NTR: Stealing wives in Another World

The heavy doors sealed shut with a final boom that echoed across the chamber like a divine punctuation mark, casting the room into warm flickering silence. Outside, the gossip would spread like wildfire, carrying tales of inked skin and kneeling nobles. But inside? Inside was a different world now. One Allen had forged with sweat, sex, and defiance.

Lira remained where she knelt, eyes locked on Allen's back as he slowly stepped away from the dais, the five maids falling in around him like silk-clad shadows. His steps were slow, deliberate, and every footfall felt like a hammer nailing a new law into the bones of the temple.

Behind him, Fina and Rinni exchanged glances, that smug, knowing kind. They didn't need words. They didn't need permission. Rinni was already padding barefoot over to the velvet bench where the ink tools lay, plucking one between her fingers and twirling it like a wand. Fina followed suit, gliding to Allen's side, slipping her fingers into his.

The ink hadn't just marked the girls. It had marked the world.

Allen gestured toward the center of the dais. "Bring the altar."

A few stunned servants blinked, unsure.

Elira didn't wait. She moved without hesitation, snatching one of the nearby ceremonial tables used for incense and dragging it forward. Her muscles tensed, thighs shaking slightly from the weight, but she didn't stop until it was placed exactly in front of Allen.

He touched her head gently as thanks. She flushed, cheeks pink and proud.

The altar wasn't for blood. Not anymore.

Allen turned to Mira first. Her dark hair framed her flushed face perfectly, and she stepped forward with a reverent little nod. He guided her onto the altar, laying her back gently, not like she was being sacrificed—but like she was being offered. Legs spread, arms outstretched, chest rising and falling as she looked up at him with glassy devotion.

"Use her," Fina whispered beside him, fingers trailing across his abdomen. "Let them all watch."

Allen didn't hesitate. He undid his belt slowly, the sound of leather sliding through the loops a hush all its own. Mira whimpered softly when she saw the length of him, her hands instinctively gripping the sides of the altar as her thighs twitched.

He slid in with one long, smooth thrust, and the wet smack of it echoed like a beat. Mira arched, gasping, and Allen groaned—deep, low, not from the act, but from the weight of everything behind it. All the resistance, all the walls that had crumbled to get here.

Around them, the others watched with open hunger.

Calla sat cross-legged, hands between her thighs, biting her knuckle. Brin was flushed and silent, but her gaze never wavered. Tessa had tears in her eyes—not from pain, but from being chosen.

Allen didn't move like a brute. He moved like a king claiming his throne—slow, heavy strokes that made Mira pant and shiver. Her legs wrapped around him, her heels digging into the small of his back as he plunged in again, again, the slap of skin on skin getting louder, messier.

"Look at her," Allen said over his shoulder. "This is what obedience should feel like."

Rinni moved to Calla, pulled her into her lap and whispered filth into her ear while teasing her with deft fingers. Fina, not to be outdone, knelt behind Brin and undid the girl's bindings herself, but only to position her better—spreading her on all fours and dragging her tongue teasingly across Brin's lower back.

Allen's hips slapped harder now. Mira's cries were turning into pleas.

"C-cum in me. P-please. Fill me again."

He grunted, kissed her collarbone, and thrust deep until his hips pressed flush to hers. Mira spasmed beneath him, hands clutching his arms like she might float away. He held himself inside her for a few more moments, breathing against her throat, then slowly pulled free with a messy, sticky drag that left her fluttering and dripping across the stone.

"Next," he said without looking.

Calla nearly fell over scrambling off Rinni's lap. The freckled girl bent over the altar before he even reached her, her small hands bracing herself, her ass up and waiting.

He gripped her hips, fingers digging into the soft curves, and guided himself in. She sobbed instantly, overwhelmed, and he waited until her voice steadied before starting the rhythm again—slower now, dragging every inch out and back in to let the others hear it.

Schlp—schlp—schlp.

Brin, still bent on all fours, turned her face and watched. Fina was whispering in her ear again, something about how it would be her turn soon. About how the altar would remember her shape.

Calla's cries rose to whimpers. Allen picked up speed, gripping her tighter, each thrust slapping with wet, unashamed heat. Her freckles seemed to bloom darker across her spine, and when she came, she didn't even scream—she sighed, like she'd been holding her breath for a decade.

Allen didn't cum inside her. He pulled out and painted her back instead, a long, sticky stripe across the freckles.

Then came Tessa. And Brin. And Niva.

Each girl took the altar like it was a throne.

Each one was used not with cruelty—but with certainty. Worshipped. Filled. Marked.

By the time Allen stood again, breathing hard, the altar was soaked. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex and something holy. The ink on their skin had smudged in places. Their thighs trembled. But none of them had broken. None of them wept.

They only smiled.

Allen stood at the center of them, surrounded by bare, flushed bodies, and extended a hand to Fina and Rinni.

The girls stepped forward and kissed him in tandem.

