Someone pushed her legs apart, spreading her thighs wide. A man, already slick with a mixture of s*men and her *rousal, positioned himself and forced himself inside, parting her already soaked hole.

“Ahh…!”

The sensation made her body shake, her cries muffled by the p*nis still buried in her throat. The heat, the hands and the overwhelming assault on her senses consumed her completely, leaving no room for thought, only the raw, oppressive reality of the moment.

The sensation of being penetrated where her fingers could never reach made her vision flash white. The slick, obscene sound of her soaked flesh accompanied each thrust, her body shuddering as Areo’s p*nis pushed further into her throat.

“Mm… mph…”

Golden eyes stood out sharply through her blurred vision. Each upward thrust left her breathless, a choked moan escaping her throat.

“Cyrene.”

Areo’s voice cut through the room, her name ringing in her ears over the cacophony of men panting and moaning. As her eyes fluttered open, a hand gently wiped away the s*men clinging to her eyelashes.

“Ah… mm…”

Her lips closed around the thick p*nis in her mouth, sucking as she moved instinctively. One man, already inside her, withdrew, only for another to take its place. A new p*nis forced itself into her already stretched and soaked hole, parting her roughly.

Her body, already pushed to the limit, reacted immediately. The scraping sensation against her inner walls brought her to another climax. Her walls clenched tightly around the intrusion, drawing strained moans from the man inside her. A lazy, exhausted moan slipped from her lips as her body shook with the intensity of her climax.

“Haa…”

Areos grabbed a handful of her hair and released himself over her face. The lukewarm liquid dripped down, sticky and thick, until it touched her lips. Cyrene instinctively stuck out her tongue to lick it, and his eyebrow twitched at the sight.

“Mm… ah… ahh!”

The lewd sounds of wet flesh and obscene movement filled the room. Someone grabbed her arm and pulled her into an embrace. As she was dragged, she lost sight of Areos and Ilion.

When she tried to turn her head, another man grabbed her jaw and forced her face forward as he thrust his p*nis into her mouth. A hand pulled hard on her hair, causing her head to jerk back and forth as her throat tightened around the intrusion.

“Ugh… mmph… ngh…”

As if not content to leave no part of her untouched, another blunt pressure was applied to the quivering, sensitive entrance to her bottom. The men around her barked impatient demands, and without warning the thick p*nis penetrated her completely in one brutal thrust.

“Mmgh…!”

Her entire body stiffened at the overwhelming sensation of being so completely filled. There was nothing she could do, trapped by their hands and demands, her body completely at their merciless disposal.

Her v*gina felt heavy and full, like it was about to burst. Cyrene gasped and flailed her hands, but all she could do was struggle, trapped between the two men.

The mix of drug-induced haze and *rousal swirled in her head. The pungent, fishy smell of sperm lingered, refusing to dissipate. Whenever one finished inside her, another immediately took his place.

No… …

A lump of flesh pushed itself so deep into her throat that she could barely breathe, unable even to moan. With a spasm she expelled s*men and the p*nis slid quickly out between her lips.

She licked up the white liquid that stained his fingers with the tip of her tongue. Areos, panting heavily, watched the men writhing inside her body.

It was that expression again – strange, as if caught between discomfort and irritation.

“Haah… Your Highness.”

What was he hoping for? As she gasped and called out to him, the Crown Prince released her, as if to dismiss her altogether.

“Mm, ah…”

Another hard p*nis thrust  her lips. The sound of a door closing echoed. Cyrene realised Areos was gone. He had acted as if he might join in, but why…?

“Hmmm…!”

The harsh intrusion below made it impossible to think. Cyrene closed her eyes tightly. There was no one here to save her. She found herself hating the word ‘party’.

***

“Haah, uh…”

It ended no differently than before. The only difference was that it was the floor instead of a bed. Her back ached, probably from scratching too much, and her whole body felt sticky, drenched in s*men, as if soaked. Cyrene lay motionless like a doll, her only sound being the ragged breaths she could barely manage to exhale.

He seemed to be the same man who had stayed to the end that time. This vague thought crossed her mind. She couldn’t remember his face, nor did she have the strength to open her eyes properly. The man who had last finished inside her had left her there, drenched in s*men.

