Without another word, Rykard stepped away from the examination. He had heard as much as he deemed productive, so it was time to confuse everyone in different ways. Observers were back on his tail a moment ter. He did not address them at all. He made it quietly obvious that he was now looking for the murder weapon.

  Reason suggested that it had to be somewhere in these lower areas. If the knight was the culprit and he had used another weapon, then he had to have discarded it somewhere on the property. If he was not, then there was no harm in looking for it anyway.

  He was back in the room with the staircase at a fortuitous time - being when Miyo descended it. Not only did that treat him to the view of his queen smoothly descending the steps in her red dress, it also put a new tool in his hands.

  “Took a moment to clean up,” the redhead said for the crowd, then greeted her Master with a deep kiss. A usual part of their greeting. As the making out grew more heated, the vixen pced a hand on his chest for bance. At that moment, something small and hard was stealthily deposited below his vest.

  Rykard put an arm around Miyo and expined to her what had happened so far. While they exchanged intellectual nothings, he guided her to a corner where he could, for a brief second, use his back to block the view of the people stalking them.

  The object Miyo had passed him was a small vial, filled with a substance that he immediately recognized to be what little blood had been on Tess’ dagger. Gathering it like that was dangerously incriminating - if he got caught.

  Best to get rid of it quickly in the way that Miyo no doubt intended. The two of them exchanged a short gnce, then Miyo suddenly winced. “What’s wrong?” he asked, armed.

  “Oh, just… sickness,” Miyo mented and raised her hand. She cleared her throat, a dy’s way to hide the kind of burp that often preceded vomiting. “Next time, you get pregnant.”

  “Very funny,” Rykard drawled.

  Miyo gave him a weak smile and attempted a joking bow. In the process, she stumbled. She caught herself, but not before her tits almost popped out of her dress. The collective attention of the observers was caught in the orbit of those magnificent mammaries. Men or women, no one could deny the view of the pale cleavage.

  Rykard was quite skilled at catching his women, quite skilled indeed. He could effortlessly do this while letting a few droplets of blood fall from the veil. He sealed it back up and hid it in his sleeve, all in the same motion that helped his oh so helpless, pregnant woman back on her feet.

  “Careful now,” he whispered. “Obliterating a dwarf for hurting you is easy enough. If gravity causes you harm, rending the realm will be more difficult.”

  Miyo hummed and ran a hand over the soft swell of her midriff. “Were it just my body, I may let it happen just to see you try.”

  “Don’t let harm come to my property,” he pyfully growled and squeezed her artfully shaped butt. Then, they continued their search.

  Every now and again, they stopped. Sometimes they enacted a little spiel to distract their followers, other times they just let the angles of the walls do the work at obfuscating them. What was important was that there was no pattern to their behaviour - and a pattern to the pces where Rykard left the blood.

  ‘I am quite brilliant,’ Rykard thought, about an hour ter.

  Someone had, at some point, noticed one of the drops he had left behind. After verifying that it was indeed the blood of the Butler, people had done the predictable and began to trace it. The problem for them was that there was a pattern, but it was deliberately loose. Any one collection of drops could have been the start and end. Some patterns matched with the knight in the closet, others pointed heavily towards the murder weapon being somewhere in the expansive garden.

  Rykard grinned openly, watching two dozen followers of Loran and Benhuldran sift through the underbrush of the expensive flowers. Not smirking would have been more out of character, he reckoned. The search went on for hours and hours, ever wilder theories about the location of the murder instrument getting spun. No one traced it back to him. Out of caution, Rykard sent Miyo back with the now empty vial. She was feeling oh so faint and who would suspect a pregnant woman needing a nap?

  As a matter of fact, everyone needed to sleep eventually. The mystery had started an hour past midnight. Staying up for so long past the usual rhythms was draining, even for superhumans. A few night owls continued to search, but most people, including the Contestants, retreated to their chambers in due time.

  ‘Day 1 successfully maniputed,’ Rykard thought, before falling asleep on Subana’s breasts.

  Shortstacks were natural pillows.

  __________________________________________________________

  CRACK!

  THUD!

  BOOM!

  “Ooooo—-hohohoho!”

  Rykard groaned, as did four out of the five women in the bed with him. For a moment he was confused what he was hearing and why he was hearing it. Gradually, his brain pieced the current situation back together. The isotion spells had been lifted, so sounds entered the room as easily as it left them. As to who was gracing them with thundercps and haughty ughter first thing in the morning, the answer was obvious.

