Shameless Reincarnation
folder
Original - Misc › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
514
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
514
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. All character resemblance to persons living or deceased is purely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Kensuke's sneakers slapped against concrete as he weaved through the sidewalk, heart pounding in his ears. Behind him, voices (shrill, furious, and overlapping) cut through the afternoon air.
"Stop him!"
"Don't let that pervert get away!"
"Someone grab him!"
He risked a glance back. The women spilled out of the sauna entrance like an eruption, some clutching towels around their bodies, others in bathrobes that flapped open as they ran. One brandished a wooden baseball bat. Another gripped a golf club, her knuckles white around the shaft. A third held what looked like a metal mop handle, swinging it overhead like she meant to cave his skull in.
Pedestrians scattered, eyes averted, faces carefully blank. Classic Tokyo. Nobody wanted to get involved. Nobody wanted to be the hero. They'd rather walk past a murder than risk the social awkwardness of confrontation.
Perfect.
Kensuke grinned, lungs burning as he picked up speed. His messenger bag bounced against his hip, the camera inside heavy with evidence; months of footage, angles he'd perfected, shots he'd risk-analyzed down to the second. The air vent in the women's changing room had been ideal: just high enough to avoid detection, just low enough for perfect viewing. Steam rising from the bath, skin glistening, bodies bending and stretching as they dried off, completely unaware.
"Get back here, you piece of shit!"
He zigzagged around a salary man frozen mid-stride, phone in hand, gaze locked on nothing. The women's footsteps receded, their shouts dulling into distant noise. Kensuke glanced back again. The gap had widened. They were slowing, some bent over, gasping, others abandoning the chase entirely.
He'd won.
Again.
Laughter burst from his chest, wild and breathless. Three months. Three months of close calls, near-misses, and heart-stopping moments where he thought for sure someone would catch on. But they never did. And today? Today some bitch finally spotted the lens glint, screamed bloody murder, rallied the others into a frothing mob. And he still got away.
Too easy.
This was always too easy.
Kensuke's grin stretched wider as he approached the intersection. The light ahead blinked yellow. He didn't slow. Why bother? The street was clear, the crowd behind him defeated, the adrenaline still singing through his veins like victory.
He stepped off the curb.
The truck's horn blared, a deep, guttural roar that filled the world.
Kensuke's head snapped left.
Headlights. Chrome grille. The company logo, some kanji he didn't have time to read, rushing toward him at sixty kilometers an hour.
No time to dodge.
No time to scream.
Just the feel of the impact. The shock and the pain.
His body folded around the truck's front end, ribs snapping like kindling, organs rupturing in wet bursts. The camera in his bag shattered against metal. His skull cracked against the windshield, spiderwebbing the glass, before his corpse tumbled over the roof and slammed onto asphalt.
Everything went dark.
Almost.
In the final flicker of consciousness, one thought surfaced through the pain:
Damn it. I almost got away with it, too.
Then nothing.
The first sensation was cold. A biting, unnatural chill that seeped into his bones before his mind even registered consciousness. Kensuke's eyelids fluttered, heavy as lead, his vision swimming in a milky haze. The world blurred; all he could see were shapes, colors, nothing distinct. His limbs felt wrong. Too small. Too weak. Like they weren't his at all.
Then warmth. A thick, rough blanket wrapped around him, lifting him from the cold. His back arched instinctively, a tiny, wordless protest escaping his throat. It came out as a gurgle, wet and useless.
"What's going on?!"
The words formed in his mind, sharp and clear, but his mouth betrayed him. Only a weak, bubbling noise slipped out.
A face loomed above him: massive, bearded, grinning like an idiot. Brown hair, thick stubble, eyes crinkled at the corners with something sickeningly fond. "Aww, he's trying to talk already!" The man's voice boomed, deep and amused. His breath smelled like ale and roasted meat.
Kensuke's stomach twisted. This wasn't right. None of this was right.
Another figure stepped into view, this one draped in white robes, his hands clean but his sleeves stained with something dark and damp. "You should be proud, Arnold. Your son is healthy and hale!"
