Plucking the Flower

The residential district of the Kingdom of Fonteau. Within that quarter where commoners rather than nobles lived, there stood a splendid, sizable building.

A cross adorned the roof of the two-story building, and its windows had been polished clean.

In one corner of the garden was a flowerbed bursting with flowers of every color, and a small plot where a modest variety of vegetables had been planted as well.

In that garden, there were over a dozen boys and girls.

In their hands they held small shovels and watering cans (jouro), flower seedlings and vegetable seeds.

Hands, clothes, even faces smudged with dirt, yet every single one of them was running about beaming.

Their ages varied widely.

Some were boys and girls who could barely walk on their own; others were already somewhat grown, children in their teens.

Among them stood a single figure, a Sister too grown to still be called a girl.

She was the one shepherding the boys and girls, a Sister who worked at this orphanage.

Her name was Freya.

Though she "worked" there, Freya was herself a former orphan of this very orphanage.

The [Demon King] had been struck down, and monsters had dwindled in number. But that did not mean they had vanished entirely.

There were still plenty of adventurers who made a living slaying monsters, and even now, in countryside villages and hamlets near the royal capital, villagers were sometimes attacked and killed by them.

Children who had been attacked by such monsters and yet managed to survive.

And it was not only monsters who harmed people.

There were those who, unable to find honest work, fell to banditry or highway robbery; those who suddenly snapped and ran amok.

Children whose parents had been taken from them by such people.

Then there were others, swept up in natural disasters, famines, calamities of every sort.

This orphanage was a place that took in such children.

"Everyone, please be careful not to hurt yourselves, all right?"

Beneath the blue sky, the Sister's unhurried voice carried softly.

Freya, whom even the children, never mind her fellow Sisters or the Father who supported the orphanage, called easygoing, walked slowly along, surrounded by the children.

Even when they hurried her, her pace quickened only by a small measure.

About the speed of a child's brisk walk.

Often thought plain on account of her black-rimmed, frumpy glasses, Freya was, in fact, surprisingly fine-featured behind them.

Pink hair bound into a single braid that fell over her left shoulder, a high-bridged nose, large indigo eyes. The braid swayed each time she took a step.

She wore a thick Sister's habit. The black, one-piece-style garment was austere, and one could say it suited a woman of Freya's disposition very well.

Yet beneath that thick habit, her bosom rose ever so slightly, and her waist was clearly cinched.

Precisely because the clothing was austere, the soft, feminine curves of her body looked all the more enticing.

Above all, the soft buttocks that filled out the back of that Sister's habit swayed with every step, putting their alluring softness on display.

She held a position like an elder sister within the orphanage, and even bundled up in thick clothing, the sight was perhaps a touch too stimulating for boys in the throes of puberty.

Indeed, the older boys who had reached an age where they had begun to take an interest in such things were drawn not to girls their own age but to older women like Freya.

Today too, from morning to noon, the daily routine was watering the flowers and vegetables and extending the field.

Then, from noon, it was lessons for all the children together. In the gaps of that routine, the older boys followed close behind the Sister, edging in toward Freya little by little.

Freya had not noticed.

She was not the sort to suspect the boys, who were practically family to her, to begin with, and there was no malice on their faces.

All that was there was the playful spirit of children eager for the mischief to come.

"Now then, please water the flowers and vegetables—"

Please, she meant to say.

It was the instant she opened her mouth to say so.

"Eh?"

A few of the boys grabbed at the hem of her long skirt, which hid her down to the ankles, and in one motion flipped it up.

Unable to grasp what had happened for a moment, Freya let out a stupefied little sound.

The front of the skirt remained pulled down by gravity, but the back, gripped by the children's small hands, was laid bare for the boys and girls to see.

The pure-white garter belt could perhaps be called Sister-like, but the pale pink shorts the same color as her hair were thin in fabric, and either the size did not quite fit or they had simply ridden up, biting slightly into the flesh of her buttocks. That too was carnal in its way, a sight any onlooker would be unable to forget for some time.

The edges of the pink shorts were trimmed in lace embroidery, underwear that, for a Sister to wear, could be called rather provocative. But it was a small indulgence of hers.

Perhaps the touch of girlishness in dress, even when hidden beneath her clothes, was an expression of her wish to feel a little like a girl, despite being made to live an ascetic life at the orphanage, surrounded as it was by children, even if not to the same extent as at a proper church.

"Kya, kyaa!?"

She hurriedly pressed her hands to her skirt, but reflex made her cover the front. The back was what had been flipped up, so covering her groin did her no good at all.

The boys let out a shout, but they let go of the skirt almost at once.

This was mischief; they had not meant to truly distress Freya, who was like an elder sister to them.

Yet that did not make the shame she had just felt vanish.

Freya's cheeks, and even her ears, flushed bright red. Pressing her skirt down, she looked around for the boys who had pulled the prank, ready to scold them.

But the children, knowing they were due for a scolding, had already scattered. The only ones left were younger girls a few years their juniors.

They were snickering at the mischievous boys, muttering, "Boys are so childish, aren't they."

At that age, perhaps girls were a touch more mature mentally than boys.

Freya let out a sigh and picked up the watering tools she had dropped in her surprise.

"Now then. I'm not going to scold you, so hurry up and finish the watering."

When she raised her voice to sound a little angry, the boys who had scattered peeked out from their hiding spots.

Perhaps they meant it as hide-and-seek.

But seeing Freya make no move to chase them, and reading from her expression that she was not really angry, they came creeping back over.

In the end, it was just something children had done. So Freya put it behind her and let a smile form on her face.

Her usual gentle smile, the kind that brightened not only the children but everyone who saw it.

If she lost her temper over something like this, she could not very well serve as a Sister at an orphanage.

"Honestly. If you keep doing that sort of thing, the girls won't like you, you know?"

She admonished them, but the boys did not seem particularly bothered.

At that age, taking an interest in girls their own age mattered less than figuring out how to have a good time and what mischief to plan next; that occupied most of their thoughts.

