The door didn't just open—it exploded inward, hinges groaning like they'd been personally offended. Morgana filled the doorway, crimson robe billowing as though caught in an invisible storm, black hair wild around her shoulders, eyes burning with that deep, starless void that made my stomach drop every time she looked at me.
I was still sprawled on the bed, legs spread, cock lying soft and sticky against my thigh, the sheets a crime scene of dried cum, her scent, Elara's scent, my own shame. I hadn't even bothered to clean up. What was the point? They'd just mark me again anyway.
She didn't speak at first. She just stared. Let the silence press down on me until I felt small, ridiculous, like a teenager caught jerking off with the door unlocked.
Finally she stepped inside. The door swung shut behind her with a soft, final click that sounded louder than a gunshot.
"You fucked my attendant," she said. Not a question.
I swallowed. "Yeah. I… I mean, she wanted it. She begged—"
Morgana's laugh cut me off—low, cold, amused in the way a cat is amused by a half-dead mouse.
"She begged because she's been cunt-starved for eighty-seven years, Alex. Because the last real cock she tasted belonged to a man whose balls barely dropped before the ancestors sealed the veil. You think that makes you special? You think that makes you dominant?"
She crossed the room in slow, deliberate strides, each step making the golden threads in the tapestries shimmer like they were afraid of her.
I sat up. Tried to look casual. Failed miserably.
She stopped at the edge of the bed, towering over me even though we were almost eye-level when I was sitting. Her hand shot out, fingers wrapping around my throat—not choking, just holding. Possessing.
"On your knees," she said quietly.
I hesitated.
Her thumb pressed against my windpipe. Just enough.
"Now."
I slid off the bed. Hit the marble on my knees so hard my teeth clicked. The cold stone bit into my shins. My cock—traitorous, pathetic thing—gave a weak twitch.
Morgana circled me once, twice, robe whispering against the floor.
"Look at this," she murmured, reaching down to flick the head of my softening dick with one sharp fingernail. I flinched. "Already spent. Already leaking like a broken faucet. You strutted around like a conqueror for—what? Twenty minutes? And now you're kneeling in your own drying cum, waiting for me to decide what happens next."
She crouched in front of me, grabbed my chin, forced my face up.
"You are nothing without us," she said, enunciating each word like she was carving it into my skull. "The magic surging through your veins right now? Borrowed. Stolen from my cunt, from Veyra's, from Lirien's, from every desperate hole that opened for you because we let it. You didn't take anything. We gave it. And we can take it back."
She stood again, shrugging the robe from her shoulders. It pooled around her feet like blood. Naked, she was devastating—full breasts, dusky nipples already tight, the dark triangle between her thighs glistening with fresh arousal. Power radiated off her in waves I could almost see.
"Beg," she commanded.
I licked dry lips. "Please…"
"Louder. And mean it."
"Please, High Sorceress," I croaked, hating every syllable, "please let me taste you again. I need it. I need you."
She smiled—slow, cruel, satisfied.
"Good boy."
She stepped forward, lifted one leg, hooked it over my shoulder, and pulled my face straight into her cunt.
No gentleness. No build-up. Just wet heat and the command to serve.
I ate like a starving man. Tongue plunging deep, lips sucking, nose buried in her folds while she ground against me. Her clit swelled against my tongue. Her thighs trembled—but only a little. She never lost control. Not once.
When she came, it was sudden and violent. A gush of slick flooded my mouth, ran down my chin, dripped onto my chest. She held me there, smothering me until black spots danced in my vision, then finally released me.
I gasped, coughing, face shining with her.
She scooped the mess from my cheeks with two fingers and shoved them between my lips.
"Clean it," she said. "Taste what real power feels like."
I sucked. Swallowed. My cock was painfully hard again, bobbing uselessly between my thighs.
She saw it. Smirked.
"Pathetic."
She pushed me backward until I was flat on my back on the cold floor. Straddled my face again—this time facing my feet. Her ass hovered above me, perfect and round, before she lowered herself completely, sealing my mouth and nose with her dripping sex.
"Breathe through your nose when you can," she said mockingly. "Or don't. I don't particularly care."
She rocked, slow and deliberate, using my face like a toy while her hands roamed my body—pinching nipples, slapping my cock lightly, dragging nails down my stomach.
"You really thought you raped Elara?" she asked conversationally, as though discussing the weather. "You didn't rape her, little stallion. You gave her exactly what she'd been fantasizing about for decades. She would have spread for a broom handle if it had a heartbeat. You were convenient. Nothing more."
She reached back, wrapped long fingers around my shaft, and stroked—slow, torturously slow.
"But me?" she continued. "I'm not starving. I'm not desperate. I fuck you because I want to watch you break. I fuck you because the sight of you whimpering under me makes my cunt ache in the best way."
She lifted just enough to let me gulp air, then slammed back down.
"Beg to be inside me."
"Please," I mumbled into her flesh. "Please fuck me. Please use me."
She laughed—soft, triumphant—and slid down my body until she hovered over my cock.
She didn't sink down right away. She teased—rubbing the head through her soaked lips, circling her clit with my tip, letting me feel how hot and ready she was without giving me the relief of penetration.
"Tell me what you are," she demanded.
"I'm… I'm nothing," I whispered, voice cracking. "I'm your vessel. Your toy. Just a cock that cums magic."
"That's right."
Only then did she take me—slow, inch by agonizing inch, until her ass rested against my hips and I was buried to the hilt inside perfect, scalding heat.
She rode me like she was breaking a wild horse. Hard. Ruthless. Every downward stroke slamming the breath from my lungs. Her nails dug into my chest, leaving red crescents.
"You'll never be strong enough to take us," she hissed, leaning down until her breasts dragged across my skin. "You'll never be fast enough. You'll never be cruel enough. The only reason you got to play conqueror for five minutes was because we allowed the fantasy. Because it amuses us to watch you puff up your chest and pretend."
She clenched around me—hard—and I nearly blacked out from the pleasure-pain.
"Cum," she ordered. "Fill me. Prove you're still useful."
I did. Couldn't stop it. My hips jerked, cock pulsing, pumping thick ropes deep inside her while I groaned like a wounded animal. She kept moving through it, milking every drop, drawing it out until I was whimpering, oversensitive, hips twitching uselessly.
When she finally lifted off, a thick stream of my cum followed—creamy white against her dark curls. She scooped it up, painted it across my lips, my cheeks, my forehead like war paint.
"Wear it," she said. "Let the Second Circle see what happens when you forget your place."
She stood, graceful as ever, robe flowing back over her shoulders as though she hadn't just dismantled me piece by piece.
I lay there on the floor—sticky, trembling, magic humming stronger in my veins than ever before, and yet feeling smaller than I had in my entire life.
She paused at the door.
"Rest, little Chosen," she said over her shoulder. "You'll need your strength. The Second Circle doesn't play gentle. And after what you did to Elara… they're going to want to remind you exactly who owns you."
The door closed.
I stared at the ceiling, chest heaving.
I was still hard.
Still leaking.
Still humiliated.
Still—god help me—desperately eager for whatever came next.
Yeah. I was a mess. A funny, pitiful, awkward, oversexed mess who'd somehow ended up in the middle of the hottest fever dream in history.
I wouldn't trade it for anything.