The Spy
"You have to answer."
The woman pressed her, as if she had no intention of waiting.
"……I don't know."
Layla simply wanted to cry.
She had said they would see each other again. Layla had been so sure she would be welcomed.
The woman went on, oblivious to the way Layla was burning up inside.
"She said that wasn't it. That at that level, it shouldn't even be possible."
"……I-I'm sorry."
No wonder her stats had climbed so easily. The more she listened, the more she felt like some kind of special case.
If she offered to give them back, would that cool the woman's anger even a little? She hated the thought of being disliked. She didn't know whether she could manage it with her mouth the way Shasha had, but even that would be better than being hated.
"Normally, sex that intense would break a person. And yet you came out of it perfectly fine."
"What?"
"So I'm curious. You drain stats that well, after all."
The woman's gaze dropped to Layla's lips.
"I wonder how well you suck at other things."
"Wh-what are you—!"
"Well. The stats, anyway. It was pretty intense, so taking that much ought to be payment enough."
She had no time to react before her wrist was seized. She couldn't even get out a scream. In one sharp pull she was dragged across the woman's lap.
"Ah, a-ahh…?"
Not knowing what to do with her hands, she flailed, then set them meekly upon the woman's knee.
Her embrace was warm. Just as it had been that day.
"Then…… you're not going to scold me?"
"Why would I scold you?"
Hadn't the mood until just now been exactly that of a scolding?
"A handful of stats? Someone like me only has to absorb a little demonic energy and they're restored in no time."
What a relief.
The woman's calm expression made it seem true. So she had never meant to scold her. She had only wanted Layla to know. Didn't that make her rather kind, in her way?
The shoulders that had been frozen stiff finally loosened. Her tail wagged like a puppy's.
Would it be all right if I leaned on her?
Layla gathered her courage. As if time itself had slowed, she tilted her body very, very slowly, until her narrow shoulder settled fully against the woman's chest. Through the cold uniform she could hear a heart beating—thump, thump, thump.
She didn't push me away.
The woman's hand rose to her head and stroked it gently. Then, looking at the map, she spoke.
"This is the War Strategy Room."
Held in her arms, even the way she spoke sounded softer.
"I sat here all day until I was sick of it, and then I ended up here again in a dream. Put me in a foul mood."
The hand that had been stroking her hair slid down and caught Layla's chin. Her face lifted slightly, until their noses were close enough to touch.
"But with you here, it's not so bad."
"Yes……?"
"I said it's not bad anymore. This place. Right now."
It wasn't a nightmare.
Layla's face brightened—lit up so completely that wanting to cry a moment ago felt like a lie. A single word from the woman sent her swinging between heaven and hell, and yet Layla, too, did not dislike being here, where that warmth was.
"Look over there."
The woman let go of the hand she had been holding and pointed at the map spread across the table.
Layla turned her head as she was told. The woman's finger tapped the flags planted on the map, one after another.
"The white ones are the humans' flags. They believe themselves pure as snow. The black flags are ours."
Layla knew next to nothing about war. She had never even imagined a slaughter where blood flew, and a succubus who could not so much as absorb essence had no reason to understand the state of the Demon Realm. When it came to war, she was a complete outsider.
Even so, she thought she understood what this map and these flags were meant to say.
"You know what kind of map this is now, don't you?"
"Yes."
"I see."
The woman nodded. Then, with a perfectly serious face, she said:
"So you really were a spy for the human side."
"…N-nueh?"
A dazed, flustered sound escaped her.
"This is a military secret of the highest order. I tell you to look, and you go and drink in every last detail. Slipping into someone else's dream to steal information—shameless doesn't even begin to cover it."
What on earth was she saying? It was pure nonsense.
Layla drew herself off the chest she had been leaning against and looked up with widened eyes. Those usually demure eyes went perfectly round.
"Y-you told me to look……!"
"Did I?"
If one listened only to the voice, it was the voice of someone hearing this for the very first time. The acting was impeccable.
"Did I, now?"
She's even denying it?!
"This is a problem. The standing rule is that spies are tortured, and then killed."
Layla had no idea how she was supposed to play along with this outrageous little scene.
If I answer wrong, she wouldn't actually torture me, would she?
With this woman, she had a feeling it might just be possible. Surely she wouldn't actually kill her, though.
At a time like this, all a timid Layla could do was roll her eyes and watch for a cue.
Then the woman caught Layla's slender waist lightly in both hands and set her down on one thigh. Layla's legs, pressed together until then, parted naturally to either side of the woman's leg. The perilously short one-piece skirt rolled up.
"A spy who isn't even wearing underwear."
