The Two of Me
For the past month, every time I laid my head down to sleep, I had asked the Goddess the same questions.
Whether any of this made sense. Whether this was truly what she meant to throw at me — me, who had prayed at every waking moment and faithfully kept my duty as a saintess — telling me, of all times, to simply adapt to it now.
What the hell was I supposed to do about it?
Was I meant to memorize it all — the faces of the men who came at me one after another, their order even assigned in advance, the shapes of their cocks, the feel of their hands, their tongues, their lips, the stink of their bodies — and recite it back every night like homework?
Was that why she had forced me to live my whole life as a noble, virtuous saintess?
This time, too, she gave me no answer — and the meaning of her silence was self-evident.
The answer I had to choose had long since been decided.
I had to. Quite simply: I was the saintess placed in charge of seeing to their lust.
That much, I had decided to accept. Because I had no intention whatsoever of giving up everything else just like this.
"Ahhn."
"It seems you enjoyed yourself, Lady Saintess."
"Heah... hnn."
And then.
"Lady Saintess. Would you lie on your side for me this time?"
"Ugh... ahhk."
"It will hurt, but I ask you to bear with it. I've waited far too long — I'm afraid I'll spend myself the instant we begin."
"Hhaah, ah, hah, ahhn."
Ah. I have to, don't I.
"Next is my turn. Come up on top of me."
"Like... this?"
"Yes. Climb up just as you are, and I'll see to the rest."
"Nnh, heah, hik, hiit."
"Relax, and try taking a deep breath. You'll steady yourself soon enough."
"Hah, yes. Nn, ah. Haahn."
I can't remember a single thing about the face of the man who just spent himself inside me, or what his cock even looked like.
Because this man's is so much bigger. Because it torments me more, feels better, and sends me off somewhere utterly rapturous.
"Hheuunngh!"
And now I've stopped caring about any of that. What am I supposed to do about that?
"Ahh... nn."
"Haah... Lady Saintess. Thank you for your trouble. Did it feel good?"
"Yes... it... felt... good..."
I squeezed out the last of my strength and forced my mouth shut.
My mind had already been devoured by pleasure — if I let my lips move one more time, I was certain my true feelings would come spilling out for real.
Lately, a thought has been taking root in me.
A suspicion — so close to conviction it hardly deserved the name — that the thing called me had split in two, and it was beginning to swell.
And small wonder. The me in the throes of that savage coupling seemed to become something beneath a beast, and once that me — feasting on pleasure without a shred of responsibility — had melted away, only the me left carrying every last ounce of the burden remained, suddenly alone.
I know perfectly well why this outcome was handed to me. Because the me of now is a garbage bin, swept full of every feeling from the times I let myself stray, and crammed shut.
That's right. I admit it. It felt too good. So good I thought I'd go mad.
Every time I sank into the arms of a man who filled me to the brim and moved inside me, that satisfaction — brimming past the point of excess — pleased me terribly. And I admit all of it, even that I clung to them harder still, half-believing that if I raved on like a madwoman drowned in pleasure, I would simply die on my own.
"Ahhk, ugh, nghk."
Which must be why there is a me who seizes my own throat.
The image of me rocking my hips on top of someone refuses to disappear, and I told myself that if I could just get through moments like this, I could see it through to the very end.
...Ha. What a fucking lunatic.
Did you forget already that this whole mess only came about because you never had the guts to kill even one person? And now, with that rot-eaten brain of yours, you're going to kill me?
I ask myself: can you kill me?
No. I can't.
Because I don't want to die.
If I had truly wanted to die, I would have scraped together some means, any means, and hanged myself come hell or high water.
It was only because I felt I couldn't endure it otherwise that I did something like this at all.
"Hheuk... heuhk... huk..."
I don't think I'll be able to do even this anymore.
Just the fact of intending to kill myself seems to wound me too deeply for words, and the tears won't stop.
Ah. Perhaps I do want to keep living, after all.
Of course I do. I am still a saintess.
Living as a saintess who helps people was the only dream this me had ever had — how could I ever abandon it with my own two hands?
Never mind that the saintess in question is now the Order's exclusive whore.
"I wonder how he's doing."
As I heaved sigh after sigh, despairing over my lot, Lartel suddenly came to mind.
It was a far more hopeful, brighter thought than my circumstances deserved, so I kept turning him over in my mind.
A knight I had known for barely two days.
