The Beginning of Collapse

Once, there had been a kingdom that knew the height of prosperity.

A kingdom founded by a [Hero] summoned from another world, who used the knowledge of that other world to build it after striking down the [Demon King].

In this world without science, there existed, in place of science and more convenient than science, an extraordinary power called "magic." A power that drew on the mana within one's body to call forth miracles that ought to have been impossible.

The [Hero] used that mana to raise beautiful houses, to erect walls that protected the people, to adorn the castle.

It had been a kingdom like a jewel.

By day, reflecting the sunlight back as pure white.

As night drew near, reflecting the glow of the sunset back as madder red.

And then, when night fell, the light of the "mana lamps" the [Hero] had devised painted a starry sky upon the ground to pair with the one overhead.

In that beautiful kingdom dwelt a beautiful people.

Elves.

The long-lived demi-humans said to be the guardians of the forest.

The one who had fallen into love with the [Hero] was an elven princess. By the time the war with the [Demon King] had drawn to a close she had lost her father the king and become queen herself, a beautiful woman, a half-elf born of an elven king and a human mother.

She had been happy.

The beautiful streets. The honest citizens. The kind world.

The days surrounded by those things had been, in all of the life she had lived, her most fulfilled time.

And between her and the [Hero] she had borne two daughters —

 

*

 

A muffled voice rang out inside a dimly-lit building.

The stone-built structure was cracked in places; the banners and furnishings, fashioned from fine materials, were stained with ash and dust, and as if to mirror that very ruin the sky was blanketed by thick gray clouds.

The land of heroes, raised by the joined hands of the [Hero] summoned from another world and the elves. Its townscape, built from a fragment of that other world's knowledge, was at once stately and lovely.

It was a kingdom where humans and elves had lived, where countless other races visited daily, brimming with vitality.

And here was the place that, even within that Fonteau, had been called the most beautiful.

Destroyed, shattered, throwing up black smoke, that ruined city. From within one building larger than any other — the castle where the royal family had dwelt and where nobles had paid their visits, there came, day after day, with no distinction of morning or night, the lewd cries and sobbing of women.

That voice reached even the throne room at the very back of the building, and struck the ears of the woman who had been a kingdom's queen, held captive there.

And each time, the queen, Leticia, thought:

I will not forgive this.

Her chest burned with hatred; she glared at the slime, that formless aggregation of mucus, but no sooner had her mana recovered than it was stolen from her again, and like the other elves she was violated as a helpless woman.

In her silver hair, once beautiful as a gem, clung filthy mucus that gave off a foul odor.

Her whole body was the same.

The dress that had been roughly handled until it was in tatters; her left breast, exposed on that one side alone; the garter belt and panties that peeked through the slit of her torn skirt.

The skin of porcelain that had been praised as more beautiful than any jewel was, head to toe, stained, defiled — Leticia, the symbol of this kingdom, the queen who had once seen the [Demon King] struck down, was now in a state that could be called Fonteau itself as it now stood.

There had once been a kingdom of elves and humans that knew the height of prosperity, where by day humans and demi-humans had filled the main streets and by night the inexhaustible light of mana had shone.

Fonteau.

A kingdom rooted in the homeland of the elves, who were gifted in magic, raised to greatness when the [Hero] handed down to them the knowledge of another world.

The [Hero]'s wife, and one of the companions who had seen the [Demon King] slain. The kingdom ruled by the half-elf Queen Leticia had, by now, had more than half of itself swallowed by the muddy mucus-monster.

The stone-built buildings, the wooden carriages, the sewers that maintained sanitation.

Places that could be seen. Places that could not be seen.

In every one of those places writhed the muddy aggregations of mucus.

The byword for the weakest in this world. The weakest, that should have been easily exterminated if you could use magic, no, even if you held but a single torch in your hand. Slimes.

Normally, they were at most about the size of a human's clenched fist, and a particularly large individual could perhaps swallow a stray dog whole.

And yet, the slimes that were swallowing the town of Fonteau, though each existed as a separate individual, were each one of them about the same size as a single-story house.

Among them existed some two sizes larger still.

The creature called a slime carried within its mucus body a core, and the volume of mucus that core could maintain had a clear ceiling depending on its size.

