Mark 2

Soon the luxurious carriage rolled smoothly through the bustling streets of Lustria City, the enchanted wheels gliding almost silently over cobblestones polished by centuries of merchant traffic. The merchant district unfolded around them like a living tapestry of commerce and ambition—colorful awnings fluttering in the breeze, hawkers calling out deals on enchanted silks and rare alchemical reagents, and the distant clang of forges mixing with the chatter of traders sealing deals that could reshape minor fortunes overnight.

Mark leaned back against the plush velvet seat, his bright blue eyes sparkling with unrestrained excitement as he gestured animatedly out the window. “You should see the new mansion, Max! Father poured everything into it—three stories, private gardens with actual fountains that play music at night, and a whole wing just for entertaining guests. He spent months planning the move to the capital. We’re here to stay, you know? Connecting with the upper class, building real influence… this is the big one for the Sunset Merchants Guild.”

Max listened with his usual cool detachment, purple eyes half-lidded in aristocratic indifference. The God of Lust’s blessing hummed warmly in his chest, feeding on the undercurrent of raw hunger radiating from the handsome blonde beside him. Mark’s father was indeed a man with a plan—ruthless, calculating, and never one to hesitate when opportunity presented itself. Max could respect that. He knew exactly what kind of lion’s den he was walking into. The entire Sunset family had their sights set on him, each in their own way.

Mark’s father was probably already planning exactly how he wanted to fuck him—slow and deliberate, using that silver-tongued merchant charm to draw things out.

Otto, the cursed older brother trapped in his deceptively childlike “shota” body, had already started his harassment back during the caravan journey, brushing against
Max under the guise of innocent, childish mischief while his scheming eyes burned with adult depravity. And Mark… sweet, sunny, idiot Mark was the slowest of the bunch, the last to fully grasp how badly he craved Max’s body, yet his hunger was the most transparent of all. It leaked from him like sunlight—impossible to hide.

To pass the time during the ride, Max subtly channeled a thread of his enhanced magic. A faint, invisible pulse of power slipped into Mark’s mind while the merchant boy continued rambling about the mansion’s architecture. Max’s purple eyes remained distant and calm on the surface, but inside he dove deep.

There it was—Mark’s true thoughts laid bare in vivid, filthy detail.

The handsome blonde was smiling like an idiot on the outside, chattering cheerfully while staring at Max’s pretty face and soft, inviting lips. But in his mind, he was lost in a vivid daydream: Max bent over the carriage seat, academy robe hiked up, those tight pants ripped open to expose the plump, juicy ass Mark had been fantasizing about since the caravan. In the fantasy, Mark was pounding into him hard, gripping those perfect cheeks while Max moaned in that cool, aristocratic voice, begging for more.

Max couldn’t help but smirk inwardly. The poor guy. With a casual flick of will, he hijacked the daydream, weaving his own spell into it. The fantasy shifted and intensified—Max’s body in the vision now transforming mid-fuck, huge breasts bouncing as he rode Mark reverse-cowgirl style, then switching to a tight, dripping pussy that clenched greedily around him. The mental image grew hotter, wetter, more obscene, every thrust accompanied by the wet slap of flesh and Max’s cool voice whispering filthy encouragements.

Mark’s cheerful monologue faltered for a split second. His cheeks flushed, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat as his cock visibly hardened inside his fine trousers.

The bulge strained noticeably against the fabric, throbbing in time with the enhanced fantasy Max had gifted him.

Max said nothing, maintaining his flawless noble mask. But the blessing inside him purred with satisfaction, drinking in the surge of lust like fine wine. The carriage continued its leisurely journey toward the Sunset family mansion, the air between the two young men growing thicker with unspoken promise.

Mark swallowed hard, trying to keep his sunny smile intact. “S-so… you’ll love the place, Max. Really. There are plenty of private rooms… lots of space where we won’t be disturbed.”

Max’s lips curved into the faintest, coldest smile.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he replied in that detached, commanding tone, voice like winter frost wrapped around velvet.

The carriage turned onto a quieter, wealthier street lined with grand estates. The Sunset mansion loomed ahead—impressive, newly built, and clearly designed to impress the capital’s elite. Max could already sense the rest of the family waiting inside: the ambitious father, the scheming shota brother, and the quiet, curvaceous mother who had secretly funded Mark’s journey.

The lion’s den was open.

And Max was more than ready to walk straight into it.