Depraved Noble: Forced To Live The Debaucherous Life Of An Evil Noble!-Chapter 577: Wait, You’re Not Isabelle!

Hearing him notice the difference, ’Isabelle’ was elated and for a second she actually thought that she was about to escape from this horrible misunderstanding.

But sadly that didn’t happen as he simply chuckled, before saying with a chuckle.

"Oh, I see. You been doing exercises, haven’t you? Some secret training to squeeze my cock even harder when it’s inside of you?"

This baffled ’Isabelle’ and she wanted to shake her head—but before she could he increased the pace again, fingers sliding faster.

"Well, there’s no need to be shy about it. You always want to please your master, right? So it makes perfect sense you’d work to keep this pretty pussy extra tight for me."

His thumb brushed over her swollen clit as he spoke.

"Tell me, Isabelle...what kind of exercises have you been doing? What naughty little workouts make you grip me like this?"

He kept fingering her steadily, curling and thrusting, voice dropping into filthy encouragement.

"Fon’t be shy. Tell your Young Master exactly what naughty little exercises you’ve been doing to make this perfect pussy even tighter for me."

He slowed his fingers just enough to tease, then pumped again—harder—watching her hips jerk involuntarily.

"Hmm!"

"Maybe you’ve been sneaking off to the training room late at night, lying on your back with your legs spread wide, sliding the biggest plug we have in and out for hours—just clenching and releasing, clenching and releasing—training those greedy walls to grip me like a vice."

"Is that it? Were you practicing on that thick glass toy while moaning my name?"

Her muffled protests only grew louder, body twisting, but he didn’t stop.

"Or maybe something even dirtier."

He purred, curling his fingers to stroke that sensitive spot inside her.

"You’ve started using the weighted balls. Sliding those heavy silver spheres inside and walking around the mansion all day—feeling them shift with every step, forcing you to clench tighter and tighter so they don’t slip out."

"Did you do that during tea service? Smiling sweetly at the guests while secretly training your pussy to choke my cock?"

He laughed low, pumping faster, relentless.

"Or the filthiest one yet—practicing with the replicas I had made. You know, the exact molds of my cock in different sizes. Starting with the smaller one and working your way up, fucking yourself on them every night until you could take the biggest without flinching."

"Were you doing that, Isabelle? Stretching yourself on a perfect copy of me while whimpering into your pillow?"

Her body was trembling uncontrollably now, inner muscles spasming around his fingers, but she still hadn’t answered or couldn’t—only frantic muffled denials and squeaks.

"Well...whatever it is, keep doing it."

He growled, voice rough with lust.

"I love it like this. I love how tight your pussy is clinging to my fingers—squeezing so hard, like it never wants to let go. Like it’s desperate to keep me buried inside forever."

As Cassius fingered while kissing her neck, he could feel her right on the edge—walls fluttering wildly, slick heat coating his hand, hips grinding back against him despite her earlier struggles.

A satisfied smile curved his lips.

He’d played with her enough—teased her, tormented her, driven her to this delicious breaking point.

It was time.

"It’s about time I let you release yourself."

He growled low in her ear, voice thick with lust.

"You’ve been such an obedient little maid tonight—taking everything I give you, trembling so prettily for your young master. So I’ll reward you. I’ll let you come the way you always like it best."

"That is of course...by talking dirty to you. You love that don’t you"

He murmured filthily.

"Even though you act so polite, you go absolutely wild when your master calls you his filthy whore, his needy cumslut, his perfect breeding bitch."

"It makes this greedy pussy squeeze me even tighter. You crave it—crave hearing how obsessed you are with my cock, how you’d do anything to be filled and used and ruined by me."

Her body jerked violently, muffled cries turning into desperate, keening whines against his palm

"So here we go, Isabelle. I’ll do the talking. I’ll give you exactly what you need."

His voice dropped into a torrent of pure, unfiltered filth.

"That’s right—my perfect, obedient whore. You love being stuffed full of your young master’s fingers, don’t you? Love how I stretch this pretty pussy until it’s gaping and dripping and begging for my cock."

"Hmmm—! Nnnn—!"

"You’re nothing but a cock-starved maid who spreads her legs the second I walk in the room."

"A shameless little cumslut who shaves herself bare just so I can tongue-fuck her better—so I can bury my face between these thighs and drink every drop you give me."

He twisted his fingers deeper, pumping faster.

"You dream about this every night, don’t you? About being pinned down and used like a toy. About being bred over and over until your belly swells with my seed."

"Ahnn—! Hmmm—!"

"You want it so bad—want me to fill this greedy hole until you’re leaking down your legs for days."

"You want everyone in the mansion to smell me on you, to know you’ve been thoroughly fucked by your master."

Her body was shaking violently now, inner walls fluttering wildly around his fingers.

"You’re my personal fuckpet—my favorite little breeding bitch. This pussy was made for my cock and my cock alone."

"Made to milk me dry every single night."

"Made to take every thick inch until you’re screaming and squirting and passing out from how good it feels."

He leaned in, lips brushing her ear as his fingers drove her right to the edge.

"So, come, Isabelle. Come for me. Come for your master. Come all over my hand like the filthy, desperate slut you are!"

"Show me how much this cunt worships me. Do it now—come, come, come for me—"

And with that final command, he released his hand from her mouth.

And the moment his palm pulled away, the dam broke.

