NTR: Stealing wives in Another World
Chapter 183: Queen’s new role

Chapter 183: Queen’s new role

The warmth of Allen’s release still clung to her thighs like a brand, sticky and heavy. Soreya knelt in silence, her breath shallow, eyes unfocused, mind hazy. She could feel it dripping from her—the proof of her submission. Of her defeat. Her crown was long gone. Her voice no longer held weight. Her dignity had been peeled away in layers, each thrust, each order, each humiliation stripping her raw. And now, even her silence wasn’t hers anymore. It was a silence granted by Allen.

Fina was already crouched beside her, a cloth in hand, but she wasn’t cleaning her out of kindness. No, each drag of the cloth was slow, deliberate, just enough to smear the mess down Soreya’s thighs rather than wipe it away. She smeared Allen’s cum down her skin like war paint, letting it cake against her flushed skin, rubbing in little circles at times just to watch the queen flinch and shiver.

"Still sensitive?" Fina whispered sweetly, voice like honey laced with venom. "That’s cute."

Soreya whimpered, her knees shifting slightly, but the collar tugged at her throat the moment she moved, keeping her bowed low. Her wrists were already being re-bound—this time behind her back again, elbows pulled closer together than before. Rinni tightened the rope with a soft snkk, enjoying the way Soreya’s shoulders rolled in discomfort, pushing her breasts out further.

"Back straight," Rinni said, voice bored but sharp.

Soreya obeyed instantly.

Allen didn’t look back at them. He was standing before the great council doors now, speaking with Kael about logistics—boring, strategic talk about morning audiences and noble arrangements. The contrast was maddening. The casual way he could flip between brutal dominance and cold command made it clear: he wasn’t pretending. This wasn’t play. It never had been. To him, she wasn’t a conquest—she was inventory.

An owned asset.

Fina tied a final knot at Soreya’s collar, securing a long, silver leash to the loop. She gave it a little tug, and Soreya followed the motion with her whole body, crawling forward without needing to be told. Her knees kissed the cold stone floor, leaving trails of warmth and wetness as she moved.

Rinni fetched a tray.

On it, freshly inked wooden tags, each carved with elegant script. Shameful words burned into the grain. Fina picked one up, examined it, and chuckled.

"’Used for breeding, not ruling.’ This one’s yours," she said, hanging it around Soreya’s neck like a pendant.

Another followed. "’Public Property—Do Not Respect.’"

Then a third: "’Queen No More, Just a Fucktoy.’"

The final tag simply read: "His."

Soreya didn’t protest. She didn’t even look surprised. The broken glimmer in her eyes had dulled to something else now—acceptance. Her breath came slower, steadier. There was peace in her posture, even as her body ached and dripped.

Allen turned, and the moment his eyes found her again, her whole being shifted. She straightened further, tilted her chin just enough to show her tags, and opened her mouth slightly, tongue peeking out in silent offer.

He walked over to her in measured steps. The guards parted.

Allen didn’t speak at first. He just reached down and cupped her jaw again, rubbing his thumb across her slick lower lip. She kissed it. Sucked it. A little moan vibrated in her throat as she tasted herself—tasted him—on her skin.

"Good," he finally said. "Now you’re ready."

"For what, Master?" she whispered. The word tumbled off her tongue like it belonged there now. No resistance. No sarcasm. Just truth.

Allen snapped his fingers once. The great doors opened.

The nobles waiting in the morning queue stood beyond them—dozens of them. Petitioners, merchants, advisors, diplomats. All eyes turned to the sudden motion. All chatter stopped.

Allen stepped back from Soreya and let her sit upright in the entryway, legs still spread, tags displayed, face flushed. The leash was looped through a golden ring set into the floor.

He looked down at her one last time, then gestured.

"You’ll greet them here. One by one. Bare. Bound. Owned. You don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. You don’t hide yourself. You don’t look away. Understood?"

She swallowed. Nodded. "Yes, Master."

Fina and Rinni stepped to either side of her like twin sentinels, each armed with a crop, their expressions neutral. Allen turned to the crowd now pouring into the hall.

"Let today begin," he announced, "with the truth laid bare."

He sat on his throne.

And as the nobles entered, each forced to walk past the kneeling former queen, dripping and silent, her eyes locked forward and legs parted, Allen watched.

Watched their disgust. Their arousal. Their fear.

One by one, they bowed.

Not to her. Not to her legacy. But to him.

To the man who had broken a monarch and made her into his morning decoration.

The scent of shame would linger in that hall long after they were gone. And Soreya—once a queen—would remain kneeling, a living monument to his dominance.

And the day had only just begun.

The echo of boots and whispers filled the chamber like smoke—slippered steps of hesitant nobles, the faint rustle of fine cloaks brushing the stone floor, and the heavy silence of a crowd trying to pretend they weren’t aroused, horrified, or both. They came in one by one, filtering toward Allen’s throne, but their gazes were all the same. Every eye drifted, eventually, to the chained woman kneeling at the center of the room.

