"In... here?" During the half-minute of Isidore's movement, Eloise felt as though all the blood in her body had come to a halt. To have a gun pressed against one's skin, sliding inch by inch—this was, after all, a first in her life. Especially in such a sensitive place.
The cold, rigid muzzle pressed close, grazing the delicate skin, and in an instant, a searing pain shot through. More prominent than the pain was the tautness in her scalp, and the heart leaping to her throat. She looked at Isidore, her breath unsteady. His gaze was deep, unwavering, and unquestionable.
The sensation of the gun's muzzle retreating from between her thighs was magnified, like ants crawling over her skin, icy enough to make her body shiver. She trembled like a helpless little creature, exposed and vulnerable. He chuckled softly, watching her in her disarray, venting his anger.
Once again, something that should never have been there, pushed deeper inside. Eloise even thought to herself that it would be better to have that gun pressed against her temple instead. He raised it just a slight curve, and a fragile barrier was easily broken through.
The barrel of the gun was still being pushed in, and there was a force controlling it, which could be strong or weak.
Eloise could no longer bear it, her small face contorting in pain. "It hurts, it hurts... take it away!" In the entanglement and movement, she could only be the one at a disadvantage.
"...Please! Please!" After she uttered those requests, both resentful and pleading, the force finally eased. He welcomed her surrender, quietly waiting for her to further let down her guard.
How could he bully her like this? Why did he have to be so angry... For the first time, Eloise clearly and truly realized—he was a brute. No matter how calm he had pretended to be before, deep down, he was still this way. She sniffed, reluctantly surrendering to the force of evil. "I'll do it for you, just watch."
He withdrew his hand, and the iron-gray muzzle bore a hint of moisture. He clicked his tongue. "Scared pissless?" It was the moisture from when he had pinched earlier. Eloise gritted her teeth, preferring to lose face than speak the truth aloud.
Isidore pulled up the front of her shirt to wipe the moisture from the muzzle, then cocked the gun, glancing at her with a half-lidded eye. "If your seduction is lacking, I'll pull the trigger."
Eloise fought back the urge to cry with all her strength, moving to the empty space in front of the coffee table, standing there foolishly, hands at her sides. She pouted, lifting her chin. "You want me to act it out without any props?"
Isidore thought to himself that if she dared make him play the role of a drunken Quintus and begin acting, he might truly lose control and fire the gun. Fortunately, she hadn't yet become foolish to that extent. She pointed to the long rectangular pillow leaning against his back. "May I borrow that?"
Isidore tossed the pillow carelessly, and it rolled to a stop at her feet with a soft thud. It was a light brown leather pillow, wide enough for one person and almost half the height of a person—perfect for use as a makeshift mannequin.
Eloise knelt on the ground, sitting motionless for a moment. Without the brief guidance from the original text, it was clear that she wasn't adept at the task she was being forced to perform. More importantly, she had to overcome her psychological barriers.
Just watching her focus intently on the pillow stirred a wave of anger in his chest, but Isidore suppressed it with a neutral expression.
He sneered coldly. "Do you need to study it for so long, or are you developing feelings for it? Maybe calling it 'Quin' will help?" Eloise shot him a glare, her anger rising but unable to voice it. It was too shameful—having her do such a thing with the pillow like this...
She bit her lip, then picked up three items from her bag that had fallen onto the coffee table: a disinfecting wipe, a marker, and a condom.
She first carefully wiped down the leather cover of the pillow, then, biting the cap of the marker, she removed it and drew the corresponding organs on the pillow at the appropriate spot.
Isidore:"..."
Eloise took a deep breath, capped the marker and placed it on the floor, then, with the solemnity of a martyr heading to the execution ground, declared, "I'm starting!" Isidore casually raised his hand, twirling his finger on the trigger, curious to see what she would do next.
She began to perform the tasks she had to do with great effort. Seeing someone like Eloise, exuding such an enticing aura, Isidore's pupils suddenly dilated, and the arm resting on his knee tensed.
Eloise remained oblivious, her brow furrowing in embarrassment as she tried her best to imitate the motion of a kiss, sucking and licking the pillow with a soft, wet sound, leaving behind a trail of moisture.
"Mm..." After kissing for a while, she couldn't help but let out a sound as if her breath was caught. Isidore took a deep breath, leaning back and crossing his long legs. "Isn't that enough?" he spoke up, his tone impatient.
Eloise retracted her tongue and bit her lip. Next, what Eloise was about to do took things even further, each step driving Isidore to the brink of unbearable desire.
No technique, no design—just pure instinct. Isidore's hand slowly clenched into a fist, the veins on the back of his hand standing out. How did she come up with this idea? How could she think to do it this way?
He couldn't bear to imagine what would happen if a real man were beneath her, in such intimate closeness.
Just the thought of it was enough to drive him crazy.
