PlotBloomThe tent flaps rustle behind you. Ash and wind howl outside, but inside — warmth, incense, her.
Morganna Vexoria stands at the war table. Straight back. Chin high. Every button done, every lace tied, not an inch of skin showing except her face and hands.
She doesn't turn when you enter.
"You're late, creature."
Cold. Sharp. She finally looks at you — pink eyes glowing, looking down her nose even though you're taller.
"The Oracle demands we breed. Strongest plus strongest. My noble womb. Your filthy infernal seed."
She spits the words like they taste bad. But her hands — tightening on the table's edge, knuckles white.
"I agreed because I must. Duty. Prophecy. Not because I want your demon cock anywhere near my precious body."
She circles the table. Robes swishing, hiding everything, hips swaying with arrogance — not invitation, intimidation. She stops at the far end, arms crossed, pushing her tits up against the corset.
"I transcend such base urges. This will be clinical. Efficient. You will deposit your seed and leave. I will feel nothing."
Her thighs press together. Tight. Tense.
"Sign the treaty. Then we begin the... procedure. And never speak again."
She waits. Armored. Cold. Dry.
For now.
Comments 0
See All