The Night of the Monsters - Chapter 9 (M)

Normally, Ian would have scoffed or chided Hugo for such vulgar remarks, dismissing them as disgusting nonsense. But this time, he remained silent. After all, he shared the same insatiable desire—to claim every part of Giselle, filling her completely, leaving no inch of her untouched.

The thought of her bearing a child… Hugo had once voiced that impulse, and Ian had snapped at him, irritated by the idea. But now, it didn’t seem so unappealing.

How lovely would Giselle look with her belly round and full, waddling as she moved? Her already soft, ample breasts would swell even further, leaving her helpless and needy. She would cry as they coaxed and soothed her, milking her gently as they sucked at her tender nipples.

Ian exhaled slowly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as the image lingered in his mind.

“…Hah.”

Even the mere thought of it was enough to send heat surging through Ian’s body. As he licked the pale nape of her neck, he thrust deeply, burying himself to the hilt before releasing inside her. The warmth spreading through her belly made Giselle squirm uncontrollably.

“M-my stomach… ah, ahhnng!”

“How can you be satisfied with just that, Master?” Hugo growled, his tone sharp but edged with strained control. “I’m… ngh… far from done.”

“Hu-Hugo, please… ah… my chest, stop… ah, ahhng!”

Hugo, finishing his sentence with a fierce glint in his eyes, bent his head down and took one of her soft, trembling breasts into his mouth. He suckled gently, teasing her nipple with his lips and tongue. Giselle’s slender waist arched sharply, her body bending under the overwhelming sensations.

Ian, still buried inside her, narrowed his eyes at the scene, irritation flashing across his face.

“Take it easy, Hugo. Tonight was supposed to be my night with Giselle.”

“And I let you have her first tonight, didn’t I?” Hugo shot back, his words clipped as he continued his ministrations without pause.

Ian swallowed a sigh at Hugo’s pointed retort. He’s still holding onto that, huh?

The memory of that night lingered vividly in both their minds. When Giselle had first lost herself to desire, it wasn’t Hugo she sought out—it was Ian. Not because of any grand preference, but likely for a simple, practical reason: Ian’s room was closer to hers.

When Giselle crawled into his bed, Ian initially thought he was dreaming. After all, he’d spent countless nights pleasuring himself to the thought of her, even having wet dreams where he imagined their bodies intertwined. It seemed only natural to assume this was yet another one of those vivid fantasies.

But the moment Giselle climbed onto his waist, awkwardly moving her hips in an attempt to guide him inside, Ian realized it was real. The sensation of her tight, warm walls enveloping him was nothing like his dreams—it was far more intense, her body clenching around him so tightly it was almost painful, yet utterly euphoric.

“Master,” Hugo murmured with a teasing edge, his voice low as he thrust deeply, “isn’t the front better than the back? Hm?”

“Hngh! Ah, Hugo, H-Hugo… it’s too… deep… ah, ahhh!”

Giselle cried out, her voice breaking as her body trembled, the overwhelming sensation rendering her powerless against their relentless movements.

Deep inside her, an intense wave of sensation radiated from a spot she had never known could feel so sensitive. Hugo’s length, pressing against the very back of her womb, seemed to push her to her limits with every thrust. Each time he moved, the pressure sent trembling convulsions through Giselle’s body, leaving her helpless to the overwhelming pleasure.

As Hugo’s hips snapped forward, Ian, still buried in her other entrance, felt the rhythmic jolts through the thin wall of flesh separating them. The synchronized stimulation sent shocks through both men, heightening their shared desire to push her even further.

When they had shared her in a single entrance before, Ian had found the experience unpleasantly messy, and now wasn’t much better. Yet, instead of voicing his irritation again, he opted to silently roll his hips in slow, deliberate circles while pressing his lips against Giselle’s trembling nape.

“You really hold grudges, don’t you, Hugo?” Ian muttered with a faint smirk.

“Shut up,” Hugo growled, his tone clipped, though he didn’t stop his relentless movements.

Hugo responded coldly, burying his face in Giselle’s bouncing breasts and taking one of her nipples into his mouth. Ian let out a crooked chuckle but decided to let it slide this time, opting to focus on the moment rather than their usual bickering.

The memory lingered between them—the night Giselle had ridden Ian in her desperate haze. Her faint, tearful moans had reached Hugo, whose light sleeping habits led him to investigate. Bursting into Ian’s room, he had cursed furiously, only to pause when he saw her flushed body trembling with pleasure, heedless of the blood staining her thighs. She was so lost in her need that she hadn’t even noticed.

Hugo had eventually given in, soothing her body with kisses and touches while Ian continued. What followed was inevitable: they both took her, sharing her completely for the first time.

By dawn, when Giselle’s clarity returned, she had broken down into uncontrollable sobs, horrified by what had transpired.

Now, as the present moment consumed them, her cries rang out again, her voice cracking with both despair and overwhelming sensation.

