"Sandwich her," the Count said.
They moved.
The Lord lay on the bed on his back. They dragged Vess—limp, drugged, trembling—and positioned her on top of him. His cock entered her pussy from below. She was on her back, lying on his hairy chest. The Prince entered her ass from behind. The Baron stuffed her mouth. The Count knelt beside the bed and forced her hand around his cock again.
She was filled in every hole.
Cunt. Ass. Mouth. Hands.
Every part of her body was occupied by fat, sweating, vengeful nobility. The bed groaned beneath the combined weight. The white cushions were soaked with sweat and blood and seed. The smell of the room was a thick, humid fog of musk and sex and cruelty.
"Yeah," the Baron grunted, his cock in her mouth. "Yeah, take it. Take it all. You laughed at four nobles. Now you serve four nobles. You are our slave. Our cum slave."
"MMMPH~!! GLK~!! NGH~!!"
The Prince’s thrusts into her ass were brutal and deep. Each one pressed the front wall of her rectum against the cock in her pussy, creating a double pressure that made her eyes roll back. She could not scream. She could only make sounds. Wet, broken, animal sounds.
"Pinch her tits," the Lord ordered from beneath her. He was fucking her pussy in short, upward thrusts. "Make her squeal."
The Count leaned over and grabbed her nipples. He twisted them. Hard. Her body convulsed. The walls of both holes gripped simultaneously.
"She is gushing," the Count laughed. "Look. The bitch is gushing. The warrior is gushing on a cock."
It was true.
Her body, in its terror and confusion, had begun to produce a clear, slick fluid. It leaked from her pussy around the Lord’s cock. It ran down her thighs. It soaked the bed. She did not understand it. She felt the warmth and the wetness and she thought it was more blood. She thought she was dying. She cried harder because her body was betraying her even as it was destroyed.
"She likes it," the Prince gasped. "The bitch likes it. Look at her cunt. Look at her ass. They are both sucking us in. She was made for this. She was born to be a noble’s fucktoy."
"MMMPH~!! NGH~!!"
They came.
The Lord came in her pussy first. The hot flood mixed with the Baron’s earlier seed. The Prince came in her ass immediately after, the thick, white seed filling her bowels. The Baron came in her mouth, the bitter fluid choking her, leaking from her nose, running down her chin. The Count came across her chest, the white ropes splattering across her bruised tits.
They pulled out.
The holes gaped. The seed poured. Vess lay on the bed, her body twitching, her eyes glassy, her mouth open, seed and saliva dripping onto the pillow.
They retreated to the chairs.
The four men sat, naked, sweating, their cocks going limp and dripping. The Lord lit a pipe. The Baron poured wine from the decanter into crystal cups. The Prince wiped his cock with a silk cloth and tossed it onto the floor. The Count leaned back and stretched his doughy arms.
"She is good," the Baron said. He tore a piece of bread and ate it. "Tight. Even after the first round."
"We are not done," the Count said. He drank deeply. The wine ran down his chin. "The night is young. I have another tincture."
He reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a small vial. He drank it. The others followed. The tinctures—the aphrodisiac that had kept their cocks hard through the humiliation at the ball, and would keep them hard through the night—burned down their throats. Within minutes, they were stiff again. Thick, purple, dripping. Ready.
The Prince stood. "Again," he said.
They returned to the bed.
Vess lay trembling. Her pussy was swollen beyond recognition. The lips were dark and puffy and leaking a continuous stream of white and red. Her ass was gaped, the ring dark and wet. Her mouth was open, the seed of the Baron still dripping from the corner. Her eyes were half-open, not seeing. She was somewhere deep inside herself, a place where the pain could not reach.
But they pulled her back.
They flipped her. They dragged her to the center of the bed. The Prince gripped her hair and pulled her up to her knees. He pushed her face into the mattress. Her ass was up. Her knees were spread.
"Again," the Prince said.
He entered her pussy. The Count entered her ass. The Lord stood at the side of the bed and forced his cock into her mouth. The Baron stroked himself and waited his turn, watching, pinching her nipples as she was double-penetrated.
PAH PAH PAH PAH PAH—
"AAAAAANGHH~!! HNGHH~!! KYAAANGH~!! HAAAAANGHH~!!"
They fucked her through the night.
They did not stop. They took the tinctures again. And again. They competed with each other. Who could make her scream louder. Who could make her bleed more.
Who could make her gush.
The Lord discovered that if he twisted her nipples while the Prince fucked her ass, she would make a high, keening sound that none of them could replicate.
The Baron discovered that if he slapped her face while the Count was in her mouth, she would grip the Count’s cock with her throat muscles in a way that made the Count come instantly.
They learned her body like a map of conquest.
They fucked her in every position.
On her back, legs spread, one cock in her pussy and one in her mouth. On her stomach, face in the pillow, cock in her ass while her tits were squeezed from beneath. On her side, sandwiched between two bodies, both holes filled simultaneously. They held her wrists. They pulled her hair. They spread her legs so wide her hips ached.
"Look at her," the Prince grunted, his cock slamming her ass. "Look at how she takes it. She is not a soldier. She is a cumrag. A pissrag. A fucktoy."
"Please—" she gasped. Her voice was gone. It was a whisper. "Please— no more— I am— I am broken— I am—"
"Broken?" the Count laughed. He was in her mouth, his pale cock coated in her saliva. "You are not broken. You are just getting started. We have four cocks and all night. You will take every drop. You will carry our seed in your womb. You will remember this every time you walk."
They rested in shifts.
Two would fuck her while two sat in the chairs, eating cold chicken, drinking wine, smoking, watching. Then they would switch. The ones resting would stroke themselves, talking about her body, commenting on how her tits had bruised, how her pussy had darkened, how her ass had learned to accept them.
"She is better than the whores," the Baron said during one rest. He was eating a chicken leg. Grease ran down his chin. "The whores pretend. She does not know how to pretend. She just suffers. It is beautiful."
"She is ours," the Lord said. He was stroking his cock, already hard again. "For the whole night. We paid twenty gold. We will get our worth."