It hadn't been the one they'd wanted. The one here, asleep and cute as fuck in this bedroom was a redhead. But it didn't matter. After all, the other one was used. Three-quarters spoiled. Three weeks was about all any cunt could take, at the very most, in the gloriette. After that, they were basically catatonic and broken pussies on legs. Even if their lungs still worked, they were basically dead. They'd be found in a street somewhere, or a ditch, or finished by some wandering highwayman or pirate, and then they'd really be dead. When Donal or the others had wanted something especially violent done in the cell for the spectators—rape with a sword blade, something like that—it had been Horan's job to toss the corpses into a pit dug away to the back, past a stand of trees, roughly saw off the hands and feet and heads, and let them molder there in the dark. There were animals. It didn't take long.
When that stretching freak had slammed his boss's head into the stone walls, Horan had seen Donal's eyes close. He looked a lot like those whining cunts when it was time for the pit. Horan hadn't formulated a plan for what to do besides escape, but soon he got word over a frothing beer at the Botty Day Pub that one of the other senior guards had risen, had created a new rank, and that he was looking for workers again. Horan knew the business and was good at it. He'd wiped the foam from his dampened beard and nodded to the messenger. Yes, he'd take the job. Happy to. Sometimes, if the cunts were not quite dead yet and the damage wasn't so bad to turn his stomach, he'd enjoy some perks of the job. Some of them still had tits to satisfy a man, and if their pussies were too fucked up, he'd been known to stick it in their asses instead. It was all the same, anyway.
He'd set down a coin on the bar, nodded to the keeper, and heaved his enormous bulk from the stool. At seven and a half feet tall, black haired, and wild-looking, Horan had the build and appearance to inspire a little obedience. He outweighed some ponies and carts both, and few questioned him. His dull eyes raked over the tittering girls gathered at the end of the bar, where brothel met liquor.
"See something you like? We've got professionals, experienced in pleasure arts; we've got countryside virgins, innocent as lambs, and everything in between. What do you fancy, sir?" a thin man with a rat-like face had glided up to him, smooth of voice and hand, ready for a clink of coin and a bit of business.
"What's the one in the yellow?" Horan gestured to a pretty blonde, young, a bit frightened looking, wide eyed.
"Tsulle; come here darling," the man waved her over. She hesitated, but obeyed. "A lamb, a fawn, sweet as they come. How old are you, darling? Twelve?"
Tsulle bit her lip. "Fifteen, sir."
"Twelve."
"Twelve, sir."
"Seven thousand berries for the night," Rat-Face purred.
"Get off it. Seven hundred," Horan countered.
"Sweetness is only sweet once…five thousand."
"Thirty five hundred. Not a berry more."
"Done. Dorra, a room for the gentleman?" A buxom, dark eyed woman bustled down a dark hall, barking an order to an unseen underling.
"Room Four," she barked.
"Will the gentleman follow me?"
Horan didn't need to follow anyone. He hadn't had schooling worth much, but he could count to four. "I got it. Leave." The cunt looked deliciously terrified and followed him, her whole forearm disappearing in his enormous, beefy hand. He didn't want to wait.
Reaching Room Four, he'd shut the door, pressed a chair against it to prevent anyone barging in to ruin the fun, and looked at her.
She trembled. Beautiful. But that was all she did. Horan became impatient. "Well?"
"Sir?" she asked, hesitantly.
"Undress," he waved a hand toward her. Usually, the idea that these "innocent lambs" were first-timers was a load of shit. The madam of the house generally just put a stitch in at the end of their shaved cunts, enough to give a drop of blood and make her gasp as it tore out of the skin. Charging double for a fraud. This one…this one might be the real thing. A grin began to spread across Horan's face as Tsulle jerkingly unbuttoned her dress. She looked so nervous, he felt himself grow rock hard. Always before, he'd only been able to take the leavings, have a romp with a cunt that was just about dead already. Not today.
She'd managed only her dress and one shoe before Horan decided he couldn't wait any longer. He strode to her, pulling his pants open, his cock bulging outward, veins throbbing. She gasped. She gasped. "Please—I—don't hurt me, sir!" she cried out. Oh, he would hurt her. Horan didn't feel he could grin any harder. He grabbed her by her hair as she uttered a small, childish wail. Waves and ripples of pleasure and anticipation roiled over his body. He pushed her upper body against a small table, and grabbed her right breast from behind. It was tiny, a pert little apple. He squeezed hard. When she began to scream, he slammed her head into the table. That quieted her for a second. He hadn't knocked her out, of course. She was just dazed.
She was so short, he had to put his arm under her, between her legs, and boost her whole body onto the table, stomach down. He parted her shaky legs. He pressed an exploring finger to her little cunt. Gods be damned, Horan thought. She really is a virgin. He took a moment to appreciate the situation. The girl was coming out of it, making frightened, surprised sounds. He was poised. She was spread. He licked his lips. You earned it, buddy, he said to himself. Grabbed her thighs…hard…and slammed into her.
For exactly one second, Tsulle was silent, in shock at the explosion of pain. One second, and then she began to scream, crying out, clawing away from this horrible, burning agony slicing her in half. She felt a tug in her middle as he pulled back, then her whole body rocked forward as he rammed back into her. Again. Again. She felt as though her insides were being torn apart. Again. Again. Again. The events that had led to her coming to Ellep Town, taking the job at Botty's, thinking she could be independent, that anything would be better than home life, quiet on her family's crowded, smelly farm, seemed idiotic. She felt nearly blinded by the massive man's penis, hot friction ready to skin her inside—it was too tight and she wanted to scream and scream but she was already screaming and it wasn't enough. He pulled out and stayed out and her heart leaped to think it was done, but then his huge hands were pushing her buttocks apart and she felt him adjust his position, just before a pain worse than before (if such a thing was possible), drove the light entirely out of her eyes, and he pumped and pumped in her, laboring at his oversized cock, pressed to the hilt into her charmingly tight little asshole. He felt the vibration of her screams travel up his shaft, clenching in his balls. Oh yes, he thought. You've earned this…