PCP – 239

“… … Ah.”

Opposite to his dream, Akkard was lying alone in a dark bedroom. There was no white wedding dress, sparkling laughter, and hair tickling his cheeks… … there was nothing.

Until a few seconds ago, he was exuberant, as if the world was in his hands. The reality he awoke to was too cold and empty.

The chill was unbearably cold, so Akkard inadvertently tried to get up. Then he sensed his lower body wet and froze.


This was the second time. He had a wet dream because of Damia Primula.

Maybe it’s because she sent him an unexpected request to meet today. Perhaps it was something related to work again, but Akkard had a vague hunch.

Whatever she said today would make a significant change in their relationship.


Akkard wiped his face with a sigh. The heat of his dream still lingered, and his body was as hot as fire. Even right after ejaculation, he was still half-erect.

He couldn’t bear it when he recalled Damia’s face in this state. It seemed like he could only breathe if he spit out the lava that was boiling inside him.

He lowered his pants and grabbed his genitals, already spitting a diluted liquid at the tip. Then he released a low moan and started moving his hands up and down.

“Ha, ugnh… … .”

The tendons on his muscular forearm looked like they were about to burst, and with his eyes shut tight, he frowned sensually. At this moment, Damia Primula took over his mind.

A delicate neckline and voluptuous breasts that her arms could not cover. A straight back and a slender waist. And to sit between the alluring buttocks, a narrow gap that would lead him to heaven.

There are countless things to praise about her beautiful body. But strangely enough, another memory excited him the most.

‘Now you are mine, Akkard Valerian.’

Damia in the dream had said. She smiled, staring straight into his eyes, with the confidence peculiar of an attractive woman.

That smile, that sweet smile. And a voice like a queen, in which she declared him to be hers.

It seemed as if all his senses were filled with her. Akkard let out a hot gasp, waving his hand on his own genitals faster. And he rubbed the dark red end of his manhood on the sheet as if it was about to explode.

“Damia, Dami… … !”

His bitter, sorrowful voice called out to the woman he loved again and again. As if trying to engraved her name on the tip of his tongue.

Then, his penis erupted white, thick liquid. Akkard took a shaky, deep breath and put his sweat-drenched face on the sheet.

“Ah, Dami… … .”

His weak voice was scattered in the air. In the bleak and empty space.

Immediately after his ejaculation, he drooped for only a moment and could feel his penis trying to gain strength and harden again. His body, which had endured too long, was still suffering from an unquenchable thirst.

He could have masturbated thinking of her again, but Akkard didn’t. He stood up, ignoring the heat that filled his stomach, and stiffened his lower abdomen. And doused his face with cold water in the basin next to his bed.

It was time to go see Damia soon, so he had to look pretty.


Early noon, the tea house was quiet. In particular, the reserved seat where Damia was sitting was a separate private room, so it was even more silent.

‘When will Sir Akkard come?’

Damia lowered her eyes and fiddled with the teacup. The cup, densely embossed with pure white snowflakes in a deep, cold blue color, reminded her of the North.

Because of this, she suddenly became curious about the Crown Prince’s behind-the-scenes work in the North.

‘Did the Crown Prince contact Noella by now?’

The captured Calix sealed his mouth like he had given up on everything. It was not easy to open his mouth which was closed like a clam.

‘It’s difficult. Before the High Temple’s knows, we need to find the real Saint in a hurry.’

Leave a Reply