Moments later.
Slap-slap-slap-slap-slap!
The wet, rhythmic sound of flesh colliding filled the air, lurid and evocative.
"Ohhh! Wait—how?! How is this vile human… nooo!" Charlotte wailed, her voice a mix of ecstasy and despair, laced with unspeakable humiliation.
A dark, pulsing shaft drove into her tight, tender core like a relentless machine, her juices splashing as she let out a primal cry.
Moments ago, she'd been reveling in her imminent freedom, brimming with murderous intent. Now, the stunning maid catgirl knelt in shame, her upper body pressed submissively to the floor, her ample hips raised high to meet Truman's ferocious thrusts.
"Weren't you all high and mighty just now, you untamed little slut?" Truman growled. "Let's see if I don't fuck you senseless today!"
As if soothing his startled member or venting his rage, Truman poured every ounce of vigor into ravaging the trembling body beneath him. His pelvis slammed into her plump, peach-like rear, sending ripples through her creamy flesh. The visual was intoxicating, her curves molding perfectly to his hips, as if begging to please her master.
The position was deep, impossibly so. Her luscious cheeks pressed tightly against his waist, then snapped back with elastic grace. The sensation convinced Truman he had no regrets about this world.
Each thrust scraped every inch of her silken walls, her delicate flesh clinging to him. Charlotte's lips parted, releasing a high, euphoric moan.
"Wait! Nooo! It's not supposed to be like this… so deep! Let me go!" she cried.
Her body betrayed her will, surrendering to its true master, toyed with and humiliated beyond measure.
She couldn't fathom why her body had moved on its own, shielding this despicable human from her trap—as if some part of her couldn't bear to lose the pleasure he gave.
Her fingers splayed, then clenched, sharp claws extending to gouge holes in the rough floor. Yet she couldn't lay a scratch on the man ravaging her from behind.
"Mrow! My tail! No—please… Master!"
Charlotte let out a sharp cry, her body arching like a startled cat before collapsing again. Her slick, creamy core overflowed with desire, and she lost count of how many times she'd climaxed.
Truman gripped her hypersensitive tail with one hand while the other mercilessly spanked her plush, upturned rear, taming her like a wild mare. Her pale flesh spilled over his fingers, snapping back with each strike, slowly turning red.
Her maid outfit hung in tatters, exposing swathes of her alluring skin. Her white-stockinged calves, propped on their knees beside Truman, rose and fell, betraying her owner's immersion in utter ecstasy.
"Mmm~ haa!" Charlotte's moans took on a dreamy haze, like a kitten in heat. Her consciousness drowned, oblivious to how her body had fully embraced the man's masculine allure, surrendering completely to him.
With each powerful thrust, Truman sensed a shift in the tight grip of her core around him.
He smacked her rear and leered, "Baby, feels like your womb's begging for my seed, aching to be bred."
Perhaps due to her race's traits, her womb lay hidden deep within, unreachable even after days of relentless pounding. Yet now, he faintly sensed its presence.
"Ohhh! No way! That's… impossible!" Charlotte gasped. "Only a true beloved can make us conceive! No one else can—ahh!—touch the womb!"
"Oh? Is that so? Then what's this?"
Truman thrust harder, yanking her plump hips back. Their perfectly matched bodies melded together, and this time, he distinctly felt her core's innermost depths.
"No! It can't be!" she screamed, her body wracked with countless orgasms, the overwhelming pleasure carrying her to paradise.
Was she really about to be impregnated by this vile human? Humiliation and ecstasy blurred the line between dream and reality, making her believe, if only for a moment, that the man behind her was her beloved, her master.
"I won't! Ohhh! I'll never—ahhh!"
Her reason burned away.
"Stop fighting it. Say, 'Please, Master, fill me up.'"
The devil's temptation whispered.
Truman leaned down, his abdomen molding her peach-like rear into submission. His hands slipped through the torn maid outfit, kneading her full breasts, pinning her to the floor. He blew softly into her sensitive cat ears.
"Ahhh! Please… please, Master, fill my worthless womb with your special breeding seed!"
The catgirl could no longer resist. Her pleading voice broke free, and with it came a cataclysmic climax. Her core spasmed, gushing like a flood, trying to wring out every intruder, but Truman's unyielding hardness pushed her to new heights of rapture.
In this perfect crescendo, Truman proved his dominance. He released his restraint, unleashing a torrent of thick, viscous seed directly into her core, breaching her untouched depths.
Splurt, splurt!