Son?
Kensuke's thoughts scrambled. His last memory were headlights, pain, the crushing weight of metal; all of it flashed behind his eyes. Then nothing. Then this.
A woman's voice, soft but exhausted, cut through the murk. "I'm so glad."
He turned his head (slow, uncoordinated) and there she was.
Blond hair, golden in the flickering torchlight, spilled over her shoulders. Her robe gaped open, the fabric damp with sweat, clinging to curves that made Kensuke's infant brain short-circuit. Her breasts were obscene: full, heavy, the kind that defied gravity even now, when she should've been wrecked from childbirth. A single drop of sweat rolled between them, disappearing into the shadow of her cleavage.
His new mother.
The realization hit like a punch to the gut.
Reincarnation.
He'd seen this a hundred times in anime, in light novels, in the trashy isekai webcomics he'd binged between filming sessions. Some loser dies, wakes up in a fantasy world, gets a second chance. Usually as a baby. Usually with some kind of OP cheat.
Kensuke's lips twitched. A laugh bubbled up, emerging as a wet, gurgling noise.
The robed man, who was some kind of medic, probably, shifted him in his arms, then carried him over toward the woman. "Have you thought of a name for your son yet, Emma?"
Emma. His mother's name. Kensuke's gaze locked onto her chest again. The robe had slipped further, one nipple peeking out. It was pink, soft, perfect.
"His name will be Willbert."
Kensuke's entire soul recoiled.
Willbert.
What the fuck.
He'd been hit by a truck, died in agony, and now he was stuck as some medieval fantasy baby with the most tragically unfuckable name in history? His tiny fists clenched. If he'd had the coordination, he would've screamed.
Then Emma reached for him.
The medic passed him into her arms, and suddenly Kensuke was pressed against warmth, against skin. His face mashed into the side of her breast, the scent of milk and sweat filling his nose. His fingers, small and clumsy, twitched, then latched onto her boob, squeezing with surprising strength.
"Aww, are you hungry, son?" Emma's voice was warm, amused. She didn't pull away. Didn't scold him. Just adjusted her robe with one hand, freeing a breast with the other.
Kensuke's vision tunnelled.
The nipple was right there. Pink. Plump. His.
His mouth watered.
Emma guided him closer, her fingers gentle against the back of his head. "There you go, Willbert. That's a good boy."
Fuck Willbert.
Kensuke's lips sealed around her nipple before she could finish speaking.
The taste hit him first: sweet, rich, addictive. Then the texture, soft and yielding under his greedy suction. His jaw worked instinctively, pulling hard, his cheeks hollowing. A low, satisfied noise vibrated in his throat.
Emma gasped.
Not in pain. Not in shock.
In pleasure.
Her breath hitched, her fingers tightening in his hair, just for a second, before she caught herself. A flush crept up her neck, painting her cheeks pink. "Oh! He's, uh… he's very… enthusiastic."
Arnold barked out a laugh, clapping his large hands together. "That's my boy! Knew he'd be a strong one!"
Kensuke didn't give a shit about Arnold.
He sucked harder.
Emma's breath came faster, her free hand pressing against her stomach like she could contain the heat pooling there. "He's… oh my, ah… he's very hungry."
The medic chuckled. "A healthy appetite is a good sign. He'll grow up big and strong."
Kensuke's eyes rolled up to meet Emma's.
She was staring at him, lips parted, pupils blown. Her nipple hardened under his tongue.
Oh.
Oh, this was going to be fun.
He sucked harder.
The first three days of Willbert's new life were a special kind of hell.
Not the fiery, screaming kind. No, this was worse: boring hell. The kind where you're trapped in a fleshy, useless sack of a body that can't even wipe its own ass. Kensuke, Willbert, had spent his first life chasing thrills, pushing boundaries, filming the kind of depravity that would make a priest blush. Now? He was reduced to lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, waiting for someone to change his diaper.
The indignity of it burned worse than the time he'd been caught filming in the women's toilet at his local mall.
Then there was the poop.
Oh god, the poop.
