Meeting with the Viscount

Touya

My hips were snapping like a piston.

My knees dug into the mattress on either side of the Duke’s broad hips, my hands braced on the pillows above Lady Ellen’s shoulders. Beneath her pale thighs the Duke lay on his back, his big Belfastian cock stuck deep into his wife from below. She was draped back across his chest, ankles resting on his thighs. My own smaller dick rode along the top of his, sandwiched between the wet heat of Ellen’s pussy and his thick dick. Each time I drove forward my cock slid over his like a rail over a beam, friction lighting up my nerves. Dan’s earlier release coated everything; we were thrusting through a lake of thick cum that squelched obscenely and dripped down between us to coat the Duke’s balls.

I was monkey‑humping as Dan put it, short desperate thrusts, chasing an orgasm that felt both inevitable and agonizingly far away. Humiliation and exhilaration warred inside me. Part of me was mortified at how small and frantic my movements were compared to the solid, leisurely rolling of the Duke’s hips below. Another part was thrumming with a perverse thrill: I was sharing a woman’s most intimate space with another man. I was barely contributing. THIS was my first time. How I was losing my virginity. My face burned, my body sang.

“Ah… gods… yes…” Ellen moaned, her back arching as she ground down on both of us. Her nipples grazed my chest; her eyes rolled back. The Duke groaned under his breath. One large hand squeezed her breast while the other gripped her thigh, guiding her onto his cock even as he let me use her. “That’s it, lad,” he rumbled, a smile touching his lips. “Rut away.”

I plunged faster. The head of my cock flashing from the top of his sac at the entrance to as much as five inches of his shaft further inside with every fast stroke, the sensation maddening. My thighs slapped wetly against her hips. Dan’s heavy load inside her added a thickness to the friction, a slippery, squishy gel that made everything obscene and easy. I could feel the sticky warmth coating my shaft and the Duke’s, could smell it, and it sent sparks down my spine. I panted, my breath ragged, a tremor running through my arms.

It hit me suddenly, like a slap. My balls drew tight. My gut clenched. “I… I’m going to…” The words came out a broken gasp. I couldn’t stop. My hips bucked erratically. The Duke chuckled, feeling the way my thrusts went from rhythmic to frantic.

“Go on,” he murmured, voice warm. “Join the stew.”

“Yes, Touya, yes!” Ellen cried, voice high and bright with a delighted, almost girlish thrill, “That’s it, my brave young hero, spend yourself for me. Add your share to the churning!”

I shoved forward and held. My tip twitched. A jet of thin semen spurted from me, immediately swallowed up by the mass of Dan’s thick, white ejaculate inside her. A second and third followed, each a pitiful little splash compared to the flood already there. Heat washed through me. My vision went white around the edges. Every nerve lit with ecstasy and shame.

“Good lad,” the Duke said. “I’ll make sure your contribution finds its mark.” He adjusted his grip on his wife’s hips.

My limbs felt like water. I pulled back, my cock sliding along his one last time. The mix of fluids clung to me in white ropes that snapped as I withdrew. I knelt to the side, chest heaving, watching through a haze as the Duke repositioned his wife, slipping out from under her to come around to take my former position above her.

With a smooth motion he pushed Ellen’s knees up, folding her in half. Her hips lifted off his thighs. He thrust up into her with renewed vigor, freed from my smaller intrusion. I could just imagine his thick shaft churning through the semen bath, the blunt head pushing waves of it deeper into her. The wet slap of flesh on flesh filled the room. He worked like a plowhorse, muscles bunching and releasing, sweat beading on his brow. Each stroke packed my own little donation and Dan’s copious release further toward her womb. The sight of his cock disappearing into his wife, the froth of mixed seed bubbling up around the base and then vanishing again under the force of his thrusts rekindled the fire low in my belly despite my recent climax.

“Alfred… harder… please…” Ellen babbled, head lolling. Her hands clawed at his shoulders. The Duke obliged, pounding up as if trying to fuse their bodies. His expression was one of rapture and possession. “Mine,” he groaned hoarsely, sweat dripping onto her chest. His hips drove up and held. I saw his balls pull tight. The base of his cock swelled. He pulsed inside her, injecting his own noble load into the soup already filling her womb. He jerked several times, each accompanied by a grunt.

My crotch was a traitor. Even now, in the rattling carriage, it was throbbing, twitching, pressing up against my trousers like it wanted to claw its way into my hand. Last night’s memories of the duke’s cock grinding mine into Ellen’s slick heat replayed in my head on a loop, and my body responded like an obedient dog. I’d always been a chronic masturbator back home but coming to this world had cranked that habit up to eleven. Here, oral sex seemed almost like a courtesy or at least a common enough commodity. Here, watching Dan plow into a girl could make me spurt in my trousers without a single touch. Those orgasms, humiliating and hands-free, were some of the most intense I’d ever had.

