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It could be worse.
The other workers in the brothel are kind. Tender eyed boys with wicked grins, women who cluck affectionately over Myra’s unkempt hair, and those who seem to have no gender at all and dance throughout the rooms, joining those who wear skirts one day and billowing trousers the next.
It is nothing like the village she once called home. Instead of a cold hut and thin pallet, she sleeps on a thick mattress shared by the other newly acquired trainees, all with similar stories to hers. Too many bad harvests and too many mouths to feed, parents forced to offload the most attractive of their offspring by selling them into indentured servitude to one of the procurers that roam the countryside.
She’d been taken to the capital city, eyes as wide as dinner plates to see the lights, the people, the creatures that littered the streets. She had thought she’d live and die in her village, but now she found herself in the center of a glorious empire in one of the best pleasure houses in the city.
Lucky, really. She’d been the only one chosen from the cart the procurer drove. The rest would be taken to other brothels, smaller and seedier. They’d receive no training beyond sucking and fucking, but Myra has learned to dance, to sing, to play an instrument and make conversation and read the precious books littered about.
Many of those that leave this brothel end up as kept courtesans for various wealthy men and women, lords and ladies, and powerful wizards and witches. If she does well, she could be one of them and she’ll never go hungry again.
Myra throws herself into her studies with gusto. Her instructor and the Madame seem pleased by how she takes, not just to the arts, but seduction.
“You’re a natural,” Fay whispers, their arms wrapping tight around Myra’s midsection as Lucas leans between them.
Myra whimpers, holding perfectly still, as Lucas — another one of the new trainees — kneels between her spread legs. His cock is huge, much larger than most men, and it presses against her sensitive folds, lighting up every nerve in her body like witchcraft.
“Easy, Lucas,” Fay instructs. “See how delicious she is? How pliable?”
Lucas slides his fingers down her slit, gathering the remnants from her last orgasm, and brings them to his lips. He licks them like he’s tasting fine wine, savoring her with his eyes closed. Myra’s breath catches in her throat and she rocks as much as she can.
Fay giggles, pinching Myra’s nipples in warning. “Impatient,” they scold without heat. “You’d think a poor, sweet thing like you was made to take a cock that big the way you’re acting.”
“I want it,” she whines, rolling her hips in blatant invitation. “Lucas, please.”
It’s part act, yes, just the way she’s been trained. But there’s heat coiling in her gut, pleasure racing through her veins. She whines as Fay pinches harder, sending sparks racing down her spine to pulse insistently between her legs.
Lucas slips his fingers inside her again, stretching her, scissoring in and out. “You’re almost ready, Myra,” he murmurs, adding a third finger and plunging them in up to the knuckle while she shivers and gasps. “Soon, I’ll be able to fuck you just how you want.”
Myra nods quickly, gulping for air as Fay holds her tight. Only then does Myra see the Madame watching from the doorway, observing this newest lesson. The urge to please, to show off what a good student she is, collides with the urge to be fucked now.
“Please,” she begs, tongue darting out to wet her lips. “Please. Now. I need it, I need you.”
Pretty words. Words to make a client think they were special, words to make them think only they can sate her desires. A game, and one Myra has learned to play well. The reaction in Lucas is immediate, his eyes going dark with lust, one steely grip on her plush thigh tightening.
Fay sighs above her, pressing a chaste kiss to Myra’s temple before gesturing towards Lucas with their chin as if to say get on with it.
The head of his cock brushes over Myra’s cunt and she wails to the ceiling as it rubs over her oversensitive clit, still singing with her last orgasm. Then Lucas draws back before slipping inside her. It burns, it burns and it feeds the bright desire infusing her every being. She drops her head against Fay’s chest, whining as Lucas encounters resistance and slides back only to surge forward so insistently.
“That’s a good girl,” Fay murmurs as he presses even deeper. “About halfway there. Remember, you wanted it.”
“I do!” she sobs between gritted teeth as stars pop into her eyes. “I do, I do, I-”
With a roar, Lucas withdraws only to snap brutally back into her, burying himself wholly. A mighty tremble rocks her body, but Lucas stays in place, impaling her, rooting himself inside her.
The Madame’s cool, wrinkled fingers on her cheek makes her blink, turning her head into the appraising blue gaze of the older woman. She brushes a tear away with her thumb, smiling kindly.
