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โHow does it feel to crave his seed?
The question was a thorn in her side, a constant reminder of the depths to which she had sunk. Yet, as she lay beside the man who had made her his own, she couldn't deny the twisted thrill that came with each encounter. The way his eyes lit up when she told him she was pregnant again, the power she wielded with the promise of a daughter, it was all a part of the game she played so well. Her hand trailed down her stomach, feeling the slight swell of new life, a mix of anger and anticipation pulsing through her veins.
How does it feel to touch your belly and feel his daughter inside you?
Koibito's hand stilled on her stomach, the reality of her situation crashing down upon her. The child growing within her was both a weapon and a lifeline, a bargaining chip in a game of survival and a beacon of hope for a future beyond this hell. She had become accustomed to the feeling of his seed, the way it filled her and claimed her, marking her as his property. But this time, it was different. This child was not just a means to an end; it was a part of her, a piece of her soul that she would fight to protect.
How does his seed mark you as his property?
Koibito's hand remained on her stomach, the truth of the question resonating deep within her. The general had marked her as his property in the most primal way possible, claiming her body to spawn his offspring. Yet, she had turned this act of possession into a tool of her own. With each touch, each whispered promise, she had molded him into believing she was his devoted wife, eager to bear him a daughter. It was a facade that had earned her privileges and protection, a facade that had allowed her to plot her escape.
How is it marking your body as his property by bearing his offspring?
The reality was a complex web of emotions she dared not untangle. As she felt the first flutter of life, a mix of fear and determination grew within her. This child would be her shield and her bargaining chip, the embodiment of her hope for a future beyond the mansion's walls. The generalโs touch had become a tool, a means to an end that she had learned to endure. Her body was a battlefield, each kiss a silent war cry, each caress a strategic move in a game of chess where her freedom was the prize.
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