The world swam back in pieces. First the ache—a deep, bone-level throb that covered my entire body. Then the light, dim and yellow, flickering from a candle somewhere I couldn't see. Then the pain in my left eye, a hot, pulsing pressure. I tried to open it. Nothing. The lid wouldn't move. Swollen shut already.
Someone was touching my face. Gentle. Careful. A wet cloth dragged across my cheek, then dipped, then returned.
I blinked my right eye open. Nikki's face hovered above me, her black eyes red-rimmed, a fresh bruise blooming across her left cheekbone. Her jet-black hair was tangled, strands sticking to her forehead. She held a rag in one hand, a small bowl of water balanced on her knee.
"You're awake," she whispered. Her voice cracked.
I tried to move. Chains. Still chained to the wall ring. My wrists screamed as the metal bit into skin raw from weeks of struggle. But my mouth—the gag was gone. And my blindfold. I could see.
"How long?" I rasped. My throat felt like sandpaper.
"A few hours. Maybe less." She pressed the rag to my forehead. "You went down hard. I thought—" She stopped. Swallowed. "I thought you might not wake."
I turned my head, slow, everything grinding. The cell came into focus. Stone walls. Damp floor. The single candle on a crate near the stairs. And in the far corner, curled into a ball, her fine dress twisted and stained—Samantha.
She was sobbing. Quiet, broken sounds that barely carried. Her shoulders shook. Her hands were clamped over her stomach, fingers digging into the fabric. Her blonde curls hung limp and tangled around her face, hiding her expression. But I could see her mouth. Pale. Dry. Her lips moved, forming words I couldn't hear.
"She hasn't stopped," Nikki said, her voice barely above a whisper. "The retching stopped an hour ago. Now she just—cries."
Samantha's head lifted. Her saffire blue eyes found me, bloodshot, wild. Her face was gaunt, hollowed out, her skin the color of ash. She clutched something in her right hand, pressed so tight her knuckles were white.
The keys. She was holding the keys to my chains.
"Please," she breathed. The word came out broken, barely a sound. "Please, I need—"
She stopped. Swallowed. Her body convulsed, a dry heave that produced nothing. She pressed her hand to her mouth, rocked herself, and when she looked up again, her eyes were wet.
"I need it. I need you. Please, just—" She scrambled forward, crawling across the stone floor on her hands and knees, the keys clinking in her grip. She stopped at my feet, looking up at me like I was water and she was dying of thirst. "I'll give you anything. Freedom. Money. Food. Whatever you want. Just let me—"
Her hand reached for my crotch. I shifted my leg, blocking her.
"No."
She froze. Something flickered in her eyes—confusion, then desperation, then anger, hot and fast.
"No? You're in chains! I own you! I can keep you here forever, beat you until you break, and no one will ever—"
"Then why are you begging?"
The words came out flat. Tired. She blinked at me, mouth open, and I saw it—the crack in her composure. The desperation underneath the rage. She was starving. Her body was rejecting everything except what only I could give her.
Nikki's notes from Arelle's research floated back to me. The branding ritual. True submission, not a transaction. The addict had to break completely, had to surrender without conditions, had to mean it. Anything less and the brand wouldn't take.
"I'll give you Nikki," Samantha said, the words tumbling out fast. "She's yours. I'll sign her over, she's been with my family for two centuries but I'll sell her to you for nothing. I'll give you my full backing, my family's resources, a contract, a house, anything. Please, Zach, I can't—I can't eat, I can't keep anything down, I'm starving, I need—"
"No."
Her face twisted. "You ungrateful—I offered you everything!" She scrambled to her feet, swaying, her hand braced against the wall. "You're nothing! A half-orc null, summoned trash, and I offered you my fortune, and you spit on it?"
"You offered to trade. I don't need a trade."
Her lip curled. "What do you need, beast?"
I looked at her. Really looked. The shaking hands. The hollow cheeks. The way her body trembled, weak and desperate, held together by nothing but will and hunger. She was beautiful once—that was clear from the structure of her face, the curve of her hips. But hunger had stripped her. Reduced her.