The first time it happened, he'd been dozing, lulled into false security by the warmth of his crib. Then… gurgle… a pressure, a squelch, and suddenly his entire lower half was a swamp of his own filth. The stench hit him like a physical blow. His tiny nose wrinkled. His face twisted in disgust.
And then, worse, Tanya walked in.
She was the maid. Red hair, pulled into a tight bun that only made her sharp green eyes stand out more. Her uniform was crisp, black and white, hugging a figure that was all lean curves and generous assets. The kind of woman who'd have men tripping over themselves in a tavern.
And she was his maid.
Tanya didn't even flinch at the smell. She just sighed, rolled up her sleeves, and got to work. "Honestly, Willbert, must you always make such a mess?"
Kensuke would've flipped her off if he'd had the motor control.
Her fingers were deft, efficient. The cloth wiped away the worst of it before she even lifted him, her touch firm but not unkind. Then came the warm water, the gentle scrubbing, the way her breath hitched just slightly when she realized….
"Oh."
Willbert's tiny cock was hard.
Not just a little twinge. No, the damn thing was standing at attention, proud and stupid, like it had any right to be after the humiliation of shitting himself.
Tanya's cheeks pinked. Her lips pressed into a thin line. For a second, Kensuke thought she'd say something. Tell his parents, maybe, or worse, laugh.
But she didn't.
She just finished cleaning him, her movements a little stiffer than before, and wrapped a fresh diaper around his waist with practiced ease. "There. All better."
Kensuke grinned internally.
So professional. He liked that.
The estate wasn't massive, but it wasn't a hovel, either. Stone walls, sturdy timber, a proper kitchen with servants who didn't look like they'd been starved for a decade. His father, Arnold, was a baron, some minor noble with a plot of land and enough coin to keep the pantry stocked. Not rich, but comfortable.
And then there was Emma.
Emma.
His mother.
Kensuke had always had a type: voluptuous, soft, the kind of woman who looked like she'd be fun to break. Emma fit the bill perfectly. Blond, blue-eyed, with a body that made his infant brain short-circuit every time she leaned over him. Her breasts were obscene. They were full, heavy, the kind that spilled out of her robes when she wasn't paying attention.
And he got to touch them. A lot.
Feeding time was the highlight of his day.
The first time she'd nursed him, it had been purely functional. He'd latched on, drunk his fill, and passed out. But by the second day? Oh, he'd learned.
His mouth was small, but he knew how to use it. His tongue, even in this useless baby body, was clever. He learned the exact pressure that made Emma's breath hitch. The way her nipple hardened when he flicked it just right. The little gasp she made when his tiny fingers squeezed her other breast, kneading the soft flesh like dough.
By the third day, he had her whimpering.
"Willbert, that's… ah! That's enough, sweetie."
No, it wasn't.
He sucked harder, his cheeks hollowing, his tongue swirling in slow, deliberate circles. Emma's free hand clenched in the sheets, her thighs pressing together. "You're such a… a good boy."
Her voice was breathy. Strained.
Kensuke grinned around her nipple.
Then she came.
It started as a tremor, a sharp inhale, her back arching just slightly. Then her fingers tangled in his hair, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Oh! Willbert, stop!"
He didn't.
He doubled down, his lips sealing tight, his tongue flicking faster, his fingers pinching her other nipple just hard enough to make her squeal.
Emma's climax hit her like a wagon. Her thighs fell open, her hips lifting off the bed, her cunt clenching around nothing. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, her free hand flying to her mouth to stifle the moan that tore out of her.
Kensuke didn't let up until she was done, until her body went limp, until her breast was slick with his spit and her own arousal.
Only then did he pull back, blinking up at her with wide, innocent eyes.
Emma's face was red. Not just flushed, it was burning. Her chest heaved, her nightgown damp with sweat, her thighs still trembling. She stared at him like she'd never seen him before.
"You…" she breathed. "You little…"
Kensuke burped.
Emma's shoulders slumped. She exhaled, long and slow, then adjusted her robe with shaking hands. "That… that won't happen again."
It happened again the next feeding.
And the one after that.
And the one after that.
