The Whip Called Memory
Close her eyes, open them again, and she would find herself cradled in a man's embrace. Serina had been certain that if this went on, the day would come when her body broke — or her mind did.
And yet her body and mind were anything but frail. If anything, every time she was pierced through to her depths, they only grew more resolute.
The reason was simple. It was only the masculinity she still carried that refused this situation; the woman's body and mind, long since inured to rape, sought nothing but pleasure.
And so the thought had come to her: accept reality, give up resisting, and she would be freed from this pain — free to live a life filled with nothing but pleasure.
Serina rejected it with everything she had.
For the days that remained until the baptism's end, even with the sole escape left to her sitting squarely before her eyes, she had to fight on in desperate resistance rather than reach for it. For a full week, no less. It would be stranger than strange not to call that suffering.
Insane bastards. They're insane. Insane. Insane. Insane.
Still blankly repeating the words inside her head, Serina lifted herself from the bed. Ervan, under the pretense of guaranteeing the saintess her rest, had for once gone without washing her down today. And so, though a full hour had passed since she returned to her room, her naked body remained unwashed, coated from head to toe in a clinging, unbearable film.
She reached one hand behind her and closed it around a fistful of hair. The slick residue clung to her palm. Rubbing the strands between her fingers, she swept the blanket aside with the other hand, baring legs stretched out smooth and pale.
She extended her arm and began to trace her way up from the knee. Thigh, hip, waist, breast. Throat. Not a single patch of skin the stickiness had spared.
At last the hand arrived at her face and spread flat, swallowing one cheek whole. The moment it made contact, that unmistakable fishy reek rose up so thickly she knew there was no need to search anywhere else. Serina's face contorted with revulsion.
It was not the stale stench of semen she had long since grown sick of smelling. It was the peculiar sensation carried only by the fingers that had brushed her lips — one that dredged an ominous memory back to the surface.
"Ah... ah..."
A long breath spilled from her half-parted mouth, and as the memory — only just made whole — surfaced, her shoulders shuddered violently.
Serina did not even know by what means she was supposed to accept any of this. Everything was simply chaos. And so, naturally, she had no way to dodge the whip that bore the name of recollection.
She faced the atrocity replaying itself in her mind.
Thirteen men who had taken part in the baptism from the very start. Twenty more who joined around the midpoint. Over the course of a week, thirty-three mouths in all had pressed themselves against hers.
Partway through, she could no longer even fathom why they did this. Her mouth had been churned into a filthy medley of the saliva of every man who had passed through her and the seed spewed by the cocks crammed down her throat. Even she could smell the foulness rising from her own lips — and still they clung to the kissing like men possessed.
Now she understood. The answer had been in that mirror all along.
Serina stared at the glass set upon the dressing table. Reflected there was a face so lovely that even her ruined present could be wrapped up in the word "beautiful."
Forcing her quaking arm to obey, she clapped a hand over her mouth. Those lips, never anything but soft whenever they were caressed, now stole her breath at the mere sight of them; she could not bear it. And small wonder — the men, feeling their release build, had all wanted to meet their end locked in a kiss with her, so every rape endlessly perpetrated upon her began and ended the same way: pressed lips bitten, tongues entwined.
Each time, pinned beneath the weight of a man pressed flush against her, Serina had no choice but to shudder through her climax in time with his. And afterward, a cock was worked into her forcibly spread mouth.
Violated by Cardinal Frey's monstrous cock, she had felt, keenly, as though even her soul were being cleaved apart. From the very beginning, in her already broken state, she could not even manage the simple cleaning they demanded of her. Unluckily for her, they never spared a thought for her plight. The instant her tongue faltered, pressure would bear down hard on her womb just as the cardinal had done, and the torment would resume — picking out only her sweetest spots to abuse.
"Saintess... your pussy is clenching down even tighter, you know. Might you be getting aroused, perhaps?"
