While Cassius stood there, silently wrestling with the difference between what he’d expected of the onlooking maids and the reality of their intrigued, even aroused, reactions, the truth of the matter ran much deeper than he could have guessed.

In fact, Cassius—and the inexperienced Isabelle, too—remained unaware of the full scope of the maids’ thoughts.

The truth was that the women who encircled them weren’t foolish or indiscriminate; they prided themselves on belonging to a prestigious household, maintaining both their dignity and discipline in public settings.

They had no desire to behave like a gaggle of gossiping, wide-eyed girls at the slightest hint of impropriety.

Yet it was precisely this performance—the slow, intimate way Cassius had lavished attention on Isabelle—that stirred something in them that was far from common.

To understand why, one must know how :making love’ worked in this world.

Here, men approached sex less as mutual pleasure or an affirmation of affection and more as a matter of establishing dominance—and, above all else, furthering their bloodline.

These men placed procreation first in every sexual encounter, aiming to merge with the woman, impregnate her, and thus secure their lineage. Once their own goal was met, the act was, for them, largely complete.

To put it into perspective in this world, sexual encounters tended to mirror the raw efficiency of animal mating: swift, driven by a nearly single-minded aggression, and concerned solely with the goal of impregnation.

A man would mount his partner with mechanical urgency—hardly bothering to spare a word or glance for her enjoyment—rushing toward his own release so the ‘task’ would be done. Pain, or at least discomfort, was common for the woman, and there was rarely any sense of shared intimacy or affection.

Everything was reduced to a cold, almost brutal transaction of flesh. This left most of the women they bedded unfulfilled.

The sex itself often defaulted to dry, functional positions—like a predictable, bare-minimum missionary, devoid of tenderness or concern for the woman’s enjoyment.

Men sought control over their partner and satisfaction for themselves but rarely gave thought to the other person’s pleasure.

As long as their purpose was achieved, the rest was irrelevant.

So, while there was no shortage of married maids or those in relationships, it wasn’t as if they were accustomed to any particularly fulfilling intimacy. If anything, most knew sex in the deeply traditional way of this world—routine, brief, and impersonal.

Few, if any, had experienced the kind of slow, thorough attention Cassius was giving Isabelle: the tender tasting of skin, the deliberate exploration of her body, the lingering desire to discover her every response.

Such genuine focus on a lover’s pleasure was, for many of them, only a rumour or fantasy.

That was why, instead of looking at Cassius with fear or scorn, the maids found themselves both stunned and inexplicably enthralled. They had never seen a man teasing a woman’s body in such a careful, almost reverent manner.

In their eyes, it was so foreign, so different from the cold, duty-focused encounters they had grown used to. With each heated glance they stole, they recognised a level of sensual care and indulgence that none of their husbands or partners ever attempted to provide.

As a result, even those who believed themselves steeled against witnessing such acts felt subtle waves of longing and curiosity. They found themselves blushing because the scene on display awakened cravings they’d never quite identified in themselves: to be devoured in slow, deliberate kisses, to feel a lover’s mouth trailing along their skin simply for the sake of pleasure.

Some unconsciously clenched their thighs because, for the first time, they were watching a coupling where the woman’s enjoyment was not merely an afterthought but a focal point.

And all the while, Cassius, caught in the thrall of his plan, remained blissfully unaware of this cultural gap.

He had expected disgust, shock, and fear.

Never in his wildest schemes had he imagined his audience would respond with quiet fascination, their body language revealing intrigue and even envy at the thoroughness of his attention to Isabelle.

Had he understood the true nature of most men’s approach to intimacy in this world, he might have anticipated that his display would seem enthralling rather than appalling. Instead, he stood there, perplexed, his plans hovering on the edge of unraveling—all because he’d misjudged what these women longed to see.

Cassius sat still, forcing himself to reclaim that haughty, commanding demeanour, and he tried to ignore the flurry of conflicting reactions he’d glimpsed among the maids.

‘I’m just overthinking their looks. They must be horrified, just better at hiding it than I gave them credit for.’

Cassius thought, and if there was doubt lingering in his mind, he resolved to banish it by pressing forward, determined to see his plan through.

So, with newfound resolve, he cast a sharp look up at Isabelle, who was still catching her breath in the aftermath of his attentions.

Her chest rose and fell unevenly, the faint sheen of perspiration along her collarbones and underside of her breasts glistening under the light.

And at his silent gaze, she looked down, eyes wide, cheeks still painted with embarrassment.

Cassius then cleared his throat and announced in a voice meant to echo across the hall, “You’ve proven to be quite an indulgence, Isabelle. The taste of your so-called ‘sinned flesh’ has been…exquisite to say the least.”

His lips curved, attempting a show of haughty satisfaction, but there was genuine heat behind his words.

He then shifted his gaze toward his lap that had suddenly become really wet and slippery due to some fluids dripping down onto it, recalling the unmistakable warmth he had felt and continued saying,

“And it appears you enjoyed yourself as well, Isabelle, even though this was supposed to be your punishment.”

“…I could practically feel how ‘aroused’ you were, even through your clothes.”

That brazen statement made Isabelle’s face flare crimson. She quickly dropped a hand over her crotch as though trying to hide that telltale evidence.

Never had she imagined being so exposed before her master—let alone the entire gathering of staff. Embarrassment rushed through her, so strong it nearly rivaled the lingering pleasure thrumming in her veins.

But the effect on the audience of maids was even more dramatic.