I shifted in my seat, casually draping my arm across my lap to hide the obvious bulge. Thankfully I wasn’t built like Dan; his monster pressed a visible outline in his pants even when he was soft. All I needed was my forearm and nobody would be the wiser. My dick twitched again anyway, like it was offended at being ignored. It had tasted noble pussy for the first time last night and apparently thought that meant it could misbehave in public.

A part of me wanted to give in. To unzip, take myself in hand, and pump out the tension while the wagon wheels rumbled beneath me. My balls ached with leftover arousal, my mind still stuck on netorare fantasies I’d never known I had before Dan had really introduced me to them. Another part of me clamped down hard. Even in Japan, where an accidental towel drop wasn’t the end of the world, you didn’t jerk off in the subway. And yet… we were in a world where blowing someone was really casual. Where the duke of a kingdom grunted encouragingly while his wife took two cocks at once and his maids cheered. Where my own friends had sucked me off right after meeting me because I’d helped out a bit with some thugs.

I glanced around. Linze was sitting very close next to Dan. Dan sat with his hands folded behind his head, eyes closed, a half-smile on his lips. You could see every curve of his length through his pants, like he’d stuffed a loaf of bread and a pair of coconuts down there. He wasn’t even aroused; that was just him at rest. Yae sat across from me, her posture straight, hands folded in her lap, eyes watching the road. Her fundoshi hid nothing, white cloth nestled between the smooth lips of her sex, small tits jiggling with the motion of the carriage. If she noticed my fidgeting, she didn’t show it. Elze was on my other side, arms crossed, eyes watching the scenery and contributing her own part to my distraction since she’d stopped wearing a skirt entirely for some reason recently. Her white blouse with its purple sleeves was tied off at the belly button and her tiny green and white striped panties were just a small triangle of fabric over her pussy.

My own dick throbbed, as if reminding me it was still there. I swallowed, looking out the window, breathing through my nose. My fetish, humiliation, cuckoldry, netorare, whatever you wanted to call it, had apparently always been a latent ember. This world had dumped gasoline on it. I could feel it burning now, hot and impatient. I clenched my fist on my thigh and tried to focus on the clopping of the horses.

This is ridiculous. I thought, half-laughing to myself. I’m on a quest. We’re supposed to be delivering a letter. And all I can think about is cock and a pussy I only felt for twenty seconds before I blew like a teenager. My phone vibrated silently in my pocket. I pulled it out and thumbed it on to distract myself, carefully not clicking on any of my hentai bookmarks.

Oh wow. Britain voted to leave the EU.

My heart pounded. My dick twitched again. My fingers itched. It took every ounce of willpower to keep them on the phone instead of slipping under my belt. Somewhere in the back of my mind a voice whispered that I could always duck behind a hedge at the next stop. Another voice told me to man up, tuck my arm lower, and survive the ride. I chose the latter. Barely.

We rolled through the final gate of the noble district. Beyond lay an avenue lined with silver‑leafed poplars. At the end of the lane stood our destination: the estate of Viscount Karolus Gallun Sordric. The mansion was broad and elegant rather than ostentatious. Pale stone gleamed in the daylight, its roofline a series of tasteful gables rather than the spires favored by older noble families. Flowerbeds blazed with color on either side of the drive, and the statues flanking the front door were of warriors.

We disembarked. A liveried footman took Dan’s bridle and handed our reins to a stable boy. Another servant escorted us toward the main entrance. Yae’s posture grew even more upright, if that was possible. She had mentioned on the way that her father had trained the Viscount many years ago.

We were brought in after I presented Zanac-san's name and letter. A butler led us to a guest room and withdrew with quiet efficiency.

The room itself was spacious and refined, with a divan, a low table, tasteful wall hangings, and a set of windows that let in afternoon light. My first rude thought was that compared to House Ortlinde it was a little plain. (It certainly lacked a double line of cute maids!)

My second rude thought was that I really needed to do something about the problem in my pants before I had to stand up and speak to a viscount.

"Ah... excuse me," I said, putting on what I hoped was a dignified expression. "Might I use the restroom?"

The maid attending us smiled and bowed. "Of course, sir. Right this way."

Thank goodness.

She led me down a corridor to a private washroom and withdrew. The moment I was alone, I locked the door, looked at myself once in the polished metal mirror, and sighed.

"You are pathetic," I informed my reflection.

Then, because I was me and because this was honestly the practical thing to do, I reached into my trousers and took myself out.

