A Caged Bird Doesn't Cry - Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Theodore glared at his own painting—a tangled mess of limbs, bodies intertwined. The more he thought about it, the more Laticia’s audacity enraged him. Begging for it, drunk on pleasure—and right in front of me. The memory of semen clumps spilling from her well-used ¢unt the day before made his blood boil hotter.
"You fu¢king bit¢h—no, worse than a bit¢h! Try wagging your ass like that in front of me, you filthy sl*t!"
A milky drop oozed from his flushed, swollen tip. Theodore gripped himself and jerked roughly. The thought of painting Laticia’s ¢unt—already split open by the Duke—with his seed again drove him wild. Just imagining it had him seeing stars. How much better would the real thing feel?
"Lati, whose co¢k tastes better? Hah…"
A shiver raced down his spine as he pictured taking her alongside the Duke—side by side with Kalidnas!
"Ngh—!"
He came embarrassingly fast. Of course, the likelihood of that scenario was as slim as the sun rising in the west.
"Slim? Try f*cking impossible."
Chuckling, Theodore stepped closer to the canvas. He smeared the edge where his cum dripped onto the painted Laticia’s open mouth—spread lewdly as she was mounted from behind like a dog. The aftershocks of his climax intensified.
It’s just paint. I can cover the stains later.
With that excuse, he rubbed himself against the canvas without restraint. In a way, this was its own victory. The Duke would admire this painting, believing it solely his own—never knowing Laticia’s lips were wrapped around Theodore Vuther’s essence.
It was better than a dream. Already, his co¢k swelled again. Then—something dreamlike actually happened.
"Wh—when did you—?!"
Turning on instinct, Theodore nearly fainted from shock. The Duke stood silently in the doorway, watching.
"You seemed… occupied. Did I interrupt?"
That smile—too calm—made Theodore’s skin crawl. The thrilling shiver down his spine turned to icy dread.
Andrea strode past him toward the defiled painting. Though Yuhar’s report had prepared him, seeing Theodore’s cum-smeared handprints on it still twisted his stomach.
"I came to check on your progress."
One day. Barely a full day since the sketch was finished. What progress could there be? Swallowing panic, Theodore chose his words carefully.
"I’ll complete the coloring soon."
"Coloring?"
The Duke’s chuckle was lethal. Steel flashed as his blade pierced the canvas—right through Theodore’s drying cum.
"Is this part of your palette?"
"Th-that’s—"
Theodore pissed himself. His pants, already undone, did nothing to stop the hot stream soaking his thighs. He stood frozen, pale as death, while urine pooled at his feet.
"I wondered what gave you such courage. Turns out, it’s nothing."
Andrea traced the blade along the painted curves of Laticia’s body. The canvas split with a dull rip.
"Pathetic trash."
Theodore stared blankly at the ruined masterpiece. The tattered canvas seemed a grim omen of his fate. Sure enough, the Duke’s icy gaze met his over the bisected painting.
"You know your crime."
Numb, Theodore nodded mechanically. In truth, he wanted to scream "I’ve done nothing wrong!"—but the Duke’s aura strangled all defiance.
Guilty or not, punishment is coming.
The certainty of it flooded him with terror. His body trembled violently. A dreadful premonition slithered up his spine.
"Choose, Theodore Vuther."
The blade tapped his knuckles. Blood welled in a thin line. Then it drifted lower, nicking the head of his limp co¢k. Theodore doubled over with a shriek.
"Choose?! Choose what?!"
Whatever he picked would be severed. Desperate, he prostrated himself.
"Mercy—please, show mercy!"
The Duke’s reply was bored.
"If you won’t choose, I’ll decide for you."
Andrea raised the sword. Theodore’s throat was next.
If this continues, I'll die.
Terror unleashed his survival instincts. He lunged, grabbing the blade despite the gash splitting his palm. All that mattered was escaping the steel kissing his neck. Amused, Andrea let him struggle—until Theodore’s frantic tugging redirected the tip of the sword between his legs.
"A wise choice. At least you take responsibility for your work. Had you picked your hand, I’d have taken your head instead."
Andrea’s eyes curved into a boyish smile. For a heartbeat, Theodore dared hope the Duke’s anger had passed.
Wrong.
"Why hesitate? Surely you don’t expect me to do it for you."
The smile vanished. The flat of the blade prodded Theodore’s shriveled co¢k. Shaking, he gripped himself. Survival instinct overrode reason.
His balls, tight with fear, were no larger than fists. The honed edge cleaved through flesh like butter. A meaty thud followed.
"GYAAAAAH—!"
Agony stole his breath. Theodore thrashed, howling, until his vision fixed on the bloody lump on the floor. His. One glance, and he fainted.
***
Theodore awoke to the stench of tobacco. He lay where he’d collapsed, the wound crudely cauterized. The smell of seared flesh lingered.
How did they stop the bleeding?
Don’t think about it.
Dazedly, he patted his thigh—and recoiled at the unfamiliarity. The phantom pain of what was missing eclipsed the burn. Rage erupted belatedly.
"You think you’ll get away with this?!"
"And what are you to stop me?"
Andrea’s bored retort silenced him. Pain resurged, sharp and nauseating. Theodore’s gaze fell on the shredded painting.
Laticia’s painted eyes were closed, her expression tearful. Hatred surged.
"This is all her fault!"
If not for that bitch—!
Then it hit him. Why did the Duke come here at dawn?
"To check your progress" was a laughable excuse. Though unaware of Victor’s fate or the surveillance, Theodore pieced it together.
The Duke’s rattled. By her.
A weak point—finally. He twisted to glare at Andrea.
"What will Laticia say when she learns what you’ve done?"
A man this obsessed—mutilating over a painted fantasy—would surely regret harming her beloved. Theodore Vüther was irreplaceable to her.
"She’ll hate you forever!"
"Why would I care?"
Andrea blinked, genuinely puzzled.
"She’s mine regardless. Begging, weeping, screaming my name—all beneath me."
"...."
Disposable. Theodore’s pathetic threat only amused him further. Using her as a shield now? Pathetic.
Why keep this trash alive?
For a moment, Andrea regretted not beheading him outright. His prized sword deserved better than hacking off grotesque flesh.
"Think—think no one knows?!" Theodore screeched, rat-like in his desperation. "You’re just selling my name to have that damn sl*ve girl's body!"
He regurgitated every boast he’d ever whispered to Laticia, craving even a scratch on his tormentor.
"But that’s all you’ll ever have! Her heart is mine—you’ll never—!"
A miscalculation. Theodore flinched mid-rant. Too far.
The sword lifted. Fear drowned him anew. Urine trickled down his leg, mingling with the stench of burnt flesh. Andrea wrinkled his nose.
"You’re right, Theodore Vüther."
"I—I didn’t—"
"I’ll let you live. I’ll need your tongue to keep selling your name."
Steel whistled. An inhuman scream tore from Theodore’s throat as blood gushed from his eyes. Clutching his face, he crumpled, suffocating under despair—until darkness took him.
***
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