The Baron and the Count moved to her sides.
They knelt beside her. They lifted her upper body. They pressed their cocks against her tits. The bruised, heavy breasts were pushed together. The Baron slid his cock between them. The Count did the same from the other side. Two cocks. One tit each. They fucked her tits while the Prince fucked her cunt.
"Look at her," the Lord said. He was kneeling at her head, stroking himself, watching. "Look at the bitch. A cock in her cunt. Two cocks on her tits. She is a fuck-sleeve. A meat-toy. A nothing."
"Please—" she sobbed. Her face was lifted from the pillow by the position. Tears ran down her cheeks. Snot bubbled from her nose. "Please— I cannot— I am coughing— I cannot breathe—"
The Baron gripped her throat.
He squeezed. Not hard enough to choke. Just enough to control. "Then cough. Cough on my cock. Cry on it. Your tears make it slicker. Your snot makes it better."
PAH PAH PAH—
"AAAAAANGHH~!! HNGHH~!! COUGH— COUGH— HAAAAANGHH~!!"
The Lord stood up.
He moved to her face. He gripped her jaw. He pushed his cock into her mouth. Now she was filled completely. Cunt. Tits. Mouth. All occupied. The four men moved in a brutal, synchronized rhythm.
"Take it," the Prince grunted. "Take it, you cheap, laughing, sword-carrying whore. Take the final load. Take the seed of the men you mocked. You are nothing. You are a hole. You are a drain. You are a pig."
"MMMPH~!! GLK~!! NGH~!! COUGH~!! HNGHH~!!"
The room was filled with the sound.
The wet, relentless slap of flesh. The gagging. The coughing. The sobbing. The groaning of the bed. The heavy breathing of four fat men using one broken woman for the final time.
They came.
The Prince unleashed into her womb. The Baron and Count painted her tits and neck. The Lord poured down her throat. The load was massive. The final, accumulated seed of six hours of drugged, vengeful rutting. It filled her completely. It overflowed. It ran from every hole.
They collapsed.
The four men fell onto the bed. They lay around her. Their cocks were finally, truly spent. Red. Raw. Dripping. Their bellies heaved. Their chests rose and fell.
She lay between them.
On her hands and knees. Her face in the pillow. Her body was shaking. Her cunt was gaping. Her womb was full. Her ass was destroyed. Her tits were covered in white. Her throat was raw. She was no longer a warrior. She was no longer a person. She was a vessel. A wet, warm, ruined thing.
The room was silent.
The morning light was bright now. The curtains were thin. The sun cut through the dust and the steam and the smell.
Through a small door in the corner of the chamber—a servant’s entrance, a passage used for discreet cleaning—a pair of eyes watched.
A girl.
Young. No more than twelve. Her hair was the same dark color as the mercenary’s. Her face was pale. Her hands were pressed over her mouth. Her eyes were wide and streaming and full of a horror that was too large for her small face.
She had come looking for her sister.
She had heard the rumors. The mercenary. The twenty gold. She had come to the manor in the morning. She had found the passage. She had seen the door ajar. She had looked through.
She saw her sister.
On her hands and knees. Surrounded by four naked, fat, sweating men. Covered in white. Gaping. Trembling. Broken.
The girl’s hands shook.
A sound escaped her. Small. Strangled. Covered by her palms.
"S..."
She could not say it. Her throat closed. Her body shook.
"S... sister...?"
She backed away.
The door clicked.
The Prince’s head turned.
But the girl was already running. Down the passage. Into the morning. Into a world that had just become something she could never unsee.
The mercenary on the bed did not hear.
She only trembled.
And the four men slowly gathered as the gathering was over. As they moved out, the prince ordered, "Throw some coins at this bitch if she opens her mouth or simply kill her."
"S—SISTER—!?!"
Lena’s eyes snapped open.
The water was warm. Too warm. Her lungs hitched. She gasped. A sound tore from her throat—high, wet, confused. She was in a bathtub. Stone. Old. The water came to her chest. The night sky was visible above, open and full of stars. She tried to move. She couldn’t.
Her clit was pinched.
Raven’s fingers gripped the swollen nub between his thumb and forefinger. He rolled it. He tugged. He squeezed with the casual, merciless expertise of a man who had been playing with her body while she slept. The sensation was electric and cruel. Her hips bucked. She splashed. Her hands went to his wrist but her arms were weak.
"Ah—! Ah—! What—" she gasped. "What are you—"
Juices gushed from her pussy.
It was involuntary. A thick, warm spurt of clear fluid that clouded the bath water around her hips. Her body had been primed. The deflowering had rewired her nerves. Even in sleep, her cunt had been ready for him. The pinch sent a shock through her womb. Her toes curled against the stone basin.
She looked down.
His hand was between her legs. Two fingers mercilessly working her clit. The nub was red. Swollen. Over-sensitized. Every roll of his fingers made her jerk. Every squeeze made her gush. The water was turning into a soup of her own arousal and the remnants of his earlier seed.
Memories surfaced.
Not memories of the pond. Not memories of tonight. Something older. Something buried.
A door. A keyhole. A young girl’s eye pressed to wood. Darkness. Sounds. Wet sounds. Flesh sounds. A woman’s voice—familiar—screaming. Begging. The same voice that had slapped her yesterday. The same voice that commanded her. Vess. Her sister. Younger. On a bed. Surrounded by shapes. Fat shapes. Hair shapes. Moving. Slamming.
Lena’s breath stopped.
She remembered.
She remembered seeing it. She had been a child. She had pressed her eye to the door. She had seen her sister being used. She had seen the cocks. She had seen the white fluid. She had seen the tears. She had never spoken of it. She had buried it so deep that she had convinced herself it was a nightmare.
But now it was back.
Because the same thing was happening to her.
"No," she whispered. Her voice was shaking. "No. No. It is wrong. What you did to me— what you are doing— it is wrong. You took me like— like those men took her—"
Raven moved.
He lifted his free hand. He pressed two fingers against her lips. He sealed them. Not roughly. Just enough to stop the words. He leaned close. His face was wet with steam. His eyes were dark and warm and absolutely without mercy.
"Now you know," he said. His voice was low. Intimate. "Now you know how your sister became a woman. How she became strong. How she became the commander who orders you around and treats you like a child. She was broken by men. Fucked by nobles. Used until she became steel. And now you are steel too."
Lena’s eyes streamed.
She tried to shake her head. His fingers pressed harder against her lips. He leaned closer. His mouth found her ear.
"Do you want to become as strong as her?" he breathed.