Pillow
I am Min Siyoon. I had labeled myself as such to keep from losing myself. But as more and more things piled up that I didn't want to acknowledge about being Min Siyoon, I decided to call myself Lobelia instead. I am Lobelia Yuris. Since I'm a woman—a woman, not a man—I can do this. So I can endure it. That's what I thought.
I took the man's repulsive cock into my mouth. I told myself that if I just endured this one time, it would be over. But I couldn't.
When the hero told me to lift my hips and get on all fours, my mind went blank for a moment, wondering what kind of position is that? I knew it intellectually, but realizing how humiliating it was made my head go white all over again. It was good that I didn't have to smell that nauseating stench anymore, but fear overtook me instead.
Still, I couldn't refuse. I nodded, murmured my assent, and lowered my body into position. I have to act like a sex slave to survive. That's the only way I'll live. But the terror of not knowing how long I'd have to keep this up came crashing over me.
And then, as if snatching that thought away and swelling it back twofold, something thick as a log forced its way inside me. The pain shooting up my spine brought tears to my eyes.
“Hngh…! Ngh, ah, agh!”
There was no pleasure at all. Other women supposedly got wet and begged for more during foreplay, but since entering this body, I'd never felt anything like that even once. It hurt. It was agony. Pure torment.
As I rasped through my raw throat, lost in the pain, the hero's cock thrust in and out until he finally came. After that, my mind blanked out again—I barely remembered anything, just vaguely realizing I'd been violated once more in a haze.
Lying there blankly on the bed, I dragged my wandering gaze back and forced my body to move. I draped the cloak from the chair over my shoulders and shuffled on trembling legs to the corner of the room.
As I wandered in a daze, the hero suddenly grabbed my left arm, stopping me in place.
“Hey.”
“……Yes.”
“You need to wash up.”
“…Yes.”
I just answered quietly. He dragged me to the inn's communal bath on the first floor in the corner and left me there, stepping outside. Something about how he'd guard the door, so hurry up and wash alone.
The moment I was left by myself, a chill like bugs crawling over my skin made my eyes fly wide. I collapsed to the bathroom floor, rolling in revulsion. Disgusting—what the hell just went in and out of my body? Filthy—what filled me up inside? That nauseating feeling of being embraced by a man hit me harder and clearer as the haze lifted.
I couldn't take it. I flung myself over the drain and tried to vomit it all out. But with nothing in my stomach, I just heaved dryly, my body convulsing without anything coming up.
Please, let me puke. Let me purge this disgust somehow. Can't even that be allowed to me? Please. Ah, ah—right. I need to scrape it out from inside. Scrape out the vile slime crawling through my body.
After several futile attempts, realizing I couldn't vomit, I frantically shifted position and jammed my fingers into my slit. Not for masturbation, but to scoop out the semen—the hole still echoed with the sensation of where he'd probed. I shoved my fingers in.
There was no pleasure. Just filth, sticky and clinging, inflicting more pain. My first memory was rape, the second was rape, the third too—and even digging into my own pussy with my fingers brought no good feelings. The revulsion wouldn't fade.
I scraped and clawed until no more milky fluid came out, finally catching my breath. A suffocating frustration like my insides were bursting threatened to drive me mad.
I tried rationalizing it—I gave my body to survive, I felt nothing so it's fine—but I always sank into despair. If there's no arousal, was it even sex? And offering my body to live? What am I, a whore? This is what it means to live as a sex slave. I'd thought it too lightly. Knowing it all and still doing it doubled the disgust until I couldn't bear it. I dropped to my knees on the floor, hugging my body tight.
I wanted to hide somewhere, anywhere—to run away. I curled up and sobbed.
“Hic, hic… sob sob.”
Tears poured out. After repeating acts so agonizing, humiliating, shameful, and degrading that I wanted to die, self-loathing crept up on me. But I tried to justify it as wanting to live despite facing it all. Of course, the label “gave my body to survive” clung to me, tormenting me further.
Memories of the bed flooded back. Bed, bed, bed, bed. That damn bed again. I couldn't understand why it always happened there, and the revulsion made me claw at my hair. My head throbbed, so I rolled on the floor to ease it.
As I thrashed about, the hero's voice came from outside the bathroom door.
“What's going on in there?”
“N-nothing.”
I hurriedly brushed it off and splashed water over myself quickly. Warm water or cold—it didn't matter; the foul feeling wouldn't budge.
