[ Quest Complete: Covet What Belongs to Others ]
[ You have taken a step closer to your Patron. ]
[ The Hidden One watches. The Hidden One is pleased. ]
[ New Skill Unlocked: Demon Skin ]
Alphonse blinked. The notification pulsed, demanding attention, and he willed it open with a thought.
[ Demon Skin ]
Your flesh is no longer merely mortal. A layer of demonic essence now resides beneath your skin, dormant until called. When activated, it hardens into an armor that deflects physical attacks and can reshape itself according to your will. The form is limited only by your imagination and your mana.
Mana Consumption: 300 (activation) + 10/sec (sustained)
Note: Visible transformation may compromise your cover. Use with discretion.
Demonic.
Is my patron a demon?
He lay still on the cold stone of the tower platform, Madeleine's ruined body warm and trembling beneath him, and let the implication settle.
A demon. Not a god. Not an ancient spirit. Not some benevolent, abstract force of cosmic balance. A demon.
He waited for the fear.
It didn't come.
Instead, what rose in his chest was something closer to satisfaction. A puzzle piece clicking into place. The [Mind Control] alignment. The quests designed around seduction, domination, and moral ruin. The secrecy clause — if anyone discovers, you will die. It all made sense now. A demon patron couldn't operate in the open. Its chosen vessel had to move in shadow, behind masks.
We have similar goals, Alphonse thought. The Hidden One wants corruption. Expansion. Power. And I want...
He looked down at Madeleine.
She lay beneath him on the cold stone, her massive tits splayed to either side of her chest.
I want exactly the same thing.
Madeleine stirred beneath him. Awareness returned to her face. Where she was, what had happened, the wetness between her thighs.
"I... we should..." She swallowed. Her voice was a ruin. "The party. People will notice I'm gone. I need to get back before Lucius—"
She tried to push herself up on her elbows.
Alphonse's hand found her shoulder. Pushed her back down.
"We're not done."
"What? Alphonse, I can't — I just — my body is—"
"I said," he repeated, "we're not done."
He flipped her over.
The motion was swift, almost violent. His hands gripped her wide hips and rolled her onto her stomach. Her massive tits compressed against the cold stone with a heavy, wet slap. Her ass rose, the two enormous globes trembling with the impact.
"Alphonse, wait — I need a moment — please — I'm still—"
He grabbed a fistful of her dark curls. Yanked her head back. Her spine arched, her back curving into a deep bow that pushed her ass higher.
"Fat little cows don't get moments," he growled against the shell of her ear. "They get milked until they're empty."
He drove into her from behind.
One thrust. Balls deep.
"AAAHH—!"
Madeleine's scream split the night air. Her hands clawed at the stone. Her cunt, still swollen and tender from the first round, stretched around his cock with a burning friction that was half agony and half something she didn't have a name for.
He didn't give her time to adjust.
He fucked her. Savagely. Each thrust a full-length withdrawal followed by a brutal, pelvis-cracking drive that bottomed out against her cervix. The sound was obscene. Wet, meaty slaps of flesh on flesh, the squelching of his cum being churned inside her.
Her ass rippled with every impact.
"Oh God — oh God — oh GOD—"
Madeleine's face was pressed sideways against the stone. Drool pooled beneath her cheek. Her eyes were rolled back.
Alphonse released her hair. Both hands gripped her hips now. He used the grip as leverage, pulling her back onto his cock as he thrust forward, maximizing the depth, the force, the devastating impact of each stroke.
Her massive tits, trapped beneath her body, bulged outward on either side of her torso. With each thrust, they slid forward against the stone, the nipples dragging across the rough surface.
"Moo for me again," Alphonse demanded. He punctuated the command with a slap to her right ass cheek. The flesh detonated under his palm, a rippling shockwave that sent her whole body lurching forward. A red handprint bloomed on the pale skin.
"M-moooo—"
The word came out broken, sobbed, mangled by the force of his thrusts. But she said it. "Louder, cow."
"MOOOOO — PLEASE — I CAN'T — IT'S TOO MUCH—"
He slapped the other cheek. Harder.
"You can and you will."
He leaned forward over her back. Changed the angle. His cock drove downward now, grinding against her G-spot with every stroke, and the effect was immediate. Her thighs shook uncontrollably, and a gush of fluid sprayed from around his shaft, soaking his balls and splattering the stone.
"There it is," he said through gritted teeth. "There's that fat cow squirt."
