Chapter 13: The need to release the relief
The door clicked shut behind Sori, leaving Jin alone in the cavernous bedchamber. The silence was immediate, throbbing. All he could hear was the ragged sound of his own breath and the frantic drum of his heartbeat in his ears.
He looked down.
Beneath the thin pillow, the rigid outline was unmistakable. He moved it aside. His cock, utterly spent mere moments ago, was fully, thickly erect again, standing against his stomach with an insistence that was almost comical. It was more than an erection; it was a demand. That simple kiss on the cheek, her thanks, the look in her eyes—it had short-circuited every last bit of his discipline. The shaft was thick and veined, a deep, flushed red, the skin taut and hot to his own touch. The head, fully exposed and slick with a bead of pre-cum, pulsed with his heartbeat. It was an absurd, monumental weight of flesh, completely incongruous with the quiet morning.
“No,” he muttered to the empty room. “Not now. Down. Get down.”
He willed it to subside. He thought of troop formations, of sword drills, of the bleak grey stones of his father’s castle. It twitched, bobbed defiantly, and stayed exactly as it was, a veiny XL testament to his helpless reaction to her.
He couldn’t go downstairs like this. The image of facing Ueno’s knowing grin, of Sori’s raised eyebrow, while visibly tenting his trousers was a special kind of hell. He had no choice.
With a gritted-teeth groan of frustration, he wrapped his hand around himself. The heat was intense, the skin like velvet over iron. He gave a few experimental tugs, a clinical motion. “Just… get it over with,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “Empty the tank. It’s just biology. A hydraulic release.”
He focused on the mechanical sensation, the friction, trying to detach his mind. It was inefficient. His breaths came quicker. He pictured nothing, aimed for blankness, and after a few tense minutes, felt the familiar coiling tension. “There. Come on,” he urged himself.
His climax arrived with a rough, unsynchronized jerk. Seven strong spurts shot from him, long, transparent ropes that arced through the air and landed with wet smacks on the rumpled sheets and the stone floor beside the bed. They were forceful, bodily ejections, but they felt hollow. The pleasure was a shallow thud, gone almost as soon as it came.
He waited, panting.
It wasn’t enough.
His cock remained steel-hard, utterly unsoftened. The heavy ache in his groin hadn’t diminished; it had just… repositioned itself. His balls, large and full, drew up tight against his body, not emptied but simmering, as if waiting for a specific trigger. “What the hell?” he breathed, staring at his own obstinate flesh. “What is wrong with you?” This had never happened. Release always brought relief, a softening, a quiet. This was like throwing a bucket of water on a forest fire and watching the flames leap higher.
He let go, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. Maybe he needed to think of her. The thought was a whisper in the chaos. When he’d been inside her, when he was focused on her – her sounds, her face, the feel of her – that’s when everything aligned. That’s when the boner had a purpose, and the release… the release had meaning.
Could it be he had developed feelings for her after all?
The question wasn’t intellectual. It was visceral, answered by the throbbing in his lap. He gritted his teeth, a soldier accepting a new, bewildering mission parameter. Fine.
He took himself in hand again, his grip firmer. This time, he didn’t fight the images. He let them come.
He thought of Sori sleeping, the vulnerable curve of her mouth. He thought of her whispering ‘You have to… so I can wake up.’ He remembered the feel of her inner muscles fluttering around him, milking him dry. “Your fault,” he moaned to the phantom of her in his mind, his strokes gaining a relentless rhythm. “You did this. You and your… your energy. Your damn smile.”
He pictured her walking to the basin, the sway of her hips, the pale perfection of her back. He thought of her saying ‘Thank you, Jin.’
That did it.
The second climax tore through him with zero warning. It was a deeper, more convulsive eruption. Eight spurts, each one longer and thicker than the first volley, launched from him. They painted a wider canvas—the bedpost, the fur rug, glistening strands connecting him to the world in a shameful web. A guttural noise was ripped from his throat, part agony, part surrender.
He kept stroking, driven by a blurry, frantic need. He blushed, thinking of that kiss on the cheek. The moment she’d hugged him after defeating Guignol, a flash of real, unguarded emotion. In that remembered moment, he felt it too—a connection that had nothing to do with duty or magic.
The final trigger.
He stopped rubbing just as the third, cataclysmic wave hit. His excessive XL cock seemed to operate on its own, bucking in his loose fist. Nine projectile shots, powerful as a crossbow volley, erupted in a continuous, astonishing fusillade. The first few hit the far door with audible thwacks. The next arced over the bed to spatter the window ledge. Two final, ropes of hot cum sailed clear across the room, landing with a wet slap on the small writing table, dripping off the edge onto a parchment.
His balls, finally, began to calm. A deep, emptying shudder ran through them. The intense, burning pressure was gone. His cock, however, remained stubbornly, fully hard. Yet the driving need to jack off had vanished. It was just… there. A monument.
So that was it. The key wasn’t just physical release. The key was thinking about Sori. The relief had been so extremely good, so total, that for a moment he just floated in the aftermath.
Then a different, more familiar pressure made itself known. A deep, internal shifting. Jin’s eyes went wide.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”
He realized a bit too late. The colossal fluid shift from his… activities… had prompted a more basic function. A sharp, urgent need to piss. And his body, utterly drained of one fluid, was now demanding the release of another.
He scrambled off the bed just as a hot, transparent stream began to spill from the tip of his still-hard cock. It wasn’t urination yet; it was the overflow, the prelude, spurting erratically down his abs and onto his chest. “No, no, no, wait—”
He rushed, stumbling, holding his excessive cock with one hand to aim the mess downward as it painted the floor in sporadic jets. He half-ran, half-stumbled toward the private garderobe, a small alcove with a stone toilet bowl. He barely made it.
He grabbed himself with both hands, one to aim the furious, hard stream, the other bracing against the cold wall. The relief was instant, profound, and so intense it made his knees weak. It wasn’t just a piss; it was a biblical flood. A strong, loud, continuous torrent that roared into the bowl, echoing off the stone. He had no control over it. It was pure, undammed release.
He stood there, head bowed, for three long minutes. The stream never faltered. He watched it, mind blank, then filled with a dizzying carousel of thoughts. His cock, still erect, was a rigid pipe in his hands, vibrating slightly with the force of the expulsion. The sheer volume was absurd. Humiliating. Impossible.
Is this part of it too? he wondered, dazed. Is everything about me now… excessive? Because of her? Because of what I feel for her?
The final drops fell. The pressure was gone. Complete. He shuddered, spent in every possible way.
He cleaned up mechanically, splashed water on his face, and found fresh clothes. As he dressed, the reality settled over him, cold and clear. His body was no longer just his own. It reacted to her on a level that bypassed all his training, all his control. The only way to manage the sheer physical magnitude of his reactions was to fully embrace the source.
He needed to straighten out his feelings for Sori. Not just admit they existed, but understand them. Because right now, they weren’t just in his heart. They were in his blood, his bones, and dictating the furious, inconvenient rhythms of his flesh.