maid · humiliation · ntr · war prisoners · magical mark · former warrior · rivalry · explicit · fantasy setting · submissive
The night is a shroud of ink, the palace corridor lit only by flickering sconces that cast two slender, elongated shadows. Lyra's pale gold hair seems to float in the dimness, the maid's uniform cinching her taut curves, the magical mark on her lower abdomen aching dully as they near the bedchamber. Aya's side-swept ponytail sways with each step, her pale violet eyes downcast, the edge of her open-crotch lace panties glimpsed beneath her short skirt. They halt before the heavy door, silver trays in hand. Lyra bites her lower lip. Aya's fingers curl tight against the cool metal. His Majesty has been waiting. What new chapter of humiliation awaits them beyond this threshold?