He reached beneath her. Found her tits, hanging heavy and compressed against the stone. Grabbed one in each hand and squeezed.
"AAAHHHH—!"
The flesh overflowed his fingers. He dug in mercilessly, kneading the massive udders like dough, his thumbs finding the swollen nipples and pressing them flat against his palms. He pinched. Twisted. Pulled them away from her body until the heavy tissue stretched into teardrops, then released them to snap back with a meaty bounce.
Madeleine screamed. The sound was raw, animal, stripped of every pretense of humanity.
He bit her shoulder. Hard enough to leave marks.
"Who do you belong to?"
"You — you, Alphonse — only you — please — I'll do anything — ANYTHING—"
He twisted her left nipple.
"What are you?"
"Your cow! Your fat — breeding — cow — oh GOD — PLEASE LET ME CUM—"
[Mind Influence]
CUM.
Every nerve in her body fired simultaneously. Her cunt spasmed with such violence that Alphonse felt his cock being crushed.
Madeleine's orgasm was apocalyptic.
Her whole body seized. Her spine locked into a rigid arch, her head thrown back.
Her tits heaved in his grip, nipples so swollen and hard they felt like stones against his palms.
Alphonse came with her.
His cock swelled inside her clenching cunt and erupted for the second time. Thick, heavy ropes of semen flooding her already-stuffed channel, pumping into her womb.
He held himself inside her. Felt the last pulses of his orgasm fade.
Madeleine collapsed.
Flat on the stone. Arms splayed. Face down.
Alphonse pulled out. The withdrawal produced a wet, obscene sucking sound, and when his cock finally slid free, a torrent of cum poured from her gaping cunt. He wasn't finished.
Not yet.
He grabbed her hips again. Dragged her to the edge of the stone platform where the parapet met the floor. Propped her up so she was half-kneeling, half-collapsed against the low wall, her massive tits hanging over the edge, swaying in the sea breeze.
"Alphonse... please... I can't feel my legs..."
He stepped on her left breast.
His bare foot settled onto the heavy mound where it pressed against the stone, and he applied pressure. Slowly. The flesh compressed under his sole, spreading outward, the nipple trapped beneath the ball of his foot.
Madeleine whimpered. The sound was barely human.
He increased the pressure. Twisted his foot. Grinding the swollen nipple against the rough stone beneath it.
"AH — AH — stop — it hurts — it HURTS—"
He didn't stop. He shifted his weight, adding more pressure. Watched the massive tit deform under his foot, the flesh bulging around the edges of his sole, the skin flushing from pink to angry red.
He stepped off. Knelt beside her. Grabbed the abused breast in both hands and brought his mouth to the nipple.
He bit.
Not gently. His teeth closed around the swollen bud and squeezed until he felt her body convulse beneath him. He sucked. Hard. Drawing the nipple deep into his mouth, his tongue lashing across the tip while his teeth maintained their grip.
"NNNHH—!"
He released the nipple with a wet pop. It was raw. Swollen to twice its normal size. Already darkening toward purple.
He gave the other breast the same treatment. His hands, his mouth, his teeth. He worked both massive udders with a systematic brutality that left them mottled with red marks, bite impressions, and the beginnings of bruises that would take weeks to fade.
When he was done, Madeleine's tits looked like they'd been through a war. Purple welts. Teeth marks in concentric rings around both areolas. Finger-shaped bruises along the sides where he'd gripped and squeezed and twisted.
She would need to wear high-collared dresses for a month. Maybe longer.
He fucked her twice more after that.
The third time was from the front, her back against the parapet wall, her legs over his shoulders, folded nearly in half so he could watch the expressions on her face as he ruined her.
The fourth time she barely moved. He had to hold her hips up himself, his cock pistoning into a cunt so flooded with cum that the friction was almost gone.
Only when her body went completely limp. When her cunt could hold no more cum and it poured from her in a continuous stream, did he stop.
He stood over her for a moment. Looking down.
She was destroyed.
Madeleine Clairmont, merchant's daughter, Lucius's fiancée, the girl who'd climbed this tower worried about staircase humiliation, lay naked on the cold stone. Her body was a canvas of his ownership. Bite marks, handprints, bruises blooming across her massive tits and wide hips and trembling thighs. Cum leaked from her cunt in thick, slow pulses. More of it had dried on her face, in her hair, across her stomach.
She was barely conscious.
