Martial Arts Masochist

Overwhelmed by the dizzying shame she was experiencing for the first time, Dang Soran shook her body violently.

But the more she did, the tighter the ropes binding her dug into her skin.

The ropes had now become a clear, tangible prison.

“Why… why are you sniffing that!”

Having lived as the eldest daughter of the Tang Clan of Sichuan, she had always been required to be proper.

She had to show only her best side.

She had hidden all her unsightly aspects from everyone.

There was such a thing as maintaining face befitting her position.

Yet Han Seojin was sniffing her foot odor.

Dang Soran’s mind filled with hundreds of questions.

Why on earth is he sniffing that?

What the hell is he doing right now?

…Did I wash my feet carefully today?

…Isn’t there a bit of sweat?

Does it really smell bad? I take care of them every day…

No, why am I worrying about my own foot smell?

Dang Soran glanced back and forth between Han Seojin and Cheongwol.

Thanks to him saying it smelled bad, that detail about her had been revealed to Cheongwol too.

The emotion of humiliation stabbed at her chest like a dagger.

“Sss…”

But Han Seojin didn’t stop.

Like smoking a pipe of tobacco, he buried his nose in her silk stockings and took deep breaths.

Then exhaled, repeatedly. Savoring it. Mocking her.

“They say you’re the precious pearl of the Tang Clan of Sichuan, so I had some expectations.”

“Ah… aaah…”

“…Looks like even the young lady of the Tang Clan can’t help it.”

“Stop… stop sniffing!”

Han Seojin paused for a moment.

…Did his words get through?

Had she managed to preserve even a shred of her pride?

But the words that followed dragged her even deeper.

“…You don’t like me sniffing it?”

He tossed another choice at her.

If she didn’t like it, she could leave—that’s what he meant.

He wasn’t forcing her at all.

“Ugh…! Urk!”

With her head bowed deeply, Dang Soran gasped for breath.

Deep in her chest, a dark instinct she had hidden away began to stir.

How dare he… how dare the Leather Room owner mock me…?

Me, Dang Soran of the Tang Clan of Sichuan?

But the question that immediately followed smothered that anger.

“I’m asking. Don’t you like it?”

“…”

‘What will you do if I get angry? I already said to leave if you don’t like it?’ …he seemed to ask.

Dang Soran could no longer lift her head.

“…Ah… hng…”

“…Not gonna answer? I asked if you don’t like it?”

She shrank endlessly, whispering like a criminal.

“…I… like it.”

The humiliating words that she liked him sniffing her foot odor.

Her face was already buzzing as if it might burst.

It felt like she was being forcibly dragged to an ugly place she shouldn’t go.

Han Seojin then peeled off the other silk stocking as well.

The cold basement air touched Dang Soran’s small feet.

In the Central Plains, there was a tendency to view small, delicate feet as a symbol of feminine beauty.

By those standards, Dang Soran knew her own feet were beautiful.

Her father had told her so many times when she was young.

‘Soran, these beautiful feet should only be shown to someone precious. Understand?’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘If some bastard asks to see your feet, just—’

‘—I’ll beat him up!’

Now Han Seojin was seeing them and teasing her that they smelled.

She couldn’t even punish him as she had vowed, and instead was submitting.

Dang Soran’s breathing grew ragged.

“Still, your feet are pretty.”

Suddenly, Han Seojin—who had been mocking her so much—offered praise.

“These are the prettiest feet I’ve ever seen. I want to keep them by my side and look at them forever.”

“…Eut.”

A sudden groan echoed. It was Cheongwol.

Dang Soran’s gaze turned to Cheongwol.

Ah.

And in that moment, she saw it.

Cheongwol, trembling around her eyes as she looked at Han Seojin.

Cheongwol noticed the gaze and met Dang Soran’s eyes.

After staring at each other for a moment, Cheongwol turned her head back to the wall.

She stood there pathetically alone, facing the wall, her shoulders trembling faintly.

A sharp tingle ran up Dang Soran’s spine.

She didn’t know what emotion Cheongwol had been looking at her with.

Jealousy? Contempt? Pity?

But one thing was certain.

She didn’t like how Han Seojin was focused only on Dang Soran.

Dang Soran had seen a flicker of hurt on her face just now.

And rightly so—he was the man she had tried so hard to hide.

The existence she didn’t want to share.

As far as Dang Soran knew, Han Seojin was the only one Cheongwol had acted this way toward.

And now that Han Seojin was looking only at her.

She had forcibly taken Han Seojin away from Cheongwol.

“…Ah… ah…”

Even if she tried to resist, a damp pleasure sought her out.

Had she really thought she could steal something from that monstrous late-stage expert who had defeated her in sparring?

Had she thought she could take something from the desireless Cheongwol?

She felt special.

Caught between displeasure and pleasure, she kept wavering.

Her fear of the heart demon, Han Seojin’s praise, Cheongwol’s jealousy—they gave her the strength to push forward.

Han Seojin pulled over the nearby water bucket.

“With how much they smell, what choice do I have but to help?”

“Eut…! They… don’t smell…”

Han Seojin lifted her silk stocking.

“Really? Should I have our Wol come check and rate the smell?”

Dang Soran squeezed her eyes shut.

Please. Please, anything but that.

Han Seojin chuckled and set the silk stocking aside.

Then he scooped up water and poured it over Dang Soran’s feet.

“Ack… uh…”

At that warm sensation, Dang Soran trembled.

The thought that this man, who mocked and tormented her, had personally prepared this warm water gave her a strange feeling.

