The bond hums. Nikki’s voice slides through my skull, soft and clear — They’re in the east room. Stella is fighting. Samantha is holding.
I’m already moving through the servant passages she mapped for me earlier. Low ceilings. No windows. The air smells like mildew and old soap. My boots barely make sound on the stone. The estate is a maze of wealth and rot, and I’m walking through its bones.
What’s the fight about?
A pause. Then: Stella wants to know why Samantha would poison the family. She keeps saying ‘addictive and dangerous.’ She threatened disownment twice. Sofia is… doing something with the slaves.
What kind of something?
The kind that involves a male slave’s face and her cunt.
My lips thin. Let her. Keeps her distracted.
Of course.
The bond goes quiet. I keep walking.
My balls slosh with every step — full, heavy, aching. The pressure is constant, a dull throb at the base of my spine. Good. That’s the point. The plan needs me loaded.
I reach the door at the end of the hall. Plain wood. Iron handle. No guards. Nikki cleared the route like she promised. I pause, reach into my pocket, and pull out the small glass sphere Arelle gave me — the ward. I press it against the wood, murmur the activation word she taught me. The sphere glows violet for a second, then fades. The ward is set. Sofia’s Wind Affinity now suppressed.
I push the door open.
Inside, the room is modest for a Suckling estate — a long oak table, eight chairs, a cold fireplace. Candlelight. Heavy curtains drawn.
Samantha stands near the head of the table, her hands clasped in front of her, her face pale and drawn. She looks thinner than when I last saw her. The brand above her cunt is hidden by her dress, but I know it’s there. Burning. Marking her as mine.
Stella is on the other side. Late forties. Blond curls. Gigantic breasts straining against an elegant gown sapphires and deep cleavage. Reading glasses perched on her nose. Her saffire blue eyes are bloodshot, her skin clammy. Withdrawal. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days.
Sofia is sprawled in a chair at the far end, her small lithe body contorted at an angle that shouldn’t be comfortable. Two ponytails. Crazed eyes. Tight leather outfit that shows off nothing because there’s nothing to show — tiny tits, flat chest, all chaotic energy. Behind her, two slaves. A woman in a humiliating cow outfit — spotted fabric, udder bells, a muzzle. And a male. Naked. On his knees. Sofia has his head between her thighs, grinding her cunt against his mouth while she stares at the ceiling with a blissed-out expression.
They all turn when I enter.
Samantha’s eyes light up — relief, hunger, desperation — but she stays still. Waiting. Good girl.
Stella goes rigid. Her jaw tightens. Her hands grip the back of a chair.
Sofia doesn’t stop riding the slave’s face, but her crazed eyes lock onto me. A grin spreads across her lips. “Oh. Oh, he’s real.”
I don’t say anything. I walk to the chair at the head of the table and sit.
My musk fills the room. I feel it settle — the weight of it, the heat. The primal scent that has every woman in this world staring at me like I’m something they can’t name. Stella’s nostrils flare. Sofia’s hips stutter for a second before she grinds harder.
Samantha clears her throat. “This is the supplier I told you about.”
Stella’s voice is ice. “You mean the half-orc you let fuck you in my basement.”
“I mean the man I serve now.” Samantha’s chin lifts. “The man you will serve too, if you want to live.”
“I will not—”
“Sister. It’s been four days.” Samantha’s voice cracks. “You’re shaking. You can’t keep water down. You’re dying.”
“I’d rather die—”
“No, you wouldn’t.” Sofia’s voice cuts through, high and singsong. She hasn’t stopped grinding. The male slave’s face is slick with her fluids. His hands grip her thighs, trying to hold on. “You’re a selfish bitch, Mother. You’d rather live as a slave than die a corpse, and we all know it.”
Stella’s face goes red. “You insolent little—”
“Oh, shut up.” Sofia waves a hand. “You’re boring. And I’m hungry.” She looks at me, and her grin widens. “You’re the one with the white bliss, right? The stuff that makes you feel like the whole world is holding you?”
I don’t answer. I just watch.
She giggles. “I like him. He doesn’t talk too much.”
Stella turns back to Samantha. “You brought this into our home. You fed it to your sisters.
The room goes quiet. Sofia’s hips slow. Her breath hitches, and she shudders — a climax, silent but sharp, her small body tensing against the slave’s mouth. She holds it for a moment, then relaxes, sighing.
“Fuck, that was weak.” She shoves the male slave’s head away. He gasps, face drenched, gasping for air. “You’re useless. Can’t even make me come properly.” She looks at me again. “Bet you could, though.”
