The Girl
“B… brother.”
Olivier called out to him in a pleading voice, her eyes filled with unease. But the man remained expressionless as he tugged at the knot of his trousers with his free hand, loosening it. The black formal trousers, their waistband undone, slid smoothly down his legs. Between his thighs stood his thick, rigid cock, swollen and angry, throbbing imposingly.
“Is it unfamiliar because it’s been a while? Even if you’ve grown distant, it’s only been a year.”
Olivier averted her gaze from the sight of it, lowering her eyes and twisting her face in distress. The man, displeased by her expression, yanked her hair back hard. Her head lolled weakly upward, but her eyes stayed fixed on the floor. Her slender white neck stretched taut, her pink lips parting slightly. Seeing this, the man curled his lip in a sinister smirk.
He moved his hips slowly. A bead of clear fluid glistened at the tip of his throbbing member, trailing along as it shifted. With each jerk, it dragged from her pale, rounded forehead, down the elegant curve of her nose, grazing her slightly parted upper lip, and slowly rubbing all the way to her chin. When he stopped, the tip came to rest just beneath her jaw. Transparent liquid oozed from it, smearing glossily over her white skin.
The man pulled her head toward it by her hair. The angry cock pressed against the dip just below her nostrils, at the philtrum.
“Suck it.”
He commanded in a low voice. Olivier closed her trembling eyes in resignation. His gaze turned feral at her disobedience. Narrowing the space between his brown brows, he gripped her hair tighter. As he thrust his hips forward, his cock plunged toward the parted pink of her lips. But it didn’t slide in as intended. With his free hand, he seized her jaw and twisted it. At the same time, he yanked her head back harder, turning her face pale with terror.
“Nngh… nnnh…”
The tip forced its way between her painfully twisted lips, and as he moved his hips, it plunged deep into her mouth. Drip… drip… He rocked slowly back and forth. Clear saliva dribbled from her stuffed jaw, trailing down. It spilled not just to the floor but from her chin, down her white neck, and into the deep valley of her cleavage.
Olivier hung limp through the ordeal, mouth agape, eyes shut. The brutal intrusion ravaged her mouth, slick with saliva, thrusting deep and mercilessly. The man peered at her saliva-smeared, closed-eyed face with dissatisfaction. Suddenly, he rammed his hips forward fast, shoving his hard, long cock straight down her throat in one brutal thrust.
“Gack!”
Her eyes flew open wide, body convulsing as she thrashed to pull away. He clamped her face in his hands, forcing himself even deeper. She gagged, choking, tears streaming down her cheeks. He yanked her hair back firmly and kept thrusting.
“Nngh… mmph… mmph.”
After desperate flailing of her arms and frantic twists of her neck and waist, she finally broke free from his long cock.
“Gack… hack…”
She collapsed forward, head bowed in agony, retching up clear saliva in dry heaves. “Urk… ugh.” Her once-clear eyes were now bloodshot red, her face flushed as if on the brink of suffocation. Beside her stood the man, impassive, his saliva-slick cock gleaming and throbbing grotesquely, veins bulging hideously.
“Olivier, I brought a nice gift from Leon just for you. But this attitude? I’m disappointed.”
At his words, Olivier—sprawled on the floor, gasping for breath—flinched, her shoulders trembling faintly. He drew a small brown vial, like a syrup bottle, from the inner pocket of his black jacket. With elegant motions, he twisted it open and dipped his finger into the viscous liquid. He smeared the thick, caramel-colored syrup—coated thickly up to the first knuckle—generously over the tip of his cock.
Somewhat recovered, Olivier lifted her head and stared at the brown vial on his fingertip in horror.
“W-what are you… doing, Olens… brother…”
Her voice shook as she asked. A cold baritone replied.
“It’s an oil called Liaison Oil from Leon. Originally from some plant fat, but the queasy types started using it, so now it’s called liaison—as in, for relations.”
As he approached her fallen form near her hips, smirking coldly, he rubbed the remaining brown residue on his thumb a few slow times.
