Queen Seraphina hadn't slept.
How could she, when every movement reminded her of last night's debauchery? Her pussy ached, thoroughly used. Her ass still stung from his spanks. And worst of all, she could feel his cum slowly leaking out, staining the royal sheets with evidence of her betrayal.
The shattered crown lay where it had fallen, diamonds scattered like her dignity across the floor.
A knock at her door made her heart race. "Your Majesty? The morning briefing—"
"Give me ten minutes, Elena," she called to her head maid, voice hoarse from screaming Damien's name.
She forced herself up, gasping as more cum dripped down her thighs. The mirror showed a debauched stranger—bite marks on her neck, bruises on her hips, the word "WHORE" still faintly visible where Damien had written it on her stomach with her own lipstick.
I have court in an hour. A hundred nobles will see me. And I'm supposed to sit there with his seed inside me.
Another knock, but this time the door opened without permission. Only one person would dare.
"Good morning, Your Majesty." Damien entered carrying a velvet box, already dressed in his immaculate uniform. "You look well-fucked."
"You bastard." She grabbed a robe, trying to cover herself. "The servants—"
"Are busy with news of the king." His smile turned predatory. "He's returning early. Three days instead of three weeks."
The blood drained from her face. "What?"
"Messenger arrived at dawn. Apparently, he's eager to see his loving wife." Damien set the box on her vanity. "Which is why I brought you a gift."
Inside lay a new crown, identical to the shattered one but somehow heavier. The diamonds seemed to pulse with an inner light.
"It's beautiful," she admitted reluctantly.
"It's special. Put it on."
The moment it touched her head, she gasped. A subtle vibration hummed through the metal, sending shivers down her spine.
"What did you—"
"Latest technology from the eastern kingdoms," Damien explained, producing a small crystal from his pocket. "Remote controlled. Seven different intensities. Completely silent."
"No." She reached up to remove it, but he caught her wrists.
"Yes. You'll wear it to court. You'll sit on your throne while I play with this crystal. And you'll maintain perfect composure while addressing your subjects."
"I can't possibly—"
"You can and you will." He activated the lowest setting, watching her eyes flutter. "Unless you'd prefer I tell the king about Marcus? About how you begged for my cock? About how you came four times like a common whore?"
The vibrations were already making her wet again. "You're insane."
"I'm creative. Now get dressed. Court starts in thirty minutes."
---
The throne room buzzed with activity. Over a hundred nobles gathered for the morning session, all eager to discuss preparations for the king's return. General Marcus stood near the front, his scarred face scanning the crowd with suspicion.
Seraphina entered in full regalia—a deep purple gown that hugged her curves, the new crown gleaming atop her carefully styled hair. No one could see the bite marks hidden by makeup or the cum still slowly leaking into the silk underwear Damien had chosen for her.
"Her Majesty, Queen Seraphina!" The herald announced.
She took her throne carefully, fighting not to squirm as the movement pressed the wet fabric against her sensitive pussy. Damien stood at his usual post by the prince's chair, the crystal dancing between his fingers.
"My lords and ladies," she began, proud of her steady voice. "We have received wonderful news. His Majesty returns—"
Click.
The vibration increased. Her breath hitched slightly.
"Returns victorious from the eastern campaign."
Click.
Stronger now. She gripped the armrests, nails digging into ancient wood. "We must prepare a celebration worthy of—of his glory."
Lord Blackwood stepped forward. "Your Majesty, might I suggest—"
Click.
Level three. Her pussy clenched, empty and aching. She was grateful for the throne's high back hiding her trembling legs.
"Yes!" The word came out too sharp, too breathless. "I mean, yes, Lord Blackwood. Please continue."
But she couldn't focus on his words. The vibration hummed through her skull, down her spine, straight to her clit. Every shift made it worse. Or better. She couldn't tell anymore.
General Marcus watched her with narrowed eyes. "Your Majesty seems unwell."
"I'm—" *Click.* "I'm simply overcome with joy about my husband's return."
Level four. Her vision blurred. She was going to cum. In front of everyone. On the throne where queens had ruled for centuries.
That's when the doors burst open.
"Announcing Lady Rosalind of House Dewitt, betrothed to Prince Adrian!"
A young woman glided in—stunning, with midnight hair and eyes that seemed oddly familiar. She should have been looking at the prince.
Instead, she stared directly at Damien.
And Damien's finger slipped on the crystal.
Click. Click. Click.
Maximum power.
Seraphina came undone. Her back arched, a strangled cry escaping as orgasm crashed through her. The crown amplified everything, sending waves of pleasure through her whole body. She squirted, flooding her underwear and surely leaving a puddle on the ancient throne.
"Your Majesty!" Several nobles rushed forward.
"I—I'm sorry," she gasped, aftershocks still rolling through her. "The news of His Majesty... it's overwhelming..."
"Perhaps Her Majesty needs air," Damien suggested smoothly, pocketing the crystal. "Allow me to escort you to your chambers."