And then, finally, Allen turned to the remaining elders. To Jass. To Doel. To Yoru.

"You can kneel now," he said.

And one by one—they did.

Allen stood in the center of the dais, towering above the kneeling elders and the sated, ink-marked girls sprawled in a ring of submission and adoration around the altar. The weight of what had just occurred lingered in the air like incense smoke—thick, warm, intoxicating. It clung to skin and stone alike. Fina stepped close, brushing her fingers across Allen's bare chest, tracing a line where sweat and cum still clung to him, like she was claiming it—no, like she was blessing it. Rinni stood nearby, arms crossed under her chest, eyes scanning the room like a lioness guarding her pride. She wasn't just turned on. She was satisfied in a way few would ever understand.

The elders remained kneeling, not out of fear anymore, but because none of them dared to rise before Allen told them to. Their arrogance had been drained from them like pus from a wound, replaced with something closer to reluctant reverence. Jass' eyes refused to meet Allen's. Doel's lips trembled with unsaid words. Yoru, the oldest among them, only lowered his head further as if to admit he had finally met a creature even age couldn't dominate.

Allen didn't speak immediately. He stood there, drinking it in—this temple no longer ancient or sacred or pure. Now it was his. His throne, his court, his doctrine. He turned slowly, his gaze sweeping over the bodies of the five girls lying in states of blessed ruin. Their thighs glistened. Their eyes fluttered. Their mouths hung open in breathless aftershock. They had been tools. They had been trophies. Now they were disciples.

He walked forward and reached down to help Brin to her feet. Her short hair stuck to her forehead, and when she looked up at him, her eyes were full of something wordless and burning. Not love. Not gratitude. It was the look of a girl who knew she'd never be touched the same way again in her life.

"You," Allen said quietly. "You'll serve beside Fina and Rinni. Personal attendance."

Brin's breath caught, but she nodded with reverent obedience. She didn't even bother wiping the slick between her thighs.

He moved next to Calla, who was still curled on her side, her back painted with his release. He crouched beside her and tucked a finger under her chin, raising her gaze.

"You'll train the others. Make sure they understand what it means to belong to me."

She nodded, dazed, mouthing yes, Master before her lips could even properly shape the words.

One by one, he gave them purpose. Not just fucked and forgotten. Not trophies to mount and dismiss. He elevated them through obedience, gave their submission meaning. And they bloomed under it.

When he rose again, Allen's gaze fell once more on the kneeling elders.

"You've seen the new order," he said, voice low, steady. "You've felt its weight. This temple is no longer yours. This city is no longer yours. You will keep your positions, but they will be ceremonial unless I say otherwise."

Jass looked up, finally. "You mean to rule through sex and shame?"

Allen smiled faintly. "I mean to rule through truth. Through pleasure unshackled. Through exposing the rot you all buried beneath robes and rituals. You built your legacy on broken backs. I'll build mine on willing ones."

Silence. Then Yoru, old and tired, gave a single solemn nod. "Then we serve you now, King of Heat and Hunger."

Allen chuckled. "That's not bad. Has a nice ring to it."

He turned back to his girls, motioning for Fina and Rinni to join him at the center of the dais. They stepped forward, barefoot and bare-chested, their curves proud and glistening, their faces glowing with smug devotion.

"The city outside still thinks this temple is untouchable," Allen said to them. "Let's teach them how wrong they are."

Fina's smile curled into something sharp. "Parade?"

"Parade."

Allen's voice echoed again, louder this time, rippling through the chamber. "Prepare the temple. Open the gates. Let every citizen see their new high priestesses. Their new gods."

The servants and broken nobles in the chamber scattered into motion like startled fish, unsure if they were obeying out of fear or curiosity. Either way, they obeyed. That was all that mattered.

An hour later, the temple gates opened, not to hymns or prayers, but to the pounding drumbeats of bare feet on marble. Allen led the procession barefoot down the sacred causeway, Fina and Rinni on either side of him, the five maids behind, all still marked with cum and ink and glory. The elders followed at a distance, cowed but present, the symbols of their old power dangling like broken chains from their ceremonial garb.

The crowd that had gathered outside gasped, some recoiled, others dropped to their knees, unsure what this vision meant. Allen, half-dressed in open robes, still glistening from the altar rites, raised a hand—and the drums stopped.

"This temple is not for secrets anymore," he shouted. "It is for flesh. For worship. For the truth your rulers hid from you. Look at them."

He pointed to the five maids, still panting, still leaking.

"They were servants once. Now they are vessels of power."

He pointed to Fina and Rinni.

"These were slaves. Now they are queens."

He held out his arms.

"You were ruled by shame. Now you will rise through surrender."

The silence shattered into cries. Screams of outrage. Screams of arousal. Screams of something ancient, finally cracking.

Allen turned to Fina and whispered, "Tonight, the city dreams of us."

Rinni slipped her fingers into his, tilting her head against his shoulder.

"And tomorrow," she said, licking a smudge of ink from her thumb, "they wake up ours."