Content Warning:This chapter contains explicit non-consensual scenes driven by magical compulsion, brutal violence, and soul-crushing humiliation. Reader discretion is advised.
Thorn's breath came in ragged, triumphant gasps as she rose from the quivering wreck of her conquest, the air reeking of spent mana and raw submission. The grove's sickly sweet heat clung like sweat, the ground slick with violation's aftermath.
Milky lay sprawled, her body a shuddering mess, core leaking creamy torrents of Thorn's mana-laced seed, her pride shattered in forced ecstasy. A part of her, the Ashcroft Prime Sow, was screaming in silent, impotent fury at the violation. But another, deeper part, awakened by the Grove Mother and now brutally exploited by the collar, was a filthy traitor, reveling in the raw, dominant fucking she had just endured. She hated it. She wanted more. As Thorn's companions, Jasmine and the Fem, moved to secure her, their touch was a fresh torment, a reminder of her broken state.
But Thorn's hunger raged on. A bitter, familiar ache coiled in her gut, a void that no amount of fucking ever seemed to fill. She was a Free Bitch, a predator, a legend in these blighted lands. She took what she wanted, broke what she pleased. But it was all a performance, a desperate imitation of the one thing she could never be. A Dom.
Her gaze, burning with an unslaked fire, fixed on Marigold. The Nightshade Sow knelt where she'd been left, a prisoner not of the discarded silver net, but of the collar's insidious magic. Her skin was flushed with a cocktail of defiance and shame, the lingering taste of Milky's fear-laced juices a phantom on her tongue. Watching Thorn wreck her rival had sent a wave of filthy, vicarious heat through her, the collar twisting the horror into a compelled, pornographic spectacle. Her hips glist glistened with the slickness of her own betrayed arousal, a steady drip marking her as primed for ruin.
Another vessel, Thorn thought, the words a venomous hiss in her own mind. A perfect, fertile thing, wasted on a crippled Heir. The injustice of it was a physical pain, a hot spike of jealousy that made the ache in her groin sharpen into a demanding throb. One release wasn't enough. It was never enough. Not when the act was a reminder of her own biological limitations. She needed more.
"Look at you, Nightshade slut," Thorn growled, her voice a guttural rumble that vibrated through Marigold's bonds.
Her cockwomb, still slick with Milky's juices, had begun its slow retraction. The thick muscle softened, the searing heat banking to a low ember. But the sight of Marigold, flushed and dripping, reignited the fire.
With a savage snarl, Thorn flexed her core. A brutal, internal clench forced a fresh surge of corrosive mana downward. The retracting shaft halted, then re-emerged with a wet schlick—a violent re-inversion of her internal furnace.
The semi-soft muscle hammered itself back to a state of brutal rigidity. A throbbing shaft unfurled from her folds, veins swelling with a fresh infusion of power. Ridges studded with mana-charged barbs hummed with a renewed, corrosive energy. It swelled thickest mid-length, tapering to a flared, maw-like head whose folds rippled hungrily, oozing an iridescent pre-seed that glowed with liquid mana. The organ radiated a searing heat, its slick surface a promise of devastation.
It was her pride and her curse. A weapon, yes. But a temporary one. An imitation of the real thing. A Dom's cock was an organ of creation, of binding. Hers was just a tool for breaking.
The sight of it, a monument of raw, carnal power, made Marigold's breath hitch in her throat. The collar around her neck coiled tighter, twisting the spike of pure terror into an agonizing, electric pulse of need. Thorn seized her hips with bruising force, dragging her close. She didn't penetrate, not yet. She held Marigold there, forcing her to confront the weapon that was about to destroy her. The flared head of the cock pressed against her entrance, a brutal, teasing menace. "Time to taste the tainted prize," Thorn purred, her fangs gleaming in a cruel grin. "You're gonna describe every filthy sensation as I wreck that hole. Every pulse, every stretch—spill it, or I'll tear you apart and leave you empty. And when I'm done, you'll beg for my cock, swear you love it, or I'll make you wish you had."
Her gaze locked with Marigold's. The predatory heat was gone from her eyes, replaced by a chilling, absolute certainty. It was a look that transcended threats, a silent, final command etched in the cold void of her pupils: Obey, or cease to exist.
In that frozen moment, the world shattered and reformed. The terror didn't vanish, but it crystallized. Marigold saw the truth in that cold void: this was not a simple violation. It was an executioner's gaze. This was a test of survival, a brutal calculus of fight or flight where flight was not an option. A profound, chilling clarity washed over her. She looked past Thorn to the broken, whimpering form of Milky, and a new, unshakeable resolve forged itself in the fires of her fear. She will not break us both. The thought was not a plea, but a vow. This was no longer about enduring pain; it was about winning a war. Her body would be the battlefield, her words the shield. She would play the part. She would give this Bitch the performance she craved. She would survive. And she would bring Milky home.
