NTR: Stealing wives in Another World
Chapter 172: Kingdom on knees(18+)

Chapter 172: Kingdom on knees(18+)

The halls of the palace were quiet, but not with peace—more like the breathless pause before a moan. Even the guards didn’t speak anymore. They stood still, eyes forward, their minds broken into two thoughts: serve Allen and don’t stare at the Queen too long or you’ll get hard.

Too late for most of them.

Click. Click. Click.

The sound of heels echoed in time with wet little slaps of knees hitting stone. Allen walked calmly down the central corridor, a leather leash wrapped around one hand. The other hand lazily scratched his toned stomach, his cock hanging thick and half-hard from the open flap of his loose black robe.

Behind him... she crawled.

Queen Soreya. No longer draped in royal silks or crowned with power. No. She wore a black leather collar and a cunt-slick trail down both thighs. Her once-icy gaze had melted into a desperate neediness that made every movement shake with wet shame.

Each step she took on her hands and knees squelched faintly, her juices smearing on the marble floor. Her tongue lolled slightly out of her mouth, and her mascara was still smudged from the earlier orgasm he’d denied her. Denied her and mocked her for.

"Keep that ass high, Soreya," Allen said casually, without even looking back.

She gasped and arched her back immediately, her ass rising high in the air as if her body knew it didn’t belong to her anymore. Her pussy lips parted, glistening under the dim torchlight. Every inch of her shook—not from exhaustion, but from the desperate hope that maybe this time, he’d use her.

Or punish her.

She’d take either.

Allen paused at the top of the royal stairway that led into the Grand Hall.

Below, nobles gathered, beastkin elders seated on ornate cushions, and highborn sons and daughters lined the balconies in curious silence. Word had spread: He was bringing the Queen today.

But no one expected this.

When Allen tugged the leash, Soreya yelped softly and crawled to his side. The audience saw her now. Hair tangled. Mouth open. Tits hanging with little bite marks still healing. Her royal crest tattoo had been rebranded with Allen’s initials—burned above her cunt like a seal of ownership.

Gasps rippled. A noble lady fainted. One of the beastkin elders groaned audibly.

Allen didn’t even react. He simply descended the stairs, leash in hand, forcing the Queen to crawl behind him in full view of her entire kingdom. Her knees thudded wetly on each step, her ass jiggling as she moved, and her breath came in high-pitched gasps.

She wasn’t crying.

She was moaning.

They reached the center dais. Allen sat, his throne newly fitted with thick cushions and silk sheets—cum-stained from nights of endless use. He leaned back lazily, letting his robe fall open fully now. His cock stood hard in the cool air.

Soreya didn’t need a command.

She crawled into place.

At the base of the throne, she pressed her cheek to his foot and wagged her hips in the air, her tongue dragging across the marble like she wanted to be stepped on.

"Speak," Allen said simply.

She whimpered. "Your Queen is ready to serve, Master..."

Louder.

"Your royal fuckpet is ready to be used like the bitch she is!"

The nobles didn’t know whether to run or get on their knees. A few young heirs did drop to the ground, palming their cocks through silken robes as they watched their sovereign humiliated. No one stopped them.

No one could.

Allen grabbed her leash again and wrapped it around her throat, pulling her face toward his cock.

"Open."

She obeyed. Tongue out. Eyes wide.

He slid his cock along her tongue, slow at first, making her shiver. Then faster. Then deeper. Until she gagged and tears streaked down her cheeks. She begged for it with every desperate suck, and when he finally came—hot, thick, choking loads down her throat—she swallowed all of it without breaking eye contact.

Allen stood then, dragging her leash up again until she rose to her knees. He looked out at the gathered elite.

"Your Queen no longer rules," he said. "She kneels."

He shoved her down again.

"And soon, your daughters will too."

A murmur went through the room. Some outraged. Some aroused.

Allen didn’t care.

He grabbed Soreya by the hips, bent her over the dais steps, and slammed into her dripping cunt right in front of them all. She screamed, her body convulsing, her back arching deep as he fucked her like she was nothing. Like she was owned. Like this was justice.

Her crown had been melted.

Now, her throne was Allen’s cock—and she rode it like a bitch in heat, panting, whining, whispering his name over and over like a prayer.

And the kingdom watched.

And learned.

Allen stood at the center of the dais, cock still wet and glistening from the Queen’s cunt, the leash still wrapped tightly in his grip as Soreya whimpered against the floor, twitching, dripping, used. Her moans echoed off the high columns of the royal hall, a haunting symphony of submission.

