wrote in it.
Maybe it would be better to write a story. To imagine what my life would be like if I lived on the other side of the black forest. As I flipped through the pages of my most treasured book, I noticed Gremory had gone quite far with her notes. It looked like she had found something interesting.
Writings with new knowledge, which didn't fit in with the rest of the material in this library. On the next page, I discovered a drawing: a skull surrounded by tribal designs that seemed to burn on the paper, between feverish lines and strokes.
The following pages were instructions... and an imprint of Gremory's lips, in the shape of a kiss.
My heart nearly burst from my chest.
At first glance, I understood what I had to do. After all, as long as the price is paid, you don't need to be a sorcerer or possess magical knowledge to use advanced summoning circles. And that process could be easily integrated with the procedures I had already created.
In other words, by summoning a skull and then reviving it until it gained a body... I'd have an infinite process. A way to bring someone back, again and again, just to never be alone again.
With euphoric joy, I manifested as many copies as I could to begin the preparations. And after the ritual Gremory had left me, I soon had a skull in front of my eyes.
Jumping with excitement, I ran through the room intending to lift the skull from the floor and begin the next ritual. But when I touched the head, I felt a strange connection, as if, somehow, that inert object was also part of my search.
Something inside me, after the summoning, screamed that maybe Gremory, being a true demon, had laid a trap for me. I was clearly too happy at the time to think twice, and I performed the invocation. But when I held that skull, it was as if I felt a deeper connection to the forest, to the place, the house, the lake... and to myself. As if that object was pulling me toward a truth I hadn't wanted to face.
Who could this skull have belonged to? That question overwhelmed me.
From melancholic sorrow to overwhelming joy, and then a million doubts that halted the summoning process. Staring into the empty sockets, I realized it wasn't just the lack of company that weighed on me, but the absence of a clear identity.
Who was I?
Among all the doubts that tormented me, there was always one that stood out as the worst.
No matter how many books were stored in this library, I was certain that none of the words written on those pages could soothe the question that now, in this moment when I finally had the chance to not be alone, tormented me without mercy.
As if my life consisted of looking for problems in the solutions already with me. And if the entity I summoned turned out to be different... someone who, like Gremory and that other figure, would ask me questions I couldn't answer...
I couldn't grasp the root of such dissatisfaction either, nor understand why my mind focused on trivial, meaningless matters when in my hands I held what I had always wanted.
Perhaps, in that moment, it was just an excuse not to move forward. A well-wrapped excuse.
I decided to set the summoning process aside, at least until I felt "ready." With a wave of my hand, I made the copies surrounding me disappear. If doubt and fear were what held me back, then better to embrace the feeling that overwhelmed me.
Staring at the skull in my hands, the constant white bone became an echo resonating through my mind. Had I been given the chance to live and die naturally, like human entities, I would be what that skull was. Like me, that skull was once a being who felt, lived, and fulfilled its purpose.
In that moment, I wondered: Did this head I just summoned truly belong to a human?
It must have.
Among so many books, I had come to understand that living entities feel a form of reciprocity toward those similar in nature. The death of another creature doesn't feel the same as the death of something that resembles yourself.
And if that were the case... what was Gremory's true purpose in having me summon such an individual?
The closeness I felt with my copies, with myself, this place, the forest, the mountain, and the lake—none of it could be a coincidence. Besides, considering this was a direct gift from a demon, it seemed to be part of a greater purpose: a piece of a puzzle I still hadn't solved.
Insecurity overtook me, and for the first time in a long while, I could appreciate the peace and calm that comes with solitude.
If a ritual was what stood between me and the chance for companionship, then so be it. In answer to my fears, I threw the bony shell against the ground—and to my surprise, it wasn't empty.
A skull is the perfect compartment to protect the brain. Any entity, after death and with time, should have nothing inside. Or so I believed. Against the floor, I heard the clinking of a small, hollow golden object.
Drawn in by the sound, I approached and discovered a ring. When I picked it up, I found that it fit perfectly on my ring finger.
It couldn't be a coincidence. That mischievous demon wasn't here to guide me, but neither had she intended to make things easy, leaving behind a warning in my diary about resurrecting the skull of a man containing an unidentified object inside.
With something as beautiful as a golden ring adorning my hand, and with answers to my most instinctive doubts, the uncertainty, the indecision, and the fears all lost their weight—just like the shattered skull on the floor.
Lifting my hand into the air, fingers splayed, I spun around several times, letting my dress swirl like that of a dancer. Delighting in my new possession, I summoned my copies back and ordered one to gather the broken remains of the skull and keep them safe until further instructions.
