Right outside the bedroom door, hidden in the shadows of the hallway, one of the estate's senior maids sat slumped on the floor like a bitch in heat.
Her elegant black-and-white uniform was bunched crudely around her waist, legs spread obscenely wide. Two fingers were buried knuckle-deep in her dark, hairy, dripping pussy, pumping frantically while her thumb rubbed messy, urgent circles over her swollen clit. Fresh, hot squirt sprayed out in rhythmic gushes every time another lewd moan or wet slap echoed from inside the room—*schlick… schlick… schlick*—soaking the wooden floorboards beneath her plump ass.
She hadn't missed a single filthy second. She had heard the hungry sucking on Lady Seraphina's massive tits, the obscene grinding of my thick cock between those creamy thighs, and finally my stepmother's broken, screaming orgasms as I flooded her womb with load after heavy load.
Her eyes were glassy, cheeks burning crimson, tongue hanging lewdly from her mouth like a brainless whore. A shaky, hoarse whisper slipped out.
"Gods… I need to clean this floor too…"
She was trying to push herself up on trembling legs when the door clicked open.
I stepped out completely bare, my heavy, semi-hard cock still glistening with Seraphina's juices and my own leaking precum. It swayed heavily with every step, a fat droplet falling to the floorboards as our eyes locked.
The maid froze, fingers still buried knuckle-deep in her hairy cunt, mouth falling open in raw panic.
I smirked down at her, voice low and teasing.
"So… just because you could hide in the dark, you listened to every single moan and decided to finger yourself right outside the door, huh?"
She gulped hard, throat working visibly, but no words came out.
I glanced back at the destroyed bedroom—the soaked sheets, the puddles of cum and squirt, my passed-out stepmother still leaking my load—then ruffled my dark hair with a tired sigh.
"It's time for training…"
I looked straight at the trembling, flushed maid and gave the order in a calm, authoritative tone.
"Clean Mother Seraphina's room. Thoroughly. I'm going to take a shower."
Without waiting for a reply I turned and strolled down the long hallway, my heavy cock swinging between my legs and leaving a faint glistening trail of precum on the polished floor behind me.
Behind me, the maid bowed so deeply her forehead nearly touched the ground.
"Yes, Young Master," she answered, voice shaky but perfectly respectful.
I heard her scramble for her broom and cleaning supplies, followed by the soft click of the door as she stepped into the cum-soaked battlefield I had left behind.
While I continued down the hallway, my thoughts drifted to my real biological mother—the legendary Holy Knight. It had been years since I'd last seen her in person. The only clear memories I had were from when I was five. She always gave the same tired excuse: "border problems." My father, the Duke, was even worse—nothing existed for him except endless political scheming and war.
"Reginald," I called out.
A calm, elderly voice answered immediately from the shadows.
"Yes, Young Master?"
My personal butler, Reginald Voss, stepped forward. His stormy grey eyes regarded me with quiet respect, completely unfazed by my nudity or the sticky trail I was leaving.
I nodded. "Call my father."
His eyes flickered with hesitation for a split second, but he obeyed without question.
The mana communicator rang… and rang… then went silent.
Rage boiled up inside my chest.
"He doesn't even have time to speak to his own son…" I muttered bitterly.
Seeing the storm on my face, the old butler sighed and gently patted my bare shoulder.
"Young Master… I heard your mother's war campaign is finally nearing its end. Shall we try calling her instead?"
Hope sparked in my dark eyes.
"Call her, Gramps."
Reginald activated the crystal again. It rang twice before a tired yet commanding voice answered on the third ring.
I snatched the communicator.
"Mom, it's me—Elias."
Her voice instantly softened, warm and protective.
"Elias, my boy. Have you eaten your morning breakfast? Is everything alright at home? If anyone is bullying you, tell me right now. I will wipe out their entire nine generations."
I laughed and ruffled my dark hair.
"Haha, Mom, I'm fine. I was about to ask if *you* had eaten your own—"
Loud war horns blared in the background, followed by soldiers shouting in alarm:
"The Vorathian Empire is attacking!"
My mother's voice turned firm and exhausted.
"Son, I'll call you back later."
The connection cut.
I stood there in the middle of the hallway, staring silently at the dead communicator. Reginald gulped nervously beside me.
In a sudden burst of fury I roared like a wounded lion and smashed the device into pieces against the marble wall.
"I FUCKING HATE YOU, VORATHIAN EMPIRE!!!"
The shattered remains clattered across the floor. My chest heaved, fists clenched white.
Reginald let out a heavy, world-weary sigh.
"Young Master," he said calmly, "you just need to wait another three years. When you turn twenty-five and undergo the Awakening Ceremony, you will finally be able to choose your path—whether to enter your father's political arena or join your mother on the battlefield. It all depends on what power you awaken. Until then… train hard and be patient."
I clicked my tongue in irritation and kept walking toward my private quarters, my heavy cock swinging with every angry step. Sticky strings of precum continued to drip onto the polished marble, leaving a glistening trail. Reginald followed right beside me, completely unbothered.
"Even if I awaken something perfectly suited for my father's stupid political games," I muttered bitterly, "I'd still rather go to my mother's side. I fucking hate that cold-hearted old man."
The old butler let out a soft, knowing chuckle that echoed down the hallway.
I stepped into my private quarters, still bare from head to toe.
Waiting for me with perfect poise at the low tea table was my step-grandmother—Lady Isolde Ravencrest, mother of my father's first wife.
At one hundred and fifty years old she looked breathtakingly elegant, like a refined beauty in her early fifties. Long, silky jet-black hair pinned in a sophisticated updo, a few loose strands framing her flawless face. Sharp silver-grey eyes, high aristocratic cheekbones, full crimson lips, and porcelain skin that glowed under the soft morning light.
Her voluptuous body was wrapped in a luxurious dark silk kimono-style robe that clung greedily to her massive, heavy breasts, slim waist, and wide, fertile hips. Sheer black stockings sheathed her long, toned legs, the delicate fabric shimmering softly with every tiny movement.
The instant she saw me fully exposed, Lady Isolde's silver eyes widened in genuine shock. Her gaze dropped straight to my thick, swinging cock—clearly the first time she had ever seen her grandson like this. A soft, involuntary gasp escaped her painted lips as she prepared to scold me for my indecent state.
Before she could speak, I casually waved my hand.
"Scold me after I take a shower first, Grandma."
I turned and walked toward the bathroom. As I passed right beside the tea table, I heard it—the faint, unmistakable rustle of her sheer black stockings as she pressed her thighs tightly together beneath the low table, trying desperately to hide her reaction.
A wicked smirk spread across my lips.