NTR: Stealing wives in Another World

The heat in the council chamber hadn't faded—it had evolved. From shock to awe, from discomfort to fixation. No one spoke. No one interrupted. Not even the elders, whose authority now hung in the air like stale incense—once potent, now powerless.

Allen didn't need to raise his voice. He merely stood.

The soft squelch of flesh and movement echoed as the turtle elder and Kari remained kneeling, their oiled bodies glistening in the flickering torchlight. The other maids—Calla, Mira, Brin, Niva, and Tessa—formed a crescent behind him, heads bowed, bodies open, breathing shallow.

Allen walked forward slowly, letting his fingers drag along the elder's bare shoulder. She didn't flinch. She tilted her head to the side, exposing more of her neck, the gesture ancient—an offering from prey to predator. But there was no fear in her eyes. Only reverence.

"I am no priest," Allen said, his voice low but sharp, "but I understand rituals. And I don't believe in hollow ones."

He turned slightly, his gaze sweeping across the watching elders.

"You demanded obedience through fear. I demanded surrender through choice. And now... even your guests kneel to me."

He let that truth hang before focusing on Kari.

She trembled, but she did not look away.

Allen crouched before her and lifted her chin with one finger. "You could've backed out. You didn't. Why?"

Kari swallowed. "Because I… I wanted to be purified. Not for you. For me. I hated hiding what I liked. I hated acting like I wasn't curious… filthy…"

Allen didn't interrupt.

"…and you made it okay," she finished, eyes wide. "To want. To beg. Even to be ruined."

"Then show them," he said. "Show them what faith looks like when it's chosen."

Kari sat back, legs parted, arms raised in offering. Her shell shifted slightly behind her, accenting the sensual arch of her back. She was a picture of divine surrender—not ashamed, not afraid. Just ready.

The chamber had never felt more silent.

The elder moved beside her, mirroring the posture, her movements slower, heavier with meaning. "We accept the rite," she said aloud, voice echoing. "We abandon resistance. We offer our bodies to the reformer. In return, we ask only that he never lie to us."

Allen stepped into the sacred circle they'd made with their bodies.

He said nothing at first. He let the weight of the moment bloom.

Then, finally, he replied: "Truth is the only gift I give freely."

He took the elder's hand and brought it to his chest.

"I will break you only if you ask to be broken."

He took Kari's chin.

"I will defile you only if you crave to be defiled."

And both of them—without hesitation—nodded.

Allen turned to the council, arms outstretched, shirt undone, sweat at his brow. "You wanted to understand what makes me different? This. Right here. Not strength. Not skill. Consent. Filthy, honest, sacred consent. And once it's given, I take everything."

No one challenged him.

No one moved.

Jass opened his mouth, but Lira placed a hand on his wrist and shook her head slowly.

Allen stepped back and pointed toward the center of the room. "Prepare the floor. Pillows. Oils. Let everyone see. I want no curtains between power and witness."

Fina was already ahead of him, snapping her fingers. Rinni laughed as she sprinted past Kael, dragging silk cushions from the side cabinets. Niva and Mira began spreading scented oils along the stone floor, while Tessa and Brin adjusted the lanterns for softer, moodier light.

It was a play, a ceremony, a transformation.

By the time the floor was ready, the council chamber no longer resembled a place of law. It was a sanctuary.

Allen guided the elder down first, placing her at the center. Kari followed, trembling but smiling, a flicker of unspoken hunger in her eyes.

Allen removed his boots and shirt, slowly, like an unveiling.

He didn't need to shout or posture. His presence alone carried the weight of command.

The chamber watched—dozens of eyes, silent and unblinking—as he knelt between the two turtlefolk women, their legs parted like flower petals to the sun. He didn't touch yet. He just watched them breathe.

"Tell me what you are," he murmured.

"I am yours," the elder whispered, tears in her eyes. "Not as property, but as believer."

"And you?" he asked Kari.

"I'm ready," she said, biting her lip. "To be used. To be changed. To never be clean again."

Allen smiled, then leaned in, kissing the elder softly first—slow and deep. Then Kari, whose body jolted with surprise but melted into him with heat and desperation.

And then, at last, he lowered them both. The oil was warm beneath them. The scent of incense and sweat mingled. And as his body met theirs, the room fell into a kind of reverent silence—not voyeurism, but worship.

He didn't rush. He took his time with both—his movements slow, focused, exploring their every shiver and moan. Every sound they made became a verse. Every gasp, a prayer. Every tremble, a declaration of belief.

Allen wasn't just fucking them.

He was initiating them.

They came undone beneath him, again and again, their voices raw, bodies coated in sweat and oil and something deeper—something that would never quite wash off.

And when he finally finished, when the sounds died down and his chest rose and fell with ragged breath, Allen stood slowly and faced the council.

