The Merchandise Must Be Without a Scratch
Screeech.
The heavy iron door that had been firmly shut swung open.
The sharp click of heels stabbing into the stone floor.
Clack. Clack.
I knew who it was just from the sound. The woman who despised me with every fiber of her being. Empress Irene.
"It's finally time."
She stepped into the dark underground dungeon. The stench of sewage that had permeated the warehouse was suddenly overwhelmed by the pungent aroma of her perfume. The mix of the finest and the foulest was utterly revolting. I gagged.
"Saintess. Have you been resting well?"
Irene's voice dripped with undisguised delight, like someone whose long-cherished wish had come true. Her joy meant the completion of my most horrific hell.
"Today is the day at last. Time for you to get to work, you bitch."
The brothel.
That nightmare of a pleasure house they'd been building in the garbage dump had finally opened.
"Hic... hngh..."
Tears fell. The moment had arrived.
My heart pounded wildly. Terror made my body tremble like a leaf in the wind. I rattled my chains as I backed away, but my back hit the wall—there was nowhere to flee.
"You know you're no longer the Saintess. Accept it gracefully. It'll be better for your mental health."
Irene crouched down in front of me. Her cold gaze raked over my naked body.
Flesh burst open by the whip. My face crusted with dried soldier cum and soup. And my lower half, grotesquely stitched back together after the beast's violation. Anyone would see it as a horrifying sight.
"Your body's a mess."
Irene reached out.
A brilliant green light poured from her fingertips. Healing magic.
"Ah... ah."
The light enveloped my body. Warmth.
And then the excruciating itch that followed.
"Agh! Urgh!"
The wounds began healing in real time. The gashes on my back and ass from the whip filled out rapidly. Plop, plop. The scabs that had crusted over fell to the floor in clumps.
"Ah... it itches."
The rapid regeneration made my whole body itch like mad.
I wanted to scratch. But with my hands and feet bound, I couldn't. "It itches... it itches! Ah... aahh!!"
Clank! Clang! My body twisted unnaturally. "Hee hee, good. You'll have to show that to the customers later?" Irene watched with glee.
The itch subsided quickly. My skin, once covered in wounds, gradually returned to its former state.
"Why... why are you healing me?"
I asked in a trembling voice. This woman wouldn't show me mercy. She'd only kept me barely alive to prevent death—why fix my body perfectly without a single scar? Unease flooded me.
Irene confirmed all my wounds were gone and stood up.
"Don't get the wrong idea." Her lips twisted into a smirk.
"From now on, you're merchandise to be sold. We can't sell defective goods to customers who pay for them, can we?"
"Y-you...!"
"Merchandise has to be flawless. That's the only way it'll fetch a proper price."
Merchandise. The word she used for me had fully stripped away my humanity, reducing me to an object.
This wasn't healing. It was just polishing fruit before putting it on display—nothing more.
Despair crushed my chest. The healing magic had erased my physical pain, but it tore my mind to shreds even more.
"Take her."
At Irene's nod, the soldiers behind her approached. The chains binding my limbs were released.
Freedom. But it was only a brief reprieve for the transfer from dungeon to brothel.
**
The soldiers grabbed my arms and dragged me along. We left the underground dungeon and entered another section of the same building.
A wave of steamy heat and soap scent hit me. A bathhouse. The massive communal tub where the brothel women washed before seeing customers... probably.
The soldiers threw me onto the cold tile floor.
"Kyaa!"
Irene looked down at me from above.
"Wash away every last trace of that filthy stench from your body. Perfectly."
Her voice turned icy cold.
"If even a hint of odor comes from you and a customer complains... you know what happens? I'll skin you alive and heal you right back."
Her threat wasn't empty. She was the type to do it. Terrified, I nodded frantically.
"You've got plenty of time, so wash thoroughly."
Irene left with the soldiers. The bathhouse held only the sound of boiling water and me.
