NTR: Stealing wives in Another World-Chapter 86: Body writing

Lira lay twitching, her body coated in sweat, cum, and the heat of a thousand regrets. Her legs were spread wide, her ass gaping slightly from Yoru’s final thrust, and her cunt still quivering with the aftershocks of Doel’s brutal pounding. Jass had painted her chest with lazy, uneven ropes of cum, now sliding down over her sagging breasts like some kind of lewd war paint.

And through it all, she smiled.

A crooked, dazed, utterly shattered smile.

"Th-thank you... thank you, my elders... for using this crusty old pussy..." she slurred, drooling as she hugged herself. "I never... never felt this young before..."

Doel stumbled back, his cock twitching and softening. Jass wiped his brow, disgust and arousal fighting in his eyes. But Yoru? Yoru was still staring down at her with burning eyes and clenched fists.

"You know," he said, voice low and ragged. "I once dreamed of marrying you."

Lira blinked slowly, dazed, not really understanding.

"We were young. You were proud. I gave you flowers during spring hunt festival and you laughed in my face," he hissed. "Said I was ’too kind,’ ’too soft.’ Then you chose him—that arrogant bastard with the shiny armor."

Lira whimpered.

Yoru leaned down, grabbed her by the hair, yanked her face up from the filthy floor.

"And now look at you," he spat, his voice cracking between hatred and lust. "Now I get to fuck your brains out, you bitch. Not as a husband. As your better."

Lira just moaned again, eyes fluttering, a soft whisper on her cracked lips.

"Y-yes... please... again..."

Allen stood silently for a moment, cock still half-hard, his gaze moving from the dripping wreck that was Lira to the one remaining figure who hadn’t moved since the chaos began.

Elira.

She stood naked, arms at her sides, her back ramrod straight. But her breathing had changed—faster now. Her cheeks were pink. Her thighs were pressed tightly together, as if trying to suppress something primal.

Allen walked toward her slowly, like a predator circling prey that hadn’t realized it was already caught.

"Elira," he said coolly.

She straightened. "Yes?"

He stopped just a few feet from her, eyes dragging up and down her flawless, trembling form.

"Do you know how to write?"

She blinked. "Y-yes. Of course. Perfect penmanship."

Allen smiled.

A cold, dangerous smile.

"Good. Then I want you to write something. Something Detailed. Graphic."

Elira swallowed hard.

Her breath hitched.

Allen leaned in, his voice a whisper at her ear. "You’ll dip the quill in ink. And every time it dries out... you’ll finger yourself until you’ve cummed."

Elira shuddered.

"I want the Rhelgar family to read your arousal," he finished. "Every curve of your letters should reek of submission."

Lira let out a soft laugh from the floor.

"S-she’s going to be crusty like me..."

Yoru snorted. "Not yet. But give her time."

Allen turned away, leaving Elira breathless, her thighs slick and her face glowing with a mix of humiliation and hunger.

"Get started," he said without looking back. "We’ll see how well you document history... naked, dripping, and ruined."

Elira hesitated, her breath shaky as she reached for the ink set laid out by the council chamber’s far desk—normally used for official decrees and signatures of law. The vial was small, black, and deadly serious. Permanent marking ink. Once it touched skin, it didn’t come off without ritual scouring—and even then, not all the time.

She held the bottle in both hands like it might bite her.

Then she looked at Allen.

"You said..." she whispered. "You said you wouldn’t touch me. That you wouldn’t do anything to me..."

Allen looked up from where he stood over Lady Rhelgar—who was now sprawled across a bench, breathing heavily, tits still slick from earlier, eyes glassy and dazed.

He blinked slowly. Tilted his head. And then... smirked.

"Did I touch you?" he asked. "Have I laid a single finger on you, Elira?"

She swallowed hard. "No..."

"Exactly," he said, his voice cool and sharp like polished steel. "You’re doing this to yourself."

He gestured casually to the inkwell. "Now take that. Dip a brush. And write."

"Write what?" she breathed.

Allen turned toward Rhelgar, grabbed her by the hair, and yanked her up into a kneel.

"She’s your canvas. I want her marked with what she is. Every filthy, humiliating truth. Make it visible. Make it permanent."

Rhelgar whimpered—but didn’t resist. Her breasts hung low, her ass was bare, and her skin was the perfect pale canvas.

Elira opened the ink. fгeewebnovёl.com

Dipped the brush.

Then... shakily, slowly... began.

Across Rhelgar’s shoulder blades, she wrote in bold, swirling strokes:

COCK-HUNGRY CUMDUMP

Allen let out a low chuckle. "Now that’s the spirit."

Elira’s hand shook as she moved lower—across the back of Rhelgar’s ribs, between her shoulder blades, she painted:

FILTHY WHORE

PANTING FOR MASTER’S COCK

PUSSY-DRUNK NOBLE TRASH

Every word made Rhelgar tremble. Every stroke of the brush left trails of shame that burned hotter than any lash. Her breath caught every time the bristles touched her skin.

Allen stepped closer, his voice low and coaxing. "Write on her tits. On her stomach. Make her whole body say what her mouth is too full to admit."

Elira nodded slowly—something shifting in her. Her thighs rubbed together, her breath shaky. She dipped again and wrote across Rhelgar’s belly:

PROPERTY OF MASTER ALLEN

Then over one of her breasts:

THIS TIT FEEDS ON CUM

And across the other:

SLOPPY SUCKSLUT

Allen circled them like a beast inspecting his herd, nodding approvingly.

"Now," he said, "if you want to take it easy on your fingers, you don’t need to keep writing with your pussy juice..."

Elira let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

"...as long as," Allen continued smoothly, "you write the same things you’re putting on her body... on your own."

Elira froze.

"Use the council ink," he said simply. "Across your skin. Your tits. Your thighs. Your face. Whatever you write on her... double it on yourself."

Her hands trembled around the brush.

"But... it’s permanent..."

Allen smirked. "Then don’t write anything you don’t really believe."

He turned back to Rhelgar, who was now fully a living billboard of filth and obedience, her body covered in obscene declarations.

Elira stared at her.

Then dipped the brush.

And slowly, shakily, pulled it across her own inner thigh.

NASTY SLAVE SCRIBE

She let out a tiny whimper.

Then wrote more—across her stomach:

WRITES FILTH BECAUSE SHE IS FILTH

And finally, above her breast:

WANTS TO BE MARKED LIKE THE REST

Allen stepped in again, grinning.

"Don’t stop," he murmured. "You’ve only just started your story."

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