The Dread of Damned-Chapter 137: Mistress

The news spread like wildfire. From the inner circle, it passed through the forest of Everdying and finally reached the outer city. Everyone knew. The two Houses of the Elders—deemed unshakable for as long as anyone could remember—had fallen.

Meanwhile, an official announcement declared that the Grand Arena of the Eternal Moon would soon open, marking the momentous occasion: the prince would be officially crowned, bestowed with all the authority of the empire's next ruler.

The vampires were thrilled. For the first time, those who dwelled in the outer circle would be allowed to lay eyes upon His Highness since his birth.

Preparations were already underway. Councils convened once more, but now, no one dared to oppose the shifting winds. The royal treasury was unlocked. The knights were reinforced. The grand castle was draped in the image of the full moon—a symbol of the dawn of a new night.

In the midst of this whirlwind of activity, a medium-sized carriage departed from the Noxveil Academy, its wheels crunching against the cobblestone path as it made its way toward the grand castle. The carriage, unassuming yet elegant, approached the main gates, where a knight clad in armor adorned with the crest of the Zenith Order stood guard. The knight stepped forward, his movements precise and deliberate, and after a brief exchange, the gates groaned open, allowing the carriage to pass.

The carriage trotted through the winding paths that snaked through the castle's sprawling grounds. The winding paths were labyrinthine, flanked by endless gardens—hedges sculpted into intricate patterns, fountains whispering the lullabies of centuries past, moonflowers unfurling their ghostly petals under the eternal twilight.

Finally, the carriage came to a halt in front of the grand entrance, its doors opening to reveal a woman stepping out.

She was a vision of understated elegance, Her attire was unassuming: a crisp white blouse tucked into a fitted pencil skirt, black stockings vanishing beneath the hem, accentuating the sinuous lines of her legs. Her glasses rested lightly upon the bridge of her nose, framing eyes that gleamed with quiet intelligence. Her heels clicked against the stone as she approached the castle doors, where she was met by the knight. Without a word, he escorted her inside.

They ascended the grand staircase, their footsteps echoing through the vast, empty halls. With each floor they climbed, the atmosphere grew more oppressive, the air thick with the weight of power and secrecy. The higher they went, the fewer people they encountered, until finally, they reached the top floor. It was a place of stark beauty, its white walls adorned with intricate silver decorations that seemed to shimmer in the dim light. The guard led her down a long corridor, their footsteps the only sound in the silence, until they reached a pair of towering doors.

The guard entered first, disappearing into the room beyond, before returning to escort the woman inside. The chamber they entered was vast, its high ceilings adorned with chandeliers that cast a soft, ethereal glow. At the center of the room, seated on a throne of black marble, was the prince. His silver eyes, cold and calculating, seemed to pierce through everything, his expression one of bored indifference.

The guard excused himself with a bow, leaving the woman alone with the prince. He leaned back in his throne, his gaze never leaving her as he spoke.

"How have you been, Yelena Lewellyn?" His voice was smooth, almost languid, but there was an edge to it that sent a shiver down her spine.

"I have been well, Your Highness," she replied, her voice steady despite the tension in the air. She slowly lowered herself to her knees, her movements graceful and deliberate. "I hope you are doing well."

The prince tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Ahhh... it almost seems as though you are here because you care about my condition." His tone was mocking, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Though it is good to see that you have not forgotten the manners I taught you."

He gestured with a finger, and she began to crawl forward, her movements slow and deliberate, until she was at his feet. The prince extended his foot, the tip of his boot brushing against the hem of her pencil skirt. "So, are you here to beg for the forgiveness of your dear husband?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I would not dare to be so presumptuous," she replied, her voice low and melodious, her eyes downcast.

"But you are still here," he said, his finger tracing a line down her thigh, the pressure just enough to make her breath hitch. "Are you not?"

"I only wish for the name Lewellyn to not become extinct," she answered, her voice trembling slightly. Tears welled up in her glassy eyes, her expression one of pitiful vulnerability.

