NTR: Stealing wives in Another World
Chapter 173: Three noble ladies (heavy smut 18+)

Chapter 173: Three noble ladies (heavy smut 18+)

The hall was silent now. Not with respect—with fear. The nobles didn’t breathe too loud. Nobody looked Allen in the eye. He didn’t have to raise his voice to command the air.

He stood tall at the center of the dais, half-draped in black silk, cock still glistening, the leash from Queen Soreya’s collar dragging like a scepter behind him. She lay at his feet, ruined and moaning softly.

Allen raised one hand.

"Bring in the next sinners."

The doors creaked open.

Three noblewomen were dragged into the hall.

Lady Halene of House Marrowvale. And her daughters—Miris, twenty-two, proud and polished like a marble statue, and Valea, twenty, delicate and terrified, trembling in her gold-laced slippers.

The audience turned stiff. Murmurs buzzed under their breath.

Halene walked without resistance, shoulders straight, chin high. Her daughters followed, bare feet silent against the marble. One looked around as if the walls might save her. The other stared straight ahead, lips bloodless.

They were forced to kneel in front of the throne.

Allen looked down at them like judgment made flesh.

"You are here," he said coldly, "not as nobles. Not as guests. But as criminals."

Halene’s lip twitched. "We are daughters of—"

"You are nothing," Allen cut in, voice sharp. "And I will now make sure everyone sees it."

He paced slowly, hands behind his back.

"Let it be known," he began, "that Lady Halene—who once presided over the Marrowvale estate—did the following with open pride and noble funding:"

He ticked off fingers, gaze never leaving hers.

"—She executed seven beastkin servants for failing to use the right honorific."

"—She flayed a young foxkin girl alive as entertainment during her son’s birthday feast."

Gasps rippled through the hall. Some nobles flinched. Some just looked down.

Allen turned to the daughters.

"Miris," he said, eyes locking on the older girl, "you forced a rabbitkin kitchen boy to drink soap until he puked, then made him lick it off your shoes."

She looked away.

"And Valea..."

The younger girl’s breath hitched.

"You locked three wolfkin twins in the garden shed in winter. One of them died."

"I didn’t mean to!" she cried. "I thought they’d be found—"

"You didn’t care," Allen snarled.

Then—hssssss.

A wet, trembling hiss.

A dark patch spread down the front of Valea’s dress. She froze, eyes wide. The golden silk clung to her legs as piss trickled down and pooled beneath her knees.

The hall was dead silent.

Halene turned, lip curling.

"Disgraceful," she spat, not at Allen—but at her own daughter. "Pissing yourself like a farm girl. What would your father say?"

Valea sobbed silently.

Allen’s eyes narrowed.

"You can’t even fake remorse," he said. "You’re so rotted with privilege, you don’t understand what’s coming."

He turned to the crowd.

"By the authority you once hoarded... I strip all three of you of noble status. Your names, titles, and bloodlines are nothing. You are now holes. Property. Lessons."

Halene lifted her chin defiantly. "I’ve given birth. My body has endured pain. You’ll do nothing to me I haven’t already survived."

Allen stepped closer, slowly.

"Wrong."

He raised a hand and pointed to the guards.

"Strip them."

Silks were torn. Gasps rang out. Breasts spilled out, nipples stiff in the cool air. Pale thighs, trembling bellies, smooth untouched skin. Valea cried harder, dripping. Miris clenched her teeth. Halene didn’t flinch—but her fists clenched.

Allen turned back to the crowd.

"The punishment is simple."

He raised his voice now, letting it echo from every stone column.

"Gaping."

Confusion flickered. Some understood. Others paled.

Allen pointed at Valea first.

"You’ll be stretched until you can no longer close."

To Miris: "You’ll be opened and left on display. Until shame becomes your identity."

And finally, Halene.

"You will not be punished where you expect."

Halene raised a brow.

"I’ve already been stretched. I’m no virgin, unlike these brats."

Allen smiled.

"You’ll be gaped where birth did not reach."

That smug expression finally flickered.

"Bring the rings," Allen commanded.

Beastkin stepped forward with trays of cold, black gaping rings. Ranging from small, to monstrous.

"Guards. Begin."

They started with Valea.

She shrieked as her legs were spread. Her piss-soaked dress was torn from her waist. Her pale, untouched pussy was small and soft—unmarked.

Until the first ring slid in.

Then the second.

Her scream rose.

"Stop, please! I’m sorry—I’m sorry!"

The third ring forced her hole wider. A sticky sheen coated her thighs as her body bucked. She pissed again from the pressure.

Halene looked on with thinly veiled disgust.

"My daughters were supposed to be nobility. Not this... filth."

Allen looked at her sharply.

"You made them filth."

He pointed.

"Miris. Next."

She fought. But her cunt, while tighter than her mother’s, was no match for iron. She bit down on her screams—until the fourth ring spread her open enough to see inside.

She howled.

Guards held her thighs down. Allen inserted a final plug to keep her wide.

