Content Warning:This chapter contains explicit non-consensual scenes driven by magical compulsion, brutal violence, and soul-crushing humiliation. Reader discretion is advised.
The world had gone quiet, and for Thorn, the silence was a deafening roar of a lie exposed. For days, she had kept the two Sows chained in this makeshift camp, their stubborn silence a grating insult. Then, less than an hour ago, a scout had returned, breathless, with impossible news: the impenetrable psychic illusion of the Ashen Grove had shattered. The ruins they'd whimpered about under her lash—a tale she had dismissed as a desperate fantasy—were real.
The realization was a spike of pure, cold fury. They had known. They had withheld.
Now, in the oppressive quiet of the camp, the interrogation was no longer about finding a location; it was about punishing a deception. The air was a thick, unholy perfume of the Grove's dying sweetness, woodsmoke, and Thorn's own rising, vengeful mana-musk.
"So, the temple is real after all," she snarled, her voice a low growl. Milky and Marigold, chained back-to-back against a petrified log, flinched at the sound. "My scouts report the Grove's grand illusion has fallen. They found the remains of a great beast, a temple reduced to dust and echoes, just like you described. You knew. You felt it fall. And you said nothing." Her gaze was a blade. "Now, you will tell me what happened there. And you will tell me where the Heir has gone."
She stalked toward them, the silver links of their Bonding Collars glinting in the dim light, digging into their chafed necks like a lover's bites turned vicious. "A handful of hours under my... generous attention, and you sluts still haven't given me a single useful whisper." She punctuated the sentence with a sharp slap across Milky's cheek, then eyed Marigold, her gaze a cold promise of what was to come.
The Sows remained silent, their minds clinging to a fractured, desperate loyalty. Damask was out there, vulnerable. The thought of Thorn's scouts finding him was a spike of pure dread.
"His cock has gone limp with cowardice, leaving you to writhe under a real Bitch's seed," Thorn's voice dropped to a chilling purr, stating it as fact. "A true Dom would have burned this Grove to the ground for his property. Yours just hides. My scouts could be stumbling over his cooling corpse right now. And you two, his loyal Sows, are letting him rot because you won't speak. How does that loyalty taste?"
The taunt burrowed deep, igniting flares of panic in their mana-cores. Thorn uncoiled a thin, cruel-looking whip from her belt. It wasn't for deep wounds, but for sharp, stinging reminders. "Let's see if this will get you talking."
The leather cracked against Milky's heavy breasts, leaving an angry red welt. She cried out, the pain sharp and immediate. The whip then sang through the air again, landing with a vicious snap across Marigold's own chest. A similar mark blossomed on her pale skin, but her cry was a sharp, defiant gasp, her eyes flashing with a fire that made something in Thorn's gut tighten with interest. Thorn continued to lash out, each crack of the whip a sharp percussion in the tense room, until Marigold's defiant gaze finally dropped in submission. Just the way I like it, Thorn thought with a flicker of satisfaction.
"Jasmine," Thorn commanded. "Tend to the Ashcroft." Her Sow stepped forward, offering a heavy, weeping nipple to Milky. The milk was warm, a scant taste of relief that soothed the stinging pain but did little to replenish her drained reserves. As Jasmine made to move toward Marigold, Thorn held up a hand, halting her.
"I'll handle this one," Thorn purred, her voice a low rumble. She stalked toward Marigold, her gaze fixed on the angry red mark on the Sow's breast. "You have a different flavor, Nightshade," she murmured, kneeling before her. "Something... wilder."
Before Marigold could react, Thorn's tongue darted out, hot and rough, licking the welt. A jolt of pure, corrosive Bitch-mana shot through Marigold, not painful, but shockingly intimate. The stinging faded instantly, replaced by a tingling warmth as the skin mended under the potent saliva. Thorn licked again, a slow, possessive drag of her tongue, tasting the unique mix of Marigold's floral scent and the dark, thorny power beneath.
Milky couldn't see, her back pressed hard against Marigold's, but she felt everything. Every slow, possessive drag of Thorn's tongue on Marigold's skin sent a sickening vibration through their shared bonds, a current that traveled up Milky's spine and coiled hot in her gut. The blatant favoritism was a calculated insult.