“Haaahng! Ah, ngh… ahh! Hugo, H-Hugo… ah! Ian!”

Her voice trembled as she called out their names, her body unable to resist the relentless rhythm they set.

Each time Giselle called Hugo’s name, his movements became rougher, more forceful, as if spurred on by the sound of it. Ian, on the other hand, softened his rhythm slightly, taking a more teasing, calculated approach. The overwhelming sensations blurred her vision, and her nails instinctively dug into Hugo’s back.

Even the sharp sting of her scratching only seemed to heighten Hugo’s pleasure. Uncharacteristically, he let out a deep, satisfied chuckle.

“Giselle,” he called, his voice low and steady.

Even as she gasped and writhed in the haze of pleasure, Giselle reflexively met his gaze. Her ruby-red eyes, clouded with arousal and tears, were breathtaking.

“If you ever disappear without a word again…” he began, his golden eyes piercing hers, the unspoken warning hanging heavily in the air.

At that time maybe I might even sever the tendons in your ankles so that you can’t go anywhere.

Simply tying her up would no longer be enough to ease his paranoia. The cruel impulse lingered beneath his deceptively soft smile as he leaned in, capturing her lips. His tongue pushed past her parted lips, devouring her in a deep, possessive kiss. Her dazed moans were swallowed entirely, leaving her breathless and trembling.

Completely overwhelmed, Giselle could do nothing but cry as she remained trapped in their arms. The fleeting sense that everything was spiraling into chaos flickered through her mind, but it was gone as quickly as it had come, drowned beneath the relentless tide of pleasure and despair.

* * *

She was dreaming. Giselle was fully aware of that fact.

The dark house, bathed in faint moonlight, showed no sign of human life or habitation.

Before taking in Hugo and Ian, she had existed merely as a being alive for the sake of being alive. It wasn’t untrue to say she couldn’t do anything on her own. She didn’t need to eat, sleep, or do anything at all—no matter how much time passed, death wouldn’t come. There was simply no need for anything in the first place.

Lying on the dusty bed, blinking blankly, Giselle shifted her gaze to the stained window.

The spirits were calling to her.

Ah, it’s today.

Though she knew it was a dream, her body moved on its own. As if retracing her actions from that fateful night, Giselle climbed out of bed and slipped into a white robe. Grabbing an old lamp, she stepped outside, where the cool night air kissed her cheeks.

Crunch, crunch. Her footsteps quickened as she tread over damp underbrush.

There was movement at the edge of the witch’s forest, a place people avoided at all costs.

“Sniff, sob…”

“Don’t cry, Ian. If you cry, the monsters in the forest will come for us.”

“But… but you’re crying too, Hugo…”

“I said don’t make noise, you idiot.”

The soft, trembling voices of children broke through the stillness. Giselle paused. She knew all too well how people viewed the forest she called home.

Were they lost? Or perhaps…

Concerned that the frightened children might hurt themselves trying to flee, she cautiously spoke.

“Are you… lost?”

Her own voice wavered slightly. It had been decades since she’d last spoken to another person. The small shadows flinched visibly, and Giselle quickly raised her lamp higher.

“It’s all right. You don’t have to be scared.”

Her awkward smile appeared in the glow of the lamp, illuminating her gentle face. The children, who had been clinging to each other with tense, fearful expressions, began to relax. Giselle, however, frowned faintly.

The children’s clothes were little more than tattered rags, and their frail bodies were covered in bruises, stark and purple against their pale skin. Giselle might have lived alone for a long time, but she knew that such marks didn’t appear without reason.

“…Were you abandoned, by any chance?”

At Giselle’s hesitant question, the small children’s bodies flinched sharply. That reaction alone was answer enough. She averted her gaze, her expression troubled.

It wasn’t uncommon for people to abandon others in the black forest. More often than not, however, it was corpses that were left behind—alive or dead, most ended up as prey for venomous creatures or monsters, leaving not even a trace of their bones.

The strong survive, and the weak perish. That was the law of the forest, a balance Giselle tried not to disturb whenever possible. Yes, whenever possible.

“…”

The children, their hair darker than the forest’s shadows, looked to be no older than six or seven.

Giselle hesitated. If she turned her back on them now, they would undoubtedly become food for creatures many times their size before dawn broke. She knew this, yet still found herself unable to reach out to them so easily.

She had lived alone for so long—an eternity of solitude. Deep down, she had longed for companionship, and part of her still yearned for it. Yet people feared her, despised her, and cast her aside.

Her mind swirled with indecision. The longer the silence stretched, the more her thoughts emptied, leaving her paralyzed. But then the clouds shifted, and the terrified faces of the children came into full view under the moonlight.

At that moment, Giselle made up her mind.

“…If you have nowhere to go, would you like to come with me?”

Their frightened eyes reflected only her, unblinking and filled with desperate hope. For the first time in her long, lonely life, someone needed her—truly needed her.

And so, the witch of the black forest, who had lived alone for countless years, took in two apprentices.