True, slimes did at times take in livestock or humans and swell their volume slightly, but even so growing up by a size was the upper bound, and at the average slime's size they could not even kill a head of livestock.

That was normal. That was common sense.

But this slime with its filthy, muddied mucus… was special.

There was no way to describe it but as bad luck.

Had this slime — had the Black Ooze, when first born, had its core crushed by some other beast, then by that alone it would have died and been done.

No matter how vast, how mighty it might grow, in the end a slime was a slime.

Crush its core and that was that.

That killed it. That ended it.

But now, even that was nearly impossible.

This slime, smearing the beautiful streets that had known the height of prosperity, was special.

In that it grew without limit, yes, but also in that it absorbed the knowledge and mana of what it had taken in, and the "magic" by which the elves had been so gifted in twisting the laws of this world to call forth miracles.

It had absorbed human and demi-human men, taken their mana and knowledge, wielded magic of its own, and even fire, the element it was weak to, it had become able to counter with water and ice magic.

And above all, having taken a "man" into itself first, the Black Ooze had become a "male," and had come to know how to violate "females" and get them with child.

A little over twenty years ago.

The [Demon King], who spawned monsters, had been slain, and the monsters of this world had been declining in number.

The day they went extinct would surely come.

The common knowledge that the [Demon King] spawned monsters.

Said the other way around, that meant in a world where the [Demon King] had been slain, monsters would not increase — so it should have been.

That was why the [Hero] had departed this world.

He had returned to his own world.

Leticia, his old companions, and the people of this world who praised the [Hero]'s glory had grieved, but had felt relief at the thought that the [Hero]'s work was done.

… But.

As if escaping that "extinction," there were lives that had been born.

A creature that violated women, got them with child, and made offspring of them.

Slimes.

The result of which was this.

Slimes that had inherited the exact "same" abilities as the original Black Ooze had overflowed across the land and consumed an entire kingdom.

And that kingdom, no less, was the one made to prosper by the [Hero] who had appeared from another world a little over twenty years ago and slain the [Demon King].

And from here on, the rest of the world would come to know this menace as well.

The kingdoms of those who had traveled with the [Hero] and seen the [Demon King] slain.

The beastfolk country. The clergy country.

What remained on this continent were two countries. The countries that held the companions who had walked beside Leticia, supporting the [Hero] on his journey.

And, of course, the Black Ooze, having absorbed every last man left in Fonteau, knew this too.

As knowledge.

A monster that held no concept of thought, and yet a beast that had swallowed thousands of lives carried within itself the "absorbed wills" of those lives.

That was its knowledge, its wisdom, its experience.

The ways of living that thousands of people had experienced, learned, and mastered as their craft, the Black Ooze contained inside its filthy body.

And from that, it determined its next action.

Instinct. The instinct of a beast whose first taste of a creature with emotions that insects and beasts did not possess had been a "human man."

Violate women.

Get them with child.

Multiply its kin.

For that sole purpose, the Black Ooze went on multiplying.

Increasing, increasing, increasing, increasing without end — and what it saw beyond that, no, surely this monster saw nothing at all.

It simply increased.

For that alone it violated women, and for that alone it continued to seek out women.

Even if it swallowed this entire continent, surely not the slightest change would come to its thoughts.

That was instinct.

It thought of nothing else. It lived for nothing else.

Today, too, the Black Ooze's children crawled through the ruined castle town of Fonteau in search of new women, hunting for women who had failed to flee and were still in hiding.

Among them existed individuals who had already left the castle town and gone on to attack the surrounding villages.

That range broadened by the day, and everyone fled from the kingdom called Fonteau.

The elven kingdom raised to glory by the otherworld [Hero] had, in this way, perished.

 

*

 

"Mguuuuuuuuh!?"

Though it was daytime, the muddy mucus clinging to the windows clouded the indoors like a rainy day.

The deep red carpet. The ornaments adorned in gold. The stained glass that had once shone, scattering the sunlight.

Every last one of them had lost its native brilliance.

The once-soft carpet had drunk in the mucus and clung wetly to the stone floor; the ornaments adorned in gold and white silver had all been knocked rolling onto the floor in the Black Ooze's wild thrashing; the stained glass could not shine for the mucus clinging to it.

Not torn, not shattered, not broken, but rather left filthied as it lay, and the look of it stamped on any onlooker a strong impression of having been defiled.

