Round 40 Transcript

Halia’s face flushes with anger at Hera’s words, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “You think I’m throwing a tantrum? This isn’t about what I want—it’s about principle! We can’t just let her control us like this.” She gestures wildly towards Jeane, who watches the exchange with an unreadable expression.

Hera rolls her eyes dramatically. “Oh please. Save the high-and-mighty routine for someone who buys it.” She steps closer to Halia, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You want to know what’s really going on here? Jeane’s not controlling us—she’s liberating us.”

“Liberating?” Halia spits out the word like it tastes bad. “By turning us into her personal fucktoys?”

Hera’s expression darkens, her eyes flashing with something sharp and dangerous. “Watch your mouth,” she hisses. “You might be too blind to see it, but the rest of us know a good thing when we experience it.”

Silence falls over the room for a long moment—tension crackling in every shadow. Then, slowly, Jeane begins to applaud. The sound echoes ominously in the quiet space between them.

“Bravo,” she says coolly. “A standing ovation for the world’s most dysfunctional orgy.” Her wings unfurl slightly, catching the light and casting eerie shadows across her face. “But let me make one thing crystal clear—this isn’t a debate anymore. It isn't even an argument. You signed up for this life—the danger, the power dynamics—and now you’re trying to renegotiate the terms after the fact? That’s not how this works.”

She moves closer, each step deliberate and measured. “So here’s what’s going to happen: Halia, you have two choices. Either you shut your mouth, strip down, and join us like everyone else... or you walk out that door right now. But if you choose the latter, don’t you dare come crawling back when things get tough tomorrow.”

The room seems to hold its breath as Jeane finishes speaking—everyone waiting to see how Halia will respond.

I move toward the center of the room, my wings folding neatly behind me as I speak. This isn't a debate.

My eyes scan the room—Silra still slumped against the wall, Halia seething in defeat, Abby pressed against the far wall like a frightened mouse. This isn't an argument. You signed up for this life—the danger, the power dynamics—and now you're trying to renegotiate the terms after the fact? That’s not how this works.

The lingering scent of used holes and desperation fills the air between us. You all knew what you were signing up for when you joined this party—knew the risks and power dynamics involved. I pull my robe back on slowly, deliberately, letting it cling to my still-damp curves. So let’s stop pretending otherwise.

I retrieve a small vial from my spell components—a potion of stamina I prepared earlier. If you want to bitch about morality or control, save it for when we’re not surrounded by enemies and half the city is hunting us. Right now? We need to be strong, sharp, and unified.

The room feels suddenly too small—suffocating with the weight of their combined lust and the lingering scent of used holes. I need more than just the residual high from Silra’s tight little cunt if I’m going to stay sated tonight.*

I can't stand here and watch this happen again.

Jeane thinks she can treat us like toys, use us however she pleases, and then dismiss our concerns? Not happening. We’re supposed to be equals in this party—sisters-in-arms facing down impossible odds together. But instead, we’ve become… what are we even now? Her private collection of desperate, used-up whores?

I won’t be another one of her conquests. I refuse.

The others might be too far gone to see it clearly—I’m not sure Hera or Silra even cares anymore—but this has to stop somewhere. And if no one else is willing to draw a line in the sand… fine. The line gets drawn here.

Maybe there’s a way to flip this dynamic without starting another fight I can’t win. That sybian toy might be the key—the power to control the pace, set the terms of our ‘fun’. If I could get us all on that thing together, using it how we want instead of letting Jeane dictate everything…

Or maybe I need to appeal to someone’s decency, convince them this isn’t right no matter what anyone says. Hera might still have some sense left—she looked genuinely disturbed earlier when she thought nobody was watching.

Gods, why does this keep falling on me? Why am I the one who has to be the voice of reason while everyone else rolls over and spreads their legs?

I won’t let myself become another used hole in her collection.

I can feel the tension in the air, the weight of Halia's accusations hanging over us all. Part of me wants to scream at her, to remind her that we're not just Jeane's toys - we're a team, united by something stronger than any physical desire.

But another part of me... I have to admit it. The way Jeane takes charge, the sheer power and control she wields... it's intoxicating. Addictive. And as much as I hate to say it... maybe Halia is right. Maybe we've let ourselves become too dependent on her, too willing to submit to whatever depravity she cooks up next.

I glance around at the others - Abby looking like a cornered animal, Silra barely conscious against the wall. And then my eyes land on Jeane herself, still damp and reeking of sex.

She's right about one thing, though. We are in this together now, for better or worse. And if that means bending to her whims sometimes... well. I think we can all live with it.

Halia looks like she wants to keep fighting, but what choice does she really have? In the end, Jeane will always come out on top - and we'll either fall in line... or be left behind.