  “...the Thunder of Laughter has arrived…” the voice of the Contestant reverberated through the thick door. Distance dulled her voice, making it only more obvious how loudly she announced herself. The sun had only just begun to rise.

  “Mhm… Master…” Miyo muttered, so tired she was addressing him by title instinctively. “...go take care of the brat…”

  Rykard rubbed the sleep from his eyes. As a great and powerful mage, he could offset the need to sleep for several days if he wanted to. It was not a pleasant experience, so he preferred not to. Magic that totally ignored base bodily functions always came at a price.

  If Rykard’s intuition was right, and it usually was, he had only slept about two hours. His eyes burned, his bones ached, and his muscles refused to lift the bnket. It was only the continued decrations from Maliande that slowly coaxed him out of the warm embrace of bed and his private pillows. Subana and Tess let him go, then followed Miyo’s example: they grabbed an actual pillow and put it over their ears. Altana remained passed out. Evidently she was a deep sleeper.

  Only Punk had energy.

  “We goin’ already?” she asked, shooting out of the bedsheets. The naked Hellcat was on her feet before Rykard was. Was that part of her feline nature or was that just her? Rykard would investigate another time.

  “Maliande is here,” he expined to her, “and she’s just begging for a brat breaking.”

  “...you other Contestants may as well leave now that I am here…” her voice continued to reverberate through the wood.

  “Well, I gotta see this!” Punk decred.

  Rykard yawned, sitting on the edge of the bed, and made an offhanded gesture. One of his haremettes tagging along or not fit him just fine. He put a finger to his temple and jolted himself with Manipution magic. Suddenly, he felt awake. He wasn’t actually awake, none of the physical reality had changed, he was just swindling himself into believing he was. The downside of this was that he would colpse from exhaustion if he did it for too long. The advantage was that, when he wanted to go back to sleep, he could just shut it down and he would immediately be tired again. For short stints, this was preferable to both coffee and Restoration based methods.

  With artificial energy, he rose from the bed and stretched. All the little aches of undersleeping were still there, but ignorable. “Alright, let’s give her a noise compint,” Rykard stated.

  “Naked?” Punk asked, with a hint of approval.

  “Yes,” Rykard answered, then advanced towards the door. Now that he was actually in motion, the urgency of the situation became apparent. If anyone stepped up to compin to Maliande first, that would mess with his brat breaking opportunity.

  Punk was swiftly behind him, giggling like the excited, nubile woman that she was. After Rykard had ripped open the door, she quickly attached herself to his arm. Her demonic tail curved mischievously, mirroring the broad smile on her face.

  Much as Rykard adored that face, his attention had to shift to what was in front of him. “And with my appearance all shall be aligned!” Maliande made one more decration, before noticing that she was getting approached. “Finally someone is here to acknowledge that the one true Contestant has arrived!”

  Maliande turned to Rykard with all of the smugness he expected of her. The lightning evoker had gone through a bit of a wardrobe upgrade. As before, she primarily wore purple cloth, decorated with eastern designs of gold. Draped over her shoulders was a multi-yered robe, brimming with mystic power. Long, wide sleeves id lights on her arms. One of them had fallen down to the elbow, the left hand raised haughtily to her lips. Open at the front, the long robe revealed a bodysuit underneath that clung tightly to her curves. Straps and cords of gold ran criss-cross over the purple fabric, snugly clinging to her midriff. The alluring line that went from sternum to navel was pinly visible. Her small breasts were as emphasized as their size allowed. Her thick thighs were naked, proudly put on dispy.

  There was nothing about Maliande that knew modesty. She was a smug, short, show-off of a woman. Blunt bangs and sidelocks framed an adorable face set into a haughty expression of superiority. Her long hair had been braided in such a way that it settled over her right shoulder.

  “Now that the Thunder of Laughter has arrived, you can bow before your better now, peasa-” Maliande stopped suddenly when she crossed eyes with Rykard. The haughtiness on her face first frozen, then her gaze dashed downwards. Her purple eyes roamed over the king’s naked form like an overexcited ant. It even dashed to the Hellcat for a few solid seconds, before returning to Rykard, his half-hard cock, up his abs and back to his face.

  By now, her haughtiness had been completely repced with a heavy blush.