This one is different, Thorn thought, a flicker of her true ambition burning behind her eyes. Her mana... it's a key. My mistress promised me a path to true power, but this Nightshade... her unique essence might be the catalyst I need to finally unlock the right to become a Dom myself.
"My little ones," Thorn's voice rumbled, her frustration finally boiling over. "An hour of my care, and you still haven't broken. But two breeding holes are a luxury. I'll keep the one who proves her womb's worth; the loser will be dusted. Fight for it."
Both Milky and Marigold knew the decision had already been made. Thorn's favoritism toward Marigold was obvious. This was not a contest. It was a verdict. Panic lanced through Milky. Her curvy form tensed as the collar blazed, turning fear into an agonizing throb.
Thorn's grin widened. "The rules of the game are simple," she purred. "An orgasm endurance contest. The first one to shatter, to break in a screaming, squirting climax, loses. The loser will be dusted. The one who can endure... she survives."
"Jasmine, Fem," she barked. "Unchain them. I want them facing each other on the mat. Let them watch each other break."
The assault began. Thorn shoved Marigold onto her hands and knees. "Present that perfect Nightshade ass to me," she snarled. She lined the thick, weeping head of her cockwomb against Marigold's entrance. Her hands reached around, clamping onto Marigold's heavy breasts, kneading them roughly. "Feel that?" Thorn growled. "That's a real Bitch's claim." She began to push in, a slow, agonizing stretch, her hips hammering against Marigold's ass with wet, meaty slaps.
Across the mat, the assault on Milky was a symphony of degradation. Jasmine forced one of her heavy, weeping breasts into Milky's mouth, a torrent of mana-laced, aphrodisiacal milk flooding her throat. Behind her, the Fem was a creature of tormenting precision, one hand caressing her clit while the other poked and spread her tight asshole.
Through the suffocating press of Jasmine's flesh, Milky twisted her head just enough to see. The sight was a venomous spike of betrayal straight to her core. Marigold wasn't just enduring; she was participating, arching her back to meet Thorn's savage thrusts. The wet, squelching slaps and the raw, guttural cries of what sounded like genuine pleasure tearing from Marigold's throat shattered Milky's heart. This wasn't a performance. This was a defection.
The psychological blow was devastating. Thorn, feeling Marigold's core begin to clench, sensing the first tremors of a building climax, let out a cruel laugh. She pulled out abruptly. "Not yet, little pet. You don't get to finish." She stood, her cockwomb still slick and weeping. "Swap," she commanded.
Her minions dragged the trembling, frustrated Marigold away. Thorn stalked over to Milky, who was still reeling. "Now for the main event," Thorn purred, forcing the Sow onto her hands and knees. She rammed her cockwomb not into Milky's waiting, weeping cunt, but into her tight, unprepared asshole.
Milky shrieked. Thorn pounded into her with a brutal, punishing rhythm. Then, just as Milky's body began to adjust, Thorn pulled out with a wet, obscene pop. Before she could breathe, Thorn repositioned and slammed her cock into Milky's cunt, the sudden switch shattering her composure completely.
While she hammered into Milky from behind, Thorn's cold, predatory gaze locked onto Marigold across the mat. The message was a blade of pure ice: Submit. Tell me everything. Or I will dust this whimpering sow right in front of you.
Marigold met that gaze, and in that heartbeat, the game ended. This was no longer about endurance. It was about sacrifice. With a final, chilling resolve, Marigold looked at Milky.
Milky, twisting her head in agony, saw Marigold's eyes on her. She saw not the defiance of an ally, but the cold, pitying gaze of a judge who had already passed sentence. You are the weaker one. You are the price to be paid. That look, combined with the brutal, relentless pounding of Thorn's cock, was the final betrayal. Her resolve crumbled. Her body convulsed in a shattering orgasm, her screams echoing not with pleasure, but with the agony of being utterly, completely abandoned.