Filling the library with versions of myself, I gave them no orders but to wait. A far more important task was already forming in my mind.
Returning to invisibility, I vanished right in front of them, allowing them to act of their own free will. Truthfully, at that moment, whatever they did or didn't do behind my back simply didn't matter to me.
After all, on my finger, I wore a magnificent, radiant ring. It looked like a wedding band, something Gremory had personally and romantically left inside the skull of someone similar to me. It had no sparkling gem like a diamond or ruby at the top, so it must have belonged to the male half of a couple—the so-called "husband."
I surprised myself fantasizing about the actions of that demon who had made sure to bury herself even deeper in my heart.
My copies, their eyes bright and acting according to their differing personalities, gathered around the one holding the skull. Believing themselves alone, they seemed ready to solve a complex situation, a problem.
To go against my intentions.
The order I had given the first one was simply to gather the remnants of something that unsettled me. Something I, personally, hadn't dared to resurrect. And there they were, debating whether or not to complete the resurrection ceremony.
Though they didn't interact with me directly, the consequences of their actions certainly would, once I returned to the scene.
While my copies busied themselves with the ritual, I returned to the desk and discovered more pages written in my diary. They held vague instructions on the function of the ring now encircling my finger. Gremory's playful handwriting seemed designed to drive me mad, since I could barely understand what the "O" symbol she'd drawn was meant to signify. She had played with my body, with my heart… wasn't it enough that she also toyed with my mind?
But that was the point. That my circumstances not be easy. To live eternally in a place with nothing to do would've led me to boredom, to depression, to drifting between being and not being.
During the ritual and the resurrection preparations, I saw how the weaker copies died from exhaustion. Without any intention of making things easier for them, and while keeping to the margins, I managed to decipher the alchemical symbol Gremory had left in the diary—one specially designed to be used with my new ring.
After transcribing the notations onto a sheet of paper, a deep joy filled my heart. In the late hours of an eternal night, I finally met the presence that my copies had summoned through my resurrection process on the spell circle.
The opportunity to complete two tasks in a single day was exquisite. Upon appearing before my copies, they reacted with their characteristic apathy toward me.
I couldn't help but laugh in front of them. I had used their autonomous decisions that day to enjoy the presence of a man behind their backs. Maybe that stirred hatred in those who watched me, but if they wanted to act against me, I would be delighted.
"I applaud your initiative in completing the ritual, but... you won't get to enjoy this body unless you ask for it willingly. Let that be the reward I offer."
While toying with the ring and admiring the fruit of another's effort as if it were my own, I felt something shift inside me.
Fate was smiling on me, and that made me happy.
The bones on the floor had assembled themselves. Where there had been no flesh, skin and hair now appeared. The limbs took form, and though at first it was an old man, he soon regained a youthful, vigorous appearance.
Turning my back to my copies, I felt heat ignite in my body like never before. It wasn't the first naked man I'd ever seen, but his presence felt different. So did the member hanging between his legs—twice the size of the last one.
When he took his first breath of life, I watched him emerge from suspended animation.
Oh, let me tell you, that man considered every possibility when he saw me—and all my copies—naked in front of him.
He seemed to scan his surroundings: knowledge and naked women. Meanwhile, I observed as the perfect key—the one that would fit between my legs—began to rise from his waist, pointing toward the ceiling. Yes, in front of my copies, he had to be a champion, someone who would take me in such a way that they, too, would wish to act on their own desire. The instrument between his legs was the only way to prove his worth.
Still, he carried himself with arrogance. As soon as his breathing calmed, he raised his face with an air of superiority, showing not the slightest intent to please.
But what is pride to someone as needy as me?
I couldn't hold back. Something inside me burned with the urgency to see, feel, smell, and taste that thing rising between his legs.
I knelt on the floor and, on all fours, moved towards him. If necessary, I would have crawled. Close enough, I allowed myself to run my face over the heat of his member, to deeply breathe in the aroma it emanated. So much time had passed without enjoying something so worthy of worship, of praise, of canonization, that I wanted to engrave it within me as if it were the first time. I treated it with the intention of never forgetting it, in case it disappeared again.
Among books and knowledge, the subject disapproved of my behavior with his gaze. With abrupt movements, he brought his hand around the back of my head and, as audacious as I'm telling you, tried to force it into my mouth before I could delight in smelling and feeling it.
