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The battle with Lancelot had taken its toll on Artoria threefold. Her body was tired and damaged, blood streaking down her face from a slice along her brow; the mana keeping her form together was strained. Her old friend and stalwart ally had fought her viciously, a Berserker until his final breath. And with that final breath, he had dealt her a grievous wound with his dying words. Her heart ached, resulting in an emotional stress that tangled her very soul.
It warranted a pause, a respite. Introspection. Grief. But Artoria, the Saber servant serving Emiya Kiritsugu in the fourth Holy Grail war, could afford herself none of those things. Her goal was just through the double-doors of the theater ahead of her, and she pressed onward. So long as she reached the Holy Grail, she could fix every one of her mistakes. She could go back and save Camelot. There were so many things that she could have done differently, so many things that might have averted the crisis that befell her kingdom. Things that might have kept Mordred from hatching her treacherous plot. Things that might have prevented what became of Lancelot.
So Artoria distanced herself from her heartache, just as she always did in life. She resolved to ignore that she was once made of flesh and blood, not simply manifested mana; she told herself that her heart was made of stone, and that her duty as King of Camelot came before everything else. It was the exact behavior that led to Camelot’s final days and the disillusionment of so much of her Round Table, but this time, Artoria knew, it would be different. It was in service of fixing things.
In her day, they did not have the saying ‘two wrongs do not make a right’. The King of Knights pushed a gauntlet against the door and pushed it wide, stepping inside, Excalibur held low at one side and masked by its sheath of swirling, obscuring wind. Dead ahead of her, steps led down along the theater’s auditorium seats. Her green eyes flicked over the room from her high vantage point. Only the outer rim of its stage remained now, its center a jagged hole that bored straight down into the building’s foundation. Above it, she saw her goal.
The Holy Grail, hovering in place.
Though to her, it was more than that. It was what had become of the woman that she had come to see as a friend, the woman that Artoria wished had truly been her Master, instead of a stand-in for her true Summoner. After her certain victory, she knew she would regret winning through Kiristugu’s dishonorable methodology– but those regrets would, of course, fail to truly penetrate her heart of stone, her sense of duty. The irony therien was lost upon the petite blonde, who took another step into the theater and whispered the name with regret.
“Irisviel.” If not for Camelot’s need, she might have wished upon the Grail for… No. I mustn’t distract myself. Victory is certain, but not yet achieved. There remained just one Servant for her to contend with. Her gauntlet-clad fingers squeezed tight around her obscured sword’s hilt. The Archer. The King of Heroes. Gilgamesh. Would he try to take advantage of his range, would he be trying to ambush her…? She didn’t sense a forthcoming attack.
“You’re late, Saber. How dare you keep me waiting, just to play with your mad dog?”
No, of course not. That would have been beneath him. The King of Heroes claimed dominion over so much, but of all his countless treasures, the one he prized the most had to be his fat mouth. Had Artoria any snark in her, she might have called out to him as the King of Gloating. Instead, Saber lifted her sword and focused on him as he stepped out along the stage’s rim, all golden hair and golden armor: handsome beyond belief, but gaudy beyond belief too.
Artoria drew upon her inner reserves of strength and mana, beginning to descend the stairs. There was not as much as she would have liked, going into her final battle of the Grail War. Against a fresh servant, no less. “Archer,” she uttered, not quite a growl, not quite filled with the scorn that she meant to put in her voice. She was feeling her body’s wear and tear. Her second wind was not as uplifting as it could have been. Each step of her sabaton-clad boots was heavier than the last. Noticeable, but not enough to slow her.
“You should see the look on your face. Like a starving, wasted mongrel. Fitting,” the King of Heroes said, his arrogant voice carrying easily through the vast room. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, smirking.
He deserved a rebuke for insulting Lancelot so, but she did not have it in her. “Step aside,” Artoria demanded. She knew it would not be so easy to claim her prize and fix her mistakes, but giving her opponent a chance to surrender– that was the chivalrous thing to do. “The Holy Grail is mine!” she shouted at him, lowering her sword and her guard with it. That was less chivalrous, but then, little of what she was doing had anything to do with chivalry. They were the actions of a bleeding heart, not one made of stone. Still, she lied to herself. She had no opportunity to do anything but lie to herself.
As Artoria shouted her claim upon the Grail, a golden shimmer formed in the air behind Gilgamesh, and from it shot a sword infused with mana and engraved with potent runes. Before she had a chance to swing her obscured sword to block it, the hurtling blade skewered straight through her armored skirt, neatly threading between her knees like the eye of a needle.
It tore straight through its blue fabric and the white petticoats beneath it, embedded in the stairs behind her. Paltry damage– did he mock her, or was his aim off as he tried to leave her limp and lame? It mattered not. A hole in her skirt was nothing. Artoria would not let him do it again. She could NOT let him do it again, not with victory so close to her. Shaking off the brief surprise, Artoria took her blade in both hands once more and prepared to leap forward, mana gathered beneath her feet.
The fatigue of her wounds and blood loss were not so easily shaken, however, no matter what Artoria tried to force herself to do. Already a second golden shimmer was forming, and then a third and a fourth. Artoria only realized how sluggish her movements truly were when she was in the air, twisting and swinging to parry each of the noble phantasms shot towards her. Her wind-obscured blade knocked a barbed sword aside, but a warhammer smashed into her skirt’s steel plating, shattering it and knocking her straight into the path of the third and fourth projectiles.
An oddly familiar pair of swords, short and Chinese in make. A brief thought flickered through her mind, like a short-lived flame. Where do I know those from…? There was no time for her to summon an answer. They sliced at the puffed shoulders of her battle dress, cutting beneath with enough force to curb her momentum. A fifth projectile, a wooden spear carved from a single branch of some mighty tree, sliced at her hip with its head, forcing her to the ground. Her landing was less than elegant, one knee skidding across the theater’s floor as she dropped. Artoria started to lever herself up, the tip of her invisible sword scarring the wooden panels underneath her.
Each blow was superficial, barely drawing blood from her body. The wounds healed quickly, but her attire did not. Artoria’s rounded shoulders showed, as well as a flash of her side. That hole in her skirt showed little but what was behind and beneath her, and a bit of her knee.
Gilgamesh advanced, each of his steps resoundingly loud upon the remnants of the stage. “Even on your knees… even in the throes of delusion, you are still beautiful,” he said, slowly opening his eyes. With a smile that both enraged and chilled Artoria to her core, he spread his hands out, arms wide, almost mocking her with how lax his guard was. “Abandon your dreams, King of Knights. Sheathe your sword and become my wife,” he proposed, his galling smirk showing a hint of a cocky grin to her. “You needn’t waste yourself on this trite fantasy. Not when you could instead enjoy the honor of serving me for an immortal eternity, in all ways. Pledge yourself to me.”
He was as certain of his victory as she was of hers. Artoria’s heart of stone remained firm, however, even if the outrage twisting her expression was far from stoic. “You mock me even now?” she demanded of Gilgamesh as she rose to her full height once more, preparing to charge him once again. More and more, a sense of rising anger drove her and blinded her to the truth: there was no chivalry here, and she was being reckless. Saving Camelot was becoming secondary to defeating Gilgamesh and punishing him, humbling him.
