Demonic Pornstar System novel Chapter 494

Chapter 494: Pick Up The Soap, Motherfucker

Maximilian’s whole body jerked at the command, terror ripping through him.

"N-NO!" he shrieked, voice outright shattering from the urgency with which he spoke. "You’re insane! You’ve gone completely mad if you think I’ll-! I WON’T! I WON’T! DO YOU HEAR ME?!"

He scrambled on shaking legs, slipping in blood and water, hands flailing against the tiles as if they could shield him. His fear was frantic, unfiltered, animalistic. Spit flew with every word.

"I REFUSE! I WON’T PICK UP ANYTHING! I WON’T!"

Dante just watched him.

Cold. Unmoved. Expression carved from stone.

When he finally spoke, his voice was calm enough to freeze bone.

"I’m not asking for you to comply, Maxie."

The second slap cracked across Maximilian’s cheek, snapping his head sideways.

"I’m ordering you," Dante growled, stepping forward.

Another slap.

"As a superior man,"

SLAP.

"As a superior fighter,"

SLAP.

"A superior"

SLAP.

"fucking"

SLAP.

"existence."

Maximilian whimpered, knees buckling, hands raised in a useless guard that did nothing.

Dante loomed over him.

"Now..."

SLAP.

"Pick"

SLAP.

"up"

SLAP.

"the"

SLAP.

"fucking"

SLAP.

"soap"

SLAP.

"motherfucker."

The last slap wasn’t a mere strike; it was a hammer. Dante’s hand crashed into Maximilian’s face, sending the obese man flying. His feet left the wet tiles, his body spinning awkwardly before crashing down hard onto the shower floor, skin smacking against concrete and water.

This time, Dante didn’t catch him by the throat.

Maximilian lay there, coughing, blood pooling, vision doubled and swimming, his hands trembling against the tiles.

Dante stood over him, silent, monumental, the sound of water raining around them like applause.

Maximilian’s cheek throbbed, vision doubling, breath hitching in wet, rattling gasps. But the worst part wasn’t the pain.

It was the clarity.

Somewhere in the back of his rattled skull, a terrified, unwilling thought surfaced:

Dante was showing him on purpose.

This is what they felt.

The girls he cornered.

The ones who couldn’t fight back.

The ones bound by contracts, threats, debts, and silence.

The ones whose bodies shook while he loomed over them.

His physical superiority over them had been just as vast, just as hopeless, as the gulf between him and Dante now.

The naked helplessness.

The certainty that no one was coming.

The knowledge that resistance only made it worse.

For a heartbeat, just one, he stared into that realization.

But did remorse flicker?

Did guilt bloom?

Did he feel even a flicker of shame?

No.

Rage surged instead, foul and frantic.

"Th-they wanted it!" he screamed. "They signed! They agreed! Those were MY women! I’m INNOCENT, you fucking nig-"

He never finished.

Dante leaned forward and spat, a thick, heavy glob splattering across Maximilian’s broken mouth and cheek, silencing him. Before Maximilian could wipe it away, Dante’s feet came down, planting firmly on the side of his head, pressing him into the cold shower tiles. Water pooled around his face, mixing with blood, spit, and filth.

Max let out a choked gasp.

Dante looked down at him with immense feelings of hatred. Then his gaze drifted lower.

To the trembling, pale, sweat-slick flesh of Maximilian’s backside, now exposed and facing him.

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