Heat rushed to her face. She had dressed this way on purpose, but having it pointed out so bluntly made her want to die of shame.
"It suits you."
Breath touched her ear. Far too close.
Beneath the hem of the skirt, the woman's fingers slowly traced the parted cleft. When they swept up over the most sensitive place, Layla's waist jerked.
"Hah—!"
"As I thought. Already wet."
The woman laughed low in her throat.
"You didn't come for essence at all, did you? You came for sex. To be this soaked."
She drew her hand out from under the skirt and held it up in front of Layla's eyes, as if to show her. In the chandelier's soft light, a clear, viscous thread stretched stickily between her glistening fingers. There was no denying it. It was her own slick.
She wanted to duck her head in shame, and at the same time her lower belly clenched tight.
A suffocating atmosphere. She had entered the dream without permission, and yet the woman was not annoyed—and Layla could feel, against her skin, that she was wanted.
"I don't think I can bring myself to kill you. I'll have to make that little body confess every last thing it's hiding."
Dressed in full uniform, she carried a presence entirely different from the one she had worn in the bedroom. An authority that could not be defied. The sense that she naturally belonged beneath her seeped into Layla like instinct. It was not simply a matter of rank. She did not dislike that feeling of surrender.
The woman's glistening hand slipped back beneath the skirt and, without hesitation, pushed into the cleft that had already opened, wet.
Three fingers at once.
They drove in without mercy, spreading the narrow inside, and a dizzying thrill slammed into the back of her head.
"Haaang—! Nngh…"
With a wet, squelching sound, her thighs trembled as if in spasm. She tried reflexively to close her legs, but the woman's firm thigh, braced between them, blocked even that. If anything, because her legs were spread, the hole the fingers had sunk into opened wider still, shameless.
Her heart pounded madly. Her vision went hazy. In the silence, the slick sounds made her toes curl, and at last her back gave out and she collapsed into the woman's arms.
The woman caught Layla's frail body as it fell back against her, natural as anything, and curled the fingers buried deep inside, roughly scraping the walls that had gone soft and soaked.
"Nngh! Hk! Haa…"
"I stretched you open and trained you so thoroughly, and already you've tightened up this much. At this rate my fingers are going to get cut off."
"Nnh. No… hkk!"
Through a mind gone foggy as mist, Layla only nodded. Her violet eyes grew wet and shining.
"Crying down there, and crying up here. What a crybaby."
"Uukh… hahh…"
Her body felt like a burning lump of fire. The one-piece, soaked with sweat and slick, clung tight to her skin.
"I'm sorry. Your uniform… because of me, heeuh…"
"Is that an apology. Or are you asking for more."
The fingers driven deep inside tapped the inner folds like keys, scraped them, spread them wide, then pressed down hard and deep.
A crack of thunder split through her head. Every fine hair on her body stood on end.
"You've gone and dirtied my clothes, so you'll have to be punished."
With one arm the woman swept the flags from the table, then laid her down upon it. Her back struck the surface, and the cold map was soon soaked through with the heat of her body and her fluids.
Looking up through half-lidded eyes, she saw the woman undoing her uniform belt. With a sharp rasp she pulled the leather free in one motion, gathered both of Layla's wrists above her head, and bound them tight.
It was the posture of a beast rolled onto its back in submission. Nipples standing stiff beneath the cloth. Violet eyes brimming, on the verge of tears.
"Ripe and ready to eat."
The woman said it while looking down at Layla's swollen clit. When she pinched the tip lightly between her fingers and twisted, Layla's waist arched up like a bow. The woman caught both of her restless, squirming knees and folded them deep up toward her chest.
"I-it's embarrassing."
"Down there you're mouthing at me, begging to be eaten. Your mouth and your lower mouth don't seem to agree."
She seemed to be staring far too intently at the legs spread wide. The woman pushed her trousers down. A massive cock, veins standing livid, sprang free—and without warning drove into her pussy like an iron spit.
"Hk! Nngh, aah…"
In a single thrust it found the deepest point and crushed down on it. The club of a cock packing her narrow inside full stole her breath in ragged gasps. It was a stimulation on an entirely different level from being worked open by fingers.
"Ah. You can scream now."
The woman said it as she hammered her cock into the soaked hole, pounding without pause. The wet slap of flesh striking flesh rang sharp through the quiet strategy room.
"Ahk! Hk! Nnh, aaah, aahng…!"
The huge cock stirred her insides without mercy. Thud. Thud. Rough thrusts that jolted all the way up to the mouth of her womb. Her inner walls split wide, and obscene, squelching sounds echoed in her ears.
This was violence meant to wreck her cunt.