The sun beat down on the back of Gareth's neck, hot and unforgiving, but it was nothing compared to the fire burning on his ass cheeks.

'Damn that bastard! Damn that bitch! Damn this whole cursed house!'

Gareth ripped a handful of purple-tinged grass from the soil, his fingers trembling not from effort, but from the phantom sting that still throbbed with every beat of his heart.

He grit his teeth, the sound grinding in his skull as he tossed the weed into the growing pile.

'Two times! She hit me two times!'

He couldn't help it; his hand drifted back, gingerly rubbing the sore, throbbing flesh of his buttocks.

The humiliation was worse than the pain.

To be bent over a log like a naughty child and paddled with a thick wooden stick by a woman who used to bake bread... it was a nightmare.

A surreal, horrifying nightmare.

It was the first time he had been hit by a stick so hard that the stick itself had shattered. He could even feel that his butt had swollen due to the pain.

He risked a glance upward, his eyes darting toward the edge of the garden.

She was still there.

Helena stood under the shade of a large oak, her arms folded beneath those massive, heavy breasts that seemed to defy gravity despite their weight.

She held a thick, polished wooden stick in one hand, tapping it rhythmically against her thigh.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound echoed like a death knell in Gareth's ears.

She was glaring at him. Her brown eyes, usually so warm and cow-like, were sharp enough to cut glass.

Gareth instantly looked down, his heart hammering against his ribs. 'Don't look. Don't let her see you looking. She's a monster. A demon in an apron.'

His gaze focused on the grass again. 'Wait... doesn't she... look... strange...'

He paused, a frown creasing his sweaty forehead. He stole another peek, this time keeping his head low.

The sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling Helena's figure. The dress she wore was tight, straining against her soft, cushiony curves. It clung to her wide hips and those thick, milky-white thighs he knew were hidden underneath.

He wanted to say she looked far more beautiful than he remembered. The Helena he knew was a plain, tired nanny. This woman... she glowed. Her skin looked smoother, her presence heavier.

But he felt nothing.

No stir in his groin. No flicker of lust. Just a cold, hollow observation.

'Why? She's a woman, right? I should be thinking about... something.' But there was just a void where his desire should be.

The same feeling a child has before puberty... nothing.

It made him clench his jaw, rubbing his head in confusion before focusing back on the grass. 'Whatever. I just want to leave this place. I just want to survive.'

---

'Should I hit him more for enslaving Bella—'

"Hic—?" Helena gasped, her body jolting. Her eyes, which had been drilling holes into Gareth's skull, suddenly widened, firing with a mix of shock and something darker as she felt a hand—large, warm and familiar one—grope her thick ass.

The hand didn't just touch; it claimed. It bunched the fabric of her dress, fingers digging deep into the soft, yielding flesh of her buttock, before one finger hooked and ticked right into the valley of her ass crack.

"U-umh... D-don't surprise me like this, Young master..." She turned, her face flushing, finding Victor standing there.

He looked casual, bored even, as if he hadn't just molested his wife in broad daylight.

He blinked at her, his dark eyes absorbing the light.

"What are doing here and Bella—?" Helena's voice wavered, losing its steel instantly.

Victor didn't answer immediately.

"Hmm" He leaned in, burying his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply. "I am doing work, can't you see?"

"Ah~" Helena tilted her head to the side, submitting to his touch instinctively, her breath hitching. "Work...?"

Victor pulled back, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked towards Gareth. The older man was hunched over, pretending to be a statue, terrified of witnessing something that would get him killed.

Victor chuckled, the sound low and vibrating in his chest. "You brought this guy here simply to clean the garden since the grass had grown too much? You really are practical, Helena."

Helena's cheeks burned, but she leaned into his hand which was still kneading her ass. "He... he needed to be useful, Young Master."

Victor nodded, watching Gareth rip another handful of the purple weeds. "By the way, did you tell him the grass was poisonous?"

The silence that followed was loud.

Helena froze, blinked, and then looked at the faraway, unaware Gareth, who was busy working there.

Helena looked at Victor, her eyes wide. "You can give him the antidote, right?"

Victor shook his head, a mock expression of disappointment on his face. "You are too cruel, Helena."

"I-! Young Master, I didn't-"

He cut her off by tightening his grip on her ass, his fingers digging in so hard she moaned loudly, her knees buckling slightly. He placed one finger on her lips, silencing her.

Those lips... rosy dew petals, slightly swollen from the abuse they had taken last night.

The marks of his teeth were still faint on the lower lip.

Last night experiments revealed how her body healed to peak whenever fucked.

She looked gorgeous, a beauty descended from heaven who had been corrupted just for him.

'My wife—'

'Fucking limp bastard.' He felt a familiar hunger rise in his gut, a desire to eat her right there against the tree. But he paused.

'Emptied in Bella, Gave Kaida her moutful... yet this punk.'

"Wh-what happened, Young master?" Helena's word pulled him out of his own thoughts.

"Nothing." He said thinking how he should focus on work. His wives were always with him and he could always enjoy and eat them whenever he wanted.

They weren't going anywhere.

So, instead of bending her over, he poked her asshole through the dress with his finger, watching her wince and shudder.

"Go take care of Toby," he commanded softly. "Mira is probably drowning him in the tub by now."

Helena nodded frantically, her face a mask of flushed arousal and obedience. "Yes... Yes, Young Master."

She turned and moved away, her hips swaying with a heavy, rhythmic motion.

Victor took a mental picture—no, a literal one with his eyes—seeing how her dress had been turned inward, wedged deep inside her ass crack from his groping.

It clung to the dampness there, outlining the heavy, thick cheeks that jiggled with every step.

Even though he had fucked her all night, stretching her pussy until she couldn't close her legs, seeing that ass move made him feel hard again.

He let out a long breath, looking up at the blue sky.

"Why didn't you just add a dick inside of my brain, huh, bastard?" he muttered.

He felt that his higher self—the writer, the god, whatever controlled this narrative—was truly a bastard to make him have such insatiable lust.

Though, he admitted as he adjusted his pants, it was good in a way.

It kept the romance heated. It kept him motivated.

Ignoring the throb in his pants, Victor walked towards the garden patch.

'Wh-what is this?' Gareth was frozen, staring at his hands which were stained green and purple from the weeds.

He looked up as a shadow fell over him, terror etched into every line of his greasy face.

Victor stopped a few feet away, crossing his arms. His shadow stretched long over the servant, engulfing him.

"I expect you did your job, pig," Victor asked, his voice devoid of the warmth he showed his women, cold and sharp as a blade.

He had noticed how this man looked toward Helena for a moment; however, naturally, he could not act like those overly possessive boyfriends and go around telling men not to look at his wives. What could he do? They were just that beautiful.

Still, he at least became aware of how the anti-pervert zone around them was doing its work perfectly.

'!'

Gareth trembled before he felt Viktor glare at him like some street thug. Looking directly into his eyes, he said, "I told you to secure Bella's slave contract; you did well. But what about placing the dried flower I gave you in my father's room? Did you do it?"

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