Collective gasps filled the air, blending with murmured exclamations as some women covered their mouths in shock. Others pressed their thighs together nervously, a few audibly swallowing as if trying to keep their own excitement at bay.

For them, merely hearing of a woman’s body responding so openly—so obviously—was nearly legendary. It was one thing to suspect men could, in theory, bring a partner to that kind of arousal; it was another to see and hear living proof of it.

Cassius caught sight of their reactions, and his confidence almost faltered again.

‘Why in the world do they look so…captivated?’ He wondered. ‘Are they truly enthralled rather than horrified?’

The confusion roiled inside him, threatening to break his composure. Still, he steadied himself, unwilling to let the moment slip through his fingers.

If they weren’t yet cowering, then by all means, he would force them further into the realm of scandal—surely that would achieve the intimidation he needed.

Meeting Isabelle’s gaze once more, he allowed his voice to deepen in a provocative command.

“You’ve had your fun.” He purred, intentionally emphasizing the word to heighten her blush. And then with a casual downward tilt of his head, he indicated the now—prominent bulge straining against his trousers.

“…So now I think it’s time for you to return the favour with those very tender breasts of yours, if you know what I mean, my dear maid.” Cassius said with a lecherous look in his eyes, thinking that he had finally managed to frighten the crowd with his statement.

Yet, even as he silently congratulated himself on setting the stage for pure shock, the faintly ragged breathing and pink-cheeked interest of his audience remained.

Some pressed trembling fingers to parted lips; others fidgeted with their skirts. And none of them were showing the horrified expressions he was sure he should be seeing.

If anything, the heat in their gazes only grew more intense as they realised what was about to happen next. He even caught sight of a maid near the front—someone older, with greying temples, lowering her eyes in embarrassed fascination, her cheeks flushed a light rose colour.

It was unbelievable, to say the least, and it spurred a fresh wave of uncertainty inside him.

But then, what truly threw him into disarray was Isabelle’s next move.

Instead of the protests and feigned outrage he had expected her to act out after hearing what he asked her to do, Isabelle, with her cheeks still flushed from the intensity of their encounter, slipped off his lap with a tenderness that was utterly unscripted.

Her eyes, heavy-lidded and filled with a lustful intent, held his as she gracefully descended to her knees before him on the cold, hard floor.

Cassius’s jaw slackened in shock.

This was not how it was supposed to go; she was meant to be defiant, to play the part of the unwilling, to make the others fear their own potential punishments.

Yet, here she was, her obedience unexpected, her submission overwhelming.

Now, why was she suddenly acting like she completely forgot the plans in mind?

Well, after the intense bout of pleasure, Isabelle’s mind was a whirl of emotions and sensations, all rational thought drowned by the throb of desire and loyalty to her master.

So when he had spoken of her returning the favour, she didn’t hesitate; her role, her act of reluctance, was forgotten in the heat of the moment.

She knelt before him, her position one of complete surrender, her gaze fixed on his crotch with a hunger that was visible, her earlier defiance replaced by an eager willingness to serve.

Cassius also tried to remind her of what was going on and did his best to glare at Isabelle with the kind of imperial superiority a noble was known for. But Isabelle didn’t seem to notice and simply sat quietly on her knees, her cheeks flushed a charming pink, looking up at him in a way that defied any notion of reluctance to his dismay.

Slowly, he became aware that his mouth was hanging open just a little. He snapped it shut, trying to think of something ominous or menacing to say in a last-ditch effort to seize control.

“Ahem.” He coughed and said in what he hoped was a threatening baritone. “Isabelle, you you…are hardly in a position to—”

But before he could continue, he paused, lost for words, because she was barely listening to his stumbling attempt at intimidation.

Her gaze had once again dropped to the unmistakable bulge at the front of his trousers, and the bright sparkle in her eyes unmistakably said:

Yes, Master, I see exactly what you need.

Mortified, Cassius risked another quick look at his staff. And unfortunately, the audience seemed even more enthralled by this unexpected twist.

One maid had clasped her hands over her heart, gazing at them with a mixture of shock and…approval? Another was biting her lip like she couldn’t decide if this was scandalous or the best performance she’d ever witnessed.

‘T-This is escalating so fast.’ He lamented internally.

A hundred cautionary thoughts raced through his head: Stop her before it goes any further…Remind the maids that they should be cowering…Glare more…Do something.

But even that thought process when a stray whisper reached his ears—two maids covertly whispering to each other:

“She’s so bold, isn’t she?”

“I-I can’t believe this is happening in front of us…But…Oh my, why does my body feel so hot while watching it.”

“I know, right? Is it supposed to look…so, um, sensual? I didn’t think men ever cared about well, you know…foreplay and were always rough with their ways.”

Cassius swallowed a groan, fiercely determined to block out the rest.

‘Is it too late to put the cat back in the bag?’ He thought as he hadn’t meant for this kind of scandal.

He’d meant for another kind of scandal.

Yet, there he was, perched in a chair like an unwitting monarch overseeing the strangest display of loyalty he’d ever seen, with a circle of heated onlookers apparently enthralled in a theatrical performance he never rehearsed.

And Isabelle, with every trembling breath and gentle, obedient movement, was happily abandoning any notion of protest to serve him in the most public, shameless way possible.

A wave of self-consciousness washed over him, overshadowed only by the bizarre sense of comedic irony swirling in the back of his mind.

This was supposed to be a carefully orchestrated spectacle of depravity.

…But now it was practically turning into an erotic comedy.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep