A Natural Talent in the Flesh
The next morning. Barely forcing her gritty eyes open, Luciel was greeted first by the familiar stains on the ceiling. Just as the memories of last night's frantic coupling with the goblin—and her own writhing, humiliating pleasure—threatened to resurface like a horrific nightmare, the door creaked open on its rusty hinges. A draft of cold air rushed into the room.
Madame Tana glided inside, her posture as elegant and overbearing as ever. Though her footsteps were as silent as a cat's, her sheer presence weighed heavily on the room's atmosphere. Today, she wore a blood-red silk dress that clung tightly to every curve of her voluptuous figure. A black fox-fur shawl draped over her shoulders, contrasting sharply with her pale neck and adding a touch of decadent beauty. Her crimson lips curved into a delicate, cold arch. Her golden eyes, deep and penetrating, seemed to pierce through everything as she looked down at Luciel with an inscrutable smile—one that could have been mistaken for mockery, or perhaps a strange sense of satisfaction.
"You did splendidly, newbie. Gobul, your first client last night, left very, very satisfied." Tana approached the bedside, idly flipping through a small ledger in her hand. "What was it he said? Ah, yes. 'I was worried since it was her first time, but we fit together beautifully.' That little goblin paid far more generously than usual. Thanks to you, I squeezed exactly double his normal rate out of him. You deserve the credit." She tapped Luciel's chin lightly, offering words that hovered somewhere between praise and sarcasm.
"..." Luciel couldn't say a word. She couldn't bring herself to. She simply hung her head, letting her dark hair fall forward to shroud her face. It was a mercy, really; she had no desire to let anyone see her expression right now. A hot, suffocating lump welled up in her throat—a volatile mix of raw humiliation, disgust, and self-loathing. The damp, greasy texture of the goblin's skin still felt vividly etched onto her fingertips, and his repulsive stench seemed to linger at the tip of her nose like a phantom. Every sensory memory pricked at her brain like sharp needles, tormenting her.
To make such a pathetic spectacle of myself before a hideous goblin...! Her mind desperately rejected the reality, but her body held onto the memories of last night with agonizing clarity. The betrayal of her own flesh, reacting entirely against her will, plunged her deeper into despair. She wished with all her heart that the ground would swallow her whole, so she could crawl into the darkest crevice and hide forever.
"At any rate, it was a remarkable performance for a first day," Tana added casually, closing her ledger with a crisp snap. There was a faint trace of genuine admiration in her tone. "It seems you have something special inside you. Even with all my years in this business, I've never seen a girl climax so intensely on her very first night. Usually, they're either paralyzed with fear and make mistakes, or they just lie there shivering like a corpse. But you were different." She paused, studying Luciel with a deeply meaningful gaze before murmuring, "Perhaps you have a far greater natural talent for this work than you think. Wouldn't you agree?"
At those words, Luciel felt her mind go entirely blank. It was a shock akin to being struck on the back of the head with a sledgehammer. A natural talent? Me... I have a talent for this kind of degradation? It would have been better if Tana had cursed at her or openly mocked her. To call it a "talent"—there could be no insult more profound.
In truth, physical intimacy had always been utterly foreign to Luciel. During her reign as the Emperor who conquered the four continents, she had never shared a genuine physical connection with anyone. Having poured all her time into war and conquest, she had no leisure to indulge in personal emotions, nor did she see any need to. To her, only power, victory, and the loyalty of her subjects mattered. Furthermore, she had possessed an instinctive aversion to physical contact with others. No one was ever permitted to trespass into her sacred domain. She had to be perfect. Her body was a vessel that moved solely by her own will and for her own purposes; she could not tolerate the touch of any other hand. Consequently, the countless men who had hovered around her were nothing more than insects coveting her power—nothing more, nothing less.
But now, everything had changed. The curse of the Constellations and her suppressed instincts were reshaping her into an entirely different creature. She had been reduced to a mere whore, surrendering her body to repulsive, vile creatures and writhing in sheer ecstasy.
Mealtime. In a dim corner of The Feast, at a small wooden table, Luciel was forcing down hard bread and watery soup alongside the other women. One by one, she felt their gazes drifting toward her. And without fail, Bruka was the first to speak up in her characteristically gruff voice.
"Hey, newbie! Was yesterday really your first time? Come on, spill it!" Though she held a soup bowl instead of her usual bottle of alcohol, her eyes still gleamed with intense curiosity.
"..." Luciel couldn't bring herself to answer and kept her head lowered.
"Bwahaha! Look at her! It really was! They say the quietest cats are the first to leap onto the stove! Girl, the rumors coming out of your room yesterday had our whole wing in an uproar! They said some woman was screaming like she was dying in that tiny room, but when it was over, that old geezer Gobul walked out clapping his hands in pure satisfaction! What in the world did you do to him, huh?" Bruka clutched her stomach, roaring with laughter, while the other women giggled and stared.