If only to keep from hearing those words, Serina had to devote herself to the cock — mouthing it, sucking it down. When the saintess faithfully performed her duty, they offered no particular remark, and she came to understand why in the very midst of being used. She was sucking the organ that had, mere moments before, been churning through her insides and sowing its seed — in a body already aroused past its limit by the savagery of the coupling. And it followed directly upon the wringing-out of his release and her own climax. It would have been stranger not to be drunk on that heat.
They adored the saintess's pussy when it gripped down tight in that state. And every time, the saintess drowned in despair. It was not once or twice; the moment her turn came, the whole ordeal played out again.
Few of their faces stayed with her, but one fact she remembered with perfect clarity: on this day alone she had taken Cardinal Frey five times, and Bishop Ervan three. If even the seed of those two — comparatively restrained in how they slaked their lust — had been strewn over her so liberally, what must the rest have been like? Surely they must have mounted her no fewer than six times a day.
Of course, the counting itself was meaningless. For every time she received a man's organ, she had no choice but to flounder in the agony of flesh being torn.
For throughout that entire ordeal, the Goddess's blessing had descended without pause upon one place, and one place only. To put it another way: every single moment, she was made to suffer the pain of her maidenhood being lost.
"How astonishing. To think the Goddess would look after you with such tender care, Saintess. Even I find myself nothing short of awed by the depth of your faith."
She had never known this, in the days when Lean violated her — at least back then, it was not as it was now, a differently shaped cock buried inside her each and every time. That was why it took her a long while to grasp what Frey meant.
Afterward, of course, she understood their reactions only too well. The lower lips of a woman who had lain with the Hero a dozen times a day did not slacken and stretch — they returned to themselves, pristine as new, every single time. That alone would have been a blessing beyond all measure; but it was not renewed on the scale of days. The change took hold the instant a coupling with one man ended.
The priests, beholding that miracle — pink flesh stretched to the very shape of the cock buried within it, dripping seed, mending itself in real time until it was as good as new — began to grow excited past all decorum.
And so, the moment any man's cock bored into her depths, Serina thrashed in pain as fierce as a virgin's first taking.
"Haah— ah, hah, heek."
"Ah, ahn, ahn, haahng."
"Ahhah, aahn! Nngh, huaahn!"
By the time she could lean upon the familiarity that had crept in unbidden, all it took was for the monstrous pain to vacate its seat, and she was singing of pleasure like any common whore. It was a reality she could scarcely bring herself to accept — and yet, cruelly, the moment a cock spilled its seed and slipped free, her body was already craving the next pleasure. As though her belly were forever announcing its readiness to receive a man, a faintly knotted heat seemed to lie in wait about her womb. When the next cock was rubbed against her pussy, when she heard the dull thud sounding from her lower belly, she had felt as though her mind might simply slip away.
It was the moment she understood that then, as now, she could not refuse the pleasure that came flooding in. For her — still carrying a fragment of a man's mind — it could only ever remain a pleasure foreign and strange.
Even so, she endured. Even if her flesh could not be kept from violation, she meant to carry on the resistance of her mind. She had pretended, if only for a moment, to submit before Lean's eyes because the Order had still been a hope. Now that even that was gone, enduring alone was the only answer left.
To say that, hope being gone, she need only resign herself and accept it — that was nothing short of lunacy. In this place where rape had become as ordinary as breathing, was she to writhe in pleasure like those nuns and spread her legs? Never. She could not be allowed to crumble. Even if the days ahead held nothing but darkness, she had to hold out to the very end.
That thing they so glibly spoke of — the fall of a female. That, above all else, she had to prevent, whatever it took.
And so, even amid violation without end, she roused herself again and again to the vigilance that she must hold fast to that distant will to resist. It was only that the road there felt so very far.
Chasing a dream invisible in the present was grueling — but such things could change, given enough effort. Even if a dream were impossible, it does not deal its challenger despair before she has so much as taken her first step. But the dream granted to Serina was elusive past all others, and not something she could seize merely by steeling her heart. However earnestly she waved her hands at empty air to swat away gnats, the only thing that ever came within reach of her outstretched arms was the base desire of men.
There was never a moment when her fair hands were not wrapped around a cock. And whenever someone drove their hips hard against her, her lush breasts heaved along with her body, every time.