Nightmare of the Wager
"Kyaaah...!"
A scream echoed through the cement building, lit only by the faint glow of a ceiling fixture. His thick palm struck my cheek with enough force to snap my neck. A handprint bloomed red and swollen on my pale skin. My clothes were already torn to shreds, leaving only underwear, exposing the lewd curves of my naked body. And in this space—some warehouse or factory, I couldn't tell—it was just him and me.
I turned my head, scanning the surroundings. But there was nowhere to run. My mind blanked out for a moment. One thing was clear: it hurt. My cheek throbbed like it was splitting open from his blow. As he raised his hand again, I lay sprawled on the floor, trembling in overwhelming terror, pleading with him even though I knew it was pointless.
"Hic... sniff. It h-hurts... no, stop, please stop hitting me..."
"That's what you get for fighting back like an idiot. You should've just obeyed from the start."
As he swung that iron-hard palm once more, I squeezed my eyes shut, curling into a ball and bracing for the pain. Would I just take another hit without resisting? Maybe he'd aim somewhere else this time. There were plenty of spots on my body to strike—cheek, breasts, stomach, ass. No matter where he hit, all I could do was wail and scream. It probably wouldn't help much, but I cried out the instant the blow landed, hoping to dull the agony even a little.
But seconds passed, and no shattering slap came. Instead, I felt my legs seized firmly. I opened my eyes to see what was happening.
"Ah...?"
He gripped my clenched knees and pried them apart with brute force—like he was about to expose my pussy completely. I thrashed wildly, twisting my waist and kicking my legs to evade his grasp, my back scraping against the cold floor. I must've looked like a butterfly trapped in a spiderweb. But it was useless. My wrists were bound in handcuffs. When he yanked the chain, the metal links pulled taut, dragging both my arms helplessly above my head. In an instant, I was flat on my back in a full surrender pose. My shoulders screamed like they might dislocate. With my arms pinned from the start, real resistance was impossible. And now a burning pain flared in my side—he'd been pounding me there with growling fury.
"I said stay still."
"Ack...! Ugh, guh... stop, please stop..."
Pain beyond my limits wracked me; I gagged out choked moans. Seizing the moment my body went limp, he forced my legs open. Once spread like that, clenching them shut again was no easy feat. My vision blurred with tears, but one thing stood out crystal clear: like me, he was naked from the waist down. And between his legs hung that rod, glaringly erect and ready for its purpose.
What was coming next was obvious. I trembled violently, staring at it with pathetic, pleading eyes. Goosebumps crawled over my skin from his touch. He stroked my thighs, my hips, my underarms, that pale smooth flesh. Even fresh bruises from his blows turned purple-black already, and he pressed them hard, savoring my little ah, ah whimpers and twitches.
"No need for foreplay, right? You're a beastkin—good recovery and all."
"Ah... ah..."
He inched slowly between my legs. His cock trailed over my ankle, calf, knee, thigh, stopping right at my entrance. He gazed tenderly at that untouched place. Though already stripped bare, it felt like another layer of my soul was being peeled away—something beyond mere human shame. Finally, he gripped it with one hand and tap, tapped my clit with the tip. A declaration: this was going in deep.
My mind went white. I hadn't consented, but shoving something that thick in dry would surely tear me, draw blood. No anesthetic—just like scissors ripping live flesh.
"Here it goes."
"N-no, don't...! Don't! Please... no, no... ah, no! Hate it...!!!"
Every slight brush against my folds sent chills through me; I shuddered and screamed. And... and... squelch—!
He thrust his hips down, his cock spearing toward my core—
"Nooo...!? H-heuk, heuk, heuk... huuuh."
I screamed, bolting upright. Nothing but my ragged breaths filled the air. I scanned the room, dimly lit by moonlight. My eyes, adjusted to the dark, found no one else in the deep navy space. Just me. My body was drenched in cold sweat. Hair matted and stuck to my neck. Glancing down, I saw my hands clenched white-knuckled on the blanket, shaking uncontrollably.
"Haa, haa, haaa..."
I gasped for air. The soft mattress pressed against my lower body. I was sitting up in bed. No cement walls anywhere. This was my room. So... I'd woken from sleep.
"A d-dream...?"
I mumbled dazedly. Yeah, a dream. Realizing that brought the nightmare rushing back in vivid detail. A nightmare. Tears crusted on my cheeks felt sticky and gross. It wasn't real, just a dream, it won't happen, I told myself, forcing the words out to calm down.
"Aha, haha, a dream... yeah, a dream... hahat, just a dream..."
Silly nervous laughter escaped at the thought of such a nightmare. Its contents lingered sharp. Dreams usually faded fast upon waking, but this one grew clearer with time. In it, Terria had lost the bet to Lucas. Per the terms, I'd been dragged off by Lucas, bound limb by limb after merciless beatings, and woken just as he was about to rape me. Dreams rebuild from experience, so it cut off before penetration—couldn't simulate what I hadn't felt.
