Chapter 12

"Am I being kicked out...?"

This pathetic little mouse...

A long sigh escaped through the gap between his pressed lips.

If she had run out at his command, he would have caught her and thrown her to the carpet. He would have done it again because he would be tempted.

But to ask if she was being kicked out? Her boldness was so disgustingly sticky that it extinguished any trace of interest he had.

"I’m not kicking you out. So please, go."

"Go, thank you."

The maid mumbled her thanks and came down from under the desk. Leon approached the chair without a glance at her and opened the desk drawer.

"The gun is confiscated."

After roughly closing the drawer, the maid turned her dejected face toward the door. Leon leaned back in the heavy chair roughly.

He watched silently as the maid slipped out the door like a mouse. He repeated to himself,

I’m just letting you go for now. It’s more fun to chase you when you run.

But why did it feel so unsatisfying, as if the mouse had freed itself from the trap?

He stared at the tightly closed door, then shifted his gaze to the desk, which looked like a storm had swept through it. He felt ashamed of himself for losing his composure like a randy pup after the woman left and the heat cooled.

What was so special about this insignificant, disgustingly sticky woman?

But the feeling didn’t last long. The reason for his loss of control was right there on the desk.

Leon picked up the silk handkerchief that lay next to the wallet Sally had left behind. The red bloodstains in the middle stood out even more against the white fabric. The faint smell of blood awakened his senses, and his tongue remembered the taste.

The thrilling taste of licking a cold gun barrel, the dizzying scent of death that stung his nose, but the warmth and faint pulse that proclaimed she was still alive.

An old memory resurfaced in his mind as he recalled the taste of the maid’s blood. The image of the girl’s chestnut hair and teal eyes, and the red blood droplets on her lips, were as vivid as a colorful postcard from a resort, even though the rest of the memory had faded to black and white.

"Dirty pig!"

A bitter smile formed on Leon’s lips as he remembered the girl’s last cry. His innocent childhood ended that day.

The blood he tasted when he first ran away from the strict duties of being the eldest son of the family, and the smell of blood from his father, whom he saw in a terrible state the next day, completely changed the meaning of blood in his life.

A short vacation at Avington Beach when he was young

completely altered the meaning of blood in his life.

Rebellion.

It was a pity that his first rebellion and his father’s last rebellion ended badly. After that, Leon couldn’t resist the urge to taste blood again.

Although it was a path already decided for him, becoming a soldier was the right choice. Because his private indulgences soon became public achievements.

Should he be grateful to the girl named Daisy?

Daisy. A cute name that didn’t suit her dark skin and bold nature.

Actually, Sally might be her real name.

Every time he looked into Sally’s eyes, he had doubts. Although her skin was much lighter than the girl’s and her chestnut hair was common, her teal eyes were rare.

If Sally was that girl, it would explain why, even in his frenzy, he wanted to wrap a chain around her slender neck and hang it from a hook.

Sally. Another cute name that doesn’t suit her boldness.

Leon opened the drawer he had roughly closed. The small revolver lay alone next to the box where he kept the medals his father had left behind.

When asked if she intended to shoot, she nodded solemnly without a moment’s hesitation. She was an interesting woman, bold and fearless despite her small size.

Leon chuckled quietly and picked up the revolver.

Where did she intend to shoot? Since she tried to kick him between the legs just before he found the gun, was that her target?

More importantly, when did she decide to shoot him? Did she slowly pull out the gun from the band of her old stockings every time they met?

He suddenly remembered how Sally carefully put her right hand in her pocket just before he tried to kiss her.

A stupid fox. Now that she’s been caught, she’s a stupid fox.

Sally Bristol.

A dangerous maid who, despite her obedient appearance, hid a dangerous weapon under her neat skirt and was ready to shoot him if necessary.

A shameless woman who extorted money from him.

A human who, among those he employed, did her job diligently but was the most unpredictable.

