Before the night chaos began, Esther informed Marco. "For the next two days, today and tomorrow, I won't be able to work." Marco wiped a mug with a rag, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "Why?" "I've been training and I'm going to do an adventurer job with a group that invited me. I have an organizational meeting tonight," she lied, tasting the ash of the falsehood. "Ah. That's fine," he said, but his tone was calculating. "But you've made me earn more money this way so I thought... if you keep it 'this way,' I could pay you something for working those few hours, besides the free room." She understood the trap. He wanted to tie her to the tavern. "Fine, but I want to be an adventurer. Sometimes it will happen that I can't come." "Deal. But try to let me know in advance," he accepted, and Esther suspected he was looking for ways to bind her. Kork, meanwhile, watched her from the bar like one who watches prey escape, his eyes filled with silent resentment.
Just then, Eduard came to pick her up. He was elegantly dressed, and his presence made the tavern atmosphere seem even more sordid. They got into a carriage and headed to the richest part of the city, to an inn that was actually a luxury restaurant, a place where service was as important as the food. Esther had never been to such a place. On the journey, Eduard leaned back on the leather seats. "Let's take this opportunity to practice. And for the practice, I'll pay you extra." Without further ado, he grabbed her ass, his heavy, possessive hand resting on the curve of her buttock for the entire journey. His fingers dug into the soft fabric of her short skirt, molding to her generous contours with an ownership that made her skin crawl. The carriage lurched slightly as it navigated the cobblestone streets, and his hand began to roam and massage it, his thumb pressing insistently against the sensitive area where her thigh met buttock. "We must kiss," he continued, his voice a murmur that vibrated against her ear, his breath warm and smelling of expensive wine. "Not too much and without tongue, but if not, it won't be believable." Esther found this man disgusting; he was more than 20 years older than her, and his closeness was repulsive. The scent of his cologne—a cloying mixture of sandalwood and something metallic—filled her nostrils, making her stomach churn. He began to kiss her and at first Esther didn't cooperate, her lips remaining tight and unresponsive, her body rigid with disgust. After that Eduard complained and to motivate her he gave her the equivalent of 10 gold coins in bills for her to remember the deal. The paper money felt slick and unclean in her hand, and she thought of the mouths it had passed through, the deals it had sealed. She sighed and feeling worse, she agreed to repeat. They kissed passionately trying not to use tongue, their lips meeting and parting in a hollow imitation of desire. His hand roamed over one of her breasts and Esther felt herself getting aroused even with this man who disgusted her, her body betraying her mind as warmth spread through her chest despite her revulsion. When they separated he continued caressing her ass, Eduard talked openly about her ass and her tits, about how they felt and their shape, his words reducing her to a collection of parts to be evaluated. His voice was a low, proprietorial hum against her ear, each syllable a weight that settled in her stomach like lead. "This," he said, his fingers sinking into the generous softness of her buttock, "this is remarkable. The fullness, the way it yields but retains its shape... it's practically a work of art." His thumb traced the curve where her thigh met her rear, pressing insistently through the thin fabric of her skirt. Esther felt a flush of heat that had nothing to do with arousal, everything to do with humiliation. His gaze drifted upward, his eyes darkening as they lingered on her chest. "And these," he continued, his hand sliding from her rear to palm her breast, his thumb brushing against her nipple through the lace of her bodice, "they're perfectly proportioned. Not too large, not too small. Just right for a handful." His words were clinical, devoid of emotion, as if he were appraising livestock at market. Esther wanted to shrink, to disappear into the leather of the carriage seat, but his touch held her in place, a constant reminder of her objectification. The city lights blurred past the window, their colors bleeding into a meaningless smear as his assessment continued, each observation stripping away another layer of her humanity until she was nothing more than a collection of curves and textures, a body to be judged and possessed.d. "Why do you