Page 23 of Warlord’s Prize

"You'll never try to escape me again," he growls, not a question but a statement of fact. "Say it."

"Never," I gasp between sobs of pleasure. "Never escape. Yours, alpha. Always yours."

"Come for me, omega," he commands, voice rumbling through me like thunder.

The orgasm hits with such overwhelming intensity that my vision goes white. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me, inner walls convulsing around his massive length in rhythmic pulses that seem endless. I scream until my voice breaks, the release I've been denied for so long proving too much for conscious thought to withstand.

Just as the first orgasm begins to ebb, his knot begins to swell, stretching me further in a burning fullness that triggers a second climax even more powerful than the first. The dual sensation—his knot locking inside me while the vibrating nodule continues its relentless stimulation—proves too much. Consciousness slips away entirely, my mind unable to process pleasure of such magnitude.

I come back to awareness slowly, feeling strangely hollow yet still full. Kazuul remains inside me, his knot locked firmly in place, ensuring his seed stays where he's placed it. My thighs are sticky with slick, muscles trembling with aftershocks of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

His massive hand splays possessively across my abdomen, the heat of his palm burning against my skin.

"Next escape attempt will result in consequences for your community rather than merely yourself," he informs me, voice deceptively gentle despite the threat. "Consider that in your future calculations."

The words hit harder than any physical punishment could. My body I can risk—but Haven Valley? The people who depend on me? I can't gamble with their safety.

As I lie there, still joined to him by biology and circumstance, the most disturbing realization settles over me. This punishment revealed a vulnerability my strategic mind failed to calculate adequately—my growing physical addiction to the pleasure his unique anatomy provides.

My body's dependency on his vibrating nodule has become a control mechanism as effective as any physical restraint. The proof lies in my begging, in my surrender, in my calling him alpha in a moment of desperation.

He doesn't need chains to keep me captive. He has something far more effective—my own treacherous body, rewired to crave what only he can provide.

I close my eyes against sudden tears, refusing to let him see this final defeat. But I know with cold certainty that my failed escape has cost me more than just freedom. It's revealed the true extent of my captivity—one that exists within my own flesh.

CHAPTER10

BODY'S BETRAYAL

My failed escapeattempt set new boundaries around my cage—invisible walls more effective than iron bars could ever be. The threat to Haven Valley hangs over me like a sword, ready to drop if I step out of line again. I have no choice but to adapt.

Days blend together in a rhythm I never wanted but can't escape. Mornings begin with claiming—Kazuul's massive body overwhelming mine, his scent filling my lungs, his touch activating responses I can't control. Afternoons find me at strategy tables, my mind put to use solving problems for the very system I once fought against. My body and brain both serving Kazuul's purposes rather than my own.

The split makes my head hurt sometimes—like I'm two different people trapped in one skin. The strategic advisor who finds genuine satisfaction in solving territorial problems versus the claimed omega whose body responds to her alpha's commands. The dichotomy creates a constant buzz of confusion in my brain, a static I can't tune out.

"You look troubled," Vora observes one morning as we sit in the omega garden. The spring sunlight catches the intricate scarification patterns on her arms, making the silvery lines seem to shift and move with each subtle change in her posture. A breeze carries the scent of blooming flowers, a cruel contrast to the heaviness in my chest.

"I'm fine," I lie automatically, the words falling flat between us.

Her knowing look cuts through my pretense. "The body adapts before the mind accepts. This is always the way."

I want to deny it, but the evidence betrays me daily.

Physical changes have manifested despite my resistance. My body has adapted to accommodate Kazuul's massive size—what once felt like tearing pain now registers as intense fullness, sometimes even pleasure. The stretch that made me scream in agony during that first public claiming now sends sparks of electricity racing up my spine. Nerve endings have literally reconfigured themselves, transforming violation into satisfaction through thousands of repetitions.

Most disturbing is how I've become responsive to his specific scent and presence. When he enters a room, my body reacts regardless of what my brain wants—nipples tightening against fabric, pulse accelerating with a visible flutter at my throat, slick gathering between my thighs in pavlovian reaction. It's like my internal chemistry has shifted to complement his particular pheromone profile, a lock reshaped to fit a specific key.

"It's just biology," I tell myself each time it happens. But the excuse grows thinner with each passing day.

The worst part—the truly humiliating part—is how my body now craves the vibrating nodule's stimulation. Sometimes I wake from dreams of it, thighs already slick and ready, a hollow emptiness aching inside me that my own fingers can't satisfy. The intensity of pleasure it provides has become its own form of addiction, one I can't seem to break no matter how hard I try. Nothing in my human experience prepared me for the sensation—no toy, no lover, no fantasy comes close to the overwhelming, mind-shattering pleasure that the vibrating nodule delivers directly to nerve endings I never knew existed.

Kazuul knows exactly what he's done to me. He exploits this dependency with calculated precision, sometimes withholding the vibration as discipline for minor infractions, other times using it as reward for compliance with his expectations.

"Your report lacked detail," he'll say, claiming me without engaging the vibration, leaving me frustrated and aching despite physical fullness.

Or: "Your suggestion saved considerable resources," followed by extended vibration that sends me spiraling into multiple orgasms so intense they leave me speechless, my body convulsing around him long after the initial peak has passed.

The strategy proves devastatingly effective. I find my behavior unconsciously adjusting to secure regular access to pleasure my body now requires like food or water. I work harder on reports, offer more comprehensive analyses, speak more respectfully during meetings—all to ensure my reward later.

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