Visibly bristled, her agitation made for an intimidating sight. Or it might have, if she stood any taller than 5’1. Only the heels of Artoria’s boots pushed her up from 5’0. Even were she soaking wet, her long blonde hair heavy with water, Artoria’s weight would have only barely pushed past ninety pounds. The armored dress she wore did her no favors, particularly with its puffed-out shoulders sliced away. Its flared-out skirt hid her slender legs, but the tight-fit sleeves revealed scarcely-toned arms. With a doll-like face, she did not have the look of a warrior.
Only her composure and posture spoke to her status as King of Knights, but those things were sorely lacking.
“Mock you? No,” Gilgamesh said, taking another step towards her and lowering his hands. “You misunderstand me.” He made no attempt to keep her grounded or press his advantage, allowing her to rise. “I only mean to save you from yourself.” His head tilted just so, his heavy gold earrings hanging low. “Is it not just for a man of means to take in a wasting mongrel and offer them a better life?” he asked her, smirking again. “Or am I meant to ignore the reality of what I see before me for the sake of your pride, Saber? A desperate woman clinging to falsehoods, who would be so much happier as my wench?”
Artoria snarled. “The only service that I will do for you, King of Heroes, is your last rites,” she promised, and then lunged herself forward once more. It was foolish of him to begin closing the distance between them. The closer he got, the more likely it was that she could close the distance and press her class’ advantages upon him. There was no way that an Archer would hold their own against a Saber when it came to melee combat. Before he could summon another projectile, she lifted her obscured sword to deal a blow to end it all quickly, momentum more than making up for her lacking strength–!
“Oh? Is that so?” Gilgamesh asked even as she sprung forth, but the truth still was what it was. “I beg to differ.”
Artoria was wounded, angry, and not thinking clearly. He was fresh, and even in his heavy gold armor, capable of far more agile reactions than a worn-down Saber-class servant. In the span of seconds, she had crossed to the stage and was swinging at his neck, expecting to see his head fly and blood spurt from his newly-pared neck. His arms lifted, but not to block her or dodge out of the way. Gilgamesh crossed his arms across his chest. Another golden shimmer formed, and from it came an ancient Greek aegis, mirror-like in its sheen. It bore the brunt of Artoria’s powerful strike without budging, then flicked sharply to one side, leaving her wide open, invisible blade cast aside.
Surprise briefly overtook Artoria’s rage. She had underestimated him, and overestimated her own capabilities. Gilgamesh didn’t even’t deign to turn and face her. Another shimmer, and a short blade swung out of the Gates of Babylon rather than shot out, a Roman spatha. It ripped down the sleeve of her left arm, sharp enough to shear right through her gauntlet. Through the corner of her eye Artoria spotted another shimmer at her flank and quickly tried to spin to defend against it, leg kicking up to push off the shield. The spearhead emerging from that angle had a straight shot at her kidney.
Her foot did not connect with the aegis’ surface. Just as Artoria’s eyes left Gilgamesh, she heard his armor scrape as his arms unfolded– quick, yet somehow unrushed. His fist grabbed her ankle and hiked high, and all of a sudden the King of Knights found her world upside-down, her meager weight dangling as he held her aloft. “Tonight, you will serve me whether or not you wish to,” he promised her, his voice low and dire. “I will take your sword from you and make your body into my scabbard. Clearly, you will only act reasonable after disgrace breaks you.” For a moment, Artoria reeled, and for a moment Gilgamesh attacked her unimpeded.
The spear thrusted. The spatha sliced. Several deadly daggers shot out from new shimmers in the air, and each one could have been the end of the Holy Grail War, but unlike before, none of the tapered points or sharp edges found Artoria’s porcelain skin. The spear passed right between her kicking legs, widening the hole in the center of her skirt. The spatha worsened the slit along her dress’ side, and the daggers grazed along her breastplate, the fullest piece of armor she wore. Small things, but noble phantasms: the enchanted steel rusted and decayed suddenly, falling right off her in sloughing pieces.
Artoria didn’t pause to consider his intent or the meaning of his words. As she recovered, she gathered herself and swung not her sword but her body, trying to twist and angle for a slash that could have cleaved the cocky King of Heroes in twain. Before she could quite complete the maneuver, his other hand shot out and then the first one released her ankle. A loud tear filled the arena as she dropped, able to deftly transition to a crouched landing just a few feet from Gilgamesh. Her eyes briefly flicked down at herself.
Only tatters of her skirt and petticoats remained, leaving the highest parts of Artoria’s smooth, well-shaped legs bare, just as scarcely-toned as her arms yet comely indeed. Though her sabaton-clad boots covered her to the knee, her thighs were the true treat there. With the way that she had fallen, Artoria’s panties were left all too visible, scant and body-hugging. The white silk’s smoothness left no doubt that the woman who called herself King of Heroes was instead a Queen.
If not for Gilgamesh’s snorted laughter, Artoria wouldn’t have batted a blonde eyelash over it. A wardrobe malfunction in the heat of battle was meaningless. It was not her first, though none had been quite this… revealing. But no other adversary that Artoria had faced would have drawn attention to it. She grit her teeth, features flushing as she shifted herself to tighten her thighs and hide her crotch from his lecherous eyes, hips jutting back as she rose with the help of her sword once more. Keeping her decency from him would impede her fighting stance, but it would keep her dignity. Unfortunately, with the natural gap between her thighs, there was no fully hiding it.
Gilgamesh turned to face her, arms crossing again. “Even now,” the bastard from Babylon said with a smirk, appraising Artoria with a long, goosebump-inducing crawl of his eyes along her thighs, “your body is preparing oil to polish my sword, is it not? To leave it sheening and slick as I take you and make you disavow all of this nonsense,” he said. His eyes dragged up to her face, pausing on both the slit showing a hint of her side and the natural cut of her dress’ bodice. “You acknowledge me as the King of Heroes. Does that not already put you beneath me? It is ridiculous that you try to deny me… but that ridiculousness is what makes your beauty worth pursuing.”
“Enough of your nonsensical drivel!” Artoria snapped at him, only understanding his words after the shout - your body, preparing oil, my sword . There was no way that he would inspire any sort of arousal in her body, she knew, for female or not, Artoria had never seen herself as a woman. She was a King, and even though she had a Queen, her only true spouse was duty. Still, Artoria felt a distinct flare in her nethers. Imagined, surely, invoked by his words…? Or perhaps one of his weapons had been laced in a poison to try and turn her from a proud warrior to a wanton whore. Her flush deepened, and she had to cast aside the impulse to lower her one barren hand to touch herself and see if there was a trace of lewd desire soaking through her crotch.
“Hm.” Gilgamesh met her eyes and said nothing more. Something about his gaze seemed… knowing? As though he knew what was going through her head. Or perhaps it was simply how she interpreted his arrogance and smugness in light of his claims.
