Page 24 of Warlord’s Prize

This biological betrayal erodes the boundaries between captivity and consent in ways that threaten my core identity more effectively than any physical restraint ever could. Each day, the line between what I want and what my body demands blurs further, until I'm no longer certain where omega biology ends and my true self begins.

* * *

The full extent of my body's betrayal becomes undeniable when Kazuul's clan leaders arrive for a seasonal gathering.

The massive meeting hall fills with oni leaders from throughout the territory, their varied colorations creating a sea of crimson, orange, and burgundy flesh marked with distinctive black tribal patterns. Despite their differences in horn structure and specific markings, they share the same predatory golden eyes that track every movement with unnerving intensity. The air grows thick with alpha pheromones, a potent cocktail that makes my head swim and my omega senses heighten to painful clarity.

I'm seated beside Kazuul on a raised platform, my smaller form dwarfed by the massive throne-like chair built for his proportions. The silken garment I wear offers the illusion of coverage while strategically revealing enough to display my claimed status. The fabric slides against my sensitized skin with each movement, a constant reminder of my exposed position.

The discussions focus on territorial expansions, resource allocations, and military positioning—all topics I've contributed to in recent weeks. My strategic suggestions have been implemented throughout the territory, the results visible in the improved production numbers the clan leaders report with evident satisfaction. Maps spread across massive stone tables show patrol routes I redesigned, agricultural zones I restructured, supply chains I optimized.

I should feel pride in these accomplishments. Instead, I feel hollow, each success strengthening the system that holds me captive.

When the formal meetings conclude, the gathering shifts to something more ceremonial. Food and fermented beverages flow freely as oni warriors share tales of conquest and display battle trophies. The scent of roasted meat and spices fills the air, mingling with the musk of so many alphas in one space. The combination makes my stomach clench with anxiety and unwanted arousal simultaneously.

"The Warlord's claimed omega has proved an unexpected asset," one clan leader comments, his single broken horn marking him as a veteran of many challenges. His golden eyes assess me with newfound interest. "The territory flourishes under your combined guidance."

Kazuul's massive hand settles possessively on my thigh, his claws pricking gently against my skin in warning. "Her mind serves as effectively as her body," he states with pride that makes my skin crawl and flush simultaneously.

"A demonstration perhaps?" suggests another leader, his orange skin marked with particularly elaborate scarification that wraps around his muscled forearms and up his neck. "We hear rumors of the Bloodcrest vibration's effectiveness, but few have witnessed it personally."

My stomach drops as I understand what they're suggesting. Public claiming—not as punishment or ceremony, but as entertainment and demonstration of Kazuul's control. Heat rushes to my face as I realize what's about to happen, what they want to watch.

I expect Kazuul to refuse. The claiming bed is one area where he's kept our interactions private since the initial claiming ceremony. But his grip on my thigh tightens slightly, his claws leaving tiny indentations in my flesh.

"Why not?" he agrees, golden eyes finding mine with a look that permits no refusal. "It would please me to show how perfectly she responds."

Before I can process what's happening, I'm guided to a ceremonial platform in the center of the hall. The gathered oni leaders form a circle around us, their massive forms creating a wall of muscle and hide that permits no escape. The scent of their collective interest—musky, primal, hungry—fills my nostrils. I know I should feel humiliation, outrage, the burning desire to fight—but as Kazuul's scent surrounds me, my body begins its treacherous response without waiting for my mind's permission.

He positions me on all fours, the pose deliberately reminiscent of traditional omega presentation posture. The silken garment is pushed aside rather than removed completely, framing rather than concealing what's about to happen. The cool air hits my exposed skin, raising goosebumps despite the heat flooding my core.

"Observe," Kazuul rumbles to his audience as he mounts me from behind, his massive body casting me in shadow. "How perfectly she accepts what was once too large for her human form."

The massive head of his cock presses against me, and to my mortification, I'm already slick and ready. His entry causes no pain, only a burning stretch that feels like coming home. My body yields around him, inner walls rippling in welcome as he seats himself fully inside me. The visible bulge in my abdomen marks his presence, a clear demonstration of his claim on me.

The gathered oni rumble their approval, some making appreciative comments about my adaptation, others speculating on breeding potential. I should be furious, should be fighting with every ounce of my being. Instead, I feel myself pushing back against him, seeking deeper penetration, my body performing for the audience without my conscious command.

When the vibrating nodule makes contact with my clit, all pretense of resistance evaporates. The pleasure hits with such intensity that I cry out, the sound echoing through the suddenly quiet hall. Every nerve ending ignites simultaneously, sending sparks racing along my spine and outward to my fingertips. Wave after wave builds as he establishes a rhythm designed specifically to showcase my responsiveness, each thrust precisely calibrated to demonstrate his complete control over my physical reactions.

"See how she comes apart for me," Kazuul announces proudly as the first orgasm crashes through me, my body convulsing visibly around his massive length.

The second climax follows quickly after, then a third, each one wringing sounds from my throat I never imagined making in public. Through tear-blurred vision, I see the approving nods of oni leaders, hear their murmured comments about "proper omega training" and "remarkable adaptation." One leader leans forward for a better view of where Kazuul's cock disappears into my body, the bulge it creates as it reshapes me from the inside.

Yet these sting less than the realization that my body is enthusiastically participating in its own display. This is no longer forced claiming—my omega biology embraces Kazuul's possession with eager enthusiasm, craving his knot with an intensity that overrides any remaining dignity. My back arches, pushing my breasts forward and my hips higher, the perfect presenting posture I once scorned as submission now instinctive.

When his knot finally swells, locking us together before his assembled clan, I experience a final, shattering orgasm that tears the last fragments of my independent self-image to pieces. A scream rips from my throat as pleasure whites out my vision, my inner walls clamping down around his expanding knot in rhythmic pulses I can't control. I am undone, remade, transformed by pleasure I cannot reject.

And the worst part? Some deep, primal part of me loves it—glories in being claimed so thoroughly, so publicly, before these powerful alphas. The omega instincts I've suppressed for years sing with satisfaction at being properly claimed, properly filled. The thought is so foreign, so contrary to everything I once believed about myself, that tears stream down my face even as aftershocks of pleasure continue to ripple through me.

* * *

Two weeks after the clan gathering, I sit nervously on an examination table as an oni healer passes specialized instruments over my abdomen. The strange devices glow with symbols I can't read, emitting soft hums and occasional pulses of warmth against my skin. Kazuul stands nearby, his massive frame unusually still as he awaits the results we both suspect.

The healer, a female oni with unusual pale red skin and smaller, curved horns, finally steps back with a confirming nod.

"The breeding was successful," she announces, her voice carrying a musical quality unlike the male oni. "Pregnancy is confirmed."

Something shifts in Kazuul's expression—a softening I've never seen before, a subtle change in the set of his massive jaw, the gleam of his golden eyes. His massive hand reaches out to rest against my still-flat abdomen with surprising gentleness. The heat of his palm seeps through my thin garment, warming the place where our child grows.

---