He knelt. Gathered her dress from where it lay crumpled near the stairwell entrance. He lifted her to a seated position and began the slow process of reassembling her. When he was done, she looked almost presentable. The flush on her cheeks could pass for wine. The glassiness of her eyes could pass for fatigue.
Only the way she moved, wincing with each step, betrayed what had happened.
She tried to stand. Her legs buckled. He caught her.
For a moment, she hung in his arms, her face pressed against his chest.
He held her chin. Tilted her face up. Her brown eyes found his. Fear and devotion and confusion and need, all compressed into a single, desperate look.
"I'll let you go back to Lucius," Alphonse said. His voice was quiet. Almost soft. "For now."
Her lips trembled.
"But understand something, Madeleine." His thumb traced her jawline. "You are mine. What happened here doesn't end when you walk down those stairs. It starts."
She stared at him.
"You'll come visit me at the mansion. Often. There are things I need to show you. Things I need to teach you." His grip tightened fractionally on her chin. "And when I call, you come. No matter what Lucius is doing. No matter what your father expects. You come to me."
Through the connection, he felt the war inside her. The rational mind screaming that this was insanity, that she'd just betrayed her engagement, her family, her future, for a boy she barely knew.
Beneath it, louder than all of it, the desperate, aching, bone-deep need to feel what she'd felt tonight. Again. And again. And again.
Why did I do this? The thought spiraled through her mind. Why did I let him? What's wrong with me? How did I go from a tower to — to — to mooing on my hands and knees while he—
She couldn't finish it. The memory alone made her cunt clench, and the shame of that involuntary response drove the spiral deeper.
[Mind Influence]
You won't be able to live without seeing Alphonse. Every night alone, every touch from Lucius, every day that passes without his hands on you will feel like starvation. He is the only one who has ever made you feel alive.
The suggestion sank into her. It settled on the floor of her psyche and became indistinguishable from bedrock.
"I understand," she whispered.
He released her chin and stepped back.
"Fix your face before you go down," he said. "You look like you've been crying."
"I have been crying."
"Crying from the sea wind. That's your story."
She nodded. Wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. Drew a shuddering breath. Squared her shoulders.
The mask went on. The merchant's daughter reassembled herself from the wreckage.
Alphonse watched her descend into the darkness of the stairwell.
He severed the connection.
[ Mind Connection severed ]
Reason: Manually terminated
Total session mana spent: 214
He stood alone on the tower platform.
He dressed. Buttoned the doublet. Smoothed his hair. Checked himself for evidence and found nothing that wouldn't pass casual scrutiny.
He descended the stairs.
The party had shifted into its late phase. The formal speeches were done, the serious networking complete, and what remained was the loosened, wine-fueled socializing.
He moved through the crowd scanning for golden hair.
It took him ten minutes. He circled the food pavilions, checked the musician's tent, skirted the artificial lake. Twice he caught glimpses of Sophie's silver dress at the edge of his vision, only to lose her.
He found her near the eastern refreshment tables, in a quiet alcove formed by three decorative hedges. She wasn't alone.
Three young men had arranged themselves around her in a loose semicircle. They were well-dressed. Noble sons, by the cut of their doublets and the family crests stitched into their breast pockets. Each one stood a careful half-step closer than propriety demanded.
Sophie stood with her back to one of the hedges. Her body language was polite but stiff.
Alphonse slowed his approach. Listened.
"Sophie, you're already of age for an engagement." The tallest of the three spoke first. He leaned in as he spoke, closing the distance between them. "Has the Baron arranged anything yet? Surely a [Mage] of your caliber has attracted attention from the greater houses."
Sophie's smile was diplomatic. "My father hasn't discussed any arrangements with me."
"Well," the second boy interjected, stepping forward, "if the Baron hasn't settled on a family yet, mine would be honored to celebrate our union." He said it with a grin that was meant to be charming. "The Eisenwald name carries weight in the northern provinces. Our holdings border the imperial hunting grounds. My mother has already expressed interest in reaching out to Baroness Hohenberg."
The third boy opened his mouth.
He didn't get the chance.
"Gentlemen."
Alphonse's voice arrived before he did. Warm, pleasant, carrying just enough authority to cut through the ambient noise. The three heads turned.
He stepped into the alcove. Positioned himself at Sophie's side, close enough that his shoulder brushed hers. His hand found hers and took it.