Having grown up at the orphanage herself, Freya understood those subtleties well. She put a hand on her hip and let out a great breath.

"Hurry back, alreaaaady. I really will skip lunch for you if you don't."

She must have been a little angry. Yet aside from her voice quickening slightly compared to her usual cadence, there was not much change.

Once the boys came back, all of them set about planting the vegetable and flower seedlings in the field together and watering them with the watering cans.

Droplets caught the sunlight, formed rainbows, and the children laughed with delight.

Smiling as she watched them, Freya used her slender fingers to dig small hollows in the soil and plant seedlings.

The bright laughter of the children carried into the orphanage and beyond, reaching the ears of the people walking the streets that ringed it, the residents of the royal capital.

Bright voices, just on their own, drew smiles onto people's faces.

To be blessed even by those who lived nearby was the privilege of children.

And by the time the sun had shifted a little, they had managed to water the whole field.

"Whew."

Freya took off her glasses, wiped the sweat beading on her forehead with her palm, and looked up at the sky.

The sun was strong.

Telling the children to make sure to drink, she handed out the water she had prepared in bamboo tubes.

She passed one to the younger group; they each took a sip and passed it to the next child.

To the older group she handed two bamboo tubes; these would be drunk separately, boys and girls divided. They were of an age to start minding such things.

A year or two ago, they had drunk from the same tube without minding the difference between boys and girls.

Remembering that, Freya let a soft smile loosen the corners of her mouth.

"All right then, let's tidy up and head back."

Without being told a thing, the children began clearing away the tools they had used on their own initiative.

That was a credit to Freya's teaching, and to that of the other Sisters who worked at this orphanage.

Even the older boys who had pulled their little prank on Freya earlier put aside their complaints and mischief at moments like this; if anything, they helped the younger children with the cleaning.

With the cleaning done, the tools went back where they belonged, and then it was time for lunch.

After lunch, the Sisters would take on the role of teachers and instruct the children in their lessons.

This stretch of time was another challenge — children, after all, preferred moving their bodies to working their heads.

Today's afternoon lesson was Freya's to teach, and just thinking about it made her shoulders feel a little heavy.

She wished she could come up with some story to catch their interest, but light banter and conversation that wandered from its course were not in her nature.

Set tasks, carried out to set ends.

Having grown up in this orphanage herself, Freya knew that the world, and children especially, would not move the way adults wanted them to.

Even so, she did not really understand what manner of speaking or method of teaching captured children's interest.

The senior Sister who had been around since Freya was a child was very good at that, and Freya still received her guidance, yet every lesson still went poorly.

According to the senior Sister, it was because she was Freya.

It was the same as a boy taking joy in teasing the girl he liked.

Within this orphanage, Freya was a young, pretty, kind Sister.

So they wanted to fluster her, to be scolded by her, to be paid attention to, to have her notice them.

Well, that was how it was.

But more than the subtleties between men and women, Freya was poor at picking up on the affections of children, so she still did not really understand.

No doubt, today too, the boys who had played their prank earlier would give her a headache once again, she thought.

Her shoulders drooped, though not enough to make her sigh.

In the end, it was something children did.

Embarrassing, yes, but not enough to be angry over.

Scold them a little, study together. That ought to do it, she decided.

"Yes, yes. Even if you don't hurry, lunch isn't going to run awaaay."

Lost in thought, Freya's pace had slowed again.

The one who took her hand was a girl from the younger group.

Whether she was hungry, or simply wanted to be close to Freya, the girl laid her small hand atop Freya's, threaded her fingers through, and gripped tight.

A small hand. A soft hand.

That warmth was so dear that Freya, smiling, squeezed back.

As if answering Freya's smile, the girl holding her hand broke into a beaming smile of her own and tugged her along.

"Honestly… If you rush like that, it's dangerous, you know."

When she said as much, the boys all chimed in together that it was because Freya was so slow.

Not one, not two. All of them.

That was a little disheartening, and as she was led along, Freya let her shoulders drop in a deft, almost theatrical manner.

Her reaction struck the children as funny, and they laughed.

A warm atmosphere.

Gentle sunlight, and a soft breeze.

The pink hair bound in its braid and the skirt of her Sister's habit swayed in the wind.

And so Freya, with the children in tow, stepped into the orphanage.

A familiar, wood-frame building.

Cleaned every day, yet old in its bones, showing wear here and there that interfered with daily life; each time, they had to call a carpenter from the royal capital for repairs.

Even that money was earned by selling vegetables grown on the grounds, or furniture and clothes that the Sisters and older children stitched together for piecework.

In short.

It was very ramshackle.

There were no real furnishings to speak of; the window frames and wooden tables splintered enough that the children sometimes got slivers from them.

When the children ran about indoors, the floor creaked, and the impact even rattled the windowpanes.

Such a worn-out-looking building.

Yet inside the orphanage, a very fine smell drifted in the air.

It was the smell of the lunch the Sisters were preparing.

Drawn by that scent, the children quickened their steps and headed for the back of the building.

Only Freya was left behind, and again she sighed.

Even the girl who had been holding her hand had run off with the others the moment the scent of lunch reached her.

Somehow she felt as though she had lost out to lunch, and her shoulders drooped.

For a little while she stayed there at the orphanage's entrance, in plain view from outside, and took a single deep breath.

"Before lunch, then…"

She murmured to no one in particular and started walking in the opposite direction from the children.

A face she could not show in front of the children, a relaxed face. A relaxed air.

Where she was headed… was the lavatory.

Freya stepped into the worn wooden stall and shut the door.

The lavatory was the tank-type, sit-down variety, the kind that was not so unusual in the [Hero]'s world.

Water was kept in the tank that served as the backrest of the toilet, and once one had finished, that water was used to flush the waste away.

The waste flowed down into the sewer and was carried off from there.

Freya did not really understand the mechanism of it, but compared to a generation ago it was incomparably cleaner, far easier to clean, and above all simpler to use.