I had always masturbated a lot. At every opportunity probably wasn't fair, but not wildly unfair either. Stress relief, clarity, routine, boredom, temptation, whatever. It had been part of my life for a long time. I would have liked to say I had outgrown the habit by now, but that would have been a lie even before getting dropped into another world where half the women I met seemed bizarrely open about sex and the other half looked at Dan like he was a public service.

So I leaned one hand against the wall and worked myself quickly and matter-of-factly, eyes half shut, mind betraying me immediately.

The Duchess.

Dan's thick white seed already inside her.

The Duke behind her with the sort of body that made me feel like a schoolboy standing beside real men.

And me in the middle of it, somehow invited, somehow wanted, somehow not told to get out.

It didn't take long.

I bit down on a breath and came in a few thin spurts that hardly looked like anything at all. A small watery mess. Barely more than strings and dribbles.

When Dan blew, it looked like he was emptying a breeding bucket. The sort of thing you’d see in the grossest hentai. Thick, white, goopy baby-making cum in absurd amounts, rope after rope of the stuff, enough to paint grass or flood a womb or leave a woman dripping for the rest of the day. Compared to that, mine looked... well.

Mine looked Japanese.

Thin little spurts. Modest. Functional.

I stood there for a moment, half amused, half annoyed, and weirdly curious.

What did it feel like to come like Dan?

To have that much pressure. That much volume. A shaft that heavy and powerful in your hand, pumping out what looked like quarts of the stuff. Big American cocks were no joke. No wonder the idea of visiting American tourists leaving knocked up Japanese wives and daughters in their wake had such a weird, humiliating heat to it. A guy like Dan strolling through some peaceful town and leaving a trail of wet, dazed women with fuller pussies and dirtier secrets behind him felt less like fantasy the more time I spent around him.

I shivered a little, cleaned myself up, and tucked away.

Better.

Much better.

I returned and took a seat. Tea had been poured and Elze was tasting it before making a face. Linze and Dan were making out heavily, her straddling his lap, while Yae waited primly.

Within a couple of minutes the Viscount arrived.

He was tall, over six feet, and broad across the chest. His hair, cropped short, was red and there were streaks of silver at his temples. He wore a sleeveless tunic that did nothing to hide the definition of his arms. Scars crisscrossed his forearms, old and white against tanned skin. His eyes were keen, a falcon’s gaze that missed nothing. When it swept over us it paused momentarily on Yae before returning to me. There was a weight in that look.

“I am Karolus Gallun Sordric,” he said. His voice was a deep baritone, calm and clipped. “You’re Zanac’s messengers?”

“Yes, Viscount,” I replied, rising to bow. “Sir Zanac entrusted us with this letter and bade us to receive your reply.” I offered him the sealed parchment with both hands.

He accepted it and pulled a small knife from his belt. He slit the wax seal, unfolded the parchment and scanned the contents. His expression did not change, though I saw the corners of his mouth tilt ever so slightly upward. When he’d finished he nodded once.

“Wait here.” He tucked the letter inside his tunic and left through a side door.

We waited about thirty minutes which wasn’t exactly rude given that we were just random adventurers and he was a noble. It certainly didn’t seem to bother the others. Yae wasn’t much for talking right not but I chatted with Elze for a bit while Dan passed the time laying back with Linze in his hands and on top of him.

The Viscount returned with a new parchment folded and sealed in red wax. He handed it back to me.

“Give that to Zanac,” he instructed. “I entrust him to see to his part. And then…”

His eyes moved again to Yae.

“I was curious from the moment you entered,” he said, cocking his head. “That you were Eashen was quite clear. But your face… there is a familiarity there. Where… no, I don’t think we’ve met. But Konoe… Kokonoe… Kokonoe Yae?”

Yae’s eyes widened. She stepped forward and bowed deeply, her palms pressed to the scabbard of her sword. “My name is Kokonoe Yae,” she said earnestly. “I am daughter of Kokonoe Jubei.”

He barked a short laugh and slapped his thigh. “Kokonoe! Chief Jubei’s daughter. Gods, that takes me back. Your mother Nanae had the same eyes. And the same… porcelain‑perfect teacups.” His gaze slid unabashedly down to the slight swell of her breasts.

Yae smiled demurely. “You knew my mother?”

“Knew? Hah! Your father was my instructor when I was a snot‑nosed brat. For two years he tried to beat some discipline into my head. And your mother… she could have carved her likeness into the moon and men would have worshipped it. You look very much like her.” There was admiration in his tone and no small amount of nostalgia.

“I have a request, Viscount,” Yae said, meeting his gaze squarely. “Father said that if I ever met you, I should ask for your instruction.”

He studied her for a long moment, eyes hooded. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Very well. The dojo is outside. Come.”