Artoria gave her head a vicious shake and then demanded, “Let us be done with this farce, you villain. I will not be taunted.” That had to be what he was doing. Taunting her, working her up, toying with her to make her defeat all the more delicious for him. She should have just launched back at him, but… she was better than him, and that was how she would defeat him. By being better. By being honorable. Steadfast. Pure. Artoria lifted her hidden blade with both hands and then declared, “Prepare yourself, King of Heroes.”
She felt calm. Composed.
Her face told a different story.
“As you’d like, my betrothed,” the bastard said at length, unfolding his arms and reaching up with one hand. Another sword began to emerge from a golden shimmer, hilt-first. He grasped it and pulled it free with a flourish, holding the longsword at his side without any apparent concern. Artoria briefly studied it. Where every weapon he had used before now had been a noble phantasm, that one… looked like a normal longsword, without frill or decoration. She could sense no mana from it, but perhaps it was hidden. There was no way that the King of Heroes would fight his final duel, their deciding bout for the Holy Grail, with a mundane weapon.
Ignoring his address, Artoria charged once more. This time, there was barely any distance for her to close. This time, five swift steps would get her within striking range. With the way he had defended himself against her up until this point, he wouldn’t have an accurate sense of Excalibur’s invisible length, Artoria knew- a potent advantage. Instead of five steps, she took four, going for a feint– a flick of her blade to make him parry or dodge one way. Even if he stood still, she wouldn’t even graze his armor with the holy sword’s tip. The second he moved, she would take her fifth step to take advantage of his slip. That golden armor would be as easily destroyed as her skirt.
With the way he fought, it was guaranteed to work. So still, barely moving, so full of disrespect. Artoria would take advantage of that, just like he had taken advantage of her fraught, worn-down state. But yet again, the Saber-class Servant underestimated her opponent and overestimated herself. The calmness that she felt was a charade, and behind that charade was a growing weakness within her. Artoria was pushing herself beyond her limits, acting the arrogant fool that she presumed Gilgamesh to be.
When the King of Heroes reacted by stepping into the blow with alacrity, Artoria tried to skid to a stop and launch her attack early. Swaying like a reed instead of an armored man, he slipped around the invisible blade and slashed at her, cutting away what remained of her shorn sleeve. Using the momentum of her failed strike, Artoria spun on the heel of her boot and slashed wide at him, but it was an easy strike to parry and one that took no advantage of her blade’s obfuscation. The Holy Sword bent Gilgamesh’s blade on impact, but he released it and instead grabbed at her beneath her guard.
Artoria jerked away from the gut punch that would have doubled her over and left her easily dispatched–
But yet again, Gilgamesh was toying with her. There was no gut punch, but instead a grab at her dress’ body. Kicking away from him only resulted in Artoria causing her dress’ frontside to rip wide open across the chest, exposing more skin to her adversary.
Beneath her breastplate and dress, Artoria had never worn a brasserie or even some form of chest wrap– her breasts were modest and humble, mild but well-formed in their slight slope. At some angles, her chest might have even appeared flat, but her nipples would always keep anyone who saw them from mistaking her as a man. There was nothing modest about them, each of her coral-pink areolae like a raised dais, nipples protruding in a way not unlike a certain sword stabbed into a particular rock. Sometimes they were softer, smaller things, but not now, and they only grew tighter with their sudden exposure.
Gilgamesh’s smirk made her want to cover them in the same way she tried to hide her crotch from him, but– Artoria wasn’t that foolish. With her face on fire, Artoria went at the King of Heroes again, her next shout wordless as she tried to slash through his armor from shoulder to hip. She was distinctly aware of the fact that he did not take his eyes from her modest breasts as he dodged and tore at her remaining sleeve with gold-clad fingers. This time, as they stepped away, the tearing fabric crossed over her belly, revealing just how slim and soft it was, its shape only broken by the dip of her navel.
“Do you not tire of this?” Gilgamesh asked as he tossed the remnants of her dress’ top aside, hand opening and holding still as a golden shimmer replaced his broken sword with a replica. And with how easily it broke on impact… Artoria knew it was exactly as it appeared. It was not a noble phantasm. It was well-made, but the King of Heroes was beating her with a normal sword, one that might have even been made by a master swordsmith. “There is only so much more for me to strip off you, betrothed.”
A gauntlet. Her armored boots. Her panties. Some of her dress still clung around her hips, covering nothing at all. “I am not your betrothed! Shut up!” the humiliated King of Knights demanded, and renewed her assault with desperate ferocity, a lion cornered yet trying to fight its way through– or at least, a would-be lion. Artoria resembled nothing of the sort in her state, and with each swing of her sword, her pride was further stripped away from her.
Despite being an Archer, Gilgamesh proved to be a skilled swordsman, able to spot an opportunity to slice the straps holding her gauntlet together; in the past, she had preferred something that allowed her a little more dexterity than a fully-protective shell. Artoria regretted that oh-so-long-ago decision keenly. The buckles keeping her sabatons over her boots went the same way, but still, Artoria attacked. The next time their blades met, Excalibur sent half of the replaced sword flying.
Before she could press her advantage, the King of Heroes had summoned a dagger to his low hand, slicing upward with it. Any other hero would have sliced her from pelvis to the ribs, and that would have been it. Artoria hissed, anticipating a flash of pain that would likely be cut short by shock– instead, though, she saw the King of Heroes lift the dagger to her face, her panties cut away and dangling from the tip of his blade. Her not-so-stony heart pounded in her naked chest, and she stared at it with wide green eyes.
Gilgamesh gazed at it for a moment, then gave his wrist a flick that sent the white silk at Artoria’s face. She jerked back, but it draped across her face. Soft, cozy. A bit wet. “As I suspected, betrothed. I applaud your tenacity, but must you continue this pageantry when proof is presented to you? You are better suited to be my wanton Queen, kept close to my cock at all times.” The theater’s cool air was so much more noticeable on her damp cunt than on her protruding nipples, and a brief sense of self-loathing revulsion flowed through Artoria.
But he was wrong, he was wrong, he was wrong…! One of Artoria’s hands whipped off her sword’s hilt to remove the pussy-soiled panties blinding her, but in that moment, the King of Heroes struck again, twisting his dagger in his grip. He hit her wrist with its pommel, hard enough to force her fingers to fly wide open. The Sword of Promised Victory fell from her grip, its obscuring air fading away, revealing both it and its broken promise. “Damn you–!” Artoria shouted out furiously and scrambled back a step, already looking down and ready to make a dive for her weapon. Gilgamesh had no intention of letting her rearm herself, however, and Artoria saw his next attack coming.
There was only one thing that Artoria could do to try and stop him. His golden gauntlet faded to nothing just before his fingers reached her, and she quickly tried to squeeze her thighs together, the edges of his vambraces rough on her delicate thighs. It was too late, though. The sharp gasp that chased her outburst was distinctly different, high in its pitch and lacking in kingly dignity, let alone a warrior’s pride. Artoria froze as surely as she would have if any of his potentially life-ending blows had killed her, green eyes wide with shock, mouth wide. He’s– he’s touching my…
Throughout her life, Artoria had denied her womanhood in every possible sense. She had to, if she wanted to maintain the hollow illusion that she was a he. Though the people of her age were shorter on average than modern humans, no one back then was going to believe that a 5’0 blonde with the look of a nubile princess was actually the middle-aged High King of Britain.
