The Bitch's Name

Three days had passed. Morning. Royal Palace quarters. Corruption Degree [■■■■▨] Lv.4/5 Late — Terminal Tilt

'...Just as expected. The strength to deny it with "No, that's not it" only holds out for the first 12 hours. After that, the looping playback in her head devours the denial.'

And yesterday evening, a messenger arrived from the Queen. "A mental therapist is urgently needed at the southern front field hospital. You're going."

Dozens of frontline soldiers tormented by nightmares and terror. No one to treat them. The Queen's command can't be refused. Not that there's any reason to.

Going to the front means new test subjects. '...Whether the Queen is sending me for therapy duty or just to get me out of the capital for a bit. Could be both.'

Departing at dawn tomorrow. Five days by carriage. Two things left to do before then.

Say goodbye to Rosa. Farewell to Marisa.

I pack my bag.

Afternoon. Commoner district herb alley. Seventh time. [Closed for business today]. I push open the door. Jingling bell.

Two glasses on the counter. Wooden tray beside them. Five bundles of herbs lined up.

Awakening Release Herb. Relaxation Incense Herb. Sensitivity Increase Root. Memory ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Blur Leaf. Smoke Inhalation Mix.

Items Rosa placed herself.

Rosa's behind the counter. Beige apron. Knot intact. But her eyes are different. Not the eyes that held out with "No, that's not it" three days ago. Eyes that have given up resisting.

"...You've come, Do-hyun."

"Yes."

"...Before we start with tea today, there's something I need to say first."

"Yes. Go ahead."

Rosa steadies her breath. Glances at the ledger. Balance: 3 gold, 50 silver.

"...I have a proposal."

"Yes."

"At this rate, I won't clear the balance in a month and a half. My body will break first."

Businesslike tone.

"How about settling with herb research?"

"...With herb research?"

Rosa taps the five herb bundles with her fingertips.

"One of my prescriptions is worth one to four gold. Several times more than 100 silver per transaction. Four would zero the balance."

"So I'll..."

Rosa's mouth pauses a beat.

"...I'll handle the herb research for Master..."

There it is. From the mouth that said "Don't record that as my answer" three days ago.

Rosa doesn't deny it. Three days of mental looping devoured the "No, that's not it."

"...If you entrust the herb research to me, Master, I'll settle the balance with the market value of the results. It fits my professional pride better."

'...She uttered "Master" first, from her own mouth, within a business proposal. The denying power is completely gone.'

I stay silent a beat longer.

"...Then we'll need to adjust the deal structure too."

"Yes."

"Once the deals with your body end, your new position has to be with me."

Rosa pauses a beat.

"...Not as shopkeeper..."

A beat. Reflex shifting to conscious.

"...I'll enter as Master's bitch."

She discards her 10-year professional identity with her own words, and writes "bitch" beneath it with her own hand.

'...From reflex to conscious. That's the definition ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of 5/5.'

"...Good. Then one order for bitch Rosa."

"Yes, Master."

"Research herbs for various bitches from now on and send them to me. Not just sedative herbs—empathy amplification, resistance weakening, memory manipulation. Since constitutions differ, design combinations for each type yourself."

"...Various bitches. How many do you anticipate?"

"No idea. That's a variable even I don't know yet."

"...Understood. I'll make a list by constitution."

Rosa pauses a beat.

"...Master. But one request."

"Yes."

"...Please use my bitch pussy too. With just herb research... I don't think I can stop my body from aching for you."

'...This woman just classified her own pussy as "bitch pussy" with her own mouth. Not business, not transactional—just calling her pussy "bitch pussy."'

'...She really thinks she's a bitch.'

I hold back a laugh. Can't. A half-beat chuckle slips out.

"...What's so funny, Master?"

"No, just... you calling your own pussy 'bitch pussy' a moment ago..."

"...What did I say?"

Rosa's face flushes.

"...Did I say that?"

"Yes. Exactly."

"...."

"...It was... just... an efficient expression..."

'...Efficient, she says.'

"...Got it. I'll do the herb research and use your bitch pussy. Both."

Rosa nods. Face still red.

"...Today's seventh transaction won't use my body."

"Instead, I'll give you the first result of my herb research today, Master."

Rosa takes a glass vial from storage.

"...Sedative Herb concentrate, first prototype. Twice the potency of regular Sedative Herb. Onset in half the time. One drop suffices."

She opens the ledger.

"...From today, I'll reorganize the back workshop as a lab. Three categories. Mental resistance weakening. Physical sensitivity amplification. Memory influence."

Rosa's tone drops a notch.

"...Not for one person only. As incense or smoke, simultaneous for multiples."

"...I'll leave it to you."

