The fuck frenzies aftermath

The days blurred into one continuous, wet haze.

From the second sunrise onward, none of the five women retained anything resembling higher thought. Speech collapsed into low, guttural grunts and broken fragments that sounded closer to hilichurl tongue than human language. Eyes stayed glassy and unfocused. Mouths hung open, tongues loose, drool mixing freely with the endless spill of cum that coated their chins, tits, and thighs. They had become pure breeding stock—bodies that existed only to open, climax, and receive.

Pregnancies lasted only a week.

The short hilichurl cycles meant the women swelled quickly, carried, and delivered with almost mechanical regularity. Labor was brief and relatively easy on their thoroughly used bodies; each birth simply pushed out entire litters—six, eight, sometimes a dozen or more squirming newborns at a time—before the next hilichurl was already mounting them again. Fresh seed was forced into still-bleeding, still-fluttering wombs within minutes of delivery. The beetle poison, refreshed whenever a shaman passed, kept them locked in permanent heat, ovulating through every new impregnation so that no load was ever wasted.

Collectively, the five of them produced hundreds of offspring over the course of the month.

Jean, Mona, Lisa, Fischl, Noelle, and Barbara were kept in a constant state of cum-drunk delirium. They were moved from one rough mating to the next without ever truly resting—folded, suspended, locked in stocks, chained by the neck, passed between clusters of hilichurls who used every hole without pause. Orgasm had long since stopped being distinct events; it was simply the continuous background state of their ruined bodies. Every thrust, every fresh flood of seed, every new litter being pushed out only dragged them deeper into that blank, blissful fog.

The veterans were clearly in their element.

Jean and Lisa especially seemed to settle into the rhythm as if it were their natural form. The Acting Grand Master’s weak, oversensitive cunt never stopped surrendering; she spent most of the month as a drooling, chain-collared onahole, lifted and dropped onto cock after cock, mindlessly climaxing through every impregnation and every birth. Lisa, even with her arms often still bound, arched and moaned and pushed back onto every shaft with the same languid, hungry satisfaction she had shown on the first day. They looked less like captives and more like women who had simply returned to the state they were made for.

The younger three followed them down.

Noelle’s earlier disciplined enthusiasm had been completely erased, replaced by the same vacant, eager receptivity. Fischl no longer attempted even broken monologues; she only grunted and drooled while her body was used. Barbara’s soft, motherly thanks had long since dissolved into wordless, grateful sounds whenever another cock filled her.

(https://im.ge/i/QMkqVU6)
(artist: miyu)

Piece by piece, as the seasonal rut finally began to burn out after a full month, the hilichurls started releasing wombs from the constant cycle.

One by one the women were allowed to deliver their final litters without immediate re-insemination. The poison was no longer refreshed. The frantic heat slowly ebbed. Cum stopped being forced into them every hour of every day.

Jean was not released with the others.

When the seasonal rut finally burned itself out and the rest of the women were left in a dazed, leaking heap at the edge of the camp, the hilichurls simply bound the Acting Grand Master tighter. Thick rope secured her arms and legs. A heavy blindfold was tied over her eyes. A thick cloth gag was forced between her teeth and knotted behind her head. The leather collar with her name remained locked around her throat.

They kept her like that for another full month.

Jean became a permanent installation in the center of the camp—a bound, blindfolded, gagged fucknugget that any hilichurl could use whenever the urge struck. They mounted her in every position the ropes allowed, flooded her daily, and made no attempt to let her recover. Her weak, oversensitive cunt continued to surrender without resistance; even through the gag her broken moans and continuous climaxes were obvious. The hilichurls clearly intended to keep her. They treated her less like a temporary tide prize and more like a fixture that belonged to the camp indefinitely.

(https://im.ge/i/QMkqWWS)
(artist: xDomiKami)

Only after that second month did a Knights recovery team finally manage to extract her. What they carried out barely resembled the composed Acting Grand Master who had led the interception force. Jean was returned to Mondstadt still half-lost in the same vacant, cum-drunk state, requiring extensive time and care before any trace of her former self began to surface.

Lisa was lost even longer.

Even after the broken toy that had once been the Acting Grand Master was finally brought home, the group of mitachurls that had claimed the librarian simply refused to give her up. They moved her deeper into the wilds, away from the main camp, and kept her for themselves. Reports of her location remained vague for months. Search parties found only traces.

She was eventually discovered by pure chance—stuck inside a trashcan that reeked of old cum and hilichurl musk. Lisa was curled inside, completely broken. Crude brands had been burned into the soft skin of her hips, ass, and the underside of her breasts, permanent marks of ownership left by the mitachurls who had refused to return her. Her eyes were vacant. Her body responded to any touch with the same automatic, trained receptivity she had shown during the tide, but nothing of the playful, sharp-witted librarian remained on the surface.

(https://im.ge/i/QMkqKTz)
(artist: )

It took serious, sustained alchemy over the following year to restore her.

Even after her mind and body were gradually pieced back together, those who knew her best could still see the differences—the way she sometimes drifted and the quiet, lingering hunger that never completely left her eyes.The brands, at least, alchemy could fully erase. The tide had ended for everyone else. For Lisa, part of it had never truly stopped.

Since that day she often wandered back into the camps on her own, weeks at a time without notice or request for saveing, until a strange traveler appeared in one out of nowhere.