  “W-w-w-why are you naked?!” she stammered. “Wear clothes, you brute!”

  Rykard had nothing to say to her, not immediately. A correction was in order first of all and change should always start within. Granted, Rykard believed a helping hand was needed here as well. Brats required… guidance.

  A simple gesture let Punk know to separate from him. The Hellcat was breathing audibly. It had been just a few days, but she should have seen and experienced enough by now to know that her Master always delivered. Before Rykard had even taken a step, Punk’s fingers were rubbing her swelling pussy lips.

  “Back away!” Maliande demanded and raised a hand. She had lost the channelling staff, which was a sign of development. Electricity arced between her fingers. He continued to approach, his face a mask of stern disappointment. She gulped. She gnced over her shoulder, as if to make sure no wall was there. When her eyes were back to the front, Rykard had folded the remaining space between them. “EEeeeep!”

  With a cry, Maliande stumbled back. She tripped over her own feet and fell. Rykard grabbed her by the shoulder and arm, letting her down at a harmless pace. Once he had her on the ground, he turned her over. There was less resistance to the demand of his hands than she tried to make believe.

  “Unhand me, you arrogant, horrid monstrosity! T-take those firm hands off my maidenly skin!” Maidenly skin she did indeed have. On her hands and knees, the brat was a fantastic sight. Her robe had ridden up, revealing her round ass in all of its juicy plumpness. A peach bottom on a pear shape, reflecting the early morning light on smooth, pink skin. “W-who do you think you are?!”

  She stared gred over her shoulder and kept on yapping. Rykard ignored her, squatted down behind her rear, and raised his hand. Her eyes opened wide. In the pretty vender, he could see memories surfacing. When they had fought before, he had done a simir thing. Back then, she had wound down after he had smacked a bit of discipline into her.

  “SIR!” she yelled out when his palm made first contact with her ass. A single smack, that was all it took for her to shout out the title she had conceded to him. Rykard much preferred Master, but he could work with this one. “Si—-” She stopped herself on the second smack.

  Rykard wished to correct her, to tell her to keep decring that singur word. He opted to stay dark and brooding instead. Intimidation was worth more when brat breaking, particurly the mysterious kind. His hands kept coming down on her cheeks.

  Overabundant flesh rippled. Maliande tensed up after every impact, cutting the jiggles a bit short. No matter how tense she got, though, the fatness of her ass and thighs was too much to stay still. Her teeth were clenched now. A tiny part of Maliande still clung to her pride, preventing her from just screaming out.

  What she truly thought about the growing redness of her derrière was written all over the rest of her face. The corner of her pink lips curled into a smile. The blush was deep and the pretty shade of lustful pink, rather than an angry or shy red. Her eyes had rolled up, barely still focusing on Rykard. Every time he spanked her, the moan got stuck in her throat - quiet, but not inaudible.

  The tight fabric of her bodysuit really left nothing to the imagination, least of all the swollen mons. A pronounced cameltoe outlined the shape of her pussy as if the cloth had been molded to the shape. The fabric was lewd beyond that, allowing her love juices to soak into it and then drip through as if it wasn't even there.

  On a whim, Rykard dragged two fingers over Maliande’s cunt. The brat tilted her head back and moaned like a bitch in heat. The direct stimution was too much for her. A brush over her clit was all it took for her arms to give in. Her upper body colpsed to the marble floor, while her pussy visibly twitched under the clingy fabric. Shoulders and toes followed suit, visual extensions of the audible orgasm she had in the middle of the hallway. After four drawn out moans, she managed to get enough control over herself to clench her teeth shut again.

  Rykard followed it all while licking the juices off his fingers. Surprisingly, she had a faint taste of plum. ‘Quite pleasant,’ he thought.

  Rykard got up and took a look around. Somehow, no one had come out during all of that. Even the sharp smacks of palm against butt had been quieter than the brat’s bravado, so he had to assume everyone else managed to ignore it. The people still looking around evidently decided this was not on their priority list either.

  In any case, Rykard had enough of being out in the open. “Follow,” he told Maliande and Punk.

  “Yes, Master!” the Hellcat was quick to agree.

  “Y-you’re not the boss of me…Sir…” Maliande started with renewed willpower, only to colpse into blushing uncertainty when he gave her a disappointed leer. “W-where do y-you want to go?”