Kari and the elder remained on the floor, dazed, blissed-out, glowing.

Allen didn't need to say anything more.

Because by then, everyone in that chamber—council, guests, allies and enemies alike—knew:

Something unstoppable had just been born.

Not a rebellion.

Not a cult.

A reign.

The scent of oil, sweat, and sex still clung to the air like a heavy fog. The silence wasn't awkward—it was thick with awe. Kari and the turtle elder lay slumped on the silk-strewn floor, their bodies marked by Allen's heat, limbs tangled in loose satisfaction. No one dared speak first. Even the crackling torches along the chamber walls seemed to have dimmed out of reverence.

Allen stood over them, shirtless, chest glistening. His expression wasn't smug—it was calm, composed, like a storm that knew it had already passed and left nothing but wreckage behind. Slowly, methodically, he reached down and helped both Kari and the elder to their knees, steadying them like a high priest handling sacred icons. Kari clung to his wrist, lips parted, dazed. The elder looked older again—but not because the magic had faded. She looked like someone who had finally exhaled centuries of control.

Fina and Rinni flanked him now, not as silent consorts but as trusted pillars. Fina was all sharp elegance, her eyes flicking from council member to council member, watching for tremors of weakness. Rinni, on the other hand, was grinning—bright, smug, almost bouncing on the balls of her feet. She was loving this, feeding off it like it was a feast.

Allen turned, and when he spoke, it was not loud—but no one missed a word. "They weren't the only ones watching. They weren't the only ones needing to be seen."

He extended his hand, palm up.

"Elira."

The ex-maid stepped forward hesitantly, still marked in the ink she'd scrawled across her own body days ago. I'm a traitorous whore curved around her ribs. Property slithered up her thigh. Her lips parted, and her knees buckled slightly, but she came forward anyway, the quiet of the room pressing in around her like invisible hands.

Allen didn't shame her.

He simply nodded, gently turning her until she stood between Kari and the elder. Elira lowered her head in submission, but her breath was sharp, anticipatory. He didn't even need to command. She dropped to her hands and knees, her inked body displayed like a living sigil, humiliation worn as armor now.

"She betrayed her house," Allen said, fingers sliding across her spine. "And then begged to be remade."

Elira shivered visibly.

"She's not broken. She's not forgiven. She's still becoming. But she's mine."

He moved behind her, not touching her intimately yet—just trailing a finger down the middle of her back. She let out a soft, choked sound, her thighs twitching as she fought not to collapse further.

"And what she becomes next," Allen continued, "isn't up to her."

He snapped his fingers once.

Calla stepped forward first—freckled cheeks flushed, eyes wide, but determined. Mira followed, her hips swaying with deliberate rhythm, black hair swinging over one shoulder. Then Niva, red-haired and glassy-eyed, and Brin, short-haired and silent, knelt behind Elira. Not as replacements. As witnesses. As future offerings.

Allen didn't take them, not yet.

Instead, he gestured to the council.

"You've hidden behind rules. Behind rituals. Behind outdated chains of power. But what I've shown you today is not rebellion. It's clarity."

He gestured toward Elira. "She was your enemy."

He nodded to Kari. "She was your devout."

He touched the elder's shoulder. "And she was your symbol."

Now all of them were kneeling.

All of them were his.

Allen walked forward, up the stairs of the chamber where the elders sat. His bare chest still glistened, his presence shadowless and solid.

"You still sit higher than me. But tell me—do you feel higher?"

Yoru shifted first. The oldest of them all, and yet the one who looked most shaken. His mouth opened, then closed. He tried to meet Allen's gaze, failed, and settled for staring at the floor.

Lira finally stood. Not with defiance, but with weary grace. "You've… made your point."

Allen raised an eyebrow. "Which one?"

Lira's jaw tightened. "That you can command loyalty through pleasure as easily as others do with chains."

Allen walked toward her, slowly, not stopping until they were face to face. "You call it pleasure. I call it truth. And unlike chains, truth doesn't rust."

Lira stared at him for a long moment before finally lowering her gaze. "What happens next?"

Allen didn't smirk. Didn't gloat. He simply turned around and gestured to the kneeling women behind him. "We keep going. They learn. They obey. They choose. And every time they choose me, I get stronger."

Then, as if to punctuate it, he snapped his fingers again—and all five of the maids behind him straightened, lifted their heads, and said in eerie unison:

"I am his."

The echo of it was almost chilling.

Allen turned back to the council. "I'll let you keep your chairs. For now. But don't mistake still sitting for still ruling."

And with that, he walked back down, returning to the warmth of the chamber floor, where soft breaths still rose from naked, oiled bodies and the scent of submission clung to every surface.

As he lowered himself back between them, Elira lifted her head and whispered, "May I beg again?"

Allen smirked then. Just a little. "You never stopped."