Flush toilets had been spread through this country by the [Hero].

There were apparently other styles as well, but those were installed only in the homes of certain nobles, the very wealthy.

Among ordinary households, it was this style that had become widespread.

"Whew…"

Freya turned her back to the toilet and went to lock the stall door.

"Huh?"

The lock rattled, making a high-pitched clinking sound.

It would not close — like the building's exterior, the lavatory too had worn down in places.

Things like this did happen.

Since it was not as though she were in any pressing need, Freya put her strength into the lock without panicking.

"Hn, hnn…"

They really did need a new toilet soon.

Thinking that from the bottom of her heart, Freya at last managed to engage the lock.

It was not that she lacked exercise or strength compared to others, but her breath had still gone slightly ragged.

Feeling somehow as though she had just finished a piece of work, Freya pressed her forehead to the lavatory door and steadied her breathing.

Behind her.

The tank-type lavatory devised by the otherworldly [Hero].

Its bottom.

That place where filth was supposed to flow and vanish was rippling.

Darkness.

The bottom could not be seen.

But surely, that darkness rippled and writhed.

There was a faint sound. But that sound was drowned out by Freya's breathing and never reached her ears.

Gopo, came a sound.

A small sound. That, too, did not reach Freya's ears; she was still relieved that the lock had finally engaged.

Of course, her back was still to the toilet bowl. Not noticing the change in it, knowing nothing, she at last turned to relieve herself.

"Eh?"

It was less a sound of surprise than one shaped like pure, unadorned puzzlement.

This was the lavatory; of course her gaze would turn to the bowl. But the foul water spilling out of that bowl… a black liquid that made anyone who saw it feel something well past mere disgust.

As a woman especially, Freya let out a momentary sound of bewilderment, then hurriedly pressed her back to the lavatory door.

An instinctive movement: trying to back away, even just one step, half a step, from the foul water spilling from the bowl.

She tried to undo the lock with one hand behind her back, but it only rattled drily; the lock would not budge.

It was not rusted. It was on the verge of breaking.

She had just struggled to lock it; trying to undo it behind her back with one hand was difficult.

And now, unlike before, her mind could not grasp what was happening before her eyes, and she was thrown into confusion.

Her fingertips trembled, the lock was stiff, and that only confused her more.

Even something as obvious as crying out for help did not occur to her.

Freya had erred at the very first move.

Even as she fumbled, the unclean water spilled over the rim of the bowl and spread across the floor.

Strangely, there was nothing solid mixed in with the foul water.

A dirty, near-black grayish liquid. And yet it was clear enough that the floor beneath could be vaguely seen through it.

With the bowl at its center, the foul water expanded its territory.

There was no stench.

No, there was a faint smell, but it was not the smell of filth.

Confused as she was, Freya did not notice that. Watching the black, foul water spread, she frantically tried to work the lock behind her back.

It did not even occur to her to turn around and use both hands.

It was too revolting; she could not tear her eyes from the foul water.

The spreading water did not slacken its pace, and it reached Freya's feet.

Reflexively she lifted one foot to avoid it, but that was as far as she got. When her other foot was submerged, even through her boots she felt an unspeakable revulsion.

Her well-arranged features twisted, but with that came a sort of resignation.

When she lowered the foot she had lifted, both feet… the soles of both boots were defiled by the foul water.

"… Ueh."

Even though she had not touched it directly, it was disgusting.

Saying so out loud, she felt as if the sense of contamination only spread further.

And so she decided to think positively: it was a blessing this had happened before lunch.

If it had come after lunch, it would have been a truly terrible business.

Freya let out a great sigh and, with a clearer head at last, decided to begin by unlocking the door.

Once more turning her back to the bowl, she faced the door.

Time to work the half-broken lock with both hands.

But — the bowl again let out a gopo sound.

Foul water was still welling up out of it.

Freya was aware of that, but she had taken it for nothing more than dirty water.

The toilet had backed up, but as luck would have it there was no waste mixed in.

Disgusting, but only that. A harmless misfortune.

So she had thought, and let her guard down.

No, it was less letting her guard down than its being the only conclusion she could reach.

And so.

"… Eh?"

Just as she bent slightly at the waist to work the lock, sticking her rear out a little, something slimy and rope-like coiled around the waist whose curves were visible even through her thick habit.

At first, she did not know what it was.

She could not understand.

When her waist was grabbed, she forgot for an instant that she was even in a lavatory stall and wondered whether it was another of the boys' pranks.

That was how far beyond anything she could have expected it was.

"Kyaa!?"

Pulled by the rope-like something restraining her waist, Freya screamed.

Its strength was such that, with her own, she could not even resist. Her boots slipped on the foul-water-coated floor, and in an instant she was dragged right up to the bowl.

Reflexively, to keep from falling, she stretched both hands to the lavatory's walls, ending up sprawled in something like a spread-eagle posture.

Her resistance lasted only a moment. This time both hands were bound. The tentacles wound around her wrists.

Even through the thick habit, she could tell the tentacles were unsettlingly slimy.

In no time the foul water had soaked into her clothes, and at the sensation Freya let out a small "hiii" of a scream.

"Wh-what is this!?"

It was the natural question.

But there was no reply. Of course there was not. It had no mouth to begin with.

Even while Freya was crying out her question, the tentacles bound her limbs one by one.

Two and three layers of tentacles wound around her arms; they coiled around the boots hidden beneath her ankle-length skirt and, above them, around her slightly thick legs sheathed in their garter stockings.

"Hii, no!?"

That scream contained more revulsion and disgust than fear.

They were not against her bare skin, but stockings were thin, and not even a thick Sister's habit could hold back the foul water that soaked through everything in an instant.

The unnatural sensation running up, climbing both her legs, made her whole body bristle, and Freya thrashed about desperately.

But the tentacles' grip would not be undone by that, and she only wasted her stamina.

Her breath grew ragged, sweat beaded on her forehead.