And that was effect enough to grate against the heart of one of the few "onlookers" left in this magic kingdom — the queen, Leticia, who yet retained a sliver of her reason.

That her kingdom had been defiled by the slime.

Upon the carpet engraved with Fonteau's crest, with her legs immodestly parted, the dress that had been torn into rags clinging to her skin, her white skin bound by filthy mucus, the queen, fresh tears welling in her already cried-out eyes, raised a muffled, furious cry.

"Nguu… fuu, fuuh…"

(I won't forgive this — never, never!)

Her mouth had a likewise-filthy mucus tentacle thrust roughly into it to seal her words, and a thick tentacle was wound about her neck like a collar. The tentacle within her mouth shifted its shape ceaselessly, pushing up at the inside of her soft cheeks fouled with mucus and grime.

Each time, the beauty that had been hailed as the finest in the kingdom warped in an unsightly way, her mouth gagged so that her breath grew ragged.

Both arms drawn up overhead as if in surrender, she did not look at all like a kingdom's queen, but exactly like a filthy criminal.

Knocked down close beside the Fonteau crest, both legs immodestly spread until her torn skirt rode up to fully expose her underwear.

Even the pure-white silk panties, originally adorned with delicate embroidery, were filthied.

More than that posture itself, what stirred her rage was that her kingdom, her people, her memories had been defiled.

This rage was what had sustained Leticia up to this day.

How much time had passed since she had been defeated and her kingdom taken from her, Leticia had no grasp.

Whether the sun rose or night fell, the Black Ooze's lust did not flag.

Of course it did not.

It was a monster that had taken thousands of men into itself.

Its lust transcended human knowing, and the lust that transcended human knowing was directed at the singular point of "getting women with child."

Leticia was violated morning and night, made to cry out by techniques gleaned from thousands of men, and even after she fainted the coupling did not end.

She would think she had been violated in the hall where the throne stood, and then come to in the bathing room or, on some occasions, find herself moved to the bedchamber.

This Black Ooze, as time passed and as the consciousnesses of the digested men melted further together within it, grew steadily more vicious.

It was no longer merely violating Leticia, no longer merely violating women.

It pared away the pride she had carried as a [Hero]'s companion who had slain the [Demon King], and yet it never broke her completely — yes, it was playing.

Within the Black Ooze that had merely violated women and impregnated them, "room to spare" was beginning to be born.

A change so plain that even Leticia, who knew nothing of the Black Ooze's "beginning," could perceive the strangeness of it.

Around the clock, with no regard for morning or night, no regard for whether she was conscious or not, it violated her — and yet, that Leticia would not die, it poured food and a nutrient broth of dissolved beasts directly into her stomach each day and forced her to take it in.

A hell where she could not even die unless she took her own life.

The lifespan of an elf was long. She could live many times over, ten times and more, beyond the span of a human.

That she would have to spend so long a time captive to this slime had already driven a fair number of elves to despair and broken their hearts.

Some had ceased reacting at all.

Some had accepted the slime.

Some, like Leticia, held their sanity together by hating the slime; some clung to a shapeless hope.

Even so, the fact that this thing was something that could put offspring into them did not change.

Despair, broken hearts, a thread of hope, hearts burning with vengeance — the Black Ooze killed them all in equal measure, which was to say, not at all.

It gave them nutrition, kept the host bodies healthy, and had them birth more slimes of its kind.

For that very reason, no matter how roughly it handled them, it never crossed that final line… it took care that the host body did not die.

When things truly grew dangerous — when she had been made to climax in such ceaseless succession that her heart seemed about to give out, the slime would break off the act even if it had not yet been satisfied.

Rough, violating her without regard for her will, and yet somewhere in there, gentle as well.

It was an illusion.

In the Black Ooze's instinct lay the desires and the kindnesses of the humans it had absorbed.

Within their despair, there were women who let themselves be charmed by that illusion they saw.

A monster strangely mismatched within itself. That was the Black Ooze.

"Fuuh!? Fuguuu!!"

Leticia, fixed atop the carpet in the posture of a dog at sit, raised her voice in fury.

She bit at the mucus that sealed her mouth and thrashed her bound arms.