Emma was a quick learner; she tried to fight it. She'd tense up when he latched on, her fingers digging into the armrest of her chair like she could will herself not to react. But Kensuke was patient. He'd start slow, his mouth gentle, his fingers idle. Lull her into thinking this time would be different.
Then he'd strike.
A flick of his tongue. A squeeze of his fingers. The way he'd hum against her nipple, the vibrations sending little shocks straight to her clit.
By the fifth day, she didn't even bother pretending she wasn't affected.
"You're…" she panted, her hips rolling against the chair, her free hand slipping between her thighs. "You're a bad boy, Willbert."
Kensuke grinned around her nipple.
"A very bad boy."
Her orgasm hit her like a storm. She came with a choked sob, her back arching, her fingers working frantically between her legs. Kensuke didn't stop sucking until she was done, until her body went boneless, until her breast was shiny with his spit and her own release.
Then he pulled back, milk dribbling down his chin, and gave her his most angelic look.
Emma's eyes were glazed. Her lips were swollen from biting them. She stared at him for a long, breathless moment….
Then she laughed.
It was a broken, breathless sound, half amusement, half despair. "Oh, you little monster."
Kensuke cooed.
Emma wiped her mouth, then adjusted her robe with a shuddering breath. "Your father's going to love you."
Arnold did love him.
Not in the same way Emma did, of course. Arnold was a big man: broad-shouldered, loud, the kind of noble who probably spent more time hunting and drinking than actually governing. But he doted on his son. Carried him around the estate like a prize. Bragged to the servants about how strong little Willbert was.
Kensuke didn't care about any of that.
What he did care about was the way Emma's behavior changed after their little… sessions.
She'd go to Arnold, flushed and restless, and Kensuke would listen from his crib as she all but dragged her husband to their bed. The sounds that followed: moans, the creak of the bedframe, Emma's breathless cries, all of it were music to his ears.
He was turning her into a slut.
And she loved it.
By the end of the first week, Kensuke had a routine:
"Stop him!"
"Don't let that pervert get away!"
"Someone grab him!"
He risked a glance back. The women spilled out of the sauna entrance like an eruption, some clutching towels around their bodies, others in bathrobes that flapped open as they ran. One brandished a wooden baseball bat. Another gripped a golf club, her knuckles white around the shaft. A third held what looked like a metal mop handle, swinging it overhead like she meant to cave his skull in.
Pedestrians scattered, eyes averted, faces carefully blank. Classic Tokyo. Nobody wanted to get involved. Nobody wanted to be the hero. They'd rather walk past a murder than risk the social awkwardness of confrontation.
Perfect.
Kensuke grinned, lungs burning as he picked up speed. His messenger bag bounced against his hip, the camera inside heavy with evidence; months of footage, angles he'd perfected, shots he'd risk-analyzed down to the second. The air vent in the women's changing room had been ideal: just high enough to avoid detection, just low enough for perfect viewing. Steam rising from the bath, skin glistening, bodies bending and stretching as they dried off, completely unaware.
"Get back here, you piece of shit!"
He zigzagged around a salary man frozen mid-stride, phone in hand, gaze locked on nothing. The women's footsteps receded, their shouts dulling into distant noise. Kensuke glanced back again. The gap had widened. They were slowing, some bent over, gasping, others abandoning the chase entirely.
He'd won.
Again.
Laughter burst from his chest, wild and breathless. Three months. Three months of close calls, near-misses, and heart-stopping moments where he thought for sure someone would catch on. But they never did. And today? Today some bitch finally spotted the lens glint, screamed bloody murder, rallied the others into a frothing mob. And he still got away.
Too easy.
This was always too easy.
Kensuke's grin stretched wider as he approached the intersection. The light ahead blinked yellow. He didn't slow. Why bother? The street was clear, the crowd behind him defeated, the adrenaline still singing through his veins like victory.
He stepped off the curb.
The truck's horn blared, a deep, guttural roar that filled the world.
Kensuke's head snapped left.
Headlights. Chrome grille. The company logo, some kanji he didn't have time to read, rushing toward him at sixty kilometers an hour.