And yet he had been such an immense light to me that, at first, deep down, I had quietly placed my hopes in him.
Lartel had known I was a saintess from the very start.
He had known, too, that something terrible had been done to me.
Of course, that faith didn't last long.
Who on earth would ever suspect this Order?
It takes in the parentless children born in the surrounding area, raises them dutifully, and even bestows baptism upon those who wish to serve it, guaranteeing them a livelihood.
I know there are plenty of sisters used for lust-relief just as I am, but those women have been steeped in brainwashing since childhood, and not one of them would ever lift a finger for me.
Naturally so.
Not even the smallest rumor of this Order's rot has ever once spread into the world.
"...There's no way anything like that could ever happen."
Even so, his had been a welcome face.
He would surely be disillusioned if he saw what a whore I'd become — but I still carried, carefully, the wish to keep him as a friend.
"Live well and stay healthy, Lartel."
Selfishly, I found myself wanting to keep that one knight — Lartel — as my last remaining hope.
It wasn't too greedy a wish. That, at least, I chose to believe.
Another month slipped by.
Which meant nearly two months had already passed since I first came to this Order.
I have no memory of setting foot outside the cathedral in all that time, so nothing out of the ordinary happened.
The bulk of my daily routine was fixed: ten hours of Ervan's lessons, every single day. The rest I was free to spend at rest in my room.
Rest that was guaranteed, of course, only on the condition that no one came looking for me.
That doorknob still turns without my leave, and whenever that door opens — whoever stands behind it — I am to quietly undress and spread my legs.
And so, from morning until six in the evening I entwine flesh with Ervan to my fill, and after supper I receive my so-called guests, one at a time.
"Haaam... 'm sleepy..."
Perhaps it was the long lesson, but after dinner, alone in my room, only drowsiness came flooding in.
With as many as ten guests a day calling on my room, sleep deprivation had long since become a chronic affliction.
Opening my eyes in the early morning and closing them in the dead small hours, day after day for a month on end — that says it all.
Of course, I never once complained. My lot now was far better than it had been at the beginning.
For the weeks after the baptism ceremony, under the pretext of "building fellowship," twice a week I would be surrounded in the great hall by a dozen-odd men and passed between them, taken one after another.
Every time, my frail body was dragged out still unconscious — and the methods were so endlessly varied that they could only sear themselves into my memory as something all the more horrific.
Once, I was left hanging limp by all four limbs, hands and feet bound.
Legs stretched straight, waist folded in half, naturally.
In that position, with my toes just barely grazing the floor, the way everything clenched tight with each thrust from either end apparently made for exquisite sensitivity — or so they said?
Either way, even in the thick of it, I could only resent my own helplessness — unable to utter a single word of protest.
As if they had resolved to watch my eyes roll all the way back, they hammered into me from front and behind without a moment's respite, violating me for five hours straight. That I survived at all was nothing short of a miracle.
If only because of memories like those, I had learned to behave in Ervan's lessons — and my situation had settled into something comparatively bearable.
During lessons I need only spread my legs in Ervan's office; outside of them, only in my own room.
Ah — come to think of it, there was one thing.
Ever since the incident where I snipped a cock clean off with my teeth — in other words, ever since the day I was bound to a cross and sobbed until I broke — Ervan's manner toward me had changed.
I had grown noticeably meeker, cowed in advance by the fear it might happen again, and for whatever reason he seemed to have taken a liking to me for it.
He was a man who had never once exchanged a word with me beyond talk of my training, but at some point he began, now and then, to speak of the world outside.
It was through him, just hours ago, that I heard the news of Rean.
Rean — who had lost his precious manhood in a single instant — was gnashing his teeth, they said, determined to hunt me down and have his revenge no matter what it took.
He had come here in the dead of night, resolved to storm the place with the Holy Sword drawn — but the Hero, standing before an Order that had long since finished investigating the Holy Sword, was apparently nothing more than a powerless man.
I heard he threw a fit right in front of Cardinal Frai and was turned away at the gate on the spot.
"Hmph. Serves you right, you perverted bastard."
You should have known when to stop. This is what you get for coveting an innocent saintess's maidenhead for nothing.
It was so satisfying that I crawled right back under the covers.
Picturing that prideful bastard taking the Cardinal's light full in the face and going tumbling out the door, a vicarious satisfaction welled up in me so strong I couldn't stop the laughter for the life of me.
For a long while, I just lay there snickering to myself.
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