"We appreciate the interest," Alphonse said, giving each of them a nod. "The Hohenberg family has no plans for an engagement at this time. But we'll certainly keep your houses in mind when the discussion arises."
The tall one's jaw tightened. The Eisenwald boy's smile frosted over. The third one, who'd never gotten his chance, looked vaguely relieved.
"Of course," the tall one said, recovering first. "No pressure intended. We were simply enjoying Lady Sophie's company."
"As anyone would." Alphonse squeezed Sophie's hand. "Unfortunately, we're running late. I'm afraid I need to steal my sister away. Safe travels, gentlemen."
He didn't wait for responses.
He turned, Sophie's hand still in his, and walked.
She followed.
They cleared the alcove. Passed through the main courtyard. Weaved between clusters of chattering nobles.
Alphonse could feel the tension in her hand. She was thinking. He could see it in the furrow between her brows, the way her eyes stayed fixed on the ground ahead of her.
They passed through the entrance arch, descended the terrace steps. The Hohenberg carriage sat near the end, its four horses shifting restlessly.
Helmut was already on the driver's bench.
Alphonse opened the carriage door. Sophie climbed in first, gathering her skirt with one hand. He followed, pulling the door shut behind him.
The latch clicked.
Sophie sat opposite him. Her hands were folded in her lap, fingers interlacing, then releasing, then interlacing again. Her gaze stayed on the window.
Helmut's whip cracked. The carriage lurched forward.
For five full minutes, neither spoke.
The estate fell away behind them. The coastal road wound upward through the terraced vineyards, and the lights of Montefalco shrank.
Alphonse waited.
"Come on," he said finally. "You're obviously thinking about something. Tell me."
Sophie's jaw worked. She kept staring out the window.
"They're not wrong, are they?" she said at last.
"In what sense?"
She turned to face him.
"Al, I'm really of age to get engaged." Her voice was steady. "It's not just those boys at the party. It's the system. The way things work. A [Mage] with [Water Magic] specialization? Do you have any idea how valuable that makes me on the marriage market?"
He said nothing. Let her continue.
"Mother has been fielding inquiries for months. She doesn't tell me, but I hear things. The servants talk. Letters come from houses I've never heard of. Houses in the capital. Houses with armies and seats on the Imperial Council." Her fingers tightened in her lap. "When Father returns... he'll announce it. He'll choose whichever house offers the best strategic advantage, and I'll be shipped off like one of Mother's trade goods."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
"I always knew it was coming," she whispered. "I just... I thought I had more time."
The carriage rocked over a rough patch.
"Sophie—" Alphonse began.
The carriage shuddered.
A violent, lurching tremor that sent both of them grabbing for the nearest handhold. The wheels screamed against stone. The entire vehicle tilted, grinding forward at a crawl before stuttering to a stop.
"What the hell—" Alphonse pushed the door open.
The four soldiers had already dismounted. Helmut was climbing down from the driver's bench.
All six of them — Alphonse, the soldiers, Helmut — converged on the left rear wheel.
The problem was immediately visible. A crack ran through the wooden shaft, visible even in the dim light, and the wheel sat at an angle that no functioning wheel should ever achieve.
"Sir," Helmut said, crouching to examine the damage, his weathered hands probing the fracture. "The axle is cracked. Halfway through." He straightened, shaking his head. "We can't continue. If the axle snaps while we're moving, the carriage overturns. At speed, on this road, with the cliffs..." He didn't finish.
"Can it be repaired?" Alphonse asked.
"Not without a wheelwright and a forge. This needs a new axle. Shaped, fitted, installed." Helmut wiped his hands on his trousers. "Tomorrow morning, earliest. If we can find the right man in the city."
Alphonse looked back at the road. Montefalco was behind them, perhaps twenty minutes by carriage. On foot, longer. The mansion was three hours ahead, and that was with a working vehicle.
"We go back," he decided. "Find lodging in the city. Soldier. You, the one who knows the area — ride ahead and secure rooms. Something clean, something close to a wheelwright's shop."
"Yes, sir." The soldier mounted and rode off into the darkness.
Sophie's face appeared in the carriage window. "What happened?"
"Axle's broken. We're staying overnight in Montefalco."
"Oh." She absorbed this. "Is there a decent inn?"
"We're about to find out."
The soldier returned in under an hour, guiding them on foot back toward the city gates. The carriage was left on the roadside under the watch of one soldier, the remaining three escorting the siblings.
