Living Onahole for the Holy Knight Zombie Horde
The holy knight-priest combo was a total zombie squad. They treated me like a living onahole, dumping dozens of loads onto my breasts and hands. The male holy knights grabbed my tits on their own, wedging their cocks between them and thrusting away. They gripped both my hands in theirs and jerked off with them, or bucked their hips to splatter thick white semen across my thighs and stockings. It disgusted me so much that when the others were distracted ravaging my body, I tried chanting a purification spell. But Laila straight-up stripped off my panties and stuffed them in my mouth. Then she sealed my lips airtight with her palm, not even letting a breath escape. One hand was enough to tease my lower mouth, after all. I came so easily from just two fingers—proof I really did have a pathetic pussy.
The holy knights who came in rotations at first looked flustered watching the others use me, but under Laila's lead, they joined in once they saw me getting fucked. They took turns spraying their cum all over me until my entire body was drenched in it. The slick, nasty mucus didn't reek—apparently these self-proclaimed holy men kept it pure, no impurities mixed in—but to me, a former guy, it just felt filthy. The fact that this familiar smell now struck my body as arousing made my stomach churn even more.
I'd pass out from cumming so many times, only to wake up with a fresh holy knight using my body as his jerk-off toy. New loads coated me before the old ones could even dry. My clit should've gone numb from the relentless stimulation by then, but Laila never let up, fingering me until I lost count of my orgasms.
"It's rare to find a pussy this sensitive. Has the saintess never even masturbated?"
I'd jerked off plenty as a guy—enough that I could count the days on one hand if I tried—but no way was I admitting that now. My face burned at Laila's teasing words, but if she'd wanted an answer, she'd have ungagged me. Instead, she murmured softly, like a whisper.
"How is your pussy still so pretty and pink... and you're not even a succubus. I'm a little jealous. But soak it in cum like this, and it'll corrupt fast. Your god's just watching without intervening—maybe he wants his saintess to fall? Turning succubus isn't even corruption, really. It's just being honest about your lust."
"Guh, shut your mouth, demon!"
One of the holy knights pounding away at me with his dick bellowed, and Laila just sneered at him.
"Thanks to this demon, you're creaming inside a woman you'd never touch otherwise. Show some gratitude instead of bitching."
"Shut up, demon!"
"They say people curse when they got nothing else to say."
"Urk!"
"Hurry up and bust your nut, then. Now, our pretty saintess—you haven't eaten all day, right? No energy left to cum anymore? Look, your body's covered in food."
All day? Had I really been at this that long? Made sense—I had no clue how long I'd blacked out, and with no windows, I couldn't track time anyway. But no matter how starving I was, I wasn't crazy enough to eat cum.
Laila yanked the panties from my mouth, grabbed my hair, and forced my head down. In a sticky, commanding purr, she ordered, "Lick it up and eat, saintess. The cum on those stockings. Semen has enough nutrients to keep sperm alive and swimming, you know? If you don't wanna starve, chow down."
As she brought my face close to the glossy white streaks on my black stockings, the lewd stench hit me hard. Pure semen and precum, hand-smeared by Laila, mixed with my sweat—it was hypnotically musky. Without thinking, I opened my mouth, tongue out... then jolted back to reality at the bitter taste, the sweet aroma, and the rough stocking texture. I spat out the cum and saliva. The mingled scent lingered, making me dry-heave. My empty stomach brought up sour bile.
"Urk..."
"No way I misread you. You're a slut to the bone... so why aren't you breaking?"
Laila clicked her tongue and let go of my hair. My posture crumbled—no strength left in my waist—and I toppled forward, smacking my head on the floor. My exhausted body, battered from endless sexual torture, finally blacked out from the impact.
When I came to, the scenery had changed. My hands were bound behind me, arms gripped by two holy knights dragging me somewhere. I wasn't even walking—my insteps and toes throbbed from scraping the floor. My low-heeled priest shoes were gone; only stockings covered my legs, torn in spots from the Pope's whip and the knights' grinding cocks.
"Ugh..."
I tried pulling my legs to walk, but my overworked body could barely manage. The movement just annoyed one knight. "Would've been easier if you'd stayed passed out."
"S-sorry..."
I apologized quick and bowed my head—no beatings for me. Last time I'd been dragged by the neck, kicks came flying. But surprisingly, he didn't hurt me. He just sounded pitying. "After you passed out, Laila ditched you. Said no hope for more mutation. Tough break. Never deal with demons, and you didn't even know that."
"..."
Played for a fool. My last lifeline had been rotten all along. No more despair left to feel—I'd half-expected this. Hope just breeds disappointment. I'd never really trusted her to keep her word anyway.
They dragged me along, my head lolling limply. Naked except for stockings, my body was surprisingly clean—someone must've purified me. But the pink succubus tattoo glowed vividly on my belly. In this chill, I could guess why they dragged me out bare: to broadcast that their "saintess" was just a slut with a lewd womb tattoo. Nail me to a cross? Execute and hang my corpse on the walls?
Shivers wracked me—cold or fear? Too weak to look up, I couldn't tell where we were going. The growing clamor around us barely registered through my panic; it all blurred into dull noise. High mental strength didn't erase death-fear—it just kept me sane enough to rationally dread my fate, trapping me in awkward panic.
Begging wouldn't help; they'd follow the Pope's orders, and he wanted me dead. Endless stairs—were they taking me to a roof to drop? Wind howled fiercer with altitude, shaking me harder. One knight glanced at my trembling and tsked, but that was it.
