I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Rena stood there flushed and exposed, chest rising softly as she breathed, while Nathan looked up at her with those bright, unwavering golden eyes—taking in every inch of what she had just revealed to him.

Nathan’s arm snapped around her waist the instant the robe fell open.

No pause. No breath of hesitation. No permission sought.

Just his arm — a band of solid warmth and immovable intent — sweeping around her lower back and hauling her body flush against his in one clean, decisive pull that stole every molecule of air from her lungs at once.

“Haaa!”

The sound burst out of her before she could locate it, high and startled and nothing like her, her hands flying up to his chest on pure reflex — palms flat, fingers wide, feeling the hard heat of him beneath her touch. She registered that warmth for exactly half a second.

Then his mouth found her breast.

And the world collapsed to a single point.

“Haaann—!”

The cry tore from her throat raw and unfiltered, pitched higher than anything that had ever left her mouth in her adult life — nothing like the measured, modulated tones of Rena. This sound came from somewhere underneath all of that. Somewhere that had been waiting.

Her fingers curled against his chest. Gripping. Not pushing — she noted that with distant horror — gripping, knuckles whitening against his skin as her body arched forward into his mouth completely without her instruction, spine bowing, chest pressing harder against his lips like she was trying to close a distance that no longer existed.

The dignified, watchful part of her that had been cataloguing everything from a safe remove was appalled.

The rest of her did not care even slightly.

Nathan didn’t ease into anything.

He had never been a man who eased into things and he didn’t start now. His mouth worked over her with a focused, thorough intensity — the flat of his tongue tracing slow circles around her nipple before the suction hit, lips pulling with steady pressure, and then the edges of his teeth, grazing just enough — just enough — to make white light skip and scatter across the backs of her eyes and her vision lose its clean edges entirely.

“Haaan~ wait, wait…”

He did not wait.

His arm tightened. His hand spread wider across the small of her back, fingers pressing into the curve of her spine, and he held her locked against him with a firmness that left her no architecture of escape — not that her body was forming any coherent petition in that direction. Her hips twisted anyway, instinctive and helpless. Her knees pressed together. She squirmed against the cage of his arm and the cage tightened in immediate answer, pulling her closer, harder, until there was no air between them at all and she could feel the warmth radiating off his entire torso against her exposed skin.

“N—Nath—”

His name broke in her mouth before she could finish it.

The sound that replaced it was long and trembling and cracked cleanly down the middle — something between a moan and a sob, something she heard exit her own lips like it had come from a stranger standing nearby. Low at the start, rising, tapering off into a breathless “haaaahnn—” that dissolved into the quiet room and left her blinking at the ceiling.

Her eyes burned.

That surprised her so thoroughly she went still for a beat.

The heat behind her eyes — sudden, treacherous — flooded her face in an entirely different kind of warmth and she felt the blush crawl from her cheeks all the way up to her hairline in a wave of pure humiliated shock. She was not. She absolutely was not about to—

Nathan switched to the other breast.

The thought evaporated like water off a hot surface.

“Oh god! oh…haaahn…haaaa~”

The sounds stacked on top of each other, each one catching the tail of the last, an unbroken chain of them pulling free without any input from the part of her that had opinions about this. Her head fell back on the hinge of her neck, fully, chin tipping toward the ceiling, and the careful architecture of her upswept hair began surrendering a blond wave of it sliding over her bare shoulder and down her back.

Nathan’s tongue moved in long, slow strokes across her nipple, thorough and unhurried, tracing every soft contour like he was learning the shape of her by feel alone.

Then he looked up at her. His mouth still on her skin. Golden eyes catching the low light.

“Your nipple tastes so good, Rena,” he murmured against her — low, private, almost conversational — and he pulled back just far enough to look at what he’d done to her, his breath ghosting warm over the swollen, glistening peak.

Rena’s face went scarlet.

An actual, full-body flush — not the pretty rose of mild embarrassment but the deep, blotchy red of a woman whose internal temperature had gone completely rogue. Her lips parted and no sound came out for a full second, just the soft shape of something she couldn’t organize into language.

She couldn’t believe this was happening. She could not believe she was straddling here, in this man’s arms, bare from the waist up, letting him put his mouth on her and say things like that directly to her face, and that her primary response to all of it was to press forward and want more—

“Hyaaan—!”

The cry burst out sharp and bright when he took her back into his mouth, suction and tongue arriving at once, and her entire body shivered from the crown of her head to the balls of her feet — a full, visible tremor that ran the length of her spine and broke at her hips and left her sagging against the anchor of his arm because her legs had apparently tendered their resignation.