Thorn didn't give her time to brace. She thrust forward without warning, a savage plunge that was pure, gratifying resistance giving way to wet, tight heat. She felt the flared head of her cockwomb breach Marigold's core, the delicate inner walls stretching, tearing, then clamping down in a hot, desperate grip. A raw scream ripped from the Sow's throat, a beautiful, sharp sound of agony and violation that was pure music to Thorn's ears. She watched Marigold's back arch high, a bow of taut flesh stretched to its limit. The barbs raked her walls like claws of fire—a punishing pleasure with every plunge, a sweet torment with every slow drag. The collar, a merciless amplifier, turned each agonizing scrape into a desperate, undeniable craving. Her hips began to buck, a frantic rhythm against Thorn's deeper, driving beat. In, the rippling folds of the cock's head ground raw against her clit. Out, her own internal muscles betrayed her, a slick, milking grip that clenched and released. In, a searing surge of mana. Out, a desperate, weeping heat. The magical pulses from Thorn's cockwomb synced perfectly, a brutal, beautiful percussion flooding Marigold's veins with every thrust.
Thorn felt it—a deep, involuntary clench. A hot, wet grip that milked her shaft with a desperate, traitorous pulse. The little Sow's body was already surrendering, her cunt weeping and grasping for the very violation her mind was trying to fight. A raw, triumphant thrill shot through Thorn, hotter than any mana. This was the true prize—not just the fuck, but the breaking. The sight of Marigold's flushed face, the way her hips bucked against her, it was an intoxicating symphony of submission. She wanted to hear it. She needed to hear it. "Speak, you wretched hole!" Thorn snarled, yanking the collar to force Marigold's gaze up. She held still, letting the shaft throb inside her, the heat a searing brand. "Tell me how my cock feels wrecking that tainted cunt. Every detail—or I'll make you bleed for it."
A tear traced a path through the grime on Marigold's cheek, her voice a choked, broken thing. Her eyes, for a moment, held a spark of pure, unyielding defiance, a silent 'no' that was a declaration of war. But the collar blazed, and her body shuddered, a wave of agony and pleasure crashing through her. The performance had to begin. This is for us, Milky, she thought, her mind a fortress of cold resolve. Endure. Survive. The words were torn from her, a shield of compliance. "It's… overwhelming," she gasped, the words raw, trembling, a perfect imitation of a will beginning to crack. "The head… so wide… splitting me open. It sucks at my walls with those pulsing folds. The ridges—they're rough, scraping every inch, sending hot sparks that make my core burn, my clit throbbing like it's gonna burst. It's thick, pressing against everything, filling me until I can't breathe. The mana... it's like liquid fire, flooding me, making my nerves scream, every pulse syncing with my heartbeat, forcing me to want more even as it hurts."
Thorn's grin widened, a feral, beautiful thing. Yes, she thought, a surge of pure, dominant pleasure making her own cock pulse harder. That's how they speak of a Dom's power. She pulled back slowly, the barbs dragging in a torturous caress, then slammed deeper, burying another inch. Marigold's vision blurred, her cry choked with a fresh wave of ecstasy as the cockwomb's folds clamped tighter, milking her relentlessly. "More," Thorn demanded, her free hand mauling Marigold's breast, twisting the nipple until she yelped. "How does the mana feel, slut? Tell me why your body's begging for this, why your cunt's weeping for my cock."
Marigold's mind splintered, the collar weaving compulsion with sensation, her core clenching desperately around the invasion. Analyze it, the tactical part of her brain screamed. Learn it. Survive it. "The mana's... alive," she moaned, her hips grinding despite her will, the words spilling from her lips as part of her strategy. "It's hot, corrosive, seeping into my blood, making everything too sensitive—my walls pulse with it, every contraction building pressure in my core, like it's coiling to explode. The pre-seed's sticky, coating me, making me slicker, hotter, dissolving my resistance. It's rewriting me, making me crave the pain, the fullness. My clit's swollen, rubbing raw against those folds, and the heat... it's unbearable, but I need it, need the way it throbs, claiming every inch."
Thorn laughed darkly, a sound of pure, carnal satisfaction as she began to thrust in earnest—slow, punishing pumps that bottomed out each time, the flared head grinding against her deepest nerves, the barbs raking on withdrawal. Milky watched from her sprawl, her eyes wide with a compelled, vicarious arousal, her own body twitching, her core dripping anew.
"That's it, slut," Thorn growled, biting Marigold's neck, her hips snapping faster, her cockwomb convulsing wildly, sucking the essence from her. "Now say it—swear you love my cock. Scream it like the broken whore you are, or I'll leave you empty and aching."
The collar crashed through Marigold's final defenses, her body teetering on the brink of a climax so powerful it threatened to shatter her. Every nerve screamed for release. But the magic, for all its power, faltered on the deepest secrets of the heart. It could not force the lie about Damask from her lips. Instead, it twisted her to the edge, and her core erupted in a squirting climax that soaked the ground, her body convulsing in a storm of mana and shame. Thorn roared, her own release building, but Marigold held her tongue on the Heir, a single, flickering ember of defiance burning bright amidst the ruin. The grove echoed with the raw energy of conquest, Thorn pushing further, harder, determined to break her completely.