Ridiculous. If I'd had sex before, would the nightmare have continued unbroken? What kind of bullshit was that? I shook my head hard to scatter the thoughts.
The bedroom air hung warm, overdone by the heater. Sweat soaked the pillow, my clothes, the blanket. I needed a shower, but my whole body ached like pins stabbing everywhere. Moving was tough. Unconsciously, I touched my cheek—the one Lucas hit in the dream still throbbed. My pussy itched like bugs crawling. Legs, waist, everywhere he'd touched itched madly. I scratched furiously, until blood welled up. Then I changed clothes.
Shower? I eyed the door. Opening it felt like Lucas would be waiting outside. Or the Magic Minister, department heads, all those leering eyes from yesterday. Whispers echoed in my ears like hallucinations. The slaves I'd seen—forehead split against the ashtray, the one sucking cock—murmured from both sides: You're like us, no different, accept it, don't deny.
Couldn't leave the room. I crawled back into bed, hugging the pillow sideways, curling tight. Dawn already, needed sleep, sun far from rising, but no drowsiness came. Instead, my throat clogged.
"Sniff, ugh. Hic... huu..."
I sobbed muffled into the pillow. Hot tears trailed down my cheeks. Wanted to sleep. Might dream again, but still wanted to. Wished for exhaustion deep enough to black out without dreams. So I cried until I collapsed, for what felt like ages.
"All done..."
I held the mop, surveying the spotless lab. Tiles gleamed mirror-bright, not a speck of dust. From dawn till now, cleaning by hand without magic—sweat beaded on my brow from the frail effort, body shivering. Chilly draft from the open window for ventilation stole my warmth. I shut it and headed to the kitchen.
Couldn't sleep after the nightmare. Tossed in bed till sky lightened, then showered, dressed fresh, brewed coffee. Black as usual, but oddly bitter. Added milk and melted caramel—drinkable now. I sat blankly at the table, sipping.
What should I do?
How to stay here longer? Terria allowed remaking the body swap potion. But could I slip it to him? Doubtful. Near impossible. Now I pondered his intentions. Didn't that mean I could escape this body? Not to him, but maybe someone else. Fingered the choker at my nape. Worst was no magic. Without it, things would've been better. At least escape this beastkin body. Human would've been tolerable. Not beastkin, I could've begged any mage—like Dekir—for an assistant spot. But no options now. Stuck till potion done. Lab belonged to Terria, not me. So first, win his favor.
He'd said prove my worth. Mug empty, I mulled specifics—yesterday's female slaves, our dynamic. Imagining vaguely differed from seeing real. Maybe he felt pity like I did. Hoped so. Treating slaves humanely sounded privileged, but better that. Was he even treating me like one? No meals to prep, no full lab scrub, no personal service—what then? Maybe... he wanted me to take initiative? Possible. If testing me, do what he'd like. Even if not, couldn't hurt. He'd like it, not hate it.
He hadn't ordered, but I found work myself.
"Ariel? Lab's spotless. You clean it?"
Terria asked, mildly surprised. Fresh from waking and washing.
"Yeah... seemed kinda dirty..."
"Huh."
I brushed it off casually. Wanted credit, but too embarrassing—he'd done it three years straight. Changed subject.
"Anyway, hungry? Wanna eat?"
He looked puzzled. I knew I couldn't cook, so picked easy stuff. But fearing refusal, I dashed to kitchen without waiting, fetching prepped plates: ham-and-cheese sandwiches, milk. Watched him anxiously.
"You made this?"
"Yeah..."
Skeptical, he picked one up. Staring at my old body, a memory flashed—three, no two days pre-swap? I'd thrown his sandwich on the floor, mocked the mangled bread, crushed him.
Did he remember? Of course. I did; he must. How forget? What was he thinking? Payback? Make me feel that humiliation? Probably. I'd do it. But this was unasked—I chose it. If humiliating me was the plan, he'd done worse already. Still, mine couldn't taste better than his. Tasted plenty while making—ate so much, plate untouched from fullness. Definitely worse. But edible. Decent, right? Not bad at all. Tasty even. My opinion, though. His mattered.
What if he hated it? Tastes vary...
"Not eating?"
I jolted, squeaking in fright. Heart skipped. Curious my plate was untouched—maybe thought maker skips 'cause it's bad.
"Y-yeah, gotta eat..."
Faked delight, bit in. Not bad, but acted like heaven. He eyed my show, already half-gone. What was I doing? Forced casual, twirled hair.
"Taste okay...?"
"Yeah, fine."
"Hehe..."
Not faking—he wolfed it fast. I crammed mine down too, despite bursting, choked, gulped milk coughing. Terria eyed empty-ish plate wistfully.
"No more?"
"Huh? Y-yeah! Want more...?"
He nodded. Starved, apparently. Overthought it. His three-year diet wasn't gourmet. Build stay chances bit by bit like this. Should've started sooner, knowing he'd like it. Off to kitchen I went.