The Saint's New Habit
"Hiik! H-Hero!"
As if he meant for me to drop dead of sheer shame on the spot, Lean began prodding at my anus, flicking it with light little taps of his finger.
"The Saintess's behind is a plump, lovely thing, no matter how many times I see it."
If a suggestion of trying anal had come right on the heels of those words, I honestly believe I might have done something reckless. The front hole I could bear — it wasn't as though I'd carried it around all my life — but the back was another story entirely. Even if it killed me, that much I had to stop. I hastily twisted my head around and summoned up the most pleading eyes I could manage.
"P-please hurry and put it in. Hero."
"Of course. Since you desire it so, I can hardly refuse."
Lean smiled with his eyes and gave my ass two light slaps with his cock. Then, without ceremony, he began pushing himself inside.
Until he was halfway in, it was relatively bearable.
"Hngh."
When he had sunk in to the depth I long since grown used to, it drew no more than a faint moan from me.
"Hnn... aaahh..."
But everything after that was the problem. I had forgotten — forgotten why the rear position was so beloved of men.
"Ngh!"
He was too deep. The glans drove into a place it had never once touched before, and the feeling of my insides being pried open made me half-believe my organs were being churned up. There couldn't be that much difference between one position and another — surely. And yet apparently there had been a reason Lean never failed to remark, every time he climbed on top of me, that my pussy felt like a virgin's.
Was the thing actually restoring itself to brand-new condition, over and over? If so, then why not regrow the hymen while he was at it — what was I supposed to do with nothing but the pretty pink color and the snug fit handed back to me? Was the point, all along, for me to die being pounded day after day after day?
"Ngh-hah. Haaah."
A few more thrusts and every stray thought was wiped clean away. What did any of that matter? I was being fucked right now, ass held high.
"Hero, ngh, wait... hnk."
That slight difference was trying to break me. Every thrust rocked my body back and forth, my breasts swinging beyond all control, and if I let my guard down for even an instant I felt I would be shoved forward, collapsing beneath the force driving in from behind.
Hadn't they said this beast-like position was the sort people either loved or hated? Now I understood that feeling a little. I was already at the point of going mad from shame. And just as he gave himself over entirely to the hunger of taking me, rocking his hips, so too was I mounted like an animal, doing nothing but being pounded.
"Hik, hik, hn, haah."
Within a few minutes my posture had collapsed completely. My hips stayed fixed where he gripped them while my upper body buckled and folded down; with every thrust my body sank deeper into the covers, my breasts crushed beneath my own weight. Even that, I found pleasure in. That was the kind of creature I had become.
"Oh. Saintess. The grip has changed, hasn't it? You're feeling good, aren't you?"
I hated myself for being unable to deny it. I had never wanted to learn something like that about myself. But wretchedly, it was the surest sign that the greatest pleasure of all was closing in. It's coming. It's coming. That climax I had begun, horrifyingly, to grow accustomed to — the brain-melting wave of pleasure that always arrived in perfect time with the moment he came.
"Hnngh!"
The sensation of fluid that was not mine flooding into my depths remained every bit as repulsive as ever. Surely my body rejected it precisely because this was no union between lovers but a coerced violation. And yet every moment on the way there was so electric that the pain which came along with it was easy to forget — for never once in my life had I known pleasure so saturated with that kind of rapture.
Before long Lean released me, my lower body gave out beneath me, and I collapsed face-down onto the bed. The pleasure passed. Now was the time to pull myself back together. That was how it should have been.
"Saintess. Perhaps next time we might mix in some new positions as well? I found it wonderful, and you seemed satisfied too. What do you say? Shall we?"
"...Ye-es. Let's... do that."
Answering him like that, I no longer felt as though I were acting — and that began to frighten me a little. When the hand that had been stroking my back suddenly seized my ass, my lower belly had threatened to give off the faintest warmth. An ominous sign, surely.
"Your clothes are ready too, Saintess, so we can be on our way soon."
It should have been the best of news, yet Serina's lips pushed out in a faint pout. In the year she had lived in a woman's body, that pretty face had brought her almost nothing pleasant. Her absurdly large breasts were nothing but heavy, and whenever she went out, so much as a close-fitting garment sent her scrambling to cover herself up.
Not my body. What was the big deal, back when a man's chest line showed a little?
Even so, she found it mortifying how the very quality of people's gazes shifted with nothing more than the cut of her clothes. It was like strutting down the street naked; eyes that stopped at her face she might have borne, but before looks that crawled over her body she inevitably shrank in on herself. Which was why Gelf's consideration had meant so much to her.