“Well done,” the Madame says. “I think I know exactly what we’ll do with you.”
A shiver goes down Myra’s spine. It’s not — entirely — fear.
“Fuck her until she screams,” the Madame orders, turning away from Lucas and Fay. “I have plans for her.”
Fay’s smile above is absolutely predatory. Lucas laughs.
Then he fucks her. And, as promised, all Myra can do is scream.
It’s several days later when she’s invited to private tea with the Madame. Butterflies flutter in her stomach as she follows the instructions she was given to the letter, dressing in one of the brothel’s splendid silk costumes, the sheer fabric doing nothing to hide her thick curves, large breasts, lush thighs, and the dark patch between her legs just above her waiting cunt. She braids her hair simply and coils it atop her head then tucks a few pearl pins into it. They shine like moons against her dark locks.
She has been told that her first time with a client will be priced dearly. Many of the clients bid against each other for the thrill of being the first to break in a new whore. Myra wonders if she is to be presented to the winner of the bidding, or shown to a room full of them. Will they put her on a stage while they auction her off?
The thought makes her flush with desire, and still some shame. Had her parents known, before they sold her into this contract, that she was so hungry to be used? Displayed?
No. They could not have. Even then, Myra had not known. But she had learned.
She had learned to love it.
She opens the door to the room, eyes cast down demurely, slowly turning to shut it behind her as the deep rumbled voice that had been speaking stops. Myra hears the rattle of the Madame’s fine china, then her brisk voice.
“Come in, girl. You have a visitor.”
Myra crosses the room and drops to her knees without lifting her head. There’s another loud rumble of approval from the other side of the table. One that makes her flush even deeper.
“A pretty thing. But sturdy. You never do disappoint, my dear.”
“I thought of you the first time I saw her. And she is well suited to you, I think.”
Myra dares not look up, even through the fringe of her lashes. She folds her hands, staring at the plush rug, the large boots beneath the table.
Very large. She’s never seen boots that size before.
“Hands behind your back girl,” the Madame snaps. “Legs spread.”
Myra hurries to comply, widening her legs, allowing the short silk to slide up her thighs, nearly revealing her slick, ready cunt. She waits, heart racing, as the boots shift, the man they belong to standing.
The very floor creaks as he walks around the table, china rattling on the table. A thrill of fear runs through her, far too late to matter. A hand larger than her head grabs her chin between fingers thick as sausages, tilting her face upwards to stare into his.
His horns nearly scrape the vaulted ceiling, even though they curve gracefully to loop under pointed ears hanging in a flap. Instead of a nose, he has a snout, a ring piercing his nostrils and dangling. Fur covers his muscled body, half-unclothed already. He’s crouching down to examine her closely, but even so, he’s taller than the tallest man Myra has ever met. Her mouth goes dry, her eyes widening as he chuckles.
“What’s your name, little whore?”
She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out beyond a squeak. It must amuse him, because his rumbled laughter vibrates right through her.
“We call her Pearl,” the Madame offers. “But I believe the name she came to us with was Myra, if that suits you.”
“And which do you prefer?” the monster asks.
“I… I… Myra, if it pleases you,” she stammers.
“I think you’ll please me very well, little whore,” he murmurs.
“She dances and sings quite well. I can have her perform for you if you’d like,” the Madame offers.
“I’d rather see the performance you spoke of earlier.”
“Of course.” The Madame rises, brushing her fingers over her thick brocade skirts. “Up you get, girl. Bend over the table.”
Her legs shake so badly as she stands that Myra half worries she’ll collapse. The Minotaur — that must be what he is, although she had thought such a thing make-believe before this moment — helpfully moves aside the delicate tea tray. His hand is large enough to cover the whole thing.
It could be worse. It could be worse. It could be…
The Madame’s hand lifts the silk skirt and Myra whimpers as it cracks against her flesh.
“Spread your legs, girl. Show him what he wants to purchase.”
It takes all her willpower to obey, closing her eyes as a huge hand smoothes over her back, down her exposed ass. He squeezes gently, then slides one finger between her thighs. It’s easily as big as Lucas’ cock.
“Please,” she croaks.
“Wet already,” he says, as if in awe. “A treasure.”