Even then the mucus tentacles tightened their bindings.

It was a posture like reins being drawn on a horse.

Her rear stuck out grandly, both arms pulled behind her.

Both her legs were stretched out straight as well, forcing her into something like a two-legged horse's stance. Bent forward, the pink braid that fell over her shoulder swayed wide in her field of view.

Above all, both her shoulders ached whenever she struggled.

Her resistance was suppressed, and the unfamiliar posture sapped her strength all on its own.

Freya, who had never been particularly stout to begin with, was breathing raggedly in no time and gave up resisting.

There, at last, she understood that this situation was abnormal and that she could not handle it alone.

Moving what little of her head she still could, Freya looked behind her.

This strange thing, the slime, had been growing out of the toilet bowl.

The foul water that had spilled from the bowl earlier had also been part of the slime; its mass was beyond reckoning. At the very least, it was more than enough to swallow Freya whole many times over.

Yet for now, all the slime had done was bind both her hands, both her feet, and her waist.

In truth, the real performance was only just beginning; it was just that Freya had stopped resisting, and for the moment the slime had suspended its violence.

With the roughness having ceased, Freya regained a little composure and once again turned her gaze on the mucus coiled around her body.

Mucus dripped from it; it caught the sunlight and shone dully, faintly translucent.

Its elasticity was considerable; no matter how much strength she put in, not only would it not tear, it would not even stretch.

It did not take her long to understand she could do nothing about this alone.

"Someone!!"

Unable to bear it any longer, Freya called for help.

But no one was likely to come right away.

It was the lunch hour. The children were rejoicing in today's lunch, raising their voices, and the other Sisters were chatting along with the children's delighted noise.

Above all, the lavatory Freya was using now was very far from the dining hall.

She knew that a scream of this size would not reach. Even understanding that, Freya cried out several times more.

"Haa."

Easing her tension just slightly, Freya let out a sigh.

It was disgusting, and she understood that the present situation was abnormal, but the mucus only bound her, making no move to do anything else.

Realizing that after a while, Freya exhaled to calm herself.

"This is… a slime, isn't it?"

It was her first time seeing one in the flesh.

Freya did know of mucus-bodied monsters. Only from documents, but they were not particularly vicious creatures.

They were monsters, yes, but they feared fire. According to the documents, they should be half the size of a grown man at most, but the slime that had spilled out of this bowl was large enough to swallow up not just Freya but several humans.

Still, as the documents had said, even when they bound someone like this, they did not have many means of attack.

An ordinary slime was the sort of monster that, even after binding you like this, would fear fire magic and release its catch right away.

Recalling the slime's traits, Freya decided to concentrate.

This was the country of elves, the kingdom of Fonteau, ruled by the Magic Queen who had defeated the [Demon King] alongside the [Hero].

Freya was not an elf like Queen Leticia, but she had learned simple magic.

She was no good at offensive magic, but she could at least light a flame and startle the slime.

So she thought, and the moment she gathered her mana -

"Hii!?"

Without meaning to, and unable to hold it back, a strange sound came out of her.

Her throat seized up, and she hurriedly stared at the tentacles sticking up from the bowl.

The shock had scattered the mana she had been gathering, but for Freya, that was the least of her concerns.

As though to chastise her for resisting, the grip of the tentacles on her hands and feet tightened, and the tentacle around her waist yanked, forcing her rear vigorously out behind her.

Freya's well-fleshed rear was thrust out. The mucus-soaked clothes clung to her skin, and faint underwear lines surfaced through the thick fabric of her habit.

"This is… what is this thing!?"

The slime, reacting to the mana Freya had woven, resumed its activity.

It crawled along both arms, to her shoulders, and then over her upper body.

It bound her breasts, still hidden beneath her clothing, as if wringing them. Tracing what seemed to be a circle, it drew her clothes and underwear along with it and squeezed her breasts at their bases.

"Uee!? Wh-why!?"

At the sharp revulsion of mucus-coated tentacles crawling over her skin, and a touch of pain, Freya let out a cry.

Her breasts were not so large as to draw the eye, only a little above average.

Squeezed up from her bosom, they distorted lopsidedly, like cannonballs.

At the same time, Freya's expression twisted with pain.

This was in no way the kind of caress that would stir pleasure; it was a movement purely aimed at restraining her body.

"Ku, ig — wh-what is…"

Her face contorted, Freya looked ahead… at the lavatory door.

"Some— ugeh!?"

It was the instant she opened her mouth to cry out for help.

No sooner had she opened wide than, as though it had been waiting for that moment, a black, cloudy mucus tentacle pushed its way inside.

Her eyes flew open, and reflexively she bit down on the tentacle.

But the elastic tentacle paid no mind to bites of that order, and rather than violate the inside of her mouth, it reached all the way to the back of her throat in a single push.

"Gh, ge, uee!?"

When the back of her throat, and further still, even her esophagus, was stimulated, Freya let out a beast-like groan.

Her throat forced open, her stomach convulsed and she felt gastric juice rising back up.

But her mouth was sealed by the tentacle, and the gastric juice that had welled up was forced back down into her stomach.

Her stomach convulsed, the bile rose again, but with the exit blocked by the tentacle there was nothing for it, and it went back into her stomach.

That repetition brought tears to her eyes that, unable to be held back, slipped down her cheeks.

Even so, the tentacle did not stop, working back and forth many times, stimulating Freya's esophagus.

Bile rose and was forced back; rose again.

"Uge, oeh — gh, gi — a, ya… ya'e, eh… ya'eh—"

More than the sense of defilement or the suffering, it was the pain in her throat and stomach, her mouth blocked, no sound forming, as Freya desperately begged for help.

Indifferent to her tearful plea, after the tentacle traveled back and forth through her esophagus more than a dozen times more, Freya's mouth was finally released.

When the tentacle was pulled out of her mouth all at once, Freya, weeping, spat out the bile pooled in her stomach.

Retching as though vomiting, she let bile and saliva drip from her mouth to the floor.

