SMASH or PASS

Karen Vellmont was having a terrible night.

"No, no, no! ...How could this happen? How did that bitch even get to lay a hand on him?" Alone in her room, Karen lay on her bed, screaming into her pillow, her feet kicking her poor stuffed bear in frustration. "She did it! That fucking whore really got him to fuck her!"

"How... how dare she take away my Noel!" she sniffed, her voice cracking in a way that didn’t suit a noble lady. "I-I really don’t want that...!"

Karen had met Noel at her father’s mansion a month earlier. A young man taken in as her father’s ward.

Her father’s intentions were unmistakable.

She couldn’t help but recall her mother’s words. "Whoever manages to secure Noel first will inherit the house!"

She always felt jealous of her older sister, who seemed to get everything she wanted simply because she was the eldest. She believed that if she secured a husband first, she could claim the next house for herself, but...

"Is this a mistake, Teddy? I was so ready to marry Noel!" she whispered to her plush bear, lifting it high. "I had imagined us sitting in front of that bitch Helena, signing every detail... The wedding dates, the guest list, and my mother’s happy smile."

She continued to speak in a monotonous drone toward the empty, bead‑eyed plushie. "I cannot even recall how many times I had practiced for the dance balls!" she says, raising her soft voice as high as it can possibly go. "...I just had to get him to sign that damned marriage certificate... I knew I should’ve drugged him to get it done!"

She screamed, "Aaaghhhh! This isn’t real! This isn’t real. This is simply a bad dream!" She sat up abruptly and stretched the bear plushie by its arms in a sharp motion, causing a small amount of stuffing to spill out.

Her mother wouldn’t approve of that news.

It is no secret that the Baron is growing old, and that his second wife, her mother, is increasingly taking control of the mansion.

Consequently, tensions between her and Helena, the first‑born daughter, have been mounting.

When her father brought Noel into the household, her mother immediately began visiting his chambers at night in an attempt to win his favor.

Such infidelity would normally have prompted the Baron to punish her severely, but most of the housemaids who might have reported the affair are already under her mother’s influence. Moreover, as the Baron ages, he becomes less aware of what happens within his home, devoting his attention to trade and politics.

The Baron’s other five wives also feared losing their own influence. Sensing that the Baron’s ward might fall under the sway of the second wife, they too started visiting him at night, often after drugging him. Even her mother was not reluctant to lace his meals with aphrodisiacs.

Eventually, this resulted in Noel leaving the mansion after offering the Baron a vague excuse.

"Goddammit... those old women!"

Technically, none of them, not even her mother, were older than their mid‑thirties. But she was far beyond caring about such petty grievances.

"This is really bad... I should maybe check on them?" The thought kept creeping into her mind.

◇◇◇

Karen pressed her ear against the cold stone, the damp smell of the secret passage filling her nostrils. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of voyeuristic thrill and simmering rage. Through the narrow spy-hole, carved by a corrupt maid under her mother’s orders, the candlelit scene in Helena’s chamber unfolded like a forbidden play.

And the lead actor was him!

Noel stood by the bed, his expression that familiar, unreadable mask. But his body... Gods, his pale body was a work of brutal, masculine art. The candlelight gilded the hard planes of his chest, the defined ridges of his abdomen, the powerful slope of his shoulders. Dark hair fell over eyes that were currently fixed on her sister.

Helena was on her knees.

’That cocky slut... On her knees!?’

The sight sent a jolt of pure, white-hot jealousy straight to Karen’s core. Helena, the perfect, poised heiress, was reduced to a trembling, worshipful supplicant. Her cream dress was a puddle on the floor. Her hair was disheveled. And her hands... her hands were wrapped around ’him’. Karen’s breath caught in her throat as she watched Helena’s slender fingers, so often occupied with ledgers and embroidery, now curl around the thick, veined length of Noel’s cock.

She could see the awe on Helena’s face. The desperate hunger. The way her tongue darted out, a pink, timid thing, to taste him.

"Does... does that feel good?" Helena’s whisper was muffled by the stone, but Karen heard the trembling need in it.

’You pathetic bitch,’ Karen thought, her nails digging into the rough mortar of the wall. ’You don’t even know how to do it properly. You’re asking for permission. How shameful!’