In the heat of the moment, I resisted opening my mouth, though I felt the tip pass between my lips, back and forth, trying to fill my cheeks. I understood that, for a man, being in the presence of a beautiful and young mouth like mine was enough reason to go crazy. I understood that, in that situation, he probably had more experience than I did, but I didn't understand when he struck my face with an open hand.
Perhaps the reason was that he was similar to what they called "the opposite of a demon" and, as Gremory told me, many of them lived a life of violence, ambition, and desires, things that made them cruel towards the weakest. The subject, unlike Gremory, looked predatory and muscular, with a broad and muscular chest, defined shoulders, strong arms, and an athletic build, not to mention that he was a "young man."
Consequently, I endured the blow that left a burning sensation on my face, let him grab me by the hair, and, still on my knees, opened my mouth. He didn't waste the opportunity he was seeking and, roughly, pushed his member as deep into my throat as he could.
I accepted it without being able to taste it as I wanted; I let him have his way with me, even though he wouldn't let me breathe, even though I felt like I was going to vomit. Gradually, as he thrust his hips and my mouth remained open, I felt a smile forming at the corners of my lips. At that moment, it was evident that my confidence was increasing, and I was no longer uncomfortable with what was being done to me, right in front of my copies, who just watched without moving.
Another blow landed on my face. I was strong enough to tear his heart out with my bare hands for such an offense. But yes, what we were having was sex, so it wasn't the time... not while I could stand it.
If Gremory had delivered me to such a brute, then who was I to refuse?
"Isn't this paradise?!" the subject said, throwing me to the ground by the hair, burying his foot between my legs, so deep and so roughly that I felt his fingers slide inside me. "What are you waiting for to please the one worthy of this kingdom?!"
None of my copies moved at the declaration. I had not allowed it.
"None of them will move, since they are here with the sole function of watching," I said. I was still happy with what I felt between my legs. "I don't think you can satisfy me, so why let others interfere between you and me?"
"Satisfy you?!" the subject said indignantly, arching his eyebrows and stepping back to point a finger at me. "I am King Solomon. Among humans, I was blessed to be worthy of women, wealth, knowledge, and the kingdom of heaven. Before you stands the richest, wisest, and most prosperous man among men. So much so that, at minimum, a thousand women, countless precious metals, and exotic luxuries were needed to satisfy me. Now that I am young again, how dare someone who doesn't even serve as a concubine speak to me? That a hole as open as yours is the first thing to greet me in this kingdom is a lack of respect..."
"Aaah, you're charming... The first 'blessed' human I know is a King: owner of a thousand women and possessor of countless treasures," I said, seeing the opportunity to raise the hand with the ring Gremory had given me.
That "blessing" was the reason I had such mixed feelings as I held his skull in my hands.
"My ring..." he said shamelessly, trying to take from me what was already mine.
Indeed, the ring held many other secrets. Only, the time hadn't come yet. My mind was fevered, my thoughts clouded. I wanted to keep enjoying myself, even if all I got in return were blows. But it seemed I needed to put my tenant in his place first.
"I'm not just anyone, nor a concubine. But yes… the servant of this place. And if heaven is what you deserve, you'll have to pass the test of satisfying me. That's how you'll get your ring back… Surely, you had all that wealth and women for a reason, didn't you? To pass this test..."
It was easy to make someone arrogant, narcissistic, and lacking empathy see the situation from another perspective—using the right words.
Breathing deeply, the man opened his eyes and grew thoughtful. He was smart and seemed to be looking for other answers, unable to trust anything I said. Still, I remained on the ground, on my knees, reinforcing the idea that this was all part of a test, while my eyes surely reflected excessive attachment and my body showed a completely submissive posture.
"To satisfy you is a vague concept," he said. "I could give it my all, make you feel pleasure like never before… but if you decide it wasn't enough, that would be the final verdict."
"And what if I say that what it takes to satisfy me is to be possessed by a young, tall, strapping, and well-experienced man… experienced enough to have had over a thousand women at his feet..."
"I'm inclined to accept your offer… but for how long?" Solomon smiled with that smug, superior expression of someone who just closed a favorable deal.
"A reasonable amount of time," I replied, playing with my hair, lifting my shoulder, and purring. He raised his right eyebrow, still not fully understanding. "Enough for you to do whatever you want with my body, and reach climax three times… in my three holes."
Taking as much time as he deemed necessary to reassess the situation, he repeated my words with the tip of his tongue, without even moving his lips.
Growing impatient, melting inside and out, I asked him:
"So then, Solomon… will you let me feel what the richest, wisest, and most prosperous man among men is made of?"