I don’t rise to it. Just hold her gaze.
She blinks. Then laughs. “Oh, you’re good.”
Samantha takes a breath. “The supplier is here. I’ve negotiated terms. Stella, Sofia — I need you to listen.”
Stella’s hands shake. She presses them flat against the table. “What terms?”
“He runs the family. We run the house. And we feed from him regularly.”
“Feed.” Stella’s voice cracks, a dry little thing. “What the hell does that mean, feed?”
Samantha doesn’t blink. “His cum. The white bliss. It’s his.”
Stella’s mouth opens. Closes. Her throat works like she’s swallowing glass.
Sofia snorts from the doorway. “So we’re junkies now. Just need to get down on our knees for a fix.”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely not.”
Sofia stands up, smoothing her leather outfit. Her legs are slick, glistening in the candlelight. She walks toward the table, hips swaying. The male slave stays on his knees, head down. The female cow stands frozen in the corner.
“Mother,” Sofia says, her voice sweet and cruel, “you’re shaking so hard I can hear your teeth. You look like shit. You’re going to die in the next few days if you don’t get his cum in your mouth. And you’re trying to negotiate?”
“Sofia, you’re not helping—”
“I’m not trying to help. I’m trying to get fed.” She stops at the table, opposite me, and leans forward, her palms flat on the wood. “I’ve had it many times. After Samantha came back that first time, I licked her mouth. Then I made her bring me more. And more. And I knew.” Her crazed eyes bore into mine. “I knew I’d do anything for that again.”
Stella looks at her daughter like she’s never seen her before.
Sofia smiles. “Don’t judge me, Mother. You’ll be sucking his cock by midnight. Might as well have some dignity about it.”
“I will not.”
“You will.”
“I will not debase myself for some half-orc’s seed.”
I speak for the first time. My voice is low, flat, carrying. “Then die.”
Stella’s head snaps toward me. Her eyes are wild, desperate, furious. “You think you can just walk into my home and take my family?”
“Already took one.” I nod at Samantha. “The others will follow.”
“You’re nothing. A null. A summoned brute with no magic and no future.”
I don’t flinch. “I don’t need magic to make you crawl.”
Her face goes white. She knows. She can smell it in the air, feel it in her bones — the same pull that made Samantha break, that makes Sofia grin like a madwoman, that makes every woman in this room unable to look away from me. The withdrawal is eating her alive. And she knows she’s losing.
Sofia straightens. “I’m bored of the arguing. Let’s do something fun.” She gestures at the cow slave. “You. Milk yourself into a cup. Tea. I want tea.”
The cow slave shuffles forward, bells jingling. She kneels, produces a small ceramic cup from somewhere, and starts squeezing milk from her engorged teats into it. The sound is thin and wet in the quiet room.
Stella watches, repulsed and transfixed. She finally speaks. “Sofia. Not the time.”
Sofia’s eyes snap to her, sharp and cold. “Oh, is it not? Did I miss the vote?” She flicks a hand at the cow slave. “Keep going. I want more.”
Samantha watches me. Waiting.
I lean back in the chair. Let the silence stretch. Let my musk settle deeper into their lungs.
The cow finishes. Sofia takes the cup, sniffs it, makes a face. “Ugh. Smells like her. I hate that.” She brings it to her lips anyway, takes a sip — and immediately spits it out. “Disgusting. You’re all disgusting.” She throws the cup against the wall. It shatters.
Stella Sighs.
Sofia turns to me, her grin back in place. “Alright. You’ve been sitting there all mysterious. Let’s hear it. What do you want?”
I look at her. Then at Stella. Then at Samantha.
“I want your family on its knees. I want your business run my way. I want the orphanage children you sold found and returned. And I now sleep in the master beadroom.”
Stella laughs. It’s a brittle, broken sound. “That’s everything. You want everything.”
“Yes.”
“And if I refuse?”
I hold her gaze. “You die. The investigation takes the rest. I walk away with Samantha and Sofia and whatever I can salvage from the ashes.”
Her hands are shaking. Her breath is ragged. The withdrawal is screaming in her blood — I can see it in the way her pupils are dilated, the way her lips are dry, the way she keeps swallowing like her throat is closing.
She’s going to break.
I just have to wait.
Sofia saunters around the table until she’s standing beside my chair. She looks down at me, head tilted, crazed eyes bright. “Can I ask you something?”
“Ask.”
“How long does the high last? From your cum?”