"Quiet," I said.
She went silent. Her mouth closed. Her eyes widened, like she hadn't meant to obey but couldn't stop herself.
"Good." I shifted against the wall, the chains scraping stone. "Now listen. You don't get to trade. You don't get to bargain. You want what I have, you earn it. On your knees. Crawl. Beg. Kiss my balls."
Her face went pale. "I am a Suckling. I am the daughter of the wealthiest house in—"
"I said quiet."
She shut up. Her hands trembled at her sides, the keys still clenched in one fist. I saw the war in her eyes. Pride versus hunger. Everything she was versus everything she needed.
"I won't—" she started.
"Then starve."
She stared at me. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps. I watched the fight drain out of her, watched the wall behind her eyes crack and crumble. Her shoulders sagged. Her knees buckled.
She dropped to the floor.
The keys clattered against stone. She crawled forward, inch by inch, her head low, her hair dragging through the grime. She reached my feet. Her hands shook as she pressed them to my thighs, sliding up, and I felt her breath hot through the thin fabric of my trousers.
"Please," she whispered. "Please."
She pressed her lips to the fabric covering my balls. Once. Twice. A third time, longer, her whole body shaking.
Nothing happened.
I felt nothing. No pull. No pressure. The brand wasn't responding. Because she wasn't meaning it—she was going through the motions, begging with her mouth but not her soul.
"Again," I said. "Mean it."
She lifted her head. Tears streaked her face, cutting tracks through the grime. "I am—"
"You're still fighting. You're still proud. Break, Samantha. Break completely. Then kiss my balls and swear yourself to me."
She looked at me. And I saw it—the exact moment her heart broke. Her face crumpled. A sob tore out of her, raw and ugly, and she dropped forward, her forehead hitting my thigh, her whole body wracked with sobs.
"I can't," she choked. "I can't do this anymore, please, I need you, I need your seed, I can't live without it, I'm dying, I'm—"
Her hands found my trousers. She fumbled with the laces, her fingers clumsy, and when she pulled my cock free, she pressed her face against my balls, her lips parting, her tongue dragging across the skin.
"I swear," she gasped. "I swear myself to you. To your balls. I'll obey. I'll serve. Just please, please, give me what I need."
And I felt it.
A pressure building deep in my gut, sudden and overwhelming. My balls tightened, a desperate, urgent need to release. I looked down at Samantha, her mouth pressed to my sac, her eyes closed, her body trembling in surrender, and the words left my mouth without thought.
"Swear it again. Say my name."
"I swear myself to you, Zach," she sobbed. "I swear myself to your balls. I am yours. I will obey. I will serve. Please."
The pressure crested. I couldn't move, couldn't reach for her, couldn't do anything but watch. My chains clinked. My cock pulsed, a bead of pre-cum already pearling at the tip. Samantha saw it. Her eyes locked onto that glistening drop, and she lunged. Her mouth found me before the first spasm could finish, her tongue flat, her throat open, her hands scrambling up my thighs to brace herself. She jumped onto me as if my release was a lifeline, and she took me deep, swallowing around the first hot surge.
I came in her mouth. Hot. Flooding. She swallowed, her throat working, her hands clutching my thighs, and as my seed hit her stomach, her body convulsed. Her eyes rolled back. A moan tore from her throat, muffled around my cock, and I felt her climax against me, her hips grinding against the stone floor, her whole body shaking.
She came again. And again. Her cunt pulsed through her dress, her thighs slick, her orgasm rolling into the next, each one ripping a sound from her that was half sob, half scream. I kept cumming, emptying into her, and she kept swallowing, kept taking, kept begging for more.
When I finally pulled out, she collapsed. Her eyes were glazed, her mouth open, cum dribbling down her chin and pooling on the floor. A thin thread of it connected her lips to my cock. She tried to catch it, her tongue lashing out, but she was too far gone. Her whole body went limp, and she lay there, her dress soaked with her own release, her face smeared with cum, and I watched the brand form.
