Chapter 6: Ragga’s Forbidden Book Collection

The sun was high, flooding the mansion's endless halls with golden light.

And Ragga was still hard.

How could he not be?

His morning had started with a forbidden bathhouse orgy, maids squirting, sucking, moaning his name.

Now every step he took, every casual brush against a silky curtain, every scent of leftover soap and sex in the air, made his cock twitch in his pants.

"Fuck me... this mansion is one giant cocktrap..." Ragga thought, adjusting himself shamelessly as he wandered deeper into the old west wing.

He was supposed to be resting.

Recovering.

But curiosity — and his endlessly throbbing lust — drove him forward.

There were rumors, he remembered from the novel.

A secret place.

A forbidden room no servant dared enter.

The mansion's heart of seduction.

He smirked, cock bobbing proudly against his thigh.

"Guess it's time for a little treasure hunt."

He found it tucked behind a faded tapestry, near the old servants' quarters.

A narrow stone stairwell, hidden in the shadows.

The air grew cooler as he descended, the smell of old parchment and something spicy — like lust and magic — tickling his nose.

At the bottom: a heavy oak door bound in iron.

A single golden plaque read:

PRIVATE — Lord Elson's Research Only.

Ragga chuckled darkly.

"Sorry, old man. I'm the lord now."

He shoved the door open.

Inside was heaven.

An entire library — not of dusty histories or boring battle tactics.

But pure, decadent erotica.

Rows of scrolls.

Stacks of handwritten manuals.

Paintings and sketches of nude noblewomen posed in obscene positions.

Statues of naked goddesses towered overhead — tits out, legs spread, fingers plunged deep into carved stone pussies.

The air was thick with musk and old magic.

"Holy fucking shit."

His cock throbbed painfully against his trousers, desperate to be freed.

Ragga didn't even hesitate.

He yanked his pants down, cock springing out thick and angry, leaking precum as it slapped against his stomach.

He grabbed himself, stroking slowly, savoring the sensation as he wandered the aisles of pure, filthy knowledge.

Scrolls whispered promises to him:

"How to Break a Noblewoman's Will Through Posture and Gaze."

"The Thirteen Forbidden Positions of the Velvet Court."

"The Art of Cum Denial: A Study in Obedience."

Every title made his balls ache harder.

Every seductive painting made his cock leak more.

He stopped before a particularly old scroll, bound in black silk.

Curious, he unrolled it — and his breath caught.

The handwriting was... familiar.

Too familiar.

He scanned the signature at the bottom.

Written by: J.M.

Joon Moon.

His old username.

The username he used to comment on every chapter of King of Milfs.

"No fucking way..."

His mind reeled.

How could this scroll — in a fantasy world — have been written by himself?

Before he could spiral into panic, a heavy sound pulled his attention.

Wet.

Slippery.

Desperate.

From deeper in the library.

"Is someone here...?"

Ragga crept forward, his cock still hard and glistening.

Between two towering bookshelves, he found her.

A maid.

Mid-twenties, thick in all the right ways — wide hips, heavy tits, plump ass.

Her uniform was pushed up around her waist, panties yanked aside.

And she was furiously fucking herself on the hilt of a gold-handled riding crop, moaning Ragga's name under her breath.

"Young master... oh gods... young master please fuck me... please..." she whimpered, plunging the crop deeper with every thrust.

Ragga nearly came just from the sight.

"She's getting off in here... imagining me..."

He stepped into view.

Her eyes snapped open.

For a moment, she froze — crop still buried deep in her dripping pussy, juices running down her thighs.

Then, trembling, she pulled it free — strings of slick nectar clinging to the polished gold — and dropped it to the floor.

"Young... master..." she whispered, voice cracking with desperate need.

Ragga didn't speak.

He just walked forward, cock throbbing, leaking.

She fell to her knees before him, tears of lust spilling down her cheeks.

Without hesitation, she wrapped her lips around the head of his cock — hot, wet, worshipful.

She bobbed her head eagerly, sloppy wet sounds filling the hidden library.

Her tongue lapped at his sensitive crown.

Her lips stretched wide around his thick shaft.

Her throat fluttered as she swallowed him deeper, gagging softly, drooling all over his balls.

Ragga groaned, grabbing her hair in both fists, fucking her face without mercy.

Wet slaps echoed between the scrolls.

Spit and precum splattered the floor.

The maid choked and whimpered — but never pulled away.

She wanted this.

Needed it.

When Ragga felt himself about to explode, he yanked free — thick veins bulging along his shaft.

The maid gasped, panting, drooling down her chin.

He jerked himself quickly — once, twice — and unleashed a torrent of hot, sticky cum across her flushed face.

Thick ropes painted her forehead, her cheeks, her open, waiting mouth.

She moaned, tongue flicking out to catch every salty drop.

Ragga grabbed the gold crop from the floor, smirking.

"You like this, don't you, slut?" he growled.

The maid nodded frantically, grinding her soaked pussy against the stone floor.

"Then earn it."

He spanked her ass hard with the crop — and she screamed in bliss, juices squirting across the library floor.

Her body shook with orgasm after orgasm, soaking the ancient stones.

Ragga planted his foot between her legs, grinding his boot against her clit until she collapsed completely, twitching, whimpering, broken.

He stood over her, panting, cock still twitching, leaking.

The black silk scroll fluttered in his hand.

His signature — J.M. — glowing faintly under the torchlight.

"This world... this mansion... these women..." he thought.

"They're mine now."