No one was going to believe that she led the Round Table. To that end, she employed so many tricks, both practical and magical– very few of her people had seen their King off a horse or even just standing on level ground. Her only experience with cosmetics was downplaying her girlishness. Merlin deepened her voice for speeches and altered the memories of those that caught on.
But that was all outward denial of her womanhood. Artoria denied it to herself, too. Even when her body hungered for sinful touching, she denied herself. The closest that she ever came to masturbating was riding atop her horse. It was almost too much, having something so strong and powerful between her legs, bouncing her along. Artoria had hastily acquired a numbing balm to rub over her privates whenever she knew she’d been riding, and she’d use it other times too.
Never before had she wished that she had used it before a fight, however. Gilgamesh’s fingers cupped her tiny twat like it was the most precious item within his seemingly endless treasury, and for one long moment, Artoria was simply too shocked to react. Being touched by someone else’s fingers… it was distinctly different from rubbing the balm over herself, which had acted with shocking quickness. Artoria found herself hyper-aware of the calluses on his digits. Their warmth, their care. Their length. Their thankful short nails. Each way he touched her, his fingers glided along her, their way amply lubricated.
“As smooth and as slick as a priestess of Ishtar,” the King of Heroes murmured down at the shocked blonde. His hand briefly sloped up from her mound and her cunt’s lips, tucked-in demurely with a shyness ill-befitting the lion that Artoria tried to evoke. He grazed over the V-shaped dip of her pelvis, then traveled back down. “Not a hair on you. Did you shave yourself for our wedding night, Saber?” Gilgamesh wondered, staving off any potential for her to reply with a direct rub along her clit.
Artoria sucked in a sharp breath, almost whining, almost doubling over. Just that little touch sent a ripple through her body, something almost nauseous about it, but not quite– a sort of weakness. It was dizzying and only encouraged her cunt’s wetness and its deliberate throb. It also roused her from her shock, and the King of Knights reached out with both of her small hands to grab at his wrist, wanting to head him off where she could feel his fingers begin to probe. “Stop… this,” she whispered to him. “Stop this now, Archer.”
Just as her fingers touched his skin, she caught a hint of the familiar golden shimmer to either side of her. This close to it, she could hear how it thrummed. Before Artoria could close her fingers around Gilgamesh’s wrist and pull him away from her, golden chains shot out from each portal to the King of Heroes’ treasury, wrapping tight around her wrists. They pulled wide apart and upward, jerking her shoulders roughly. Compared to her brief forward bend, they forced her almost painfully straight, her slim arms stretched almost as far as they could go. Reflexively, she rose on her toes to try and alleviate their strain.
She managed that, but only at the cost of arching her back and practically thrusting her naked chest towards Gilgamesh. Try as she might to struggle against them, Artoria couldn’t make the chains budge slightly. Lower…
Her legs were not restricted, and her toes were quickly given due cause to curl. Ignoring Artoria’s pleas, Gilgamesh carried on exactly as he intended to, unable to be stopped or slowed no matter how she chafed her thighs against his vambrace. Artoria hadn’t even dared explore her pussy with a single slim finger. Two of Gilgamesh’s digits pushing inside her felt like a world-ending thing, so much thicker and longer than hers. It felt like anything but the slow and steady penetration it was, forcing through her body’s resistant squeeze. “You… bastard…!” she hissed at him, beginning to twist and squirm her hips in feeble attempts to deny him.
At least, she tried to hiss at him. It came out as a moan instead, almost more a whimper. “Did the people of your kingdom not inspect their brides for their maidenhood?” the smirking bastard in gold asked, still forcing himself deeper yet inside of her. “The way you’ve been throwing yourself at me this entire ‘fight’ makes me wonder how much of a slut you really are, Saber. I needn’t mock you when you embarrass yourself over and over again, playing the part of a clumsy wanton. No proud King of Knights should be this wet from defeat.”
The closest thing to this that Artoria had ever done was the shameful sham of Mordred’s conception, and this… this was so much worse. At least then, Artoria had a king’s anatomy, however briefly. Now…
Artoria squeezed her eyes shut and set her jaw, breathing out in a low gasp before drawing in another deep breath. She tried to find some semblance of calm. Defilement did not mean defeat; Excalibur was only a foot away from her. It was delusional for her to think she stood a chance of grabbing the blade and turning this, for she had seen how the chains holding her arms had captured Iskander. But delusion was the only avenue that offered Artoria a glimmer of hope. Gilgamesh’s carnal probing sent a shudder along her legs, and once it passed, she tried to pull herself higher on the chains and drive her knee up at his gut. The poor thing was certain that her strength as a Servant could manage a winding blow through his armor. Perhaps if she broke his concentration, the chains would fade–
But the chains remained steady, and Artoria’s attempt to knee Gilgamesh did nothing but shove at the side of his arm, jerking his wrist and causing his fingers to prod at her inner walls in a far less distracting way. The unwanted pleasure was preferable to the discomfort, but Artoria welcomed the pain, even as it made her yelp. A second later, she heard the thrumming of the treasury’s portals once more. Another pair of chains shot out and wrapped tight around her ankles, pulling them wide. Artoria was left completely vulnerable, exposed, her spread legs giving Gilgamesh unfiltered access to her cunt.
She had one small solace: she was not naked. So long as she had her boots on, she was not naked. The attempted strike was so far beneath Gilgamesh’s notice that he did not even remark upon it. His other hand went to her left breast, gauntlet fading away, giving the slight thing a possessive squeeze.
“Nothing else to say?” he asked Artoria, dragging his hand up along her chest and shoulder, then rising to grab her by her hair, still largely held in place by her intricate crown braid and her blue ribbon. He pulled back on it, forcing Artoria’s dropping head to tilt back. She cringed and squeezed her eyes all the tighter shut, wishing the lips that she had pursed shut were the other pair on her body. “I’ve offered you mercy, King of Knights. This result was always inevitable. Now, I will give you one last opportunity to take it and make this easy on yourself.” He moved his face close to hers, close enough that she could feel his warm breath on her cheeks.
At least… I’m not naked. An anchor. A denial.
Artoria’s lips parted. Not to reply, at least not at first. His fingers kept playing with her, and despite how wrong it felt– it felt right, too. It felt good. Artoria hated it, and she hated how it made her sigh outward. She quickly swallowed down, then forced her eyes open to slits. “Mercy?” she whispered at him, not quite a question but spoken as one, in no small part thanks to her body’s confusion. “You’ve offered me… mercy?”
“Yes. Agree to be my wife. My whore. My Queen, but not my equal. You will be welcome to sit upon my lap as I grace the Throne of Heroes and drink from the Grail,” Gilgamesh promised her, his red gaze sharp as the biting gall of his smirk. “Impaled upon my cock, and singing my glory to all those who earn an audience with me. Abandon your dreams. Give up on everything that makes you ‘the King of Knights’ and indulge in the ultimate pleasure I offer you: pleasuring me. There is no greater honor for a wench of your caliber.”
At least… I’m not naked. Artoria clung to that.
