People Always Lose Important Things Unintentionally

“That red potion…”

Ewan stared at the vial, his blood running cold. It was identical to the one he had bought from the mysterious shopkeeper. He just didn’t understand how Anne had gotten her hands on it.

Unless… the cloaked, petite figure from that day flashed through his mind…

…

“I won’t drink it! Get it away from me!”

From the incident with Celicia, Ewan had learned two valuable lessons. First, how deeply, profoundly humiliating it was to be ravaged on the floor by a woman. And second, a fascinating new piece of alchemical trivia: Evil Dragon’s Blood, when mixed with Dragon’s Tongue Herb, created a terrifyingly potent poison.

An aphrodisiac poison.

A toxin so powerful that not even the Ice Witch herself could resist it, a legendary concoction said to have no cure.

“I absolutely, positively will not drink it!”

Ewan struggled frantically, rattling his chains. He knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that if he drank this potion, no matter how strong his willpower was, he would be doomed to a miserable, humiliating, and utterly catastrophic fate.

“My dear Young Master,” Anne said, her voice a gentle, melodic coo, “do you really believe you have any room left to resist?”

Seeing his desperate struggle, his head shaking violently in a clear sign of absolute defiance, Anne did not get angry. Instead, with a faint, almost pitying smile, she brought the pink potion to her own lips and drank the entire thing in one go.

“Eh?”

Ewan froze, his mind screeching to a halt. Isn’t that for me? Why did you drink it yourself?

But before he could process this bizarre turn of events, Anne’s slender, delicate hand shot out and clamped down on his jaw.

“Ngh!”

It hurts!

Ewan’s eyes widened in panic and disbelief. The hand gripping his jaw didn’t feel like a young maiden’s soft, gentle touch; it felt like an iron clamp, a vise strong enough to crush solid stone. His head was held fast, immovable. Anne leaned in and, without a moment’s hesitation, crushed her lips against his.

“Mmph…!”

Ewan’s eyes bulged, feeling as if they were about to tear at the corners. He could feel the exquisite, terrible sensation of her warm lips, and even more so, the soft, nimble, and terrifyingly skillful tongue that was relentlessly, mercilessly trying to breach the final gates of his castle.

Damn you!

I will not surrender so easily!

He clenched his jaw, forming a fortress wall of pure willpower to resist Anne’s frantic, desperate assault. Even as his outer defenses crumbled, leaving only this final, sacred stronghold, he knew he could not give up! History had proven time and time again that surrendering to the enemy too quickly never led to a good end!

“Tsk.”

Faced with his desperate, last-ditch resistance, a flicker of raw impatience appeared in Anne’s eyes.

Crack.

Ewan suddenly heard a strange, sickening sound, like a joint being dislocated.

And then, a sharp, searing, blinding pain.

“Ngh…!”

He began to struggle again, this time in pure, unadulterated agony. The hand gripping his jaw was slowly, brutally, prying open the fortress gates he had thought were impenetrable.

Crack, crackle…

His jaw screamed in protest. The sound, the pressure, it reminded him of how Anne had effortlessly crushed the solid ceramic teacup into fine, glittering powder.

It’s over!

A look of pure, hopeless despair appeared on Ewan’s face. No matter how resolute he was, no matter how unshakeable his will, it was all utterly, completely useless against a supergirl who could tear down castle gates with her bare hands.

Seriously, why is everyone in this world so ridiculously, absurdly overpowered?! Especially you, Anne! As my personal maid, I’ve never even seen you train!

Unfortunately, Ewan would never get the answers to these questions. As a single, hot tear of regret and humiliation slid from the corner of his eye, he knew only one thing…

The castle had fallen.

A nimble tongue, like a small, eager serpent, darted inside, plundering the spoils of war. And with it came the slightly sweet, cloying, and terrifyingly potent potion.

Without any further mishap, the drug was transferred into his mouth, and he was forced, gagging, to swallow it.

The moment the potion hit his stomach, his mind went hazy. As expected of a concoction worth one hundred and thirty thousand émile; it had knocked out even the mighty Celicia in an instant, let alone a weakling like him.

But this time, the haziness lasted for only a fleeting moment. Because a far more terrifying, all-consuming, searing heat immediately jolted his consciousness back to full, agonizing clarity.

