The heavy oak door to Sarah's quarters didn't just open; it groaned, a sound that seemed to mock the man being dragged across the threshold. The air inside was a thick, humid soup of sweet lilies and the sharp, metallic tang of the dungeon's mana. It was so dense it felt like walking into water.
Marcus was slammed against the back wall by the Cursed Shackles, his arms and legs spread wide in a humiliating cruciform. His head hung low, but the enchantments in the iron forced his chin up. He had no choice but to look.
"Sarah! Look at me!" Marcus screamed, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony.
Sarah was there, but she was no longer the woman who had kissed him goodbye at the city gates. She was sprawled across the silk-lined bed, her body arched in a permanent state of receptivity. Her blonde hair was a tangled nest of gold against the purple sheets, and her skin—once pale and pristine—was now a deep, feverish crimson. She was touching herself, her fingers moving with a frantic, mindless rhythm that spoke of a hunger Marcus had never seen in her.
When I stepped into her line of sight, Sarah didn't just notice me; she ignited. A small, needy whimper escaped her lips, and she reached out, her fingers clawing at the air between us. She didn't even acknowledge the man sobbing and straining against the chains just ten feet away.
"Master..." she moaned, her voice a wet, sultry rasp that made Marcus flinch as if he'd been struck. "Please... I'm burning. I can't... I can't breathe without you."
I walked toward the bed, my boots sinking into the plush carpet. I stood at the edge, unbuckling my belt with slow, deliberate movements. I wanted Marcus to hear every click of the metal, every rustle of fabric.
"Watch closely, Marcus," I commanded, my voice echoing in the small room. "This is the 'pure' wife you fought so hard to save. See how she looks at me? See how she's forgotten you?"
I mounted her right there on the edge of the bed. Sarah didn't resist; she surged upward to meet me, her legs wrapping around my waist with a desperate, practiced strength that told me she had been dreaming of this moment since the mist first touched her.
The sound of our bodies colliding—a rhythmic, wet slapping—echoed off the stone walls, filling the silence where Marcus's prayers used to be. I took her with a savage, unrelenting intensity, my hands digging into her hips and leaving deep, bruised marks. Sarah's head thrashed against the pillows, her mouth hanging open as she let out a loud, vulgar cry of relief.
"Yes! Yes, Julian! Take it all!" she shrieked, her nails drawing long, red lines down my back. She turned her head slightly, her glazed eyes meeting Marcus's for the first time. A cruel, dazed smile crossed her lips. "Look at him, Master... look how weak he is. He never... he never made me feel like I was alive."
Marcus let out a strangled, animalistic sound. The Cursed Shackles glowed a violent violet, feeding off his despair and reflecting it back into his nerves. He was forced to feel the phantom echo of every thrust, his own body betraying him with a painful, unwanted arousal while his soul was being systematically dismantled. He watched until his voice failed him, until his eyes could no longer produce tears, and his mind finally retreated into a dark, hollow corner where the pain couldn't reach him.
[Sarah's Loyalty: 45%]
[Perk Active: Sex Slave - Sarah's physical pleasure is now tied directly to the Master's dominance.]