When I emerged, I trailed behind the hero with hollow eyes. After he washed up too, we went to the dining hall, but I wasn't in any state to eat. I just returned to the room starving.
Time passed like that. My mind was a mess. No chance to get used to being raped. I told myself this time it was consensual, but with no real choice, I couldn't accept it any more than before.
Feeling bugs crawling all over my body, I sat blankly in the corner as time dragged on until sunset, moonlight seeping through the window.
“We're leaving at dawn tomorrow.”
“……Tomorrow?”
“Yeah, so get up.”
That meant he wouldn't abandon me. But why wasn't I happy? Shouldn't I be grateful, jumping for joy that he wasn't ditching me? So why this emptiness?
Maybe because right now, it just meant I'd have to keep offering my body to him to avoid being thrown away. I didn't know.
“Thank you.”
“What're you thanking me for?”
Putting into words my gratitude for not abandoning me earned a scoff as he started packing. Watching him, my heart grew heavier. I'd thought hearing he wouldn't leave would make me thrilled, bring tears of relief—but no.
Is this the right way to live? I have no idea. I don't even know why I know nothing.
*
The early morning air was refreshingly crisp. Roused by the hero's call as soon as I woke, I stepped outside into the bustle of adventurers already up and about in this not-so-quiet neighborhood. It wasn't that surprising—reminiscent of piling into a van at dawn for a construction site. But seeing these fantasy adventurers hustling about felt surreal, grounding me in the reality of this world I now lived in.
In the chaos, we boarded the carriage he'd arranged and set off without a word between us. Neither of us had anything to say, probably. Now that he knew I was useless, no point in chatting me up. Why bother asking when he knew I couldn't answer anyway. And ours wasn't the kind of relationship for small talk.
The days that followed were uneventful. Carriage life: riding by day, camping at night. He needed proper sleep, so night watch fell to me naturally, and I snatched rest in the jolting carriage. A week of that left me exhausted, sleep-deprived.
So tired. It hurts so much. No real sleep in the rattling carriage. Cars glide smoothly on paved asphalt unless hitting bumps, but here? Wooden wheels over unpaved, dusty dirt littered with rocks—my ass ached constantly, let alone sleep.
When we finally reached Bellante, the city closest to the Demon Realm and its black soil, I staggered after the hero. People murmured at my sight, but trailing him like an advertised slave kept anyone from complaining. A relief.
Following him, he booked a nearby inn. I got why they stopped in villages after travel—to rest. And it hit me how precious highways were.
After dropping his bag in the room, I collapsed into the corner the moment we arrived. The constant jolting must've caused motion sickness I hadn't felt before. Clutching my churning stomach and gasping, the hero glanced at me mockingly and rummaged through his bag.
“Hey.”
“……Yes?”
Just let me sleep. Couldn't sleep in the carriage, stuck me on night watch, and now won't even let me rest here? Unspoken resentment bubbled up, though my mouth still answered promptly. Pathetic.
“We're resting a bit today, then heading straight to the Demon Realm. Know anything?”
“Uh, um……”
What could I say to that? Nothing came to mind. But flat-out saying no seemed half-hearted, so I hemmed and hawed, pretending to think. I glanced at him nervously.
I'd sworn to prove my worth as a sex slave to stay by his side, but I couldn't. I'd realized it right after that act before leaving. And today marked a week since. If anything had built up, he'd grab me like a beggar and fuck me again. I wanted to avoid that.
A week without being raped had made the trip truly pleasant, jolts and sleep deprivation aside. Anyway, if I helped here, maybe no call tonight. I racked my brain, recalling what I'd seen crossing the Demon Realm with Kudbeka.
“There are few magic beasts…”
“Again?”
Again? All I'd seen in the Demon Realm was the Demon King's Castle and the magic beast we'd ridden here.
“I-I don't really know. I rode a magic beast here, so I didn't look around much…”
“Rode what…?”
Why's he staring like that? Terrifying. But his reaction suggested it was important info—maybe my chance to prove useful. Steeling myself, I spoke.
“A-a wolf-like magic beast.”
And for that, a pillow flew at my face. Soft as it was, thrown by the hero, it stung enough to bring tears.
“Ngh,” I groaned, and he spat in irritation.
“Why didn't you say that first!”
You didn't ask, asshole.