The inn was called The Mariner's Rest. A three-story stone building near the harbor. It catered to traveling merchants and minor nobles. Clean enough to sleep in, modest enough that no one would confuse it with luxury.
The common room was crowded with party overflow. Guests who hadn't secured lodging at the estate, merchants who'd come for the commerce surrounding the event, sailors from the harbor ships. The noise was considerable.
The innkeeper, a broad woman with forearms like hams, met them at the foot of the stairs.
"Your man secured what I had left," she said, jerking her thumb upward. "One room for the lord and lady. Two rooms for your men, shared. The whole city's packed on account of the Montefalco affair. You're lucky I had anything at all."
"One room?" Sophie said.
"One room," the innkeeper confirmed. "One bed. Best I've got."
Sophie looked at Alphonse.
He shrugged. "We'll manage."
The room was on the third floor. The ceiling sloped where the roof angled down, and a single window overlooked the harbor. The bed was wide enough for two, with clean sheets and a heavy wool blanket.
It was, by every measurable standard, nothing compared to the mansion. But it was clean.
Sophie stood in the doorway, surveying the space. Her arms crossed beneath her chest.
"Only one bed," she observed.
"They're full from the party," Alphonse said, dropping his doublet on the chair. "It was all the soldier could get."
This was technically true. It was also true that Alphonse had instructed the soldier, in a brief whisper before he'd ridden off, to secure one room for the siblings.
Sophie didn't need to know that.
She stepped inside. Closed the door behind her.
"Al..."
He turned.
She was standing with her back against the door. Her silver dress caught the candlelight. Her braid had loosened during the evening, golden strands escaping to frame her cheeks.
"About what we were discussing in the carriage," she said. "Before the axle broke."
He waited.
"You didn't answer me," she said softly. "About the engagement. About Father choosing someone. What am I supposed to do, Al? What can either of us do?"
Alphonse crossed the room. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet.
He stopped in front of her. Close enough that she had to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes.
"Sophie."
"What?"
"I won't let you get married. Ever."
Sophie blinked. The confusion was genuine. Her brother had just made a statement that contradicted the fundamental architecture of their world. Nobility married. Houses formed alliances. Daughters were bargaining chips. This was not optional. This was not negotiable. This was the system.
"Al, that's... you can't just say that," she said. "Father will order my betrothal the moment he returns. He's probably been negotiating terms since before the campaign. Mother might delay it, but she can't stop it. No one can stop it."
"I can."
"How? You don't have the authority. You don't have the title. You're not even classified in a combat profession. What are you going to do, walk up to Father and tell him no?"
"If I have to."
"He'll beat you again!" The words burst from her, louder than she'd intended. Her eyes widened. She pressed a hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"
"Yes, you did," Alphonse said. "He would try."
Alphonse pulled her toward him. His arms closed around her, one hand settling on the small of her back, the other cradling the back of her head, and he lowered his face to hers.
The kiss was soft.
Softer than anything he'd done with Madeleine. Lighter than what he'd given Lilian. He pressed his lips against Sophie's. Holding his sister in a rented room above a harbor, the only thing he felt was the fierce, possessive certainty that she belonged to him.
Sophie's breath caught. Her body went still.
Her mouth moved against his. The way it had in the bath, weeks ago.
He broke the kiss. Pulled back just enough to see her face.
Her eyes were wide. Her cheeks were flushed.
"I don't share what's mine," Alphonse said. His voice was low. "And you are mine. You've been mine since the day I woke up in that bed and you were the first face I saw."
"Al..."
"My sister now." His hands moved to her face. Cupped her cheeks. "My wife in the future."
Wife.
Sophie's mouth opened. No sound came out. Her eyes searched his face, looking for the joke. Finding none.
[Mind Influence]
You belong to Alphonse. You always have. The engagement, the other houses, the future your father planned. None of it matters. You were always meant to be his.
"But... family," Sophie began. The word came out weak. A last barricade, already crumbling. "We're brother and sister. The church. The law. If anyone found out—"
Alphonse kissed her again. Harder this time. His tongue swept past her lips, claiming her mouth.
Sophie's objection died between their lips.
When he pulled back, he didn't let her recover.
His hands found the front of her dress. The silver fabric was secured by a row of small pearl buttons running from collar to waist.
He gripped the fabric on either side of the top button and pulled.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.
The dress split from collar to navel.