After accepting my terms and supposedly understanding the objectives of the test that would make him worthy of the Kingdom of Heaven, I, lying on the ground, spread my legs as a sign that I was willing and ready to begin.
With the demeanor of someone about to receive the eternal benefits of heaven—and needing only to pass a test as simple as breathing—he didn't hesitate to approach.
With his foot, imperious and haughty, he stepped on my vulva before saying:
"In order to climax, I have many demands..." he took a breath while grabbing his member, shaking it several times. "I'll enjoy the opportunity to do whatever I please with your body."
My gaze locked with his, and, feeling that tingling in my stomach again, I gave in to the sensation of his foot pressing against my most sensitive spot.
Solomon, with his erect member ready to burst, noticed how someone like me began to lubricate helplessly. His muscular leg increased the pressure on my slit, between my open thighs.
The thought that something as filthy as a foot—the same one he uses to walk wherever he pleases—was on me made me think, crave, and want to feel more. Opening my eyes to look at the key that was slow to slip between my legs didn't help at all. Unlike my first man—perhaps a kind, poor soul—this one made me feel like the floor. And yet, as degrading as it was, as much as his attitude demeaned me, I couldn't control my ragged breathing. My breasts, spilled out, burned as much as my freshly slapped cheeks.
Solomon stared at me while touching himself and stepping on me. He did it intentionally, and whatever it was, it was working: it left me desperate. The carnal hunger in my body, in my belly, in my sex, ignited so fiercely that I couldn't stay silent. As shameful as it sounded, I screamed as loud as I could, tossing my head from side to side. And, as filthy as it was, I rubbed myself against his foot.
I closed my eyes. I wanted to control the situation, steady my breathing, surrender if needed. But time passed. The fire inside me didn't fade. I was losing myself in pleasure, in what surged from deep within me, under the gaze of all my copies—silent witnesses to the moment. It was as if hundreds of eyes judged me in silence… like a deep, empty night. And even though he was an arrogant, pretentious, haughty man… I wanted him. I wanted him inside me.
"What do you see in me?" I asked in agony, unable to keep waiting. I opened my eyes and looked at him with disdain.
He simply stared at me in silence, with a serious expression, as if he were looking at a disappointment of a woman, crushed beneath his foot.
Wishing to be seen, noticed, and treated like a woman, I couldn't keep my words in:
"Did the thousands of women who passed through the arms of the richest, wisest, and most prosperous man among men also have to wait this long?"
Despite my desperate comment, he didn't answer; he didn't even pretend to have heard me. Interpreting his silence as affirmation, I continued:
"You're terrible..."
"Put your face to the floor," he said, his words cutting through the air with such authority that my heart leapt with joy and my stomach twisted. I had plenty of reasons to defy him, but desperation had taken the reins. "Spread your ass wide and let me see how filthy it is. I can step on the ground, but I don't need to step in shit if I can avoid it."
At his command, he pressed down harder with his foot. Maybe because I was so wet, his toes slipped roughly downward. The friction was intense—enough to make my body tremble and erase any plea or protest from my mind.
Struggling against the intoxicating sensation gripping my muscles, I turned and raised my ass as high as I could. To my surprise, when I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was his right foot in front of my face. It was wet, covered with a considerable amount of droplets and viscous fluids still trickling down.
"Prove your worth and use your tongue to clean it..."
With the order given—and willingly—I licked my own fluids off his foot. With care, I worked my way between his toes. What was stopping me from getting it completely clean, while my ass was being inspected by a meticulous gaze?
On my knees, exposing the most intimate parts of my body, licking the floor, a foot, and his toes, with nothing inside me... it nearly drove me insane. My need to be possessed, my overflowing arousal, and that cunning man treating me like an object were the very things that had me in heaven.
After all, to be a king—even among men—requires cunning. And I couldn't hide my immense curiosity or my willingness to do anything. Until that moment, I had been alone. I could die in the worst way, but no matter what, I would return to my bed and keep staring at the same ceiling as always.
I noticed one of my copies grinning shamelessly. Another touched herself between the legs, yet another bit her lip. Though I was there, watching them, they acted on their own. And yes... I understood there was no greater torture than enjoying this man by myself while they could only watch.
Solomon was clearly pleased with my work cleaning his foot. So much so, he rewarded me with a resounding smack on my ass. The blow sent a wave of pain through my body, but the vibration brushing against my most sensitive spot became irresistible, weakening the strength in my legs and exposing my assets even more.
The sensation was incredible, indescribable, unique, and marvelous. It drove me mad. It made my heart race with desperation. I wanted to soothe the burning between my legs with my own hands, and unable to contain my longing, I tried to satisfy myself.
