Page 26 of Warlord’s Prize

The first touch of his tongue sends a jolt through my entire body, like lightning striking directly between my legs. I collapse back against the pillows with a strangled cry. His tongue is nothing like a human's—broader, slightly rougher in texture, and radiating that impossible oni heat that seems to come from within. It sweeps along my folds with deliberate slowness, gathering the slick that forms instantly at his touch.

"Oh god—" I can't even finish the exclamation as he finds my clit, circling it with careful precision. Every muscle in my thighs tenses in response. I've never experienced anything like this—not with the handful of beta males I'd been with before the Conquest, certainly not with Kazuul during our previous encounters.

His massive hands slide beneath my hips, lifting me slightly to adjust the angle. The strength in those fingers could crush my pelvis without effort, yet they cradle me with surprising gentleness. His tongue delves deeper, exploring with meticulous attention that suggests he's cataloging every response, learning what makes me gasp and what makes me moan.

"You taste of sweetness and fertility," he murmurs against me, the vibration of his words creating another layer of sensation that makes me whimper. His hot breath fans across my sensitive flesh, carrying that unique scent of smoke and metal and something primal I can't name. "Your body knows what it carries."

I should hate this. Should fight it. Should maintain at least the pretense of resistance that has defined our encounters until now. Instead, my hands find their way into his hair, fingers sliding between the base of his horns as I arch against his mouth.

He growls in approval, the sound reverberating through my core and sending another flood of slick that he laps up with evident satisfaction. His tongue focuses on my clit now, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention that builds pressure low in my belly with shocking speed. Meanwhile, one massive finger circles my entrance, testing, teasing, before sliding inside with careful restraint that speaks of conscious control I didn't know he possessed.

The dual sensation—his hot tongue on my clit and the thick finger stretching me open—steals my breath. A second finger joins the first, both moving in counterpoint to his tongue's rhythm. The stretch burns slightly, but in a way that only heightens the pleasure building at my center.

"Oh god," I whisper, hands fisting in the furs beneath me. My head thrashes from side to side as I lose control of my responses. My hips move against his face without conscious direction, seeking more pressure, more friction, more of everything he's giving me.

His fingers curl inside me, finding a spot that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. I cry out his name—not "Warlord" or "alpha" but "Kazuul"—the sound tearing from my throat before I can stop it.

He responds by intensifying everything—tongue moving faster, fingers pressing deeper, a third digit joining the others to stretch me wider. The pressure builds beyond anything I've experienced before, a tightening coil of sensation that winds tighter and tighter until I think I might shatter.

When the climax hits, it's different from the overwhelming force of the vibrating nodule—more gradual but somehow deeper, waves of pleasure rippling outward from my core rather than crashing through me all at once. My inner walls clench around his fingers in rhythmic pulses as my back arches off the bed. I'm distantly aware of making sounds I've never heard from my own throat—half-sobs, half-moans that echo off the stone walls.

As the last tremors fade, he rises above me, his massive frame blocking out the light from the ceiling. His face glistens with my arousal, an image so primal and intimate it sends another aftershock of pleasure through me. His golden eyes are nearly black with dilated pupils, his breathing heavy as he positions himself between my thighs.

He enters me with careful attention to my sensitivity, his cock stretching me in the now-familiar burn that my body has learned to accept—and worse, to crave. The ridges along his shaft catch against my sensitive inner walls, sending fresh waves of pleasure through my still-trembling body.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, one massive hand cradling my face with unexpected tenderness. His thumb traces my lower lip, still swollen from biting it during my release.

I hate that the word makes something flutter in my chest—something dangerous that has nothing to do with fear or resistance. Something that feels disturbingly like connection.

* * *

The most significant transformation occurs in our non-sexual interactions. Where before my strategic input was valued but limited to specific projects, Kazuul now includes me in higher-level governance discussions where territorial policy takes shape.

"The western irrigation systems require complete redesign," I explain to a council of oni officials who once viewed me solely as the warlord's breeding vessel.

We're gathered in Kazuul's strategic chamber, a room I've only glimpsed before today. The massive stone table dominating the center is carved from a single slab of blood-red rock, its surface covered with agricultural production charts and water flow diagrams. Six oni administrators watch me with expressions ranging from skepticism to curiosity as I trace my finger along the problematic areas.

"Current channels waste nearly forty percent of available resources while creating unnecessary flooding in these sectors," I continue, focusing on the data rather than the intimidating audience. "The engineering is fundamentally flawed, based on pre-Conquest designs that don't account for your increased agricultural scale."

I pause, waiting for the dismissive responses I've come to expect from those who resent my place at this table. Instead, the agricultural administrator—a massive oni with burnt-orange skin and elaborately curved horns—leans forward with genuine interest.

"Your solution?" he prompts, no trace of condescension in his gravelly voice.

I blink in surprise before continuing. "Redirected channels here and here," I indicate on the map, "with collection reservoirs at these junction points. The design would reduce waste by thirty percent while increasing accessible farmland by nearly twelve thousand acres."

The room falls silent as oni officials study my proposal. I can practically hear the calculations running through their minds—increased production, reduced labor requirements, expanded territorial resources.

"The human settlements in these regions would benefit most directly," I add, unable to stop myself from emphasizing this point. "Their productivity would increase substantially with proper water allocation."

Kazuul, who has remained silent throughout my presentation, finally speaks. "Implement these changes," he commands, his deep voice leaving no room for debate. His massive hand settles briefly on my shoulder in a gesture visible to everyone present. Not possessive, as I'd expect, but... appreciative?

This scene repeats in various forms over the following weeks. My recommendations regarding agricultural distribution systems gain implementation across the territory. My suggested patrol adjustments become standard practice. My revisions to resource allocation protocols receive not just approval but enthusiastic adoption.

Each success creates measurable improvements that strengthen Kazuul's position while simultaneously benefiting human settlements under his control. Villages that once faced food shortages now receive regular supplies. Communities struggling with inadequate water access find reliable resources. Labor requirements adjust to more sustainable levels.

This limited agency creates uncomfortable recognition I struggle to reconcile with my resistance background. My captivity is producing tangible benefits for humans beyond simply my own community. The narrative of universal oni oppression I once embraced without question now faces challenge through empirical results my strategic mind cannot ignore.

Some oni territories truly are brutal hellscapes where humans exist as little more than slaves or food sources. But here, under Kazuul's governance—influenced now by my own contributions—something different has emerged. Not freedom, certainly not equality, but a system where human survival and even limited prosperity become possible within the constraints of conquest reality.

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