The halftime before the next match begins.
While giving the blonde girl a rest, I looked outside the cage.
Across the hallway, there's another butcher's cell. Until recently, there was a different butcher over there, but they disappeared at some point. Did Sergeant Demon die?
The sergeant was a convenient neighbor. He was rough with girls, so whenever the girl assigned to me wouldn't stop resisting, I'd show her what he did. Then, no matter the girl, she'd tremble and go quiet.
Seeing a girl violated mercilessly—both holes stuffed while her breasts were mauled—it makes sense they'd give in. I get it. His methods were amateurish compared to my professionalism. He probably didn't even understand why he was with the girls.
Come to think of it, he was the one who trained this blonde girl. She was the type to freeze up at first, but soon her body started twitching lively.
I'm far better. As a counterexample, he was excellent at teaching harsh realities.
Still, his disappearance was fortunate for me now. He was trouble, so whenever sacrifices were assigned, alien monitors were always present. But they vanished along with him.
I'm seen as a reliable butcher, despite my quirks, so no enforcement squads are stationed here. Probably just someone with a control device on the other side of the mirror. That's all.
The blonde girl's heavy breathing echoes in the empty space.
Right now, it's just her and me. Blind spots are easy to create.
By the way, the mirror that cracked recently was fixed by the next day. Unnecessarily efficient. Magic, maybe? Or they made it thicker as a precaution. At least I know it can be broken now.
That elf girl—I'll have to thank her later. I'll keep developing her anus with my tongue. Next time, I'll thrust deeper. Some girls love it. Even if they scream when it's inserted.
Alright. Enough time has passed. Let's go again.
I pull the blonde girl up.
"Ah… wait, please! Just a little… a little more—gagh!?"
I spread her legs, lift her, and press her back against the cage, creating a standing "train station" position.
The cage clatters as I push her against it. In an instant, my glans slips past her slick vaginal opening, into a hot, gooey flesh pot filled with semen and arousal. It feels so good my hips reflexively thrust.
"—Aaaahhhhhhhh!"
Even when I spread her legs wide and thrust in, my penis is too thick. She cries out each time, but it quickly turns into a drunken moan, so I don't mind.
"—Ugh! Ah! Ugh, ugh… waaaah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Aau!"
Holding her, I sway her back and forth in the "train station" style, wandering the room. "Blonde, blonde! Want some fresh, hot blonde? Just made, piping hot. Sandwich her from both ends too! How about it?"
The blonde clings to my neck, terrified of being impaled deeper by her own weight, desperately gasping for breath.
Her screams near my ear are sultry, high-pitched. A beautiful voice. Perfectly trained. As a reward, I lick the tear trails on her cheeks with my dark tongue.
Still inside her, I carry her to the wall.
Pressing her against it, I thrust repeatedly from below.
"—Guh…! Ah! Hih!? I-I-I-I-I-I-I… guh! I'm c-cumming—Aaaahhhh! —Hah… hah… hah… hah… hah… W-wait! N-not yet! Ah, ah, ah—"
Her head and back arch in my arms. She's climaxed again.
But I'm not done, so I keep thrusting into her quivering flesh pot.
Her vaginal walls are still exquisitely ridged, a masterpiece. Even stretched by my butcher's lance, if this were a normal man's size, it'd be a legendary pleasure cave.
Each thrust stimulates my entire shaft with a gritty sensation, but deep inside, a cluster of ridges presses against the underside of my glans. Every time I grind against them, a jolt of pleasure shoots up my spine.
So, I can't help but thrust deeply, chasing that pleasure.
She's born with a filthy, man-maddening sex organ—a true-born whore.
"Hah, hah, hah, hah, hah, hah, hah—"
The blonde's rhythm quickens.
Her face is flushed, her breath hot, her eyes glistening with longing, signaling a deep orgasm to come.
My seed is rising too. Alright, let's climax together.
I thrust my hips a little harder.
Standing up, I can move my hips freely, unlike in missionary. The piston angle and rhythm change easily. On a bed, missionary would be better, but there's no such luxury here.
Thrusting from various angles, kneading her insides, I slowly withdraw.
The ridged head grinds her vaginal walls, and just before my glans emerges, I pull back, then slowly re-enter at a different angle.
When I find the angle that makes her voice sweet, I repeat it, now violently pounding her depths. I immerse myself in this exploration of sensuality.
"Hoo! Hoo! Hoo! Hoo! Huuuuu!"
At some point, the blonde's breathing turns animalistic. She clings to me desperately, biting my shoulder to endure the butcher's relentless torment.
Her face is bright red. Her teary eyes are vacant, her vaginal walls spasming nonstop. Her hips and buttocks twitch uncontrollably—she's almost at her limit.
I force my dark tongue into her mouth, and as we're connected above and below, I ride the wave of lust from her thighs, erupting with a deep thrust.
"Mmmmmmm—!"
The beast's seed pulses powerfully into her womb.
Throughout the long release, the blonde's eyes roll back, and she sucks on my tongue.
When she's overwhelmed, she starts sucking like this.
It seems to comfort her, so I give her my tongue near her limit. Her orgasms become deeper, longer.
After fully releasing, I pull back.
My penis pops out with a *squelch*, and like an unstoppered milk bottle, a flood of white, sticky fluid drips from her onto the floor. A different kind of hot spray also splatters onto my member.
Satisfied.
Still holding her, I sit on the filth pooling at our feet.
I cross my legs and seat her on my lap, facing me, without penetration.
This way, the blonde is hidden between the wall and my body, almost invisible from the outside.
She drools, spaced out. Her eyes are unfocused.
Between us, my still-erect member rises, emitting a potent perfume of semen, arousal, and sweat. The blonde seems intoxicated by it.
—Alright, let's go.
A new cycle of violation—sex, rest, change of position and location, then more sex.
Seamlessly, naturally, I immerse myself in this repetition, creating blind spots by sandwiching her between the wall and me.
I pat the blonde's buttocks with my fingertips.
The same rhythm, repeated.
Invisible to the monitors. The sound is too faint to hear. The vibrations don't reach outside since I'm patting her.
This is my secret message, just for her.
*Pats pats—pats pats—*
Gradually, her eyes regain focus, mixed with surprise.
The message I've been sending: Morse code.
—*Let's talk, let's talk, let's talk—*