He stopped me with his words.
"Did I tell you to touch yourself?!"
My body trembled, so did my breath, but my fingers shook even more, failing to reach what they craved.
"Stretch your arms forward, lift your ass, arch your back, and spread your knees..." he ordered, moving through the space with the silent precision of a predator, testing the limits of his demands.
Possessed by the torment of having to follow orders that went against my impulses, I obeyed his words on the floor of the Library of Knowledge, setting aside any concern for my own pleasure.
With the same foot I had just cleaned with my tongue, he pressed into the curve of my back, forcing my torso to the ground while lifting my hips.
The position was uncomfortable, but the thrill of being more exposed balanced the scale.
He circled around me, inspecting me with meticulous eyes, as if searching for the slightest detail he could correct. His footsteps echoed while my breathing grew more erratic and my stretched muscles began to burn. On my pale, sensitive skin, I felt his gaze like blades. His words echoed in my mind, but my body rebelled, releasing a torrent of fluids that betrayed the passion I was trying to restrain.
I felt him grab my hair and, with force, lift me from the floor until my face was level with his member. But not without a warning:
"Make sure your cunt doesn't touch anything!"
As if to drive the point home, Solomon tilted his hips and struck me with his thick, hot cock. The impact was strong enough to whip my face to the side.
"Now, with your hands you're allowed to savor it; with your eyes, you may devour it… and see it with your tongue."
Pulling my hair, he forced my face back toward that throbbing piece of flesh. Our eyes met for a moment. And his words still echoed in my ears, as if commanding me to unlock forbidden secrets… new ways to use all five senses of my body.
The idea that one could savor with their hands sent a shiver down my spine. Wrapped in desire, my fingers were already trembling with anticipation. "With your eyes, you may devour it"... He didn't even need to ask. I'd been doing that from the beginning—but maybe not enough.
When I looked at him again, I changed the intent of my gaze. This time, I used my eyes to see what was before me as a delicacy—one capable of quenching a thirst beyond the body, beyond the flesh… a thirst rooted in the soul and desire.
And then… "see it with your tongue."
I couldn't help but bite my lip, wondering: what would it be like to see something using the hundreds of thousands of taste buds in my mouth?
Just imagining it made me want to give in.
He had never once forbidden me from smelling him. And through my nose, I could sense the scent of that flesh, throbbing with a heart of its own.
Were it not for the grip of his hand, I might have collapsed onto my heels. I knew well that with just a few motions, I could have reached climax. But it was the first time I'd heard commands like that. From the context, I managed to infer it was a refined way of referring to sucking and stroking. And frankly, I liked the idea of pushing beyond the indecent.
And although the commands were given, even as my eyes moved between his cock and his, he kept his grip on my hair.
With little else to do, I decided to occupy my mind with something that would help ignore the burning need between my legs. I followed his words and, with my hands—small and delicate in comparison—I held the member I was permitted to touch. In my hands, it felt like a wooden club: thick, coarse, dry.
With one hand, driven by curiosity, I drew back the skin of the pulsing shaft, revealing the swollen, furious head beneath—its color completely different from the rest of his body. To think that all of that could fill my mouth… and that I could still be alive and breathing.
Using the index finger of my other hand, I touched the small gleaming drop that oozed from the tip of that monstrous thing. The viscous thread stretched in front of me until it snapped. It wasn't just curiosity—it was twisted excitement that led me to bring the finger to my mouth and taste the nectar with which he had marked me.
Only in longing for what I couldn't have did I begin to understand what it meant to "savor with the hands," "see with the tongue," and "devour with the eyes." Anxious, desperate feelings trying to compensate for absence.
Even so, I repeated the gesture several times, using my fingers to collect those fluids. So close to him and still unable to take him into my mouth… I needed it. I needed that taste, even if only indirectly, even while the pain from the pull on my hair lingered.
Could my inexperience in the arts of lovemaking justify the state I was in?
Most likely, yes. There I was: aroused, eager, delighting in the simple act of being allowed to touch a man's cock, while he ignored my caresses. He didn't even make it easier for me to access his member. After all, if he managed to ejaculate into my three holes separately, the contract would be fulfilled. Did that mean he was enjoying it?
Maybe so...
The man summoned before me, beyond his commanding body and arrogant demeanor, was also a master of domination. Not necessarily what I had sought in my quest for love, but I understood that this feeling could be as twisted as any. Among the hundreds of thousands of ways to love, there also existed the one that thrives on creating submission in those who are desperate, needy, and dependent on you.
