Chapter 112 A masochist

Words : 680 Updated : Sep 28th, 2025

as jolthar walked through the corridors of the estate, his steps were steady, his mind focused on seeking rest after the long journey. he moved with the calm confidence of someone who had long grown accustomed to scrutiny. he met pascal and gave him the wild boar meat they hunted. next he asked him to prepare milk. after talking to pascal, jolthar was on his way to his room. the dim light of the hallway reflected off the polished stone walls, casting soft shadows that danced with his every step. then, suddenly, his pace slowed. ahead of him, standing in the middle of the corridor, was elara. she was dressed—or, rather, barely dressed—in a transparent robe that clung to her body like a second skin. the sheer fabric left little to the imagination, revealing her curvaceous figure in stark detail. her bosom was prominently outlined, her nipples pressing visibly against the delicate material, and the robe's loose folds did nothing to conceal the soft curve of her thighs or the faint shadow of her womanhood. she held one hand to her mouth, her cheeks flushed as though she were embarrassed to be caught in such a state. but jolthar wasn't fooled. he could tell by the sparkle in her eyes and the deliberate arch of her back that her innocence was an act—a calculated attempt to draw his attention. "oh, jolthar!" she exclaimed, her voice lilting with mock surprise. "when did you arrive?" jolthar tilted his head slightly, his expression neutral. "just now." his tone was clipped, disinterested. his eyes flickered briefly to her face before looking past her, as if the curves she proudly displayed weren't worth a second glance. elara's lips curled into a subtle pout, her pride stung by his apparent indifference. most men would be scrambling to hide their reactions, unable to look away, but jolthar... jolthar acted as though she were invisible. she straightened her posture, pushing her chest forward to emphasize her ample bosom, hoping to provoke some kind of response. "i was on my way to the bath," she said, her voice soft and suggestive. "so i'm not properly dressed." "i can see that," jolthar replied dryly. myron was on the bed with her riding on top of him; she moved back and forth, grinding herself against him. she was like a temptress, moving her hands all over her body, running through her hair. her moans were becoming louder and noisier by the second. continue reading on empire aaaahhh!!! "elara," orimus had come, and he called out for her. just then orimus had come, and he stopped before the door, and it wasn't locked. and he could clearly hear the unmistakable sounds of passion emanating from within. aaahhh!! he paused, seeing that the door was not locked; it was slightly open. his ears caught the breathy moans and whispered words spilling into the hallway. his heart clenched painfully in his chest. orimus loved elara, though he had never told her. she had always been an enigma to him—a woman he admired, desired, and yet could never truly have. but what twisted the knife even further was the truth he could never deny: he loved watching her with other men just as much as he loved her. he stood there, his hand curling into a fist at his side as he listened, his mind torn between jealousy and dark satisfaction. her voice, the way she moaned myron's name, the soft gasps and cries that followed—it all seared into his soul, a torment he couldn't bring himself to walk away from. he liked being humiliated by her, a masochist he is. "orimus, come inside and lock the door," elara shouted from inside. orimus knew it was wrong, knew he was a fool for standing there, but he couldn't stop himself. his love for her was both a curse and a compulsion and no matter how much it pained him, he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. he entered the room.

Chapter 112 A masochist

Comments (0)