That filth, the slime lapped up eagerly, and in moments had absorbed it all.

"Zeh— zeh… uee—"

Trying to steady her breathing, she took several deep breaths, and when nausea returned, Freya convulsed her empty insides and spat out what little saliva she had.

Her throat hurt.

Forced open by a tentacle, then burned by stomach acid.

In that short span she had been stripped even of the ability to scream, and she felt cold sweat run down her spine.

"Some… one…"

She forced her voice out, but it had no strength to it.

It would recover soon enough, but the pain in her throat was severe. Even speaking threatened to bring fresh tears to the corners of her eyes.

In a last show of resistance, Freya shook her body, but as expected, the slime's mucus tentacles would never release her, and it ended in futility.

Again, the slime's movements slowed.

Freya too gave up trying to peel the tentacles off and concentrated on steadying her breathing.

For what reason she did not know, but as long as she did not try to resist, this tentacle did not seem to intend to be rough with her.

Freya's thought was half-right.

Slimes born using human women as bedding inherited memories partly from the slime, partly from the consumed human male, and partly from the woman who was its source.

That might be how to please a woman, or knowledge of this world, or any number of other things.

And this newborn slime was tormenting Freya for its own efficient strengthening — to feed on the bodily fluids of a woman possessing mana.

Sweat, tears, saliva, love juices, intestinal fluid, gastric juices.

It had savaged her throat for that purpose, but now it understood that her gastric juice had run dry.

In that case, the next place it headed for was the same as its parent slime.

"Hi, eh — eh?"

The slime was climbing up.

Up the legs hidden by the skirt, wrapped in stockings.

Drawing a spiral, it climbed slowly.

She could not see it through her clothes, but she understood from the revulsion on her skin, and Freya's eyes flew open in shock.

Still bound bent forward, she turned her gaze down toward her lower body.

As expected, she could not peer up into her skirt, only imagine what was within from the touch.

But—.

"Stop, please."

She denied it in a hoarse voice.

Even letting out a little voice made her throat ache, and new tears welled up.

But Freya could not help saying it.

It was climbing up.

What that meant, she did not know.

But it was unbearably disgusting, something she as a woman could not accept.

So Freya, still bound, twisted her body trying somehow to escape.

With her waist and both legs restrained, her struggling amounted only to swaying her hips as if inviting a man, but Freya did not realize it.

Her hips swayed.

Left and right. Up and down.

In time with the motion of her hips, the skirt swayed.

And within that skirt, tentacles were climbing up.

"U, eh— n'no, no…"

She could not raise her voice, yet her mouth was not entirely sealed.

Letting out an undignified groan, Freya swung her hips in an attempt to resist.

Her braid swayed wide, brushing her cheek.

"Some… one— someone!"

She thought she was crying out at the top of her lungs, but what came out was a wheezing, hoarse voice.

Even Freya knew that with the stall door and the door to the lavatory's entrance between them, her voice would not reach the colleagues and children in the dining hall.

Even so, all she could do was raise her voice.

The thought of using magic to resist had vanished from her head.

That was how confused she was, weeping as she swung her hips, when the tentacles crawling up her skirt at last reached her thighs, her groin, and beyond.

"—t!"

It was a soundless scream.

The tentacle traced the rim of her shorts, and the sensation was unsettling.

"N, gh— s'op, p'ease"

No sound came. Until then, she had not realized how terrifying that could be.

Feeling that with her whole being, Freya swung her hips, but the slime did not even allow her that resistance.

The slime that had climbed up both her legs coiled around her thighs and groin, and over her buttocks as well.

With this, everything below her neck was completely restrained.

Left with only the option of shaking her head as a means of resistance, Freya, still bent forward, looked back over her shoulder.

Her habit… her skirt was writhing.

More precisely, the clothing, soaked in slime mucus and clinging to her skin, traced the movement of the tentacles beneath in vivid relief.

On her lower body, the rear visible over her shoulder showed those movements with particular clarity, so much so it felt as though it were not even her own body.

It was then that Freya realized something was wrong with her body.

Although her lower body was being violated, the sensation of it was strangely dull.

So dull it almost felt like someone else's body.

That was an ability this slime had inherited from its parent, the Black Ooze. The effect of paralytic poison.

The mucus, smeared evenly over both legs and over her rear, was dulling Freya's sensations and halving the awfulness of the mucus tentacles.

Visually it was disgusting, but in terms of touch it did not bring as much revulsion as it should.

At the very least, she was no longer feeling the disgust she had felt at first.

That was because the places where it touched her skin had stopped feeling anything.

— Realizing this, a chill ran down Freya's spine.

(What is this!? What's happening to me!?)

Her body would not move.

It was not that she was restrained; even when she tried to resist, she could not even move her fingers properly.

It was not that she was bound that tightly.

Her fingertips. A single finger. Their senses were terribly dulled.

"Goho— let, go… someone…"

Perhaps because of the time that had passed, the pain in her throat had eased.

It still hurt, but if only she could get out of this situation, she felt she could live with losing her voice from here on out.

Freya tried to scream with every last bit of strength she had.

But—.

"Gu, geh"

This time, rather than entering her mouth, a mucus tentacle coiled around her slender throat.

It crushed her throat and smothered the scream.

With her airway cleanly cut off, her consciousness nearly flew for a moment; her tongue lolled from her mouth in agony, and after several seconds she was released.

"Goho— goho!"

The moment she was released, Freya hurriedly drew in air.

In that interval, the tentacles moved on to their next action.

Paying her coughing no mind, with her lower body still hidden beneath her skirt, the tentacles grew more active in their movements.

"U, uuu…!"

When Freya tried again to cry out, she felt the tentacles tightening around her throat.

Unable to let out her voice, Freya could only tremble from her shoulders up, where she remained free.

Her lower body was being touched.

For Freya, raised in an orphanage with little even of contact with the opposite sex, that was an unbearable shame.