  “That’s for me to know and you to find out,” he told her harshly. “Now, follow - no.” He put his naked sole on her shoulder when she started to get up. Maliande gulped heavily, his erect cock quite close to her face. “You do not have walking privileges. Good girls like Punk get them.”

  “Hehe, I’m a good girl,” the well-behaved submissive boasted melodically.

  “Now, follow.” Rykard scanned the doors along the hallway. After a quick scanning spell, he worked out which apartment wasn’t currently occupied. It just so happened that the one right next to his was empty.

  He went inside. The furniture was the same as the room they were staying in. He headed straight for the couch and sat down. A come hither gesture to both submissives beckoned them to get close. Punk was allowed to sit down next to him. Maliande crawled up to his legs.

  “Why am I even doing this?” the smug woman muttered to herself. After her orgasm, she had gotten some of her attitude back.

  ‘She must have really needed that one,’ Rykard thought with a wide smile. “Because you are a brat that yearns to be broken,” he told her.

  “Urgh, shut up with that nonsense!” she shot back and began to get up again.

  Rykard’s expression turned thunderous. Maybe it was the suppressed sleep deprivation, but he was in a short-tempered mood. A simple sweep of his leg topped Maliande over when she was halfway on her feet. She fell on the fluffy carpet. Before she could get what had happened, Rykard was on top of her.

  A short wrestling followed, one that he won effortlessly. Whatever bits of her haughty attitude she had recovered were no match to his dominant instincts. All he had to do was get her wrists and pin them above her head. Once he stared down at her, she suddenly fell completely quiet and still, like a bunny in shock and heat. Once he had her hands pinned with one hand, he put the other on her throat for good measure.

  “Listen and listen carefully, brat,” he whispered intently to her, to the backdrop of Punk masturbating. In this situation, the lustful tones added to what he wanted to achieve. “You’ve been a very bad girl. Everyone is tired. I have a pregnant wife in my room, two potentially, and you’re keeping both of them from resting as they should. Almost as bad is that you think you are above me.”

  Maliande was squirming underneath him, but not in an attempt to escape. She seemed uncomfortable in a way that aroused her. His fingers squeezed her neck a little harder. A deep moan vibrated within her throat.

  “Now, I will remind you: I know exactly what you want. You want a Master, one that tells you no and shoves you in your pce. Your pce, right now, is to be quiet, understand?” No reaction, it seemed she was waiting for him to take his hand off her throat. “Nod, brat!”

  Maliande nodded quickly. Then, Rykard took his hand of her windpipe. Maliande inhaled deeply. Fresh air filled her lungs a bit too quickly. She coughed when something got in the wrong tube. After a bit, she recovered.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?” he asked, demandingly.

  “I’m sorry, Sir, it won’t happen again, Sir,” she answered. She was still blushing, still a bit embarrassed, but beyond that she was clearly turned on past the point of pretension. When he had left her, he had done so after giving her a taste of what being made to submit felt like. Every panting breath of hers was proof that she had stewed in that knowledge in the months since.

  “It will,” he told her. “That’s what makes brats so charming.” Rykard gently touched her cheek. A little bit of a carrot, before he would put the ‘breaking’ to the brat. “I’m giving you a choice now. Either I do what I want or you leave this room.”

  He released her wrists at that moment and backed away. Having options confused Maliande. The usual reaction and, truthfully, Rykard had given them to her knowing that she was too turned on to make a choice. Another one of the many aspects of the art of the dom: to put a submissive in a situation where she would always make the choice he wanted her to.

  For all of the bravado a brat had, in Rykard’s experience, there was no other type of submissive that was as pliable once turned on. A switch got flipped and all of that resistance that was put on colpsed into a bck hole of desire.

  After a few seconds, Maliande reached out to Rykard’s hand and gently tugged. “Do what you want, Sir.”

  Rykard grinned. Punk climaxed. Watching her Master so effortlessly put another Contestant in her pce must have been quite the turn-on. She said as much once she started to calm down. “Oh fuck, I love this life I got dragged into,” the Hellcat moaned.

  “Good, because you’ll be my assistant for this next part,” Rykard told her with a grin.

  In one swift motion, Rykard tossed Maliande over his shoulder. For good measure, he gave the brat’s rear another smack. “Sir!” she cried out instinctively. A habit she probably had given herself. How much masturbating had she done while thinking of a situation like this? A question for when she was lucid again.