Her left breast, spilling out from her torn dress and underwear, swayed violently with the motion and slapped against the wet-shining skin beneath, which gleamed as if smeared with cheap lotion, with a dry ta-pan!

Leticia's breasts, full as they were from having borne children, had grown more than a size larger still under daily kneading, and like soft confectionary they swayed greatly even at the slightest motion.

(It's coming again. No, I mustn't faint, I mustn't!)

That this change was abnormal, Leticia herself had noticed. But why her own chest had been so altered, she did not understand.

Only — the cause was in the time she had no memory of, the time spent fainted away. The time spent asleep.

That during that time her body was being remade… the very imagining of it was terror, and Leticia could no longer let herself sleep of her own will.

Her constantly-stimulated, ever-more-sensitive nipples stood as hard and pointed as the pens she had used during her duties of state, and the tip of her left breast alone showed faintly red in the dim room.

By contrast, her right nipple, still protected by dress and underwear, despite being unstimulated had stood stiffly hard beneath her clothes, and even through the dress wetted with mucus and clinging to her skin, the protrusion of it could be faintly made out.

Through her torn skirt the white garter belt and matching stockings peeked through her lower half, and the pure-white panties that ought to have been hidden by her dress were fully visible.

The damp stockings and panties bit into the buttocks and thighs that wore the perfume of a wife, letting the flesh tone beneath show through.

Those panties were dampened, faintly, with mucus — and with the love-juices that had leaked from Leticia's vagina.

This vicious Black Ooze, however many times it had violated Leticia and however roughly it had knocked her out, would re-dress her in her clothes each time.

Perhaps among the men the Black Ooze had taken in there had been some who were aroused by performing the act while the woman was still clothed.

Only, Leticia had no way of knowing that.

She was always violated with her clothes on, then stripped naked at the end, and then made to faint.

That wounded her spirit even more than simply being violated did.

No matter how many times she fainted, when she woke clad in her dress she would be forced to be aware once again that she was a "queen."

"Fuh, fuuh — ugu, ugu!"

(It's moving again —)

The mucus that had been binding her began to move.

That each individual tentacle, as if it held a will of its own, was crawling across Leticia's voluptuous figure and starting to stimulate it, and though she did not let her strong demeanor crumble, her expression twisted in spite of her.

It was her last pride that she not show a weak face, but at the mere imagining of what was about to be done to her, her body shook to the core.

It was not because it was painful. Quite the opposite —

(It's disgusting — disgusting, disgusting, di-sgust-ing!)

In her heart she screamed the words again and again like an incantation, and Leticia shut her eyes tight.

Unless she kept her heart strong like that, both her head and her body understood, she could not bear it.

The tentacle crawling along her arm slid across her soft upper arm, into her armpit, onto her exposed left breast, and through the gap of her dress to her right breast.

It lifted her full, soft breast from beneath and let it drop. Her left breast slapped against the skin below and again gave that dry ta-pan.

At her right breast the pointed nipple chafed against the back of the cloth, sending little sparks across the inside of her shut eyelids.

"Fuh — nfuu — haaa…"

From just that, a sweet sound leaked from Leticia's small nose. Her body, long violated by the Black Ooze, recognized from that alone that pleasure was about to be given to it again, and the core of her began to throb hotly.

Her mouth, sealed by the tentacle, forgot to bite at the mucus, and her brows, which had wrenched in fury, slowly drew together into a soft, pleading shape.

No matter what Leticia thought, this was a partner that violated her even during the times she was unconscious.

Her weaknesses had already been laid bare. Where to stimulate her to give her pleasure, to make her cry out, to make her hips writhe, to make her flow love-juice, all of it was known.

It slid slowly along her armpit like a serpent, while at the same time stimulating her breast. A point of stimulation she had not even thought of as an erogenous zone before.

Even so, Leticia did not feel ticklishness but clear, unmistakable pleasure, and unconsciously rubbed her thighs together.

The remnants of her dress rustled with the motion of her body, a small kasa.

It had been unconscious.

Noticing that her own legs were moving as if seeking something, Leticia let a faint flush rise to her dirtied cheeks.

"Fuu, uuu…"

(Why, with only this much…?)

At her own shameless reaction, fresh tears spilled from the corners of Leticia's eyes. At the same time, from the stimulation at her armpit alone, the core of her body caught fire, and with a heavy zukun her womb began to throb.

