NTR: Stealing wives in Another World

The air in the chamber grew heavier as the last echoes of breath faded. The obsidian floor shimmered faintly under the dim glow of enchanted torches, casting restless shadows that writhed like living things along the walls. Allen stood at the heart of it all, his presence a gravitational force pulling everyone deeper into his orbit. The chamber smelled of sweat, lust, and the metallic tang of magic lingering in the cracks of reality he had fractured through sheer will.

Fina knelt near his feet, head bowed but eyes sparkling with mischief, her silver hair sticking to her flushed cheeks in damp strands. Rinni crouched behind her like a predator waiting for permission to pounce, her chest heaving, lips trembling with that insatiable hunger only Allen could feed. Their submission wasn't fragile—it was sharp, edged with the thrill of their shared depravity. And Allen loved every jagged piece of it.

He tilted his head, gaze sweeping over the figures sprawled around the chamber. The remnants of the council's pride still clung to their trembling forms like tattered silk, but shame had stripped them bare in ways they could never recover from. Lira still bore the marks of the elders' lust, her body slick and shaking, hair plastered to her tear-streaked face. Elira, once the defiant maid, now sat on her knees at the far end, ink stains darkening her fingers where she had scrawled Allen's filthy commandments across her own skin like holy scripture. She didn't dare look up, as though meeting his gaze would drag her soul deeper into his grasp—and she was right.

Allen exhaled slowly, the sound sharp as a blade against the quiet. "We're not done," he said, and the words coiled like serpents around every heart in the room. Fina's lips curled in a grin she couldn't suppress. Rinni bit her bottom lip so hard it left a dent.

"Elira," Allen's voice cracked through the silence like a whip. Her shoulders jolted, a quiver running down her spine as she scrambled to attention, eyes wide, lips parting in something between dread and desperate hope. "Come here."

She obeyed on shaky legs, each step echoing against the cold stone, her bare feet leaving faint prints of sweat and ink on the floor. When she stopped before him, Allen tilted her chin up with two fingers. Her pulse fluttered wildly against his touch. "You wrote those words on yourself," he murmured, eyes flicking down to the dark lines staining her pale skin: Slave of Allen. Cum receptacle. Owned forever. "But ink fades."

Her breath hitched. "W-What… what do you mean?"

Allen smiled—a slow, merciless thing. "I think it's time to make those words permanent."

A gasp tore from her throat, and the chamber vibrated with the weight of it. Behind her, Fina's grin widened, hunger sparking in her gaze. "You mean…" she purred, trailing her tongue across her lips. "You're going to mark her, Allen?"

"Not just mark," Allen said, his fingers sliding from Elira's chin to her trembling throat, feeling the frantic flutter of her pulse. "I'm going to make her body scream who she belongs to."

Her knees gave out, and she collapsed in a kneel before him, tears pricking her lashes—not of sadness, but something darker, something that made her thighs press together despite the shame pooling like molten iron in her gut. Allen didn't miss the way her breath stuttered when he brushed his thumb against her lips, commanding without words.

"Fina. Rinni," Allen said without looking away from Elira. "Bring the needles. And the heat."

The two foxkin moved in tandem, their excitement almost tangible as they darted to the chest at the edge of the room. Metal clinked, fire hissed, and soon the smell of singed iron filled the chamber. Elira's eyes widened in horror and desire as Fina approached, holding a rod glowing with crimson heat.

Allen crouched before Elira, one hand curling around her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Say it," he whispered, voice low and dangerous. "Say what you are."

"I…" Her throat bobbed, words choking against the knot of fear and need inside her. "I'm yours."

"Louder."

"I'm yours!" she cried, the words tearing from her like a confession and a plea all at once.

Allen's smile was a predator's promise. "Good."

He took the branding iron from Fina, its tip glowing like the heart of a dying star. Elira whimpered, trembling as Allen traced the searing metal an inch above her skin, letting the heat kiss her flesh without touching. She shuddered violently, breath ragged, hips twitching involuntarily. Then, without warning, Allen pressed the iron to her thigh.

