Chapter 40
Albert is your prospective fiancé, and a double S-class female insect, so why can't you let him give it a try?
Bright's dark eyes showed anxiety, while Hill looked down at the ground but remained silent, refusing to give permission.
After a long pause, he finally spoke: "I don't want any insects to know my current situation."
His voice was hoarse, like spring water that was difficult to flow.
Bright was at a loss. He wanted to pat him on the shoulder to comfort him, but he didn't dare. Any movement would only put pressure on him and bring him more pain. Bright withdrew quickly and left.
In the past, Hill required some medical equipment, but this was a matter of absolute privacy for the male insect and had to be placed in the medical pod. Now...
He dared not move Hill at all; every step he took would likely be an even heavier burden.
Hill is very tolerant of pain. He started getting sick as soon as he came out of the egg and has endured all kinds of pain and surgery, but he has difficulty getting rid of not only physical pain.
His condition probably doesn't fall into the category of pain; it's more like a feeling of fullness, agony, an inability to control one's body, a lack of dignity, and a psychological one.
If I had to describe it, it would be more like the two weeks I spent outside of Ticas, every minute and every second spent in a dense, swarming environment, every inch of my skin trembling with fear at the slightest touch.
The temperature on a starship is usually set quite low, and even in this low temperature, he slowly started to sweat, wetting his eyelashes.
In a hazy halo, he saw a pair of jet-black military boots. He did not belong to Albert in his platinum uniform, nor to Eric, whose rank was still low. He belonged only to an insect.
Celtic arrived, and he stepped right on the edge of the trap.
Hill didn't look up, her voice trembling slightly: "Who?"
The fact that he didn't recognize himself made Celt's already furrowed brows deepen. He approached step by step, enveloping the male insect in his shadow, his voice low: "Who does Your Highness think it is? Albert or Eric?"
If any insect were here, it would be astonished by Marshal Celtic's possessiveness and intense jealousy.
The male insect, caught in the agony, seemed to finally understand who the female insect in front of him was. He slowly inhaled, trying to calm his voice, but his hands clenched involuntarily.
The voice is very low, because the fluctuations in the voice also cause the body to tremble.
"The Marshal hasn't learned that," the feeling made him pause involuntarily, and he blinked hard. "Does meeting a male insect require prior permission...?"
“I came because I was worried about Your Highness’s condition.” His voice grew deeper, and the pheromones of gunpowder enveloped Hilgard. He supported himself with his taut arms on either side of the male insect’s body, creating an astonishing sense of oppression.
A bronze-colored hand gently parted the long silver hair, revealing the sweaty male insect inside. His eyes were misty with moisture, his jaw was clenched, his lips were pale, and sweat dripped down his beautifully shaped neck.
"Is Your Highness sure there is nothing I can do for you?"
His presence was too close, carrying pheromones that were so familiar they were almost unbearable. Hill's breathing quickened slightly: "Get out!"
"Get out," Celt repeated the male insect's words, his voice as cold as ever, as if he were merely stating a fact, devoid of any insect-related emotions, yet inexplicably instilling fear in the insects. "And then who will come next? Albert?"
"Is Your Highness sure you want him to know that Your Highness looks like this?"
Do you know how you can't even expel waste on your own?
Hill's fingertips almost dug into his flesh, and his face grew even paler. Even though Celt didn't say it aloud, he understood what was left unsaid. For a male insect, no, for any insect, this was a great humiliation.
Because of Celtic, he became like this—
“Or perhaps you could take my place?” Hill bent even lower, one hand resting on the wicker chair, the other barely covering his abdomen, sweat pouring down his face. His gaze towards Celt was filled with mocking malice: “Your Majesty, the Queen of Cyrus?”
The name indeed stung Celtic, clearly reminding him of the boundary he had crossed. The muscles in his arms, which were braced against the edge of the wicker chair, tensed even more, but he did not back down.
Why not?
His cold, gray eyes held an aggressive possessiveness as he slowly bent his knees and knelt before Hill under his gaze.
Hill's pupils contracted sharply, and for a moment he forgot to stop him or say anything.
The next moment, the hands supporting him on either side suddenly transformed into insect claws, and the sharp claws tore through the obstructing white robe in an instant.
Hill instinctively tried to pull his knees back to avoid exposing more of his vulnerability, but the male insect's strength was no match for the female's. He was gradually forced open until he was completely exhausted and had to give up, closing his eyes in unbearable pain.
The area, which had not received comfort for a long time, had become completely different in color from normal, trembling and dripping water with difficulty, like a clogged pipe.
Hill's skin was very fair and easily marked. When she suffered from this disease, you could see blue veins popping out as if they were about to leap out of her translucent skin, something that had never happened before.
It has reached its limit.