“Rest assured, my dear Young Master. I have carefully controlled the ratio of the ingredients, so you will not pass out,” Anne whispered, her voice a silken caress against his ear. “It is just that… the effects in a certain area will be much, much more pronounced.”

A certain area?

What certain area?!

You have to be more specific!

Never mind, I think I already know.

Ewan sagged against the wall, as limp as a salted fish that had been left out in the sun for eighty-one days, his eyes vacant and dead. He had given up the struggle. He couldn’t struggle anymore. In the span of a few short, ragged breaths, he could already feel the terrifying, infernal heat beginning to burn away at his sanity, making his breathing heavy and harsh.

“Mm.” Anne looked down at a certain part of his anatomy and nodded, her expression one of deep, profound satisfaction. “It seems the effect is quite good.”

She slowly began to remove her maid’s uniform, leaving only her delicate black lace undergarments. And now, Ewan’s eyes were fixed on her beautiful, alluring body, his gaze hot, primal, and greedy, like a wild, starving wolf.

“Hehe.”

At this point, Anne was in no hurry. She reached out and, bit by excruciating bit, began to remove Ewan’s clothes. Her slender, delicate fingers would occasionally brush against his skin, sending shivers down his spine and making the potion’s effects flare even more intensely.

“Well, my dear Young Master? Do you want it?”

“…” Ewan’s eyes were bloodshot, and he seemed to have lost most, if not all, of his reason. He strained against his chains, as if trying to pounce on her.

“Give… it to me,” he squeezed the words out from his throat, his voice low, guttural, and hoarse. “Quick… give it to me… I can’t… take it anymore… so hot.”

“Oh, my. You can’t take it already?” Anne giggled, her voice a light, musical sound that was completely at odds with the horror of the situation. “It seems I may have made the dose a bit too strong.”

“Ngh… give it to me…”

“Unfortunately,” she said, a wicked, predatory smile appearing on her face, as if she had just had a brilliant, terrible idea, “not yet.”

“Not… yet?”

Ewan froze, his drug-addled mind struggling to comprehend. The terrifying, all-consuming heat from the potion was a constant, unrelenting torment, making him want to lunge forward and ravage the girl before him. The effect was so powerful, so absolute, that he could feel it on a primal level; if he didn’t get release soon, he might be completely, utterly incinerated by the flames of his own desire.

And yet, Anne was saying… not yet?

“Wh… why?”

“Because…” she leaned in close, her lips brushing against his ear, “…the resistance in your eyes has not yet completely disappeared.” Her maidenly scent was like a potent, intoxicating poison now, making him feel as if he were about to explode. Yet she maintained a tantalizing, arm’s-length distance, just out of reach.

“The submission I desire, my dear Young Master, is not one brought on by a mere drug.”

“What… do you mean…”

“Hey, Young Master. Become my property,” Anne whispered, her voice filled with an irresistible, hypnotic temptation. “If you become my thing, my possession, I will grant you your release.”

“Re… lease?”

“That’s right. It will feel very, very good.”

“Gulp… good…” Ewan swallowed hard, as if her words held an infinite, undeniable allure.

“Repeat after me, my dear Young Master.” Seeing the last vestiges of resistance in his eyes begin to fade, to flicker and die, Anne smiled, a slow, triumphant smile of a predator that has finally cornered its prey. “Say: I, Ewan Campbell, swear to become Anne’s property, and to never leave her side.”

“I… Ewan Campbell…”

A small, tiny, and impossibly distant voice in the back of his mind screamed at him, Don’t do it! Don’t… If he agreed, he would lose something important, something precious, something he could never get back.

But in his current state, with his mind consumed by a raging, infernal fire, he could no longer hear that inner voice.

“…swear… to become… Anne’s… property… and to never… leave… her side.”

“That’s a good boy, my dear Young Master.”

Having finally gotten the answer she so desperately desired, Anne smiled in pure, unadulterated satisfaction and removed the last of her own clothing. She embraced the now-desperate, whimpering Ewan and slowly, deliberately, sat down.

“Ngh…”

With a soft moan, a strange, tragic mix of pain and pleasure, the dim, dark prison was filled with a boundless, and terrible, spring-like light.