“A few hours. Longer if you swallow regularly.”
“And the addiction?”
“Permanent. No cure. No going back.”
Her grin widens. “Good.”
She drops to her knees in front of me. Just like that. No hesitation. No bargaining. She looks up at me with those crazy eyes, and she says, “I’m hungry, Master. Can I eat?”
Samantha makes a sound. Something between a gasp and a sob.
Stella goes rigid.
I look down at Sofia. Her fingers are already working my belt. Quick. Expert. Metal sliding free.
“I didn’t say you could touch me yet,” I say.
She points her index finger straight at me, thumb cocked toward the ceiling. “Bang.” She says it like a punch line. My chest seizes. Nothing. The ward stays solid.
“That usually works.” She’s staring at her own finger like a spent chamber.
She watches me. Then her hands stop. Hover. Her breath comes ragged, shallow. “Please. Please, Master. I’m starving. I’ll do anything. I’ll be so good. Just—”
“Beg properly.”
She doesn’t hesitate. Her forehead drops to my knee. Her voice comes out muffled, desperate. “I’m begging you. I need your cock in my mouth. I need your seed down my throat. I need it more than I’ve ever needed anything. Please. Please. Let me be yours.”
The room is silent except for her pleading and the soft jingle of the cow slave’s bells.
I look at Stella. She’s watching her daughter kneel before me, and something in her face is cracking — the pride, the defiance, crumbling like old stone.
The silence hangs in the room, broken only by Sofia's ragged breathing against my knee. Her fingers still hover at my belt, frozen mid-motion, waiting for my word. I look past her to Stella.
Stella's stomach roars. Loud. A deep, hollow sound that echoes off the paneled walls. Her face flushes crimson. She's been standing rigid this whole time, arms crossed beneath those massive breasts, watching her daughter grovel. But that sound — that animal hunger — cracks something.
"Enough." Her voice is sharp, but there's a tremor underneath. "Get off him."
Sofia doesn't move. She just tilts her head, one crazy eye visible as she looks up at her mother from her kneeling position. "Make me."
Stella moves faster than I expect. She crosses the space in three strides, grabs Sofia by the collar of her tight leather outfit, and yanks. Sofia yelps as she's torn away from me, stumbling backward, and Stella uses her weight — she's got a good fifty pounds on her daughter — to shove her to the floor.
Sofia lands hard on her back, but before she can scramble up, Stella drops. Knees pinning Sofia's arms. Her massive breasts hang forward as she leans over her daughter, trapping her.
"Get off me!" Sofia thrashes. Her legs kick, but she's small and her mother is solid. "You fat cow!"
Stella ignores the insult. She's breathing hard, eyes locked on my lap. On the bulge in my pants. Her tongue darts out, wetting dry lips.
"She wants it," Sofia hisses from the floor, wriggling uselessly. "She's as hungry as I am. Look at her. She's been holding it together by a thread and now the thread snapped."
Stella's face contorts. Her hand draws back and cracks across Sofia's cheek. The sound is sharp, wet. Sofia's head snaps to the side, but when she turns back, she's grinning — that same crazy, manic grin.
"Hit me harder next time. I liked it."
Stella shudders. Her attention is already back on me. On my pants. Her hands are shaking as she reaches for my belt. I let her. She works the buckle free, pulls the leather through the loops, and then she's tugging at my trousers, pulling them down my thighs.
My cock springs free. Half-hard. Hanging heavy in the lamplight. But more than that — my balls. They dangle low, full and swollen, swaying slightly as I shift in the chair. The slosh of them is audible in the quiet room.
Stella's breath catches. She stares at them. Then at my cock. Her tongue moves again, wetting her lips. She leans forward, mouth open.
I pull my hips back.
Her mouth stops, hovering a hand's width from my tip. She looks up at me, eyes wild, desperate.
"You must swear obedience first," I say. "Properly."
She hesitates. Her eyes flick to Samantha, who stands by the wall, arms crossed, watching with an unreadable expression.
"You must mean it," Samantha says quietly. "I didn't. Not at first. And it nearly killed me."
"You can't force him to release either." Nikki's voice comes from the corner, soft and measured. She's been standing there the whole time, hands clasped behind her back, the perfect dutiful maid. "The brand reads intent. If your heart isn't in it, you'll get nothing. And you'll hurt worse."
Stella's jaw tightens. She looks back at my balls, swaying inches from her face. Her tongue comes out again. A desperate, animal gesture.
