A Succubus is "Suck-You-Bus," So She's Gotta Be Good at It
Even though the Pope's dick had flown off somewhere after he shoved it into something, my ordeal was far from over. As people murmured in confusion, unable to grasp what had just happened, the Pope pointed at me and screamed.
"Lock up that demon's minion and the heretics defending her right now, Sister Laila!"
"Your Holiness, this priestess healed even you when you were trying to condemn her. Is she really a harlot?"
"Argh! Didn't I call her a heretic? She healed me to deceive you all after part of my body flew off!"
"Doesn't seem like it..."
"Aren't you mistaken, Your Holiness? Even after such brutal torture, her bearing remains dignified... It's heartbreaking to see her shivering half-naked in this weather."
The caressing hands that had been tormenting me had vanished, leaving my body rapidly cooling and trembling from the chill. Yet the crowd interpreted even that in a positive light. My priestess robes, torn to shreds and barely covering my privates, offered no protection against the cold air—I was just shivering—but they saw it as noble somehow. It was baffling.
"You've all fallen for the harlot's wiles in the end! What are you waiting for? Come in here and seize them all!"
In the end, the Pope bellowed at the top of his lungs. Public opinion was on my side, but power belonged to the Pope. Heavily armored paladins burst in from beyond the wall where the patients had entered, while more paladins and priests blocked the door Hamill and I had come through, leaving no escape. Hamill showed no will to resist, just stood there with his arms crossed.
"W-We haven't done anything wrong!"
"We were just briefly bewitched by that lewd woman!"
"I didn't even touch that slut, and now I'm getting arrested? This is unfair!"
On the other hand, the moment spears and swords were pointed at them, the people turned their backs on me in an instant. Of course they did—who would side with me when their lives were at stake? It was Hamill who was strange for steadfastly labeling me a saintess.
My body, exhausted from countless orgasms, couldn't even move. All I could do was kneel with my head bowed. But thanks to my somewhat steadied breathing and the utter fatigue that left me incapable of further arousal, I could view the situation objectively. The Pope would use the temple's paladins to imprison me and these people, brand us heretics, and erase the evidence. But I possessed no exceptional strength or wisdom. Just an ordinary citizen—there was no way I could think of a way out of this. No matter how calmly I analyzed it, no sudden burst of intelligence would gift me a clever scheme.
What if I weren't max level? If I'd dramatically leveled up and invested stats, would things be different? Or if I could convince Hamill to resist? Seeing him get dragged away without a fight dashed those hopes. I couldn't fathom what thoughts lurked behind that expressionless face.
As people prostrated themselves before the armed paladins or begged for mercy—only to be kicked mercilessly—I watched blankly and spoke in a trembling voice.
"I-I'm not a saintess. There must be some misunderstanding."
This wasn't sacrifice for their sake. But if they were going to dispose of us anyway, creating this image might be my best bet. I knew nothing of politics or combat. So at the very least, I had to sway hearts. That was the lifeline I'd found.
"I'm just an ordinary priestess. I know nothing about being a saintess or a harlot. But please don't let others suffer because of what I did. Just take me—that should be enough, right...?"
They say a woman's tears are a weapon without need for logic. There was genuine injustice fueling my resentment, so making the tears flow wasn't hard. Once they started, sorrow overwhelmed me, and I began to sob. Honestly, what had I done wrong? Reviving the dead? Healing the sick? I'd only done things anyone could see as harmless.
I felt the paladins falter, but they carried out the Pope's orders regardless. The Pope, thinking things were going his way, cackled.
"Finally showing her true colors. Throw this bitch in the dungeon and don't give her a drop of water. I won't overlook the crime of impersonating a saintess and toying with people. Purify those deluded by her and send them home."
The paladins released the civilians the Pope had gathered and swarmed me instead. Each one was massive, their presence intimidating, but whatever I felt wouldn't change my fate. I'd be dragged away, become the Pope's plaything, then executed... Thanks to the holy relic, my pussy wouldn't be violated, but everywhere else... As every imaginable torture a woman could endure flashed through my mind, the blood drained from my face. Ignorance might have been better. Some scenes from those videos were brutally rough. They should disgust me, but my body reacted oppositely, as if teasing, Really? You're looking forward to it! At least my cheeks only faintly burned, the heat from my arousal spent.