How do you use the tools?
How does the male insect enter through such a painful spot that looks like it's about to break through the skin, where even touching it would probably make it tremble with pain?
Why suffer like this?
Celtic's eyes were cold and indifferent.
He didn't use his claws, seemingly afraid that it would hurt the male insect, but instead kissed it directly.
Hill felt a warm, delicate sensation, a sensation that was neither a claw nor any cold tool, but the temperature of a female insect.
The female insect, whose entire body was cold and hard, seemed to have only a warm kiss. His hand unconsciously reached out, wanting to push away the female insect's kiss, but in the end it landed lightly on Celt's head, even his resistance was trembling.
"roll--"
"You are shameless..."
"Hmm..."
He tried to hunch over and back away, but there was only a rattan chair behind him, leaving him nowhere to retreat.
Celtic was not as strong and cold as he appeared. He was very gentle at first, without even touching her, but just using the softest part of his mouth to give her a gentle kiss.
The pheromones erupted like a burst of warm water, and it only began after he gradually got used to it.
At first, he was very careful, but Hill was in so much pain that he would groan softly at the slightest touch. Celtic would listen to his voice and distinguish between pleasure and pain, adjusting accordingly. After gently pleasing him like this for about half an hour, Hill gradually became able to accept some touches.
Celtic only began when Hill was completely comfortable with it, and his actions gradually escalated.
But this process is lengthy, like boiling a frog in lukewarm water, requiring a long time and a great deal of patience.
Hill slowly opened his eyes at some point, and tears streamed down his face. He looked down at the powerful female insect that was kneeling beneath him.
He knelt on the ground with his knees apart, a standard posture of submission and slavery, simply because this would better please him.
Celt has been a marshal for several years, and in recent years his power and reputation have become increasingly prominent. Even his female father, the Insect Emperor, could hardly obtain the courtesy of kneeling, and only asked Marshal Celt to bow.
After the initial gentle soothing, his movements became more intense because Hill needed continuous stimulation. Compared to a normal male insect, he required several times more stimulation and pheromones to barely feel comfortable.
In this situation, the female insect will not have any desire to mate.
Hill knew very well that he had once knelt humbly beside Celtic in the same way, and the happiness he found came from the psychological satisfaction of making the insect he liked feel happy.
It's because of the psychological pleasure derived from serving the insects you like.
But the insects that receive this kind of service are actually quite happy.
Hill's voice trembled, and tears streamed down his pale cheeks. He couldn't deny that this was far better than the cold, hard tools.
But it's just a tool with heat, the best tool I've ever used.
He repeatedly showed weakness in front of this female insect, appeared by her side, insisted on being escorted, and allowed her to spy on him and touch him in the dirty night. Wasn't it all for this moment?
He did it.
This female insect, who seemed to never bow her head, never kneel, and never bend her knees for a male insect, knelt down before him.
This is just the beginning.
His eyes were so cold, even the tears that fell seemed icy.
Bright rushed over and smelled the strong pheromones at the garden gate. The pheromones were so strong that he was reluctant to go in, but he was worried that Hill would be bullied by some unknown female insect passing by, so he couldn't help but speak up.
"Hill?"
The voice from a friend brought the final stimulus.
"Well......"
Hill's hand clenched tightly, but a stronger, hotter hand grabbed his, forcibly separating his hands and preventing him from pinching himself, forcefully interlocking their fingers.
Hill struggled slightly but couldn't break free. He didn't close his eyes, coldly watching the arrogant female insect teetering on the edge of the cliff.
Until the humiliation gradually fell upon the marshal's uniform, soaking his black uniform and golden medals.
Celtic raised his cold, gray eyes, letting the dew drip down, still looking up to see if he was still uncomfortable.
The male insect covered its face with its arms, concealing all the indifference in its eyes.
Bright heard a pattering sound, which made him even more worried, and he couldn't help but walk forward.
After passing through the last clump of thorny flowers, I found that it was a timed sprinkler system watering the plants with dripping dew.
Hill sat there, seemingly somewhat weary, wearing a clean, soft white robe, with only her long, slightly disheveled silver hair falling around her.
"Hill, was there a female insect just now?"
Bright sniffed; the pheromones couldn't be faked—they were rich and strangely familiar.
"Where's the insect? Did it leave?"
Hilgard nodded slightly, his eyes still slightly red and moist, but his voice was icy cold.
"Just an unimportant female insect. Isn't that how female insects are supposed to be? Used and then discarded." The young male insect's lips curled slightly, filled with mockery and indifference.
Just like how Celtic treated that little male pet back then.
“But you…” Bright wanted to say something, but ultimately fell silent.
Author's Note:
No, I haven't forgiven you that quickly. This was just part of my plan. [Pleading face]
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