'The Saintess wished for it so earnestly — what can I do? I, Gelf, will take personal responsibility and guard you down to your very ankles. How about it? Dependable, wouldn't you say?'
For the sake of a girl ashamed of her own skin, Gelf had mended her saintess habit with such loving care that barely any bare flesh showed. On hot days, breathable fabric with exposure limited to the wrists and just below the knee; on cold days, thick, toasty material that wrapped her completely; and in a peaceful autumn like this one, something moderately substantial — right in the comfortable middle. A garment tailored to perfection, in other words.
"Saintess or no, this is too much. Wearing something this impractical from morning to night — isn't that simply cruel?"
The moment Serina laid eyes on the outfit Lean had spent days altering, her cherished memories were sullied for good. What was he trying to do — announce to the world that she no longer had a maidenhood to protect? Long slits ran down from both sides of the waist, and the bodice plunged in a deep hollow over the chest.
"Isn't the exposure a little... extreme?"
"There is no need for concern. I will be guarding you at all times. Besides, who on earth would harbor dark intentions toward the benevolent Saintess? Surely you don't distrust me?"
Serina did not snap back with some retort about whether the bastard saying such things was still hard this very moment. That was a habit she had graduated from within two days. If she were haunted by another nightmare of someone being murdered, she truly felt she would go mad on the spot.
Trying to hypnotize herself that it hadn't been real was a wasted effort. Within the hallucinations the Holy Sword conjured, she could not so much as entertain the thought that that horrific scene was anything but real. The memories she faced inside those delusions were far more terrifying, far more dreadful, than any nightmare. Who would want to watch the limbs of people they knew drop away, their bodies rotting where they fell?
Lean was a coward of a hero. If Serina had banked up so much as a single day of defiance, he would have dragged Gelf's soul out without hesitation and done whatever he pleased with it — of that she was certain. She had already shuddered at the sight of strangers, people who were not family, in agony. So if it came to family, going utterly, completely mad would be more than possible.
"...I trust you. Now give it back."
"You seem to have recovered your composure, Saintess. It is a fine thing to see. My heart is much at ease."
That he believed it was a godsend. The dread that if she showed the least hostility she might be stripped of even the chance to plot her revenge worked on Serina like a bit and bridle, keeping her that much more docile. After all, she had played the Saintess for a full year with a man's mind. She would simply keep doing it exactly as before — the only addition being that now, whenever he pleased, she took his cock into her mouth and spread her legs.
Filthy. Vile. But Serina, telling herself that she could not fall apart here, took the clothes from Lean's hands and unfolded them.
"............"
Serina's brow creased faintly. She was meant to wear this — to treat it as the holy vestment of the Saintess, sanctioned by the Goddess and the Order itself? If that was the standard, then surely it followed that she could go off with any passing man, shake her hips for him to her heart's content, and walk away innocent of all sin.
By your own logic, the world regards the Saintess as a noble being bound to her maidenhood — which means I could stroll about stark naked and be perfectly safe. Isn't that right, you deranged bastard?
"Now, the undergarments as well, please."
"And the top?"
"As I mentioned before, that isn't to my taste. As long as you don't move about too vigorously, no one will be the wiser. Don't worry."
She wanted to seize him by the collar and demand what species of horseshit that was supposed to be. Of course — you would have to live a day in a woman's body to know how miserable this was. Serina suddenly wanted to cry. Her nipples would stay hidden, at least, unless she was drenched in sweat or flushed with arousal; but unless she crossed her arms over her chest at all times, every single step would set it bouncing. Plainly, unavoidably. Picturing herself going braless wherever she set foot, she could not keep her body from shivering with shame.
"......Yes."
And then, through it all, she looked at the underwear he handed over, and a sigh escaped her of its own accord. Of course. Of course it had come to this — panties that fastened at either hip with nothing but strings. Whether Lean watched or not, Serina flung off the clothes she stood in right there and changed on the spot. Facing the mirror afterward, she found that the slightest disarray would bare skin anywhere at all. It was, in a word, an outfit that made her head spin.
The bodice was one thing, but the twin slits at her hips were the true problem. Even the panty strings are showing. The long panels of cloth hanging front and back were pitifully meager — barely skimming her crotch and rear while her thighs were offered up completely bare, so that a single sidelong look would betray the panties beneath.
A Saintess? What a joke. She was a whore, plain and simple. Oh — right. That part was true. The Hero's exclusive whore. For that purpose, the outfit was honestly quite serviceable. Flip up the front panel, part her legs the slightest bit, and men would come running on their own. What could possibly be more convenient than this?
"Saintess."
"What."
"Please put these on as well."
Oh. Of course. A Saintess can hardly go without her stockings, can she.
......Fucking fantastic.