NTR: Stealing wives in Another World
Chapter 83: I won’t touch you

Chapter 83: I won’t touch you

Elira didn’t even get the chance to catch her breath after all the shit talking.

CRACK.

Fina’s open palm lit across her cheek like lightning, snapping her head to the side with a wet, brutal sound.

"You’ve got spine, I’ll give you that," Fina hissed, her claws twitching. "Saying that kind of shit right here, in front of me... in front of them."

She gestured to the besastkins in the room—the battered, proud, punished, obedient—and to the broken elder fox still panting on the floor like a heat-drunk animal.

Elira flinched.

But she didn’t apologize.

CRACK.

Another slap. Harder. This time her lip split, a line of red blossoming across her mouth. She wobbled, her grip on Allen’s leg slipping as she let out a gasp of pain.

Fina raised her hand again, eyes blazing with fury.

But Allen’s voice sliced through the room like a guillotine made of silk.

"That’s enough."

Fina stopped.

Her chest heaved. Her tail flicked hard once, then twice, like it was trying to beat the rage out of her spine. But she stepped back, obeying without question.

Allen turned back to Elira, who was now crumpled on her knees, cheek swelling, eyes wide but still burning with that quiet, hateful fire.

He knelt in front of her, tilting her chin up once again—gentle. Almost affectionate.

His smile was calm.

Too calm.

The kind of calm that made stomachs twist.

"I’m not going to fuck you," Allen said quietly. "Not now. Not ever."

Elira blinked, confused at first—then almost relieved.

He chuckled softly.

"Oh no. Don’t misunderstand," he went on, voice dipping like honey over blades. "You’re still going to learn your place. You’ll still be broken down. But not through the pleasure you think you want. Not through the training your fellow maids will be getting by my girls."

He paused.

"And they were lucky."

Elira’s heart pounded. She didn’t dare move.

Allen leaned closer, his breath brushing her bruised lips.

"You think beastkin are beneath you," he whispered. "So I’ll put you beneath them."

He stood, letting her slump back to the floor like garbage being dropped.

"Strip," he said simply. "Slow. Show us how much shame a disgrace like you can really wear."

Fina crossed her arms, watching with narrowed eyes.

Behind her, Rinni was giggling again, the carrot now buried fully inside Nyra, who was moaning softly through her stretched, leaking hole. Lira stayed down, tongue still licking pitiful circles on the stone floor.

And Elira?

She hesitated.

Just for a second.

And then her trembling hands went to her dress.

Her trembling hands reached for her dress.

But Allen’s voice cut in, quiet and cold.

"Stop."

Elira froze like her spine had turned to ice.

Allen wasn’t even looking at her.

His attention was on Lady Rhelgar, fingers slowly gliding through her silver hair. The once-regal noblewoman was kneeling at his side like furniture, her face lowered, breath shallow, skin flushed with shame and something darker.

He stroked her scalp like a man petting his favorite prize.

"I don’t want to see your body," Allen said, his tone sharp silk. "Not in front of me."

Elira blinked, stunned.

Then Allen finally turned to her, and pointed—not at her, but past her.

To the row of foxkin elders watching from their seats. Yoru. Jass. Fenlo. Deol.

Ancient, poised, and silent as stone. Every one of them had the eyes of predators who’d stopped pretending to be civilized long ago.

Allen smiled thinly.

"Do it in front of them."

His voice dropped, each word dipped in venomous velvet.

"Strip in front of the beastkin you hate so much... and the ones your master crawled to when they needed slaves."

Rhelgar whimpered faintly at his side, but didn’t move. Allen didn’t stop petting her. If anything, he slowed it down—thumb brushing along her ear, tracing lazy circles behind it like he was comforting a lapdog.

Elira looked like the ground had just fallen out from under her.

Her mouth opened. Closed. No sound came out.

Yoru raised one brow, almost amused.

Jass leaned forward, grinning like a jackal sniffing rot.

Fenlo yawned.

Deol said nothing—but his gaze was hungry.

"Go on," Allen said, still stroking Rhelgar’s head. "Let them see how far you’ve fallen."

Fina snorted. "She wanted to act like she was better than us. Now she can undress like a whore at auction."

Elira swallowed hard.

Then, slowly, trembling, she turned—away from Allen, away from Rhelgar—and faced the elders.

Every part of her body screamed not to move. But her hands still rose, grasping at her dress.

And began to pull.

Not for herself.

Not for Allen.

But for the four beastkin she once spat on with every breath she took.

And now stood stripped before.

The dress slipped past Elira’s shoulders, baring pale skin that flushed darker with every inch revealed. She pulled it down over her chest, slowly, painfully—until her breasts spilled free, full and soft, jiggling slightly as she shivered under their gazes.

And the room shifted.

Yoru’s nostrils flared.

Jass made a low, appreciative hum and adjusted his seat.

Fenlo let out a dry chuckle, the kind old men make when remembering things they shouldn’t.

And Deol’s eyes darkened, hand twitching slightly on the armrest like it was just itching to reach.

Elira stood there, frozen, bare to the waist—humiliated and helpless under the weight of their stares.

And just as Jass leaned forward, claws subtly extending toward her thigh—

SNAP.

The sound was crisp. Loud. A single, deliberate snap of Allen’s fingers.

All four elders flinched.

Allen didn’t raise his voice.

He didn’t need to.

"Did I say you could touch her?"

The temperature in the room dropped like a stone in water.

Allen’s eyes were steel, his tone flat—cold fury dressed in silk. One hand still lovingly buried in Lady Rhelgar’s hair as if this was all just part of some long, luxurious grooming ritual.

"If any of you wrinkled fucks so much as breathe too close to her," he said softly, "I’ll explode your balls where you sit."

There was no sarcasm in his voice.

No threat.

Just a promise, delivered with the same calm he might use to discuss the weather.

Fenlo coughed, trying to disguise a twitch in his eye. Deol immediately leaned back. Even Jass slowly retracted his hand, lips tightening into something less smug.

Yoru just chuckled—but he didn’t move again either.

Elira, still half-naked and trembling, blinked in confusion.

Allen looked back to her like she was furniture again.

"Keep going," he said. "Nice and slow. Let them ache. But don’t flatter yourself—none of them are allowed to touch what they’re not worthy of."

Behind him, Rhelgar nuzzled deeper into his hand, sighing like a drugged pet. Her former maid stood on trembling legs, caught in the middle of this silent storm—stripping for monsters she used to scorn, watched by the man now holding the leash of her entire world.

And the elders?

They said nothing.

But their eyes stayed locked on her.

Hungry.

Frustrated.

Powerless.

Exactly the way Allen wanted them.