CHAPTER 175: CANDLES(HEAVY SMUT 18+)

The chains still creaked faintly above the dais, though Resha was gone—dragged like meat through the great hall, her legs limp, her branded cunt still leaking cum and piss. The air carried her scent like smoke after a bonfire—something had been burned away that would never grow back.

Allen didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

The doors opened again.

Lady Thalira Korran was next.

The silence hit her like a slap. She paused on the threshold, then dropped to her knees in a puddle of her own making. Her pale blue gown darkened at the crotch, piss soaking straight through, running in rivulets down her thighs. She shook, looked up at the crowd—hundreds of beastkin eyes staring down at her.

"D-don’t look at me," she whimpered, trying to hide her face. "Please... don’t look..."

But everyone did.

Allen stared down from the dais like a judge from myth. Unblinking. Unyielding. Unforgiving.

"You looked," he said quietly. "You watched when your husband tore a foxkin girl’s ears off in front of you. You drank wine while she bled out on marble."

Thalira sobbed. "I—I didn’t stop him but I—I didn’t help him either—I didn’t—please..."

"You laughed," Allen added. "It’s recorded in the steward’s testimony. You toasted afterward."

She screamed and shook her head wildly, but the guards were already upon her. They yanked her to her feet, dragging her trembling, piss-soaked form to the center platform. Her clothes were stripped in seconds. Her body was soft, pampered, but trembling like a hunted thing. Her breasts jiggled with every breath. Her ass quivered. Her pussy lips glistened—not with arousal, but terror and shame.

"Please—please don’t—don’t make me into a thing—don’t make me like them—please!"

Allen didn’t answer.

He nodded to a young oxkin girl holding a coal stick.

The girl approached slowly, her bare feet silent against the stone. She didn’t say a word as she knelt in front of Thalira’s exposed belly and scrawled two cruel words in large, shaking letters:

CANDLE HOLDER

Thalira choked on a sob. "No... not that, not that..."

But the tray was already brought forward.

Dozens of long, white candles. Thick. Pristine. Cold for now.

Allen didn’t need to speak. The guards grabbed her thighs and spread them wide. Another yanked her ass open.

"NOOOOOOO—PLEASE, PLEASE DON’T—"

The first candle was pressed between her pussy lips. It slid in slowly, her body clenching, resisting, then swallowing it with a slick pop. The second was inserted into her anus, pushed in inch by inch until the base sat flush against her skin.

She thrashed, howled, tried to clamp her thighs shut—but the restraints held.

Allen stepped forward.

Lit the torch.

She screamed as he brought the flame to the first candle—the one in her cunt.

A small flicker... then a steady burn.

Drip.

Drip.

The hot wax slid down immediately—thick drops of white heat landing straight on her clit, then tracing downward into her folds.

"AAAAAGGHHH! OH GOD—OH GOD IT BURNS—IT BURNS!"

Allen lit the second one.

Now both her holes were leaking molten shame.

The wax dribbled over her puckered ass, seeping around the rim, dripping inside. Every movement made it worse—spasms turned into scalds, her screams echoing through the chamber like hymns of pain.

Her body convulsed, sweat pouring down her face, her nipples stiff with the cruel contrast of fear and heat.

She tried to twist away, but all it did was shift the candles, angling them so that the wax funneled deeper into her pussy and ass.

Every second, more wax.

Every drop, a branding.

One of the beastkin scribes approached and added a note beneath the words on her belly:

"Flame-fed Whore."

Allen raised his hand again.

"Upside down."

She didn’t even have the strength to scream.

They hoisted her slowly—wrists and ankles bound, her body flipping as the chain pulled her into the air. Her hair fell like a curtain, swinging. Her breasts hung downward, her thighs spread from the tight rigging.

Now the candles pointed skyward.

Now the wax didn’t just drip into her—

It pooled inside.

It filled her.

She hung there, sobbing, twitching as the molten wax clogged her pussy, trickled into her ass, leaked down her inner thighs and splashed onto her own face. Her mouth opened in another silent wail as a drop struck her upper lip, then her tongue.

She coughed, gagged, cried—but no one moved to help.

Allen watched.

Expressionless.

Unfeeling.

Unstoppable.

"She will remain until the candles burn out," he declared. "When they do, refill them."

The beastkin nodded.

Lady Thalira Korran had become an ornament.

A dripping, wax-stuffed emblem of what nobles became when stripped of titles, privilege, and lies.

A body used.

A hole punished.

A lesson carved not into skin—but into memory.

She hung, upside down, as justice glowed from her holes and shame painted her like ritual art.

And Allen simply turned his gaze back to the doors.

"Next."

The doors opened again.

Lady Thalira still hung above the dais, wax pooling in her holes, her body twitching with each fresh drip. Her screams had faded to broken gasps, her skin blistered, her mind floating somewhere between agony and nothingness. The candles hadn’t finished burning yet. Neither had her shame.

And yet, the next pair stepped forward.

Lady Anastasia Vehlin, sister-in-law to Thalira, entered like she still believed the room belonged to her. Tall, proud, draped in blood-red silk with silver embroidery, she walked with the same composure she’d worn during public executions. But her hands were shaking.