That finger spreads the lips of her cunt, seeking out the bundle of nerves up top. She whimpers, clenching her hands on the edge of the table as he circles it.
Then, without warning, that finger thrusts inside her. She makes a low, keening sound as all the air is pushed from her lungs.
It burns a little less, now that she’s been taking Lucas, but it still sends pleasure crashing through her. She whines, clinging to the table, as he sets a slow, steady pace. Her gasps turn to plaintive cries sooner rather than later, her body pushing back towards him.
When the Madame joins him, using her nimble fingers to circle her clit, all Myra can do is hang on. Her thighs shake, her head tosses from side to side. The monster above laughs at her pathetic writhing before she feels another finger attempting to press inside her.
She screams, pleasure cresting even though it burns, it burns and stretches and it’s too much, she can’t take it, but she wants to. Gods above help her, she wants to. Her whole body sings as she collapses, fluid coating her thighs.
“Yes,” the Minotaur says, withdrawing his finger and the scant bit of the second he’d managed to fit in. “I think she’ll train up well. I’ll buy out her contract, of course. And add a clause for her to be magically seen to when it expires, if she chooses to return to normal.”
The words mean nothing to her clouded mind, but the way he strokes down her spine, as if she’s a prized pet, makes her melt.
“Of course,” the Madame says happily. “We’ll start right away.”
It could be worse.
All her chores are taken from her. Myra only has one job now. To be fucked and stretched as many hours as she can stand.
She’s not the first, clearly. The toys are already ready, a line of cocks of increasing sizes designed to prepare her for a cock far larger than any human can possibly wield. When she’d first been shown them, she had cried and sobbed and begged.
It didn’t matter. She had a five year contract with the brothel, her body belonged to the Madame. And she had sold her to a client who expected to be able to use her the way he wished.
“I can’t!” Myra had protested on her knees, tears coating her cheeks. “Please, please-”
“Tie her up,” the Madame had ordered, as if bored. “She’ll grow tired of these hysterics.”
It had been a spectacle. Fay had taken her to the main floor of the brothel, where all the clients come in and out, and locked her into stocks made for a common criminal.
“It’ll be fun,” they had said.
Another whore had brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “You’ll learn to like it,” he promised.
The first day, she had spent all her time in the stocks, naked, bent at the waist, cunt on display and a dildo larger than Lucas shoved inside her. A sign next to her had invited any and all to play with her, explaining her unique situation. They had to fuck her cunt with the cock, but they could also use her mouth, make her orgasm, play with her tits. Anything to reduce her to a needy whore desperate for more.
Finally, when all the fight burns out of her, they remove her from the stocks. At night, when she’s too fucked out to protest, they lock a belt around her waist so she can’t remove the toy that’s stretching her. Preparing her.
“Poor little Myra,” another whore coos the next morning, tracing over the belt with manicured nails. “You’ll never be satisfied by anything but a monster after this.”
Myra shakes her head and tries to deny it, but the days pass. When they remove the cock, she feels empty. Lightheaded. Even when she’s not in the stocks, she wants to be. Needs to be.
After a few days, they move her to the next size. Then the next. She’s never empty for long, and each time they switch, the crowds gather in the main room as she’s bent over and impaled on a larger cock, one that makes her gasp and whine. The other whores are generous, they always make her orgasm. It’s a good show, Myra supposes.
The clients certainly seem happy.
Her new Master comes to visit, to check on her progress. Myra both dreads and longs for him. He removes the cock from inside her, uses his fingers instead. First one. Then two.
“When you can take three of them, little whore, you’ll be ready for me.”
The Minotaur smacks her ass and she cries out, helpless in his iron grip.
“We’ll make a show of it,” he promises. “And I’ll keep you satisfied, little whore. You’ll be very happy.”
All she can do is moan helplessly as he makes her come again, shuddering on his broad fingers. When he’s done, he replaces the cock he removed, the stretch of it making her whine softly.
“Do you want to see it, little whore?” he asks.
She doesn’t get a chance to answer. He steps around her, trousers undone, a cock as long as a man’s arm, thicker still than the thickest toy she’s been shown, is grasped by one of his massive palms.
“I can’t,” she pleads, her voice a rasp.
