NTR: Minor Villain Wants to Be the Main Villain - Chapter 88

Chapter 88: A Cat Warrior with a Whole Bakery! (2)

Daphne stood there, completely frozen, her brain short-circuiting like a faulty spirit formation. What the fuck was happening?

She was a former slave, sure, but her time in the Qi crystal mines involved hauling rocks and breaking boulders, not being manhandled like some tavern wench!

Her crimson face burned hotter than a fire Qi furnace, a mix of two distinct and conflicting emotions—pure, unbridled rage and… something else she refused to acknowledge.

‘How the hell did this guy think he could grab her like this?’

Nobody—man, woman, or beast—had ever dared to touch her like that. Sure, she’d had plenty of bastards try to flirt with her in the past, spouting vulgar shit and making inappropriate suggestions.

But the second she glared at them, they folded faster than a cheap fan in a summer storm, sometimes even pissing themselves in sheer terror.

But this guy? He’d just gone straight to second base like it was the most natural thing in the fucking world.

No hesitation, no fear, just a shit-eating grin and hands that had somehow bypassed her years of hard-earned intimidation aura.

The bastards around the table weren’t helping either. Jin was grinning like he’d just won the lottery, Chen was sipping his drink like this was free entertainment, and the two giggling bimbos on Jin’s lap were acting like they’d just seen the funniest shit in their lives.

She could feel Artis’ arms around her waist, his fingers dangerously close to grabbing her ass, and his face… oh, hell no… his face was right there, barely an inch away from her ass cheeks.

If she moved even slightly, she might accidentally knock him out with a tail swipe, but that didn’t feel like enough punishment.

‘Oh, you’re fucking dead.’

Daphne hissed, her claws twitching with anticipation. It was going to take every ounce of self-control not to end this man right here and now.

Artis, blissfully unaware of the impending doom, smirked like the cocky bastard he was.

“Relax, sweetheart. I’m just appreciating the artistry. You’re built like a goddess carved from jade—who wouldn’t admire such craftsmanship?”

Daphne slowly turned her head, her gaze locking onto her so-called companions.

Galore, that useless sack of meat, was practically choking on suppressed laughter, his face redder than a freshly plucked spirit peach.

She made a mental note to make him eat his own boots later—possibly with a side of her claws.

Reiner, on the other hand, was putting on his best I’m shocked but not really face.

His expression screamed, Yeah, I saw this coming, but I’m pretending I didn’t because fuck you, that’s why.

‘That bastard knew!’

Daphne seethed internally.

‘He fucking knew this would happen and didn’t say a damn thing!’

Reiner gave her the slightest shake of his head, the universal signal for Don’t do anything stupid, you’ll fuck up the mission.

It was the kind of look that said, I get it, he’s a pervert, but let’s not blow our cover because I don’t want to deal with the fallout.

Sure, their cover was important—blah, blah, the mission, blah, blah—but at this moment, Daphne didn’t give a flying fuck about their carefully constructed infiltrator act.

The priestess was off somewhere cozy, doing her saintly little miracles. The princess was tucked away safe, likely sipping tea and eating those overpriced spirit cakes.

Meanwhile, she was stuck here, getting groped by a walking embodiment of horny audacity.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm the raging inferno inside her.

But it wasn’t working. Not when she could still feel his hands—the fucking audacity of them—lingering on her upper thighs like he owned the place.

Her claws itched to tear into something, preferably Artis’ smug, grinning face.

‘Not now, Daphne. Not now.’

She began to take deep breaths and it was working—well, partially.

Each deep inthale loosened the coiled spring of fury inside her, her cat ears drooping back to their usual relaxed state. Her temperature cooled, and her nerves stopped screaming for her to maul every bastard in the room.

Progress.

But there was a fucking problem.

A problem that wasn’t anger but pure, unfiltered annoyance.

Her tail.

Normally, Daphne kept her fluffy appendage tucked discreetly between her cheeks—an expert move to avoid any outlines through her tight-fitting dress.

It was a trick of the trade, a subtle art of avoiding unwanted attention in a room full of horny degenerates.

But when that pervert had grabbed her, her body had gone into full-blown fight-or-flight mode. Every muscle in her went rigid, including the one that controlled her tail.

