Chapter 18: The Throne's New Decoration
The gilded silence of the throne room felt different now. It was no longer the anticipatory hush before a storm, but the deep, settled quiet after one. A year of murmured lullabies, of milky scents, of small, warm weights in our arms had softened the sharp edges of the realm. The obsidian throne beneath me was cool, its serpentine coils a familiar embrace. My body, though… my body felt like a question.
I looked at my hands resting on the arms of the throne. They were the same hands, but the body they were attached to had been a vessel, a portal. It had stretched and swollen, had split open with life, had healed with a preternatural swiftness that left no mark. Now, it was simply… mine again. But “simply” felt inadequate.
Ellie shifted on her smaller throne to my right, the velvet of her gown whispering. “Do you ever just… look?” she asked, her voice soft in the cavernous space.
“Constantly,” Nancy answered from where she leaned against Mary’s seat. She wasn’t looking at herself, but at us. “You’re all so beautiful. More than before, even. But it’s like seeing a finished sculpture and wondering if the clay could have been shaped just… more.”
Mary’s finger traced the shifting carved face on her armrest. “The physiological recalibration post-partum was one hundred percent efficient. All baseline functions restored to optimal fertile parameters. The hyper-elasticity, the accelerated healing—it’s all preserved.” She paused, her scientific tone faltering into something quieter. “But ‘optimal’ is a variable. It can be redefined.”
I knew what she meant. We all did. The memory of the tentacle creature wasn’t just a memory; it was a blueprint inscribed in our nerves. The feeling of being opened to the hilt, of being filled beyond reason, of our wombs accepting a flood not meant for conception but for pure, obscene saturation. Our bodies had been made for breeding, but after experiencing that, “made” felt like a starting point.
“Are we seductive enough?” I heard myself say. The words hung in the incense-thick air. It wasn’t a question of vanity. It was a strategic inquiry, an engineering problem. This kingdom responded to power, and our power was inextricably linked to this form, to this unbearable, aching allure.
Ellie stood, flowing from her throne with a dancer’s grace. She let the robe slide from her shoulders, pooling at her feet. The light from the high, stained-glass windows fell on her: the full, heavy curves of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips. A masterpiece. “I feel like a goddess,” she said, running her hands over her stomach. “But I remember what it felt like when the minotaur took me. When the creature breached my cervix. My body was made for that. So why wouldn’t I make it… better at it?”
“Better how?” Nancy asked, her eyes wide, drinking in her mother.
“Tighter,” I said flatly. The word was crude and perfect. “A vice grip. A silken fist that milks every drop and begs for more. Not just tight, but forever tight. No matter how many times we’re fucked, no matter how many children we drop, it snaps back. A perfect, hungry cunt that never loosens, only accepts.”
Mary nodded, her mind clearly racing. “Modification of the pelvic floor musculature at a metaphysical level. Permanent tonic contraction, adjustable only by conscious will for childbirth. It’s possible. The seed the creature left in us… it altered our gestational timelines. It proves our substrate is malleable.”
“And inside,” Nancy breathed, stepping forward, her artist’s mind envisioning it. “The womb shouldn’t be a chamber. It should be an altar. The cervix… it should be a welcoming gate, not a barrier. Softened, eager. An easy, slick passage for any seed that’s strong enough to get that deep.”
“Hyper-fertility isn’t just about accepting seed,” I continued, the vision coalescing. “It’s about craving it. It’s about the womb clamping down on a cock, pulling it deeper, sucking the cum straight out of it. It’s about making every fertilized egg cling, about making our bodies not just fertile, but ravenous for pregnancy.”
Ellie shuddered, a flush spreading from her chest to her cheeks. “Yes. That. To feel so open, so easy, that any claim becomes a child. For our pleasure and their purpose to be the same thing.” She looked at me, her eyes gleaming. “What about the rest? The outside?”
I rose, joining her in the patch of light. “We take it to the limit. The point just before absurdity.” I cupped my own breasts, lifting their weight. “Fuller. Heavier. Nipples that are constantly begging to be bitten, to be sucked. Hips that can’t be ignored. A curve to the spine that pushes the ass out, that presents us even when we’re standing still.” I turned to Mary. “Can we do it?”
Mary closed her eyes. I could see her accessing something, the inherent succubus power that lay beneath our skin, the one that had transformed us initially. It was a tool, a workshop. “We don’t need a spell. We need a consensus. A shared desire. The power is in our blood, in our bones. We shape it by will.”
We formed a circle then, on the dais, naked and serious. Not a ritual, but a collaboration. A redesign.
“Focus,” I whispered. “Not on what we are. On what we want to be. On the feeling.”
The air prickled. It started as a warmth in my core, a familiar throb, but it wasn’t arousal this time. It was alteration. I felt the internal architecture of my cunt shift first. The muscles, already strong, rewoven themselves into a denser, springier tapestry. I clenched experimentally, and the squeeze was so intense, so viscerally tight, it stole my breath. It was a pristine, virginal grip that promised devastating friction.
Then deeper. The tight ring of my cervix, the memory of it being stretched by the tentacle creature, softened. It didn’t become weak; it became inviting. A plush, wet ring that would yield to persistent pressure with a gasp of relief, guiding seed home.
My womb itself seemed to sigh, the lining growing richer, warmer, a sticky, welcoming bed.
The external changes followed in a wave of gentle, bone-deep heat. My breasts grew heavier, fuller, the areolas darkening, the nipples hardening into perpetually erect, sensitive peaks. My hips widened a fraction more, giving my waist a more pronounced curve. My ass rounded, the cheeks becoming fuller, softer, a more blatant invitation. Every movement would now have a deliberate, sensual sway.
I opened my eyes. The others were gasping, their hands roaming their new topography. Ellie’s hair seemed brighter, her lips fuller. Nancy’s curls cascaded over shoulders that now curved into breathtaking fullness. Mary’s practical sharpness was now wrapped in a layer of devastating, lush femininity. We were… more. The essence of us amplified, focused into a weapon and a vessel of pure seduction and purpose.
Nancy looked down at herself, then at us, and let out a breathless laugh. “God. We look… we look like we’re built for sin.”
“We are,” I said, my voice low with a newfound, velvety promise. I clenched internally again, savoring the fierce, greedy tightness of my own body. It was a forever-kind of tight. A challenge and a paradise.
Mary met my gaze, her analytical eyes now holding a dark, knowing thrill. “The modifications are stable. Self-sustaining. Our wombs will now actively recruit and secure any viable zygote. Our cervixes are functionally… courteous. And the vaginal canal pressure…” A slight, uncharacteristic smirk touched her lips. “…will be statistically unprecedented.”
Ellie walked to the edge of the dais, looking out over the empty, watching room. “The Kingdom dreamed us into this shape. Now we’ve dreamed it further. I wonder what it will send to try and fill us now.”
A slow, answering pulse thrummed up from the stones beneath our feet, a deep, harmonic note that vibrated in our newly-tight cores. The Keep had felt our decision. The faces in the carved wood of the lesser thrones seemed to smile, their eyes glinting with reflected light.
The quiet was gone. Replaced by a waiting, hungry silence. And we were ready.