Well, It Can't Be Helped
Early in the morning, someone knocked on my door.
(Knock knock knock knock)
But I heard none of it, rolling about in my bed.
"Mmm... Mom... five more minutes..."
(BANG!)
The enormous sound sent me bolting upright.
"Eh...?"
"Oh, you're awake~ Then my work here is done."
I heard Melanie's footsteps fading away down the hall.
Judging by the drool smeared across my cheek, if Melanie hadn't come to wake me, I'd have been late again without a doubt. The current time was 7:30 a.m.—roughly an hour until assembly.
I washed my face and changed in record time, then sat down in front of the vanity. A modest application of the basics, and I was back on my feet.
"Hm. What does a man need makeup for? This much is exactly right."
Current time: 8:25. Precisely the moment to step out.
I opened my door and took my place outside.
Emilia looked on with clear satisfaction at the sight of me; Hailey gave the barest nod of approval. And Melanie, forever the friendly one, flashed me a grin and shot a thumbs-up my way.
At exactly 8:30, everyone filed out in front of their doors and lined up.
"Attendance is complete. You may set off at once."
Today's lesson was a hands-on practicum.
(I genuinely, truly do not want to do this.)
These days I'd been slowly getting used to this and that, but of every class on the schedule, this was the one I dreaded. If I had to do it at all, I'd have much preferred next week—after I'd settled into the other things first.
Unless I pulled something before we reached Building C in the annex, I'd have no choice but to take the unwanted lesson exactly as it came. It helped that I seemed to have earned good marks in my other classes, so missing this one didn't look likely to cost me anything.
All or nothing, then. With that settled, I executed the time-honored art of the staged injury.
"Aack!"
Mid-stride through the garden, I caught my foot on a paving block and pitched forward as though I'd twisted my ankle.
(Crack)
Except it actually sprained.
As it turned out, this body was nowhere near as sturdy as I'd assumed.
Not that it mattered—if it was real, I didn't need to act at all. I could simply show them the genuine article.
"Ow, ow, ow..."
Having twisted my ankle, I struck a pose like a princess out of some royal court, hiding my face behind my sleeve. The pain was entirely real, so passing off fake tears took no effort whatsoever.
Emilia, having witnessed my fall, hurried over and examined my condition.
"Hmm... The calcaneofibular and deltoid ligaments are intact. The anterior and posterior talofibular ligaments are unharmed as well, so fortunately, it seems you have gotten away with nothing more than a mild sprain."
"Do be careful at all times."
Perhaps in preparation for precisely such an occasion, she reached beneath her own skirt, drew a bandage out from within, and administered first aid.
Hypnotized as they all were—living as maids, serving as sex slaves—they nonetheless appeared to have mastered every fundamental duty a maid was expected to know.
"The first aid is complete, but today's lesson must be endured on your legs, so I'm afraid participating will be difficult for you."
From Emilia's lips came the very words I'd been praying for. Outwardly, I hung my head low, the very picture of wounded, disappointed innocence; inwardly, a full parade was marching through the streets.
"Ah... what a shame, truly..."
But at the sight of me, the Head Maid called over the two instructors who had been assisting nearby and ordered them to carry me.
"Eh?"
"Injury or no injury, I believe it would be unfair to excuse you from a lesson that everyone else attends and experiences on equal footing."
"The Deputy Head Maids beside you will provide special assistance."
I had no grounds to object, and no desire to object either.
The gamble had come up bust.
And so I was carried, dazed as I was, into Building C—the largest of all the annex buildings.
Inside, pistons stood ready in rows, one for every trainee. The vast reserves of artificial semen plumbed into them were, apparently, a bonus.
We were walked through the essentials—how to use the emergency stop button, how to adjust the intensity, how to regulate the secretion volume—and then everyone set their piston running at their own pace.
One girl cranked hers to full power from the very first second and ended up weeping, begging for someone to help her.
"H-Head Maid, th-this one's, this one's too strong! Unnnghhk~!"
Someone pressed the emergency stop for her with an air of profound pity, and she crumpled forward, a slimy fluid trickling down her legs from her pussy.
I was quietly watching the whole spectacle when a voice at my side made me flinch.
"Glay, how would you like it set?"
What the Deputy Head Maid was asking about seemed to be the intensity and the secretion volume. The other one had already taken hold of both my legs and stood waiting in a pose so indecent it beggared description.
"Uh... the weakest? The very minimum?"
When I asked for the gentlest setting, she gave me a faintly suspicious look.
"The very minimum... Well, all right, then. If it's that much of an ordeal for you... well, with your ankle sprained like that, taking it slow is only sensible, I suppose~"
There was nothing remotely worth taking offense at, and yet something grated on me—a faint, irritable snap, as though something somewhere in my body had cracked.