Artoria stared deep into Gilgamesh’s eyes, her cunt’s treachery far worse than the death blow Mordred’s betrayal struck against Camelot. “Mercy… as your wife,” she repeated in that same whisper, interspersed with her moans, soft and heavy with the unwanted pleasure that attacked her body. The brightness of her green eyes gradually grew more and more glazed, watery, blinking far less than she needed to as they widened. “... As your whore. As your Queen,” she said back to him, and the bastard from Babylon’s smirk grew by degrees. “Impaled… upon your cock? Singing your glory?”
“Just so,” Gilgamesh said, his fingers stilling for the space of a breath before shifting their angle of attack. Artoria quickly realized that everything leading up to that simple utterance had been testing probes, an exploration: it was not that he sought to pleasure her, so much as he was truly examining her, just as he mentioned prior. Treating her like cattle, like a possession. His fingers crooked and coaxed inside of her virgin pussy, pressing against a new place inside of her. At the same time, the heel of his hand pushed up against the high part of her slit, just over the first weak point he found on her body.
“–Ah!” Artoria’s futile struggles against the chains came to an abrupt, screeching halt. Not being naked? She may as well have been. Defilement did not mean defeat, but she was helpless against the shame he inflicted upon her, his assault answering long-ignored and long-neglected desires deep inside Artoria. The King of Knights’ stoic heart of stone felt like anything but as she started to thrash her body, able to arch her back and undulate her hips; her stomach sucked in, but that only made her feel Gilgamesh’s bliss-inducing torments far more keenly. “Ah… ahhh… ahhh… ah!”
Even when she applied the numbing balm to herself in life, Artoria had always been so tempted to go further with her fingers. Its effects settled in quickly, but she always got just the littlest hint of what could have been, if only she were willing to acknowledge she was as much a woman as she was a King. She had lied to herself about that and buried the temptations deep, but burying them was not the same as discarding them. What Gilgamesh was doing to her was far more potent than the little hints of pleasure that Artoria had caused herself previously. It was far better than riding along a bumpy road atop her stallion. Wave after wave shot through her slim frame, setting even her strained limbs to tingling and light spasms.
Her body danced for him, like she was everything that he said already. A wench. A whore. Her voice rose high, higher than Artoria had ever heard herself before. The moaning gasps escaping her as she writhed under Gilgamesh’s touch became squealed-out cries far beneath her dignity, nothing at all like the last time she could remember being tickled. There was no laughter there, only deep need driving her wild. For how strong an effect he was having on her, Gilgamesh moved slowly and with calculated precision, digits every bit as dexterous as one would expect of an Archer-class servant.
While he calmly worked on her body, she was afire. In mere moments, Artoria found herself out of breath, her chest rising with panting breaths to refill spent lungs. Each time, she spent that breath on a hapless cry, louder than the squeals that came before it. They, at least, had been recognizable. They sounded like they came out of her . Artoria did not recognize the sound of her cries: they sounded nothing like her. They sounded like that of a clueless wanton, of the clumsy whore that Gilgamesh accused her of being, repeatedly throwing herself at him because she wanted this, because she wanted him to win, because she wanted to be his.
They did not sound like the struggles of a proud King being shamed and abused against her will. Artoria’s slitted eyes snapped shut, her mouth clamping open and shut as helplessly as the rest of her body as she felt something rise within her. Each time a muscle spasmed, it stayed uncomfortably tensed for long seconds thereafter before it released– blessedly lax, only to quickly tense again. And despite that tension, something inside Artoria chased it. It wasn’t something that her libido wanted to deny.
“This,” Artoria heard Gilgamesh whisper into her ear, just as she felt his hand slip back to pull her hair’s blue ribbon free. “This is only a sample of what awaits you, betrothed.” With that removed, a few tugs of his fingers undid the elegance of her crown braid, and most of her golden locks fell down around her shoulders and back. Only her ahoge stood strong, but its strength had no bearing on the inevitable. Her body longed to move in different ways, filling with an energy that had to be released sooner than later. The thrash of her chain-suspended body was not nearly enough.
Then Artoria felt his lips on hers. The only other time that Artoria had kissed another person had been at the apex of her wedding, a visible show of the false, and soon broken, fidelity she entered with Guinevere– Guinevere, who knew Artoria’s secret. Guinevere, who had resolved to be a Queen in the same sense that Artoria had resolved to be a King: a heart of stone, denying all desire and pleasure. Just the barest peck, just for appearance’s sake, but even back then, Artoria had felt the temptation for more. She had held strong, though…!
Guinevere had not. One shockingly clear thought sliced through all the other noise and confusion in Artoria’s mind: was this what led to Camelot’s ruin? Was this what led to Lancelot’s betrayal? A kiss? Unlike the chaste peck shown for Camelot’s court and its onlooking peasantry, Gilgamesh’s kiss was both lecherous and romantic, his tongue slipping into Artoria’s mouth and pinning hers, sweeping over it and leaving her body further sullied. She did not think to bite down, though her tongue moved against his– to escape or to engage with his lewdness? Artoria would never know.
When his mouth broke off hers, he whispered again, a promise. “Make this easy on yourself. Accept my mercy. Embrace the endless pleasure and hedony I can give you, or try and fail to fight it. It will break you,” he promised her, utterly confident in himself.
Artoria tried to say something. She didn’t think about what that something was, it just came out of her in a strangled mess, ineligible– a denial? Acceptance? Such things became paltry as Gilgamesh’s mouth made a descent along her body, kisses trailing down her neck and chest to one of her modest breasts. Her eyes opened just briefly enough to see his golden head of hair bowed down, though not in a show of respect or deference to a fellow King. It was all for the purpose of his lips locking around one of her hard, elongated nipples, utterly shameless in their desire. He kissed against her areolae and teased it with a light nip of his teeth, then set to work sucking on it, hand still working away on her virgin cunt.
Everything intensified. Everything. And that intensity was already well past Artoria’s breaking point. The only thing that kept the proverbial dam from breaking sooner was her incredible willpower, her stubbornness, and a lifetime of sworn celibacy. Even when she could feel nothing but the effects of Gilgamesh’s fingers, the very core of Artoria’s being held strong, detached from the rest of her faltering body, a lion who refused defeat, even throughout her defilement.
But defeated was exactly what her faltering body was. Though Artoria could not recognize it, her body’s thrashing and writhing only played into what Gilgamesh sought to do to her, twisting and shifting hips playing into the motion of his hand. Her back arched and pushed her chest into his face, making his suckle upon her nipple all the easier, and her sodden cunt squeezed not for the sake of pushing him in but feeling him all the more strongly.
In the end, she did not survive even two minutes upon his fingers. One rolling wave of tension did not subside, quickly stacked by two more, and not even her fierce will and stubbornness could hold back the tide. Artoria screamed, her body beginning to tremble, thighs careless for how his vambrace chafed them in their squirms. For one serene moment, there was nothing but what he told her he could give her: hedony. Endless pleasure. Her scream was the song he desired, glorifying the arrogant King of Heroes’ exploits, virility and power; the spasming walls of her cunt longed to reward his cock, unable to distinguish it from his fingers.
