Depraved Noble: Forced To Live The Debaucherous Life Of An Evil Noble! Chapter 48 Lascivious Body

Cassius let out a soft, contemplative hum, as if considering sothing deeply. Then, in a voice as if he were describing a painting, he said aloud,

"She really is pretty, isn't she?"

The crowd tensed.

"Even from a distance, I thought she was quite beautiful." He exhaled, almost wistfully. "That golden hair...Those delicate features..."

A few won shifted uncomfortably, already sensing where this was going.

Cassius's smirk widened.

"But..." He continued. "It was only after seeing her up close that I realized—" He paused deliberately, drawing out the mood, letting every second stretch like a blade being slowly drawn from its sheath.

Then, with a soft, almost indulgent chuckle, he said, "Not only does she have a perfect face." His voice dipped, thick with sothing dangerously suggestive.

"...She also has a perfect body as well."

The won flinched. A collective shudder rippled through the crowd—so out of secondhand embarrassnt, others out of sheer disgust.

Cassius, naturally, relished it.

"Curvaceous in all the right places..." He murmured, letting his gaze roam leisurely over Isabelle's fra. "Soft, yet firm...A body made to be admired."

Several won sucked in sharp breaths. A few looked away, their faces burning with sha at having to hear such things.

Cassius wasn't finished. He lifted his hand and slowly, deliberately placed it at Isabelle's waist.

The contact was light. Barely even a touch. But the way he did it—so possessive, so casual—made it feel filthy.

"And now that I've felt her flesh..." He sighed, his fingers barely grazing the curve of her waist, his voice thick with longing. "I find myself wanting more."

A gasp—audible and sharp—echoed from sowhere in the crowd.

"I want to taste her all over."

A collective gasp this ti.

Soone made a choking noise. Another woman murmured a horrified, "He's depraved..." under her breath.

Cassius only chuckled. He wanted them to think that. He needed them to believe it.

And from the way their faces twisted in a mix of shock, disgust, and sheer helplessness, he had them exactly where he wanted them.

But Isabelle...Ah. Isabelle was a different story entirely.

She had frozen the mont his fingers made contact.

Not in fear. Not in revulsion...But in sothing else.

Her heart raced, her body reacting before her mind could even process it.

It was overwhelming. The way his voice caressed her ears, rich with sinful indulgence. The way his touch—light as it was—burnt through the fabric of her dress, leaving a trail of heat where his fingers grazed.

He was praising her.

Openly, shalessly. Saying things most n wouldn't even dare whisper in private.

And—Oh god—it thrilled her.

Her cheeks flushed, warmth blooming in her chest, her heart pounding far too fast.

She wanted to hear more. She wanted him to keep talking.To keep touching. To—

No.

No, no, no—

She was supposed to be acting. She had a role to play. And right now, the role was not that of a willing, intoxicated maiden, but of an indignant, scandalised woman...She had to snap out of it.

So with a sudden, startled gasp, she jolted backward—forcing herself out of his grasp.

Her eyes widened—too wide, too shaken, as if she had only just realised what had been happening. Her hands flew to her chest, clutching at her dress as if trying to shield herself from his indecency.

"Y-Young Master!" She stamred, her voice laced with a mix of shock and deeply feigned offence. "Please be respectful."

Cassius lifted a brow, amused by her reaction that he knew was an act.

Isabelle then took a shaky step back, her cheeks still pink—though now it looked perfectly like the embarrassnt of a virtuous woman being publicly humiliated.

"H-How could you say such dirty things in front of everyone? She pressed, her voice quivering just right, laced with disbelief. "I-I understand that I serve you, but even so!"

Cassius let out a slow, amused hum. His eyes glinted with sothing dark, sothing deliberate, as he tilted his head, watching Isabelle's flushed, distraught expression.

Then, ever so slowly, his lips curled into a wicked, knowing smirk.

"Dirty?" He echoed, voice dripping with feigned innocence. "Oh, Isabelle...When did I say anything dirty?"

The crowd blinked in disbelief. The won, already reeling from his previous remarks, exchanged nervous glances, a few of them clutching their skirts as if trying to hold onto so sense of decency in the face of such filth.

Cassius chuckled.

"All I did was admire you." He sighed, his voice a lazy tone, as if he were so bored aristocrat discussing fine wine or an exquisite piece of art. "And yet, you react so dramatically. Why is that, I wonder?"

Isabelle trembled—not from fear, but from sothing far more dangerous. Because she knew what was coming next, and only she knew that she wanted it.

Cassius let the silence stretch for just a second longer, feeding the anticipation, watching the discomfort settle like a thick fog over the room.

Then, he took a slow, calculated step forward, gaze never once leaving Isabelle's.

"Perhaps..." He murmured, his voice dipping into sothing hushed, almost confessional. "I should be clearer about what I an."

The won stiffened. Isabelle inhaled sharply, but she didn't move away. And then, in the most shaless, depraved tone imaginable, he elaborated.

"Those lips of yours..." He exhaled, his gaze dropping lazily to her mouth. "Soft. Full. Always pressed together so tightly, like you're afraid of what you might say if you let them part too much."

The room tensed, mortification creeping in. Isabelle's breath hitched, her lips parting on instinct.

Cassius's smirk deepened.

"Ah... So that's what it takes." He said when he saw her biting her lips like on command. "Just a few words, and look at you, already inviting to admire them more closely."

Several won gasped. A few even turned away, unable to bear the vulgar implications.

