The manor's east wing smelled of rot and abandonment.
Helena pushed open the warped door to what must have once been a bathing chamber, her nose wrinkling at the sight of black mold crawling up the walls like twisted veins.
Cracked tiles littered the floor, and something dark pooled in the corner—she didn't want to know what.
Her thighs ached with each step. The slickness between her legs hadn't stopped, a constant reminder of what he'd done to her barely an hour ago.
Every movement made her wince—her pussy still swollen, still leaking his seed down her inner thighs.
"This is hopeless," she muttered, kneeling beside her suitcase. The motion sent a sharp twinge through her core, and she gasped.
At least she'd packed soap—lavender-scented bars wrapped in cloth. Her fingers traced the familiar shapes as she inventoried: a brush, towels, the small bottle of rose oil.
She stood carefully, surveying the ruined bathroom again. Her nipples brushed against the inside of her shift, and she bit back a whimper.
They were so tender, practically bruised from how hard he'd sucked on them, how his teeth had scraped and pulled until she'd screamed.
'I need to wash. I'm filthy.'
Dark soil still clung to her calves, her shoulders. He'd taken her on the ground like an animal, grinding her into the dirt as he rutted.
The floorboards groaned under her feet as she made her way back through the corridor, blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders.
Through the broken window, she spotted movement—her young master, shirtless near the tree line.
'What is he doing?'
Helena stepped outside, grass wet against her bare feet. The evening air kissed her heated skin, and she pulled the blanket tighter.
Her breasts felt heavy, swollen, the nipples hard points that ached with every breath.
He stood knee-deep at the pond's edge, his soft belly catching the fading sunlight as he hefted a clay pot.
Steam rose from it. Sweat rolled down his chest, disappearing into the curve of his stomach. With a grunt, he tipped the contents into the murky water—pale green liquid spreading across the surface.
"Master?" Helena called out, her voice rougher than she intended.
He turned, eyes tracking down her blanket-wrapped form. She knew he could see it—the way she stood with her thighs slightly apart, unable to press them together without pressure on her abused pussy.
"Helena. Good. I need help."
She approached the pond, walking gingerly. Green scum floated on the water's surface, and the smell made her stomach turn.
"You can't possibly mean to bathe in this."
"Not yet." He gestured to a pile of stones he'd been arranging in the shallows, creating a rough barrier about two feet from the edge. "Help me build this wall higher. We're going to separate the water—clean section here, let the filth settle there."
Helena studied his flushed face, the determined set of his jaw. Her pussy clenched involuntarily at the memory of that same determination when he'd pinned her down, and fresh wetness leaked out.
'He's serious.'
"What do you need me to do?"
He pointed to a cluster of roots, dried flowers, and what looked like tree bark piled near a circle of stones. "Boil those. All of it. Big pot—use the one I brought from the kitchen."
The fire crackled and spat as Helena fed it more wood.
She'd stripped down to her shift, the blanket discarded on a rock, and still sweat trickled between her breasts.
The fabric clung to her damp skin, transparent in places, showing the dark marks he'd left—purple bruises circling her nipples, bite marks along the curve of her breast.
The pot bubbled over the flames, releasing a smell that made her eyes water—bitter and earthy, like drinking the forest itself.
Her pussy throbbed with each movement. Bending to grab more wood sent sharp pleasure-pain through her core.
She was so sensitive, the lips still puffy and separated, her clit swollen and peeking out.
"Is this right?" she called out, her thighs trembling.
Her master grunted as he heaved another boulder into place.
His bare chest gleamed with sweat, arms trembling with effort.
When he looked at her, his gaze dropped to her chest—to her hard nipples poking through the wet shift, the areolas visible and darkened.
"Should be turning dark green. Almost black."
She peered into the pot, and the steam hit her face.
The liquid had gone from pale yellow to deep emerald, thick as blood.
Her shift had ridden up, and she felt the night air on her bare ass, on her dripping pussy.
"It's ready!"
"Bring it here. Careful—it's heavy."
Helena wrapped her hands in cloth and gripped one handle. He took the other, standing close enough that she could smell him—sweat and musk and something darker.
Her nipples brushed his arm as they lifted, and she gasped at the spike of sensation.
Her arms shook, muscles burning, as they shuffled toward the pond's edge. The movement made her breasts bounce, and each jostle sent pain-pleasure through her tender nipples.
"On three," he said. "One... two... three!"
They tipped the pot. The herb mixture cascaded into the separated section, spreading like dark ink. Helena's pussy clenched, releasing more of his cum down her thigh.
Then the water began to clear.
She gasped. The algae, the scum, the floating debris—all of it sank. Slowly, inexorably, the particles became heavy and dropped to the bottom like stones.
The water transformed from murky green to cloudy gray to... clear. Actually clear.
"How—"
Her master grinned, wiping his forehead. "Old trick. The herbs bind to the filth, make it sink." He bent, hefting a smooth rock the size of his head. His eyes locked on her chest, on the way her nipples stood out. "Now for the test."
He threw it.
The splash hit them both. Cold pond water soaked through Helena's thin shift, plastering it to her skin.
She yelped, the shock making her pussy spasm.
The wet fabric turned completely transparent—her breasts on full display, nipples hard and dark, the hickeys and bite marks visible.
The shift clung to her stomach, to the curve of her hips, and when she looked down she could see everything—the dark thatch of hair between her legs, the pink flesh of her pussy lips swollen and glistening.
Her master had already started stripping. His pants hit the ground, then his undergarments, until he stood completely naked—soft belly, thick thighs, his cock hanging between his legs. It was already starting to swell.
He turned to face her fully, his gaze raking over her transparent shift.
"Helena." His voice carried quiet authority. "The rocks at the bottom will support your feet. The water's clean enough to bathe in."
His eyes dropped to her breasts, watching a droplet of water roll down her sternum and catch on her nipple.
Then lower—to the wet outline of her pussy, the way her thighs trembled.
"So now, remove that wet cloth."