Her breath grew uneven and sweat rose across her whole body.

That very sweat was what the Black Ooze sought.

It was the mana within Leticia, the foremost mage among the elves, leaking out of her. The slime's food.

A slender tentacle split off and crawled along her neck, and Leticia rocked her upper body as if to flee.

Apart from the tentacle's movement, her breast bounced.

Becha, went the wet clothing.

Leticia, with her eyes closed, did not notice, but whether to escape, or whether out of frustration, the movement of her hips had been growing steadily more violent.

She thrashed her bound legs as much as she could, frustration in the motion, and her hips moved back and forth as if afraid.

Her breaths grew further out of rhythm, and the flush on her dirtied cheeks grew stronger. From an emotion different from rage, life seemed to be returning to her expression.

A single fresh tear spilled from the corner of her eye — but a tentacle scooped it up at once and absorbed it.

"Fu, nuu… uuu… h…"

(Don't touch me, don't touch me — don't touch me…)

Weakness began to mix into the words within her heart.

Though only the lightest caressing had begun, Leticia's heart wavered.

For her, whose experience with sex in her life so far had been slight — whose only partner had ever been her husband, the [Hero], the Black Ooze, having gleaned the techniques of thousands of men, was the worst possible foe.

When her heart was strong, it loosened her with gentle caresses, and then —

"—!? Nguh!?"

The instant she let her guard slip even a little, it pressed the attack at once.

The tentacle that had been binding her legs gradually crept upward and touched the bare skin of her thigh, above where the stocking ended.

Leticia flung her closed eyes wide, and in a panic tried to flee from the tentacle with her hips.

But with almost her entire body bound, she could not, and the only thing she managed was to lift her hips a small distance.

Even that was almost meaningless.

Rather, by lifting her hips she had made a clear path to her sex, as if she herself had made the posture easier for the tentacle to attack from.

That was not Leticia's intent.

She felt clear and unmistakable revulsion.

But for all that she had borne children, her experience was little better than a novice's; and yet her ripe body was weaker to pleasure than Leticia herself thought, and no matter how strongly she thought of it as disgusting, her sex grew damp with love-juice that gave off a sweet-sour scent quite different from the slime's mucus.

Damp with mucus and love-juice, clinging to her sex and letting the color of the flesh beneath show through — and just on the other side of those panties, her sex had already begun, faintly, to part open to receive the tentacle.

"Fuah…!?"

A cry escaped her nose.

The panties chafed against the sensitive mucous membrane, and at the stimulation that nearly buckled her hips Leticia, startled, looked downward.

The full breasts, lifted by the tentacle, dropped, and toyed with. And beneath them, hidden by those overly-full breasts so that Leticia herself could not see, her lower half.

Even unseen, the sensation of the tentacles creeping up her legs was vivid, and what was about to be done — whether she liked it or not, she understood.

It had been done to her many times.

For several days, for over a decade of days, or perhaps for longer still.

And yet, Leticia's heart had not yet broken.

Her kin who had left the Royal Capital would come to save her. They would bring reinforcements from a neighboring country.

So she thought, strongly.

There was hope yet.

The beastfolk princess who had surpassed even the [Hero] in swordsmanship.

The clergywoman who, though human, had possessed magical talent on par with Leticia herself.

So long as they did not look down on the slime simply because it was a slime, as Leticia had, there was no way they would be outmatched.

Comrades who had fought beside her, she knew. She trusted them.

That they would, without fail, come to save her one day.

And when they did, what she herself had to do, she understood as well.

These slimes, every last one of them, she would burn away. If she had to — along with this whole kingdom.

So —

"Fu — uuuuuuuuh!?"

She let out a groan that seemed to threaten her throat, and drove strength into her lower half.

She clenched her vaginal passage with all her might, trying to prevent the tentacle's intrusion.

Slime though it was, the Black Ooze could now generate semen within its own body. It was an ability obtained from absorbing an old man who had come to the abandoned mithril mine where this thing was born.

For a woman to bear a child, semen was required.

Not a slime's core.

A woman's egg and a man's sperm.

Only with those did a life first come into being.

The slime generated human semen inside its body, but adjusted things so that the children born would be slimes.

To increase its kin.

