Abigail bit her lips so hard they turned white, then glanced down between her legs.
There, my son, glowing red, lay before her—the one who had defeated her twice.
But soon, as if making up her mind, she placed her hands on my shoulders, stood up, and straddled the rigid butcher's lance herself.
"Huh—huh—huh—huh—"
Her breath trembled, showing how incredibly tense she was.
And no wonder. She had been so afraid of being penetrated in the face-to-face position.
Now, she spread her legs wide, vulnerable, on the very weapon that had impaled her countless times, pressing its sharp tip against her most sensitive spot.
"Mmm… Mm, guh! Nnnggggghhhh!!! Nnnggggghhhh!!!"
Abigail closed her eyes tightly and began to lower herself.
Her throat arched naturally, and sweat dripped down her beautifully exposed neck.
For the first time, I felt myself being swallowed by a woman's lower mouth, regardless of my will. It was slippery, soft, and rough all at once—incredibly pleasurable.
And it was Abigail. The woman every man pines for was inserting me herself. The satisfaction rivaled that of a deepthroat from a courtesan.
I never thought there'd be a woman who'd willingly welcome the Butcher's tool.
"Hhhnnnggghhh!!! …Guh… ugh… ugh—Hhhhhuuuuuu—Hhhhhuuuuuu!!!"
She bit my shoulder again, though it seemed unconscious this time.
She has a habit of love bites.
When she's near her limit, she bites something to steady herself. Her tongue slips out when her ecstasy peaks—it's adorable.
Up close, her face was flushed, her eyes unfocused, and her breath ragged. She seemed completely overwhelmed, still biting me.
I supported her hips with my hands, careful not to let her go too deep.
Before I knew it, Abigail, with remarkable courage, had taken the butcher's lance all the way into her womb.
She mumbled against my shoulder, chewing on it.
—*I'll move, help you, Gevaudan*—
That's it. She thinks my body is still malfunctioning, that I can't move properly. Maybe she thought my slow movements earlier were because of that.
True, earlier I had been uncharacteristically slow, savoring every inch of Abigail's insides.
But in reality, I'd realized that slowly, greedily tormenting her was far more satisfying than rough strokes.
Abigail placed her hands on my shoulders, pushing down firmly.
Seriously? She's going to ride me? What do I do?
It's not a good look for the Butcher to be at the mercy of a captive.
It's bad for my reputation, and Abigail could be seen as a threat. I mean, a woman controlling the Butcher? That's insane, by any standard.
But Abigail's allure pushed my rationality aside.
Her breasts, slightly drooping from her bent posture, still retained their perfect shape. Her soft skin, tinted pink, her slightly flattened navel, the irresistible curve of her waist—and at its center, my penis disappeared. Her long golden hair cascaded over her graceful silhouette. Her beauty gasped hot breaths, her eyes clouding with pleasure.
I wanted to see how this sensual woman would dance on top of me.
Hesitant, I lay back.
I decided to pretend to attack her from below.
With one hand, I gripped her waist; with the other, I kneaded her breasts from below, wrapping my dark tongue around her neck.
Abigail, oblivious to her captured neck, began to move on top of me.
My body is thicker than a drum, so she braced her hands on my stomach, taking a semi-upright position.
I pushed her breasts up from below, teasing her nipples, and her movements grew bolder.
"Hah, hah, hah, hah, hah, haaahn, naaah! Aahh!!!"
Her movements were elastic.
Abigail's hair flew wildly as she gasped, my tongue still wrapped around her neck. She looked like my personal sex slave—a different kind of eroticism from impregnating a woman as an offering.
"Aah! Aah! Aah! Aah! Uah, ugh… un… Ugh! Aaahhh!!! Aaahhh!!! Aaahhh!!! Aaahhh!!!"
She must have found her sweet spot, repeating the same motions and gasps.
Her movements gradually quickened. Her hips seemed to have a mind of their own.
Before my eyes, Abigail bit her lip hard, closed her eyes tightly, and arched her body like a whip, freezing in place.
"Guh… hah… hah… hah… haaah… aaaahhhh—"
Abigail, limp, let out a small cry as she collapsed on top of me.
I forgot to ejaculate, mesmerized by her artistic movements.
Eventually, as she buried her face in my chest, her alluring contractions—squeezing, slippery—drew me in, and I remembered to release, as if compelled.
"⁉ Mm, ah, aah⁉ Aaah—hah… ngg… ugh… !"
Abigail, arching her back and clenching her fists, reached another orgasm. A drop of sweat fell from her armpit, sliding down her breast and dripping from her nipple.
She remained rigid throughout her long release, but as I loosened my grip on her neck, she collapsed on top of me, spent.