"Ahhh!♡~ Haaah!♡~ Ahnnnn!♡~"

A sharp, broken cry tore from her throat as her body convulsed uncontrollably, hips bucking wildly against his hand.

"Schlurp!♡~ Splish!♡~ Splat!♡~ Squish!♡~"

Hot, forceful jets of liquid gushed out of her, squirting in powerful spurts that soaked his fingers, his wrist, the sheets beneath them—splattering everywhere in messy, unstoppable waves.

"Gloop!♡~ Drip!♡~ Splurt!♡~ Plop!♡~"

Her entire body seized, twitching and jerking like she was in the throes of a full-body seizure, back arching off the bed as the orgasm ripped through her without mercy.

And then, her voice—high, frantic, and completely undone filled the dark room.

"Cassius—! Cassius, no—! I’m coming—Cassius, no, no, no—!"

And this completely caught him off guar.

She was calling out his name.

His name.

Not ’Young Master.’ Not the formal, obedient title she always used, even in the height of passion.

His actual name.

For a long, suspended moment, Cassius actually thought she was changing things up—trying something new to drive him even wilder.

After all, he had teased Isabelle countless times to drop the formalities, to moan his name instead of ’Young Master’ to call him Cassius or darling or husband like a proper lover.

But every single time she had refused, blushing furiously, insisting with stubborn pride that he would always be her Young Master—no matter how deep he was inside her, no matter how many times he made her come.

So hearing her suddenly cry his name—raw, desperate, broken—sent a fresh surge of heat straight through him.

His cock throbbed painfully against her ass, and a grin started to form as he prepared to tease her mercilessly for finally giving in.

But then...the voice registered fully.

It was a little lower, a little huskier.

More mature.

More reluctant, almost pained.

Basically...it didn’t sound like Isabelle at all.

The realization crashed over him like ice water, even as the last spasms of her orgasm fluttered around his still-buried fingers.

This wasn’t Isabelle.

He had been fingering, teasing, dirty-talking, and forcing to climax...someone else entirely.

Panic and confusion exploded in his chest.

His mind raced, frantically trying to identify the woman trembling in his arms.

Not Nala—Nala’s tail was unmistakable; he would have felt it immediately.

Not Vivi—Vivi’s chest was beautiful but petite.

These breasts he had been groping, the ones still heaving under his forearm, were far too full, too heavy, too impossibly generous.

Not Portia—Portia’s were lower, softer, with that familiar gentle sag from age and motherhood.

He had mapped her body countless times; he knew exactly how she felt.

Not Diana—Diana’s ass was ripe, soft in a way that spoke of peak maturity.

The ones pressed against his crotch right now were tender and bouncy, still carrying the firmess of youth

And it wasn’t Julie, Aisha, or Skadi either.

The Holy Guard trio did often visit him, but none of them matched this exact silhouette.

He then cycled through the other maids in his mind—every curve, every unique detail he had memorized over the years—and none of them fit.

No one in the entire household had this precise combination of dramatic hourglass figure and silky-smooth skin except Isabelle.

He was utterly, completely lost.

That is until the woman finally settled, her frantic breathing slowing into deep, shaky inhales and exhales.

Slowly—hesitantly—she turned her head toward him.

Even in the near-blackness of the room, moonlight caught the glint of sapphire-blue eyes gazing back at him.

Soft.

Shy.

Filled with that familiar, overflowing tenderness.

And then she spoke, voice small and trembling but unmistakably warm with love and concern.

"...Cassius?"

The world stopped.

He knew that voice.

He had heard it a lot in his childhood or atleast in his memories.

Not to mention, every woman in the mansion called his name with affection, but none carried this exact shade of unconditional, familial devotion.

None except the one person who had loved him selflessly since he was a boy.

The one person it should never, ever be.

Horror flooded him, cold and suffocating.

No.

Please, no.

Anyone but her.

His hand shook as he reached blindly for the bedside lamp, fumbling until his fingers found the switch.

Soft golden light spilled across the bed.

And there—exactly as his worst fear had whispered—was Aqua.

His older sister.

Sprawled in the center of his bed in the most debauched, heartbreakingly beautiful state imaginable.

Her silky nightgown had ridden up and bunched around her waist during the struggle, exposing miles of creamy thigh now pressed tightly together in a futile attempt at modesty.

The sheets beneath her were absolutely drenched—dark, unmistakable evidence of how powerfully she had squirted, how completely he had made her lose control.

One trembling hand was clamped between her legs, desperately trying to cover herself, but he could still glimpse the swollen, glistening pink flesh peeking from between her fingers—proof of everything he had just done.

Her massive chest heaved with every panicked breath, nipples straining visibly against the thin lace bra that barely contained them, deep cleavage on full display.

And her face—

Flushed crimson, hair messy, sapphire eyes wide with bewildered dread, lips parted in shock.

She looked utterly lost, as if she couldn’t comprehend what had just happened to her own body.

Yet even through the horror and confusion, those eyes still held love.

Tender, unconditional love for the little brother she had raised.

And seeing this, Cassius felt his stomach drop through the floor.

He had just forced his own sister to one of the most intense orgasms of her life—fingered her, talked filthy to her, made her squirt uncontrollably—all while believing she was someone else.

The realization hit him like a physical blow.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t speak.

He could only stare in horror at Aqua—his beloved older sister—lying shattered and trembling in his bed, staring back at him with eyes that somehow, impossibly, still held nothing but love.