The prince's smirk widened as he traced his foot upwards, the toe of his boot pressing against her stomach. "And how do you wish to achieve that?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

His foot moved higher, the pressure increasing as it reached her chest. He gripped the taut peak of her breast between his toes, pulling it harshly. A pained moan escaped her lips, her body arching involuntarily.

"I asked you a question," he said, his voice sharp and commanding.

"I am just a weak woman, Your Highness," she replied, her voice trembling. "I have spent almost all my life in the academy. I would comply with any arrangement you make."

The prince's foot pressed down on her chest, the motion deliberate and cruel. Her small, taut breast was crushed under the assault, the pain making her gasp. Her mouth fell open, her neck arching as blood rushed through the protruding veins.

"I would only wish for you to take me under your care, then," she moaned, her voice barely above a whisper.

The prince released her breast, his foot tracing up to the delicate slope of her throat. He pressed firmly, feeling the shape of her pulse beneath his touch. He lingered there, watching her swallow beneath his pressure, before pressing his toes to her chin and forcing her head up to meet his gaze.

"You truly know what to say, don't you?" he said, his voice a mix of amusement and disdain. He pulled her mouth open and pressed his toe inside. She took it readily, her small tongue cleaning his toes with a vigor that seemed almost too eager.

He pressed further, watching as her tongue glided between his toes, then slowly moved to the sole of his foot. A concealed glint passed through her vulnerable eyes, but it was quickly hidden as she continued her task.

"That is what you must think," he said, pausing as if to let his words sink in. "Right, Mistress Lewellyn?" With a sudden motion, he kicked her back, sending her sprawling to the floor. He placed his foot on her stomach and pulled her toward him.

"I actually went into your hidden chamber," he said, his voice cold and menacing. He pressed down on her stomach with enough force to make a tear fall from her now-shocked eyes. "Or Chamber of Desires, as you call it. I saw those shells of nocturnals and vampires, moaning and groaning, pissing and licking without any sense of reality. Bound by chains, bound to beds, hanging from ceilings, wearing cock rings and nipple, cock, and tongue piercings."

As he spoke, her expression grew more horrified. 'How could this be? How could he know?' she thought, her mind racing.

"I guess you thought I would never find out," he continued, his grin widening. "Find out about your powers as a succubus. Find out about your greatest pleasure."

He tore her skirt apart with his foot, the fabric ripping easily under his strength. He pressed down on the middle of her legs, and when she tried to close them in response, silver chains appeared, binding her legs in place.

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"The pleasure you take in breaking the truly powerful, seeing them grovel before your feet," he said, his voice filled with amusement. "Like you do now."

"I-I would never... dare," she stammered, her voice barely audible as more chains appeared, binding her completely.

"I always found it peculiar," he said, his tone thoughtful, "why you, a mistress to the House of Elders, stayed in the academy. But the truth is, Finnian Lewellyn is nothing more than another one of your puppets. You, Yelena Lewellyn, are the one who runs the House Lewellyn. As long as you live, House Lewellyn lives."

He leaned forward, his silver eyes locking onto hers. "You must have thought you had me fooled in the academy. You were even trying to use your power right now. Your desire truly runs amok, but I am afraid that in your hunger to fulfill it, you have overreached."

He leaned back, a silver collar appearing in his hand. He clasped it around her neck, the metal cold against her skin. "You know what this collar is?" he asked, his voice dripping with malice. "Much like your chambers, this is the Collar of Never-Ending Desire."

He gripped her hair, pulling her up to face him. As he did, a vibration-like sensation filled her body, making her tremble.

"Y-Your Highness," she moaned, her voice filled with both fear and arousal.

"Yes," he said, his voice cold and unyielding. "This collar will keep you in a state of almost reaching orgasm forever. Slowly, it will make you hypersensitive, heightening your sensory nerves so much that even the wind touching you will feel like having your insides pounded. But you will never achieve release."

She trembled, tears streaming down her face as he leaned back, a satisfied smile on his lips. "I am going to have so much fun breaking you now," he said, his voice a low purr. "Showing you your place."