On her groin, just above the swell of her cunt through the wet fabric, a pink-red crest bloomed. A heart. Simple. Clean. It glowed once, faintly, then settled into her skin like it had always been there.
She was branded.
Samantha's eyes fluttered. Her mouth moved, forming a word I couldn't hear, and then she was still. Unconscious. Her hand, slack, revealed the keys she'd been clutching.
I looked at Nikki. She was staring at Samantha, her face unreadable, her hands still gripping the wet cloth.
"Let me down," I said.
She moved. Fumbled with the keys. Her hands shook as she found the lock, turned it, and the chains fell away. I caught myself against the wall, my legs weak, my arms aching from weeks of being stretched. She didn't let me fall. Her small body pressed against mine, her arms around my waist, her face buried in my chest.
I held her. Felt her shake. Felt the quiet sobs she was trying to hide.
"It's over," I said. "She won't hurt you anymore."
Nikki looked up. Her eyes were wet. Her bruised cheek pressed against my chest, and I saw the hunger in her gaze. The same need that drove Samantha. The same desperate, aching want.
"I'm hungry too," she whispered. "I tried not to be. I tried to resist. But every time I brought you water, every time I touched you, I could—" She swallowed. "I could smell you. I could taste you on the air. And I wanted to—"
Her hand pressed against my chest. Gentle. Asking.
"I know," I said. "I know."
I sank down the wall, my back against the damp stone. The floor was cold beneath me. But Nikki didn't settle between my legs. She pushed my knees apart, swung a leg over my hips, and lowered herself onto my lap. Her cunt was wet. Already open. She pressed the head of my cock against her and I felt her body tremble.
"What are you doing?" I asked. "You don't have to—"
She shook her head. Her hand wrapped around my shaft, guiding me to her entrance. "This feels right," she said. Her voice was thick. Her eyes were dark. "My stomach can wait, I need you inside me here. I just want this… all of you."
She sank down. Slow. Her walls gripped me, hot and tight, and I watched her face as she took me. Her lips parted. Her breath caught. She closed her eyes and let herself adjust, her hips rocking, her hands braced on my shoulders.
I held her waist. Let her set the pace. "Take your time," I said. "You know me."
She nodded. And then she started to move.
The pressure built. Deeper than with Samantha. Fuller. She drew it out. Stretched the moment. And when I finally came, I felt her tighten around me, her own climax following mine, her body shuddering against my chest.
I held her hand. Kept her steady. Waited until the tremors passed.
When she pulled back, I saw the brand. A faint gold ring around her left middle finger, delicate, like leaves woven together. I looked at my own hand, and there it was—a matching band of black, the same leaves, the same circle, marking us both.
But something caught. Samantha’s brand was a heart. Gold, delicate, pressed into the skin just above her cunt like it had been breathed there by something tender. I looked at Nikki and my own hand. We had matching rings, the same woven leaves. Why? What decided that? I turned my hand, watched the candlelight slide over the dark band.
I'd have to ask Arelle.
She looked at her hand. Then at mine. Then at me.
And I felt it—a hum, low in my skull, like a wire strung too tight. Her thought brushed mine before she could shape it into words. *That ring. The leaves. Why did we get that?*
My mouth opened. “Did you just…?”
Her eyes went wide. “Did you hear that?”
“Yeah.” I laughed, raw and startled. “You asked about the ring. I heard you ask, but you didn’t say it.”
She stared at her palm, then pressed it flat against my chest. I felt the heat of her skin, and beneath it, another thread of sound—*this is real, this is real, oh gods*—and I caught it, held it, let it settle in my bones.
“I can hear you,” I said, and my voice cracked. “When I focus. It’s like… like you’re talking from inside my own head.”
She laughed, wet and bright. “Zach. Zach, I can hear you too. You just thought *I’m going to kiss her* and I felt it—like a bell.”
I pulled her into me, our foreheads touching. The dungeon walls melted. The cold stone, the dying torch—none of it mattered. We sat there, breathing the same air, and I let myself listen.
And she smiled. Soft. Wiped out. And she laid her head on my thigh, her fingers still tangled with mine, and closed her eyes.