That instinct had transcended the mystery of life, and refined its ability into one that surely impregnated females.

Leticia, too, understood this. She herself had, over the past several days, conceived slimes and given birth to them.

A child that ought normally to take more than ten months to grow inside the womb. A slime's child passed through the vagina and emerged into this world in only a few days.

The reason was plain.

A slime's child was only about the size of the tip of a human child's pinky finger.

For a normal child, that was a state well past premature, one that could not survive at all as a life. But a slime, being a mass of mucus, could live in this world so long as it had its core and the liquid that protected it.

And in the kingdom the Black Ooze had brought to ruin, there were no enemies for a slime, and so those infant lives could grow in safety.

There was food enough as well.

Bodily fluids saturated with elven mana. The Black Ooze's leftovers. On those for feed, slimes smaller than a pinky finger swelled in only a few days to the size of a fist. Or grew faster still.

The slimes born from Leticia grew that way too, absorbed the mana-rich "fluids of Leticia" in this throne room, swelled to immense size, and went out from the castle.

Mother's milk was nothing so mild as that.

Love-juices, sweat, saliva, excretions — to the slimes, everything about Leticia was the finest of meals, and feed that grew them into individuals stronger than what they would gain from drawing mana from any other mage.

The more Leticia was violated, the stronger the Black Ooze and its children grew.

That the kingdom holding the strongest mage in this world had been the first to fall was the worst possible outcome for every living thing on this continent.

So the only thing Leticia could do was one thing alone.

Simply not bear a child.

That was all she could do.

To reduce them by even one — unless she did that, the war with these slimes would only tilt further against them.

With her thinking clouded by pleasure, that one thought alone in her mind, she drove strength into her lower half to fend off the tentacle's intrusion… but that was all.

The Black Ooze's tentacles were mucus, and if there was even the slightest gap they could infiltrate easily.

That was how this monster had brought down the kingdom that had flourished by magic.

Slipping in through the sewers, absorbing what the people of Fonteau had thrown away as refuse, and then taking in those who lived in this kingdom one by one — letting its children lurk inside human bodies and destroying them from within.

Compared with that, the force with which a single woman, queen though she was, could clench her vagina was less than child's play.

At first, it produced a slender tentacle, only as thin as a strand of hair, and intruded into her vagina.

"—"

Even with her awareness concentrated on her vagina, something that small offered no stimulation at all.

Leticia's expression did not change — but immediately afterward, her eyes flew open in shock.

The tentacle that had at first been only as thin as a strand of hair gradually thickened, and soon it was as thick as a grown man's pinky, and then his index finger.

"Wa, n— wai, e-eh! Tha, ba, bad!!"

With her mouth filled to the brim with mucus, Leticia let out an unsightly shriek.

That what she had been clenching so hard had been entered so easily made her cry out in shock. At the same time, from her strong clenching she came to know the slime tentacle's shape in fine detail.

Slime tentacle though it was, the shape of it was not uniform. Not so much as to undulate, but its surface had bumps and ridges, and that shape further altered itself in accordance with the slime's instinct.

That is to say, it would rub against Leticia's vagina, and where she let out a cry that betrayed her "feeling it," there it would shift into a shape that pressed that point all the more concentratedly.

That was true for every woman being violated in this kingdom called Fonteau.

The more she felt, the more information the Black Ooze gained, and the more intense the pleasure given to her.

And should she climax and spurt out her love-juice, her mana was absorbed, and the Black Ooze attained yet further growth.

"Ku, uu — s-stop… stop it—"

Through her sealed mouth she desperately leaked out words of resistance, but of course they would not be heard.

Fresh tears spilled from Leticia's eyes once more.

The woman who had been queen, even letting her snot run, found her breath and had her gaze nailed to her own lower half.

What was about to be done, she understood.

She was afraid.

She was terrified.

Queen though she was, wife though she was, Leticia was a woman — there was a man she had loved, whom she loved still. And she had the children born of that love.

And yet.

"Fu, u — no, n-no…"

The tentacle slowly began to move.

The feel of the ridges on its surface scraping against her vaginal wall almost buckled her hips, and as the slightest resistance she could manage she put strength into her lower half.

But in this situation, clenching down on the tentacle was the worst possible move.

It felt too good.

