"Well, you recognized me."
No. 25's trembling intensified, his head bowed low. The effortless teleportation—high-level magic cast without a single incantation—confirmed it beyond doubt: this was the Demon King.
His mind churned, thoughts blending like spilled paint into a chaotic mess. Rational thought was already a struggle, but now it was impossible. Why would the Demon King, of all beings, buy a wretched slave like him? To vent frustrations? As a pleasure slave? Or… for something far worse, like cannibalism?
One thing was certain: a grim fate awaited him.
As No. 25 drowned in dark thoughts, the Demon King approached. She sniffed the air, then wrinkled her nose. "Must be that filthy market… you reek."
The accusation of smelling foul sent a jolt through No. 25, his trembling worsening. It was a pitiful sight. "A-are you going to discard me?" he stammered.
The Demon King let out a low chuckle, her voice carrying a regal authority. "I paid ten thousand gold coins for a servant. Do you think I'd toss you aside so easily? I had no intention of discarding you to begin with."
With a flick of her finger, a maid appeared at her side. Pointing at No. 25, the Demon King spoke casually. "Take him to the bath and get him cleaned."
"Yes, Your Majesty," the maid replied, bowing.
The maid lifted No. 25, still quivering on the floor. Her face twitched briefly at the stench of decay clinging to him, but she quickly masked it with a neutral expression. "What about his clothes?" she asked.
"Burn what he's wearing," the Demon King replied without hesitation. "Put him in anything else and bring him back."
The maid bowed again and led No. 25 toward the bath. As they walked, he seized the moment—a rare chance to ask. "W-what's going to happen to me?"
The maid's eyes roamed over him, a sly smile curling her lips—a smile she hadn't dared show in the Demon King's presence. No. 25 flinched, his instincts screaming: This maid is dangerous. Perhaps even more than the Demon King.
"Who knows?" she said, her tone teasing. "Nothing good, I'd wager."
No. 25, reduced once more to a helpless victim, trembled harder. His fear deepened as he noticed the maid's subtle touches—her fingers grazing his body as they walked.
The Demon King's castle was vast, its grandeur proportional to its imposing exterior. The mere act of crossing a hallway made No. 25's former world—the cramped cage—feel like a lie. When they reached the bath and the door swung open, a wave of thick, steamy heat enveloped him.
"Strip," the maid ordered, her voice sharp.
No. 25 obeyed, peeling off his tattered, foul-smelling clothes. Shame wasn't a luxury slaves could afford, and he'd never known it. The maid's eyes gleamed as she watched, her tongue flicking out like a serpent's when he stood bare. His body froze under her gaze.
"Sit there," she commanded, pointing to the edge of the bath—a marble expanse far larger than the room he'd once called home. The heated stone was warm beneath him, a mild discomfort compared to the ogre's tortures. He glanced around, awestruck by the unfamiliar opulence of the bath.
The maid's voice cut through, tinged with irritation. "Can't you even wash yourself?"
"S-sorry…" The apology spilled out instinctively.
A rustle of fabric followed. No. 25 cautiously lifted his gaze—and froze. The maid had shed her clothes, revealing a voluptuous figure: untamed pubic hair, nipples already hardened. Beneath her polished exterior, her body exuded a raw, lascivious aura.
He'd half-expected this. Being taken by a woman like her seemed an inevitable fate. His body, traitorously, responded—his manhood stirring despite his will.
The maid approached slowly, her fingers tracing down his back. "No need to apologize," she purred. "It only heightens my pleasure."
She sat beside him, her hand gliding to his throbbing member. Would his first time, spared even by the ogre, be taken so carelessly? The thought flickered, but survival trumped sentiment. Better to live through this than face death. No. 25 closed his eyes, surrendering to her touch.
"Cute face, but carrying something so… vulgar?" she teased. "You weren't planning to present that to the Demon King, were you? No, no, that won't do."
Her grip tightened, stroking him with deliberate care—gentle, despite her menacing demeanor. The sound of flesh against flesh mingled with the bath's humid heat, creating a charged, indecent atmosphere. Her ample breasts brushed against him, but No. 25 had no room to savor it. He fought desperately against the rising tide of pleasure.
I shouldn't… feel this…
His inexperience betrayed him. Unable to resist her skilled touch, he soon spilled onto the bathhouse floor. The maid's eyes narrowed with delight as she gazed at the mess. Licking the semen from her hand with a slow, lewd motion, she whispered, "So much. Did my hand feel that good?"
"Y-yes… it felt good," he replied, forcing the words out. He had to please her to survive. Every word was calculated, insincere, born of necessity. Displeasing her could mean a brutal future—an unavoidable choice.
"Ready for the next round?" Her hand slid toward his buttocks, gripping them with even greater force, her desire to dominate a submissive male laid bare. No. 25, who'd never known freedom, could only comply.
But the maid merely smiled, doing nothing further. Confused, No. 25 caught his breath. She was already lathering a strange object in her hands, producing foam. Rubbing it across his body, she whispered, "I'd love to enjoy the main course, but orders come first."
Foam coated his skin, and with a single motion, she rinsed it away using a nearby water tank. For the first time in his life, No. 25 felt softness, fragrance—pure ecstasy. He forgot the teasing, lost in the sensation.
"Feels good, doesn't it?" the maid asked.
"Yes, it's good," he said, his voice brimming with genuine awe.
She looked at him fondly, stroking his head. "If it were up to me, I'd trim that hair of yours, but I don't know the Demon King's tastes, so this'll do for now."
She led him out of the bath. "Oh, we don't have male slaves here, so you'll wear women's clothes for now. That alright?"
Clothes were the least of his concerns. To survive, he'd walk naked if needed. He donned the slightly oversized maid's uniform she handed him and followed her back to the Demon King. With each step, his heart raced faster, dread mounting at the thought of facing that overwhelming presence again.
In the grand hall, the Demon King sat upon her throne, her expression solemn. "Washed properly?" she asked.
The maid nodded. The Demon King beckoned to No. 25. "Come closer."
Her voice carried an undeniable pull, laced with magic. Trembling, No. 25 approached, hands clasped neatly before him. The Demon King's eyes roamed over him, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Unable to decipher its meaning, No. 25 felt only fear.
In the heavy silence, where even his shallow breaths echoed, the Demon King spoke softly. "Lick."
"P-pardon?" he stammered.
"Lick my feet."
There was no refusing her. Without hesitation, No. 25 knelt carefully before the Demon King.