“It’s a herbal decoction.”

Han Seojin said.

“Your feet smell, so I’m washing them for you. Nice, right?”

As he said, a fragrant scent gradually rose.

Dang Soran had no choice but to answer.

“…Like… it.”

Was there anything worse than having her foot smell sniffed?

…Swish.

“Ah…!”

Han Seojin stroked the sole of her foot with the back of his hand.

It was a spot she rarely felt anyone else’s touch on, making the sensation all the more unfamiliar.

His touch grew increasingly bold.

Squeeze.

His hand gripped her foot tightly.

Dang Soran barely held back the moan that nearly escaped.

“…D-don’t touch…!”

“Want to switch places with Wol?”

“…Eut… uh…”

What the hell.

She had no idea how this related to her heart demon.

But the wheels were already turning, and they couldn’t stop.

Stopping now would make all this humiliation meaningless.

****

Cheongwol had a plan at first too.

She believed Dang Soran would eventually give up.

There was no way that lofty pride and shame could endure the game.

The moment she broke from not enduring—that would be enough.

And if it got too much, she could step in and stop it.

Han Seojin would eventually see who was more obedient.

…That’s what she thought. She really thought that.

“Your feet are really pretty. The more I look, the more beautiful they are.”

Kwachaaak…

Her heart clenched.

A confusing agony she felt for the first time.

Things were unfolding completely differently from her expectations.

Dang Soran wasn’t breaking.

And accordingly, Han Seojin’s attention was entirely on Dang Soran.

Every time he praised her while ignoring Cheongwol, her chest throbbed.

…And Cheongwol couldn’t even insert herself in between… she just stared at the wall.

Unable to bear it, when she glanced back… her chest felt even more stifled.

Han Seojin wiping Dang Soran’s feet as if in devoted service.

Dang Soran, eyes squeezed shut like a shy maiden, head turned to her shoulder.

They looked too close.

Too much like their own world.

It felt like she was the outsider again.

The emotion she had felt endlessly back at the Emei Sect.

“Feels good?”

“…Like… it.”

“Eut…!”

It hurt too much to watch, so Cheongwol furrowed her brows.

Her body kept twitching involuntarily.

In that moment, her eyes met Han Seojin’s.

Cheongwol didn’t avert her gaze, expressing her displeasure.

“…”

But Han Seojin showed no interest.

“You look prettier than Wol over there frowning.”

“…!”

At the pain those words brought, Cheongwol turned her head away again.

Cheongwol knew she was at fault too.

If she hadn’t listened and come to find Han Seojin, Dang Soran never would have had a chance to enter this basement.

If she hadn’t been the one to first suggest giving Dang Soran the experience, this moment might not have happened.

Even so… even so…

Cheongwol bit her lip.

…You knew me first, Owner.

I’m closer to you.

…Why are you paying more attention to Dang Soran?

We’ve only known each other for so long.

Why pretend you don’t know?

“…”

Thoughts she never would have voiced normally filled her mind.

Would this not have happened if she had been more obedient?

If she had always been docile during their play, would he not be focusing on Dang Soran?

“…Eut.”

But she soon suppressed those emotions.

Her pride wouldn’t allow it.

Not some courtesan. Why should a heroine like her care about a man?

Fine. Whatever. I don’t need it either.

When had she ever wanted such humiliation?

Doesn’t matter.

Let the two of them do it.

She didn’t want to stay here anymore.

No need to stay.

Let’s end it here.

So Cheongwol tried to stand… but her thighs had no strength.

“…”

If she left them alone like that.

What would the two of them do?

Would he treat her even more tenderly, like he did to her?

‘You’re so pretty, Soran.’

‘Seojin… Young Master.’

“…Ugh.”

Just imagining it made a fierce flame ignite in her chest.

And the very fact that anger bloomed was shameful.

She had come to resolve her heart demon—why did it matter what Han Seojin did with whom?

…But letting go was hard. Relationships she had easily discarded at the Emei Sect weren’t easy now.

“The feet are all clean now.”

Splash, splash—the sound of pouring water and massaging feet stopped.

Even Dang Soran’s shallow moans quieted.

Cheongwol didn’t turn her head.

She didn’t want to see what was happening between the two.

…No, she desperately tried not to look because she wanted to see.

“See. Now it smells good.”

“D-don’t do that!”

But even the sounds alone painted the picture.

That imagination tormented her more.

Was Han Seojin pressing his nose to Dang Soran’s feet?

…This… filthy pervert.

Cheongwol thought in rising frustration.

But why couldn’t she leave this pervert?

“Then next…”

The sound of Han Seojin rummaging for something.

“Huh?”

Dang Soran let out a confused noise at whatever he pulled out.

Unable to contain her curiosity again, when Cheongwol turned her head.

Whoosh!

The sound of a thin rod cutting through the air.

Smack.

A light striking sound.

“Ouch!!”

Dang Soran let out a short scream.

In an instant, Cheongwol’s eyes widened.

In Cheongwol’s view, she saw Dang Soran shrinking back in shock… and Han Seojin, now standing imposingly with a switch in hand.

The earlier warm expression was gone.

He looked down at Dang Soran coldly—a chill that made even the watching Cheongwol’s heart freeze.

Veins bulged taut on the wrist of Han Seojin holding the switch.

Dang Soran shouted.

“Wh-what are you doing!”

But Han Seojin didn’t waver.

Instead, he threw the same question back.

“…Don’t like it?”

Those short two syllables rewinded everything, sealing the mouths of both women.