Would His Highness the Crown Prince return?

She thought perhaps he wouldn’t. She clenched her teeth at the word ‘party’. She hated it – the party, the drug, everything.

Her dazed and foggy mind couldn’t form coherent thoughts. She felt like something that had been used and discarded. As she lay there blankly, someone approached her.

“Are you all right?”

Cyrene’s eyes snapped open. The man she thought had left halfway through was standing beside her. One knee touched the carpet, now a mess of s*men.

She caught a glimpse of the bulge still visible in his trousers. Her eyes rolled slightly.

A strange man.

Though clearly aroused by her, he stubbornly refused to touch her. Cyrene waited for his touch. If it were Ilion, she thought, she wouldn’t mind having s*x with him.

Of course, none of the countless men she had been forced to spread her legs for had ever been her choice.

He pulled out a handkerchief and gently wiped her face, half covered in dried s*men. Then he picked up a garment from nearby – a mess, trampled and soaked, as if someone had used it to clean themselves.

Ilion lifted the garment slightly, his expression twisted with displeasure. After a moment’s hesitation, he removed his outer cloak and draped it over Cyrene’s shoulders.

It was an unusual act of kindness. When she blinked at him, he looked back with a similarly conflicted expression. Of the few men whose names she knew and could remember, he was one of them, but his reaction was difficult to decipher. She tilted her head in confusion.

She leaned towards him once more. As she came closer, her reflection appeared in his dark eyes – dishevelled and ruined. Her hair, soaked with s*men. Her empty blue eyes. Her shoulders draped in Ilion’s great cloak.

She wanted to kiss him, but the sight of herself in his eyes stopped her. Instinctively, she pulled the cloak tighter around her, covering her br*asts. There was nothing left to be ashamed of, yet she felt a strange sense of shame. Why? Cyrene couldn’t understand her own reaction.

“You always…”

He seemed to be about to say something, but closed his mouth instead. As she buried her face in the cloak, Ilion’s scent enveloped her. Even through the pungent, fishy smell that surrounded her, his natural scent was strangely soothing.

“Does this happen every day?”

“…Only at the parties.”

Probably.

She swallowed the words. Cyrene didn’t know if parties were supposed to be like this. The ones described in books were places where people danced together and talked to each other. Was that just fiction? She blinked, unsure.

“Even last time…”

She realised he was referring to their encounter in the garden a few days ago. Cyrene had had s*x with someone then too. In fact, there were fewer days when she hadn’t. Even during her period she had been forced to use her mouth.

When she thought about it, she hadn’t gone a single day without having someone’s p*nis in her mouth. The realisation made her shrink in on herself, her shoulders shaking slightly. Noticing her reaction, Ilion let out a short sigh.

He stroked her cheek gently. She thought, as she always did, how different he was from Areos. For the first time, she realised that even a hand hardened by calluses could feel so soft.

“…Let’s meet again. Next time.”

Next time. When?

She wanted to ask, but she already knew there was no promise that could be kept. There were always people queuing up to have her, every single day, and just spending time with them was overwhelming enough.

And Ilion… didn’t have s*x.

Would it have been better if he had just spread her legs and thrust into her?

As Ilion quietly closed the door, she stared at his retreating back.

Then he would have been like all the others. She wouldn’t have thought anything of it, even if she’d known his name. She would have moaned and gasped under him and then forgotten all about him.

A faint smile crept onto her lips.

As soon as Ilion, the last to leave, was gone, the maids entered as if they had been waiting. As before, they quickly began tidying the room and helping Cyrene to her feet. When one of them tried to take the cloak that was still draped over her shoulders, she twisted violently and fought off the hands that reached for it.

“This is mine.”

Cyrene held on to it. The maids exchanged brief glances, communicating in silence. Fearing that they might try to take it away from her, she gripped it even tighter. Seeing her determination, they said no more.

Guided by one of the maids, Cyrene stumbled down the corridor, her steps unsteady as a thought crossed her mind. 

Why did I say it was mine? 

I have nothing that truly belongs to me.