Though she wondered if she’d have an occasion to wear such luxurious clothing, there was no denying the quality of the dress. The butler, standing next to her, spoke again.
“How about visiting the capital during the upcoming Blessing Festival? It coincides with the graduation of the Imperial Academy, so you can stay a bit longer when congratulating Lord El Doan.”
Hearing the transparent suggestion, Martian chuckled lightly. The Blessing Festival was when a large-scale ball, organized by the royal family, took place. It was when nobles of marriageable age gathered to find partners. The butler hoped she would find her marital match there. She handed her coat back to the butler.
“No. That would be asking for trouble.”
“You think women of my age, having a title, and beauty are common? Everyone would rush over, trying to f*ck me.”
“F-F*ck… Countess, what a dreadful thought!”
“Dreadful? Don’t you know how packed those ball terraces get? There are even those who openly have fun in the gardens.”
At her blunt words, the butler was speechless. Martian swiftly added,
“That’s why I’ll stay home and keep a low profile.”
‘Low profile?’ Even as she said it, it sounded absurd. Even here, she would likely spend her nights mingling, looking for a companion of her liking.
In truth, Martian found it tedious to visit the capital. Dealing with other nobles, fending off suitors – all of it was a bother.
The butler sighed deeply, “My Lord, it’s high time you seriously considered a marriage prospect.”
“I know. I have to marry, thinking of an heir.”
The butler’s face lit up at those words, but Martian added,
“If there’s a man who listens well, behaves a bit wildly at night, and is affectionate, I’ll marry him. I mean it.”
The butler exhaled, wearied. For five years, her stance had remained unchanged. Her words essentially implied: such a man doesn’t exist, so leave me alone.
Those who led families with titles usually married and bore children early. It was the most common way to address issues of succession. In her late twenties, Martian was beyond the typical age of marriage. The butler worried that if she delayed much longer, she might end up with a less-than-suitable partner.
Martian was well aware of this concern and also knew that finding a match fitting her criteria was incredibly rare.
“I know what concerns the butler. I plan to settle the succession issue before I turn thirty, so don’t fret too much.”
“Promise, you promised.”
The butler responded as if clutching at straws. Martian nodded, then rummaged through the clothes in front of her. Looking at the exquisitely used lace, she thought it would be nice to have some provocative lingerie for Ron. White lace underwear might make him look somewhat like a new bride.
‘That might not be a bad birthday present.’
Seeing Martian smile while thinking something, the butler showed a nervous expression. Often when she smiled like that, she had shocking plans. The butler sighed, tidying up the clothes. Each piece was exquisite and suited Martian.
How wonderful it would be to always wear such clothes. The butler recalled the day she dressed so elegantly in them for a celebratory banquet. It was the day she headed to the Seban territory.
She looked so magnificent and beautiful that the butler was so moved that he almost cried. Even in front of the most prestigious duke’s offspring, they would be left speechless by her. The old butler truly believed so.
‘What’s wrong with that duke’s heir’s eyesight? Not even speaking a word to our young mistress. Ridiculous.’
Though Martian said that there were hundreds of guests at the banquet and even seeing the face of the count was challenging, the butler felt this was still incomprehensible. Even among hundreds, Martian would have shone the brightest. That noble clearly had no discerning eye. The butler, not even knowing the face of the person, grumbled inwardly.
I will make sure she wears this during the blessing festival in the capital, thought the butler, determination filling his wrinkled face.
* * *
Martian often enjoyed tea time with Ron. Their unique tea time began with Ron serving as the table and a tray of snacks placed on his back. She sat on the sofa, looking down at Ron whose face was buried in her lap. His neck seemed thinner than before. The events with Huey Sevlord often came to mind, all the times she tormented Ron.
Martian gently tapped Ron’s neck and asked. He mumbled something indistinctly. With his tongue out, attending to her v*gina, it was hard to decipher his words, but they surely weren’t complaints. That kind of words wasn’t permitted for dogs.
Feeling the broad, w*t tongue, Martian let out a relaxed breath. Already having reached a cl*max once, this soft stimulation felt good. Ron, who had been pleasing her with his tongue for over thirty minutes, must have been tired.
“Stay still. The tray is wobbling.”
As Ron continued licking, the tray remained on his back. He had to keep his back flat and motionless. If he were to even slightly raise or twist his back, the tray would certainly fall.
“Want a treat?”
Martian took a cookie from the tray and broke it. Thick jam dripped from the broken pieces, dropping onto Ron’s back.
“Oh, I spilled.”
She picked it up with her fingertips. Ron’s back twitched, but he maintained his posture, though his attentive tongue paused momentarily. Maybe I should punish him for that? She could find any reason to reprimand him. She looked at Ron’s b*ttocks, streaked with red and blue marks.
While she was pondering, realizing his mistake, Ron started moving his tongue again, now more vigorously. Unlike his previous gentle strokes, he applied firmer pressure, stimulating her sensitive areas.
He focused intensely on her cl*toris, then sucked on it. Already sensitized, her ar*usal surged. Feeling a shiver run down her spine, Martian gripped Ron’s hair. Pulling him deeper caused the tray on his back to fall. Although a rug muffled the sound, the cookies scattered everywhere.
She moved, pressing his face, making it harder for him to breathe. Gasping, with his head pushed down, he struggled. He took heavy breaths, becoming more desperate for air, his upper body squirming and his hands searching the floor.