From Slave to Supreme: The Forbidden Ascension

"Melinda greets the Matriarch!"

Melinda dropped to one knee, placing a firm fist over her heart and bowing her head low in the traditional Orcish salute. 

Her position was one of strength even in submission—proud yet reverent—before the figure sitting upon a throne forged from the bones and fangs of beasts most would only hear of in nightmares.

The room fell silent until a voice, soft as silk and honeyed with subtle authority, broke the air.

"Rise, Melinda," the Matriarch said, her tone as delicate as it was commanding. "And tell me why you've requested my audience today."

Melinda felt that voice in her bones. Every time she heard it, it struck her—not with fear, but with something deeper. Admiration. Devotion. A longing to be acknowledged.

Even so, she obeyed. Rising smoothly, she stood tall and looked straight ahead at the woman who ruled over their tribe.

"Matriarch," she began respectfully, her voice steady but proud, "I've returned from our expedition with a find I believe will interest you greatly."

She gestured to the massive wooden doors of the hall.

At her signal, a female attendant standing by the threshold nodded and swung open the heavy gate.

Moments later, the two orc males entered, carrying between them the iron-barred cage that still held Virelle.

Despite the awe and tension of the hall, the cage barely rattled as it was placed gently on the stone floor—an eerie contrast to the raw power of the orcs who bore it.

Melinda took a step forward and declared:

"Matriarch, I present to you an unowned human breeder we discovered in the wilds—one with untapped potential."

The Matriarch's eyes narrowed as she studied the cage—and the woman inside it.

"I see," she said slowly, voice like velvet laced with iron. "You've done well, Melinda. You and your team will be rewarded with a full month's rations. And as for you… I grant you the first right to breed with the human breeder you've captured."

Melinda's eyes lit up, her expression one of gratitude and barely restrained anticipation.

"Thank you for your generous gift, my Matriarch," she said, bowing deeply.

The Matriarch's gaze then shifted toward the two male orcs still standing beside the cage.

"You two are dismissed. Your rewards have already been distributed to your captain."

Without a word, the orcs nodded and turned, their heavy footfalls hurrying away as though afraid to linger another second in the Matriarch's presence. The great wooden doors boomed shut behind them.

Now, it was just the Matriarch, her captains, Melinda… and Virelle.

The Matriarch's voice grew lower, sultrier—yet no less commanding.

"Melinda. Bring her to me. I'd like to… inspect her myself."

Melinda gave a crisp nod. "As you wish, Matriarch."

She stepped forward, her powerful frame casting a long shadow across the cage. Without hesitation, she reached for the heavy iron lock and extended her palm toward it. 

Virelle watched closely, eyes narrowing with curiosity as Melinda began to chant—her voice uttering strange, twisting syllables that didn't quite sound like any language Virelle had ever heard. 

They weren't just words. They were commands—a resonance that stirred the very air.

A glowing pattern formed in her palm. Not a perfect circle, but a sharp-edged ring of runes spinning like the teeth of a circular blade.

"{Air Blade}."

As the final syllable slipped from Melinda's lips, the air around her palm shimmered.

Then—slash.

A sharp gust of air sliced clean through the iron lock. Virelle barely registered the attack before she heard the clink of metal falling in two pieces.

The cage door creaked open with Melinda's firm pull.

After all this time—after the pain, the capture, the endless jostling down the muddy roads like some prize animal—the door to her prison finally opened.

Melinda stepped back and looked at her.

"Come out, Virelle. The Matriarch wishes to see you."

Her voice was calm. Assured. Familiar, even.

Virelle hesitated, her heart beating fast, but not from fear. No, something else—something darker, deeper—was stirring now.

She rose, ducking beneath the low ceiling of the cage, and stepped out onto solid ground. Then she straightened fully, rolled her shoulders, and took a deep breath.

She was free.

At least… from the cage.

But... that didn't last long as she heard.

"You… Virelle? Is that your name? Come before me."

The voice was calm, but layered with authority. Virelle flinched slightly and turned toward the throne.

