She tried to shrink back, but with her arms tightly bound behind her, the motion only served to push her br*ast forward. Her lips trembled uncontrollably.

“Hhngh, ha… hhic…”

Her legs shook violently as she collapsed back onto the phallic model. The sensation of it pressing deep into her, to the point of pain, felt like it was pressing into her stomach. But any distinction between pleasure and pain had been blurred, leaving her mind in utter chaos.

“You’re nothing but a lewd beast who enjoys being punished.”

With those words, the whip struck her br*ast again, this time landing squarely on her tender n*pple. The sharp sensation left her mind blank for a moment.

“Ahh!”

Cyrene’s body quivered violently. Her hardened n*pple stood *rect, almost as if to flaunt itself against the reddened, swollen lines on her br*ast. The Count slowly traced the rising crimson welt with the handle of the whip, letting its cool surface graze over her inflamed skin.

“You’re worse than a beast.”

“I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

She begged without even knowing what she had done wrong. She just wanted it to stop—the pain, the humiliation, and the unbearable weight of remaining in this position. Cyrene’s entire body was drenched in cold sweat, trembling uncontrollably.

“Ugh…”

The handle, which had been moving slowly, suddenly prodded her swollen n*pple. The Count toyed with it, poking and pressing as if to mock her. Finally, he pushed down firmly, making her flinch.

A dull ache spread through her, wavering between what felt like pleasure and pain – until it became clear it was the latter. Cyrene twisted desperately, trying to escape his touch, but there was nowhere to go from the saddle.

“M-Master…”

With a gleam in his eyes, the Count pulled her down from the saddle.

“Hah… ahh!”

The objects slipped out of her with a wet sound, leaving Cyrene’s entire body trembling uncontrollably, as if caught in spasms.

For the first time in hours, her feet touched the ground, but she couldn’t even stand. She collapsed weakly onto the floor, only for her head to be grabbed and forced downward until her face nearly pressed against the ground.

“Lick it.”

“Hnngh…”

“Clean up what you spilled. You should take care of your own mess.”

The Count cold voice descended over her like a chilling weight. As Cyrene hesitantly stuck out her tongue to lick the puddle of her own fluids on the floor, his hand reached down, forcing her already overstretched hole even wider.

He gazed intently at the flushed, slick inner folds as if examining her, before delivering a harsh slap to her backside.

“Hhk…!”

Cyrene swallowed her scream, choking it back into her throat. This was nothing like the few times Areos had struck her. While those moments had stung, they paled in comparison to this. Each slap of his hand against her skin carried no restraint, as if he didn’t care if she completely broke under his touch.

With another loud slap, a red mark bloomed on her other cheek. The Count watched as her stretched hole between her legs trembled, its inner walls contracting involuntarily. A faint grin played on his lips as he look at it.

“Judging by how you tighten up every time you’re struck, it seems you enjoy being hit.”

“N-no, that’s not it… hhic…!”

Before she could even finish her denial, his palm came down on her backside again, harder than before. It felt as though her flesh might tear apart. Despite having only been struck three times, sparks exploded in her mind, overwhelming her senses.

“I told you to lick.”

A large hand pressed Cyrene’s head firmly against the floor, smearing her cheek into the slick puddle of fluids that mixed with her tears. As she timidly stuck out her tongue to lick the ground, a shoe suddenly crushed down on her small, trembling tongue.

“Ha… ahh…”

Unable to withdraw her tongue, Cyrene remained still, her head bowed in resignation. The Count’s mocking laughter echoed above her, followed by another sharp slap on her raised bottom.

Tears and saliva dripped relentlessly, falling to the floor in steady streams. Her arms, bound tightly behind her back, thrashed in vain but showed no sign of coming free. She couldn’t escape his hand, nor the cruel punishment he delivered with precision and intent.

Moans mixed with sobs spilled uncontrollably from her throat. Cyrene couldn’t help but think she was no better than an animal. Here she was, making beastly noises as she was struck by her master’s hand. How was she any different from a dog?

Her backside throbbed with searing pain, as if it might split open at any moment. Her tongue was crushed underfoot, while the whip lashed across her back repeatedly, leaving stinging marks with each strike.

