The weasel-faced one poured from the other bottle. He aimed at her ass. The wine ran down the crack. It soaked the cotton. It stained the fabric red. Her panty was now clinging to her body. The hair of her pussy was visible through the wet fabric. The outline of her cunt lips. The shadow of her mound.

"Look at this," the fat one said. His hand went to her ass. He groped it. Through the wet panty. His fingers sank into the firm flesh. He squeezed. Hard. "Now this is something. We do not get this in those noble women. Their asses are soft. Delicate. This one— this is firm. Tight. Must be from all that training. All that swinging." He leaned close. His breath was hot and sour with wine. "It must be best when fucked. And clapped harder."

He slapped her ass.

PAH—

Sera gasped. Her body jerked. The wet flesh stung. The sound was loud in the marble room.

The weasel-faced one reached for her chest.

His hand went to her bra. He grabbed the fabric. He tried to pull it down. To expose her breast. His fingers brushed her nipple through the wet cotton.

Sera slapped his hand.

CRACK—

The sound was sharp. Her hand moved on instinct. The reflex of a fighter. The strength of a woman who had swung a sword ten thousand times. The weasel-faced man’s hand flew back. His eyes went wide.

"Please, Prince!" she said. Her voice was desperate. Tears poured. "What are you doing? This is not a massage! This is— please! I am a knight! I am a competitor! You cannot—"

Goliath moved.

His hand came fast. Open-palmed. It connected with her cheek.

PAH—

The slap was hard. Harder than the fat man’s. Harder than any she had ever taken in training. Her head snapped to the side. Her body twisted. She lost her balance. She fell.

She hit the bed.

Her back bounced on the silk sheets. The wine on her body soaked into the fabric. Red spreading on white. Her legs were hanging off the edge. Her bra was askew. One breast was half-exposed. The nipple was visible. Dark. Stiff. Her panty was soaked. The hair of her pussy was visible through the transparent fabric.

Blood ran from her lip. The inside of her cheek was cut. She tasted copper. She tasted wine. She tasted despair.

She lay there. Trembling. Her eyes were wet. Her vision was blurred. She felt his hand on her ankle.

He grabbed it.

His grip was strong. Stronger than she expected. He pulled. Her body slid across the silk. The sheets were slippery with wine. She was dragged toward the edge of the bed. Her legs were pulled apart. Her panty was visible. Soaked. Clinging. Her pussy hair was dark through the wet cotton.

"You bitch," Goliath said. His voice was calm. Controlled. The voice of a man who had done this before. "You do not slap. You do not resist. You do not say no. You are a massage girl. You are a servant. You are nothing. And when I am done with you, you will remember that."

He twisted her ankle.

Pain shot through her leg. Not breaking. Not yet. But the threat was there. The promise. He held her by the ankle and dragged her until her ass was at the edge of the bed. Her legs were spread. Her panty was exposed. The wet fabric was the only thing between her and three pairs of hungry eyes.

She twisted.

She tried to pull free. Her leg kicked. Her training surged. She tried to twist her ankle from his grip. But he held on. His fingers were iron. She was strong—stronger than most women—but he was a prince. He had been fed on magic and privilege and the blood of a royal line. His strength was unnatural.

He held her.

She was dragged. Her body was flat on the bed. Her arms were above her head. Her bra was pulled down. Both breasts were exposed. Firm. Round. The nipples were stiff. Dark. Wet with wine. Her panty was still on. Soaked. Her thighs were spread. Her pussy hair was visible through the wet cotton.

She looked to the side.

The two noblemen were removing their robes.

The fat one first. He pulled the silk over his head. His belly was enormous. White. Stretch-marked. His chest was covered in coarse, dark hair. His nipples were large. Puffy. He unbuckled his belt. His trousers fell. His legs were pale. Thick. Like columns of dough. His cock stood out from a forest of pubic hair. Five inches. Thick. The head was dark red. Leaking. A thick drop of pre-cum hung from the slit. He stroked it. Slow. His hand wrapped around the shaft. His balls were heavy. Low. They swayed as he moved.

The weasel-faced one was faster. He threw his robe. His body was thin. Pale. His ribs were visible. His chest was hairless but his stomach had a trail of dark hair leading to his groin. He pulled down his trousers. His cock was six inches. Thin. Curved slightly to the left. The head was purple. Swollen. He was already leaking. His hand massaged his balls with one hand and stroked his cock with the other.

They stood there.

Two naked, ugly, hairy bodies. Two hard, leaking cocks. Two pairs of eyes that crawled over Sera’s exposed body like insects.

"Come on, Prince," the fat one said. He stroked himself. "Aren’t you going to display some good thing? Show us what the Crown Prince is working with."

Goliath smiled.

He unbuttoned his shirt. He pulled it off. His body was lean. Muscled. The body of a man who trained with masters and had the best food and the finest healers. His chest was smooth. His stomach was flat. His skin was perfect. Unmarked. Golden.

He unbuckled his belt. He pushed his trousers down. He wore underwear. White. Silk. Fine. The bulge was visible. Large.

He pulled the underwear down.

His cock was seven inches. Long. Thick. The head was swollen. Dark. The shaft was straight. Veined. His balls were heavy. Full. They hung low in their sack. He was hard. Fully hard. His cock stood upward, pressing against his stomach.

He reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out a small vial. He opened it. He tipped two pills into his palm. Small. Blue. He swallowed them.

He looked at Sera.

His cock twitched. It grew. Thicker. Harder. The veins bulged. The head darkened. The pills were taking effect. His cock was now flushed. Dark red. Angry. The head was swollen to the point of looking painful. It leaked pre-cum in a steady stream.

"Let’s check," he said, "if this bitch can fight three men."

The fat one laughed. The weasel-faced one laughed. Goliath laughed.

Three laughs. Three hard cocks. Three pairs of eyes.

Sera lay on the bed.

Her body was exposed. Her bra was pulled down. Her panty was soaked. Her lip was bleeding. Her ankle was bruised. Her eyes were wet. Her hands were shaking. Her sword was gone. Her grandfather was a hostage. Her future was a threat. Her body was a battlefield.

She looked at the ceiling. At the silk canopy. At the candles. At the shadows.

And she whispered.

"Someone save me...?!"