dress like this?", he asked, and she, with an empty voice, told him an abbreviated and false version of her family's story—how they had fallen from grace, how she had been cast out, how these sacred garments were all she had left. The carriage wheels crunched to a halt on the pristine cobblestones outside the restaurant, and just as Esther reached for the door handle, Eduard's grip tightened on her arm, pulling her back against the leather upholstery. His eyes, small and calculating in the dim light, held a warning that made the air around her feel suddenly cold. "One more thing," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that grated against her nerves like sandpaper. "When we're in there, you need to modify your behavior slightly." He paused, letting his fingers trace circles on her forearm, a possessive gesture that made her skin crawl. "Real men—men of my standing—they don't want an equal. They want someone pleasant, someone who doesn't challenge them intellectually. So you'll act a little... dimmer than you are. Laugh at jokes you don't find funny. Ask simple questions. Look impressed by basic knowledge." His patronizing tone made her stomach twist, each word stripping away another piece of her dignity. Esther nodded mechanically, her face carefully blank as she fought to keep the revulsion from showing in her eyes. "And one more thing," he continued, a sickly sweet smile spreading across his face as he leaned closer, his wine-stained breath warm against her cheek. "You'll address me as 'daddy'—but only when we're in public. It adds a certain... authenticity to our relationship that others will find convincing." The word hung in the air between them, poisoned and heavy, and Esther felt a wave of nausea rise in her throat. She swallowed it down, her throat working, and gave another short, sharp nod, her jaw clenched so tightly it ached. The carriage door opened then, spilling golden light across the dark interior, and Eduard's mask transformed instantly from conspirator to doting older man as he helped her out, his hand lingering proprietarily on her lower back. Esther kept her eyes fixed on the polished steps before her, her mind recoiling from the role she was about to play, each moment of compliance feeling like another small death of her spirit. Esther felt like crying and throwing up, the bile rising in her throat as she imagined the performance required of her, the mask she would have to wear to satisfy his twisted desires.
In the restaurant, she stood out like an ink stain on a white parchment. Her "Heroine" clothes were an insult to the elegance of the place. Eduard groped her in front of everyone, his hand sliding over her waist or resting on her lower back, a mark of ownership. They dined in relative normalcy until some of Eduard's friends approached the table to greet him. He introduced her as his partner. "Let me introduce you to Esther," he said, and then, in a loud voice so she could hear from afar, he added: "And although she's young, she's not stupid like my previous partner. Besides being younger and more beautiful, she doesn't mind me being with others."She, feeling herself dying inside, forced a vacant expression onto her face, letting her features soften into the blank-eyed mask of a bimbo blonde as the men approached. The effort of it felt like cracking her own skull open and scooping out everything that made her Esther, leaving only a hollow shell behind. She curved her lips into a smile that felt foreign on her face, a vacant imitation of joy that stretched her cheeks unnaturally. When Eduard's friends cast their condescending glances her way, she let her eyes go slightly unfocused, playing the part of the simple-minded girl they expected. "As long as my daddy takes care of me, I don't care about that," she chirped, the words leaving her mouth like bile, each syllable a tiny death of her dignity. The men erupted in laughter, not genuine amusement but a cruel and condescending chorus of masculine superiority that washed over her like acid rain. Their eyes, cold and calculating, raked over her body, lingering on the curves Eduard had so crudely described in the carriage. To continue with the game, to maintain the facade, she had to join them. She let out a high-pitched giggle that sounded nothing like her real laugh, a hollow echo that reverberated in her chest cavity like the tolling of a funeral bell. Each forced chuckle scraped against her insides, leaving raw, bleeding wounds where her self-respect used to be. The physical sensation of humiliation manifested as a burning heat that crawled up her neck and settled behind her eyes, threatening to spill over as tears she dare not allow to fall.