  Brats typically regained their attitude with some downtime. Rykard could have given her that downtime by either leaving her alone for a bit or cuddling with her while he got his needed shut-eye. The third path of not letting her recover at all while he slept was considerably more entertaining to him. It also served to give Maliande a taste of what she was in for if she submitted to him in full.

  Rykard entered his apartment, surrounded by a silencing spell. The women in the bed did not notice when he got closer. Before he could reach them, he turned towards the bathroom door. “Grab some of the pillows and the rope,” he instructed Punk.

  “Your will be done,” she answered cheekily. Despite her tone, she moved with the utmost haste and had what he had asked for before he had reached the bathtub.

  One of the bathtubs, to be more exact. The massive, harem-worthy tub that filled out a whole corner of the room was too much for what he had in mind. A smaller, white one, practical for a single person, was what he needed.

  He made sure the faucets were all tightly shut, before giving his next instruction. “Throw the pillows in there,” he told Punk. The white cushions filled the bathtub to about half height and would make for a pleasant bedding. Maliande was quickly tossed on top of them.

  The broken brat had only gotten hornier. All of the fantasies of being taken advantage of that doubtlessly bounced around inside her head became manifest. Her clothes, expensive fabrics enchanted to an impressive degree, were torn from her body like any other rags that were in the way of Rykard’s desires.

  Now naked, Maliande followed the scene with depraved eyes. Her mouth was wide open, every breath leaving her audibly. Her tongue lolled out, inviting Rykard to take advantage of it. He did not.

  “Rope,” Rykard extended his hand. It was pced in his hand without him looking. “Help her bend her legs. I want her feet above her head.”

  “Ohhhhh, yessssssss,” Punk hissed, while Maliande moaned.

  Her fat thighs looked even better once she was folded. Swollen mons stood out as a third, smaller mound between the round rises of her ass cheeks. Utterly drenched, Maliande’s lower lips were begging to be fucked even more than her mouth did. “Sir,” she whined needily.

  Rykard left her in that state and wrapped the rope around her wrists and ankles. After a few minutes of intricate bondage-work, he had her extremities tied together and secured to the curtain rail. He made sure to use knots that would gradually loosen as pressure was put on them. The most important parts would remain in pce, but he wanted her to have enough sck to get a bit more rexed over time.

  Being a mage of considerable power, compared to anyone but Rykard, Maliande would be able to free herself at any point if she really needed to.

  Rykard grabbed the st tool himself. A dildo that had been left on a bathroom counter after usage the previous day. One of several toys that they had taken from Cecilia’s workshop. It was vaguely phallic, a bit on the smooth side, purple with a white bottom part in which the mana battery was stored. Rykard pushed a spark of his power inside and the toy began to buzz.

  “AH! SIIIIIIRRRRRRRR!” Maliande cried out when she felt the dildo push against her cunt. Easing it into her was a slow process. Not only did Rykard enjoy it too much to hurry along, Maliande was also climaxing repeatedly as he did so. Ultimately, he stopped with the toy most of the way inside her. A binding spell assured it would remain in that position for a couple of hours - unless Maliande removed it first.

  Rykard could be cruel, but he did not fashion himself a cruel dom. At any point, Maliande would be able to wind her way out of this. Whether she had or not, he would find out once he woke up.

  “Be a good girl and wait for me,” he gave her a final word of encouragement.

  Gssy, purple eyes focused him. She was drooling, bound, sweaty with excitement and overflowing with love juices. She was the very image of the phrase ‘broken brat’ and it was glorious. “Yessshhh, shhhiirrrrr…” she slurred.

  An approving smile on his lips, Rykard then turned away. He didn’t even bother putting a silencing spell up. If moans woke up members of his harem, they just hadn’t been members of his harem long enough.

  “You have an easy time waking up and falling asleep?” Rykard asked, once they were back in the main room.

  “It’s a Hellcat thing… also growing up in a giant disco.”

  That was what Rykard had suspected. “Do me the favour and check on her every now and again. Give her water if she needs it.”

  “Roger that,” Punk readily agreed.

  With all of that lined up, Rykard yawned. He gradually loosened the Manipution spell and allowed his sleepiness to come back to him. When he crawled into the bed, he was sluggish. When he nestled between Altana and Tess, he was barely conscious. When he pced his head on Subana’s pillowy chest, he was right out.