The night stretched long. Truman didn't summon Sylvia to his bed, instead lying alone like a hunter awaiting prey in a trap.
Sylvia protested—she couldn't sleep without her master's favor, needing his cum to drift off. Truman soothed the sulky cowgirl gently, though he shared her regret. Such an obedient slave was rare, but her departure loomed.
If Elaviel's curse wasn't lifted soon, she might vanish like his past slaves, dissolving into nothingness. The thought stirred unease in Truman. Elaviel was the highest-tier, most beautiful female he'd bedded, the one he'd spent the most time with, and the one he'd worked hardest to win over. Losing her would sting, no question.
What a waste…
Lost in thought, midnight crept by. With no sign of Elaviel, Truman gave up and slept.
This angel's got some stubborn streak.
...
The next morning, Truman rose early, wasting no time. He pulled Sylvia into morning duties. As her massive breasts squeezed his cock, she pouted. "Master's got so much pent up, sloshing in those balls, yet you shooed me away last night…"
Truman munched on a fried stick, sipping congee, and sighed at the lewd maid gyrating under the table. "It's not what I want, but I've gotta sacrifice for the people's lives, show my loyalty to the Lord. Otherwise, it's betrayal, right?"
His tone was theatrical but hushed, as if meant only for the naive cowgirl. Yet he knew the one who needed to hear would.
Sure enough, the moment his words landed, a door slammed open. Elaviel stormed out, eyes blazing, glaring at Truman. "No need for mind games, Truman. I'll decide for myself. Don't question my loyalty."
Truman gave a sheepish grin, bowing respectfully. "Your Highness, just talking offhand, no slight intended. Please forgive my sin."
"Your sins are plenty. I should break your limbs!" Elaviel huffed, turning back to her room.
Watching her go, Truman murmured, "Tonight's the night."
...
To conserve energy for peak performance, Truman let Sylvia off after her morning service. She sulked, thinking he'd tired of her, tears welling up, ready to spill.
Knowing today was her last—she would fade—Truman calculated his stamina and reserves, then gave her a farewell round.
He pinned the cowgirl to the windowsill, hiking up her short skirt to reveal her plump, snowy rear. Gripping her massive breasts, he pounded her lush hips, each thrust deep and forceful, hitting her core, making her lewd flesh quiver.
"Wah, Master, I'm sorry! Ngh! Sylvia just… craves your love!" she wailed.
Only when she begged, calling him Master, did Truman release, flooding her with hot spurts until she rolled her eyes, babbling incoherently.
By evening, Sylvia hadn't stirred, still clamping his warm cum between her thighs, murmuring softly.
She faded into nothingness, leaving Truman with a pang of regret.
He viewed summoned beings like animated, talking figures—born from the void, returning to it. Other summoning arts pulled suitable entities from fantasy realms, but none had cracked permanent existence.
Understanding didn't dull the loss. A good maid was hard to come by, and he could only mourn her passing.
Lacking Elaviel's near-godlike creation powers, even the best slaves slipped away. Shaking off his sorrow, Truman entered his room, waiting silently.
...
The night was still, moonlight flooding through the window.
As Truman's thoughts wandered, the closed door creaked open, just as he'd anticipated.
Moonlight spilled into the living room, bathing the figure in a silvery glow, momentarily dazing Truman.
She was breathtaking. After days of recovery, Elaviel no longer bore the deathly pallor of their reunion. She radiated the majesty of an archangel, the Church's sovereign, wielding supreme authority. Her figure was lithe yet curvaceous, her face exquisite yet coldly regal—a celestial being beyond the mortal realm, a haughty monarch.
Her white robe, loose yet clinging, outlined her voluptuous curves, her long legs bared, utterly captivating—the world's most perfect conquest.
Moonlight sanctified her, amplifying her otherworldly allure.
Holiness and depravity coexisted in her, enough to drive any man wild, howling to claim her as his personal toy.
Elaviel stood in the doorway, gazing at the man on the bed, her expression impassive, devoid of emotion. But after days with her, Truman saw through the mask.
"Such a tsundere, Your Highness."
The quip slipped out unfiltered.
"…"
Though unfamiliar with "tsundere," Elaviel caught his teasing. Without a word, she turned to leave.
Her heart had been a battlefield of conflicting emotions, but one thought had prevailed: break free, return to the holy city—it's the Lord's will. Yet, having mustered the courage to come, being mocked made her feel like a harlot.
She was done for the night.
Thud!
A sound of knees hitting the floor stopped her. Turning, she saw Truman groveling shamelessly, wailing, "Your Highness, you're my queen! I was wrong! Please stay—without you, my life's meaningless!"
His comical plea and undignified kneeling caught her off guard. She couldn't help but laugh. Was this the righteous saint vowing to save the Church? He looked like an addict begging for her favor.
Her anger eased, and she stepped inside.
Clang!
The moment she entered, Truman sprang up, slamming the door shut.
"What… are you doing?" Elaviel stared, puzzled.
"Just making sure Your Highness doesn't change her mind," Truman said, forcing a sincere smile, though it came off sleazy.
"I haven't agreed to anything…" She turned her head, unable to meet his burning gaze.
"Sure, I'm just pestering you, Your Highness. No worries."
His heart pounded. After much coaxing, he led her to the bedside. The familiar bed flooded Elaviel with memories—frenzied motions, shameful poses, soft moans between kisses. Was she really doing this again?
Sensing her rooted feet, Truman hurried, "Your Highness, this is for the holy city, the Church—the Lord permits it."
It's the Lord's will… Recover soon, restore my rank, protect the city. Elaviel bit her lip, letting Truman guide her to sit on the bed.
"Your Highness, shall we begin?"
"Begin… what?" Her voice was vague, dodging reality.
This little angel… Truman smirked. Even now, she's stubborn. Let's see if her lips stay firm when she's writhing in climax.
"Still deceiving yourself, Your Highness?" he said, feigning irritation.
"Only… this once. I won't forget your sins. Once the curse is gone, I'll drag you to the holy city."
Thunder lingered in her eyes. Truman knew he had work to do.