His… wife…
His… whore…
His… Queen… was that what he had made her, just now? In the wake of her first orgasm, Artoria sagged in her bondage, heaving for breath once more. Allowed to droop her head, she stared at Gilgamesh’s head as he gave a parting kiss to her nipple, moaning out limpidly as his fingers slipped out of her. Her eyes closed as his fingers traced their wet way up her body, lifting his regal head and using his other hand to pull her hair back. Again they kissed, and afterwards, his fingers pushed into Artoria’s domesticated mouth, forced to taste the shameful truth offered that her quim had stained his skin with.
The taste was not off putting, nor was the nearness of his face as he pulled his fingers free of her. All the while, weak quivers continued to run throughout Artoria’s body. Each was a stark reminder of defilement and just how good it had felt to finally embrace her prior temptations, however unwilling and unwanted Gilgamesh’s aid was. “No more delays, Saber. Give me your answer. Give me the only answer you can,” he murmured to her, his hands leaving her only when the petite blonde managed to lift her head of her own accord.
“Your mercy…?” Artoria whispered again, opening her eyes to look at Gilgamesh with glassy emerald eyes. He nodded, still smirking, and the debased King of Knights began to laugh a soft laugh, not quite a giggle but closer to it than a chuckle. It made her shaking body tremble all the more. The bastard’s smirk did not slip. “Your mercy,” she repeated again.
“Yes.”
Artoria spit the taste of herself both on his mercy and on his smirk, managing a sneer that looked rather quaint between her petite size and her state. Not just her saliva, but his. “... Take your mercy and go fuck yourself with it, King of Villians.” She had been helpless to cum, and her treacherous body still longed for more of the same, but the lion deep within Camelot’s defeated ruler was not broken by the experience.
Gilgamesh’s smirk slipped slowly, and Artoria had never seen such a satisfying sight in her life or in her death. Slowly, he lifted a hand to swipe his thumb across his lips, glancing down at her saliva on his skin and then up at her face again. As her laughter ended, Artoria gave Gilgamesh a taste of his own arrogance: breathing hard, dazed, but defiant with her smirk. He was not amused, but something about his eyes suggested he was… pleased .
Like he wanted her resistance. Like he would have been disappointed by her accepting him. What would he have done if I said yes? Artoria asked herself. Would he have been dissatisfied? Would he have dealt the final blow and put an end to this? It might have been preferable, but no matter what he did, Gilgamesh could only cage and suppress the lion within Artoria: he would never rid her of her pride. Even though he had her flushed with shame, that was beyond his powers.
“Such foul language ill-befits your sweet mouth, betrothed,” Gilgamesh said as he lowered his hand. “Granted, I am not against you shrieking such things as an expression of delight. For a whore like yourself, it is only natural.” His red eyes gleamed. “But directed against me…? Insulting me?” He reached up and seized her jaw, the squeeze of his fingers making Artoria grit her teeth at him. “You must be taught a lesson.”
Artoria felt a calm come over her, slowly but surely. Not the false calm that heralded her reckless behavior, but an acceptance of her circumstances. There was little that she could do against him, and even if her Master arrived, she doubted that his dishonorable tactics could overcome Gilgamesh. He was going to have his way with her, one way or another, and her body was going to react however it did, but…
Even in corporal disgrace and defeat, Artoria could get under his skin. Even if resisting was what he wanted, it was something Artoria could remain proud of. As Gilgamesh’s hand fell away from her face, she mustered up a smirk every bit as arrogant as his, a glimmer returning to her emerald eyes.
He grunted at the sight of it, a flicker of annoyance passing over his face. “Tch. Insolence wench,” Gilgamesh shook his head and took a step away from Artoria, then around her, his armor fading from view. Her no-longer stony heart kept pounding in her chest, and her imagination evoked a vivid image of what he would likely do next: grab her from behind and steal her virtue in one thrust, without preamble.
Still, prepared for it, Artoria would keep her courage strong. And no matter what her body did, she would come back from it afterwards, no less for it.
Instead, she found herself smoothly tilting back as the portals holding her chains moved. Artoria’s smirk fell off her lips, and within seconds she found herself horizontal, suspended several feet off the floor. The very longest strand of her hair grazed along the stage, and gravity finally dragged her ahoge down. A soft thrum heralded two new portals, and lifting her head, she watched as wavy blades slit across her boots. Four pieces of leather fell to the theater’s stage with soft thumps, and at last, Artoria was truly naked. It made no difference now. She curled and flexed her toes, then tilted her head back to see what Gilgamesh was doing.
Naked. Of course he was naked. Gorgeous naked, hair down, wearing only a golden necklace, torso tattooed with red designs– but Artoria’s attention caught on what was approaching her reddened face. The sword that he promised he would sheathe inside her. His cock. She’d seen some before, but never hard. Never up this close. Though it was already pounding, her heart raced all the more rapidly as she gazed upon him. Gilgamesh was not an enormous man, but his cock looked so… so big. And it was coming closer to her. Steadily, and not slowly. When Artoria swallowed with apprehension, she felt some of that courage go down into her belly with it, quickly lost.
She would have rathered he set straight into fucking her from behind, letting her stare forward. It would have made her helpless defiance much easier. Artoria did not give him the satisfaction of seeing her look away and flinch back from him. “In time,” he promised her as he guided himself towards her lips, “this will be the first thing you think of each day. You’ll have the choice to wake me up with your mouth… or be woken up with it in your mouth.” She kept her mouth flat, but he didn’t rush to try and force himself through her lips, slowly tracing her lips with the tip of his dick. He left them damp with his heroic pre, but did not focus exclusively on it.
The same dampness was slowly left along her blushing cheeks and the bridge of her nose. When Artoria squeezed her eyes shut, he thought nothing of dragging his cock along their lids and then her brow, an almost purposeless mockery. “Throughout any given day, you’ll beg again and again for the opportunity to taste it, to suck and savor your beloved husband’s cock,” he continued, and Artoria could just picture his smirk from his tone. His other hand lowered to pinch down on the sides of her nose as he returned to her lips, pushing insistently but not roughly so.
Though it wasn’t spoken, the choice was obvious– open, or her traitorous body would soon beg for breath and open regardless. Artoria resisted, but not as long as she could have; when she parted her lips, it was with a mind to get it over with quickly. “Like that, yes,” Gilgamesh said down to his defeated opponent, galling her with a, “Good girl.” He slid easily into her mouth as her lips gave way, and her tongue quickly learned the taste of his cock, strong and distinct from anything she had ever put into her mouth before.
It irritated her that, much like her cunt’s issue, she did not find it all that off putting. At the very least, though, Gilgamesh couldn’t make her suck on it as a common harlot would–
But Artoria quickly learned that he had never really intended to make her do that. After a few shallow pumps of his hips that only seemed to drag his leaking tip across her taste buds, the ramming thrust that Artoria had expected to visit her pussy instead pushed him through all of her mouth. His cock was far too large to be in there, and far too large to be going further, pushing down her throat. Forced to swallow him down, Artoria quickly found he pushed the rest of her courage down with himself. With how much he filled her, there was no hope of her breathing, even after he released her nose.