Her awareness focused on her lower half, and she felt the shape of the tentacle inside her vagina, the way it moved, in vivid detail.

That shape was vicious.

A shape specialized in attacking the weak points of Leticia that it had learned over the course of more than a decade of days. A penis exclusive to Leticia.

For Leticia, who knew only the sex of confirming her love with the [Hero], what was about to come, the rough, the rude, the forced climaxes, the crying and the screaming — the pleading that would never be granted… the one-sided violent pleasure, was, in her not-inconsiderable life as a half-elf, something given to her for the first time, and it transformed the woman called Leticia entirely.

When she had been adventuring with the [Hero], she had been strong-willed, a little rough, and yet she had had a side that liked to be doted upon by the man she loved.

After her children were born and the [Hero] departed this world, she had tried to be a good mother.

And then — violated by the Black Ooze, given rough pleasure one-sidedly, never granted reprieve even when she fainted… her days, violated around the clock without distinction of day or night, had left Leticia her pride as queen, and yet had planted a clear and undeniable fear within her.

"N-no, s-stop — funnh!?"

A sweet breath leaked from her nose.

Even though she was aware of how terribly shameful that was, she could not stop it.

A sweet sweat rose across her whole body, and her chest — no, her whole body, felt as if it were tingling with electric prickling all the while it was being stimulated.

The tentacle slowly, gently, intruded into the depths of her vagina.

It was inside her own body. Even unseen, how far it had come in, where about it was now — she could tell.

So, just a little more, she — whether it was despair or pleading, Leticia thought.

It crossed just past the halfway point.

The shape of the tentacle changed, and her breasts were kneaded.

Just like a hand with five fingers.

Breasts ripened so fully that they would spill from even a grown man's palm were seized roughly, kneaded forcefully.

The right breast still protected by dress and underwear was wound up by an invading tentacle, this one wrapping around it like ham and stimulating it.

A thin tentacle smaller than her pinky finger wound about the base of her nipple, and a single further tentacle, slenderer still, stimulated the mammary gland from the very tip of the nipple.

"Fuuu!?"

From that alone Leticia let out a lewd cry, and lost the room in her heart to even curse it.

Further, a change came to the tentacle that had been stimulating her armpit.

From simple tickling it shifted to a licking motion, and the tentacle that had been stimulating her neck crawled up further to wrap itself around her long, pointed elven ear.

When it sucked at her ear with a wet juru-juru, Leticia fell into the illusion that the inside of her head was being licked.

Of course it was an illusion, but sound was a more important piece of information than people generally believed.

If she had the illusion that her brain itself was being licked, her brain would treat that as reality, and pass that information through her whole body. Goose-flesh rose across her skin with a zowa-zowa, and her body shrank into itself.

At the same time her whole filthied body was being caressed by tentacles. The information from her ear, the information from her whole body, and the information her brain itself fed her, all of it combined to drive Leticia's reason mad.

Her sharp eyes that had been so full of a queen's poise lost their strength of will; her beautiful red eyes, like rubies, hid behind her eyelids, and their whites rolled up.

Subjected to a whole-body caress no human could have performed, and from no more than the stimulation of a tentacle's intrusion into her vaginal passage, Leticia climaxed.

From just above the vagina, hidden by slime tentacle and pure-white panties, pushih, she squirted.

Perhaps because it had been a climax after a short rest, the weak-pressured spurt traveled only a little, and defiled Fonteau's crest engraved into the carpet still left on the floor.

Leticia had no awareness of it, and it was something that had happened during the brief moment her consciousness had slipped away.

But the Black Ooze did not slacken its violation.

When it understood that Leticia had climaxed, it pressed the mucus tentacle further into the depths of her vagina, and overflowing love-juice was pushed out from the vagina.

Once more it defiled Fonteau's crest, and this time Leticia, too, noticed.

And she understood what the Black Ooze was trying to do. That it was trying to make her, the queen, defile Fonteau's crest.

The memories of her with the [Hero]. The symbol of the kingdom, packed full of memories of her with her husband, that was what it was trying to make her defile.

(U-uu… endure — I have to endure!)

Seeking out new love-juice, other slender tentacles swarmed in and stimulated her labia majora and her clitoris.

When several tentacles, surrounding the clitoris still hidden by her underwear from left and right, drew it fully out of its hood, each one began to stimulate it with its own separate intent.