"Guh—ck!"
Two paladins grabbed me by the armpits and yanked me up. The pain of my weight straining my wrists and neck made my legs kick futilely, but the two—taller than me—held me at their height without lowering me. My ankles were still bound to my thighs, so walking would mean shuffling on my knees anyway. That's probably why they just carried me like luggage.
"Kkh—guh..."
My jaw and neck compressed against the chains, choking off my breath. Were they planning to strangle me to death? But as befitting paladins, when I neared unconsciousness, one cast a recovery spell. Oxygen flooded my brain, my body restored—only for the choking pain to slam back into my awareness. Despite the dulled pain, the terror of potentially dying any moment made my legs flail, but the bindings on my thighs and knees held firm. Their height made it effortless. They'd heal me just as I blacked out, slap my cheek if I groaned in agony, punch my gut if I struggled too much—as they dragged me to the prison. Jostled like baggage without reprieve, I couldn't track our location. Slammed carelessly to the floor with chains still on, my knees, elbows, and the chains crashing against my neck and wrists left me breathless in agony—but I barely managed to recite a prayer, healing myself.
Next came Purify. My skin was still slick with that aphrodisiac oil, its lingering heat tempting. Not wanting more pleasure, I cleansed myself and surveyed my surroundings. The paladins, recognizing my prayers as recovery and purification, ignored me and stood guard. The cell, barred on all sides, sat in the center of the room. No privacy— they monitored me from every angle, no blind spots. And by now, it didn't even embarrass me. After being violated in front of crowds, I must look like a demon-allied whore to them.
The cell held no furniture. No bed, desk, not even a toilet. Even in Daesik's guild back when it was a criminal outfit, the basement prison had a sewer trough along the wall for that. This was a religious building—yet nothing.
"Excuse me... is there a toilet...?"
Swallowing shame, I asked. A cold reply came from a paladin whose helmet hid her face—a woman's voice, surprisingly.
"Shit on the floor."
"Pardon?"
"We'll clean it up, so shit on the floor."
Designed to maximize prisoner humiliation. I got it without explanation. Luckily, I'd sweated out most fluids, and with no water forthcoming, no urgent need. For solids... ever since the tentacle panties, that seemed handled. Their plan to shame me would hit a snag. Still, their malice stung, and I bowed my head. The panties draped to my knees from the dragging. Realizing too late, I flushed and tried to close my legs to cover myself. But with knees bound, I couldn't manage the position.
"Keep squirming, and we'll deem you summoning demons and chop off your limbs. As you said, sever and heal them—they'll stay gone."
Irritated by my wriggling, one paladin warned coldly. I mumbled an excuse in a tiny voice.
"My legs are numb..."
"We'll allow lying down."
As if granting a favor, I hesitated, then slowly lay back. The floor's chill pierced my bones, heartbreaking, but my exhausted body found even that comfortable, sleep crashing over me. Chains arched my neck back, but it eased the choking, so I closed my eyes. Worrying or grieving wouldn't change a thing.
I don't know how long I slept. Cold permeated my body, armored paladins watching from all sides. Trembling, I tried to rise but gave up. Yesterday's abuse left severe muscle pain, and sleeping in the cold brought a fever. Habitual Purify banished the illness, but the chill lingered. Lying bound amid unknown watchers stripped away my last shred of human dignity. Sudden grief surged. My clearer head upon waking grasped my plight and screamed injustice. Even amid the haze of repeated climaxes, my mind had felt wronged—now, with no fault of mine, why this? My heart agreed, tears bursting forth.
The paladins showed no pity for a bound, rag-clad, stocking-only woman suddenly sobbing on the floor. They just watched, their only sounds the periodic shift changes—some leaving, others taking positions. Otherwise, only reprimands if I curled or twisted against the cold: "No funny business." That woman's voice never shifted—maybe she hadn't rotated, or rested while I slept. Exhaustion dried my tears; I just blinked sore eyes. Then, distant heels clicked. From a blind spot I couldn't turn to see, I rolled my eyes that way. A latex nun's habit woman gestured; paladins opened a barred door. She entered, squatting by my head. Her short skirt hiked up, revealing her bare pussy—I averted my eyes hastily.
"Hehe, we had fun yesterday, didn't we, beautiful saintess? Don't be shy."