The more he defined her, the more unnatural it seemed, like forcing different puzzle pieces together. Was that why he kept being drawn to her?

He placed the silver revolver in the center of the desk and lowered his hand to his waist. The belt buckle came undone in an instant, and the buttons on his pants began to pop out of their tight holes.

I want to undress the owner of this gun. I want to see her as she truly is.

The hand holding the bloodstained handkerchief naturally moved downward. Soon, the sound of rough fabric brushing against skin broke the silence of the office. A heated sigh escaped his smooth lips.

"Dirty pig!"

Would Sally curse like that girl? If he threw her naked on the cold metal table in the torture chamber and spread her limbs with handcuffs, would she scream and cry out with all her might instead of sobbing?

Just imagining it was sweet.

Leon leaned his elbow on the armrest of the chair and cupped his chin, looking down. A dark stain appeared on the white cloth wrapped around the copper tip. The more he moved his hand, the more it spread, mingling with the woman’s red mark.

Where should I start?

Her mouth wouldn’t be bad. Recalling the sensation from earlier, it was soft, moist, and warm, quite pleasant.

To be more honest, it was quite impressive how she wrapped her lips around his finger and sucked it when he pressed it against her tongue, pretending to resist.

First, I’ll grab her chin and force this into her small pink lips. Deeply. Roughly. Until her lips lose their pink color and turn blue. Her constricted throat will struggle to swallow the hard flesh instead of soft breaths.

Next?

Leon’s breathing grew rougher as he imagined the next place to torment. He loosened the tight knot of his black tie with a straight finger.

The dried blood on the handkerchief was dissolving in his semen. The traces of Sally’s blood, spreading like veins between the clear marks, clung to his most sensitive spot. The subtle scent of the woman’s blood mixed with his semen stimulated his sensitive sense of smell. He pressed the handkerchief harder as he imagined his semen covering Sally’s blood.

Would the narrow opening be as pink as her lips?

If I grab her slender waist and align the tip of my member with that membrane, Sally will scream that she can’t. She’ll try to close her legs, which are restrained by handcuffs, without realizing how wantonly she’s shaking her breasts.

Then I’ll make her an offer. Generously. I’ll say I’ll stop if she begs me to. Will she immediately start flattering and begging?

Actually, I’ll pull her waist down suddenly and tell her that such things are unnecessary. If I tear the membrane with my body, she’ll curse me with the mouth that was begging.

Will her insides be as pleasant as her mouth? He squeezed his hand, recalling the moment he thrust into her mouth.

I’ll thrust all the way into her moist insides. I’ll keep going until I hear her gasp for breath through her torn lips.

I’ll pull out slowly, very slowly, until my member is completely buried in her warm insides. I’ll make sure her copper-colored skin is stained with a beautiful red.

"Haa…"

As the white, thick fluid burst out and mingled with the bloodstains, Leon sighed. It wasn’t just the relief of satisfying the desire that had plagued him all day.

“...Didn’t you say she was annoying because she was too good?”

She misunderstood the meaning of being annoying because she was too good.

Of course, she couldn’t properly understand, “It’s annoying that I can’t put you in the torture chamber because you’re too good.”

No matter how notorious a torturer he was, he had his principles. First, he doesn’t torture women. Second, he doesn’t bring innocent people to the torture chamber.

Sally was a problem because she violated both of these principles.

It’s like tearing the legs of a hardworking ant carrying a piece of bread. By the time you tear off the third leg, you’re bored. Torturing a good girl unilaterally is no different.

‘If you’re going to punish, there must be a fitting crime.’

Leon picked up the revolver, as if it were a lewdly painted photo on the desk.

Illegal possession of a firearm is a clear crime. But he didn’t use it as an excuse because it was too trivial.

Since the ban hasn’t been in place for a full century, many people still carry defensive weapons and get caught by the police. His mother must have hidden one of these women’s revolvers in one of her many hat boxes.

Sally, do something worse. If you want me to punish you.