Her mother’s lessons echoed in her skull. ’A man’s pride is his weakness, Karen. But his desire is your weapon. You don’t ask him. You take. You make him feel conquered even as you’re surrendering.’

Helena was doing it all wrong.

Then Noel spoke. His voice, low and calm, cut through the thick air. "Well... it would be nice if you slowly sucked it with your tongue while using both arms to gently jerk it."

A strangled sound escaped Karen’s lips before she could stifle it. She clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. He was fucking instructing her. He was treating the cunt like a clumsy apprentice. And Helena... Helena was nodding, that earnest, stupid look on her face, as if she’d been given a sacred text to study.

’I would never need instructions,’ Karen thought, her own body responding traitorously. A hot, slick ache bloomed between her thighs, dampening her silk underthings. She pressed her forehead against the cold stone, her breath fogging the tiny hole.

She watched, transfixed and furious, as Helena obeyed. The tentative swipe of the tongue. The slow, clumsy descent of her lips. The awkward, synchronized stroking of her hands.

It was maddening. It was inefficient. It was an insult to a specimen like Noel.

Her mind raced, weaving a fantasy of her own. In her version, she wouldn’t be on her knees looking up with innocent eyes. She’d push him onto that very bed. She’d climb atop him, using her body to milk him dry. She’d make him lose that infuriating control. She’d make him groan, make him beg, make him forget Helena’s name.

She watched for another minute, the sounds of wet, earnest sucking and Helena’s soft whimpers.

Karen’s hand slid down the front of her dress, fingers finding the damp, heated silk of her smallclothes. The rough stone of the passage wall scraped against her back as she leaned into it, her gaze locked on the scene through the spy-hole.

’Look at her. Gagging on it like a common tavern whore. No finesse. No art.’

Her fingers pressed against the slick warmth between her legs, a sharp, delicious friction that mirrored the coil of jealousy tightening in her gut. She bit her lip hard, the pain a bright counterpoint to the gathering pleasure.

Through the hole, she saw Noel’s head tilt back slightly. A muscle flexed in his jaw. He was feeling it. That slut’s clumsy efforts were working!

A fresh wave of fury, hot and acidic, washed over Karen. ’She’ should be the one drawing that reaction. ’She’ should be the one learning the rhythm of his body, the pressure that made his breath hitch.

Her fingers moved with practiced, furious precision, with the deliberate, knowing circles her mother had taught her. "Find the peak of the bud, Karen. Apply pressure like you’re tuning a lute string. Too soft and it’s a whisper. Too hard and it’s a scream. You want a moan."

She imagined it was ’his’ hand. Not gentle. Possessive. His calloused fingers taking what was his, his other hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat as he—

A low, choked sound came from the room. Helena had taken him deeper, triggering her own gag reflex. She pulled back, coughing, tears glistening in her wide eyes.

"S-sorry," Helena gasped, her voice thick with humiliation and arousal.

’Idiot,’ Karen thought, her own movements becoming more urgent, her hips rocking against her hand. ’You don’t apologize. You use it. You look up at him with tears in your eyes and you take him deeper again. You show him you’ll suffer for his pleasure.’

Noel didn’t say anything. He just looked down at Helena, his dark eyes unreadable. Then, he slowly raised a hand and placed it on the crown of her head.

That simple gesture sent Karen over the edge.

"Hnnnn~ O-Oneeeeeesama!" Karen moaned.

A silent, shuddering climax ripped through her, stunning in its violence. She slammed her head back against the stone to keep from crying out, seeing stars as pleasure, sharp and punishing, radiated out from her core. Her legs trembled. The dampness between her thighs was no longer just anticipation.

Through the spy-hole, she saw Noel finally react. His hand, still resting on Helena’s head, flexed. His hips gave a faint, almost imperceptible thrust into the wet heat of her mouth. A low, grunted, "G-good job," drifted through the stone.

Helena sobbed in response, the vibrations of it surely traveling up his length.

Panting, sweat cooling on her brow, she watched through blurred vision as Helena, encouraged by that touch, dove back in with renewed, desperate vigor.

The jealousy didn’t fade. It solidified, cold and hard, in her chest.

Wiping her hand on the inside of her dress, Karen Vellmont pushed herself away from the wall. The afterglow was already evaporating, replaced by a cold, crystalline resolve.

Helena had her night.

But Karen would be the one to have him. No matter what the cost was.