His actions were a response to my loneliness, to my emptiness. Despite the power I held in my hands, I realized I was still as lost as ever. Maybe the ring, the skull, the alchemical circles, and even my copies were nothing more than projections of a truth I wasn't ready to face.
While the ring glimmered on my finger, I knew I had no choice but to surrender to Solomon's dominant personality.
Not like in the books I used to read. In reality, a king among men possessed the innate knowledge to evoke the most ancient nature rooted in all creatures.
A subject must lower their head, surrender their being and soul to their master—even if only in exchange for pleasure, pain… or ruin.
I wanted his cock between my legs so badly that, with my mind clouded, I began to sway my hips gently. I didn't want him to notice—I wasn't trying to give him more reasons to punish me. Even so, I tried to smother the fire that was consuming my body.
The way he treated me, made me wait, used me, and looked at me… it would fit the definition of abuse. But my need made me enjoy it. I wanted to feel more. I wanted to stop touching the final prize with my hands and instead feel it deep inside my wet insides.
Solomon caressed my hair with his fingers, then my face, and finally my lips. He left my mouth slightly open, and I could taste the presence of his thumb over my teeth.
The movements of his finger through my teeth, lips, tongue, and gums were meticulous, calculated to generate pleasure.
Though my trial required him to ejaculate into three different holes, he seemed intent on making use of all the experience he'd gained in life. But he was holding back—I could sense it. As if he didn't want to waste the chance to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.
There was never tenderness in his movements. Only authority.
Moving my head side to side, holding my own jaw, I met his eyes again. I found an enigmatic gaze, one that didn't need words to impose its will.
My mind, meanwhile, wandered again, caught between what I wanted to do and what I had to allow to be done to me, while deep between my legs, the storm of desire raged through the rest of my body.
That was the purpose of his gaze: to inspect my mouth, just as he had inspected my ass, intending to judge whether I was worthy or not. The sexual tension coursing through my body kept building, and my body language betrayed me without hesitation.
When he pulled his finger from my mouth, I instantly knew I was now allowed to suck him. And though I lunged forward with the burning desire to devour him, he grabbed my hair again to stop me.
"Do you have permission to take the initiative without being told?" he asked. I could already anticipate the answer, so I remained silent, unwilling to contradict his will—not even in thought.
"Perfect," he concluded.
With that response, he was indirectly reminding me of my place in this situation. From the beginning, it was about his commands over me—about what was or wasn't allowed. Taking the initiative was not among my rights.
Continuing his game of breaking my will, he began stroking my face with his hardened member.
The air was starting to leave me. My mouth was overflowing with saliva. I could feel his heat with growing clarity… even the beat of his heart, drumming against the skin of my cheek.
I held back as best I could, struggling not to give in to the hunger for flesh that consumed me from deep within. And perhaps as a reward, Solomon loosened his grip on my hair. When I looked into his eyes, I understood he had no intention of giving me commands that would satisfy my needs. But he seemed pleased each time I showed control over my impulses, resisting the carnal passion that devoured me.
With him so close, I drifted in an eternal night. At the mercy of my bottled-up desires—desires that roared like wild beasts, pushing with all their strength from inside.
I swallowed hard. He looked at me calmly before beginning to step away, taking with him the member that embodied all my temptation. Watching his back, even the curves of his buttocks seemed to beg for the touch of my hands. Two firm spheres… perfect for bracing my palms against as I knelt before him, lunging forward to swallow his virility deep into my throat.
From the bottom up, as he turned with elegance and arms outstretched, I kept my gaze on his abdomen, his ribs, his chest. I longed to caress them, to cling to them as I rode him harder than a unicorn galloping to escape the beasts I was about to unleash.
It was then I understood the true meaning of sexual tension… that which is forged between the deepest desires of the flesh, the body's need, and the power of the man standing before you.
"Open your mouth," he ordered in a deep voice. "Close your eyes… and stick out your tongue."
Solomon approached with such force that the gust of his presence hit my face just before his swollen, throbbing member passed between my lips.
Inside my mouth, pressing against the roof, was a bomb ready to explode. I wasn't satisfied, not being able to move the way I wanted. Despite tasting Solomon's cock, I remained in a position that left me aching for more.
"Use the tip of your tongue to lick me…" he said.
Having the chance to do something—anything—wasn't something I was going to reject. In seconds, fighting the unpleasant sensation of his glans against my throat, I began licking the hanging skin at the base of his shaft. It was a magnificent sack, rough, hairy, and home to two spheres as large as a horse's eyes.