Just then, Sia, who had been quietly sipping her soup, asked in a shy, hesitant whisper, "Was it... was it really... that good? With the goblin, I mean?" Luciel saw a faint blush creep onto the half-elf's pale cheeks. Her eyes were wide and filled with a strange, innocent curiosity.
Luciel dropped her spoon with a sharp clack against the table and buried her face in her hands. A burning heat flushed across her entire face. She wanted nothing more than to vanish on the spot.
"It wasn't like that. Truly. It's just... at the time, the situation... my body wouldn't listen to my mind. Because of the curse...!" Her voice trembled, her entire frame shaking with distress.
"Oh, come on, that's just how it is. No need to be so embarrassed," Miren chimed in with her signature lazy, teasing smile. "Everyone's first time is weird and overwhelming. It's only natural. But newbie, I heard you really wailed out there yesterday. The girls in the next room said your window was practically rattling on its frame. Must have been incredibly intense, hoho."
Lahara, sitting beside her, gave Luciel's shoulder a heavy, good-natured slap and laughed boisterously. "To be honest, I was actually a bit impressed when I heard you yesterday! When I first saw you, you looked so quiet and icy cold that I figured you'd be utterly useless in bed. But who knew you had that kind of fire in you? Maybe you really do have some hidden talent!"
Unable to bear it any longer, Luciel buried her face almost into her soup bowl. She could feel the crimson flush burning all the way to the tips of her ears. She didn't want to hear another word of their banter. "Stop it... please... just leave me alone," she whimpered, her voice cracking on the verge of tears.
Yet, to her surprise, a sudden burst of collective laughter erupted around the table. Every single one of them was laughing at her, but the sound was strangely warm. There was no cold mockery in their laughter, no jealousy meant to tear her down. While they were certainly teasing her, there wasn't a shred of malice behind it. It was the kind of playful, mischievous ribbing shared among old friends. Hearing it, Luciel felt a tiny fraction of her tension melt away.
Bruka poured a generous splash of cheap wine into Luciel's empty cup and grinned. "Alright, enough talk, drink up! Once you set foot in this place, we're all family sharing the same pot of rice! No need to be so terrified just because it was your first time. If there's a single bitch in this room who hasn't gone through exactly what you did, let her step forward! We've all been there, and we're still going through it."
Sia gently offered a small handkerchief, whispering softly. Her eyes were filled with deep concern. "It's alright... everyone cries their first time. I did too. It doesn't mean you're bad. It's just... the process of getting used to it." Her gaze was incredibly warm. Luciel took the handkerchief and wiped her tears, slowly lifting her head. Around the table, the five women were still smiling. But those smiles were no longer mocking. Perhaps they were a sign of shared struggle, a quiet display of solidarity. Luciel felt a quiet warmth bloom in her chest at their kindness.
Just then, a voice called out to her. "Luciel, could you come to my room for a moment?" At Madame Tana's summons, Luciel rose with a puzzled expression and followed her. A mixture of anxiety and tension flared up in her chest. What could she want now?
Upon arriving at the madame's quarters, Tana handed her an elegant wooden box adorned with intricate, ornate carvings. "What is this?" Luciel asked, staring at the box with wary curiosity. Tana offered a soft, enigmatic smile—one that carried a subtle, unsettling weight. She unlatched the box and lifted the lid, revealing its contents. Inside lay a collection of extravagant lingerie and sheer, translucent dresses. Crafted from whisper-thin scraps of fabric, the garments exuded an intensely erotic allure.
"You remember Gobul, your first client from last night? He was so thoroughly pleased that he sent this gift specifically for you," Tana said, her voice calm yet laced with an undeniable pressure. "Along with a very earnest request that you wear these the next time you wait for him."
That wretched goblin...! How dare he present such vulgar trash to my imperial self...! Yet, entirely separate from her reason, her traitorous body began to react on its own. As the memories of last night's pleasure resurfaced, the phantom sensations of that humiliating ecstasy began to crawl through her cursed flesh. The sheer betrayal of it—feeling a secret, throbbing ache in her lower abdomen just from looking at these scraps of lace and silk. It was as if her body was already faintly anticipating the next session, craving the touch of another hand.
Luciel shuddered, goosebumps breaking out at the alien desires squirming deep within her. What a horrific, paradoxical nightmare. She, who had once been the absolute Emperor, was now trapped in the body of a mere whore—not only forced to cater to the filthy lusts of others, but cursed with a physical form that actively craved it. With trembling fingers, she picked up a piece of the sheer fabric from the box. It was so light and transparent that wearing it would feel no different from being completely naked. Madame Tana watched her silently, her golden eyes remaining as unreadable as ever.