He pays her no mind, stroking himself, the other hand tangling in her dark braids and holding her face steady. There’s tears down her cheeks, and soon it’s joined by thick ropes of his come, more of it than she thought possible.
“That’s a good whore,” he says, satisfied. “Such a pretty whore.”
The fact he’s pleased makes her melt once again.
When the Madame says she’s ready, there’s no argument. Myra is beyond arguing. Beyond protest. All she knows is the desire to be filled. Used.
They had promised to make a show of it, so of course they had invited all their clients. They tie her in soft rope, making a harness that emphasizes the size of her breasts, the thickness of her thighs. Only when she’s completely helpless do they lift her from her feet, dangling her from the ceiling like an ornament on a tree.
Every eye is hooked on her as she spins silently in her bondage. The perfect sacrifice for the beast among them.
Myra can’t feel the room shake as he enters, but she hears the rattle of the paintings on the walls. Sees the sharp excitement on every face. Then she feels his hand covering her ass.
“Ready, little whore?” he asks, fingers skating across the slick flesh of her cunt, swollen with arousal, stretched open to accommodate him.
“Yes, please,” she begs. “I need it. I need to be filled. Stretched. Please-”
He cuts her off with the sharp plunge of two fingers inside her. The audience gasps the same way she does, watching as she takes every inch of the Minotaur’s fingers with nothing but a desperate moan.
“Good whore,” he murmurs. “Very good whore.”
Yes. She is. She’s his whore, just like she was meant to be. She knows it as soon as her body stretches to take another finger, spreading blatantly around him like all she was born to do was take his cock.
Fay grins up at her from the crown as the Minotaur fucks her with only fingers. Everyone watches her writhe and moan, pleading for more as his thick thumb rubs roughly against her clit.
But he doesn’t allow her to come. He removes his hand just as her muscles clench, leaving her sobbing with need, hanging limp in the ropes. The entire audience holds its breath, waiting as the Minotaur digs huge hands into her thighs and tugs her towards him like she is little more than a doll.
His cock brushes up her stomach and fear she thought long dead flutters back to life. She opens her mouth to protest, to beg for mercy, to say he will kill her, ruin her —
And then he pulls back and his cock begins to slide into her prepared cunt. She cries out, feeling the stretch begin again, the accompanying burn bringing tears to her eyes. He pauses after a few moments, broad hand on her stomach, as if he can feel himself through her body.
He withdraws only to inch back slowly again, then withdraw once more. Each time she feels him go further. Further. Finally, he leans over her, snarling into her ear.
“Halfway, little whore.”
She breaks. Just like they all knew she would. Her scream echoes off the rafters, her body thrashes. She wants more. She wants to get away. She wants to be fucked within an inch of her life, she wants to go home, she wants —
She wants to never be empty again.
Finally, all she can do is sob as she’s stretched, used, made into nothing but the Minotaur’s toy in front of everyone. With a mighty groan that reverberates through the room, he buries himself inside her trembling body.
The crowd applauds. He caresses her cheek, almost tenderly.
“Now is the fun part, little whore,” he promises darkly.
She shakes her head weakly. Her protest matters not as he slides from her, leaving her bereft, only to sink back inside her.
“When you’re better at taking me, I’ll give you the proper fuck you deserve,” he promises. “One that leaves you aching, little whore.”
Now, it’s merely a slow slide. One that lights her up from within, even before he drops thick fingers back to her clit. Her body goes taut as a bow, shaking as he continues to fuck her while he strokes her bundle of nerves until she mewls helplessly under his assault.
When the pleasure takes her, it takes everything from her. Sight. Sound. It all vanishes, leaving her with nothing but the fire in her veins and the burning cock buried inside her while she screeches and sobs and twists in the ropes until she falls limp.
Finally sated, even as the Minotaur curses behind her and snarls like the beast he is, pace quickening, using her as nothing more than a willing hole for his cock.
The pressure in her gut doubles. He lets out a loud cry, holding her tight enough to leave bruises while his come coats her insides, drips down her thighs, leaves a puddle on the ground between them as he slips from her body.
The crowd applauds. The Minotaur pats her ass fondly.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Very good girl.”
The praise leaves her woozy as he strokes her back. And Myra relaxes beneath his calm, certain touch.
All in all, it could be worse.