I leaned back against the cold stone. The candle flickered. The cell was quiet except for Samantha's soft, sleeping breaths and the distant sound of wind through the stone.
We sat for a long time in the quiet of the dungeon. The single torch had burned low, its flame a husk of orange fighting shadows. I leaned back against the wall, Nikki's head still on my thigh, her breathing slow and even. Her fingers were still tangled with mine, the gold ring on her finger catching the light when she shifted. I turned my hand, watched the black ring on my own. They matched. A promise I didn't fully understand.
After a while, Nikki stirred. She sat up slowly, her hand falling from mine, and she looked at me with tired eyes. "We should leave," she said. Her voice was hoarse, but steady. "Do you have anywhere to go?"
I thought about it. Kitty’s room at the guildhall. Arelle's tower. The tower was safer. Arelle would know what to do about the brands, about Samantha. "Arelle's tower," I said. "High Arcanist Vi. She can help."
Nikki nodded. She looked across the cell at Samantha. The noblewoman was still crouched in the corner, her beautiful gown ruined, her face a mess of tears and cum. Her eyes were glazed, staring at nothing. She was a wreck. Broken. But when I moved, she flinched, her eyes snapping to me with a desperate, hungry focus.
"Get up," I said. She scrambled to her feet. Unsteady. Her hands trembled. She didn't say a word, but she followed when I gestured, her eyes fixed on me like I was the only solid thing in a world that had turned to water.
Nikki helped me up. I was weak. Every muscle ached, and my ribs sent a spike of pain through me when I moved. But I could walk. Slowly. Nikki took my arm, and Samantha followed behind us like a ghost, her footsteps soft on the stone.
We found a small carriage in the Suckling estate's stable. Nikki handled the driver seat. We climbed in. Samantha sat across from me, her dress wet, her face slack. She stared at me the whole ride, her lips moving silently, as if rehearsing something she couldn't quite remember.
The carriage rattled through the streets. The city was quiet at this hour. Dark. The flicker of arcane lamps cast long shadows across the cobblestones. I watched the buildings pass, felt the cold air through the curtain, and tried not to think about how much I hurt. Or how close I'd come to breaking myself.
When we reached Arelle's tower, the light was on in the upper window. I knocked. The door swung open a moment later, and Arelle stood there, her silver hair disheveled, her violet eyes wide. She wore a simple robe, and her face was pale. She looked thinner. Hungrier.
"Zach," she breathed. Then she saw Samantha and Nikki behind me. Her expression shifted—shock, calculation, relief. "You're alive. We've been looking for you for weeks."
"I know," I said. "Can we come in?"
She stepped aside. We filed into the ground floor of her tower—the cluttered study with its shelves of books and strange glass instruments. Arelle closed the door and locked it, then turned to face me, her hands twisting in the fabric of her robe.
"Kitty's been staying here," she said. "She wouldn't leave. She's been healing at the market during the day, then coming back to wait. I sent a courier to her temple with a message that you're safe."
I nodded. I didn't have the energy to say much more. I sank into a chair, and Nikki sat on the arm, her hand on my shoulder. Samantha remained standing near the door, her eyes still locked on me, her lips still moving.
Arelle looked at her with narrowed eyes. "What happened to her?"
"She's branded," I said.
Arelle's eyebrows shot up. She crossed to Samantha, examined her without touching. "I can see it. The brand. It's—" She paused. "It's powerful. And you're both wearing rings." She looked at me, then at Nikki. "What's this?"
"I was going to ask you," I said. "I thought Nikki was branded too, but it's different. A heart on Samantha. A ring on us."
Arelle studied the golden ring on Nikki's finger. Then she looked at the black ring on mine. Her expression was thoughtful, analytical. "I've never seen this," she said. "But I think I understand." She turned to face me fully. "The brand is a complete claim. Full submission. The ring is different. It's a bond. A privilege."
Arelle looked over Samantha's brand, her eyes tracing the mark. "That would burn any man who entered her that wasn't Zach," she said. Her voice flat. Certain.