Nathan pulled back again. He was breathing harder now, just slightly — the first evidence she’d seen that this was costing him anything. His eyes moved over her face with sharp attention.

“Did you just cum?”

The question hit her like cold water.

“D— don’t look—” Her voice came out strangled. She turned her face sharply to the side, nothing like her, nothing like anything she’d ever allowed herself in front of anyone.

She heard him make a soft sound.

Not mockery. Something warmer than that.

His arms wrapped around her fully, both of them now, gathering her against his chest, and for a moment he simply held her there — her bare skin against his, her burning face tucked against his shoulder, her heart hammering hard enough that she was certain he could feel it through the contact.

Then his head dipped.

And he started again.

His mouth found the soft underside of her breast first — the sensitive curve where it met her ribcage — and pressed a slow, open kiss there that made her breath hitch audibly. Then he worked upward, unhurried, relearning the terrain he’d already mapped while his free hand came up and closed warm and large over the breast his mouth wasn’t currently occupied with.

“Haaa—”

He molded her. His palm and fingers working in slow, deliberate rolls — kneading the soft fullness of her, pressing and releasing, his thumb tracing circles around her nipple without touching it directly, orbiting, and the not-quite-contact of it made her head tip back again and a low, frustrated sound climb her throat.

“Hmm~ Haaan~ haaa…”

Small sounds now, rapid and stacking, escaping with each breath — each press of his hand, each movement of his mouth — like she had sprung a leak somewhere in the careful hull of her composure and could no longer control the output. Her whole body had taken on a flush by now, the color spreading from her face down her throat, across her chest, following the same path his mouth had traveled, staining her pale skin a deep and helpless rose.

She couldn’t do anything.

She was straddled on him, with her hands resting on this man’s shoulders like she needed them to stay upright, chest offered forward, head back, making sounds she would never in her life claim ownership of, while Nathan took his time with her like she was something worth taking time over.

Her thighs pressed together.

The heat between them had become something impossible to ignore — a slick, pulsing, embarrassing fact about her current condition that she could feel with every small movement of her hips, every instinctive clench and release as his mouth and hand worked in tandem and her body responded with a candor she’d never permitted herself before.

“Haaa— Nathan— haaahn—”

She could feel the wetness now. Undeniable. Her thighs pressed harder together in a reflexive, futile bid for some kind of dignity, and the pressure of that only made it worse, only sent the heat spiking higher, and the moan that left her this time was long and broken and wholly, devastatingly real.

“Hyaaaan!! Haah…hmm!”

Nathan looked up at her from beneath his lashes.

Rena had one second to read it before his arms shifted beneath her and the world tilted.

“Haah—!”

The yelp came out small and startled and entirely undignified, her hands grabbing for purchase as her back met the mattress and the bedding swallowed her up and Nathan loomed over her, solid and unhurried, bracketing her body with his own. For a moment he simply looked at her — hair splayed dark across the pillow, chest flushed and heaving, the robe tangled around her in the last structural remnant of her clothing.

He reached down and took the fabric in both hands.

Slowly..

And stripped it off her completely.

The nemaki slid free and was gone, thrown somewhere behind him without ceremony, and Rena was left entirely, completely, inescapably bare — every inch of her skin exposed to the cool air of the room and to the full weight of Nathan’s attention, which settled over her like something physical.

The blush that hit her was total.

It started at her hairline and didn’t stop — rolling down her face, her throat, flooding her chest, her stomach, chasing itself all the way down to her thighs in one long devastating wave. She made a sound that wasn’t quite a word and her legs moved on pure instinct, pressing together, knees angling inward, trying to assemble some last fragile architecture of modesty from nothing.

Nathan’s hands closed around her thighs.

Warm. Certain. He didn’t force — he simply applied steady, patient pressure, and her body betrayed her completely, her legs parting beneath his hands like they had always known this was where they were going, spreading open across the sheets and leaving her exposed in a way she had never been exposed in her life.

Nathan went still.

His eyes dropped. And stayed.

The silence stretched for two full seconds while Rena’s heart battered the inside of her ribcage and the flush on her skin deepened from rose to something closer to crimson.

She was neat and soft, the sparse gathering of hair barely a suggestion against pale skin, her folds pressed delicately together — or they had been, before the last hour had rendered that tidiness somewhat academic. Because she was wet. Visibly, undeniably, humiliatingly wet, the soft lips glistening with it, the evidence of everything he’d done to her already sitting there in plain sight under his gaze like a confession she hadn’t authorized.

“I think you’re wet enough,” he said. His voice had dropped into something lower, rougher at the edges, and his eyes finally moved back up to hers.

