The first loss

Mirage’s laughter slithered through the amphitheatre, sweet as poison and twice as intoxicating. She paced before the storm of portals like a ringmaster choosing her next trick, veils clinging and parting with every step.

“All these glittering little doors,” she cooed, gesturing to the shimmering ovals that wheeled in the air. “So many ways to slip through… but only one leads to the prize. The others?” She clapped, and the boards underfoot echoed like a drumroll. “Every single one leads to someone who just aches to see our knight’s cock.”

The audience howled, the phantom crowd suddenly alive again with lewd hunger:

“Hopefully one’s to my lap!”

“I want the one where he kneels for me!”

“Ten gold says his next portal dumps him in my bath!”

The roar built until it was nearly deafening, catcalls raining like coins on the stage. You felt your cock twitch under the spotlight’s heat, as if straining toward every hungry voice at once.

Mirage poofed in a cloud of glitter, then reappeared as Elara’s mother, the Queen herself. Her hair coiled into a silver coronet, her gown a regal cascade of midnight silk. She lifted her chin, wearing Elara’s exact haughty frown—except her lips curved into a wicked smile. “Imagine,” Mirage purred in the Queen’s voice, “the royal matron herself discovering your little twitching sword.” She blew you a kiss, then popped back into her veiled self, laughing until tears glittered in her galaxy eyes. "Oh yes, she's thought about it, the good knight, bare for her -"

“Stop toying with him,” Elara snapped, voice sharp—but the blush across her cheeks betrayed how the image had hit.

Mirage only twirled, snapping her fingers so the portals spun faster, a whirlpool of impossible choices.

Your group huddled instinctively.

“We can’t just throw him into any of them,” Elara murmured, voice taut with command. “There has to be a method.”

“Method?” Sera smirked, copper hair glowing in the stage-lights. “Pick one and show the goods. It’s not like the portals don’t all want the same thing.”

Elara’s glare cut sideways. “You would gamble with him like he’s a die to be rolled.”

Cassandra chuckled low in her throat, hands tucked into her sleeves. “Mm. The princess does have a point. A pattern, a tell, a trick—games like these always hide them. The real fruit among the false.”

Mirage materialized in their midst, straddling your thigh as though it were her rightful seat. She leaned against you with mock languor, silver hair spilling across your chest. “Ughhh, boring,” she sighed, her hand making lazy circles in the air a finger’s breadth above your leaking cock. “All this talk of strategy, when everyone knows the only fun way forward is to play.”

Her teeth glinted. “And lucky you, I’ve got a mini-game.”

A portal broke free from the wheel, drifting forward until its rim hovered at arm’s reach. The surface shimmered like glass. Mirage stroked it, and the image inside cleared.

A woman appeared.

Lady Evelyne.

Your heart clenched.

She stood before her mirror, fastening the last buckles of her armor. Her chestnut hair tumbled in wild waves down her back, untamed as her spirit. Her hazel eyes glowed with familiar determination, but softer now, touched by private thought. The steel traced her shape like a lover’s hand: strong thighs, sculpted waist, the swell of her breasts pressing faintly against the breastplate.

You had never let yourself stare. Never let yourself dwell. But now—magnified, exposed by magic—you saw her, and your cock throbbed, straining visibly in the spotlight’s beam.

Sera rolls her eyes with a disdainful snort. “Her? She follows you around like a puppy. How tragic.”

Princess Elara arches an eyebrow, her voice cool but cutting. “Jealous, Sera?”

Sera’s fiery glare snaps toward Elara. “Please. Just because I won’t throw myself at him like some **** little squire doesn’t mean—”

Elara steps forward, eyes flashing. “You’ve been drooling over him since the moment we arrived. At least Evelyne has a reason she can't be true to her feelings.”

Sera doesn't back down, "Are we still talking about Evelyne here?"

Elara flushes, her mouth opening to retort—only to snap shut when Mistress Mirage laughs, clapping her hands.

“Girls, girls!” she purrs, magically manifesting between them, her voluptuous body brushing against yours deliberately. “There’s more than enough of Sir Stud to go around...”

A second portal broke loose, glowing violet. Evelyne’s image swirled again—then vanished into the wheel as both portals spun, darting and weaving until even your eyes lost track.

Mirage’s voice dropped to a velvet dare. “Fifty-fifty, sugar. Pick right, and half the false doors vanish. Pick wrong…” She snapped her fingers. Evelyne reappeared, hazel eyes glancing unknowingly at her mirror. “…and you’ll land right in her lap.”

The crowd screamed approval.

You steeled yourself, jaw set, and stepped toward one glowing door. The violet shimmer burned against your skin—then sucked you through.

Cold air slapped you bare.

You stumbled forward and landed hard on flagstones. Evelyne’s quarters. The mirror. The armor.

And Evelyne herself, turning at the noise.

Her hazel eyes went wide, shock freezing her mid-breath. Her gaze dropped—straight to your cock, hard and slick, swinging with the impact.

Her gasp was sharp, helpless. “By the Gods—”

You scrambled, hands flying to cover, but the cursed compulsion flared. Your arms wrenched wide, baring you fully to her stare. Every vein, every twitch, every glisten betrayed you.

Evelyne’s lips parted, trembling. Her breath hitched audibly, hunger naked in her gaze. She whispered again, voice breaking. “By the Gods…”

Poof. Mirage appeared at your shoulder, veils brushing your ribs. She threw one arm around you, the other gesturing grand to Evelyne like a prize unveiled. “Well, well, well!” she crowed, voice booming across invisible speakers. “Ladies, our bonus contestant—Lady Evelyne! A knight herself, a loyal friend… and apparently, a very bad liar about where her eyes wander.”

A glowing card spun above Evelyne’s head in gilded script:

“The Work Wife”

…who wants to take her work home.

The witches howled with laughter, applause rattling the rafters. Evelyne stood rooted, her stare glued to your leaking cock, her composure shattering by the heartbeat.

Mirage leaned into Evelyne, stage-whispering but loud enough for the rafters. “Caught red-handed—or red-faced, at least! Who knew the fiercest knight in the ranks was a blushing little fangirl for our star’s… star?” She gestured straight at your shaft; the witches screamed laughter.

Evelyne’s blush deepened until her whole chest was aflame, but she couldn’t look away. She shook her head once, as if to deny it, but the denial wilted as her hazel eyes dragged hungrily back down.

“By the blush on her cheeks and the drip on his tip—oh, sweet audience, we have chemistry." Mirage says, appearing in poof of spoke, a hand on Evelyne's shoulder, who is so entranced that she doesn't move a muscle. Mirage continues, "Mmm, I could watch this all night… but you’ll just have to tune in next time for the next delicious round of humiliation!”