"Yes. Starting today."

Inside the workshop. Two lanterns. Wooden workbench. Rosa clasps her hands in front of her apron. Lowers her head slightly.

"...Master. This is your bitch Rosa. Please take care of me from today."

"...Likewise."

A few more days passed. Balance cleared. Rosa added one line each morning: "I'll report, Master." Business tone intact, but her gaze lingered a beat longer each time.

Departing the capital tomorrow morning. Told Rosa briefly. "I'll be back."

"...Safe travels, Master."

Today's the last night.

Half the candle remains. Marisa's room. Late spring crickets beyond the window. Marisa sits on the bed's edge. A strand of brown hair falls across her cheek. Fingertips tremble slightly. The trembling back of a 43-year-old hand on a night of sending someone off.

Marisa looks at me. Glances fleetingly at the left wall. Nail mark where her husband's portrait hung. Gaze brushes past, returns to me.

'...Counselor turned farewell strategist.'

Marisa smiles. Lashes wet above the curving lips.

"...You're here."

"...I am."

Marisa unbuttons my shirt. One by one. Collarbone. Cleavage. Abdomen. Slowly. Meticulously, button by button.

Shirt off, she places her palm on my chest. Warm.

"Working out at the palace? Firmer than before."

"A bit."

"Liar."

Marisa laughs. Presses lips to my chest. Mwah. First time. Until now, I'd been the one initiating.

A woman seeing you off is more aggressive than one receiving you.

Marisa's hands on my pants. Unties the belt. Pulls them down. Cock exposed.

Marisa holds her breath. Chuckle.

"It was big before... seems even bigger."

"Optical illusion."

'...Grew with the second stage up. Can't explain "Stats up, so dick bigger."'

"Illusion or not."

Marisa kneels. Before me standing by the bed. Brown eyes looking up. Candlelight flickers in a 43-year-old milf's eyes.

Marisa's hand wraps the cock. Soft grip. Like placing on a cloud. Fingers don't fully encircle. Two hands clasp, strokes up slowly.

"Marisa...?"

"Let me do it today. Before you go to the front."

Marisa's mouth opens. Thick lips touch glans. Moist, warm. Sluuurp. Tongue strokes up. Circles glans rim. Slurp. Tongue tip taps sensitive groove below. Pop.

Rubs cheek against it, murmuring. "Tasty..." Feeling the warmth with her cheek. Presses cheek to shaft, rubs. Body heat transfers fully.

Mouth opens again. Down to base. Slowly, softly. Mwah. Slurp. Mwah. Lips and tongue envelop. Warm inside cheeks. Slurp. Sluuurp. Slurp.

Saliva drips down shaft. Strings from Marisa's chin.

'...Fucking amazing.'

"Haa..."

My hand on Marisa's head. Stroking.

"Marisa, feels good."

"Mmm... yeah..."

Nods, sucks deeper. Sluuurp. Slurp. Sluuurp. Lips slide to mid-shaft. Pulls off, tongue swirls glans. Mwah. Slurp slurp. Mwah.

Good. But can't finish in her mouth.

"Marisa."

"Mm?"

"On the bed."

Saliva trail breaks. Brown eyes look up. Lips glossy. Drool glistens on chin.

"...Okay."

Marisa lies on the bed. Undresses herself. Apron. Blouse. Buttons undo one by one. White bra reveals. Removes it. Massive tits spill free. Jiggle. Heavy teardrop shape. Defies gravity with slight bounce. Unreal for 43-year-old udders. Can't cover with two palms. Pink nipples. Lactation-experienced areolas slightly enlarged, already erect.

"Why stare like that? Embarrassing."

Marisa tries to cover with arms.

"Don't cover."

Arms drop. I climb over Marisa. Missionary. Kiss. Softly. Tongues meet. Marisa's shyly wraps mine. Smack smack smack.

Kissing, grasp tits. Doesn't fit one hand. Soft flesh overflows fingers. Squeeze squeeze.

'...Oh, this tit bounce.'

"Mm..."

Marisa's moan. Small, soft. Thumb rolls nipple. Pink nub hardens under thumb. Pinch.

"Ah..."

Marisa's breath quickens. Mouth lower. Suck left nipple. Mwah. Slurp. Mwah. Like nursing baby. Pinch right simultaneously. Tits jiggle shake.

"Do-hyun... ah... there..."

Marisa's back arches slightly. Grip tits. Squeeze squeeze. Jiggly firmness fills palm.

"Do-hyun..."

"Yeah?"

"Today... go slow."

A woman wanting to melt slowly.

"Got it."

Hand between Marisa's thighs. Already wet. Pussy soaked. Finger strokes slowly. Along entrance. Up to clit.