Precisely because she was unused to it, at first she did not pay it much mind, but the tentacles' current movements… were not so far from the movements of her own fingers, late at night, when she sometimes had trouble managing her own body.

Freya was a fully grown woman.

It was not once or twice that, at night, in places no eyes could reach, she had pleasured herself.

Drawing on all her clumsy knowledge, she had caressed her chest and her secret place many times to quiet a heated mood.

The tentacle's current movements were not unlike her own at those times, she thought.

When she imagined what that meant, gooseflesh ran across her whole body.

But—.

"U, geh!?"

Again, her throat was strangled.

Not strongly.

But even the slightest move to resist, no, even the slightest thought of resistance in her heart, and the tentacles would move to choke her.

Yet it was only the very first few times that it actually choked. After repeating it a few times, the slime understood that Freya had grown afraid and stopped resisting, and now it only mimed the motion.

Freya began to flinch at the tiniest movement of the tentacles, and the slime learned how easily it could silence her.

Freya's thoughts, her eyes, were still calculating how to escape… she had not given up.

But her body was succumbing to pain.

No one wanted to suffer; one could say that was only natural.

Above all, even if Freya could use magic, she was a commoner.

She was unlike the adventurers and knights the slime had faced until now.

It was not her will but her body that submitted, and it submitted faster than any woman the slime had dealt with before.

"U, uu…"

With her resistance at last gone, the slime violated Freya.

Her lower body… it caressed her buttocks, hidden beneath the skirt and wrapped in her shorts, as though licking them, and tickled her groin.

The tentacles binding her upper body wriggled, then groped her breasts and licked at her neck.

There was no pleasure.

Disgust. Revulsion.

All that was inside Freya was a wish for this to end soon.

To at least keep from making a sound — and even that was not from any will to resist, but because she understood that if she did, her throat would be choked again.

Biting her lip, closing her eyes.

All she could do was wish for this terrible dream to end soon.

Freya's body trembled lightly from fear rather than pleasure.

Her shoulders shook, and the new tears spilling from her eyes were licked up by the slime's tentacles along her cheeks and absorbed before they could fall.

So too was the sweat soaking her body.

The sweat that beaded on skin bristling with revulsion was also licked away by the tentacles.

The sensation of tentacles slipping under her clothes and licking her entire body was so unsettling it felt as if it might drive her mad.

Because her eyes were closed, the sensation and the tentacles' movements came through all the more clearly.

And if she opened her eyes — the place where the lavatory door had been moments earlier was completely covered with slime mucus.

As though the lavatory stall had become an entirely different space.

The floor, the walls, the ceiling.

Every surface covered in nauseating mucus.

Since the stall was bright, she could tell at least the window was unharmed.

But that was all.

With the walls of mucus sealing everything off, even the children's voices that had been faintly audible could no longer be heard.

Nothing could be heard — only her own breathing and the heartbeat hammering in her chest from fear.

It was deafening inside her ears.

"Nu!? Nnh!!"

A new movement was added to the mucus restraining Freya.

Not just choking her throat, this time a tentacle invaded her slightly parted lips.

Her closed eyelids flew open, and moving only her eyes, she looked at her mouth.

There, a tentacle as thick as a child's slender arm was forcing its way in.

Like this, she could not scream.

Just as she dreaded that the back of her throat would be forced again, before she could brace herself the mucus tentacle was once more thrust to the back of her throat.

"Ngu!? Uu, ugh!?"

Because the tentacle was gelatinous, her throat itself was not directly injured, but even so, having her throat forced and her esophagus worked back and forth inflicted suffering and nausea on her.

As Freya wept without dignity, the tentacles licking her buttocks made a new movement.

The tentacle that had been licking her buttocks over her underwear shifted the crotch of her shorts to one side.

"Uun!?"

Even as her throat was abused, even as her lower body was bound up tight, Freya tried to twist her hips wildly left and right.

Frantic resistance.

But the slime's restraint would not be undone by anything of that order, and beneath the skirt.

Her clothes, soaked with mucus, clinging to her skin, faintly tracing the line of her underwear and the shadows of the tentacles writhing below, still in place—

"Nguu!?"

Freya let out a muffled scream.

Large tears spilled from her wide-open eyes and ran down her cheeks, and the tentacles licked at them.

So much so that even that disgusting sensation no longer registered: Freya, her mouth still sealed, screamed at the very top of her lungs.

Still hidden beneath her skirt, a tentacle pierced her secret place.

By rights, the pain should have felt as if she were being torn apart. There was none.

Freya had been a virgin, but she had her share of knowledge about intercourse.

It should have hurt at first, but the pain of deflowering had been wiped away by the paralytic poison secreted by the tentacles binding her limbs, and only a dull sense of being pierced remained.

At a first time more horrid than anything she could have imagined, Freya could not feel that it was real, and just kept screaming her hardest from her sealed throat.

But that scream too turned to a muffled sound as her throat was roughly violated.

Above all, the mass of mucus covering the lavatory's walls grew by the moment, multiplying in volume.

By now the stall looked as if it had become wholly an otherworldly realm.

The stall was dim because even the window had been covered by walls of mucus.

The avenue of escape was being sealed off. It was vanishing.

Freya could not even notice it; she was simply stunned by the shock of deflowering.

This did not feel real. There was no way something like this could be real.

Only those words spun, round and round, inside her head.

And even while she sat in stunned blankness, the tentacles continued to move.

The tentacles binding her arms slipped in through her sleeves and now violated her bare skin directly.

Arms, armpits, shoulders, and chest.

Just as with her lower body, the revulsion of having her whole body defiled with the slime's foul liquid raised gooseflesh.

The core of her body shuddered—.

"Nuuuuh!?"

Just as she let out a desperate scream, separately from the mucus tentacle violating her esophagus, the tentacle wound around her neck tightened.

Light flickered before her wide-open eyes, and with her airway cut off she plunged at once into oxygen deprivation.

The light was white, dyeing Freya's thoughts in its color.

"—t!? —u!!"

