Monster Harem In The Tower
Chapter 96: Dance of Disgrace

Chapter 96: Dance of Disgrace

Suddenly, the Tower Manager embraced him gently.

Their bodies touched. Soft. Warm. Dangerous.

Nathan froze—completely unable to process what was happening.

She let go, then shifted her position, pressing his right shoulder into her breasts.

Once again, Nathan tried to protest—but was shut down by her movements.

Her left leg lifted, aligning with his navel, before lowering and bending—forming a triangle that trapped his cock from the side, right behind her knee.

The pressure was light—but enough to send blood rushing to both of his heads.

She smiled.

"Are you suffering... because your lust is being strangled by your dusty morals?"

She stroked his hair with her right hand, then gently pulsed the grip of her thigh before releasing him with a light giggle.

Standing before him again, she slowly reached for Nathan’s right hand, lifting it as if he were a bastard prince late to realize he wasn’t the hero of the story.

With her left hand, she pulled him closer by the waist—placing them in a position like two lovers in a fairytale dance, right before midnight shatters the illusion.

"Huh?" Nathan could only look up at her—like a puppy playing with its owner.

Then slowly, she drew his hand toward her pale face.

Her black lips leaned in... and placed a soft kiss on the back of his hand, laced with unspoken sarcasm.

"Men..." she whispered.

"Creatures who love with their bodies... and then cry with their soul."

She only smiled—then raised her right hand, graceful like an absurd theater diva who had just signed an eternal sin contract.

And then... she danced.

A spinning step.

Her dress twirled in sync with her lifted arms. The white light of the room reflected off her glossy skin, making her body look less like flesh and more like a manifestation of desire—polished by divine algorithms.

Nathan stood frozen.

But his feet... moved.

"Shit..." he muttered. "What’s happening..."

His hand lifted on its own.

His hips slowly turned.

His steps followed a rhythm that didn’t exist—a melody unheard, yet somehow his body knew it.

His erect cock lightly grazed against the Tower Manager’s dress.

"What is this?!"

"Why the hell am I... dancing?!"

The Tower Manager giggled softly, taking Nathan’s hand.

They spun together.

Gliding across the white floor like two lost souls inside a ballet dream rehearsed by demons.

"Where is this?"

"Why can I move like this?"

"Fuck... what is this?!"

His breathing grew heavy. But his body wouldn’t stop.

His steps light. Fingers fluid.

His mind screamed... but his body danced.

And finally—

The final move came.

Slowly.

Like the ending of a film that knew it was too dramatic but kept going anyway.

The Tower Manager pulled Nathan’s hand.

Their steps formed a semi-circle across the empty white space, then halted.

Nathan’s body swung sideways—light, like gravity had been replaced by shame’s forgiveness.

One leg lifted—

gracefully extending behind him,

while his upper body leaned forward, forming a curve almost symmetrical with the Tower Manager’s outstretched arm.

His hand... was still held.

Nathan’s fingers were gripped tightly in her right hand, while her left cradled his lower back—just above his ass, like she was supporting a fragile truth too soft for the real world.

Their eyes met.

She looked at him—not like a typical seductress,

but like a prince who had finally found the absurd-blooded princess long erased from myth.

Her gaze was deep—but not romantic.

It was more like a silent confession:

that she was the dominant entity,

and Nathan was the contradiction of man—full of sin, yet desperate to be understood.

Nathan’s breath trembled.

"I..."

But he couldn’t finish the sentence.

His words got stuck in his throat,

like cum that refuses to release—only making the eventual climax more intense.

His body stayed in that tilted pose—

one leg lifted, one hand held,

his back gently supported.

He no longer knew which way was up or down.

All he knew was, in that second, he felt humiliated... by being treated like a princess.

Slowly, the Tower Manager lowered the hand that held him.

As if the curtain had fallen on the performance.

But it wasn’t ballet.

This... was the prelude to a deeper psychoerotic drama.

Nathan slipped from her grasp.

His body staggered half a step,

like an actor realizing the stage he stood on was not a stage,

but an altar meant to disgrace his dignity.

But he managed to stand.

Breath shaky. Knees trembling.

His cock still hard.

His morals—softer than ever.

The Tower Manager stepped back.

Her smile shifted.

From poetic... to brutal.

From mesmerizing... to terrifying.

Then...

She lowered herself to the floor.

Legs parted. Hands touched the glowing surface.

Slowly, she crawled toward Nathan.

Her pace wasn’t rushed.

But it was deliberate.

Like a spiritual predator who already knew her prey had no escape.

Then she turned.

And arched.

With intent. With awareness.

Her black dress lifted with her hips—

revealing a pristine ass,

white, supple, smooth—like a sacrificial cake baked for false prophets.

"Come..." she whispered.

"Let it out."

"You don’t have to feel guilty.

I accept it."

"I’m a being above you.

And I’ve already spat on your pride—by making you dance like a naive princess from a lost kingdom."

Nathan stayed silent.

His head burned.

His cock burned hotter.

His heartbeat roared—caught between fury and the unbearable density of absurdity.

"...Fuck," he muttered.

"Fuck it."

He knelt down.

His hands shook—not out of fear,

but from awareness. Pure, overwhelming awareness.

Then he lifted the back of the Tower Manager’s dress.

And there—

a pair of sacred cakes awaited.

White.

Smooth.

Rising like twin moons without atmosphere, ready to be touched by sinful mortal hands.

His hands moved.

Slowly, he squeezed.

Gentle at first.

Then harder.

The Tower Manager only chuckled softly—

like a false god enjoying the worship of a dirty-handed believer.

She grinned.

"Do it..." she said.

"Do it?" Nathan swallowed.

He parted the white-flesh curtain, revealing the sacred gate—then aimed his mortal spear, trembling yet certain.

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