Panic replaced the bravery that had filled her, and in short order, Artoria realized it wasn’t just for the sake of humiliating her. He was fucking her. Not her cunt, but her face. Whether or not he wanted her to break and give in, he fucked her like there was nothing more important than fulfilling his promise to her. Unlike having her cunt filled by his fingers, there was nothing for Artoria’s body to enjoy. The taste of his cock might have been uncomfortably palatable to her tongue, but having it driven through her mouth and into her throat like it was her pussy was frightening and uncomfortable. Her eyes opened but briefly, closing quickly again when they saw that his balls were about to slap her face, sweaty and humiliating in their thwack. She flinched and jerked at the impact, but couldn’t move.
Artoria tried not to think about it throughout her worry. Perhaps it was just a consequence of how light-headed he left her, but it soon became… uncomfortably comfortable. A less threatening sensation than how he roughly used her throat, at least. When he hilted himself to her lips, Artoria even found herself enjoying the weight and heat of Gilgamesh’s balls against her face, for it signaled a brief respite– a rest. After the first few times, though, she felt the King of Heroes shift his position, leaning over her, his cock jabbing her throat at an angle. One hand grabbed the soft swell of her breast, ignoring the one untouched in favor of abusing the one kissed and suckled.
His other hand found her pussy once more, and its first dalliance inside her proved to be anything but a fluke. One solace replaced Artoria’s former clinging to her boots, and that was Gilgamesh’s wordless silence: not truly quiet, but his grunts as he fucked her mouth were far preferable to his taunting, his goading. In turn, Artoria moaned helplessly around his thickness, quickly brought back to the brink of ecstasy, so much stronger for how much fainter her consciousness became. Each time she neared an imminent release, however, his fingers stopped and pulled from her. And with their retreat, so too went his cock, affording her an opportunity to breathe.
A chance to spit on his mercy once more.
But Artoria never did. Once again, it was only her core that remained defiant to Gilgamesh. Her body associated the discomfort of his balls hitting her face and his cock ravaging her throat with her cunt’s pleasure. Helpless, she moaned for more, only able to stop herself from asking for it, her inner lion biting down on her slut’s throat to keep it in check. Twice he built her up, and twice he denied her. On the third time, he let Artoria’s squirming body have what it longed for, and she screamed as his debauchery defeated her body once more. Her second orgasm was so much more intense than the first, her mind numbed by the spastic rapture that her squirting cunt glorified.
For one long, stretched-out moment, Artoria could only shake and twitch, head hanging limp and low, alternating breaths with whimpering moans. Her core may have remained steady, but her face was as far from that of a proud lion as it could have been. Humiliation had burned her cheeks a permanent red, but the strain of having to pleasure Gilgamesh with her throat had left them red with desperation. She slowly became aware of how much her eyes were stinging, tears not on her cheeks but running down along her brow. Struggling to focus her gaze and lift her head, she saw that Gilgamesh was… gone.
Gone? Is he… finished? Will he claim the Grail without slaying me? Artoria did not shudder at the thought, so much as she continued shuddering as she thought it. The defiant core of her being felt a sense of relief at it being over, at no longer needing to hold out against the temptation that the rest of her body was relishing. It took a moment for the realization of what that meant to sink in, though. If he claimed the Holy Grail– he was going to get his wish. And he had made her promises , and no true King broke a promise easily, no matter how foul or dark it was.
Artoria would (try to) deny Gilgamesh many things, but not his status as King. With a groan, she tried to lift her head and look towards where the Grail War’s eponymous prize hovered. It was only thanks to Gilgamesh’s hand grabbing her hair and wrenching it forward that she was able to get a look anywhere , for he was not far from the horizontal, spread-and-bound King of Knights. At the peak of her orgasm, he had abandoned her mouth to walk around her once more. And now…
Now he stood between her spread legs, her chafed thighs. The chains holding her rattled as they shifted, arms raising a bit higher to bend Artoria into a position that was almost seated, but no less helpless for it. Gilgamesh did not make her meet his eye, but he made her look down at herself. Artoria swallowed raggedly at the sight of her pussy, pale mound flushed with arousal and wetter than if she had taken a dip in a lake. New elements of embarrassment struck her; what was previously so small and quaint had been left somewhat swollen from all he’d done, looking as whorish as he accused her of being.
Gilgamesh tugged on her hair and made her look a bit higher. At him. At his hand, and his cock held in it, sloppy with her saliva. Even though it was further away from her now, it looked bigger to Artoria’s dulled eyes, as though fucking her face had been what led to it becoming fully hard. He spoke to her with an unfair softness and intimacy as he guided his cock’s head towards her cunt, his romance as perverse and twisted as his interest in her. “This… is the beginning of your new life, Saber. Your future. Your tenacity, while worthy of applause in a mongrel, has only earned you further shame. I will have to train you out of being a bitch.”
Another golden shimmer, another thrum. Artoria didn’t try to look for it; she could feel it around her neck, and could only gasp softly at the feeling of something snapping into place around her neck, tight and weighing down on her collarbone. Though she couldn’t see all of it when she glanced down, she could see enough and feel enough to realize what it was. A mirror of Gilgamesh’s necklace, a torc– tightened and made into a collar. A thin chain draped down along her torso and belly, attached to its center. He released her hair to grab it, tugging it tight as the chains that held her limbs.
A wedding necklace. A wedding collar. A fucking leash. Though Artoria couldn’t banish the wondrous aftermath of her unwanted orgasm, she could summon a look of heavy contempt as she looked up at her abuser. She tried to growl at him, but the moan in her voice undercut its severity and made her sound instead like a mewling wench, her body’s treachery an unchecked thing. “You’ll… never succeed,” she promised him. As their eyes met, hers flashed, reinvigorated for a moment. “You might have your way with me, King of Villains, but you will never–”
A sudden shock left Artoria’s whole body as numb as the miraculous balm she once used upon herself. You will never make me yours, she finished in her head, a promise that would compete with his oath to make her his whore. Her parted lips opened a bit wider, and she heard herself make a choked noise, not a gurgle but more in line with her prior squeals, reined-in. The short-lived light in Artoria’s eyes dulled out as she looked upon Gilgamesh’s victorious smirk. Hers had not been strong enough to keep him at bay. Slowly, she looked down. Her eyes caught on the glittering golden leash and followed it to where he clutched the end, then ran down his body.
Artoria’s eyes stopped at his pelvis, hesitating, fearful. Then she followed the line of his cock, focused on it. She could already see it, but wrapping her mind around what had happened, she could only focus on one thing at a time. Only half of his cock was visible to her. The rest of it was hidden from her eyes. She looked away from it to where his free hand had gone, grabbing the girlish curve of her hip. Just how much of his fingers spread across her tight and pristine skin once again reiterated the difference in their respective sizes.
Then Artoria looked back. His thighs, hers. Her slim build left her trembling thighs not quite half as wide as his. Looking back down at his cock, its size struck her too, relative to that of her tiny twat, more fit for a princess than a king. Though Artoria knew that her cunt was made for taking cock, that it was its explicit biological purpose– there was just no way something that size would get inside her, even if the hole could stretch.
