I knelt beside Aiz on the cold stone floor of my chamber, the dim candlelight flickering across her battered form like shadows dancing over a conquered battlefield. She lay there unconscious, her once-elegant red dress now a tattered rag clinging to her sweat-slicked skin, torn in places to reveal the brutal evidence of her prolonged use.
Bruises bloomed like dark flowers on her pale thighs, bite marks etched into the soft flesh of her breasts, and her swollen pussy dripped a viscous mixture of semen, her own arousal, and traces of urine from the guards' depraved games. The air was thick with the pungent scent of sex—musky sweat, salty cum, and the sharp tang of ammonia that made my nostrils flare and my small cock twitch involuntarily in my pants.
My master had dumped her here like discarded trash, her body limp and heavy, her blonde hair matted with dried fluids and tangled from rough hands gripping it like reins. I could hear her shallow breathing, ragged and uneven, as if even in unconsciousness, her body remembered the ecstasy and agony inflicted upon it.
The Mark of Submission on her lower abdomen glowed faintly under the ripped fabric, a cursed brand that amplified every sensation, turning pain into pleasure and humiliation into insatiable need.
I swallowed hard, my hands trembling as I reached out to touch her, knowing this task was another layer of my degradation—cleaning the remnants of other men's conquests from my fiancée, while my own pathetic arousal betrayed me.
I started with her face, the most innocent part of her, though even that was marred. Her cheeks were streaked with dried tears and saliva, smudged with the faint red imprints of slaps. Cum had crusted at the corners of her full, pink lips, which were slightly parted as if still gasping for air around the cocks that had choked her. I leaned in close, my breath mingling with the stale odor emanating from her skin—a mix of sweat and semen that made my stomach churn and my dick harden. With a soft cloth I fetched from the basin of warm water nearby, I gently wiped her forehead, tracing the lines of exhaustion etched there. The cloth came away grimy, soaked in the filth of her ordeal.
But the cloth wasn't enough; I knew that. To truly clean her, as my master commanded, I had to be thorough, intimate.
My tongue darted out tentatively, licking a trail along her cheek where a glob of dried cum clung like a pearl of shame. The taste hit me like a slap—salty, bitter, with an underlying musk that screamed of other men's dominance. It was the essence of the guards and my master, their seed mixed with her saliva from hours of throat-fucking.
I gagged slightly at first, but the humiliation fueled me, my small cock straining against my trousers as I lapped more eagerly.
"You're nothing but a cleaner for real men's messes," I whispered to myself, echoing the taunts I'd heard earlier.
Moving lower, I peeled back the remnants of her dress from her neck and shoulders. Her collarbone was dotted with hickeys, purple and raw, where teeth had sunk in during their frenzy. I dipped the cloth into the water again, wringing it out before pressing it to her skin, watching as the warm liquid trickled down, loosening the caked-on grime.
But again, the cloth only skimmed the surface. I bent down, my lips brushing her neck, and sucked gently at a bite mark, drawing out the faint metallic taste of blood mixed with sweat.
Her skin was feverish, still hot from the abuse, and as my tongue swirled over the bruises, I felt her body stir slightly—a soft whimper escaping her lips in her sleep. The Mark must have been reacting, turning even this gentle touch into a spark of arousal.
Her breasts were next, small and firm, now heaving slightly with each breath. They were a canvas of abuse: red welts from slaps, pinch marks on her pink nipples that had hardened into stiff peaks even in unconsciousness.
Semen had dried in streaks across them, flaking off as I touched her. I cupped one breast in my hand, feeling its weight, the softness yielding under my fingers, and squeezed lightly, watching a bead of leftover cum ooze from a nipple where someone had probably shot their load. The scent here was overpowering—creamy and pungent, like spoiled milk mixed with arousal. I lowered my head, my tongue flicking out to circle her nipple, lapping up the dried semen with slow, deliberate strokes.
The taste was thicker here, clinging to my tongue like glue, and I swallowed it down, feeling a wave of shame wash over me. "This is what you deserve, Allen," I thought, my free hand slipping to my crotch to rub my tiny erection through the fabric. "Cleaning the cum from her tits while she dreams of their big cocks."