“Like this… It thickens with friction, gets sticky, then melts smooth like water. Similar to industrial grease, though for different uses. Pure Liaison Oil.”
In that instant, Olivier seized her chance, scrambling up from the floor and bolting toward the bedroom door. But her forward lunge betrayed her; she crumpled back down. Olens had already stepped on the hem of her dress, his lip curled in icy amusement.
“Enough games. Time to test if Liaison Oil lives up to its name for liaisons. I’ve only heard rumors myself.”
Grabbed again by her ponytail and hauled upright, Olivier wept with her ruined face. Olens shook his head dismissively at his sister.
“Don’t worry, precious Olivier. For your reputation as a lady and a smooth start to your wedding night, I’ll preserve your virginity. The front, anyway. Surely your future brother-in-law won’t fixate on the back door?”
“N-no… brother, please…”
She begged, but he reached into his pocket again, pulling out a neatly folded handkerchief. He snapped it open in the air and rolled it into a long, thick gag.
“Oh, Olivier. You’re always quieter with a big, thick, hard mouthful.”
“O-Olens… please…”
Tears streamed from her wide eyes as he wedged the rolled cloth between her lips like a bit. Then he seized her ponytail roughly and flung her onto the bed.
“Mmph! Mmmph! Mmm!”
Gagged, she thrashed and wailed, but overcoming the sturdy adult male Olens was impossible against her slight frame. Her half-hearted wriggling waist and hips over the bed’s edge only seemed provocative, changing nothing. He pressed down on her waist and ass with his elbow, while his other hand slipped under her skirt, stroking slowly from her calf upward, hiking the fabric over her buttocks.
“Mmmph…!”
She twisted in resistance. But her dainty lace panties peeled off easily, baring her pale, round cheeks. Olens stared, dipping his middle finger deep into the open brown vial and swirling it slowly. When he withdrew, the finger gleamed, coated thickly to the middle in round globs of brown mucus.
Slowly, the long, thick digit traced down the cleft of her ass. As the tip reached the shy rim of her pale, round entrance, her waist bucked violently, muscles clenching tight.
“Olivier.”
Olens murmured low. A stabbing foreign pressure pierced from behind. The unfamiliar, impaling sensation made her hips shrink back sharply.
“Nngh… mmph. Ngh…”
He released the pressure on her upper body, gripping her waist with both hands. He positioned himself, rubbing the tip of his rigid cock firmly between her white cheeks and cleft.
Smack.
Suddenly, he slapped one cheek hard. Then came the relentless, piercing pain of him thrusting in without mercy. Her bloodshot eyes widened in shock, face draining to blue. No preparation—just raw invasion, plunging deep, withdrawing, repeating, sending excruciating agony up her spine to shatter her soul. As he kept pounding from behind, her body locked rigid in tension, the world splitting in two. The sky rang, saliva drooled from her jaw, but she had no strength to react—just endless, inescapable torment. Without the gag, she might have gone mad or bitten her tongue; waves of it crashed, ebbed, then surged again. Finally, as he climaxed with rapid thrusts, spewing hot seed, Olivier lay collapsed face-down on the bed, unconscious.
“Impressive performance.”
Olens—tall, brown-haired, late teens or early twenties—glanced at her once through the curtain gap, then casually wiped his cock on her rumpled skirt. He pulled up his trousers, tied the knot neatly, and left the guest room.
Confirming the silence, Emily slipped out from behind the curtain. The girl called Olivier lay sprawled half over the bed, exhausted and unconscious. Emily felt the urge to vanish as if nothing had happened, just as Olens had. But some indefinable emotion from watching Olivier rooted her in place.
The shared helplessness of the physically weak before brutal male violence, unable to resist. And a strange relief that she hadn’t yet endured such extreme agony like Olivier.
Emily sighed deeply at the sight. Dressed in finery, clearly a noble, yet as pathetic as Emily herself, a commoner.
“……”
Caught in complex feelings, Emily’s tentative hand reached toward Olivier.