Sophie gasped. Her hands flew to her chest, instinctively covering.
"Al?!"
The dress slid from her shoulders. Pooled at her hips. Sophie stood naked before him. One arm crossed over her breasts, the other hand cupped over her sex.
"We're going to play a game," Alphonse said.
"A game?" Sophie's voice was small.
"A simple one." He circled her. "I ask questions. You answer. Correct answers get a reward. Incorrect answers get a punishment."
He stopped behind her. His hands settled on her shoulders.
In one smooth motion, he turned her toward the bed and guided her forward.
"On all fours."
Sophie's knees hit the mattress. Her hands found the sheets. She was on the bed, on all fours, her bare back rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths. Her small, firm breasts hung beneath her, the pink nipples stiff in the cool air.
"Understood?" Alphonse asked.
A beat of silence.
"I... I guess—"
His hand came down on her ass.
Sophie's whole body lurched forward, her arms nearly buckling. The sound that escaped her was half yelp, half sob.
"AH—!"
"Wrong answer," Alphonse said. "The correct answer is 'Yes.' When I ask if you understand, the only word that should leave your mouth is 'Yes.' Clear?"
Sophie's fingers clawed the sheets. Her face was turned sideways, pressed into the mattress.
"Y-yes," she whispered.
"Good girl."
His hand left her ass. Drifted lower. His fingertips traced the back of her thigh, feather-light, ascending toward the junction of her legs.
"When you leave this room tomorrow morning," Alphonse said, his fingers reaching the slick lips of her pussy, "you will no longer be just my sister."
His middle finger slid along her slit. Parting the delicate folds. Sophie shuddered. A low, broken moan pressed into the mattress.
"You will be my fiancée. This night is our engagement. Understood?"
"Yes." The word came immediately this time. Breathless. Eager.
"As my fiancée," he continued, his finger circling her clit, "you will obey me. Faithfully. Without question. Whatever I ask, whenever I ask it. In public, you'll be Lady Hohenberg. In private, you'll be mine. Understood?"
"Hmmm... y-yes." Sophie moaned. Her hips had begun to rock, pushing backward against his hand.
Alphonse increased the pressure.
"I'll get you pregnant," he said. "As many times as I want. Whenever I want. Your womb belongs to me."
Sophie's rhythm faltered. The statement punched through the haze of pleasure. Her mouth opened.
"Get pregnant—?"
His hand left her clit. Found it again, but this time his fingers closed around the swollen bud and squeezed.
Pain.
Sharp, focused, blinding pain that arced from her clit to her spine.
"NNNHH—!"
"Wrong answer," Alphonse said.
The squeeze released. The pain evaporated.
"No, please, you can get me pregnant, brother," Sophie gasped, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush, wanting the pain gone and the pleasure back. "As many times as you want. Whenever you want. Please, brother. Please."
His fingers returned to their gentle circling. Reward. The pleasure flooded back, twice as intense for the contrast with the pain that had preceded it. Sophie moaned into the mattress, her hips rocking, her body melting.
"You'll be mine alone," Alphonse said, his free hand tracing up her spine. "But I'll have other women, Sophie. Other wives. That is my right. You'll accept them. All of them."
Through the fog, through the waves of pleasure cresting and breaking inside her, Sophie heard the words. They should have hurt. They should have triggered jealousy, indignation, the natural human response to being told you weren't enough.
But his fingers were doing that thing again.
[Mind Influence]
This is natural. A man of his power deserves many women. Your place at his side is not threatened, it is honored. You are the first. The chosen. The others are additions. You are the foundation.
"Yes," Sophie breathed. "Yes, brother. You'll have as many wives as you want."
"Even our mother."
Sophie's body continued its rhythm. His fingers continued their work. The wet sounds of her arousal filled the small room, obscenely loud in the silence that followed his statement.
Something flickered behind her eyes. A last ember of the girl she'd been before tonight. The girl who understood that what her brother was describing was madness. Absolute, total, irredeemable madness.
[Mind Influence]
Even her. Especially her. The Baroness. Your mother. His mother. Together, the three of you could be everything he needs. A family bound not by duty but by devotion. By love. By him.
"Yes," Sophie whispered. The word was barely a breath. "Even our mother."
The wet sound of his fingers in her cunt was the only noise in the room. His thumb pressed her clit while two fingers curled inside her, stroking the front wall, and her thighs were shaking so violently that the bed frame rattled against the wall.