How much liquid could those balls hold?
As I gave them generous licks with my tongue, I noticed how he pushed his cock further down my throat whenever pleasure overtook him. His intent was clear: to smother my breath while claiming more territory. Moments later, he advanced into my face until his pubic bone pressed against my nose.
I couldn't breathe. I gagged. My jaw felt unhinged. My tongue scraped my teeth. My knees hurt, my back muscles burned… and still, the pleasure nearly made me come.
"Do you blink when you like something?" he asked.
Tears streamed down from the pressure. Though I could barely breathe, I was far from losing consciousness. In response to his question, I blinked as calmly as my gagging throat allowed.
Apparently, he liked my answer. He immediately placed his hands on my head.
"I'm not convinced of your sincerity. Not unless you accept my cock in your throat with more devotion than the air you breathe… more than life itself," he said solemnly. "I allow you to suck it as if you were the thirstiest being on earth… one who believes they can draw water from stone."
And so, as he took control of my head, I sucked his cock in every sense of the word. From the tip to the base, in and out.
I don't apologize for wanting this. There he was, thrusting his wild cock into my increasingly trained, increasingly wet mouth. If I hadn't enjoyed it so much, the whole thing could've become a forced act imposed by a stranger. But that wasn't the case. Each thrust grew faster, deeper, more ruthless, unmeasured, with ever more violent and savage blows.
My hands hung at my sides, limp, purposeless. Though I wanted to touch myself, I still hadn't been given permission.
Solomon's thrusts into my face intensified until, finally, he collapsed onto me in convulsive spasms and jets of scalding liquid that poured down my throat into my stomach.
Half-opening my eyes, I saw him with his head tilted back, his mouth agape, still pressing my head against his body, completely consumed by his own pleasure. With each spasm of his cock, with each wave of semen, he tensed his muscles, snorted like a bull or roared like a lion.
It took a while for him to recover from his first orgasm… during which I still couldn't breathe.
"Not a single drop of my semen is to be wasted," was his warning before pulling his cock from my throat.
Finally, I could breathe again, though it triggered a coughing fit that threatened to invade my lungs. Without moving from the spot, I closed my mouth—making sure to savor any lingering trace of cock that remained on my lips.
Then, he crouched in front of me. Like someone trying to meet me at my level, Solomon looked into my eyes, impressed. His eyes were searching for something… as if something was still missing.
"Congratulations on being the first creature who doesn't vomit after what I just did to you," he said.
At his praise, I remained silent. With a defiant glint in my eyes, I prepared to be the exception—to challenge everything the king had never done with other creatures.
Rising to his feet again, he commanded:
"Lie on the floor, spread your legs, and show me the deepest part of your insides."
As I positioned myself, I stole a glance at the flaccid cock hanging between my summoned king's legs. Once my attributes were fully exposed, wet and glistening, Solomon didn't seem entirely convinced. Though he stepped closer, he broke the silence to say:
For a few moments, he remained very close to my sex, almost touching, but not quite. The anticipation sent an extra wave of arousal through me, speeding up my breath.
"Don't you have a bed in this place?"
His question was valid. A king wouldn't stoop to fucking on a library floor. On the other hand, if I retreated to my room, I'd lose the curious gaze of my watching copies. In a matter of seconds, with a simple glance, I ordered them to bring forth what his majesty had demanded.
It was the first time I'd ever placed such an object in the library, and I had to admit—it was magnificent.
"From now on, you may answer my questions with 'yes, master' or 'no, master'," he said, before asking, "Do you understand?"
"Yes… master," I replied.
At the sound of my words, his flaccid cock began to swell, slowly lifting and pointing toward the ceiling.
Circling around me, he sat on the edge of the bed and gestured for me to approach. I did so, crawling on all fours to where he was. With a motion of his index finger, he signaled for me to turn around on the spot. I obeyed. With my face pressed to the floor, I felt something brush against the inner lips of my sex, making me tremble.
Until then, nothing had touched that area. It was as hot as arousal would allow, and that small contact made the world sway beneath my knees. Hoping to keep feeling that blissful pleasure in the most delicate part of my body, I was taken by surprise by a smack.
A moan nearly escaped my lips, but I held it back. Then came another smack… and another.
The sting on the tender flesh of my ass was intense, but then came a near-divine coolness from the insertion of two thick fingers into my overflowing, soaked vaginal cavity.
A stifled gasp escaped me. A convulsive jolt surged between my legs and shot up to my head, making it clear that I was completely at this man's mercy.