"And the privileged?" I asked.
Your privileged are woman that are favored, and carries a piece of what you are, but it doesn't swallow her. She holds on to her will. Her freedom. The brand demands surrender. The privilege invites a partnership." She glanced at Nikki. "You didn't break."
Nikki shook her head. "I know what that would be like. The euphoria. The way it would pull me under." She inhaled. The food Arelle's servant left on her desk was still warm. Rich. She crossed to it without hesitation, picked up a piece of meat, bit into it. "But I don't crave it. Not the way they say. I'm still myself.
Arelle's eyes narrowed. "There could be other gifts. Things the texts only suggested."
Nikki's lips parted. "I can sense him. Inside my mind. What he wants to say. A thrum. A knowing. Where he is. What he's feeling."
Arelle looked at the ring on my finger, then at Nikki's. "The rings are in harmony. They vibrate together. That's how the bond speaks.
Arelle nodded. "That aligns with what the texts said about the orc mate-bonds. Some females were branded. Others were privileged. The brand was for the unwilling. The privilege was for the chosen." Her gaze lingered on me.
I didn't know how to answer that. Samantha had been starved, hungry. And the way Nikki had been driven to climb onto me, even as that same hunger clawed at her. Or as willing as someone could be when they were starving for my seed in the first place. But the difference felt important.
Arelle stepped closer. Her voice dropped. "Zach, I need to ask you something."
I knew what she was going to say. I could see the hunger in her eyes—the same dilated pupils I'd seen in Samantha, the same desperate edge. "How long have you been without?" I asked.
"Days. I've been taking tiny doses. A few drops a day. Just enough to keep me alive." Her voice cracked. "I can't eat normal food anymore. I've been running on nothing."
"What about the cure?" I asked. "You said you were researching it."
She sighed. "The laws of magic won't allow a complete reversal. The addiction rewrites the body's needs. I can slow it. Mitigate the symptoms. But I can't undo what's already been done." She met my eyes. "I'm sorry, Zach. I tried."
I nodded slowly. I'd known the answer before she said it. Arelle was too honest to lie about something like this.
Samantha made a sound—a soft, strangled whimper. She was swaying on her feet, her hand pressed to her stomach. "Please," she whispered. "Please, I need…"
Arelle looked at her sharply. "How did she run out so quickly? If she's been taking careful doses, she should still have reserves."
I looked at Samantha. "How did you run out so fast?"
She flinched at my voice. Her eyes darted around the room, avoiding mine. "I… I tried to use it," she said. "Sell it. I thought… I thought I could make it work."
"Sell it?"
"To my mother. And Sofia." She swallowed. "I told them it was a new alchemical compound. A party drug. They used it all. They kept demanding more. They tore the house apart looking for it. My mother was furious when I ran out."
Arelle let out a long, slow breath. "That explains why the Suckling estate has been in chaos. I've heard rumors, but I didn't connect the dots."
I looked back at Arelle. "You need a dose now, don't you?"
She nodded, her cheeks flushing slightly. "If you can spare it."
I glanced down at my balls. They ached. Empty. I'd pumped out more cum in the last 2 hours than I had in weeks. But I could feel something stirring again. The Primal magic was already working, pushing me to replenish. "I can try," I said. "But I'm sore. It might take a while."
"I have a vial," Arelle said quickly. "I'll take whatever you can give."
Kitty arrived before we could begin. The door burst open, and she ran in, her red hair wild, her freckled face lit with panic. She saw me and froze. Then she sobbed, ran across the room, and threw her arms around me so hard I grunted.
"Zach," she said, her voice muffled against my chest. "I was so scared. I thought you were dead. I thought—" She pulled back, her eyes wet, scanning my face. "You look terrible."
"I've had worse weeks," I said.
She laughed through her tears. Then she noticed Nikki. And Samantha. She straightened, her hand still on my arm. "Who's this?"
"Nikki," I said. "She helped me escape. And Samantha…" I hesitated. "She's complicated."
Kitty studied Samantha's ruined dress, her glazed eyes, the way she kept staring at me. Her expression softened with understanding. "She's addicted too?"