Soreya didn’t flinch under their stares. She didn’t twitch or try to cover herself. She couldn’t. Her wrists were still bound behind her back, collar tugged tight by the leash locked into the floor ring. Her legs remained parted at the knees, the slick sheen between her thighs a silent, glistening shame. Her hair was disheveled, her makeup smudged, her throat red from use. And hanging from her neck like ceremonial jewelry were the four wooden tags—each one swinging slightly whenever she breathed.

Allen watched them watch her.

Every hesitant noble who stepped forward had to walk around her kneeling body. Some quickened their steps, eyes forward, pretending they saw nothing. Others slowed, curiosity leaking through politeness. One merchant even stumbled slightly, eyes wide with disbelief. Fina cracked her crop once—not at him, but near enough that he snapped to attention and moved on.

A few older members of the Rhelgar-affiliated houses stared longest. Not with sympathy. With quiet, boiling anger.

Allen just smiled.

He let them stew in it.

Kael stepped forward to announce the first petitioner—a tall, hawk-nosed man from the Brelan shipping guild. His voice trembled as he began to speak, trying to maintain formality, but Soreya’s presence shattered every ounce of dignity in the room. Every time she shifted her weight, the chain clinked. Every time her breathing hitched, the wooden tags clacked together like a bell. Her body was a constant reminder that power had changed hands.

The merchant tried to make his case about shipping tariffs. Allen barely listened. He watched Soreya instead.

"You’re dripping again," he said suddenly, voice cold but casual.

The merchant went silent.

Soreya’s eyes fluttered closed, shame blooming across her cheeks, but she didn’t deny it. The floor beneath her thighs was already stained with the slow seep of her arousal, and now a fresh bead was rolling down her inner thigh, thick and glistening in the torchlight.

Allen stood.

He walked toward her in slow, measured steps, letting the silence stretch behind him. The nobles whispered, but no one dared speak up. Not even Kael. Allen crouched in front of Soreya, cupped her chin, and lifted her gaze.

"You’re leaking in front of guests," he murmured.

"I-I’m sorry, Master," she whispered, voice barely there.

"Don’t apologize. Show them."

She blinked, confused for a moment, until he reached behind her and unlatched the leash from the floor. The sudden slackness made her sway, her balance thrown off. Allen didn’t wait—he seized her by the hair, not cruelly, but firmly, guiding her up to her feet. Her legs trembled the moment they had to support her. Her breath caught.

"Face them."

She turned, still bound at the wrists, standing naked in full view of dozens of highborn eyes. Her breasts rose and fell with each shaky breath. Her thighs glistened. Her back straightened slowly, until she was standing like a soldier—bare and dripping.

Allen circled her once, then stood behind her.

"You begged to be seen as a ruler," he said, voice raised just enough for the crowd to hear. "Now they’ll see you as what you truly are."

He spread her legs wider with a tap of his boot. Her cunt was fully visible now—puffy, wet, twitching. Fina and Rinni moved to either side of her, each carrying a switch. Not to punish. To enforce posture.

"Every noble who approaches me today," Allen continued, "will have to pass inspection. By you."

Soreya blinked.

"I... I don’t understand..."

"You’ll kneel before each of them," Allen said, stepping closer, pressing the head of his cock against her backside. "You’ll greet them. And if they hesitate, if they show weakness... you’ll show them what happens to cowards."

Her breath caught again. "Y-you mean... humiliate them?"

"No. Just show them what you’ve become. And remind them what I am."

He shoved her forward, forcing her back to her knees. Rinni yanked the leash taut again. Soreya landed on the floor with a soft grunt, her breasts swaying as she hit her knees, her face just inches from the hem of the next petitioner’s robe.

Allen returned to his throne.

The next noble approached—a young man, barely twenty, stiff with anxiety. His eyes darted between Allen and the naked woman kneeling before him. She didn’t move at first.

Allen snapped his fingers.

Soreya bowed forward and licked the man’s boot.

The boy froze.

"She’s showing you respect," Allen said calmly. "Return it, or leave."

The noble slowly reached out and patted Soreya’s head. She shivered under his touch.

"Next," Allen said.

And so it continued.

One by one, nobles passed her. She bowed to some. Licked the boots of others. A few flinched away—those ones Allen marked mentally. Weak. Untrustworthy. Others tried to touch her longer than necessary. Those ones Fina struck across the hands with a sharp flick of her crop.

Soreya obeyed every cue. She never hesitated. She never faltered. Her body was pink from exposure, her lips swollen from use, her eyes glassy. And still she served.

By the time the last noble exited, hours later, she was on her side, thighs clenched, face slack with exhaustion. Her mouth was open slightly, and her tongue still lolled out.

Allen rose from his throne.

He approached her, crouched, and ran his fingers through her hair.

"You served well," he said. "But you’re still holding back."

Soreya barely nodded.

"Tonight," he whispered, "you’ll break completely."

She didn’t beg for mercy.

She didn’t even blink.

Just whispered back, "Yes, Master."

And Allen smiled.