He pulled his fingers out. And as he noticed my ass beginning to give in to the spasms of impending orgasm, he struck me again multiple times. Each blow had force, intent, and a clear objective—to keep my assets lifted, aligned.
When he finally no longer felt the need to correct me with more spanks, he slid his fingers back inside me. This time, he pushed hard, wanting to reach as deep as possible. I could feel him tracing circles inside me, drawing a circumference with the tips of his fingers.
I was breathing heavily, my eyes rolling back, saliva dripping to the floor… but I didn't let a single moan escape. I feared that if I did, he'd pull his fingers out as punishment.
In that moment, I understood that receiving pleasure wasn't just about friction between bodies. Lust fed off many other factors—precise, measured doses of stimuli.
Perhaps because I'd behaved well for the man who made me call him "master," as soon as he finished tracing those circles inside me, he began thrusting his fingers with powerful, rhythmic motions.
Giving me a spank with his free hand, he said:
"You can move that ass…"
Given the perfect opportunity to seek greater pleasure, I didn't hesitate. I rolled my hips from side to side, tightening the muscles of my vagina as much as I could. I wanted to swallow his hand. I wanted to feel completely invaded.
My copies kept watching. I even noticed one of them stepping forward.
"Mmmm," Salomon paused in his movements. "What's the point of so many eyes around us? If this is the test for me to enter the Kingdom of Heaven, and it's about you and me, why so many spectators?"
My guest had pointed out the obvious. But I didn't answer. The truth was complicated to explain.
"Could it be...?" he continued, drawing a deeper conclusion. "Do you like being watched in this situation?"
He wasn't far from the truth. So much so that, without hesitation, I replied:
"Yes."
Salomon resumed moving his hand inside me, but unexpectedly, he spanked me again.
"Yes, what?" he asked.
Realizing the slap was a punishment for my omission, I quickly corrected myself:
"Yes, Master…"
As if that word gave him power, strength, and lust, his cock hardened immediately. I could hear how, with the same hand that had just spanked my ass red, he was now stroking himself up and down.
The fingers he had inside me shifted to grab my hair, and even while I was on all fours on the ground, he yanked me back hard, thrusting his cock in all the way to the deepest part of my insides in one brutal stroke.
It felt like everything he had done with his fingers before had been to find the exact position of my cervix, because I felt the tip of his cock brushing my womb. The thrust, the rough friction of his shaft against the walls of my pussy, and the orgasm that washed over me were enough to make my arms and legs give out completely. I didn't collapse face-first only because he was still gripping my hair.
Nearly blacking out, mouth open and tongue lolling, I could see around me the other versions of myself, watching the scene with utter devotion.
I heard him roar. The sound of his powerful slaps against my ass and the forceful thrusts of his hips made me swear his climax was close… and it was. He pulled my body tight against his, and it was his pleasure muscle that took control, lashing inside me and injecting me with scalding semen.
Salomon's second ejaculation left me completely shattered. When he let me go, I felt like my sweat had become thick glue between my skin and the floor. Even with some experience, I still wasn't used to enduring the exhaustion of multiple orgasms in a row. My legs wouldn't respond, and the dull numbness in my sex refused to fade.
Although I had asked for three ejaculations, I had to admit I had nothing left to give. I let myself collapse onto the floor, listening to the sticky sound of my breasts smacking against the surface.
From the corner of my eye, I looked at him. His cock was still flaccidly swollen, as if it was saving the best for last. While I lay in ruins, hundreds of eyes kept watching. My copies, faithful spectators, didn't intervene, but their gazes brimmed with desire. I could feel their arousal, my own reflection… touching each other, just as vulnerable as I was before someone with a dominant character. Someone like Salomon. Someone capable of forcing us to do shameful things.
Suddenly, I felt him lying down on my back, which was still slightly arched. It's not that I wasn't used to being penetrated anally, but his intent to wear me out to the point of total submission… worked.
He brought his mouth to my ear and let out a dry laugh as he tried to enter my tightest hole… and failed. He was still soft, but it wouldn't take long for him to recover.
In a moment, he spread my ass cheeks with both hands and, using his fingers, forced the entrance. Like the arrogant, overbearing asshole he was, he tore into my ass with one brutal thrust. Unlike the pleasure from the first two orgasms, this third trial—where he had to come deep inside me—if I'd had the strength, I would have screamed at him to stop.
Once buried all the way in, my flesh stretched to its limit, he wrapped his hands around my neck and squeezed as hard as he could while pounding into me violently. The weight of his body, the pressure of his fingers, and his ragged breath enveloped everything…