And still, Allen wasn’t done.

He looked out at the room—the nobles, the council elders, the velvet-robed advisors who had once looked down on beastkin like they were nothing more than furred pests. They sat frozen, some still erect, others ashamed, but none could look away.

Allen’s voice rang out like a blade slicing through silk.

"How many of you," he said, casually adjusting his robes but leaving himself half-exposed, "have mistreated beastkin? Be honest. Whipped them? Spit on them? Fucked them and threw them away? Or worse—sold their children like livestock?"

The hall was still. You could hear the Queen’s soft, broken breaths on the marble floor.

"Raise your hands," Allen said, and he smiled.

Slowly—guiltily—hands began to rise. A few at first, hesitant. Then more. Then nearly all of the human nobles and aristocrats raised their trembling fingers.

Allen chuckled. Not a mad laugh. A calm, bone-deep amusement like he’d just been waiting for this.

"There it is," he said softly. "The rot."

He stepped forward, leash still trailing behind him. "You treated them like animals. And now... you’ll be treated the same. No. Worse."

Gasps rippled. Some hands went down. Too late.

Allen turned toward the guards at the edge of the hall, gesturing toward the noblewoman who had fainted earlier—the delicate little thing in pink lace who had shrieked at the sight of Soreya crawling.

"Wake her," he said flatly.

The guards didn’t hesitate. One slapped her gently. Another tossed cold water on her face. The noblewoman stirred with a whimper, blinking in confusion.

"What... what is—?"

Before she could finish, Allen’s voice cracked like thunder.

"Strip her."

"No—wait, stop! What are you doing?!" she screamed, but her cries were nothing compared to the silent, horrified arousal humming through the room.

They tore her gown from her in seconds, exposing soft, pampered flesh. She tried to cover herself, sobbing, but Allen was already walking toward her with that cold smirk of domination etched into his jaw.

"You think you’re better than them?" he asked, tilting her chin up. "You fainted from shame. That’s rich, coming from someone who let beastkin starve outside your gates."

"Please, I didn’t—"

"You all did."

He looked over his shoulder and nodded once.

From the side of the hall, a group of beastkin males—some warriors, some servants, some former slaves—stepped forward. Their eyes burned with a mix of fury and lust. Fangs. Fur. Claws. Muscles tensed, cocks already hard.

Allen grabbed the noblewoman’s hair and yanked her to her knees.

"Start with him," he said, pointing at a massive tiger beastkin who had once been whipped in her estate for not bowing low enough. "You’re going to suck every beastkin cock in this hall. That’s your apology."

The noblewoman paled. "No... I can’t—I won’t—"

Allen leaned in, breath brushing her ear. "Then I’ll hang you naked in the courtyard and make every orphaned foxkin piss on you before they spit in your cunt."

She sobbed, trembling, then turned toward the first beastkin and shakily opened her mouth.

What followed was slow, degrading, and deliberate. Allen didn’t rush it.

She gagged and sobbed and drooled around each cock. Her makeup ran. Her pride shattered. The beastkin didn’t moan sweetly—they growled, snarled, grunted as they face-fucked her without care. Some grabbed her head and fucked her like they were purging years of pain from her throat. Others slapped her tits, spat in her face, made her beg for the next cock like it was water in the desert.

Allen watched from the throne, Soreya still knelt at his feet like a good bitch, licking his balls while her former peer was defiled not five feet away.

And the nobles? They watched, too.

Some were frozen. Some were wet. Some began shifting in their seats, faces flushed with horror or shameful excitement.

Allen didn’t care which it was.

He stood once more and raised his voice.

"This is justice. This is balance."

He pointed to another nobleman.

"You. Your daughter used to spit on beastkin maids, didn’t she?"

The man nodded slowly, pale and sweating.

"Send her to me tonight. Naked. Leashed."

Another gasp.

Allen smirked wider. "And your sons will serve as footstools for foxkin elders. All week."

This was no longer a kingdom ruled by humans. This was a new order.

And Allen? He was no longer just a man.

He was king.

God.

Tyrant.

Warden of karma.

He leaned back again as the noblewoman gasped around another cock, her mascara painting her cheeks, her dignity long gone. Soreya moaned softly below him, licking the base of his shaft like a devout worshiper.

And the nobles began to realize—this wasn’t a phase.

This was their new reality.

And it was only just beginning.