From the floor, Sofia giggles. "Just say it, Mother. You know you want to. I already did. It's not so bad. 'Master.' Your mouth making that word is probably so fucking hot."
Stella's face cycles through emotions — rage, shame, hunger, pride — and then settles on something hollow.
"Master," she whispers. Just once. Soft enough that I almost miss it.
"Properly," I say. "On your knees."
Stella's eyes close. Then she shifts her weight, lifts one knee off Sofia's arm, and slides down. She doesn't go all the way to the floor — Sofia is still beneath her, trapped between her thighs. But she lowers herself until her face is level with my crotch, her knees on either side of Sofia's torso, her weight settling onto her daughter's stomach.
I can see Sofia's expression between her mother's thighs — wide-eyed, grinning, loving every second of this humiliation.
"I swear obedience," Stella says. Her voice cracks on the second word, but she forces the rest out clean. "I swear myself to you. I will serve your purposes. I will submit to your will. I mean it."
She means it. I can feel it — something in the air shifts, a pressure that wasn't there a moment before. The brand stirs. Warmth radiates from the chair, from the space between her legs where the mark will appear.
I nod.
She doesn't wait. Her mouth descends like a starving animal. She takes me in — not gentle, not careful. Desperate. Greedy. Her tongue wraps around the head, her cheeks hollow, and she sucks like she's been dying of thirst and I'm the only water in the world.
"Mmph." Her eyes roll back. A shudder runs through her whole body, starting at her shoulders and rippling down to her hips. She moans around my cock, and I feel the vibration travel straight through me, into my balls.
Her hips grind down. Unconsciously. Sofia makes a muffled sound of protest as her mother's cunt presses against her face through the thin fabric of Stella's dress.
"Mother— mmph — your crotch is on my face!"
Stella doesn't hear her. She's lost already. Her mouth works my shaft, bobbing, taking me deeper with each pass. Her tongue traces the vein on the underside. Her lips seal tight around the base. She moans again, and this time it's a full-throated sound, hungry and broken.
I feel the orgasm building. My balls draw up. My hips thrust involuntarily, pushing deeper into her throat. She gags but doesn't pull back — just swallows around me, her throat working, and that's it.
I come.
Hot and thick, flooding her mouth. Her eyes roll back again, her body convulsing, and I hear a wet sound from below — she's grinding on Sofia's face, her cunt soaked through the fabric, rubbing herself against her daughter's mouth like a bitch in heat.
"Get your— mmph — pussy off my face!" Sofia's voice is muffled, furious.
Stella doesn't stop. She keeps sucking, keeps swallowing, long after I've finished. Her hips keep moving. She's grinding against Sofia's trapped face, and Sofia's protests have become something else — a strangled sound, half outrage, half need.
I keep coming. It feels like it goes on forever. My body empties into her mouth, and she takes every drop, her tongue cleaning the base, the shaft, the tip. When I'm finally spent, she pulls off with a wet pop, a strand of saliva and cum trailing from her lips to my cock.
She's still grinding. Still whimpering. Her climax hits her like a wave — her back arches, her breasts heave, and a gush of liquid floods from between her thighs, soaking the front of her dress, dripping onto Sofia's face below.
It's not just arousal. It's her bladder releasing. A hot stream of piss soaks through her ruined dress, splashing onto her daughter's waiting mouth.
Sofia screams. "Mother! Fuck!"
But Stella is gone. Her body sags forward, her forehead pressing against my thigh, her breath coming in ragged, shuddering gasps. Her lips are still wet with my cum. Her eyes are closed. She's trembling.
Sofia thrashes beneath her, but Stella's weight is dead weight now. After a few seconds, Sofia stops fighting. She just lies there, drenched, giggling hysterically.
"That was so fucking hot," she says. "I hate you. But that was so fucking hot."
Stella stirs. She lifts her head slowly, looks at my cock — still wet, still semi-hard — and her tongue darts out to clean the last traces from her lips. Then she rolls off her daughter, collapsing onto the floor beside her, staring at the ceiling.
"I didn't think it would be that good," she whispers. "But it was. Maker's mercy, it was."
Sofia doesn't waste a second. She scrambles up, crawls over her mother's prone body, and stares at my cock with wide, reverent eyes. Her fingers hover over it — trembling, hesitant, like she's afraid it might disappear.
"He's still hard," she breathes. "Still hard. He's not out yet."
She wraps her fingers around my shaft. It's as wide as her arm, and she has to use both hands to circle it. But she's determined. She leans forward, opens her mouth wide, and takes me in.