"Ah... there..."

Marisa's hips lift slightly. Pussy lips hug finger. Squelch. 5-year empty pussy hyper-sensitive to one finger.

Push one in. Melty soft. Walls embrace finger. Hot, slick. Juices coat finger from inside.

Two fingers. Squish. Pussy walls squeeze two fingers tight. Squeeze squeeze.

"Haa... Do-hyun... ahh..."

Implant. 'Pleasure spreads slowly, deeply.'

Shimmer. Marisa's eyes close. Forehead smooths. Mouth parts slightly. Cheeks flush pink.

"Do-hyun... come in..."

Pleading. Align cock to pussy entrance. Glans touches lips. Hot. Juices wet glans.

Push in slowly. Pussy swallows cock whole. Squeeze squeeze. 5-year empty pussy can't handle; walls spasm-bite shaft.

"Ah... bigger?"

"A little."

Sweat beads on Marisa's forehead. Melty walls embrace shaft. Hotter deeper. Pussy depths suck cock tip.

All in. Sloooow.

'...Squeezing tight.'

Marisa arms around my back. Tight. Legs wrap waist. Full-body cling.

"...So full."

Marisa whispers. Start moving. Slowly. Shallow rhythm: out third, back in. Squelch. Squelch. Squelch squelch.

Pussy walls massage shaft softly.

"Haa... mm... good..."

Marisa moans in rhythm. Slap. Squelch squelch. Slap. Tits jiggle below my chest. Slosh slosh.

Pussy juices flow; union slick. Squish squish. Squelch squelch squelch squelch. Wet sounds fill room.

Implant. 'Warm. Safe. Etch this moment in memory.'

Shimmer. Not pleasure amp. Emotional imprint.

"Do-hyun... Do-hyun..."

Marisa repeats my name, hugs back tighter. Nails dig in.

"Marisa."

"Yeah?"

"You're the first. In this world."

True. Not Implant.

Tears from Marisa's eyes.

"...Idiot. Don't say that or I won't let you go."

Cries laughing. At the end, Marisa's mouth opens a beat more.

"...I'm not a 5-year starved widow anymore. Do-hyun, I'm not just seeing you off tonight—I've been waiting to etch you inside me once more."

Small voice. But clear. I maintain rhythm, kiss away her tears. Cheek kiss.

"I'll come back. Promise."

"Yeah... I know..."

Marisa tightens legs, pulls waist deeper. All in.

"Haat..."

Tits press my chest. Squish. Spreads. Speed up rhythm. Slap. Slap. Slap. Squelch squelch squelch squelch.

Pussy squeezes madly. Melty ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠walls suck shaft.

"Aa... Do-hyun... there... deep inside..."

Angle hits womb depths. Tits jiggle jiggle. Sloshes under chest. Udders sway side to side in rhythm. Pink nipples graze my chest; Marisa twitches.

Pussy overflows; juices to thighs. Squish squish squish. Sheets soaked. Union splatters. Squelch squelch. Squish. Squelch squelch squelch squelch.

Implant. Final. 'Let go. All of it.'

Shimmer.

"Haaaaah!"

Marisa climaxes. Body shakes. Pussy squeezes madly, milks cock. Tits jiggle under chest. Arms, legs tighten.

I burst inside. Spurt spurt! Semen floods deep inside pussy.

"Nngh..."

Deepest in Marisa. Proof of farewell.

Afterglow. Marisa nestles in my arm. Tit squishes against side. Soft. Sweat and soap scent from brown hair. Candle flickers.

"...Do-hyun."

"Yeah."

"If you meet other women at the front..."

Marisa stops. Laughs. Self-deprecating.

"No. Not something to ask a man."

'...Wisdom of 43 years.'

"Instead."

Marisa places palm on my chest. Over heart.

"Don't forget I'm here too."

Chest tightens.

"Won't."

Marisa whispers a beat softer, very small.

"...Do-hyun. When you return, come to this room, not the guest rooms. Don't greet at the counter first—just open this door. I'll tidy it every morning. Etching your place here once daily."

Turning waiting into ritual. Rosa with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠writing, Marisa with palm warmth.

"...Yes. Straight to this room."

Marisa smiles, eyes close. Asleep in a minute. Last night's warmth was all she wanted.

I kiss sleeping Marisa's forehead. Glance at left wall nail mark. Tonight, its meaning lightens a tone.

'...Isekai food sucks ass. Innkeepers are gorgeous. Balances out.'

Stars outside. Big Dipper visible. Depart dawn tomorrow. Escort carriage, 5 days to front.

Whatever awaits, unknown. No need to know. Will find out when I get there.