Incredible.
That was my honest thought.
"Hah… hah… hah… ah, leero… hah… squelch…"
—*More?*—
Still connected, Abigail closed her eyes, breathing heavily on top of me. She licked my nipples, her vagina tightening as she asked.
Her single-minded devotion to me.
Her change of heart, straddling me in the position she once hated.
Her drastic transformation, seducing the Butcher.
I wondered what had happened inside her.
This woman…
She's serious about taming me.
She's offering her body—the kind every man dreams of—to this ugly monster, determined to manipulate me with all her might.
A woman trying to ensnare the grotesque Butcher.
She's found a glimmer of hope in the most sinister creature, casting aside her pride and everything else. That's the only explanation.
She's been brutally violated by me twice, her dignity trampled, yet she hasn't given up. She's offering herself entirely to the Butcher to seize her future.
Her resilience surpasses imagination.
Witnessing her strength filled me with confidence.
A determined woman is tough. And if a stubborn woman like her risks her life to help me—
Abigail could truly be my salvation.
She could be the partner to break free from this terrible situation.
A small hope blossomed within me.
I gently tightened my tongue around her neck, pleading.
—*Again*—
—*Okay*—
Abigail sluggishly raised herself on top of me, this time rubbing her voluptuous body against my grotesque flesh.
She slowly stroked me inside her vagina, filled with my sperm.
"Ugh, hah, ammm… hamm… squelch… squelch…"
Abigail, her rough tongue licking my chest, rubbed her soft skin against my grotesque belly.
Her slightly drooping breasts slid over my chest, coated in sweat and fluids. Her erect nipples tickled my belly and chest.
There was no disgust on Abigail's face as she continued.
Her brows were furrowed, but her eyes were clouded with desire. The "mmm… mmm…" escaping her lips clearly conveyed her aroused excitement. It was proof she was genuinely into having sex with me.
Something warm seeped into my chest.
I couldn't identify the emotion.
—*I Want Out Too*—
Mid-conversation with Abigail, I carelessly blurted out my true feelings.
Her eyes flashed brightly for a moment.
Abigail's movements and breathing quickened.
"Hah, hah, hamm, kiss, leero, kiss, kiss—"
—*Let's Escape Together, Submit Together, Let's Go*—
Abigail passionately responded, her kisses rhythmically matching her words.
She showed me her sincerity.
So I faced her with equal sincerity.
Abigail will undoubtedly try to use me. She's a spy, after all.
But that's fine.
That's how it should be.
It'll keep her motivated.
No matter her schemes, in the end, my power will overwhelm everything.
The aliens, Abigail—they don't understand.
The true power of the Butcher within me.
What difference do you think there is between an F1 car driven by a madman and one driven by a veteran?
They only know the madman's F1 car.
Their misunderstanding is my trump card.
The moment they set me free, destruction begins—
Abigail is the key to unlocking my chains—
Abigail and I, unsatisfied with just our membranes, continued our conversation using our entire bodies.
From our captivity locations to how we spent our time, even our meals. We should've been discussing escape plans, but strangely, the conversation kept drifting to small talk.
Either way, it was the first time I'd talked this much since becoming the Butcher.
She continued to satisfy me with her shameless display, as if she were a courtesan.
She writhed in my arms, sending me messages in every way possible. Through her love bites, pecking kisses, tongue strokes, vaginal twitches, even the rhythm of her moans.
I responded in kind. Squeezing her breasts, pressing her buttocks, playing with her nipples, thrusting repeatedly. I kept her impaled, pretending to restrain her while gently choking her with my tongue.
The result was an intense, sought-after sex.
A passionate union that scorched our souls.
In the blazing lust, I poured myself into Abigail, obsessed. She responded by arching her sweat-soaked body, clinging to me with all her might.
The Butcher's endless lust subsided after just half a day.
Abigail, betrayed and forgotten.
Me, trapped in the monster's madness, my existence unrecognized.
Perhaps because we acknowledged each other as kindred spirits, the mental satisfaction surpassed our physical hunger.
She's probably selfish.
Deep down, she thinks I'm a grotesque monster she can't bear to look at. No sympathy, friendship, or love.
Don't be fooled. She's still a spy, a pawn of those who set me up.
But on one point—wanting out—we can trust each other.
It's just my delusion, but until that goal is achieved, Abigail and I can comfort each other, bound by an iron solidarity like a train coupler.
Today, from the courage she showed, I was certain of it.
—*Don't Stand Out, It's Dangerous, Be Quiet*—
With that, I sent Abigail away.
She was led away, blissfully crushed, in a daze, but her face seemed to hold a hint of relief, or so it appeared to me.