I feel her throat stretch around the head. Her tongue pressing flat against the underside. She pushes deeper. I see her throat bulge — a visible lump sliding down her neck as she swallows me.
She looks up at me. Her eyes are bright, almost feverish. Proud. She holds my gaze as she sinks deeper, inch by inch, until her lips press against my pubic bone. My whole length is inside her. And she's hungry.
Then she rotates. Slowly. Arching her back, lifting her legs until she's dangling from my cock like a piece of meat on a spit. Her feet find the floor, and she pushes herself deeper. Her nose brushes my balls. She breathes in, eyes fluttering, and I watch her throat work as she swallows around me again.
Something is different. I feel it in my hips, in my groin. She's not just taking me — she's draining me. Her throat grips and releases in rhythmic pulses, milking me with her swallow. Her hand reaches down to cup my balls, pressing them against her face, her fingers stroking the heavy sack.
I come again. Hard. A second shot before the first has fully settled. The force of it makes my hips jerk, but she holds me in place, her toes still being used to keep herself pressed in. Her throat working like a fist.
I feel her belly swell against my skin. Warm. Rounding. A visible bulge pushing outward as my seed fills her stomach. She's drinking everything I have, taking it deeper, demanding more.
I come again. A third wave, weaker but still hot, still thick. My breath goes ragged. My hands find her ponytails, gripping them, trying to pull her off before she drowns in it.
She doesn't let go. Her throat tightens. Her fingers press my balls harder into her face. Her other hand wraps around my shaft, milking it, coaxing a fourth spur.
"Sofia—" My voice is hoarse. "Enough."
She doesn't hear. Or she doesn't care. She keeps sucking, keeps swallowing, her belly growing rounder and rounder beneath the tight leather until I can see the shape of it pressing against the waistband. Her eyes are half-lidded, dreamy, lost in the rhythm.
I try to pull her off. My hands lift her, but her grip is iron — her throat locked around me, her fingers wrapped around my shaft, her tongue still moving. The motion triggers another release. I come again, a fourth burst, and she swallows it all.
Her eyes roll back. Her body goes limp.
She's unconscious. But her throat still sucks. Her lips still seal around me, drawing out another weak pulse of cum before I finally manage to pry her mouth open with my fingers, peeling her off, my cock slipping free with a wet pop.
She falls backward, landing on the floor beside her mother, her belly huge and round like a pregnant woman's. Her face is slack, her lips parted, cum dribbling from the corner of her mouth. She's still breathing — shallow, steady breaths. Alive. Thank God. Or the Maker. One of them finally listened.
I slump back in the chair, gasping. My cock is raw, still twitching. My balls ache — empty for the first time in days. The room spins slightly. I close my eyes, count to ten, then open them.
Stella is curled on her side, unconscious, her lips still glistening. The hem of her dress is hiked up, and I see it — a heart-shaped brand, dark and fresh, pulsing with a soft glow just above her cunt. The same mark Samantha bears.
I look back at Sofia. Her leather top has ridden up, exposing the pale skin of her ballooned stomach. The brand should be there — somewhere on her body, activating as she surrendered.
I don't see a heart.
I lean forward, squinting in the dim light of the single lamp. There — on her crotch, just below the waistband of her tight leather leggings. Another Heart Brand. Black on purple. The edges seem to shift, reforming slowly, as if the brand itself is still settling.
"What in the—"
Nikki steps forward, her face pale. She kneels beside Sofia, touches the crest with trembling fingers. "It's not the mark of the beast," she whispers. "It's something else. Something I've never seen."
Samantha moves closer, peering over Nikki's shoulder. Her eyes widen. "That's not a brand of submission. That's a crest of ownership. But it's not any Suckling family crest."
"Then what is it?" I ask.
Nikki looks at me, her black eyes reflecting the lamplight. "It's hers. A crest of her own. A mark of belonging — not to you, but to herself. Bonded to you, but not enslaved."
I stare at Sofia. At her unconscious face, her swollen belly, her own crest glowing faintly.
The daughter of the woman who just surrendered. The woman who took my entire cock down her throat and passed out from the sheer pleasure of it.
Sofia branded herself. Barely a pause. I wonder.. what would've happened if the ward hadn't been there?
The lamp flickers. The room is silent except for the breathing of two unconscious women on the floor, the slight jingle of the cow slave's bells, and the soft creak of the estate settling around us.
I don't know what Sofia's crest means. But I have a feeling I'm about to find out.