The frenzied release lasted a full minute, countless gobs of gelatinous essence flooding her.
"Ohhh! It's coming! Master's hot, sticky seed! So warm… I love you…"
Charlotte collapsed, her pale body marked with the traces of their passion, trembling as her hips remained raised, leaking streams of white, savoring the intensity of their coupling.
"Hey, it's not over yet," Truman said, smacking her still-twitching rear. "My little kitten's got a duty to satisfy her master."
The night stretched on, far from finished.
The morning light pierced the mist, casting a serene glow over Harvest City, like a freshly brewed cup of tea.
Another sleepless night had passed. Truman's insatiable desire was something no mortal woman could withstand, but Charlotte, being a fantasy creature, emerged from the night's conquest with only slight swelling in her tender core.
More than physical exhaustion, it was Charlotte's utterly subdued body and will that marked her true transformation. Even in her dreams, she now purred for her master, begging for Truman's favor.
It was a rest day for the church. Even the omnipotent god of the Cross required a day of respite—how much more a mere mortal?
So Truman stayed home, his mind razor-sharp after sating his pent-up lust, as if shedding a heavy burden.
The kitten's service that day was unusually compliant. The previous night's relentless claiming had pierced her soul, forcing her to accept her role as a pleasure-serving catgirl maid.
Their coupling that day flowed effortlessly.
At dawn, half-awake, he pulled the drowsy catgirl to his lap, coaxing her to part her rosy lips for a morning service. Her unique, intoxicating mouth enveloped him, working his length until he poured his thick essence down her tight throat, which she swallowed entirely.
Before lunch, he embraced Charlotte from behind as she offered to cook. Lifting her apron, he pinned her torso to the cutting board, unleashing the morning's pent-up desire, driving her to mewl softly while matching his rhythm.
As the sun hung low, Truman pressed her face-down on the bed, kissing her passionately while thrusting deeply, drawing shameless, muffled moans from her.
After dinner, he glanced at the weary catgirl, stretched lazily, and eased his insatiable body.
He retrieved the parchment scroll from beneath the cupboard—the source of his blissful days.
The yellowed paper, weathered by time, carried the weight of an ancient relic.
It bore sparse, cryptic text detailing a ritual to summon fantasy creatures and forge a master-servant contract, binding the summoned to absolute obedience.
With sufficient offerings, proper rites, and incense, one could summon an eternally loyal servant.
Though it seemed a formidable power, Truman wasn't blinded by it. He saw the ritual's flaws clearly.
This was no destiny-altering cheat. First, the summoned creatures were hardly powerful in this world, ranking within the fifth tier of the supernatural hierarchy, far below countless stronger beings. Truman, devoid of any cultivation ability, faced no barrier to learning the ritual, but exposing it would make him a target for the powerful, who'd interrogate and kill him for its secrets.
Second, summoned creatures weren't permanent. Their duration depended on the occult materials used, lasting a week at most, or mere days. Charlotte was his third summon. The first was a petite succubus who fed on male essence, teasing until she begged for mercy. The second, a married elf who swore chastity but ended up pleading to divorce her impotent husband.
Finally, the ritual required a cooldown. It couldn't be performed consecutively, needing at least a week's preparation and costly materials. For Truman, the expense was steep, but the ecstasy was worth double the price.
The summoning ritual couldn't transform his life. If exposed, it could cost him his life. Harvest City was a major city in China, second only to the capital and a few mega-cities. Even in the slums, patrolling cultivators routinely checked for demonic infiltration.
If his ritual were discovered, the best outcome was confiscation of the scroll and imprisonment for illegal occult practices. The worst? A charge of consorting with demons, followed by immediate execution.
"Man, if only I were the chosen one in some novel," Truman mused, hands behind his head, lost in idle thoughts. "Rising from adversity, conquering the world, marrying a rich beauty, and reaching the peak of life…"
At his feet, Charlotte curled up, whimpering softly now and then.
"Master, don't leave…"
Truman chuckled. Just last night, she'd wanted to tear him apart, but after he'd claimed her core, she became more obedient than anyone. Was it her race's nature, or was the path to a woman's heart truly through her body?
But today was the last day. Truman sighed. Charlotte's alluring form was captivating, but he couldn't keep her. She'd vanish, carrying his essence, back to wherever she came from.
Oh well, on to the next one.
He consoled himself. He didn't want to be all lust and no heart, but with only a few days per summon, there was little room for attachment beyond using their seductive bodies to sate his desires.