Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate

But no words came.

No pleading.

No gasping cry for more.

Only silence.

Only the tremble of her thighs and the way her fingers clutched the sheets—small, desperate motions—but her lips stayed sealed. Her green eyes stared up at him, wide, vulnerable, burning with all the need her mouth refused to speak.

Damien froze.

For a heartbeat—two—he just stared at her. Watched the way she shook beneath him, saw the desperate little flutters of her hips seeking friction, chasing release.

And yet—

She said nothing.

She would not.

Not even now.

The realization hit him with the slow, molten weight of understanding, sinking deep into the marrow of his bones.

‘Ah.’

Of course.

How could he have been so foolish?

Elysia—his cold, brilliant, stubborn maid—wasn’t the kind of woman who could just break with one night of pleasure. She wasn’t a lock to be picked open in a single thrust. She wasn’t a battle to win with the right words or the right pressure.

She was a fortress.

Stone layered on stone, year after year of silence and duty and chains disguised as honor.

She didn’t know how to beg.

Didn’t know how to want out loud.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

And strangely—damnably—he found himself smiling.

Low. Crooked. Real.

Because it would’ve been a tragedy if she had.

If she had simply melted for him now—after one night, one orgasm, one claim.

It would’ve cheapened it.

Made her less.

But this—her silence, her refusal to give in completely—this made her even more exquisite.

Made her still herself.

Still the sharp, beautiful thing that had gutted him from the first moment she walked into his ruined life.

‘You’re still fighting,’ he thought, his cock throbbing almost painfully as he looked down at her. ‘Even when you’re trembling with need, you still won’t surrender everything.’

Not yet.

Maybe not for a long time.

Maybe not ever.

And…

Isn’t it for the better anyway?

He loved that.

After all, things like this were to be slowly savored—as once Elysia changed, it would be hard to experience it again.

A low sound rumbled in his chest, somewhere between a growl and a laugh. His hand—so cruel a moment ago—softened against her thigh. He dragged his palm up her side, slow, reverent, feeling the shudder that ran through her body at the touch.

“You’re still holding back,” he whispered, voice low, almost amused.

Her lashes fluttered. Her breath trembled out of her in a tiny whimper: “Nnnh…” But she stayed silent.

He smiled wider, lowering himself until his mouth brushed the corner of her trembling lips.

And without warning—

He moved.

His hips shifted forward, slow—agonizingly slow—but not soft. His cock scraped against her insides, dragging along every delicate nerve that had swollen and tightened in aching anticipation. Not plunging deep. Not thrusting hard. Just moving.

Scraping.

Grinding.

Relentless.

Elysia’s whole body jerked, her thighs clamping involuntarily around his waist. Her mouth fell open—”Aaah…!”—but still, no words. Only a raw, broken breath that shuddered across his lips.

She was trying to endure it.

Trying to keep silent.

Trying to pretend she could bear this new, unfamiliar agony.

But she couldn’t hide the way her walls reacted.

Because her pussy—slick, desperate, overwhelmed—clenched around him like a vice, instinctively chasing the friction, pulling him deeper against her will.

He felt it.

The way she pulsed.

The way she tightened.

Every scrape of his cock along her hypersensitive inner walls drew a fresh ripple through her, tightening her insides inch by inch until the air itself seemed to crackle around them.

Damien exhaled, low and harsh through his teeth.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he murmured against her parted mouth, voice thick with pleasure. “Your body’s learning. Even if you won’t admit it yet.”

He rocked again—grinding slow, so slow inside her, just enough to make her back arch and her fingers claw at the sheets again.

“Nnhh…! Mmnh…!”

The tightness increased.

The heat bloomed.

The unbearable, maddening friction of it made Elysia’s legs tremble violently around his hips. Another breathless whimper slipped out: “Haaah… please…” —not spoken, but breathed, so faint it was almost not a sound at all.

And still—

He didn’t let her fall.

Not yet.

Because this was what he had been building toward.

The reason he had kept her teetering on the edge, so long, so careful, denying her the satisfaction of real pleasure while scraping, teasing, coaxing her sensitivity higher and higher until even the smallest pressure felt like a blade against raw skin.

Until anticipation itself became a weapon.

And now—now, he could feel it.

She was right there.

Tight and wet and ready.

Barely breathing, barely holding herself together.

So he smiled against her lips—dark, indulgent, victorious—and whispered:

“Here’s your reward…”

His hips drew back, the head of his cock dragging along every twitching fold inside her.

“…for listening to me so well this past week.”

And without a breath of warning—

He stabbed.

One brutal, perfect thrust.