No voice came out.

Not a scream, not even a plea for mercy. Freya's face flushed crimson, but just before she lost consciousness she was released.

"Ngeh!? Gu, oeh!?"

At the same time the tentacle that had been inside her mouth was pulled out, and Freya, gulping down oxygen like a starving thing, spat out saliva as though vomiting.

"Goho, ueh— gooh!?"

But that was only briefly.

Just as Freya was taking in oxygen with her mouth thrown open wide, a tentacle invaded her mouth again.

"Nnu!?"

A voice that was not even a scream, steeped in fear, leaked from her throat.

But as expected, the tentacles showed no mercy and entered her esophagus.

She wept from nausea, and her eyes filled with fear.

"Ngeh!? Ngou, gueh!?"

The muffled screams of a person no one would have thought was the same Sister who had been minding the children in the garden just earlier echoed through the lavatory stall.

Again, again, and again.

Even the word "violation" was too soft.

Forced submission, one-sided. And the fact that her partner was not a person, not even humanoid, but a monster with which not even communication was possible, ground Freya's will into a thousand pieces.

What she should do, even that she no longer knew.

Only the means of escaping this suffering rose in her head, and even that vanished when oxygen deprivation pushed her toward unconsciousness.

Before she knew it, Freya had become a thing whose only role was to shake each time her vagina and her throat were thrust into.

She moaned in pain, her bound body twitching desperately, so she was alive.

But her eyes were lightless, and tears from her eyes, mucus from her nose, drool from her mouth.

She leaked bodily fluids from every hole in her face, and the slime licked them up and absorbed them.

By now she had not even the leeway to feel disgust.

Both her feet were on the floor… on the ground covered in the slime's foul liquid.

Her hands were pulled behind her like reins on a horse, and the mucus tentacle plunged into her vagina was piercing Freya like a single spear.

It was not how one would handle a person.

Livestock, or a thing.

That was the treatment.

The tentacles that had been licking, sucking, and groping her buttocks moved.

Lifting the skirt now heavy with absorbed mucus, they exposed her unblemished white skin, the even whiter garter belt and stockings beyond it, and the pink shorts that wrapped those white buttocks.

Those shorts too had been darkened in color from absorbing the slime's tentacles, and at the crotch they had been pushed to one side, with the dirty tentacles already invading the secret part the underwear was meant to protect.

Seen from behind, even the hole of her anus was fully visible.

But Freya no longer had the capacity to feel shame at that.

In a near-oxygen-deprived state, she was the tentacles' to do with as they pleased.

The dress-like Sister's habit was pushed up further, completely exposing the garter belt, and along with her lower body a portion of her equally white back was also bared.

Skin gleaming wetly with sweat and mucus was strangely sensual, and only made the black mucus tentacles covering her lower body stand out all the more.

"—t, —t… uh"

Gopo, came a sound.

From the joining of tentacle and vagina, a liquid different from the slime's foul liquid leaked out.

It was the monster's semen, what would not fit inside her vagina.

A liquid with the same viscosity as the slime's foul liquid spilled from her vagina, fell to the floor, and was once again absorbed by the slime.

The tentacle violating her vagina had already entered her uterus and was discharging directly into it, but what would not fit had been expelled.

But there was no way the slime would allow that.

The same volume of semen that had been expelled was once again ejaculated directly into her uterus.

"—, —…"

Without a word, in silence, Freya accepted that semen.

New tears spilled from her lightless eyes, and this time, unlicked, they ran down her cheeks and dropped from her chin.

And even so, they too were absorbed by the slime covering the floor.

To the slime, all of Freya was food.

Because she could use magic, food of high nutritional value.

And, a precious bedding-mother who could bear young.

Having already violated many and sharing that knowledge, the slimes knew that this much would not break a mother-body.

And from the sewer connected at the bottom of this bowl, they had also come to understand that even if the mother-body's will broke, as long as the body was intact, it was no problem.

That, too, they were learning.

Next, how far they could push before a human female, frailer than a monster, would break.

They would investigate.

Using the human female Freya.

Carefully, carefully.

So she would not break. So she would not die.

But pushed to the very edge of suffering.

Paralytic poison. Nerve poison.

More than that, something more effective. And more simply.

How much pleasure, how many climaxes, how much pain a body could endure.

Used solely as an experiment for that purpose, Freya was, in truth, an unfortunate woman.

Subjected to violation in its truest, original sense, the soft, warm smile she had directed at the children was entirely gone.

Neither her will, her compassion, nor anything else could be read from a face filthy with bodily fluids of every kind.

Roughly thrust at with mucus tentacles, her throat gouged, her neck strangled.

Not by her will but by the reflexes of a living human body, she retched, shuddered whenever her uterus was roughly thrust, and her shoulders rose and fell with each breath.

A state of nothing but reactions.

"U, eh… geh…"

That Freya vomited.

The saliva that had pooled in her mouth, and the slime's foul liquid.

Vomiting, vomiting, vomiting… and once she had, again a tentacle entered her mouth.

Roughly. Careful not to injure Freya, but to make her suffer. So as not to break her.

The same volume of foul liquid was poured back in, forced down her throat, and she vomited again.

And her lower body too.

Semen was poured directly into her uterus; what would not fit overflowed, and the same volume was forced out again.

That repetition.

Even though her belly, bared by the upturned habit, was bulging slightly from ejaculation, the slime did not slacken.

Indeed, slackening was simply not possible.

Slimes were monsters of mucus, and within their bodies they converted their own fluids into semen.

In other words, the entire slime restraining Freya could become semen.

It was a mass enough that, ejaculating into not Freya alone but the uteruses of every woman in this country, this one slime alone would suffice.

Combined with those nesting in the sewers and the Black Ooze far away, dwelling in the abandoned mithril mine, it might be enough to swell the wombs of every woman not only of the royal capital but of this whole country.

Freya no longer felt any pain, anything at all, at being ejaculated into.

Her heart had been broken by despair, and she had not even the will to resist.