What was once a soft, fluffy string of fur was now a goddamn steel rod, pressed stiffly between her ass cheeks.

And thanks to her unfortunate biology, the tip of her tail was now very much in contact with some… intimate areas.

To make matters worse, when that asshole jiggled her ass, the motion sent her stiffened tail sliding up and down, its tip tapping her puckered hole like it was knocking to be let in.

Her face, already red with suppressed rage, now burned with a whole different shade of crimson.

‘Great, just fucking great.’

She thought, her teeth grinding as she tried to adjust herself subtly. But every tiny movement made things worse, the tip of her tail brushing places it had no business being near.

Daphne’s entire body felt like it had been dunked in molten lava. Warm, tingly, and absolutely not okay.

The soft, traitorous texture of her own tail rubbing against her most intimate places was sending signals she really didn’t want to decode.

Her face, now a radiant shade of beetroot red, was a testament to her absolute mortification.

She wasn’t clueless about that kind of stuff—she’d heard enough crude jokes in taverns and seen enough raunchy street performances to understand the basics.

But experiencing something like this firsthand? While standing stiff as a board in a room full of perverts?

This wasn’t just embarrassing. This was hell.

Then Artis opened his goddamn mouth again.

“Brother, this cake is like that rare, sinful dessert you see in a shop window once, but you can’t afford it. So you go home and jerk off just thinking about it.”

Daphne’s jaw dropped.

‘Did this fucking idiot just compare her ass to a cake he’d masturbate over?!’

But before her brain could fully process the insult, Artis’s hands moved—his fingers creeping up her upper thighs like the world’s most determined trespassers.

When they reached her ass, they didn’t just stop. No, the bastard had the audacity to sink his fingers in and massage her cheeks like he was kneading dough for his next “cake fantasy.”

Her muscles betrayed her. She clenched—hard. Her thighs, her ass, everything tightened in rebellion. And, unfortunately, that meant her tail pressed even more firmly against her most sensitive spots.

The motion sent a ripple of sensation she absolutely did not ask for coursing through her body. It was confusing. It was weird. And, worst of all, it was… kind of a strange feeling.

‘Fucking kill me.’

Daphne thought as she struggled to keep her composure, her tail caught in a war zone between her puckered hole and her increasingly warm pussy.

Meanwhile, the rest of the table was too busy laughing at Artis’s obscene metaphor to notice Daphne’s internal meltdown.

‘Fuck! Fuck! What the actual fuck is this?!’

Daphne’s inner monologue was a trainwreck of panic, rage, and shame.

The warmth pooling between her thighs was not helping her mental state. It was like her body had decided to betray her on every possible level.

The grinding sensation from her stiff-as-hell tail was rubbing her raw in ways she did not consent to, and the fact that it was happening in front of these lecherous bastards only made her feel worse.

Her muscles tensed again, undoing every calming breath she’d taken earlier. Her forehead veins bulged like she was about to unleash some catgirl version of a berserker rage. And then she snapped.

“Pervert! Get your filthy hands off me!”

Before Artis could even blink, Daphne spun around like a whirlwind of fury, grabbed his wandering hand, and twisted it behind his back.

The man yelped as she slammed his smug face into the table with a loud thud.

The entire tavern went silent.

Daphne looked up, panting slightly from the adrenaline rush, only to see every single person in the room staring at her. Not in admiration. Not in horror. But with… pity.

Even the young master, Jin, who had been laughing his ass off just moments ago, was now frozen mid-chuckle, his grin replaced with wide-eyed silence.

His two busty lap ornaments were equally stunned, their hands covering their mouths like they’d just witnessed a tragic soap opera twist.

But it was the tavern owner that really set Daphne’s nerves on edge.

The man had stopped wiping his counter and was now crossing himself—or whatever the local equivalent of “praying for your doomed soul” was.

He touched his chest, then his forehead, all while muttering under his breath and staring at Daphne with the kind of look usually reserved for sacrificial lambs.

‘Why the fuck is he looking at me like that?!’

Her eyes darted around the room. Every patron, every barmaid, even the shady guy in the corner nursing his ale like it was his last drink, was watching her like she’d just dug her own grave.

The weight of their stares made her ears twitch in irritation. But her tail? Her tail was still stiff as a damn flagpole, and she hated how much it reminded her of what had just happened.