The men's laughter grew louder at her imitation of mirth, their eyes crinkling with patronizing amusement as they exchanged knowing glances that clearly communicated their assessment of her as little more than Eduard's pretty, simple-minded plaything. She could feel the ghost of Eduard's hand still on her body from the carriage ride, his proprietary touches leaving invisible stains that she felt certain were visible to everyone in the room. Every second of this performance was an act of psychological violence against herself, each forced smile another betrayal of the person she once was. The laughter died down eventually, but the echo of it remained imprinted on her soul, a permanent scar that would never fully heal, a reminder of how completely she had dismantled herself for survival.Eduard paid the bill, his hand movements languid as he placed a stack of coins on the silver tray, the clinking sound a final punctuation mark to the evening's humiliation. He rose from the table, his fingers immediately finding their way to the small of Esther's back, pressing possessively as he guided her toward the exit. His friends, a chorus of deep laughter and expensive cologne, followed closely behind. Eduard wrapped his arm around her waist, his hand sliding down to cup the curve of her hip, his thumb stroking the fabric of her skirt in a gesture that was both proprietary and dismissive. As they stepped into the cool night air, the sudden chill of the evening did little to soothe the burning in Esther's cheeks. Eduard's friends gathered around, their faces illuminated by the flickering gas lamps of the street. One by one, they approached her, their hands rough as they clapped her shoulders or squeezed her arms. Then came the kisses, their lips wet and greasy, leaving behind a residue of wine and condescension that she could feel even after they pulled away. Each embrace was a reminder of her role in this performance, a puppet for their amusement. Esther stood rigid, her eyes fixed on a distant point in the darkness, her mind numb with the weight of her own complicity in this charade. The men's laughter faded as they dispersed, their voices echoing down the cobblestone street, leaving Esther alone with Eduard, his hand still resting on her hip, a silent claim in the gathering night, guided her through the winding cobblestone streets where the gas lamps cast long, distorted shadows that danced like wraiths. His fingers, warm and possessive, traced the curve of her hip through the thin fabric of her skirt, a constant reminder of her role as his property for the evening. The night air, thick with the scent of river mist and distant cooking fires, did little to wash away the cloying aroma of his expensive cologne or the lingering taste of cheap wine from the restaurant.
On the way back to the inn, although it wasn't necessary for the "acting," he continued groping her—his hand sliding down to cup the generous curve of her rear, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin at the top of her thigh through the fabric, each touch a calculated violation that made her skin crawl with revulsion. "I hope to be able to make another deal in the future," he said, his voice a low murmur that vibrated through her body like the purr of a contented predator. The words hung in the air between them, a promise of future degradations dressed in the language of business. Esther was in a bad mood from being touched outside the performance, her body stiff with suppressed rage and disgust, her mind racing with thoughts of how much longer she would have to endure this charade. Every step felt like a betrayal of herself, every casual caress a wound that would scar long after his money was spent. When they finally reached the dimly lit alley that led to the Safe Navigator's Inn, Eduard stopped suddenly, turning to face her with a glint in his eye that she had learned to recognize as dangerous desire mixed with cruel amusement. "You played your part well tonight," he said, his hand now resting boldly on the small of her back, pulling her closer until their bodies were pressed together in a parody of intimacy. Esther could feel his heartbeat against her chest, a steady, confident rhythm that contrasted sharply with the frantic pulse in her own veins. Eduard offered her a final payment if she let him give her a kiss with tongue, his voice laced with condescending charm as if he were offering her a rare privilege rather than another opportunity to degrade her. He held up a leather purse that clinked with the unmistakable sound of coins—more money than she had seen in months, enough to buy food and shelter for weeks, perhaps even enough to secure passage out of this wretched city. It was too much money for her and after all she didn't feel it compromised anything, neither her dignity nor anything for everything she had already done so she accepted, the words of agreement tasting like ash in her mouth as she nodded mutely, her eyes fixed on the purse rather than his face. Eduard mocked her then, his laughter a low, cruel sound that echoed off the brick walls of the alley. "Eager for the coins, are we?" he taunted, his fingers tightening on her waist as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against her cheek. They began to kiss then, his lips rough and demanding as they crushed against hers, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth with a possessive hunger that made her stomach churn. Esther stood stiffly, her eyes squeezed shut, her mind a distant place far from this squalid alley, from this man's greedy mouth and wandering hands. She could taste the wine he had drunk, feel the scratch of his evening stubble against her skin, smell the scent of his expensive cologne mixed with the faint, metallic tang of his sweat. The kiss seemed to last forever, an eternity of degradation that ended as abruptly as it began when he finally pulled away, a triumphant smirk on his face as he dropped the purse into her waiting hand. Eduard's tongue kiss was not like the blacksmith's.
