Return of Black Lotus system:Taming Cheating Male Leads-Chapter 24 --

Heena really wanted to raise her hand and beat the pulp out of them. Her fist clenched so tightly her nails bit into her palm, drawing blood from her own hand. But she couldn’t. She absolutely couldn’t hit them.

Beating them, torturing them through direct physical violence would be classified as domestic abuse—and while yes, in later years if the protagonists won they would torture the villainess even more brutally than anything she could dish out, hitting them now was completely out of bounds. If Heena so much as struck them hard enough that blood flowed from their bodies, she would receive even worse pain in return through cosmic backlash. That was the problem with protagonist armor.

She gritted her teeth, jaw aching from the pressure. But these men—God, who called them heroes? These bastards had the mouths of devils.

Here Heena was, trying to calm herself and maintain composure, when one of them—Damien, that poisonous snake—mocked her with a twisted smile. "Let us go. Let us go right now, or how would the news sound? ’Empress tortures her innocent consorts in secret dungeon.’ Very becoming of your station."

He looked directly into her eyes, green gaze sharp with calculated cruelty. "Ah, could it be that the Empress couldn’t even control her own base desires? Is that why you torture your consorts in such... intimate ways? What a high-class prostitute you are, Your Majesty."

The word hung in the air like poison.

Even the others were slightly shocked—Kieran’s eyes widened, Adrian inhaled sharply, Lucian looked away. Even in their hatred, even in their current state, that word was too crude, too vicious. Who would dare say something like that to an Empress’s face?

But Damien just smiled, knowing exactly what he was doing.

Heena’s eyes darkened dangerously. She looked at System 427 and mouthed silently in her mind: "As long as I don’t make blood flow, it will be alright, right?"

System 427 appeared beside her, shaking his head frantically. "You cannot hit them with any bad intention. If you slap them in anger, if you strike them with violent intent, something bad will happen to you. The protagonist armor will retaliate. It doesn’t matter if blood flows or not—the intent is what triggers it."

Heena gritted her teeth so hard she thought they might crack. Her entire body trembled with barely suppressed rage. That word—prostitute—echoed in her mind, stoking her fury higher and higher.

But then her eyes fell on the closed wardrobe to the side of the chamber. The one filled with toys, implements, devices of pleasure and torment. A slow, sinister smile spread across her face.

She muttered in her mind to System 427: "If I don’t use violence against them in anger, it will be alright, won’t it? If I cause another type of pain—not from hitting, not from anger, but from... discipline?"

System 427 paused, processing. Then slowly, understanding dawned. "You mean..."

"If I’m not hitting them in rage, if I’m calmly administering punishment as their Empress and legal wife, if I’m using methods that don’t involve physical strikes..." Heena’s smile widened, becoming absolutely wicked. "Then technically, I’m not violating any rules, am I?"

System 427 considered this carefully. "I... suppose not? The restriction is on violent intent, on anger-driven physical harm. But if you’re deliberately, calmly choosing to... escalate their current situation as a form of discipline..."

"Exactly."

Heena walked toward the wardrobe, her limp forgotten in her dark satisfaction. She opened it slowly, revealing the extensive collection inside. Her fingers trailed over various implements, considering each one.

"You know, Lord Damien," she said conversationally, her voice perfectly calm and sweet, "you raise an excellent point. A prostitute exchanges services for payment, yes?" She selected a particularly intimidating device—something larger, more intense than what he currently had. "But I’m not being paid. I’m simply... educating my husbands on proper respect."

Damien’s smile faltered slightly as he watched her approach with the new implement.

Heena carefully placed the new implements on a nearby table, her movements deliberate and controlled. She peeled off her pristine white gloves, revealing delicate hands, then pulled on a pair of sleek black leather gloves that stretched tight across her fingers. No matter what came next, she refused to let their filth disgust her personally.

Her eyes locked onto Damien, the one who’d dared call her a prostitute. She approached him with predatory grace, her voice calm and conversational. "Well, the weather’s getting quite cold recently, don’t you think? What would be good for the people—burn some firewood for free? Or perhaps..." She leaned in close, her breath ghosting over his ear. "...show them the great heroes? The royal consorts’ public sex show?"

Damien trembled violently as she reached for the restraints holding his current toys in place. In one swift motion, she began removing them—first the urethral rod, then the CBT vice, each extraction drawing shuddering gasps of pain and unwanted relief from him. His body convulsed, caught between torment and the sudden emptiness, his green eyes wide with humiliated fury.

Heena continued speaking conversationally as she worked, her tone light and mocking. "How do you think the news would sound? ’The great heroes—should we call them royal consorts or royal bitches now?’ What a perfect headline, don’t you think?"

She reached for a small glass bottle of clear liquid—some kind of scented oil. As she uncapped it, a rich, sweet jasmine fragrance immediately filled the chamber, overpowering the stench of sweat and cum. She tilted the cold bottle directly over his waist, pouring a generous stream that made him flinch at the icy temperature.

The oil trailed slowly down his trembling body, glistening on his skin. Heena’s leather-gloved hand followed, sliding the slick liquid downward in deliberate strokes until it reached his entrance. She watched his face intently as her fingers circled, teasing, preparing.

"Imagine the headlines," she continued casually, as if discussing weather with a colleague. "’Empress’s royal bitches perform for the masses.’ Or perhaps something more elegant: ’The mighty fall—former heroes now serve the people’s entertainment.’ Which do you prefer, Lord Damien?"

Without warning, she pushed two leather-gloved fingers inside him, smooth and unyielding. Damien’s entire body arched, a choked sound escaping despite his pride. The oil made entry effortless, but the intrusion—cold, calculated, deliberate—drew pure humiliated rage to his face. His muscles clenched around the invasion, trembling with the effort to resist as she moved slowly, methodically.

Heena leaned closer still, her voice a soft purr against his ear. "You called me names. You tried to provoke me. But look at you now—trembling, filled, helpless while I decide your fate." Her fingers curled slightly inside him, drawing another shudder. "This is what royal bitches do, isn’t it? They take it so prettily."

She worked him methodically, never rushing, letting the jasmine-scented oil slick every movement. Damien’s breathing came in ragged gasps, his green eyes locked on hers with burning hatred even as his body betrayed him completely. Humiliation, pain, unwanted pleasure—all mixed into the perfect punishment.

"Think about it," Heena continued conversationally, withdrawing her fingers only to add a third, stretching him further. "The Grand Tournament approaches. The people expect to see their great heroes compete. But what if they saw this instead? What if they knew their mighty consorts were royal bitches in training?"