Chapter 14: Beggars' Sect Beggars (4)

Martial Arts Masochist

Cheongwol stood in the dim basement, holding a candle as she descended.

It had been truly a long time since she had returned to this basement, after the events of that day.

It was the room she had mulled over endlessly for so long.

The space she had thought of even when swinging her sword, when falling asleep, and in her dreams.

Standing there once more, the vividness felt distinctly different.

The only changes were the leather drying frames scattered here and there to avoid the rain, and the hides.

Cheongwol's heart pounded fiercely.

Even the instruments hanging on the wall now looked different to her.

She had once thought of them all as torture devices, but now that she saw them as tools for SM... play, their uses appeared entirely different.

That blindfold? Like how the mouth gag blocked speech, maybe that one was to cover the eyes and do something.

She saw even the wooden mannequin bound with rope.

...Someday, would Han Seojin take away her freedom of movement in the same way?

And then whisper in her ear to leave everything to him?

Collars too, and leather garments of strange, unfamiliar shapes.

All of them made her heart race.

And above all, her body was already tingling.

The stimulation she had never felt no matter what they did at the Emei Sect washed over her just from entering this basement.

Soon, she would commit wicked acts.

Soon, she might engage in vulgar behavior.

Humiliation and shame would be essential in the process... and Cheongwol had begged for all of this herself.

"...Ngh."

Cheongwol could not easily accept that she had come here because she herself desired it.

No.

She did not desire vulgar behavior.

She was a disciple of the Emei Sect, and its teachings were etched deep into her bones.

She wanted to become a pure, chaste, and virginal figure like the Sect Leader.

...But could she call herself pure after coming to this place?

Cheongwol shook her head faintly once more.

It was for her heart demon. She had not come here to feel shame.

Yet her heart pounded wildly.

As if anticipating something.

At that moment, Han Seojin began descending the plank stairs.

Cheongwol's fingertips began to tremble ever so slightly.

It was not fear. Her life was not at stake.

...But shame was inevitable.

So, she tried to think of it as tension.

****

Raise the intensity, but not too much. Lower it, but not too low.

Maybe porn is meant to be watched from the other side of the screen after all.

Now that I'm in the position of leading SM play, there's an insane amount to consider.

This is driving me crazy with injustice. Why is my life so damn hard?

I barely survived by clinging to those beggar uncles!

And I learned the craft and was working hard to make a living!

Now my one hobby gets tangled up with this crazy woman, and I have to gamble my life on it?

Can't some nice masochist just pop up out of nowhere, collar herself, and come crawling with "Master~"?

Why does it have to be Cheongwol?

I'm seriously scared to death.

Doing SM play with Cheongwol—it's SM play of all things, yet the sexual thrill hits rock bottom while the survival instinct shoots through the roof.

Feels like spinning Russian roulette.

What's even crazier is how gorgeous Cheongwol is.

Breathtakingly beautiful.

If I let my guard down even a little, I'll get mesmerized by her looks and screw up the intensity control.

And that moment will be the last scene I remember.

Especially because she's the kind of woman you only see in dreams.

Her body is optimized for SM play, you could say.

I got a rough look when I poured water on her.

Moderately large breasts.

Wide hips, slim waist.

Flawless smooth skin.

Long legs relative to her overall frame.

Thick thighs. Slender ankles. Perky hips.

Straight abs. Straight navel.

Small head and a face that stops your breath. Silky hair to top it off.

Pretty, and she's clearly worked hard at training her body too.

Some might say they'd swing a whip at a masochist like this even if it meant death...

...But when death becomes real, no one says that crap.

It's instinct. People want to live.

If I didn't know what Cheongwol was, my little brother might've been raging.

But since I do know, even he's behaving quietly, watching the situation.

How fortunate.

If Cheongwol saw my guy stretching, we'd be separated like a family torn apart.

I closed the basement door and slowly descended the stairs.

Cheongwol stood at the bottom of the basement, with her candle beside her.

Since I was also coming down with a candle, the basement ended up brighter than expected.

Cheongwol was scrutinizing my every move.

Meanwhile, I checked the room's atmosphere first.

She might not know it, but the play had already begun.

My tightrope walk on the line of life and death was already underway.

...By those standards, the basement was too bright.

This wouldn't set the mood.

I set my candle down near the stairs as I approached Cheongwol.

“...”

“...”

What a defiant glare.

You sure you want this?

I snuffed out Cheongwol's candle.

The basement grew dimmer, feeling more secretive.

Cheongwol seemed to sense the atmosphere too, her eyes darting anxiously for a moment.

Even so, she asked.

“Why... why did you put it out?”

“...”

Guideline for building strong atmosphere, number one.

A sadist can't talk too much.

You have to say what's necessary to heighten the mood, but if you ramble like Speedwagon, it's over.