No time to dodge.
No time to scream.
Just the feel of the impact. The shock and the pain.
His body folded around the truck's front end, ribs snapping like kindling, organs rupturing in wet bursts. The camera in his bag shattered against metal. His skull cracked against the windshield, spiderwebbing the glass, before his corpse tumbled over the roof and slammed onto asphalt.
Everything went dark.
Almost.
In the final flicker of consciousness, one thought surfaced through the pain:
Damn it. I almost got away with it, too.
Then nothing.
The first sensation was cold. A biting, unnatural chill that seeped into his bones before his mind even registered consciousness. Kensuke's eyelids fluttered, heavy as lead, his vision swimming in a milky haze. The world blurred; all he could see were shapes, colors, nothing distinct. His limbs felt wrong. Too small. Too weak. Like they weren't his at all.
Then warmth. A thick, rough blanket wrapped around him, lifting him from the cold. His back arched instinctively, a tiny, wordless protest escaping his throat. It came out as a gurgle, wet and useless.
"What's going on?!"
The words formed in his mind, sharp and clear, but his mouth betrayed him. Only a weak, bubbling noise slipped out.
A face loomed above him: massive, bearded, grinning like an idiot. Brown hair, thick stubble, eyes crinkled at the corners with something sickeningly fond. "Aww, he's trying to talk already!" The man's voice boomed, deep and amused. His breath smelled like ale and roasted meat.
Kensuke's stomach twisted. This wasn't right. None of this was right.
Another figure stepped into view, this one draped in white robes, his hands clean but his sleeves stained with something dark and damp. "You should be proud, Arnold. Your son is healthy and hale!"
Son?
Kensuke's thoughts scrambled. His last memory were headlights, pain, the crushing weight of metal; all of it flashed behind his eyes. Then nothing. Then this.
A woman's voice, soft but exhausted, cut through the murk. "I'm so glad."
He turned his head (slow, uncoordinated) and there she was.
Blond hair, golden in the flickering torchlight, spilled over her shoulders. Her robe gaped open, the fabric damp with sweat, clinging to curves that made Kensuke's infant brain short-circuit. Her breasts were obscene: full, heavy, the kind that defied gravity even now, when she should've been wrecked from childbirth. A single drop of sweat rolled between them, disappearing into the shadow of her cleavage.
His new mother.
The realization hit like a punch to the gut.
Reincarnation.
He'd seen this a hundred times in anime, in light novels, in the trashy isekai webcomics he'd binged between filming sessions. Some loser dies, wakes up in a fantasy world, gets a second chance. Usually as a baby. Usually with some kind of OP cheat.
Kensuke's lips twitched. A laugh bubbled up, emerging as a wet, gurgling noise.
The robed man, who was some kind of medic, probably, shifted him in his arms, then carried him over toward the woman. "Have you thought of a name for your son yet, Emma?"
Emma. His mother's name. Kensuke's gaze locked onto her chest again. The robe had slipped further, one nipple peeking out. It was pink, soft, perfect.
"His name will be Willbert."
Kensuke's entire soul recoiled.
Willbert.
What the fuck.
He'd been hit by a truck, died in agony, and now he was stuck as some medieval fantasy baby with the most tragically unfuckable name in history? His tiny fists clenched. If he'd had the coordination, he would've screamed.
Then Emma reached for him.
The medic passed him into her arms, and suddenly Kensuke was pressed against warmth, against skin. His face mashed into the side of her breast, the scent of milk and sweat filling his nose. His fingers, small and clumsy, twitched, then latched onto her boob, squeezing with surprising strength.
"Aww, are you hungry, son?" Emma's voice was warm, amused. She didn't pull away. Didn't scold him. Just adjusted her robe with one hand, freeing a breast with the other.
Kensuke's vision tunnelled.
The nipple was right there. Pink. Plump. His.
His mouth watered.
Emma guided him closer, her fingers gentle against the back of his head. "There you go, Willbert. That's a good boy."
Fuck Willbert.
Kensuke's lips sealed around her nipple before she could finish speaking.
