NTR: Stealing wives in Another World

The sun hadn't even shifted in the sky by the time Allen descended from the royal suite, each step down the palace staircase echoing like a drumbeat of new law. Behind him trailed the aftermath of revolution: three princesses limp with pleasure and leaking royalty, Elira crawling with renewed marks scrawled across her back—Cum Vessel. Breeder. Owned—and Fina and Rinni flanking him like crowned wolves in heat.

The throne was his. Everyone knew it. But Allen wasn't slowing down.

As he passed through the atrium, heads turned—maids froze mid-step, guards stiffened (some literally), and nobles still lingering from the Queen's earlier ruin gasped and shrank away. There was no doubt anymore. No rumors. No whispers. Just raw, wide-eyed truth: the palace belonged to him.

Allen didn't speak until he reached the central hall, where golden banners still fluttered with the old house sigil. Without looking, he raised his hand—and Fina set them ablaze.

The flames climbed fast, devouring tradition in brilliant orange tongues. Smoke curled toward the mosaic ceiling, swirling above carved marble gods who, if they were watching, now bore witness to their own irrelevance.

Allen stepped into the heart of the hall and turned slowly. "You all stood by while this kingdom rotted from the inside. You wore silk while the poor starved. You paid priestesses to 'bless' your bloodlines while they whored themselves for coin. You watched your Queen waste away untouched for decades while the heirs fucked pillows and power plays."

He smirked. "That era's over."

The crowd was growing. More nobles arrived, flanked by guards who didn't even draw blades anymore. Servants knelt as they passed. At the edges of the hall, beastkin women watched with twitching tails, breathless, as the man who ruined their hierarchy reshaped the entire palace like it was a bedroom.

Allen snapped his fingers.

The doors to the side swung open—and Yssira walked out.

Not hidden. Not covered. The Queen wore nothing but a sheer black veil clinging to her cum-slicked body, her runes faintly glowing again—but not with magic. Just heat. Her thighs still glistened with Allen's seed. Her expression was blank, regal, obedient.

She walked across the marble and dropped to her knees at his side, kissing his boot without being told.

Gasp. Whimper. A nobleman dropped his wine.

Allen placed a hand on her head. "This is your Queen now. Not by blood. By deed."

Rinni climbed the central dais like it was a stage and turned slowly in place, gesturing toward Yssira and the three princesses now being led in behind her—bare, fucked, and smiling through the wreckage. "The royal family belongs to him now. That includes their bodies. Their oaths. Their wombs."

A stunned silence.

Then—another sound. A bold one.

A slow clap.

From the far end of the hall, down the column-lined path leading toward the outer courtyard, General Kael stepped forward. The man was massive, dark-skinned and grizzled, his armor scorched from years of war, and his eyes sharp with understanding. He stopped just before the steps, sword sheathed, arms crossed.

"You've broken the line," Kael said. "Shamed the gods. Turned nobility into playthings."

Allen tilted his head. "That a complaint?"

Kael gave a slow, humorless smile. "No. That's me asking where you want your army."

Allen's grin returned like a sword unsheathed.

The next hours moved in a blur.

Kael summoned his war banners. The elite guard who once protected the crown swore loyalty to Allen with swords unsheathed and heads bowed. Rinni took charge of dressing down any dissenters—literally. Several minor nobles were stripped, collared, and displayed before the throne as examples of what happened to resistance: humiliation, not death.

Fina stood behind the throne now, overseeing a line of beastkin who had come to kneel, swear fealty, or offer their bodies. One shy deerkin girl asked to serve as a cumdump for the royal daughters. Another—a snakekin scholar—volunteered her throat for the scribes' pleasure, claiming she wrote better while full. Fina simply nodded and ordered both into position.

Allen sat on the throne—not for the symbolism, but for the view. Yllira lay across his lap now, her ass red from the rhythmic spankings he gave her between commands. Every time her royal moans got too loud, he stuffed a finger into her cunt to shut her up—and the wet shlkk echoed across the court like punctuation.

Calia was sucking Rinni's toes at the foot of the throne, her eyes glazed, her body still trembling from being used earlier. Seren had volunteered to be a cum chalice, lying under a golden funnel the scribes used when collecting Allen's seed during "ceremonial" fuckings. She smiled with pride every time it poured into her mouth.

Kael approached once more, bowing. "We've begun collecting the remaining priestesses. Do you want them broken publicly or saved for the new temple?"

Allen glanced down at Yssira, who was now rubbing her soaked cunt against the throne's leg like a bitch in heat.

"Publicly," Allen said. "I want the gods to watch."

Fina cracked her knuckles. "I'll prep the stage."

Rinni stood up and stretched. "Ooh, ooh! Let me pick the outfits. Or the lack thereof."

Elira crawled up beside the throne, licking Allen's cock without being told, purely out of instinct now. She didn't even look up when he came—just swallowed, wiped her lips, and whispered, "Thank you."

The hall transformed by the minute. Silken banners replaced with fur and chain. Gold statues smeared with bodily fluids and rebranded with new symbols: a crown pierced by fangs, a cock wrapped in a serpent. The nobles who stayed quickly learned how to kneel properly. The ones who didn't were taught in ways that left them cum-glazed and publicly fingered by Fina during "loyalty ceremonies."

Evening bled in.

Torchlight danced across the walls.

The throne room was no longer sacred—it was a den of power, sex, and order. Allen's order.

A final courier arrived just before nightfall, kneeling at the base of the throne, eyes wide. "M-My lord… word has reached the outer provinces. The beastkin elders seek audience again. They've… they've offered their daughters."

Allen chuckled. "Good. Let them beg properly this time."

He stood, cock half-hard, body still thrumming with the high of conquest. His voice filled the chamber like a prophecy.

"Tomorrow," he said, "we fuck the gods themselves."

And the throne?

It didn't just belong to him.

It was him.