Through the underwear damp and clinging to her lower half, the tentacles' motions could be seen plainly, and how mercilessly the clitoris beneath was being tormented was clear.

A small, truly small bud of flesh swarmed by six tentacles thinner than a pinky finger.

When they all touched the clitoris in unison, Leticia's lower half lurched of its own accord, and again she squirted fresh.

Faint lines stood out on the slim leg adorned in garter and stocking, and her two legs, supporting her whole body in heels with high stilettos, were spread into an M-shape.

This time the pressure was strong.

The spurt that flew far defiled Fonteau's crest once more, and continued to do so each time the clitoris was stimulated.

Where in her own body had that much fluid been? she might have wondered.

With a thick tentacle fixing her neck in place, Leticia could not avert her eyes from the tragedy, and was forced to behold the sight of her own lower half, squirting out fluid against her will, defiling the symbol of her kingdom.

"—!? Fuah!? Nguuuu!?"

If only she could resist even slightly, Leticia thrashed with everything she had.

(No, stop. Any more than this — no!)

She had neither pride as queen nor pride as a mother left.

No, rather, perhaps it could be said that she was acting precisely to protect those.

She would be made to climax.

It was not the kind that left the heart fulfilled.

One-sidedly, roughly, forcibly given — and then, shamefully made to climax, with her heart shattered.

She was afraid of laying that self bare.

Only a moment before, Leticia had had her eyes rolled up and had fainted outright, but unwilling to show any more shameful a sight she thrashed — yet the more Leticia thrashed, the stronger and thicker the tentacles binding her grew.

"Nnuuu!? Nnnn —!!"

She could not move.

Bound so that she could not even turn her neck, Leticia gulped down a great breath.

(This is bad!? Like this, I can't get away!?)

She had had no chance of getting away to begin with. That much Leticia understood.

Then what was it she could not get away from? Simple.

From the pleasure that was about to be given to her. That despair came soon enough.

"Nuu!? Nh, nh — nuu!"

She could not even tilt her head back.

The tentacle's slow intrusion finally reached the very deepest part of her vagina, and its tip rapped at the entrance of her womb.

She tried to writhe her hips at the pleasure of it, but she could not even do that, nor could she shake her head to bear it.

Her whole body bound up tightly, she had become a doll whose hips were merely thrust at.

"Fugi — uh, guuh, fuuh, fuah!!"

The depth of her vagina was thrust at. Thrust at, thrust at.

When the entrance of her womb was roughly thrust against, her hips nearly lifted up, but even the reflexive movement against that stimulation was hindered by the mucus bed binding her body.

Only her cervix was thrust at, her clitoris tormented, her upper half kneaded out, while she screamed, and each time she squirted from her urethra.

Fonteau's crest grew wet with the love-juices Leticia spilled out, and was steadily filthied.

The Black Ooze, as if playing with a toy, made Leticia squirt and defiled Fonteau's crest over and over.

Again. And again. And again.

In the end, the greater part of the crest had been discolored, and at that point the force of Leticia's squirting finally began to weaken.

Whatever her constitution, Leticia too was a creature. With no water left in her, nothing more could come out.

When her awareness began to fade like dehydration — a tentacle that had intruded into her mouth passed down her throat and intruded into her stomach.

And it released water directly into her stomach.

That it would take time to permeate her body, the Black Ooze understood. That some rest was required.

"Fuhih — higuh, guu!?"

For Leticia, it was unbearable.

Each climax brought a squirt; squirting brought another climax. She had already experienced it enough times to understand, but no matter how many times Leticia climaxed, the Black Ooze did not care.

It made her climax until it was satisfied, and even if she fainted, it did not stop.

It did not stop unless her life was in danger.

With her own will ignored, made to climax in unending succession, her consciousness flew time and again, and the back of her eyes flickered. How many times she had climaxed, no, whether she had even been able to keep her reason — she no longer knew.

Leticia, given rough pleasure many times over in this short stretch, stared forward with her eyes rolled up, let tears flow, let even her snot run, and lost consciousness only to recover it, and lose it again.

The screaming did not cease.

Of Leticia, of the women in the castle, of the women across the whole of Fonteau.

That was the end-state of a kingdom brought to ruin by the Black Ooze.