"Ah, this doesn't feel secretive at all for play, the light's too bright so the mood breaks, it's hard to focus on my words and commands, and you're distracted so it's no fun..."

From the masochist's perspective, the moment they think "What the hell is this guy saying?" it's done.

So, keep words minimal.

"It's... it's dark. Why'd you put out the candle?"

“...”

I ignored her words.

Then I looked at the instruments hanging on the wall.

Cheongwol followed my gaze to the wall.

Now, what should I do to ensure our esteemed masochist keeps my neck intact.

“...”

“...”

Hmm.

No good.

Every single one of those is high-intensity.

Even lovers start with holding hands, pecks, kisses, then sex.

SM play needs gradual escalation too.

Collar play? Heavy bondage? Whip? Spanking? Watersports? Outdoor exposure?

All acts you can't even dream of without deep trust.

Those require immense trust in each other to begin with.

The sadist must take responsibility for the masochist, and the masochist must entrust their body to the sadist.

Handling taboo means that much risk.

And the one condition that makes that risk possible is trust.

That's why, contrary to popular belief, couples deep into SM play have insanely profound trust in each other.

They're not the type for casual hookups.

Don't think of sadists and masochists as sex-crazed maniacs.

Sadists don't like just any masochist, and masochists don't like just any sadist.

They do it only with each other.

Why else would masochists get their master's initials tattooed on their bodies? If the master kept changing, they wouldn't.

As twisted as their sexuality, SM couples bond with insane intensity—you could call it twisted.

And so, when that trust breaks.

Thus, when they break up, the pain they feel is said to be greater than ordinary lovers.

Some can't overcome it.

Depends on the person, of course.

By those standards, me and Cheongwol?

Trust? None.

Not only none, we're not even close.

Not friends.

Just strangers.

...How the hell am I supposed to do high-intensity play?

Even if Cheongwol wanted that kind of play, I might not get that turned on.

So, no real desire to do it.

What turns me on is wanting to see the one I love endure shame and pain for my sake.

Cheongwol wasn't that person for me.

If I get aroused, it's purely because she's beautiful.

That's it.

...Of course, my arousal is utterly useless right now.

“...”

Thinking that, I wonder why I'm even doing this with Cheongwol.

...Cheongwol, who refuses to understand that SM play is for intimate partners, didn't seem to care about that either.

...But what can I do.

If she wants it, I have to deliver.

“...Cheongwol. Look over here.”

Cheongwol flinched and looked at me.

I could tell even from my view that she was tense.

Good.

Let's start.

...No, let's survive.

****

“...Cheongwol. Look over here.”

Han Seojin's transformation never failed to feel unfamiliar, no matter how many times she saw it.

Cheongwol flinched involuntarily and looked at Han Seojin.

‘Cheongwol.’

That resonance burrowed strangely deep.

Was this the same man from before?

The being who had once comforted and dominated her had reappeared before her eyes.

It felt like a mask being removed to reveal his true form.

How on earth did he hide such a side while living?

The basement air was chilly. Each breath drew the cool energy deep into her lungs.

That made her body tremble even more easily.

And no matter how midday it was, not a speck of light entered the basement... so the only illumination was the burning candles.

Even the one next to Cheongwol had been snuffed out by Han Seojin's fingertips, making it darker still.

Backlighting draped over Han Seojin.

His face was not visible.

In contrast, Cheongwol's face was fully exposed to him by the candlelight.

It felt like only her emotions were being laid bare.

She wondered if he could see through the complex feelings she felt right now.

“Before we start, one thing to say.”

Han Seojin's voice pierced the darkness, low and resonant.

“...W-What...”

“No need to force yourself to obey commands. If it's too hard, give up and go home.”

He was calm.

“...”

“...This isn't something I'm doing because I want to, right? You're the one who wants it.”

Cheongwol wanted to refute that.

“I-I'm doing this for my heart demon—”

“—Heart demon or whatever, you're doing it because you want to. Right?”

“...”

At a loss for words, Cheongwol lowered her gaze.

Then, Han Seojin lightly lifted her chin.

Cheongwol violently swatted his hand away at the sudden chill of goosebumps.

But Han Seojin remained composed.

“...Right?”

“...”

After a brief hesitation, Cheongwol pressed her lips tight and nodded.

A sense of self-loathing washed over her for having to admit it.

But she had no choice.

If she didn't nod here, Han Seojin would surely step aside and tell her to go home.

“Yeah. Since you want it... say it yourself first.”

“...H-Huh...? W-What...”

Cheongwol's voice came out small, thin, and cautious.

Tension gripped her throat, not knowing where this would lead.

A moment of silence passed.

In that darkness, Han Seojin leaned his head slightly forward.

His face was still obscured by the light.

But his mouth was visible.

That mouth smiled as it whispered to Cheongwol.

“...I am a vulgar, filthy woman. Say it three times.”