But Cassius wasn't done...Oh, not even close.

His gaze dipped lower, dragging lazily down the line of her throat, as if he had all the ti in the world.

"And your neck..." He murmured, stepping even closer. "So delicate...So pale...I wonder—" He raised a hand, stopping just short of touching her skin. "—Would it bruise easily if I pressed my fingers around it?"

Soone choked on their own breath.

"Or perhaps..." Cassius sighed, letting his gaze roam shalessly. "I should focus on your lower body instead, which is a work of art on its own."

A shudder passed through the won.

His fingers then hovered just above her waist, the heat of his skin tantalisingly close.

"That waist of yours..." His voice was thick, admiring, and hungry. The dip of her body was impossibly small, a perfect contrast to the fullness below, delicate yet made to be held.

"So small..." His fingers twitched, aching to close around it. That tight, sculpted curve, begging to be gripped, controlled. "So easily graspable."

The shape of her, that impossibly narrow span, was a tease all its own. His hands would fit there perfectly, locking her in place, feeling every little shudder.

"I imagine it would fit perfectly beneath my hands..." His breath ward her skin, his restraint nearly breaking. That waist, so soft yet firm, sothing to clutch as she moved for him.

"...as I thrust into you from behind."

Isabelle, despite her best efforts, shuddered.

He smirked, shifting his stance just slightly, as if eyeing her for what he would describe next.

"And those curves..." His voice was little more than a sinful murmur. "Every inch of you is sculpted so perfectly that it makes want to run my tongue all over your hills."

One of the won whimpered.

"Your hips..." His voice lowered further. "Made for being held onto while making sweet love under the sheets."

Soft, full, and perfectly curved—hips that flared from her narrow waist with an effortless, natural allure. A shape ant to be held, to be gripped, to guide every movent. Plush yet firm, the kind of hips that begged for hands to settle on them, to claim them, to pull them closer.

"Your thighs..." He sighed, shaking his head slightly, eyes dark with sothing unspoken. Thick, supple, the perfect balance of softness and tone—he could already picture how they'd feel beneath his hands, warm and yielding.

"How cruel of you to hide them under such a modest uniform." His gaze lingered where the fabric clung, teasing at the shape beneath. Each step, each shift, hinted at sothing even more sinful—thighs ant to be spread, gripped, worshipped.

"I bet they're even softer than I imagine." His voice was lower now, thick with certainty. He didn't just want to see them; he wanted to feel them, taste them, and leave his mark against their plush perfection.

Soone felt like they needed to take a long bath after the filthiness they were witnessing.

"And then..." His smirk widened, revelling in the way the air grew heavier, the hush of the crowd thick with tension. His eyes dragged lower, unapologetic, predatory. "There's your chest."

A sharp inhale—a few won stepping back in sheer mortification as Cassius locked onto the deep valley of her cleavage, the pale swell of her breasts pushing insistently against the tight confines of her maid outfit.

The frilled fabric strained, barely able to contain their fullness, the soft mounds rising with each unsteady breath she took.

His tongue flicked over his bottom lip as he tilted his head, as if considering, as if savouring. The way they pressed together, spilling just enough to taunt him—so full, so perfectly shaped, begging for hands to cup them, to squeeze, to leave fingerprints behind.

The room felt smaller, hotter, every gaze flickering between him and the shaless way he drank her in.

But he didn't care. No, he wanted them to see, to know exactly what he was thinking as he let his eyes linger, as if willing the fabric to give just a little more, to show him everything.

"Ah, Isabelle." He finally continued after taking in the breathtaking sight of her mountains. "How blessed you are. So full, so perfectly round—like they were made to be kneaded and molested by a man's burly hands."

"Stop!" One of the won in the crowd finally burst out, her face burning with horror. "Y-Young Master, have so decency...!"

Cassius laughed. A dark, rich chuckle that sent another wave of unease through the won.

"Decency?" He echoed, feigning surprise. "But why? I'm rely speaking the truth."

"You're degrading her!" Another woman snapped, her voice a mix of anger and sha.

"Am I?' Cassius smirked, tilting his head slightly. "Or am I simply voicing the truth that no one else would dare to say when they gaze at her lascivious body?"

The room fell silent.

Because despite their disgust, despite their shock—there was sothing undeniable about his words.

Isabelle was beautiful and erotic at the sa ti. And now, he had forced them all to see it. To acknowledge it with their own eyes, even when they were won themselves who held respect for themselves and one another.

To witness it in a way that would forever stain their perception of her.

Satisfied with their silence, Cassius turned back to Isabelle, his expression expectant, waiting for her reaction.

She had been frozen in place, her face burning, her breath uneven...But she wasn't horrified.

No, far from it. Because beneath all that surface-level embarrassnt, beneath the act, there was sothing else in her eyes.

Sothing dark. Sothing thrilled...Sothing deeply, sinfully satisfying.

But she couldn't let it show. Not here. Not now.

So, summoning every ounce of restraint she had left, she let out a soft, choked gasp; she turned and stumbled away from him—her movents perfectly unsteady, like a woman deeply shaken.

"P-Please..." She whispered, her voice breaking just right. "H-Have so sha, Young Master..."

Cassius just smirked. Because even though she was turning away, even though she was playing her part flawlessly, he knew the truth...She hadn't denied a single thing.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Just one doubt, would you guys prefer if the 18 scenes to be long and very detailed to the extent that go over multiple chapters or do you want them to be rather short and direct?