Straight into the weakest part of her—her deepest, trembling soft spot—the place he’d mapped in her body through weeks of training, observation, ruthless patience.

Direct.

Merciless.

Perfect.

The effect was instantaneous.

“Ah—! Aahh…!”

Elysia gasped—sharp, high, broken—a sound torn from her throat without permission.

Her pussy clamped around him like a fist, spasming violently.

Her entire body jolted up against him, hips arching into the thrust she hadn’t even known how to beg for.

And then—

She came.

Hard.

A sharp, wet rush poured from her, slicking his cock, his hips, the sheets beneath them. A sudden, helpless release—pure, overwhelming, involuntary.

She didn’t cry out.

She couldn’t.

She just shuddered—violently, uncontrollably, the muscles of her cunt convulsing in waves around his cock, milking him with a desperate, uncoordinated need she didn’t even know how to name.

“Mmmh—! Mmmnnhh—!”

The broken noises escaped her lips in hiccupping gasps, her throat unable to hold them back.

Damien groaned low, feeling the hot spill of her orgasm coat him, soak him. The spasms dragged at his cock, sucking at him like her body was trying to devour him whole.

Good, he thought savagely, teeth gritting as he held himself buried deep in the spasming clutch of her climax. You needed this. You needed to feel this.

He bent lower—pressed his forehead to hers, breath harsh, heartbeat hammering in time with her trembling pulse.

And Elysia…

Elysia whimpered faintly beneath him—”Nnnh…Ma-…”—her lips moving at last, her mouth betraying the surrender her pride still couldn’t voice aloud.

“Ma?”

Damien stilled.

He waited—breathless, suspended above her like a blade balanced on its final thread. His forehead pressed to hers, his heart hammering a raw, violent rhythm into the small space between their trembling bodies.

Waited for her to finish it.

Waited for her to give it freely.

Elysia gasped—her breath shivering between her parted lips. Her whole body shook beneath him, the spasms of her climax not yet faded, her thighs locked tight around his waist as if her body refused to let him go.

“…Master,” she whispered.

A thread of sound. Small. Fragile. But real.

Something primal tore through Damien at the word—something dark and consuming and his. His cock throbbed painfully inside her, still gripped by the frantic, involuntary spasms of her cunt, and his vision blurred for half a heartbeat.

He nodded once—sharp, rough—before the restraint that had held him all night finally snapped.

He moved.

Hard. Deep.

His hips slammed forward with a brutal wet sound, punching another helpless little whimper from Elysia’s throat: “Nnnh—!”

And again.

And again.

He pistoned into her with savage, relentless rhythm, stabbing the same trembling weak spot inside her over and over, dragging broken, high cries from her battered mouth each time.

Each thrust hit the mark, sending shockwaves through her body so hard she could barely breathe.

Her green eyes flew wide—staring up at him in raw, wide-eyed disbelief—as if she couldn’t fathom how deep he was, how devastating he felt.

She tried.

She bit her lip, squeezed her eyes shut, her nails clawing uselessly at the sheets as she fought to contain the sounds spilling from her—

But she couldn’t.

She couldn’t.

Every time he drove into her, her throat betrayed her.

“Mmh—! Ah—! Aahh—!”

Broken little gasps, cut-off cries, desperate whimpers flooding from her no matter how fiercely she tried to swallow them down.

Damien grunted above her—gritted teeth, sweat sliding down his temples as he pounded into her trembling body without mercy. His hands gripped her thighs, forcing them wider, locking her open to the ruthless rhythm of his hips.

Her walls—wet, swollen, overstimulated—milked him greedily, spasming in helpless surrender around the thick length that tore through her again and again and again.

And then—

He felt it.

The way her body locked up beneath him—

The way her hips lifted, chasing him even through the chaos—

The way a deep, wet tightness gathered deep inside her, ready to snap.

Her eyes snapped open, mouth falling apart, a last, desperate breath punched from her lungs.

“Aaah—! Maaaster—!”

The cry tore from her throat—a real cry this time, high and broken and utterly beyond her control—as she came again, hard, convulsing around his cock with a violent rush of slick heat.

Damien groaned low, grinding himself deep inside her, hips slamming flush as he spilled inside her—hot, thick, endless—his seed flooding her spasming cunt until it leaked down her thighs and soaked the ruined sheets beneath them.

Neither of them moved.

Not for a long, breathless moment.

Only their hearts pounded—wild, heavy beats syncing into something savage and unstoppable.

Because it wasn’t enough.

Not even close.

They would keep going.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until Elysia could no longer even remember what silence tasted like.

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