The state the slime had wished for.

A doll of flesh.

A thing that had become an object.

There was no strength in her bound limbs, no emotion in her expression.

In time with each thrust of the tentacle, her braid swayed.

That only made the pity of it all the more pronounced.

The walls of flesh grew thicker.

On and on and on.

There was no limit to the volume of slime climbing up from the bottom of the bowl.

Continually swelling in volume from absorbing the waste of the people of the royal capital, that thing might in a way be the volume of the desires of those who lived in the royal capital.

The door was sealed off, the window was sealed off, and Freya's vision darkened.

It was not that she was losing consciousness.

There was nothing left that could be called consciousness, but it was not unconsciousness either.

The lavatory stall was completely enveloped in walls of flesh, and the light no longer reached.

"—"

Freya could only stare, helpless, as the light vanished from the space.

Her limbs would not move; each climax drained her mana, and above all, the rough treatment had stripped her of the will to resist.

All she had in her head now was the wish for this to be over soon.

No, now even that was not in her head.

But that wish would not be granted.

Gobo, a muddy sound resounded through the foul-liquid-covered space.

Behind Freya.

The bowl from which the slime had crawled out.

The bowl, at last unable to bear the slime's mass, had collapsed.

At its base was a hole.

Deep, dark. Foul-smelling — the bottom of the darkness in which the slime continued to grow even now.

A hole connected to the sewer.

With the bowl broken, the volume of slime crawling out increased.

But it was not to further cover the lavatory stall.

The slime crawling out went back into the hole in the same volume.

Out and back, back and out.

Repeating.

Repeating… and little by little, widening the hole that connected to the sewer.

Until Freya could fit through.

Until the Sisters, the women living in this orphanage, could fit through.

It was widening the hole.

"—He, … lp"

Freya let out one last voice.

But—.

"Ogo— gubeh, gobeh, gobenda… gofuh!?"

The slime did not even allow that, and again sealed her mouth.

Roughly thrust at the back of her throat, gouging her vagina.

Pushing the pink shorts she still had on wide to one side, it exposed not just her vagina but her anus.

Splitting the rich flesh of her buttocks left and right, it slipped several thin tentacles into the hole of her anus as well.

"Nuuuh!?"

At the new stimulation, Freya let out an uncontrollable scream.

Reacting to that scream, the mucus tentacles grew more active in their movements.

Until now it had merely been moving thin tentacles back and forth many times, caressing her excretion hole until it grew loose, but now it used the thin tentacles it had inserted as supports and threw them open in all directions with sudden force.

Stretched until the unblemished pink interior of her bowels, unlike the dingy color of her anus, could be seen, Freya felt a sensation she had never known in her life spread inside her anus, like air touching exposed nerves.

It was different from being treated roughly, a tingling stimulation.

There was no pain.

Itchy, like cold water on an open wound.

It stung.

To put it bluntly, that was the word.

Air stung.

"—, —…"

Somehow without making a sound, Freya tried to clench her abdomen to close her anus.

Not resistance. Not defiance.

Her instincts cried out that her body could not bear further roughness.

But the reason that had come back when her anus was stimulated cried out that this, at least, she did not want.

If she made a sound, she would be punished.

If she struggled, she would be punished.

Not her head, but her body understood.

So at the very least, she tried to close her anus without giving herself away.

In tune with Freya's reason, her anus, thrown open four ways by thin tentacles, twitched.

Whether finding it amusing, or refusing to take this as resistance, the slime closed her anus once and then opened it wide again.

Close, open. Close, open.

Her anus repeated opening and shutting, and each time her intestines, exposed to air, leaked intestinal fluid to keep themselves moist.

It was a smell different from the slime's or the sewer's, but that pungent smell reached Freya as well.

Yet she could not tell what it was.

She could not even imagine that it was the smell of her own intestines.

After many such openings and closings, her anus was opened once more and held there.

This time, the tentacles' grip was strong.

No matter how Freya strained, her anus would not close.

"Fuu, fuu, fuuuh!!"

Straining too hard, the red in her cheeks deepened.

Freya did not notice that herself.

All that filled her head was straining to close her anus.

Already she did not understand what she was doing, what state things were in, what she had to do.

Not a single thing.

Even what she was, she could not bring to mind right away.

She just did not want this.

She wanted to close her anus.

For that, she strained.

That effort of hers… not resistance, but desperate effort.

As though laughing at it, the mucus tentacles licked the rim of her widely opened anus as though counting the wrinkles.

"Muguh!?"

In surprise, Freya jerked her face up.

At the same time, perhaps taking that as resistance, the tentacle inside her mouth grew more violent in its movements.

Foul liquid spilled from the corners of her lips like drool, and as the back of her throat was stimulated she felt nausea and wept.

Painful.

At too great an agony her eyes rolled white in an instant and her consciousness flew.

She became something at the mercy of the rest, but not roughly enough to faint.

A violation devoid of pleasure was, conversely, painful enough that she could not even faint.

Freya had never experienced it, but perhaps this was what was called torture, she thought, in the midst of her consciousness fading away in a thousand pieces.

At the same time, precisely because it was painful, even when she tried to lose consciousness she would recover, and could not faint.

She wept, she retched, and when released she vomited.

But precisely because she was released, she could not faint.

This intercourse, mere forced ejaculation into her uterus, did not treat Freya as a woman.

A thing. Livestock.

That was efficiency, wrought by the slime.

An evolution to more efficiently exploit Tiana and the others, still being violated, impregnated, and made to birth in the sewer.

Far, far away, the great original, the root, born in the abandoned mithril mine.

Beyond even the Black Ooze.

It would keep growing.

It would keep evolving.

This was a wholly new species.

Slime. Black Ooze.

Having taken in humans, having taken in a male, the mutation of the slime species that had become male continued to act in accordance with its instincts.

To impregnate women, to make them birth young.

To increase its descendants. To leave descendants.

Only to make women bear children.

For that purpose alone.