She stood on shaking legs, praying the wetness didn't show through her gown. As Damien's hand touched her elbow, she nearly came again.
"Lady Rosalind," she managed, "forgive this poor welcome. Sir Damien will see you settled after—"
"Of course." The young woman's smile was knowing. Too knowing. "Take care of Her Majesty, Sir Damien. I'm sure we'll have time to get acquainted later."
Something passed between them—a look Seraphina couldn't interpret through her post-orgasmic haze.
The walk to the antechamber felt eternal. Nobles whispered behind fans. Marcus followed them with his eyes. And her pussy wouldn't stop clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled.
The moment they were alone, Damien pressed her against the wall.
"You came in front of everyone." His hand slipped under her gown, finding her drenched. "The perfect queen, squirting on her throne. At least six noble ladies noticed. They're probably gossiping about it already."
"It's your fault," she whimpered as his fingers entered her. "That crown—"
"Is brilliant. And you loved it." He pumped three fingers roughly, thumb circling her clit. "Admit it. You loved cumming while they watched."
"No—"
"Your pussy says otherwise. You're dripping." He pulled his fingers out, showing her the wetness. "Clean them."
She sucked his fingers without hesitation, tasting herself, broken beyond repair.
"Good girl. Now, about Lady Rosalind—that's the prince's fiancée. She arrived three days early." His expression darkened. "And something tells me she's going to complicate things."
"How?"
"Call it intuition." He adjusted her crown, setting off tiny aftershocks. "Return to court in twenty minutes. Tell them you needed prayer for the king's safe return. I have a future princess to welcome."
He left her there, pussy throbbing, crown humming, cum and pussy juice mixing in her ruined underwear. She had to go back. Had to face those knowing looks. Had to sit on that throne where she'd just orgasmed.
Three days until the king returns. God help me.
But even as she thought it, her traitorous body was already craving more. The crown pulsed gently, a reminder of who owned her now.
And somewhere in the palace, Damien was meeting with a woman who'd called him by a name that shouldn't exist in this world.
---
The prince's guest chambers were lavish, but Lady Rosalind barely noticed the finery. She stood by the window, watching Damien enter and lock the door behind him.
"Takeshi." She said it again, that impossible name. "I'd recognize that predatory walk anywhere."
"Who the fuck are you?" He kept his hand on his sword, though something deeper than recognition stirred in his mind.
She turned, and in the afternoon light, he saw it. The same knowing smirk. The same hungry eyes. Just in a beautiful woman's body instead of—
"Fuck me." The words came out as revelation. "Yuki?"
"Got it in one." Her smile widened. "Though it's Rosalind now. Just like you're Damien. Funny how we both ended up in the same story."
"You died too?"
"Same night. Same truck. I was right behind you, reading the same fucked up hentai on my phone." She moved closer, each step calculated. "Imagine my surprise when I woke up as the innocent princess bride in what's clearly an NTR paradise."
"This is impossible."
"Says the man who just made the queen cum in public." She reached out, tracing his jaw. "I watched the whole thing. That crown trick? Brilliant. Though I would have made her stand for her speech."
His cock stirred despite his shock. Yuki had always been as twisted as him, the only friend who understood his darkest fantasies. They'd shared everything—porn, plans, even women back in their old life.
"So what now?" he asked. "You going to expose me?"
"Expose you?" She laughed, the sound rich with promise. "Takeshi—sorry, *Damien*—I want in. Do you have any idea how boring it is playing the innocent virgin? I've been here a week, and I'm going insane."
"You want to help corrupt them?"
"I want to do more than help." Her hand dropped to his crotch, finding him hard. "I want to taste that queen's pussy on your cock. I want to help you break every noble wife in this palace. I want to watch you fuck them while their husbands beg."
"And the prince? Your betrothed?"
"Sweet, stupid Adrian?" She squeezed his cock through his pants. "He's saving himself for our wedding night. How cute. Though I bet he'd look pretty in a dress while we make him watch."
This was insane. His best friend—his partner in degeneracy—was here. Female now, gorgeous, and apparently just as twisted as before.
"Prove it's really you," he challenged. "Tell me something only Yuki would know."
She leaned in, whispering: "Your first real corruption. Mrs. Tanaka from apartment 3B. You blackmailed her with photos of her daughter shoplifting. Made her suck your cock every Tuesday while her husband worked late. But what you never told anyone—"
"Stop." He believed her. Only Yuki knew about his guilty pleasure in making Mrs. Tanaka wear her daughter's school uniform.
"So?" Rosalind pulled back, eyes burning with familiar hunger. "Partners again? This whole palace is our playground now."
He considered. Having an ally would help. Especially one who understood the game. And if he was honest, the idea of corrupting alongside his best friend—now in a fuckable body—was incredibly hot.
"Fine. But we do this my way."
"Wouldn't have it otherwise." She straightened her dress. "Now, tell me about the queen. And that suspicious general. And whatever you're planning for the king's return."
As Damien began explaining, he realized this changed everything. Two transmigrated degenerates in a palace full of targets?
This world didn't stand a chance.