As I suckled her breast, drawing the nipple into my mouth and nursing like a pathetic infant, Aiz moaned faintly, her body arching just a fraction. Her eyes fluttered but didn't open, lost in whatever haze the Mark and exhaustion had left her in.
I switched to the other breast, repeating the process: licking, sucking, swallowing every trace of filth.
My saliva mixed with the remnants, leaving her skin glistening clean but marked by my own desperate need. Drops of water from the cloth trailed down her stomach, pooling in her navel, which I lapped up too, tasting the salty residue there.
Now came the lower half, the epicenter of her degradation. I spread her legs gently, her thighs parting with a sticky sound as the dried fluids between them pulled apart. Her pussy was a mess—swollen lips puffy and red, glistening with a cocktail of cum, her juices, and urine.
The guards had pissed on her, in her, marking her as their territory, and the sharp ammonia smell rose up like a punch to the senses, making my eyes water. Bite marks dotted her inner thighs, some still weeping tiny beads of blood, and her clit peeked out, engorged from overstimulation.
Semen leaked from her folds in slow, viscous rivulets, pooling on the floor beneath her ass.
I started with her thighs, wiping them down with the cloth, the fabric soaking up the grime as I traced the contours of her muscles.
But thoroughness demanded more. I leaned in, my nose inches from her skin, inhaling the intoxicating mix of scents—her natural musk amplified by the Mark, overlaid with the acrid bite of piss and the creamy thickness of multiple loads.
My tongue traced a bite mark on her inner thigh, lapping at the blood and sweat, the metallic tang mixing with salt. I worked my way inward, kissing and licking each inch, feeling her skin quiver under my touch.
As I reached the crease where thigh met groin, the smell intensified, and I buried my face there, nuzzling like a dog, my tongue delving into the folds to clean the crevices.
Finally, her pussy itself.
I parted her lips with trembling fingers, exposing the pink, abused interior. Cum bubbled out, white and frothy, mixed with her clear arousal.
I dipped the cloth in, but it was inadequate; I needed to extract it all. With a deep breath, I pressed my mouth to her entrance, my lips sealing around her swollen folds.
I sucked gently at first, drawing out a mouthful of the warm, slimy mixture—salty semen, tangy piss, and her sweet nectar. It filled my mouth, coating my tongue, and I swallowed it down with a gulp, feeling it slide thickly down my throat.
The humiliation was exquisite; here I was, my fiancée's cuckold cleaner, drinking the evidence of her gangbang like a thirsty slave.
I probed deeper with my tongue, thrusting it inside her, swirling to scoop out more.
Her walls clenched faintly around me, the Mark making her body respond even in sleep, and a fresh gush of fluids rewarded my efforts. I lapped hungrily, my chin slick with the mess, the sounds wet and obscene—slurping, sucking, my own moans muffled against her flesh.
Her clit throbbed under my nose, and I flicked it with my tongue, feeling her hips buck slightly. "Even unconscious, you're a slut," I murmured against her, my small cock leaking pre-cum in my pants as I ground against the floor for friction.
I didn't stop until her pussy was pristine, my tongue aching from the effort. I cleaned her ass next, spreading her cheeks to reveal more dried cum and marks from spankings. My tongue rimmed her there, tasting the bitterness, ensuring every inch was spotless. By the time I finished, Aiz's body was clean, glistening with my saliva and the water, but her unconscious form still radiated the aura of a well-used whore.
As I pulled back, panting, my face smeared with her fluids, Aiz's eyes finally fluttered open.
She looked at me with a hazy smile, her voice weak but laced with the Oath's forced love and the Mark's lust. "Allen… you cleaned me? Such a good little cuckold… but you missed a spot." She reached down, dipping a finger into her pussy and offering it to me, dripping with what I'd overlooked. I sucked it clean
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Please, if you have any recommendations or ideas, you can comment. Do you want to continue with Aiz? Or should we move on to the mother or some other?
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