It was too expert, and it easily drove Esther crazy. When he finally broke the kiss, Esther was left with her tongue out, dazed, waiting for more stimulation while a thread of saliva united her to Eduard's tongue. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, the gaslight of the alley blurring into a single, hazy halo. The wet connection between their tongues was a grotesque string of pearls, glistening in the dim light, a testament to her degradation. She felt a throb deep in her core, a treacherous pulse of pleasure that warred with the overwhelming shame burning through her veins. Her mind, fogged by a cocktail of desire and self-loathing, struggled to process the abrupt end. The alley spun, the brick walls wavering as if underwater. His taste—wine, arrogance, and something metallic—still coated her tongue. She swallowed hard, the sound obscenely loud in the sudden silence. It took her a long, shameful moment to realize her tongue was still hanging out, a foolish, glistening invitation in the cooling night air. With a jolt of pure mortification, she snapped it back into her mouth, her cheeks flushing a deep, painful crimson as she finally dared to meet his eyes.
It took her a long time to calm down, and as they neared their destination, she tried to move away from him. He said goodbye until next time, but she told him: "I don't want to make any more deals with you," her voice was cold and firm. He laughed, a dry and unpleasant sound. "You'll change your mind. And when you do, come find me at the merchants' guild." He paid her the agreed money, plus the extra for everything she had done, not letting Esther complain. Then, as if it were a great favor, he added: "For being so obedient, I'll give you a bonus. An extra 10%." That money humiliated her more than the touches. She had earned many times more money for this humiliating game than for the adventurer job she had tomorrow.
The coins felt heavy in her pouch, a cold, metallic weight that seemed to pull her down, anchoring her to the filth of the evening. Each coin was a tiny, round betrayal, a testament to the price of her own degradation. She could feel their shape through the fabric, a constant, pressing reminder of the transaction. The clink of them as she walked was a jeering laughter, a soundtrack to her shame. She had earned more in one night of playing the fool, of being groped and used, than she might in a week of risking her life in some dark mine. The injustice of it all tasted like bile in the back of her throat. This money wasn't a reward; it was a brand. It was the price tag Eduard had placed on her dignity, a value he had calculated and she had accepted. Every copper piece felt stained, as if she could wash it forever and never remove the residue of his touch, the memory of his laughter. The sheer amount of it was the ultimate humiliation—it screamed that her body, her performance of submission, was worth more than her courage, her magic, her very life.
She returned to the room and found Lyra waiting for her. Lyra showed her what she had bought with her own money: there were several mana potions, more health potions, and a couple of antidotes. Esther thanked her for the work she had taken, feeling a lump in her throat. They went to sleep, but Esther, remembering her own fantasies, kept some distance this night. The small space between their bodies on the narrow bed felt as wide as a chasm. Esther lay stiffly on her side, facing the wall, acutely aware of Lyra's quiet, steady breathing behind her. The image of her fantasy—her nakedness pressed against Lyra's, the forbidden thrill that had pulsed through her—flashed in her mind, bringing a fresh wave of self-disgust. Each rustle of Lyra's shift, each soft sigh, made Esther flinch inwardly. The memory of her own arousal, of finding pleasure in the thought of her only friend, felt like a deeper betrayal than anything Eduard had done. He was a stranger, a transaction; Lyra was the only pure thing in this filthy city. Esther pulled the rough blanket tighter around herself, creating a fragile barrier against the memory and against the warmth radiating from the person she had violated in her mind. She lay awake long after Lyra's breathing evened into sleep, the weight of her secrets heavier than any pile of coins, more suffocating than any man's touch.