"I'm not a saintess. Just an ordinary priestess..."
My cracked voice replied weakly; Laila stroked my hair and asked.
"What do you think a saintess is? A woman chosen by God? One overflowing with holy power? Exceptional healer?"
"...I don't know."
"Originally, 'saintess' honors great women who sacrificed for others—nuns, priestesses, even lay believers..."
"..."
Why spout this now? I'd pegged her as the Pope's lackey; her cackling at his misfortune flashed vividly. Wary, I eyed her anxiously. Smirking slyly, she unbound my chains and said.
"These days, the meaning's faded, but it's still a title of respect. 'Holy woman.' Yet you begged to free others, knowing your fate— even renouncing the name."
"Because I was never a saintess to begin with. They called me one just for one resurrection, then persecuted me... I never wanted that embarrassing nickname."
"But you let it slide. The perks must've been sweet."
I hadn't sought it, but I couldn't deny. Embarrassed inwardly, the conveniences of the title were handy. Early on, I'd protested to Iris and Hamill, but they insisted; letting it be might've been the real reason. But as an adult, I owned my actions.
"...My fault, mostly."
"No need for that. You showed true saintess-like sacrifice. Before capture, your display stirred fun reactions among paladins and faithful alike. Hehe. Premature Pope was hilarious in his rage."
What was her goal? Her gentle smiles softened me, but smiles hid daggers—I stayed guarded.
"Pity your fate, saintess. No one appreciates your sacrifice. That monk who believed in you? Locked up too. If the Pope executes you, he won't survive... The world will call you a lewd deceiver."
Laila mentioned execution. Death terrified me. This life wasn't fully mine—I felt responsible; dying here might prevent return. I'd resigned, accepted fate, stayed passive even knowing Hamill's capture. But her bringing it up meant a deal. Feigning fear easily—I'm a coward—I asked in a quivering voice.
"B-Brother Hamill too...?"
"Ahaha. Indifferent to his own life, yet reacting to others'? So entertaining. Truly saintess material. But can you endure others dying for you?"
She'd unbound my legs; thinking freedom, I rubbed sore wrists and neck—bruises bloomed. But Laila gently took my hands, placed them on my thighs, and rebound them: right to right, left to left. Ominous—she had plans for or from me. I asked.
"What do you want from me?"
"I can save you both. But it needs a price. I'm a succubus—I don't work free."
"Why would the Pope ally with a succubus...?"
Succubi were demons, dream-eaters antithetical to religion. Games and novels depict them as female incubi, draining essence via sex or dreams. Yet paladins reacted not. They'd heard.
"Hehe, they know. Pope's power-mad. They might even see you as the real saintess. But family ties bind—can't easily abandon the fold."
"..."
Noticing my glance around, Laila boasted proudly; I flinched. Cupping my head, she murmured sweetly.
"Relax. I don't brainwash or corrupt by force. I'd love you to fall willingly, though. So, saintess—want to save the captured monk? Kiss my pussy. I'll spare your life too."
She hiked her skirt. Bare pussy exposed, some paladins looked away, others coughed but watched. No choice. I didn't want to die—I bowed my head. Laila stood legs spread before me; I knelt. For "consideration," she matched her pussy to my mouth height. Well-groomed—no stench, just musky fishiness. Deep breath, I pressed my lips to it.
Laila giggled.
"Good, but don't just kiss—work that tongue!"
Of course lips alone wouldn't do. She grabbed my head, shoving my face in—nose buried in pubes. Following her words, I licked the slit, flicked the clit; she moaned in ecstasy.
"Ahh, virgin saintess for real? Holy relic and all, yet this tongue skill... Were you secretly munching pussy 'cause you couldn't fuck men?"
Her words hit home—I shuddered. Pre-possession, I was male with female experience; skills emerged naturally. She saw through it. Answering would breed suspicion, so I silently lavished her folds. Slurp, smack. Minimal stimulation sans tools or penetration, but cunnilingus and fellatio thrive on mental satisfaction over raw sensation.
"Haa. No good. Saintess, wanna fall as a succubus? I'd cherish you. Such innate talent—wasting it is criminal."
Releasing my head, pulling my face from her pussy, she leaned back and asked. In this spot, the tempting question stalled me. Laila watched expectantly.