The taste hit him first: sweet, rich, addictive. Then the texture, soft and yielding under his greedy suction. His jaw worked instinctively, pulling hard, his cheeks hollowing. A low, satisfied noise vibrated in his throat.
Emma gasped.
Not in pain. Not in shock.
In pleasure.
Her breath hitched, her fingers tightening in his hair, just for a second, before she caught herself. A flush crept up her neck, painting her cheeks pink. "Oh! He's, uh… he's very… enthusiastic."
Arnold barked out a laugh, clapping his large hands together. "That's my boy! Knew he'd be a strong one!"
Kensuke didn't give a shit about Arnold.
He sucked harder.
Emma's breath came faster, her free hand pressing against her stomach like she could contain the heat pooling there. "He's… oh my, ah… he's very hungry."
The medic chuckled. "A healthy appetite is a good sign. He'll grow up big and strong."
Kensuke's eyes rolled up to meet Emma's.
She was staring at him, lips parted, pupils blown. Her nipple hardened under his tongue.
Oh.
Oh, this was going to be fun.
He sucked harder.
The first three days of Willbert's new life were a special kind of hell.
Not the fiery, screaming kind. No, this was worse: boring hell. The kind where you're trapped in a fleshy, useless sack of a body that can't even wipe its own ass. Kensuke, Willbert, had spent his first life chasing thrills, pushing boundaries, filming the kind of depravity that would make a priest blush. Now? He was reduced to lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, waiting for someone to change his diaper.
The indignity of it burned worse than the time he'd been caught filming in the women's toilet at his local mall.
Then there was the poop.
Oh god, the poop.
The first time it happened, he'd been dozing, lulled into false security by the warmth of his crib. Then… gurgle… a pressure, a squelch, and suddenly his entire lower half was a swamp of his own filth. The stench hit him like a physical blow. His tiny nose wrinkled. His face twisted in disgust.
And then, worse, Tanya walked in.
She was the maid. Red hair, pulled into a tight bun that only made her sharp green eyes stand out more. Her uniform was crisp, black and white, hugging a figure that was all lean curves and generous assets. The kind of woman who'd have men tripping over themselves in a tavern.
And she was his maid.
Tanya didn't even flinch at the smell. She just sighed, rolled up her sleeves, and got to work. "Honestly, Willbert, must you always make such a mess?"
Kensuke would've flipped her off if he'd had the motor control.
Her fingers were deft, efficient. The cloth wiped away the worst of it before she even lifted him, her touch firm but not unkind. Then came the warm water, the gentle scrubbing, the way her breath hitched just slightly when she realized….
"Oh."
Willbert's tiny cock was hard.
Not just a little twinge. No, the damn thing was standing at attention, proud and stupid, like it had any right to be after the humiliation of shitting himself.
Tanya's cheeks pinked. Her lips pressed into a thin line. For a second, Kensuke thought she'd say something. Tell his parents, maybe, or worse, laugh.
But she didn't.
She just finished cleaning him, her movements a little stiffer than before, and wrapped a fresh diaper around his waist with practiced ease. "There. All better."
Kensuke grinned internally.
So professional. He liked that.
The estate wasn't massive, but it wasn't a hovel, either. Stone walls, sturdy timber, a proper kitchen with servants who didn't look like they'd been starved for a decade. His father, Arnold, was a baron, some minor noble with a plot of land and enough coin to keep the pantry stocked. Not rich, but comfortable.
And then there was Emma.
Emma.
His mother.
Kensuke had always had a type: voluptuous, soft, the kind of woman who looked like she'd be fun to break. Emma fit the bill perfectly. Blond, blue-eyed, with a body that made his infant brain short-circuit every time she leaned over him. Her breasts were obscene. They were full, heavy, the kind that spilled out of her robes when she wasn't paying attention.
And he got to touch them. A lot.
Feeding time was the highlight of his day.
The first time she'd nursed him, it had been purely functional. He'd latched on, drunk his fill, and passed out. But by the second day? Oh, he'd learned.
