Are You My Servant?

At that moment, Irisviel, clad in a white bikini, leaned against Duke. Her snow-white swimsuit made her fair skin look even more alluring. One long, taut, supple thigh hooked around Duke's waist and rubbed up and down. Most deadly of all, the swimsuit was the "beauty salon" version. Soaked by seawater, tsk tsk tsk... it would have been better not to wear it at all.

Duke wore a stern expression. What was this supposed to mean? Were they looking down on him, Duke? Did they take him for some man obsessed with beauty?

There was an all-ages Irisviel in the basement of his house. With one press of a button, it would be far more stimulating than this. Would he drool over this fake creation before him?

Duke gave a disdainful smile, then reached out and ruthlessly kneaded the soft, smooth, pale flesh. At once, a suppressed moan sounded by his ear. A fragrant scent wafted over, and a warm tongue traced the contour of his earlobe before lingering at his neck, where pearly teeth lightly bit down.

Duke only let go after kneading twice, sighing in disappointment.

This won't do, little Holy Grail brother. Your experience is terrible—far worse than those big shots I know. And there's one fatal flaw. Let me be honest with you: a married woman's feel isn't this firm!

"Make a wish, and you can have me..." The damp, heated voice slipped through his ear and deep into Duke's mind. The married woman wrapped herself around Duke, trying to break down his will.

But unfortunately, Duke said his basement really could not fit anything else. With righteous seriousness, he pushed Irisviel away. Looking at the soaked swimsuit over her chest, he reproached her regretfully, "Madam, please have some self-respect. You're a married woman."

"Doesn't that