Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate - Chapter 149

Chapter 149: Master* (2)

“Master. You’re going to call me that from now on.”

The word echoed in her ears—sharp, absolute. Not barked like an order, not whispered like a plea. Spoken like a truth already known.

And yet, it stirred something in her chest far more powerful than any command he’d given before.

Elysia’s breath hitched. Just slightly. Her lips parted as if to speak—but no sound came out.

She could hear her heartbeat. She could feel the weight of his gaze. And in the middle of it all… her thoughts scattered.

He had changed.

That was the simplest way to explain it. But nothing about Damien’s transformation had been simple.

Three weeks ago, she wouldn’t have hesitated to label him as nothing more than a wretched shell of nobility. A name with no substance. A man who reeked of indulgence and entitlement. She had seen him slumped over couches, stumbling through hallways, eyes glassy and words slurred with wine and apathy.

That Damien was not a master.

That Damien was a duty.

Something she served out of obligation, out of loyalty to the household—not to the man.

But this Damien?

This one who tore himself apart just to be reborn from the wreckage? Who suffered willingly, with purpose? Who looked at her now not with entitlement, but with intent?

‘Ah…’

She felt it. The realization, as quiet as it was sudden.

Her perception of him had already changed.

And somewhere along the way, without her knowing when, her service had shifted from enforced obedience… to chosen submission.

The word he had spoken—master—did not clang like a false title in her mind. It didn’t scrape against her pride. It didn’t feel wrong.

There was no resistance in her heart. Not even a whisper of it.

That, more than anything, frightened her.

Not because it was wrong—but because it felt natural.

Her fingers curled softly against the sheets beneath her. Her breath steadied, not from control, but from surrender.

And when she looked up at him—truly looked—everything shifted.

Damien’s eyes.

Not just eyes. Mirrors.

The soft, glacial blue of them burned down into her, clear and sharp enough to carve away everything false. They didn’t plead. They didn’t demand. They watched—steadfast and sure, reflecting her trembling body in their depths. Her parted lips. Her flushed chest. The rise and fall of her ribs beneath his touch. It was like he was already claiming her, without ever lifting his voice.

She saw it there.

The ache. The hunger.

But beneath it—authority.

Real. Quiet. Absolute.

And she…

She breathed the word.

Soft. Full.

“…Master.”

It left her lips like something sacred. Like it had always been there, waiting behind her teeth to be spoken aloud. The air shifted around them the moment it did.

And Damien—

Smiled.

Not smug. Not cruel.

Warm. Possessive. Pleased.

“Yes, my dear maid,” he murmured, and the depth in his voice made her shiver all over again.

Then—he moved.

His fingers, still buried inside her, began to stroke again. A slow, devastating rhythm—gentle but relentless, dragging through her inch by inch like he was memorizing the shape of her from the inside.

Her hips jerked, breath catching violently in her throat as her waist curled upward of its own accord.

“Ahhh—… Master—!”

The title came again, this time tangled in a moan.

“Good,” Damien whispered. “Let me hear you.”

He pushed deeper, curling his fingers just slightly—just enough to press again at that hidden spot inside her, and the jolt of pleasure was electric. Elysia cried out, body arching, thighs trembling on either side of his hand.

“Aah… aaahhh—!”

Each touch was a confession. Each curl of his fingers stripped her down further, peeled her open from the inside out until all she could do was tremble and moan and say his name the only way that mattered now.

“Mmmffff…..”

Her moan was swallowed the instant his mouth claimed hers.

Damien leaned in without warning, sealing her lips with his own, deep and possessive. His tongue brushed past the seam of her mouth, coaxing it open, and when she gasped—helpless, trembling—he took the sound straight from her throat.

And at the same time—

His fingers moved.

The ones inside her curved again, slow and sure—but it was the other that broke her.

His thumb flicked up. Light. Precise.

Right against her clit.

Elysia’s eyes flew open. Wide. Shocked.

The jolt that tore through her wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow. It hit her like lightning—fast and total, curling her toes and locking her muscles in a sharp, spasming arch that snapped her breath in half.

“Ahhh—! Mmfff—!”

The sound got caught in Damien’s mouth, their kiss turning messy, desperate, as she shattered in his hands.