Her scream shattered the silence—a raw, guttural sound that melted into a moan before it could fully escape her throat. The smell of scorched flesh mingled with sweat, and Allen held her firmly, his voice cutting through her cries like steel. "You belong to me. Forever."

When he pulled the brand away, the mark gleamed angry and red: a single word, carved in pain and fire—ALLEN.

Tears streaked her cheeks, and yet when he released her, Elira collapsed forward, pressing her lips to his boots in worship, sobbing out thank-yous between ragged breaths. Fina and Rinni stared, eyes glassy with arousal, thighs clenching against the ache of their own need. The power in the room was a living, breathing thing, and Allen stood at its core, a god draped in the skin of a man.

But he wasn't finished—not even close.

"Lira," he called, and the disgraced elder jerked upright, terror flashing in her eyes. "Your turn."

Her lips parted in protest, but no sound came—because deep down, she knew the truth. There was no escape. Not from him. Not from this.

Allen's smile was cold, sharp, infinite.

And the night was still young.

Lira froze like a deer cornered by a wolf. Her body, still slick from the shame of what the elders had done to her, trembled under Allen's gaze as if his eyes alone could strip her soul bare. And maybe they could. Her legs wobbled when she tried to stand, but Allen didn't give her time to gather strength. He strode toward her with a deliberate calm that made her breath hitch and her stomach knot with something she couldn't name—fear laced with the metallic sweetness of anticipation.

"On your knees," Allen commanded, voice steady but carrying that deadly undertone that promised no mercy. The words cracked through the air like lightning splitting the sky. Lira obeyed instantly, legs folding under her with a soft thud against the cold obsidian floor. Her hair hung like a curtain, hiding her face as if it could hide her shame, but Allen wasn't having that. He reached down, fisting the strands and yanking her head back so she stared up at him, lips parted, eyes wide and wet.

"You thought you could lead. Speak. Command," he said, each word slow, deliberate, dripping with venom and dominance. "But what are you now?"

Her lips trembled, words dying before they could escape. Allen leaned closer, so near she could feel the heat of him against her skin, his breath ghosting her ear. "Say it," he whispered, voice dark silk wrapping tight around her throat. "Say what you really are."

Lira swallowed hard, every instinct screaming to resist, but something inside her cracked, splintered, and bled under his stare. "I'm… nothing," she whispered, her voice breaking like glass.

Allen's smile curved sharp as a blade. "Wrong." His hand slid from her hair to her jaw, gripping hard enough to make her wince. "You're mine. Just like her." His eyes flicked to Elira, still kneeling in a puddle of her own tears and desire, the angry brand glowing on her thigh like a crown of shame. Elira shuddered under his gaze, pressing her forehead lower against his boot in trembling worship.

Allen straightened, towering over them like a god carved from fury and lust. "Fina. Rinni," he called without looking back. The foxkin sisters appeared at his sides like summoned demons, their eyes fever-bright, bodies humming with hunger that no one bothered to hide anymore. "Chain them," Allen ordered, his voice a dark growl that rumbled through the chamber like a storm.

The clink of metal echoed as Fina fetched the chains from the chest, the sound sharp and merciless. Rinni moved like a predator, circling behind Lira and Elira with a grin that promised cruelty sweet as poison. Lira flinched when the iron touched her skin, hissing at the cold bite against her wrists. Elira didn't flinch—she almost leaned into it, lips quivering in some twisted prayer only Allen could answer. Soon, both women knelt side by side, arms bound behind their backs, chains clinking softly with every breath.

Allen stepped forward, boots clicking against stone, and crouched before them, his presence swallowing the room like night swallowing light. He dragged a finger along Elira's cheek, smearing a tear to the corner of her mouth. Then he pressed that same finger against Lira's lips. "Taste her shame," he said, and Lira obeyed without hesitation, sucking the salt and heat from his skin like it was the first drop of water in a desert.

"Good," Allen murmured, the word a dark caress. "Now open your mouths."