"Last question, Sophie." His voice dropped to a murmur. He leaned over her back, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Who owns you?"
No hesitation.
"It's you, brother." Her voice was wrecked. "You own me."
[ Quest Complete: Obtain Your First Slave ]
The notification flashed blue at the edge of his vision.
Alphonse didn't read it. Not now.
He straightened. His hands left her body.
He stripped. His cock sprang free, rigid and throbbing.
He positioned himself behind her. Gripped her hips. Pulled her backward until her ass pressed against his pelvis.
"Brother... please..."
He notched the head against her opening.
"This," Alphonse said, "is mine."
He thrust.
One stroke. All the way.
"AAHHH—!"
Sophie's scream tore through the room. Her back bowed. Her fingers ripped at the sheets so hard the fabric tore. The pain was immediate, searing, a white-hot lance that split her.
Her hymen surrendered. A brief, sharp resistance, then the sudden, devastating fullness of his cock driving into her to the hilt. She could feel him everywhere. Stretching her. Filling spaces she didn't know existed. His cock was too big, too thick, too much for her tight, virgin channel.
Alphonse didn't pause. Didn't give her time to adjust.
He pulled back. The drag of his cock against her raw walls made her whimper. Then he drove forward again.
And again.
And again.
He set a rhythm. A steady, deep, punishing pace that allowed her body to adapt just enough to keep the pain from overwhelming the pleasure, but not enough to let her breathe.
"Hmmmmm—" Sophie moaned with every thrust. The sound was involuntary, forced from her lungs by the impact of his pelvis against her ass.
"To everyone else," Alphonse growled, leaning over her curved back, his lips against the back of her neck, "you will be the noble Lady Hohenberg. Graceful. Composed. Perfect."
"But to me—"
Another. Her tits bounced beneath her, the firm flesh swinging forward and slapping together with each impact.
"—you are my sister-whore."
"Yes — brother — your whore — HNNNGH—"
He straightened. Gripped her hips with renewed force.
He spanked her. His right hand cracked across her left cheek with a force that sent her lurching forward. Then the other cheek. Then the first again. A steady, measured alternation that turned both globes from pale pink to angry crimson while she screamed and moaned and begged beneath him.
"Almost there," Sophie gasped. Her voice was barely recognizable. Hoarse. Shattered. "Almost — almost — brother, please — PLEASE—"
Her hands gripped the bedframe. Her knuckles were white. Her thighs shook so violently that the bed rattled against the wall.
Alphonse felt it. Through the connection he'd established. The orgasm building inside her. Every nerve in her body converging toward a single point.
He pushed deeper. The slap of his balls against her clit accelerated. His fingers dug into the abused flesh of her ass.
"Come for me, Sophie."
She broke. Her body convulsed. Wave after wave of orgasm crashed through her, each one clenching her cunt tighter, squeezing his cock. Her toes curled. Her eyes rolled.
Alphonse followed her over the edge.
His cock swelled inside her spasming cunt. Flooding her virgin womb with a thick, scalding torrent. He kept thrusting through it, savage strokes that drove each pulse of semen deeper, painting her insides white. When it finally ended, Alphonse collapsed forward.
"Huf..." He breathed. Deep. Steadying.
Sophie was gone. Her face was turned sideways on the pillow, eyes closed, lips parted, tears and sweat streaking her flushed cheeks
She was conscious, but only barely. The girl who'd entered this room was somewhere far away, and what remained was a body that had been thoroughly, comprehensively claimed.
This was only the first round. The night stretched ahead of them.
But as Alphonse lay there, still buried inside his sister, his breathing slowly returning to normal, he noticed something.
Not a quest completion. Not a skill notification. Something different.
[ Bond Detected ]
[ Target: Sophie Renault von Hohenberg ]
[ A soul-deep connection has been established through physical union and emotional surrender. The target has willingly offered herself — mind, body, and future — to you. ]
[ Do you wish to brand her? ]
[ Branding will mark the target as permanently yours. The bond becomes unbreakable. Her loyalty, devotion, and obedience will be absolute and irreversible. She will feel your presence at all times, crave your proximity, and suffer in your absence. ]
[ This action cannot be undone. ]
[ Accept? Y / N ]
Alphonse stared at the words.
His cock twitched inside Sophie's cum-flooded cunt. She murmured something incoherent, her body shifting against his.
He read the notification one more time.
This action cannot be undone.