“D…do it quick,” Rena said, and hated how her voice came out — thin and breathless and nothing like a command, more like something that had been quietly wrung out of her. She kept her chin up anyway. Old habit. The posture was all she had left.

Nathan tilted his head.

“No.”

She blinked.

“I want to taste you first.”

The words landed in her stomach like a dropped stone, sending ripples through every system she had, and before she could produce any coherent response to them his hands had pressed her thighs wider and he had lowered his head between them and she felt the warm exhale of his breath against her core and—

“Haaah—!!”

The cry that left her was louder than anything so far — high and cracked and helpless — because his lips had made contact, soft and deliberate, pressing directly against her in a closed kiss that she felt from the base of her spine all the way up to the nape of her neck. Her hips jerked upward off the mattress entirely, lifting toward him on reflex, her whole lower body arching up like something drawn on a string, and both her hands flew down and grabbed fistfuls of the sheets with white-knuckled desperation.

Then his tongue moved.

One long, slow, thorough stroke. Base to top. Tasting all of her.

“Haaahn— D— don’t— hyaaan—!!”

The sounds tumbled over each other in a broken cascade. Her body was squirming in full now, hips rolling and twisting under his hands, thighs reflexively trying to close around his head before his palms pressed them firmly back open, holding her spread, keeping her exactly where he wanted her with an unruffled authority that made something clench hot and desperate deep in her core.

He did it again. Slower this time.

“Haaaa no…lick…haaaa!!”

His tongue traced her outer lips first — unhurried, exploratory — learning the shape of her with a patience so complete it felt almost clinical, except that there was nothing clinical about the heat of his mouth or the soft sounds of appreciation he made against her that she felt as vibration through her most sensitive skin. He was thorough. Methodical. Treating her like a thing worth studying.

Her thighs trembled.

He parted her folds with the tip of his tongue and she made a sound that she had genuinely never made before — a long, wavering, “haaaahn—” that crested and broke and dissolved into rapid shallow breathing, her hips grinding down against his mouth of their own volition, her body doing things she had not agreed to.

“Nathan—” His name came out destroyed. A wreck of two syllables. “Nathan I— haaah—”

He hummed against her.

The vibration hit her like a current — her back bowed completely off the mattress, spine arching in a clean curve, both hands releasing the sheets to grab blindly at his hair instead, fingers tangling and tightening without thought or permission or any remaining pretense of self-possession. A high, keening “mmnnhh—” pushed through her clenched teeth, her head pressed hard back into the pillow, her whole face scrunched against the overwhelming accumulation of sensation.

Her sour-sweet taste spread across his tongue and Nathan made another sound — low, deep, thoroughly approving — and Rena felt it and felt herself get wetter in immediate, mortifying response.

He found the swollen bud at her apex and circled it.

“HAAH—!”

The cry punched out of her at full, unguarded volume, her hips snapping upward so sharply that only his hands on her thighs kept her from pulling away entirely — pressing her back down, anchoring her, holding her open and in place while he worked over that one small point with focused, devastating attention.

“D— don’t— it’s— haaaahn— too—”

Too much. Too direct. Too overwhelming.

He did not stop.

“Hmmm— haaa— oh— oh—” The sounds were coming constantly now, a broken unbroken stream of them, each one layering over the last as his tongue worked her in slow circles and his hands held her thighs spread and her entire body flushed deep red from hairline to knee, sweat beginning to gather at the small of her back and behind her knees and her chest heaving in ragged pulls.

She could feel it building.

She recognized it dimly the way you recognize a sound from very far away — a gathering pressure low in her belly, a tightening that radiated outward from every point of contact between his mouth and her skin. It was bigger than anything she’d reached on her own in the dark, bigger than anything she’d known to reach for, climbing toward something that scared her a little with its sheer scale.

“Nathan—” Her voice cracked fully. “Nathan I…I think I’m going to…wait!” She cried out.

But Nathan pressed closer. Sealed his lips around her and sucked strongly.

“—HAAAHN❤️!!”

Tears slipped freely from the corners of her eyes into her hair.

She didn’t stop them.

His tongue never stopped moving through all of it — working her through the crest and over it and gently down the other side, softening his touch as she shook, gentling as the high, keening sounds dissolved into breathless, hiccuping little sighs — “haah❤️— hnn❤️! haaah❤️” — small and stunned and stripped completely bare and filled with pleasure she was unable to hold back anymore.

When he finally lifted his head she was a ruin.

Hair entirely lost, spread blond and tangled across the pillow. Chest heaving. Skin flushed deep and total. Face wet at the temples, lips parted, eyes glassy and unfocused, staring at the ceiling like she was reading something written there that only she could see.