They did—two trembling flowers blooming under the shadow of his will. Allen's belt hit the floor with a metallic clatter that made both women gasp, the sound punctuated by the slow, heavy rasp of leather sliding free. The weight of his cock dragged the air with it when he freed himself, thick and veined, the head flushed and glistening with hunger. Elira moaned like a worshipper glimpsing her god, while Lira's eyes went wide, terror and awe twined so tightly together they were indistinguishable.

Allen gripped the back of their heads, forcing them closer until their lips brushed against the heat of him, slick and throbbing. "Lick," he ordered, voice low and primal. They obeyed instantly, tongues darting like desperate flames, tracing every ridge, every pulse, tasting the salt and iron of his power. Their tears mingled on his skin, their breath hot and broken as they worked in frantic tandem, licking, sucking, worshipping.

Fina crouched beside Allen, her smile sharp enough to cut glass as she ran her nails down Lira's spine, making the elder arch and whimper around Allen's cock. "Pathetic little thing," Fina purred, leaning close to whisper in Lira's ear. "Look at you… from council leader to cock polish. Does it feel good? Being nothing?"

Lira sobbed around Allen's length, humiliation crashing through her in waves so violent they left her dizzy. But her thighs pressed tight, and Allen didn't miss it. He laughed—low, dark, cruel—and pulled free with a wet pop that made both women whimper at the sudden loss.

"Fina. Rinni," he said, his voice like a blade dragged across velvet. "Prepare them."

The sisters moved like shadows, pushing Lira and Elira onto their backs, chaining their ankles wide apart until they were splayed open, exposed, trembling on the cold stone. Their breaths came in ragged bursts, their bodies arching as Fina's fingers skimmed down their slick thighs, nails leaving faint red trails. Rinni fetched a new iron, its tip glowing white-hot, and held it up with a grin feral enough to make both women stiffen in terror.

Allen stood over them, his cock glistening, heavy and hard enough to cast its own shadow. "You want mercy?" he asked, voice rising just enough to slice through the silence. "It doesn't exist. Not here. Not for you."

He dropped to his knees between them, one hand closing around Lira's throat, the other gripping Elira's thigh so hard the flesh dimpled under his fingers. Then he shoved himself deep into Lira with one brutal thrust that ripped a scream from her lungs—a sound that echoed off the stone like music from the mouth of hell. Her chains rattled violently as her back arched, tears flying from her lashes as Allen drove into her like a man possessed, hips slamming against her with a rhythm that shook the chamber.

Elira sobbed beside her, straining against her bonds, her body jerking every time Allen's cock bottomed out inside Lira with a wet, obscene sound that filled the air like thunder. She begged—not for freedom, not for dignity, but for the same merciless ruin. "Please," she choked, voice raw. "Please, Allen, use me—"

"Oh, I will," Allen growled, pulling free from Lira with a violent snap that left her hole gaping and dripping. He didn't give her time to breathe before he slammed into Elira, splitting her open with the same ruthless hunger, fucking her so deep her cry broke into a moan halfway through. Her branded thigh burned against his hip, the angry mark pressed to his skin like a seal of ownership as he pounded her into the floor.

Fina knelt beside Lira, smearing her own slick across the elder's lips, making her lick it up like nectar. Rinni crouched near Elira's head, holding her jaw open and spitting into her mouth with a cruel laugh that made Allen's cock throb harder inside her. The chains rattled like bells tolling for the dead, the sound mingling with screams, sobs, and the relentless slap of flesh on flesh.

Allen switched between them without warning, dragging his cock from one hole to the other, making them taste each other on his skin, forcing them to choke down their own shame. He branded them with pain, marked them with his seed, shattered every remnant of pride until they were nothing but trembling altars worshipping the god of their ruin.

And when he was done, when the chamber stank of sex and iron and broken vows, Allen stood over them—two ruined priestesses of their own humiliation—while Fina and Rinni knelt at his sides like twin wolves, eyes blazing with hunger that promised this was only the beginning.

Allen looked down at his slaves, his voice calm now, soft as silk over steel. "You thought this was the end?" He smiled—a slow, merciless curve. "No. This is where it begins."