“Ugh, ugh…….”

Ilion, Areos. No matter how hard she tried, only two names came to mind—a realization that filled her with despair. She wanted to return to the Crown Prince. It would have been far better to spread her legs for others instead.

At least everyone knew she belonged to the Crown Prince. Areos was a man who terrified her deeply, but at least he didn’t derive pleasure from torture.

Her arms, back, and backside burned as if they were on fire. The faint, metallic scent of blood began to waft through the air, making her wonder if her skin had broken. The relentless smacks that left stinging marks all over her body gradually subsided.

“Haa… ha…”

The Count’s ragged breathing echoed faintly above her. As his shoe finally lifted off her tongue, Cyrene collapsed onto the cold stone floor, curling up instinctively.

“Haa… hh…”

Her entire body shook uncontrollably. If Areos was someone who frightened her with his mere presence, her new “master” inflicted that fear through sheer, unrelenting pain.

Each slight movement sent a searing agony through her back, as if her wounds would scream in protest.

“Get up.”

The count undid the front of his trousers as he spoke, his hardened p*nis jumping free. The sight made Cyrene gasp sharply, her breath catching in her throat.

“I-I’m sorry… I was wrong… so wrong…”

Tears fell before she could even fully comprehend what she was pleading for. Her words were incoherent, driven by fear and desperation.

The man’s expression twisted into a grim, menacing scowl.

“If you can’t understand human speech, then you’re nothing but a beast.”

It was clear he intended to repeat what had happened the day before. Cyrene wobbled as she tried to stand, but her legs gave out repeatedly, causing her to collapse back onto the floor. Each time, the cold stone scraped against her raw, burning skin, intensifying her discomfort.

The Count clicked his tongue in mild annoyance at her unsteady attempts before effortlessly hoisting her up. He pressed her down onto a table lined with what looked like instruments of torture, forcing her to lie prone across its cold surface.

A cold, unidentifiable piece of metal pressed harshly against her br*ast. The count, standing between her trembling legs, shoved his throbbing p*nis roughly into her slick, overstretched hole.

“Ahh! Ugh…!”

Her inner walls, sore from holding something large for hours, quivered uncontrollably. Each time his hips slammed against her raw, sensitive backside, tearful sobs mingled with her gasps, spilling from her lips without restraint.

The various instruments on the table clattered noisily with each movement, and the scraping sound of her legs against the stone floor echoed sharply in the room.

“Ah, it hurts… ngh… ah…”

“But you’re enjoying it.”

Cyrene’s hair was pulled tightly, forcing her head back. Each time the man’s sweat dripped onto her open wounds, a sharp, stinging pain shot through her body, causing her to instinctively flinch and recoil. Her reaction only seemed to amuse him, as he let out a chuckle.

Gasping for breath, Cyrene blinked away tears that pooled in her eyes, falling in heavy drops under her chin. In the damp, windowless room, she had lost all sense of time. She could only vaguely guess that perhaps a day had passed.

“Ugh… hhk…”

Cyrene let out a soft moan, involuntary and trembling. He apparently more aroused, gripped her swollen, reddened bottom tightly, his fingers digging into the tender flesh. She didn’t want to react, but her body betrayed her, tightening around him involuntarily. The Count laughed darkly at the sensation.

“Do you enjoy it so much? Mating with a dog seems to suit you perfectly.”

She shook her head frantically, tears streaming down her face. The clanking of metal filled the air, mingled with her muffled sobs and his cruel laughter.

***

“Mmgh… mmf…”

Cylene tried desperately to stifle her groans, but all she could manage was clenching her teeth against the stick forced into her mouth.

“Ugh… Hmm…”

She struggled to push the dog’s body away, but it was so heavy. The fur-covered creature pressed closer, as if completely indifferent to her resistance.

“You’re told a female is needed, aren’t you? You should be willing to spread your legs, Cylene.”

“Ugh. Ugh…….”

She saw a dark red p*nis bulging out between her legs. The dog repeatedly pressed against her br*ast and shook its waist, as if trying to somehow find a hole to enter. The count’s gaze, looking down at Cyrene as she struggled, was clearly amused.