#2-5 The Saintess Trapped in a Trap (Amy - Joyful Slave Masturbation♥) (2)
As expected, nothing happened during the patrol. No idiot murderer popped out thinking this was his chance, and no new killings occurred in places out of Sharon's sight.
From the pattern so far, the incidents happened roughly every five or six days. So a new victim might still be a bit premature.
In the end, the day's patrol wrapped up without any gains. Utterly uneventful. Perfectly ordinary.
They dispersed just like that.
..................
...........
......
Amy Mera was, above all, an ordinary housewife. By day, she helped her husband with the laundry shop; by night, she comforted and supported him after his exhausting "business." The picture of an ideal wife.
The work at the laundry was sometimes grueling but rewarding, and the income was surprisingly good—more than enough for their needs. Thanks to her husband's regular large donations to the church, Amy herself enjoyed considerable respect from many people.
Berea was a theocracy where the church's authority was everything, so those who gave generously to the church naturally received respect in turn.
Of course, Amy didn't particularly enjoy that kind of attention. She simply served the goddess faith with pure devotion.
All in all, she was content with her life. Sure, her husband was so busy with his "business" that they barely saw each other despite being married, and they hadn't had a child yet—but they'd talked it over and accepted it. No big deal.
Once his "business" picked up and he had more free time, they'd make a child then. She'd raise that child to know the goddess's greatness, building a family that brought glory to Her. That was Amy's dream.
Hmm... Lately, though, something feels...
Amy sensed a faint dissatisfaction creeping into her marriage. And who could blame her? Her husband had suddenly left on a trip without a word one day.
Even worse, he'd left behind a potential sponsor deliberating whether to fund his "business," dumping the persuasion on her.
Of course, Amy supported her husband's "business" and thought it noble. She didn't know the details, but it was about helping the needy, right? If she could help, she'd do her utmost.
But it had dragged on for over ten days now. Even Amy was starting to tire.
"Sharon the saintess seems way purer than the rumors say. Bet she hasn't even touched a guy."
"Totally. She calls herself a 'delinquent saintess,' but a saintess is a saintess. Deep down, she's just endlessly kind."
"Still a virgin, right?"
"She reeks of virgin."
In the living room—now practically the sponsor's private domain—the man and his attendant chatted amiably.
...Wait, are they talking about the saintess?
If so, that was serious blasphemy. Heart pounding, Amy set down the prepared tea and drinks anyway.
"Thanks, Amy."
Calling her by the now-familiar casual name, the sponsor's hand kneaded her ass. Amy flushed with embarrassment but didn't push it away. She stood there quietly until he was satisfied.
"Oh, but now she's overheard us."
"...N-no way... Were you really talking about the saintess? Like her being a virgin...?"
"Gaon sir, this woman's heard everything."
"Yeah, she really did."
Amy felt an inexplicable unease, a sinister vibe. But with his hand still groping her, she couldn't escape.
And then Gaon met her eyes. His usually black eyes glowed red.
Ah... Those eyes again.
Staring into them makes my head go blank...
"Now, forget it all, Amy."
"......."
The recent conversation vanished cleanly from Amy's memory. No trace of their blasphemous talk about the saintess remained.
Moreover, a faint click echoed in her mind, and her expression shifted. From the innocent young wife to a lustful slave bitch.
Over the past two weeks living here, Gaon had crafted this slave persona to his exact tastes. He alternated between her normal self and this one, depending on his daily mood.
"You shouldn't eavesdrop on people's talks like that, Amy."
"You're right. I mustn't eavesdrop on Master's words without permission. I'm sorry, Master."
"For punishment, strip naked right there and masturbate. Don't stop till you've cum ten times."
"Yes...! I'll obey Master's command...!"
Amy flung off her clothes in a flash, squatting on the table before him as ordered and starting to touch herself. A married woman shamelessly exposing her pussy.
The current Amy was a loyal slave who took joy in anything for her Master Gaon. She could even trigger physiological responses on command. Cum if ordered; hold back no matter what if told not to.
She'd hesitantly spread her ass or piss herself without a second thought. A perfect flesh-form slave.
Her original persona remained blissfully unaware.
What face would the pure housewife make if she learned her body had been trained like this behind her back? Not that she'd ever find out.
Gaon and Heart savored drinks, using the young wife's masturbation as their appetizer.
. . .
Saintess Lemon had lately been fielding odd consultations. From priestesses in the church, one after another with the same issue.
They're all such devout people...
The common thread? In Lemon's eyes, they were paragons of faith—purer than most, deeply respected.
And their problem? Wet dreams.
Lately, when they slept, they'd have lewd dreams. Not occasionally, but every three days, two days... some even nightly.
An ordinary person might shrug it off, but these were devout goddess followers. Already meticulous, they wore gloomy faces like they'd committed mortal sin over mere dreams.
A few even approached Lemon directly for advice. Too innocent to broach the topic easily, it seemed.
-No need to worry so much.
-The goddess rebukes only wicked lust, not all sexual acts.
-Otherwise, procreation would be impossible.
As a saintess, Lemon did her best to reassure them. It wasn't shameful. Don't overthink it. Young and full of vigor—they couldn't help such dreams or urges. Not everyone could be a saint.
They left relieved. Lemon felt a swell of pride at fulfilling her duty.
But...
Still, a faint unease lingered. Such consultations weren't unheard of before, but this many in just days? Over ten?
Just a feeling, though. Strange, but not impossible. And with no clues, even a saintess couldn't piece it together.
"Sister Lemon?"
Lost in thought, Lemon snapped back at the voice. Before her stood her beloved little sister, Noa—perfect timing, with Lemon's favorite dessert in tow.
"You okay? If you're tired, I can head out."
"No, no, I'm fine. Not tired at all."
"...Doesn't look it. Saintess duties must be insane."
"Hehe, it just looks that way. Not really busy."
"No way. I see you swamped every time."
Lemon smiled wryly. Objectively, yes—especially as the lowest saintess, handling overflow from the others.
But it never felt busy. Work for the goddess was fulfilling; time flew in satisfaction. And when weary, moments like this with her dear sister healed her.
"Having you here helps me rest way more. Stay longer? Or is this bothering you?"
"...Well, if you say so, sis."
"Thanks."
Lemon giggled at Noa's shy averted gaze.
Come to think of it, did Noa have such dreams too? The lewd kind the priestesses mentioned.
"Sis?"
Noa tilted her head at Lemon's subtle stare—a familiar orphanage gesture. Childlike, but ever adorable in Lemon's eyes.
Hard to imagine such an innocent soul dreaming dirty. Lemon still remembered Noa asking back then, "How do babies happen?" She'd fumbled an evasion.
She doesn't still believe they come from holding hands with someone you love while sleeping, right?
Lemon had taught her that; Noa had believed it unquestioningly. She'd sulked later when Lemon refused hand-holding at bedtime.
'What if a baby happens!' she'd said.
She was grown now, so probably not—but who knew with such a pure girl? Lemon pondered giving her "the talk" sometime. Even if she herself was a clueless virgin...
Sisters meddled endlessly.