Content Warning: This chapter contains explicit scenes of psychological torment, addiction, and sexual humiliation driven by magical compulsion. Reader discretion is advised.
The craving was a filthy animal gnawing at the base of Anya's skull. Her mana, once a proud, roaring fire, felt thin and frayed, each strand a jangling nerve screaming for the one thing that could soothe it. Her own chambers, draped in the austere silvers of her house, felt like a prison. Every polished surface reflected a ghost—a haggard Dom with haunted eyes, her skin clammy with the sweat of withdrawal. She remembered the taste, a phantom on her tongue: a searing, impossibly sweet heat that was both her damnation and her only salvation. The memory of her first defeat, of that other Dom's cock ramming the liquid damnation down her throat, was a constant, humiliating echo.
When the summons arrived, it was on crimson parchment that smelled of Belladonna's signature perfume—nightshade and smug satisfaction. It wasn't a request. It was the dealer calling in a debt. Anya's heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird in a cage of her own making. She hated herself for the wave of desperate, slobbering relief that washed over her, drowning the last vestiges of her pride.
She went.
The air in Belladonna's chambers was thick enough to drink, a heady cocktail of sex, power, and expensive incense. Anya found her rival lounging on a mountain of crimson silks, a vision of languid, insolent power. And she was not alone.
Kneeling before her, her face buried in Belladonna's lap, was Ellie. The Bitch's lean, muscular back was a canvas of taut muscle, her ass high in the air as her mouth worked skillfully on the colossal, solid-grade cock that was the source of Belladonna's fame . Belladonna's hips moved in a slow, grinding rhythm, her eyes, dark and cruel, fixing on Anya as she entered.
"Anya, darling," Belladonna purred, her voice a silken thread woven through Ellie's wet, desperate gulps. "So glad you could make it. I was just in the middle of… a performance review."
Anya stood frozen, a spectator in her own personal hell. She was forced to watch as Belladonna fucked Ellie's face, each thrust a deliberate, theatrical display. The wet, slapping sounds of flesh, Ellie's choked moans, the triumphant, musky scent of Belladonna's arousal—it was a pornographic symphony composed for an audience of one.
"I heard the SteelClaw envoy paid a visit," Belladonna said conversationally, her fingers tangling in Ellie's hair, forcing the Bitch to take another deep, gagging inch. "And that she had to be… soothed… by Hemlock. So sloppy, Anya, letting another Dom handle your affairs. I had to do you a 'favor' and whisper in the right ears to make sure Commander Talon left satisfied with the court's 'handling' of the situation."
The taunt was a blade, twisted with exquisite precision. Anya's own body betrayed her, a hot, shameful flush of arousal blooming in her core at the raw display of power. Her own cunt wept, a slick, humiliating testament to her weakness.
With a final, guttural groan, Belladonna came, her hips bucking as she flooded Ellie's throat. She pulled out, leaving the Bitch a dazed, drooling mess, and dismissed her with a wave of her hand. Ellie scrambled away, a used toy discarded.
Belladonna turned her full, predatory attention to the trembling Anya. From a crystal vial, she produced a fine, shimmering powder. But she didn't offer it. She slowly, deliberately, coated her own massive, still-leaking cock with the crystalline dust, the glistening seed acting as an adhesive.
"You remember the taste, don't you, Anya?" she whispered, her voice a venomous caress. "The way it felt when your old master made you swallow his power after he broke you on the battlefield. I have the recipe now. I have his balls, I have his secrets… and I have his spy."
Her shaft, now a monstrous, drug-laced lollipop of pure temptation, was presented to Anya. "You look unwell, darling. You need your medicine. Come. Beg for it. Lick it clean."
This was the ultimate test. Anya's pride, what was left of it, warred with the raw, physical agony of her addiction. She resisted, her body shaking, tears of shame and desperate need streaming down her face.
"No…" she whimpered, the word a pathetic ghost of defiance.
Belladonna laughed, a low, cruel sound. She ran her drug-dusted thumb over Anya's lips, giving her a single, maddening taste. The effect was instantaneous. A jolt, white-hot and absolute, shot through Anya's system. Her resistance shattered.
With a choked, broken sob, she collapsed to her knees. Her world narrowed to a single point of focus: the shimmering, obscene, beautiful thing before her. The chapter of her pride, her ambition, her very self, ended. A new one began with the wet, desperate sound of her mouth closing over the head of Belladonna's cock, her first, frantic lick a profound act of utter, soul-shattering submission. She was no longer a rival. She was just an addict, suckling at the source of her own magnificent ruin.