"Ahh... aahhh..."
To live a life unable to die, selling my body forever. It was too much.
Whoever brought me here, why? What did I do wrong to deserve this?
Fuck. Kill me. Please. Please just kill me.
If you kill me, I won't do anything. No grudges, no revenge—it'll all melt into death's dark void.
"Hngh... hngh hngh!!"
Sobs wracked me. My cries echoed through the bathhouse.
"Shut the fuck up, bitch! Quiet down!?"
Bang bang bang! The walls shook violently.
"Sorry...! I'm sorry!!"
I hastily stifled my sobs. Right now, I was just a frail woman who could only tremble at the threat of violence. Powerless.
"Wash... wash it all away."
With shaking hands, I scooped up water. The warm liquid touched my skin.
"Ha... haa..."
How long had it been since I'd felt warmth? But even this felt like the last meal of a condemned prisoner.
I grabbed a soft brush, lathered it with soap, and scrubbed my body furiously.
Scrub scrub.
I rubbed until my skin turned beet red.
Grime, blood, filth—all swirled down the drain in dirty spirals.
I had to erase the smell. Any trace, and my skin would be peeled off.
"No. No. No. No."
To survive, I was turning myself into merchandise. As I washed, my gaze drifted downward.
My body. Irene's healing magic had been too perfect. Skin shredded by the whip was now smooth and porcelain-pale.
The touch of my fingertips felt alien—impossibly soft. No trace remained of my grueling underground ordeal.
Slowly, I moved my hand toward my pussy.
Smooth. Hairless outer labia. And the inner folds within.
Not like Frankenstein's patchwork. Perfectly normal. No—more beautiful than before.
"...That bitch. She could fix it like this all along."
The place torn and crushed by the beast's massive cock. The grotesque scars from the magic's backlash. Even those horrors were gone.
Like a virgin's that had never taken a man. Pristine, smooth, delicate—back to its original form.
"Fuck... fucking bitch..."
Tears poured out. I should be happy to see my healed body, but I couldn't.
This perfect restoration wasn't for me. It was preparation for the men who would rape me from now on.
Irene had set it up deliberately pristine, so customers could feel like they were unwrapping fresh packaging. Soon, unknown men's filthy cocks would thrust into this clean, soft flesh.
Dozens. No, thousands over a lifetime.
This fragile skin, once torn by the beast, would be ripped and defiled again.
"Hahk...!"
Shame and fear choked me. I sank into the warm bathwater, hugging my knees.
To sell my body to men... to spread my legs for anyone who pays...
"Kill me... please... someone... please..."
Hic. Hngk. Only my muffled sobs echoed softly in the bathhouse.
**
When I finished washing and emerged, maids were waiting. The moment I saw the clothes in their hands, I doubted my eyes.
Saintess robes. The sacred, noble white embroidered with gold thread that I'd worn in the theocracy.
But the design was grotesquely altered. This wasn't clothing.
It was a cheap costume mimicking the Saintess's shell.
The high collar that had reached my neck was gone.
The maids forced the outfit onto me without my consent.
My nipples poked right through, exposed. Every time I stifled a sob, the bells dangling from my breasts jingled.
The chimes amplified my humiliation.
There was no skirt at all. A leotard even more extreme than a swimsuit—deep-cut high-leg style.
My hips and ass were fully bare, and the front was just a narrow strip barely covering my privates.
A fallen Saintess. Ultimate vulgarity disguised as holiness. This was the uniform Irene had chosen for me tonight.
"Walk."
Once dressed, a soldier shoved my back roughly.
Stairs. Stone steps leading to the surface.
My bare feet touched the cold corridor floor. The shame was worse than being fully naked—I wanted to cover my breasts and crotch with my arms, but I couldn't. My hands were cuffed.
They'd made even that impossible.
As we passed down the corridor, my heartbeat quickened. Muffled voices grew louder from somewhere.
That was the brothel's main hall.