Beside her came Delain, her daughter—twenty-six years old, soft and noble-bred, a girl raised behind castle walls. Her pale pink dress was wrinkled from her clutching fists, and her eyes were wide with fear the moment she saw what remained of Thalira.

She whispered, "Mother... we shouldn’t have come..."

Anastasia didn’t answer. Her lips were tight, her spine rigid. But even she faltered when Allen’s gaze fell upon them.

"You will kneel," Allen said.

They didn’t.

So the guards made them.

In seconds, both women were forced down onto the cold stone floor. Anastasia snarled as her knees hit marble. Delain collapsed in a shivering heap, her hands covering her chest even though she was still clothed.

Allen spoke coldly.

"Lady Anastasia Vehlin. You financed the capture and rape of foxkin children. You wrote the contracts. You celebrated the profits."

Anastasia sneered. "I acted in the interest of our house."

"You bred half-bloods and sold them back to the clans that grieved them."

"Savages," she snapped. "They were beasts pretending to be people."

"Silence."

Her voice vanished. Not just stopped—vanished, like the air had been stolen from her lungs. Her jaw still moved, but nothing came out. Her eyes widened in rage. Useless.

Allen turned to Delain.

"You," he said. "You watched."

Delain flinched. "I—I didn’t do anything—I never touched them—I was just a child—"

"You were sixteen when you asked for a collared foxkin maid to brush your hair while she was bleeding between the legs."

Her mouth fell open.

Allen stepped closer.

"You never touched them? No. But you watched. You called them dirty. You whispered they deserved it."

Delain shook her head violently. "I didn’t mean it—I didn’t understand—please—"

Allen’s voice was ice. "You will now."

He gestured.

"Strip her."

Delain’s scream shattered the tension as the guards grabbed her. Her pale pink dress was torn away in long, fluttering strips, revealing smooth, trembling skin and soft, untouched curves. Her nipples stiffened from the cold. Her thighs glistened from anxious sweat. Her cunt was bare and twitching, the lips pink and helpless.

She was dragged to the stone floor and pinned on her knees, arms bound behind her back, mouth open in shock.

Then came the oxkin girl, coal stick in hand.

She knelt and wrote in large, slow letters across Delain’s lower belly:

CUM EATER

Delain sobbed. "Please... please not that... please change it—"

"You were raised on silver platters and foxkin suffering," Allen said. "Now you’ll be fed like the whores you created."

Allen motioned.

Soldiers stepped forward.

But not beastkin.

Her own mother’s men. House Vehlin’s elite guard—once sworn to protect Lady Anastasia and her bloodline. Now re-sworn to Allen. Free of their oaths. Hungry.

They approached Delain with hard cocks already drawn. One grabbed her hair. The other shoved his thick shaft against her lips.

She shook her head.

"Open," the soldier growled.

She didn’t.

So they forced her.

Her mouth was pried open with fingers and a cold metal ring, locking her jaw wide. The first soldier drove into her throat in one brutal thrust.

She gagged, choked, thrashed—and her mother screamed in silence, mouth still sealed by Allen’s magic.

Another guard took her from behind, forcing his cock into her pussy with no pause, no hesitation. Her body jolted forward with the impact, mouth plunging deeper onto the cock choking her.

Allen stood tall over Anastasia.

"You see what your legacy tastes like?" he whispered. "You called them beasts. Now they breed your blood like livestock."

Delain was used without mercy. Her mouth overflowed. Cum splashed across her tongue, her chin, her chest. She vomited, swallowed, sobbed—but the fucking didn’t stop.

They turned her. Shoved her onto her back.

One squatted over her face. Another took her cunt again. Her thighs kicked weakly, arms still bound. The black letters on her belly—CUM EATER—shined beneath dripping seed.

One by one, they used her. Mouth. Pussy. Ass. Again. Again. Again.

They filled her.

When she collapsed, limp and twitching, Allen raised the jar.

He scraped the excess cum off her face with his gloved fingers. Caught the drips from her cunt. The seed soaking her chest.

He walked to Anastasia, still mute.

And poured the contents onto her face.

She writhed in fury. In shame. In defeat.

Then the guards grabbed her.

Her gown was torn from her like it had never belonged. She fought hard, her arms strong, but the magic kept her mute. She was dragged to a low altar stone, bent over, her ass raised.

Allen didn’t touch her.

But her men did.

They spit on her. Spread her wide.

And they fucked her.

Her own soldiers—beastkin men she’d knighted, rewarded, trusted. They rammed into her cunt and ass like she was a common broodmare. One forced himself into her mouth once the spell lifted—and her scream of horror turned into gurgles of forced silence.

Allen stood above them both.

Mother and daughter.

One limp and leaking, branded CUM EATER.

The other bound and bred by the very house she ruled.

"This is your family legacy," Allen said. "No titles. No gold. No purity."

Only shame.

He gestured.

"Hang them."

Delain and Anastasia were raised side by side, arms limp, legs spread. One dripping cum from every hole. The other twitching, her cunt gaping as her own knight came one last time inside her.

The candles above Thalira flickered.

Allen turned back to the doors.

"Next."