Then he turned to Halene.

The guards strapped her to a padded table—legs lifted, arms pinned.

Halene hissed, "You think this is new to me? I’ve had children."

Allen leaned close.

"I’m not gaping your pussy, Halene."

He raised a long, curved instrument.

"This is a womb spreader."

Her face dropped.

"What—?"

He slid it into her with methodical force. Not shallow. Deep.

Her eyes rolled.

Click.

Click.

The pressure inside her abdomen visibly shifted.

"No—this isn’t right—I’ve done nothing—"

Click.

"YOU MURDERED CHILDREN."

Click.

"YOU CALLED IT SPORT."

CLICK. POP.

Her womb gaped.

A trembling, aching depth opened within her. A void made visible. Shameful. Ruined.

The crowd was silent.

Allen stood, looming over her ruined, gaping body.

"This is what nobility has become. A legacy of holes."

And still, more punishments waited.

But for now, the nobles saw what awaited them.

And for the first time in generations...

They felt fear.

The room was still.

The gaping mother. Her trembling, twitching daughters. Their bodies laid bare—ruined, opened, humiliated. But Allen wasn’t finished. No... this wasn’t the end.

This was the invitation.

Allen stepped back and let the silence stretch. Let the audience sit in the raw, uncomfortable tension of it all. Let them see what the end of privilege looked like when it was split open and left on display.

Then he spoke, voice low, clear, brutal.

"These three are no longer human. No longer noble. They are open offerings. Receptacles. Holes."

A long pause.

"Anyone who’s ever suffered under their family’s name... step forward."

At first, there was hesitation. No one dared move.

Until a single figure stepped into the light—an old rabbitkin man, shoulders hunched, fur grey, eyes gleaming wet with rage. He was shaking as he approached the platform.

"I lost my daughter," he whispered. "She served House Marrowvale. They said she died of illness. But I saw the burns. The whip scars."

Allen said nothing. He just stepped aside.

The man stared down at the ruined daughters, shaking.

Then he reached out... and spit directly on Lady Halene’s face.

She flinched.

But Allen didn’t stop him.

He turned to the guards and gave a single nod.

A group of beastkin were already waiting.

Three strong males—oxkin, tigerkin, bearkin—stripped down without hesitation, their cocks hard and glistening as they moved toward the daughters like executioners with flesh for weapons.

Valea screamed first. She tried to close her legs, but the gaping rings held her wide, helpless. She couldn’t even clench. The bearkin lined up and shoved himself into her destroyed hole with a brutal squelch.

She shrieked. The sound tore out of her, raw, hopeless.

Each thrust widened her further. Her ring stretched, moaned. Slick fluids poured out around the intrusion, dripping onto the marble like a leaky faucet.

Miris fought harder. She bit a guard, screamed about her rights—until the oxkin grabbed her by the throat and slammed into her gaping pussy like he was punishing her cunt for breathing. Her cries turned hoarse. Her toes curled. And still the ring held.

Her hole gaped and gaped, unable to resist. Her insides became the show.

Allen watched, stone-faced, arms folded. He didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. This wasn’t sex. It was justice. Painful, humiliating, wet justice.

Then came Halene’s turn.

She looked up at Allen, face pale. Her womb was still gaping—open like a sacrificial chalice.

"You wouldn’t—" she started.

"I would."

Allen summoned a foxkin scholar girl—nervous, trembling—but holding a bottle of holy oil. She had once been Halene’s servant. Beaten for stuttering.

Allen took the bottle from her hands, uncorked it, and slowly poured the shimmering, slick oil directly into Halene’s open womb.

The noblewoman shrieked. Her body writhed. The heat seeped deep into her insides. It wasn’t meant for internal use—but Allen didn’t care.

Then came the tigerkin.

Big. Ruthless. And aiming not for her cunt... but for the open, glistening gap in her belly.

"No," Halene whispered. "Not there. That’s—that’s not meant for—"

He didn’t listen.

The head of his cock pushed into her womb like a battering ram. Her legs kicked. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as he fucked her gaping organ directly, pounding her insides until her body twitched in shock.

Allen walked around her slowly as it happened.

"You thought you escaped," he said softly. "You thought giving birth made you immune. But what you gave birth to... was more rot. So I’m clearing it out."

Each thrust made her body jolt. Her gaped hole convulsed. A small amount of blood mixed with oil dribbled out, pooling on the stone beneath her.

Allen stopped beside her head, crouched, and whispered into her ear.

"This is what your nobility bought. You turned suffering into entertainment. Now I’ve returned the favor."

Halene sobbed. Not from the pain. Not even from the shame.

But because her pride was gone. Nothing left to cling to.

By the end, all three noblewomen were left twitching on the floor. Fluids coating their thighs. Their gaping holes twitching open and shut. Their names erased from memory—only their ruined bodies remained.

Allen stood at the center of it all.

The beastkin crowd stared in awe, in silence, in reverence.

He wasn’t a king.

He was wrath incarnate.

And they would remember this night until the end of history.