Finally, on some rooftop, I saw it: the gallows, right there. The noise came from a massive battle below. The knights propping me up let me peer down from this five-story height. Heavily armored holy knights clashed with ragtag fighters—and shockingly, the knights were losing. Amateur swordsmen outfought them; scrawny folks overpowered burly knights. Bizarre.
A noose dropped over my shoulders, tightening around my neck. Execution time. It still felt unreal, but my body shook steadily in the cold. A dying husk desperately generating heat—it was ironic, almost funny, but I lacked the strength even for a hollow laugh.
The rope cinched tight. A bell tolled. My body jerked skyward. My weight crushed my throat; breath failed. My mouth gaped on instinct.
"Guhk, kek..."
Hands bound, legs kicked feebly. Consciousness faded. Strength drained. Warm liquid trickled down my cold thighs in the chill—piss. Then, healing magic snapped me back.
"Kuhhh, guk, guk!"
Misery. Why prolong it? The Pope's cruel torture, refusing easy death? The piss chilled fast in the wind, stealing more body heat. They say a snapped neck in hanging is merciful—now I got it. Tears welled from my parched eyes. Vision blurred again... then healing yanked me back, pristine. The noose tightened anew.
I thrashed in agony but couldn't beg for death through the crush. After five fade-ins, I spotted Daesik amid the ground fighters. He's gathered people... to save me. Ragtag bunch, undergeared, but Gae Saeng guildmates slipped through gaps for ambushes—thieves and assassins, probably.
Hope sparked strength. HP and stamina unknown, but untouched mana was maxed. Naked, no mana restraints—proof. I chanted area heal. I'd confirmed dot-heals extend hanging time during transport and now, revived repeatedly on the brink. Brutal pain, death preferable—but one shot at that bastard Pope? Worth it. Not even that bad, really. Fear amplified it; the choke even pumped adrenaline, heart racing.
"We're getting heals too! Fight without holding back!"
Daesik's crew pressed harder; knight lines crumbled. Familiar faces—official homepage mains like "This Month's Customizing" or "Old-Timer Customizing." Detainees or prisoners freed to fight the Pope, maybe. Knights scattered regionally, weakened; these guys massed somehow and struck.
"Heals hitting the knights too!"
"DPS through!"
Area heal didn't discriminate—knights got it too—but max-level firepower overwhelmed. Priests backed knights anyway; overheal didn't add HP. Knights fell like roaches; some surrendered weapons, shouting server names and IDs. Others spat "heretic" as they dropped. Rear priests—many users—threw up hands at furious raiders.
Users subdued without killing, securing area. I self-healed the noose agony. Daesik glanced up—too far for eye contact, but he pointed me out, calling people. Hold till they climb. I chanted prayers nonstop.
Footsteps on stairs—faster than expected. Relief... then the Pope's grinding voice. "Fuck, knew it. Should've beheaded those possessed bastards early, nipped it. Wiped 'em before adapting..."
His voice neared my back. Whip cracked my spine.
"Aaaagh!"
Prayer cut; blackout loomed. Rasping, I fought to chant, clinging to consciousness like a dying flame. Vision dimmed.
"If not for this fucking bitch! Block this defense, and those possessed shits wouldn't ravage the world! You'd ruin everything—your OP heals!"
"Aw, premature Pope. Should've gagged the priestess first. Like this."
Laila's voice beside the Pope whipping me raw. Soft cloth stuffed my mouth. No more chants. I writhed in whip-pain and asphyxia. Pope closed in, raging. "Yeah, too reckless. Realized not alone in possession—should've mapped the system. Damn. Laila, take my soul, whatever—give me power to crush them."
"Hmm. Nah. I'm a demon, sure, but succubus. Don't play with souls."
"What?"
"And you're boring."
"Wh-what? Urk, no!"
A thud, shove—Pope's scream receded fast. A heavy thunk, then silence. Murmurs below. Someone cut my noose. Laila caught my fall, grinning sly.
"There. Saved the saintess from the Pope—promise kept, right?"
"Cough, cough... ugh..."
I spat the cloth—my panties, preserved as a "holy relic" maybe—and hacked. Laila crouched.
"So vouch for me. Gave you too much power—can't even sprout wings. Don't wanna orgasm in front of everyone."
Low-blow blackmail, but lethal to me. Users knew me as Ivy, not saintess. Throat too raw for words, I nodded.
"Mm... can't talk? Tricky."
She sat me down, inspecting my body. Too battered by her for shame at nudity; her concern almost felt genuine. Nah—probably fretting user backlash if I croaked.
I shivered, coughing nonstop.
"Hmm, heals won't fix this...?"
"Muscle pain... no recovery or purify... ugh..."
Gamer instinct—talk skills through pain. Regretted it, clutching my throat.
"You fucking bitch. Get off unnie."
Chilly voice from the stairs—Hanbyeol, clothes singed to rags, floating a magic circle. "Cough... Hanbyeol..."
"Ah, I'm the good succubus who helped the saintess. Can you drop the staff and talk?"
"Shut up."
"Kyaaak!"
Hanbyeol's telekinesis slammed Laila down. Her pathetic tumble was satisfying, but Hanbyeol's feral glare killed my laugh.
"Unnie, that on your belly—from this succubus slut?"
"Uh-huh..."
"Fucking bitch, you're dead."
Hanbyeol draped her outer robe over me, then bashed the fallen Laila with her staff.
"H-Hanbyeol...?"
"What? She saved your life?"
"Uh-huh..."
"I'll keep her alive."
"...Thanks."
"Kyaaaak! Mercy for the succubus!"
Angry Hanbyeol was terrifying.