"She's branded," Nikki said quietly. "Zach's claim on her is complete."
Arelle stepped forward. "I can explain more later, but right now, I need—" She gestured at the vial in her hand. "I need Zach's seed. I've been starving for days."
Kitty's eyes widened. "Oh. Right." She looked at me. "You're okay with that?"
I nodded. "I promised her. And she helped me. She deserves to survive."
"I can help," Kitty said quickly. "I can—" She stopped, looking at Nikki. "If you don't mind?"
Nikki shook her head. "You take care of him. I'll watch her." She gestured at Samantha, who had already folded herself into the corner, her knees drawn up, her head bowed. She looked small. Broken. The way prey will sometimes curl in on itself when it knows the hunt is over.
Kitty led me to the small cot in the corner of the room. I sat down, feeling every ache in my body. She knelt in front of me, her hands finding my leather pants. She was gentle. Reverent. She teased my half-hard cock out of the opening, her breath warm against my skin.
"I've missed you," she whispered. Then she leaned in.
She didn't rush. Her mouth was soft and patient, coaxing me to full hardness with slow, deliberate strokes of her tongue. I leaned back, my hand in her hair, and let myself feel it. The relief of being touched by someone who cared. The warmth of her mouth. The way she looked up at me, her green eyes soft, asking without words.
"I need to tell you what happened," I said, my voice rough.
She hummed in acknowledgment but didn't stop. So I talked. I told her about the Suckling estate. About Samantha's interrogation and the beatings. About the weeks of captivity, the daily sessions of her sucking me, Nikki's secret kindness. I told her about the branding—how Samantha had finally broken, how Nikki… how the rings had appeared.
Kitty listened as she worked, her tongue moving in slow circles, her fingers cradling my balls. When I told her about Nikki's part, she stopped, her mouth pulling away, her eyes glistening.
"She saved you," she said. "She's a good woman."
"She is." I looked across the room. Nikki was sitting on the floor next to Samantha, her hand on the older woman's shoulder. Speaking softly. Comforting her. "I don't know what I'd do without her."
Kitty nodded. Then she leaned back in, her mouth finding me again, her tongue coaxing me closer to the edge. I let the words flow. I told her about how scared I'd been. How I'd thought about her every night, wondering if she was safe. How I worried about her money situation, her healing at the market, her family.
Kitty's rhythm slowed at that. She pulled away, her mouth wet. "My family," she said. "They're gone. My town. Elmswood. It was destroyed by a demon army when I was young. Only I survived." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "That's why I left for the city. That's why I heal strangers. Because I couldn't save them."
I reached out and cupped her cheek. "You didn't fail them, Kitty. You were a child."
She pressed into my hand, her eyes closing. "I know. But I still feel it."
I pulled her up, and she climbed onto my lap, straddling me, her face against my shoulder. I held her. Felt her shake. Felt her tears soak through my shirt. "You're not alone," I said. "Not anymore."
Her fingers found my shaft again. She didn't try to take me in her mouth this time. She simply stroked me, slowly, her thumb tracing the head, her body pressed against mine. "I want to help you," she said. "I want to take care of you. And I want you to know that whatever happened down there, it doesn't change how I feel."
I kissed her forehead. "Thank you."
With Arelle watching my back from quietly across the room, and Nikki tending to the broken noblewoman, and Kitty in my arms, stroking me with gentle hands, I let myself feel the warmth building. It was slow. Tender. A different kind of release.
I came into the vial that Kitty held at my tip. A hot, thin stream that filled the glass. Kitty caught every drop, her hand steady, her eyes on mine. She smiled as I finished, a soft, private smile.
"There," she said. "That's enough to hold her for a day or two."
She sealed the vial and handed it to Arelle, who took it with trembling hands. "Thank you," Arelle whispered. "Thank you."
I sat back, exhausted, Kitty's warmth still pressed against me. Across the room, Samantha had fallen asleep on the floor, her head in Nikki's lap. Nikki stroked her hair, humming a soft elven lullaby.