"Th-then medium, then? Something moderate—"
"Hmm... medium, like everyone else, is perfectly acceptable too. Exactly as much as everyone else does—no less."
And that was the moment my temper truly slipped its leash, and the one thing I must never have said shot out of my mouth.
"Grr—! Top setting, the most there is!"
"...Ah."
Far too late to take it back.
As if those were the very words she'd been waiting for, she set the piston running on the spot without so much as touching the settings.
"It's a fair bit smaller than the master's cock, so you'll manage just fine, Glay~"
(Clunk)
(Thud thud thud thud)
The piston kicked into gear at full speed, and with every deep thrust it pumped a massive surge of artificial semen inside me, raked me with its glans on the way out, then plunged back in again.
(Squelch squelch squelch)
"Stop, just sto... ngh, ngh, ngh."
I'd meant to beg them to stop—but since this was going to happen eventually regardless, I decided to stop postponing the inevitable, accept it, and give it an honest try.
My training had been brief—but was that precisely why? Had all that dildo work already prepared me? Or was it simply that this body was a legendary honeypot?
Either way, it hurt far less than I'd feared, and I felt nothing like I would collapse in tears and lose control of my bladder the way that girl had earlier.
(It's not even a real cock, after all.)
"Glay, shall I slow the speed, or stop it entirely?"
"If you so wish, I will do so for you."
Rather than scowling and hating it every single time, I decided that since the moment had arrived, even if I couldn't enjoy it, I would at least feel it.
"Ungh... I'm fi... ungh...ne❤"
The dildo, molded from silicone or rubber, was detailed down to the glans and every last vein, dragging along my inner walls, while the artificial semen coursing through the hose doubled as lubricant—so the scraping didn't hurt one bit. If anything, it felt good.
Slowly, I closed my eyes and felt the piston sliding in and out of me.
What I couldn't see was that the two Deputy Head Maids, just like Emilia, were gazing down at me with immense pride, trading a glance between themselves.
(Ungh... it's degrading, but I'd have to do it eventually anyway...)
Compromising with myself one more time, I let the moment carry me through.
And so, after ten minutes of piston play, six of us—myself included—had drained the artificial semen down to the bare bottom of the tanks.
"This batch truly is exceptional. Last year, a mere two of you managed to empty them. This time, six."
"You may well be proud of yourselves."
The instant those words fell, a sound rose from my belly.
(Gurgle)
And the semen that had been pumped into me in bulk came pushing back out of my pussy.
Even then, at intervals of a few seconds, my belly kept heaving, and more sticky fake semen slid out of my pussy and dropped to the floor.
(Splat)
(Gulp)
(Splat)
When I looked down, the ground was glazed with a dough-like puddle—an amount so vast I could scarcely believe it had all been inside my belly. Every time another flood of it was shoved out of my pussy and fell, my body gave a small jolt.
(Ah... I must look like an absolute disaster right now...)
Half-dilated pupils. Drool leaking from the corner of my mouth. A body that kept flinching and shuddering. To any observer, I was the very portrait of satisfaction.
What snapped me back to my senses was the Deputy Head Maids sliding wet-wipe-wrapped fingers into my pussy to scrape me clean. No one could afford to wait for it all to drain out naturally, so I was hardly the only one getting scraped and wiped; the others received the same treatment.
From the how-to lecture all the way through the cleanup, the whole thing had taken less than an hour—and yet it felt as though more had happened to me than I could count.
"You will be using the annex's shower facilities today, so please make your way to the showers."
Until now, the stickiness had been confined to my pussy and my chest, and a once-over with a slightly damp towel had always sufficed. This time, it clung to me from my hair down to every last crevice of my body.
Emilia opened the door of the shower room beside Building C.
"Those who have finished extracting every trace of semen from your pussies may proceed into the showers first."
The ones who had finished scraping filed quickly in to wash, and I limped in after them.
I had gone in half hoping the showers might hold some touch of luxury—and my brow knotted on the spot. It looked exactly like the shower rooms I remembered from old public bathhouses and from the army.
(Fuck.)
One short, stout little word shot straight through my head.
(Whew... let's just shower and get out of here.)
I washed fast and made my way back to my room, steadied by one of the Deputy Head Maids waiting outside to help me along. Stepping inside, I flopped onto the bed, same as always.
Everyone else seemed to have gone off to eat, but I felt full enough—after all, I had already eaten my fill earlier, through a very different mouth.
"Ah... seriously, every time I take one of these classes, the fatigue just piles up in this body without end..."
"I need to get promoted fast and quit this shit already..."
I lay there in bed and slept again until the afternoon class. Time passed, Melanie came to wake me, we lined up, and we headed for the annex once more.
Ordinarily I would whine that I hated it, that I was nervous, that I flat-out refused—but this went beyond all of that. I truly, genuinely did not want to go.