She took a breath—then walked forward, one careful step at a time, her eyes lowered. Her bare feet padded across the cold ground until she stood before the raised platform of bone and fang.

"I… Virelle greets, your majesty," she said awkwardly, dipping into a bow that was stiff and unpolished.

The Matriarch chuckled softly, amused rather than offended. "I'm no queen or king, child. No need for 'your majesty.' Just 'Matriarch' is fine." Her voice was smooth, melodic—yet carried the weight of command behind each syllable.

"Virelle," she repeated, tasting the name on her tongue. "A beautiful name… especially for a human."

She rose from her throne with the grace of a seasoned warrior and slowly descended the steps—each motion measured, deliberate.

"Thank you… for the praise, Matriarch," Virelle replied hesitantly.

The towering Orc woman stopped before her, eyes glinting with curiosity—and something else. "It is praise," she said lightly. "You're the one who will help ensure my tribe's strength… our future, after all."

Standing this close, Virelle finally took in the Matriarch's presence. She wasn't just tall—she loomed. Broader than Melinda, even taller, yet her body carried elegance and authority in equal measure. 

Where Melinda was muscular and taut, this woman was regal, like a seasoned empress carved from green marble.

Virelle barely reached her lower chest. And those massive orbs, barely bound by thin cloth, hovered just inches from her face. She swallowed.

"You're quite tall for a human, aren't you?" the Matriarch said with a faint smile.

Virelle didn't know how to respond to that. In the past, old Virelle had always stood out—an intimidating height of six and a half feet, too tall to fit in. 

Villagers muttered that she was unnatural. A freak. A cursed thing. It was one of the reasons Villagers hate her, including her being a Futa. 

But now?

Now she felt small.

Then, without warning, the Matriarch placed her hands on Virelle's shoulders. Warm. Strong. Commanding.

"Sit. Right here." Her voice was soft, but absolute.

Virelle didn't resist. She couldn't. With a controlled but irresistible force, the Matriarch pressed her down—guiding her to sit on the lowest stair of the throne platform.

Virelle sat on the stair—or more accurately, slumped against it—as the weight of everything finally began to settle. She looked up, breath catching as she took in the Matriarch's face fully for the first time.

Yes, she was an orc. But barely.

The tusks were there, sure—small, sharp protrusions just barely peeking from the corners of her lips. But the rest of her? Stunning.

Her skin was a smooth, deep shade of green, like jade warmed by the sun. Her features sharp yet graceful. And those eyes… golden, glowing softly like twin stars in a night sky.

Virelle had never seen anything—or anyone—like her.

Then, without a care for the others present in the throne hall, the Matriarch stepped forward. She lowered herself slowly, deliberately, until her knees were planted on either side of Virelle's legs. 

She loomed above her, the light of the bone chandeliers casting shadows across her sculpted form.

"You are… truly beautiful, Virelle," she whispered, her voice a low, honeyed hum.

She cupped Virelle's chin—fingers warm, commanding—and before Virelle could even think to respond, their lips met.

Soft. Full. Demanding.

Virelle's eyes widened. The kiss came without warning, but not without intention. The Matriarch pressed into her, and though her frame was larger, stronger, she moved with a slow, sensual confidence that stole the breath from Virelle's lungs.

She should have pushed back. She should have protested. But she didn't.

She parted her lips instead.

The Matriarch's tongue slipped in—a slow, serpentine invasion—and Virelle welcomed it, their tongues meeting and curling in a wet, heated dance.

"Mmmn~…"

"Ah… ngh~…"

Breathy moans slipped from their mouths, muffled and shared between kisses. Saliva trickled from the corners of their lips, glistening as it caught the light.

Virelle's arms rose instinctively, wrapping around the Matriarch's head. She clung to her like a lifeline.

The Matriarch responded by wrapping an arm around Virelle's waist—lifting her slightly with ease—and leaned deeper into the kiss, tongue plunging further as if trying to taste her soul.

The throne room faded.

The stares, the weight of fear, the chains of her past—all vanished under the heat of that kiss.