Thorn felt the violent convulsions of Milky's cunt clenching around her shaft. Her own climax was building, a searing heat coiling in her gut. She began to pump a volatile dusting agent into the broken Sow, priming her for the final, mana-sucking vacuum.
"Wait, Mistress!" Marigold's voice cut through, sharp and desperate. "Don't. I'll tell you everything."
Thorn paused, her cockwomb still buried deep in Milky's spasming core, the dusting process halted at the brink. She looked over at Marigold, a cruel, appraising look in her eyes. "You have my attention, little spy. But you will earn my mercy."
Marigold crawled forward, kneeling before the still-joined bodies. "Let me please you," she whispered. "Let me show you how a Nightshade serves a true power."
With a guttural groan, Thorn pulled out of Milky. She allowed Marigold to take the heavy, throbbing shaft in her hands. It was during this act of profound, humiliating submission that she began to speak, her words a torrent of perfect, venomous lies whispered between desperate licks and swallows.
"It was me," she gasped. "The curse... it didn't just take his power. My mana... it's a poison to his. I'm the reason he's a cripple. But there's another. The SteelClaw Bitch, Lyra. The curse unlocked something in her. A power you could take for yourself. A power I can help you claim. I will serve you as I should have served him. I will treat you like the Dom you deserve to be."
Milky's world dissolved. Traitor! The word screamed in her soul.
The searing heat of Thorn's climax was skillfully diverted by Marigold's worshipful mouth. Her cockwomb churned, transmuting the dusting agent from a poison into a potent, intoxicating slurry. With a final, guttural groan, she released the thick, shimmering elixir of submission onto Marigold's tongue. In a final, breathtaking act of her performance, Marigold opened her mouth wide, a perfect, obscene O of willing reception, and took it down.
Thorn's grin was a flash of pure, feral satisfaction. She's performing the rites, she thought. This is how they worship a Dom. With a click, Thorn unfastened the silver collar from Marigold's neck. "A clever story," she purred. "If you've truly seen the light, you'll prove it. Bind her like a subordinate sow. Break her. Show me the ruin you can make of her, and I might just believe you."
Marigold's eyes gleamed with a manic light. With a surge of her own dark mana, her clitoris expanded with a wet, fleshy squelch, hardening into a formidable, throbbing shaft. She stalked toward the bound and helpless Milky. "On your back," she commanded, her voice a cold echo of Thorn's. She straddled Milky's hips, her new clit-cock held just over Milky's entrance. Milky turned her head, pressing her cheek to the mat, unable to watch her own violation at the hands of her pridemate.
Good, Marigold thought, a cold, vicious satisfaction cutting through her own fear. She plunged down. The thrust was a savage, ravaging invasion. A tear of ecstatic rage tracked through the grime on Marigold's cheek. As she began to pound into her rival, she leaned down and bit down hard on Milky's shoulder, a final, mana-infused mark of dominance.
The last vestiges of Milky's hope fractured. This wasn't a performance; the steady, relentless fucking felt too real, too possessive. As Milky's whimpers turned into a steady stream of moans, a final, shuddering surrender, Marigold's own moans deepened. She focused her will, channeling the dark, thorny Nightshade mana down her shaft. She finished with a guttural roar, flooding Milky with her own seed—and with it, a spell. A brand. Milky cried out as a faint, alien tingle bloomed deep within her breasts, Marigold's dark mana a microscopic brand now influencing the pure Ashcroft mana stored there.
As Marigold, trembling, began to pull out, Thorn's voice cut through the haze, cold and sharp. "Did I say you were done? I want to see both her holes gape for you. I want to see her completely, utterly ruined. Then, maybe, I'll trust you."
Marigold's heart hammered, but her face remained a mask of manic devotion. Without a word, she grabbed Milky by the hips, brutally flipping her over onto her stomach. "Present that perfect Ashcroft ass to me," Marigold snarled. She positioned her still-hard clit-cock at the tight, virginal entrance to her asshole. There was no teasing, no preparation. Just a brutal, savage thrust that tore a raw scream from Milky's throat. The second violation was a final, absolute desecration, a performance of betrayal so perfect, so complete, it might just be enough to save them both.