Installed as a Festival attraction

The festival night lasted until the final lanterns burned low.

Eula remained exactly where she had been placed—bent over the padded bar, blindfolded, gagged, wrists and ankles locked, bells on her nipples chiming with every thrust. Dozens of hands and cocks used her through the long hours. Some came in pairs or small groups; others simply stepped up one after another while conversation and music continued around her. She thanked every load in the same muffled, grateful voice, hips rolling back eagerly even when her legs trembled and her belly had grown soft and heavy again. By the time the last festival-goer finished and the frame was unlocked, she was a dripping, glassy-eyed wreck, barely able to stand.

Jean had her carried back to headquarters.

For once, the Acting Grand Master ordered full rest.

Eula was cleaned only enough to keep the sheets from becoming completely unusable, then laid in the wide bed in Jean’s private quarters. The collar stayed on. The plug was left in on its lowest setting. No one else was allowed to touch her for the remainder of the night. She slept deeply, body still twitching with aftershocks, the uncharacteristic stretch of uninterrupted rest leaving her unusually clear-headed when late morning light finally filtered through the curtains.

Jean was already dressed and waiting when Eula stirred.

On the chair beside the bed lay a strange collection of garments: rough brown furs, bone ornaments, crude leather straps, and a heavy mantle that looked like it had been assembled to resemble the ceremonial dress sometimes seen on the rare occasions hilichurls kept longer-term “brides” in their larger camps. The pieces were sized for a human woman. They would leave almost nothing to the imagination once fastened—breasts framed rather than covered, hips and cunt fully accessible, the thick collar left visible as a deliberate statement.

Jean explained while Eula knelt and allowed herself to be dressed.

“Amber has been overdue for three days. The main camp in the Whispering Woods has kept her longer than usual. Reports say they built something new for entertainment.” Jean’s voice stayed even, practical. “You will go in her place. Offer the trade. They know the arrangement we have with the nearer tribes—willing replacements are accepted. You will stay until they lose interest or until I send word. Amber returns to the city. Clear?”

Eula’s eyes, still soft from the rare full night of sleep, lit with immediate, obedient hunger.

“Yes, Mistress. I will trade myself for Amber. I will take her place willingly. I will serve until they are finished with me.”

Jean fastened the last fur strap beneath Eula’s heavy breasts, checked that the plug was seated firmly, and clipped a simple rope lead to the collar instead of the usual leash. No blindfold. No gag. The hilichurls preferred to hear their toys.

“Go.”

The walk to the Whispering Woods took most of the remaining morning. Eula moved at a steady pace, the crude brown furs shifting with every step, her bare cunt already slick again from anticipation. A few travelers on the road recognized her and paused only long enough to bend her over a fallen log or press her against a tree for a quick, casual breeding. She accepted each one with the same eager thanks, then continued on, fresh seed running down her thighs to join the older mess.

The main hilichurl camp sprawled across a wide clearing ringed by crude totems and smoking cook-fires. The usual chorus of grunts and growls rose when the sentries spotted her. They did not attack. They knew the blue-haired one. They had used her before, in the early weeks after the Traveler left, and they remembered how thoroughly she submitted.

Eula walked straight into the center of the camp, stopped before the largest of the mitachurls, and sank to her knees in the dirt. She lifted the rope lead in both hands and spoke clearly, voice soft but steady.

“I am here to trade. The red one—Amber—has been kept past the usual time. I offer myself in her place. Willing. Fully. For as long as you want me.”

The mitachurl studied her for a long moment, then gave a low, approving bark. Two smaller hilichurls were sent to fetch the current entertainment.

They dragged Amber out of a side tent on a makeshift litter.

The Outrider was in far worse condition than her usual “patrol” aftermath. Her bunny suit had been reduced to torn scraps hanging off one shoulder. Her body was covered in dried seed, bite marks, and hand-shaped bruises. But the real damage was the contraption.

An electric slime core had been lashed into a crude wooden frame above a low stone platform. Thick, conductive vines and metal scraps formed a seat of sorts—except there was no seat. Amber was impaled on a thick, ridged shaft that rose from the platform and disappeared completely inside her stretched cunt. Smaller tendrils wrapped her thighs and waist, holding her upright and open. Every few seconds the slime core pulsed with blue-white energy, sending a sharp jolt through the entire apparatus. Amber’s body jerked hard with each pulse, eyes rolled back, tongue out, a continuous broken moan spilling from her throat. Her belly was heavily swollen. Fresh and old cum leaked around the shaft in thick, steady rivulets. She had clearly been left on the device for a long time—long enough that the repeated shocks had reduced her to a twitching, mindless state of pure overstimulated wreckage.

The hilichurls found it endlessly entertaining.

Eula looked at the ruined Outrider for only a moment. No pity. No hesitation. Only calm, eager acceptance of the task she had been given.

She rose, walked to the platform, and spoke again so the whole camp could hear.

“I take her place. Remove her. Put me on it instead. Use me however you want after. I am here to stay.”

The mitachurl gave another bark of approval. Several hilichurls moved in at once. They lifted Amber off the shaft with rough efficiency; the Outrider gave a final, incoherent cry as the thick length slid free in a heavy gush of mixed fluids, then slumped bonelessly onto the litter. Two of them began carrying her toward the edge of the camp—toward the path that would eventually lead her home.

Eula stepped up onto the platform without being told.

She spread her own legs, reached down, and guided the still-slick, ridged shaft to her entrance. The size forced a low, shaky moan from her throat as she sank down, inch by thick inch, until she was fully impaled and seated. The conductive vines were wrapped around her thighs and waist next, locking her in place. The electric slime core above her pulsed once in test—and the sharp, deep jolt tore through her body like lightning.

Eula’s back arched hard. A loud, broken cry ripped from her. Her pussy clenched violently around the shaft. Fresh juices mixed with the leftover mess already coating it. Her eyes fluttered, mouth falling open, but she did not try to rise or pull away.

She looked at the gathered hilichurls, still shaking from the first shock, and gave them the same soft, obedient smile she gave everyone who used her now.

“Thank you for accepting the trade… Please use me as much as you want. I am yours until you grow bored.”

The slime core pulsed again.

Eula jerked and moaned, hips giving a helpless little roll around the shaft buried inside her, already sinking into the same fucked-stupid haze the device had forced on Amber—only this time she had walked onto it willingly, and she would stay until her Mistress decided otherwise.