Yet it was halfway buried in her. Hidden in her. Even as Artoria had tried to defy him and make her resolve to deny him a steely thing, he had thrusted and claimed her virginity as his prize. “... Oh,” she whispered breathlessly, staring without yet comprehending. In her numb state, it did not look or feel all that real to her. Then Gilgamesh gave one thrust, and with it he washed away her denial like the flood he once faced according to myth. His size, Artoria dimly realized, was only staggering compared to hers– he was large, but not inhumanely so.
She was just tiny. So tiny that even forced to stretch, Gilgamesh couldn’t bury himself in her. His fingers had worked her up, but no amount of work would have left her pussy properly prepared for him. “Good… God,” the deflowered King of Knights mumbled thickly, feeling how her pussy strained to move around him, suffocating in its tightness. He grunted and tightened his hold on her hip, and Artoria tried to look up, but… she couldn’t take her eyes off it. There was a reason why she had prepared for him to take her from behind.
It would have made it so much easier to stay strong, even if it was only one little part of her that managed it. Facing him, able to look down and see just how deep her shame ran… that was much harder. Artoria’s body shaked as he pulled back slowly, nearly drawing blood from her bottom lip at just how empty she felt with all those inches outside her. His cock was so much more slicker after enduring a moment of her pussy’s slippery hug, not a sign of her saliva left upon it. “Y-you… you damn… you damn bastard,” she moaned through his return to her depths, not a drawn-out thing but brisk and rough.
He didn’t give her time to get used to it. “You’ll change that tune soon enough, wife,” he promised her, taking her not with the gentleness her inexperience warranted but with the brisk pumps of someone used to fucking for his own pleasure, not interested in sharing mutual bliss– as though what he’d given her was gift enough. As if any future orgasms she had would be incidental things. He fucked her like a whore, not a Queen. “You’ll begin to enjoy this soon enough.”
Artoria grit her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, no longer concerned with whether or not that satisfied him. And it did; his brief laugh told her that. But hiding her gaze from his was preferable to meeting him head-on, and risking him realizing the truth that ought to have chilled her soul: she was already enjoying it. Being fucked and degraded and collared was upsetting, but physically – but physically, it seemed her body didn’t need to be made into a whore. It already was one.
Though he did not concern himself with her pleasure, Gilgamesh’s cock was still more than capable of making Artoria cum throughout his presumptive use of her body. It was not as quick or as easily as his fingers managed, but that he could do it at all was bad enough. Where her soul should have been chilled by the ongoing disgrace, it was helpless in the face of her body’s long-denied lust. Though she was in a half-seated position, Artoria could barely move beyond her shuddering and the impact of Gilgamesh’s body against hers. There was nothing easy about taking his cock, other than enjoying that pleasure.
Artoria fought the enjoyment, but she lost the battle again and again, as hopeless as their marital fight had been. Her cunt’s cream stained his cock and slowly squeezed out of her, a fresh flow always seeming to come on. And while Artoria had managed to keep hidden the fact that it never hurt , she couldn’t hide her shameful and slutty reactions from him for very long. If it had not been obvious from the first time that Gilgamesh felt her hole try to devour his cock in its spasms, the wailing his ceaseless fuck warranted would have been telling on its own.
She never asked him to stop. When he put his face close to hers and asked if she wanted him to, promising to if she only asked , Artoria kept her mouth tightly shut and glared at him with eyes that would damn him for either decision. The King of Heroes’ stamina seemed as endless as his treasury of priceless noble phantasms, but… his body, at least, was as treacherous as Artoria’s was. The depravity of his infatuation with her gave it ample opening.
Artoria would never be able to tell how long it dragged out or how many times she made him peak, but she knew when the end started. It came with her first real sense of discomfort. Both his leash-gripping hand and its empty twin grabbed her hips, pushing her towards him, trying to squeeze more of himself into her than she could ever manage. Even then, even hurting, Artoria could feel herself start to cum again. His upper body pushed down against hers, and their faces aligned once more. “I love you, you damn bitch,” he growled, eyes both wolf-like and possessive. “Never… stop… fighting me.”
“I… never… will,” Artoria whispered breathlessly. She did not try to understand him. He proved his love with a kiss and a final thrust into her straining fuckhole, grip tightening on her as pushed all the deeper. It was with a shudder that he began to flood her hard-fucked cunt with a heavy flow of demigod cum, leaving Artoria all too keenly aware of how full it left her feeling. Though she had been unable to make a natural heir in her life, he filled her womb and left the pathway to it stuffed with his seed. The King of Knights had no idea if the serene blissfulness of her subsequent orgasm stemmed from her shame, or if the shame was because of the blissfulness.
The chains retracted from her body, and the two of them hit the broken stage’s floor in a sweaty pile. Artoria felt no real fondness for Gilgamesh, but her body needed something to hug, to hold, and his warm body was ideal for her to cling on to. Her legs squeezed his waist and her arms kept him tight to her chest.
Though the next few minutes were still, Gilgamesh never softened, and he was soon starting to move his hips, each of his plunging pounds into her forcing more of his cum out of her. Artoria felt another orgasm quickly coming around the bend, another shameful defeat. She squeezed her eyes shut with consternation, hating her enjoyment, hating that she couldn’t bring herself to bite off his tongue, but–
“Saber. I command you to destroy the Holy Grail.” Though her Master was not close, Artoria heard him as though he had shouted into her ear. She opened her eyes wide, reeling at the command that went against everything that she wanted.
A wish. A chance to fix her past mistakes. Everything that her body wanted– to lay there and keep fighting Gilgamesh’s attempts to make her his.
Artoria had come to hate the sound of Emiya Kiristugu’s voice, and some of his dishonorable orders left her feeling sick to her very core. Without an explanation or knowing his rationale, it ought to have been a painful thing for her to do. Though the command spell would inevitably force her to comply, it should have been hard to abandon her dream when it was so close…
But that lion at Artoria’s core was ready to do anything, if it meant ending this. Without thinking or hesitating, Artoria’s hand lifted off Gilgamesh’s back. Her hips bucked ferociously, matched by her wordless yell. With euphoria suffusing every inch of her body, she finally rid her body of his cock, though her cunt would never forget its feeling or his spill. As Gilgamesh reeled in surprise, Artoria twisted and rolled on her hip, reaching out for where she knew Excalibur still laid. Though she trembled, the movements all felt smooth, precise, guided by the reality-bending powers of a command spell. She was crouched, thighs wide, gaped cunt oozing cum.
There was no time to use the Sword of Promised Victory as intended, in some glorious display of power. She hurled it just as Gilgamesh hurled all of his countless treasures, and the tip of the blade cleaved straight through the Holy Grail where it was thinnest. It did not fall apart so much as it exploded into black ooze– and there, everything went to hell.
Fuyuki would soon begin to burn. Unaware of what destroying the Grail would do, Artoria collapsed on her stomach, spent and disheveled, disgraced and defiled, but victorious, just as Excalibur promised. She did not begrudge Gilgamesh for being a sore loser, furious and screaming in anger as he took her from behind, their mana-made bodies beginning to fade away. The weary smile never left her face.