His mouth was small, but he knew how to use it. His tongue, even in this useless baby body, was clever. He learned the exact pressure that made Emma's breath hitch. The way her nipple hardened when he flicked it just right. The little gasp she made when his tiny fingers squeezed her other breast, kneading the soft flesh like dough.
By the third day, he had her whimpering.
"Willbert, that's… ah! That's enough, sweetie."
No, it wasn't.
He sucked harder, his cheeks hollowing, his tongue swirling in slow, deliberate circles. Emma's free hand clenched in the sheets, her thighs pressing together. "You're such a… a good boy."
Her voice was breathy. Strained.
Kensuke grinned around her nipple.
Then she came.
It started as a tremor, a sharp inhale, her back arching just slightly. Then her fingers tangled in his hair, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Oh! Willbert, stop!"
He didn't.
He doubled down, his lips sealing tight, his tongue flicking faster, his fingers pinching her other nipple just hard enough to make her squeal.
Emma's climax hit her like a wagon. Her thighs fell open, her hips lifting off the bed, her cunt clenching around nothing. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, her free hand flying to her mouth to stifle the moan that tore out of her.
Kensuke didn't let up until she was done, until her body went limp, until her breast was slick with his spit and her own arousal.
Only then did he pull back, blinking up at her with wide, innocent eyes.
Emma's face was red. Not just flushed, it was burning. Her chest heaved, her nightgown damp with sweat, her thighs still trembling. She stared at him like she'd never seen him before.
"You…" she breathed. "You little…"
Kensuke burped.
Emma's shoulders slumped. She exhaled, long and slow, then adjusted her robe with shaking hands. "That… that won't happen again."
It happened again the next feeding.
And the one after that.
And the one after that.
Emma was a quick learner; she tried to fight it. She'd tense up when he latched on, her fingers digging into the armrest of her chair like she could will herself not to react. But Kensuke was patient. He'd start slow, his mouth gentle, his fingers idle. Lull her into thinking this time would be different.
Then he'd strike.
A flick of his tongue. A squeeze of his fingers. The way he'd hum against her nipple, the vibrations sending little shocks straight to her clit.
By the fifth day, she didn't even bother pretending she wasn't affected.
"You're…" she panted, her hips rolling against the chair, her free hand slipping between her thighs. "You're a bad boy, Willbert."
Kensuke grinned around her nipple.
"A very bad boy."
Her orgasm hit her like a storm. She came with a choked sob, her back arching, her fingers working frantically between her legs. Kensuke didn't stop sucking until she was done, until her body went boneless, until her breast was shiny with his spit and her own release.
Then he pulled back, milk dribbling down his chin, and gave her his most angelic look.
Emma's eyes were glazed. Her lips were swollen from biting them. She stared at him for a long, breathless moment….
Then she laughed.
It was a broken, breathless sound, half amusement, half despair. "Oh, you little monster."
Kensuke cooed.
Emma wiped her mouth, then adjusted her robe with a shuddering breath. "Your father's going to love you."
Arnold did love him.
Not in the same way Emma did, of course. Arnold was a big man: broad-shouldered, loud, the kind of noble who probably spent more time hunting and drinking than actually governing. But he doted on his son. Carried him around the estate like a prize. Bragged to the servants about how strong little Willbert was.
Kensuke didn't care about any of that.
What he did care about was the way Emma's behavior changed after their little… sessions.
She'd go to Arnold, flushed and restless, and Kensuke would listen from his crib as she all but dragged her husband to their bed. The sounds that followed: moans, the creak of the bedframe, Emma's breathless cries, all of it were music to his ears.
He was turning her into a slut.
And she loved it.
By the end of the first week, Kensuke had a routine:
- Wake up. (Usually to Tanya changing his diaper, her face carefully blank as she ignored his tiny erections.)
- Eat. (Emma's tits. Always Emma's tits.)
- Make Emma come. (At least twice. Three times if he was feeling ambitious.)
- Listen to Emma fuck Arnold senseless. (Bonus points if she rode him hard enough to make the headboard slam.)
- Sleep. (Usually with a smug little smile on his face.)
And it was only going to get better.