From Slave to Supreme: The Forbidden Ascension

"Ang~"

"Mmhh~"

Wet, heated moans echoed through the throne hall as the kiss dragged on—intimate, invasive, and endlessly deep. The Matriarch and Virelle were locked together in a tangle of lips and tongues, oblivious to all else.

At the side, Melinda watched—silently. Her breath had quickened. Her eyes were dark, locked onto the sight of her beautiful Matriarch kissing the woman? she had brought in. A fire stirred low in her belly.

She clenched her thighs as a wave of heat rolled through her groin.

'That tongue… that mouth… I'm going to taste every inch of her.'

Her thoughts grew darker. Hungrier. Her fingers twitched.

Finally, the Matriarch began to pull away.

A single, glistening strand of saliva stretched between their parted lips, trembling in the air before snapping. She lifted her head slightly, her lips still wet, and wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb.

"Mmm," she hummed, voice dripping with sultry satisfaction. "She tastes wonderful."

Then she turned, golden eyes sweeping across the hall before settling on Melinda.

"You may take her," she said casually, as if offering a fine dessert. "Once you've gotten yourself pregnant—send her back to me. I want another taste."

Melinda immediately knelt with her fist over her heart. "Yes, Matriarch. I understand."

The Matriarch gave a pleased nod before her gaze returned to Virelle, still sprawled slightly on the steps, dazed.

"Until next time, Virelle."

The human futa only managed a small nod, lips slightly parted, chest rising and falling. Her mind was still reeling. That kiss—her first—had not only stolen her breath but something deeper, something instinctual.

Forced? Maybe. But it had awoken something… powerful.

Addictive.

The Matriarch chuckled lightly at her expression, clearly amused. Without waiting for a reply, she turned toward the great wooden doors and raised a hand.

"This meeting is dismissed," she said coolly. "Return to your duties."

The captains moved in unison, rising and falling in behind her like loyal shadows. The hall's doors creaked open, letting in a wash of light before closing again behind them.

Silence followed.

Only three remained: Virelle, still catching her breath… Melinda, still burning… and a quiet orc stationed near the door, unmoving and unreadable.

Melinda stepped forward, her heavy footsteps echoing through the now-empty throne hall. The residual heat in her body had dimmed, just enough for her to think clearly again—but her eyes still gleamed with hunger.

She walked up to where Virelle lay half-slumped on the throne's stairs, her body still limp, her breath shallow. 

Her lips were slightly parted—still wet from the Matriarch's kiss—and her gaze was glazed, as though trying to replay the moment over and over again.

But that spell was quickly broken.

"Alright," Melinda said firmly. "Let's go. The Matriarch's dismissed us, and we shouldn't linger here too long."

Her voice snapped Virelle back to reality. She blinked, as if startled, and turned toward the towering orc woman. She nodded slowly and moved to get up.

But her knees buckled the moment she tried to stand.

"Ack—!"

She barely managed to catch herself before she fell, one hand bracing against the edge of the stairs. Her legs felt like jelly. Like all the strength had been stolen from them during that intense kiss.

Blood slowly rushed back into her limbs, and after a few moments of deep breathing, she finally pushed herself upright—still a little unsteady.

Melinda watched her silently, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. But she said nothing. Instead, she simply extended her hand.

"Come," she said, her tone softer now.

Virelle hesitated only a moment before taking it.

Melinda's fingers curled gently around hers—not with force, but with purpose—and began leading her away. Their joined hands swung slightly as they walked, the tension between them still thick, still unsaid.

Behind them, the large orc woman stationed at the throne hall's entrance moved. She pulled the heavy wooden doors closed with a deep, creaking groan. 

Once sealed, she stepped to the side and resumed her post, standing tall and silent like a statue carved from muscle and discipline.

And just like that, the throne hall was behind them.

Melinda led Virelle swiftly through the massive wooden gates of the so-called palace.

Though the orcs called it a palace, it was really just a towering structure of thick logs and heavy beams—intimidating in size but built more for strength than luxury. 

No marble, no gold—just raw wood, bone, and function. And yet... it held presence.

The Iron Wolf Village—if one could still call it that—was far more than a village. It sprawled across the land like a small city, complete with crude roads and infrastructure. 

There were markets, armor stalls, smithies, even what looked like tailoring shops—though orcish fashion leaned toward practicality over beauty. Pelts, bones, and iron made up most of the wardrobe.

As they walked, Virelle's eyes swept the area, noting something very clear: there were no male orcs on guard duty. Not around the palace. Not at checkpoints. Only women stood with spears and swords, silent and stern.

It made sense.

The males, despite their brute strength, were simple-minded. More toddler than warrior. Loyal, eager... but far too impulsive. Give them a spear, and they'd be more likely to poke a hole in the wall than protect it.

As she took in the new world around her, Virelle's nerves began to settle. Her thoughts started to sharpen, heart slowing down—until a very specific memory surged back into her mind:

The Matriarch.

Her lips.

Her tongue.

A shiver ran down her spine. And worse—heat pooled between her legs. Her groin stirred, rising with instinctive excitement.

Not here. Not now.

She gritted her teeth and tried to will it away, just as Melinda stopped in front of a building that looked... surprisingly ordinary.

'An inn?'

Virelle blinked. "This is where I'll be staying?"

Melinda didn't answer. She walked up to the counter and slapped down a silver coin.

"One night. A private room," she said.

The receptionist—a lean orc woman with a nose ring and bored expression—nodded and handed her back nine large copper coins.

Virelle narrowed her eyes.

'So, silver and copper… a metal-based currency system?'

She made a mental note. She'd need to figure out the economy of this world soon.

The receptionist stepped out and beckoned politely. "Please follow me."

Virelle walked behind Melinda in silence as they ascended the creaky wooden stairs. But as they moved toward the upper floor, something else caught her attention.

"Ahhh~!"

"Mmph… Yes! Yes—!"

"Harder~!"

The walls pulsed with moans. Rhythmic. Guttural. Shameless. They echoed down the corridor, one room after another, like a choir of heat and pleasure.

Virelle froze.

'What the hell kind of inn is this...?'

She looked around with wide eyes.

Melinda said nothing—but she did keep holding Virelle's hand, firm and steady, guiding her past the sounds of passion like it was just another hallway.

The implication was clear.

This wasn't just an inn. It was a sex lodge.

Virelle swallowed hard.

'So she really can't wait...'

She stared at the orc woman's back, the tight muscles beneath her beast-hide top, the slow, deliberate sway of her hips, and her heart began to race again—but for a very different reason.

A key turned.

Click.

The receptionist opened the wooden door to one of the rooms.

Melinda gave Virelle a small glance over her shoulder—eyes dark with promise.

Virelle's breath caught in her throat.

'So this is happening.'