Her orgasm ripped through her, body twitching, thighs clamping around his wrist as her inner walls clutched at his fingers in rhythmic, uncontrollable waves. She came hard—wet, trembling, her slick coating his hand, her cries muffled by lips that never stopped moving against hers.

He only pulled back when her body finally began to slacken—when her spine eased into the mattress and her breath fell apart into panting.

“Haah… haah… haah…”

Elysia stared up at him like she wasn’t sure whether she was floating or falling. Her skin was flushed, chest heaving, hair clinging to her temples with sweat.

Damien looked down at her—his hand still warm between her thighs—and smiled.

“How was it?” he murmured.

Her mouth opened.

Closed.

No words came out—just another shattered breath.

“…”

“Haah…” she exhaled again, voice barely there, but her expression said everything.

His smile widened, just enough to be smug, but never cruel.

“It was that good, huh? Your first orgasm in your life.”

Her cheeks burned. Her eyes flicked away, only for a second—but he caught it. The flicker of shame, the uncertainty.

And he didn’t let it linger.

“No,” he said, gently. Commandingly. “None of that. Look at me.”

She did.

His voice dropped again, velvet over steel.

“Come here,” he said. “Take my clothes off.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

But she obeyed.

Unsteady at first, Elysia pushed herself upright—her thighs still trembling, her body still humming from aftershocks. Her fingers rose toward him, hesitant but no less reverent. She slipped them beneath the hem of his shirt—the thin, sweat-damp fabric clinging to his skin.

And then, slowly… she peeled it up.

The cloth dragged over his abs, catching momentarily on the sharp planes of his torso. His skin was warm, taut. Scarred in places. And so real. Not the soft indulgence she remembered from weeks ago. This was a body hardened by something sharp. Something chosen.

Her eyes widened.

She didn’t mean to react—but the subtle intake of breath, the way her fingers paused over the curve of his ribs… he noticed.

“Heh…” Damien exhaled, a soft, amused sound.

And then—

“Didn’t I tell you?” he murmured, voice rich with quiet satisfaction. “Soon, you’d enjoy clothing me… and undressing me.”

Her fingers paused at the hem of his shirt.

And then, slowly, she lowered her head.

Not in shame.

Not in refusal.

But in memory.

He had said it once—weeks ago, in that low, teasing voice she hated. “Soon, I’ll make sure you start to like it.” She had scoffed then. Rolled her eyes. Bit her tongue so she wouldn’t call him repulsive to his face.

Because back then… he had been.

Soft, bloated from too much wine. A body slack with neglect, bloated flesh spilling over his belt, skin flushed and greasy, the stench of soured sweat and expensive perfume doing nothing to hide it. She detested touching him then—duty or not.

But now…

Her nose twitched.

He was still sweaty—from the training they’d finished before this started—but the scent wasn’t foul. It was warm. Salted. Alive.

It didn’t repulse her.

It drew her.

She ran her hands up his newly bare chest, fingers tracing the ridges of muscle, the hard line of his abdomen. The sweat glistened along the ridges of his torso, catching the candlelight in a way that almost made him gleam. His body was still imperfect. Still human. But it had been earned now. Honed. Sharpened.

Masculine.

Commanding.

Touching him didn’t feel like a task anymore.

It felt like—

Something.

Something she wasn’t ready to name, but felt in the curl of her stomach and the warm bloom between her legs, still twitching with aftershocks.

Then—

“Lower the rest,” Damien said.

Simple. Calm. Inevitable.

Elysia swallowed.

Her fingers moved again, this time to the waistband of his training shorts. She hooked them slowly, dragging the fabric downward inch by inch. Her breath caught when it dipped beneath his hips—revealing more skin, more heat, more of him.

The shorts fell to the floor in a whisper of cloth.

She hesitated.

His underwear remained.

But her hands moved anyway.

She tugged that down too, and the moment the fabric cleared—

She saw it.

Him.

Hard.

Thick.

Rising.

Her breath snagged in her throat, her eyes going wide before she could stop them.

It stood heavy against his stomach, flushed and veined, the head already slightly glistening with anticipation. He was… large. Larger than she had imagined—even in the idle nightmares she’d had when she first arrived. But now—those fears didn’t come.

Only heat.

Only wonder.

Only want.

Her gaze lingered there, uncertain. Awed. Lips parted, chest rising.

And above her—Damien smiled.

“Like what you see, my dear maid?”