**Roswaaline's Awakening**

The mansion's bedroom was shrouded in twilight, illuminated only by candles that cast dancing shadows on the dark wooden walls. Roswaaline lay face down on the bed, her long cyan hair spread like a cloak over the silk sheets. The magical markings on her body—now transformed into golden patterns that followed the curves of her newly wide hips—shone softly.

"P-please..." She moaned as my hands gripped her wrists, pressing them against the mattress. Her body trembled as my fingers explored the tribal markings that ran down her spine, ending just above her fleshy buttocks. "I... I still don't understand how—"

*CRACK.*

The slap echoed like thunder, leaving the skin of her left buttock red and vibrant. Roswaaline screamed, arching her back obscenely, her heavy breasts swaying freely.

"You talk too much," I murmured, wrapping her hair around my fist and pulling until her head tilted back, exposing her sweaty neck. "A toy doesn't *ask*. A toy *obeys*."

She gasped as my other hand slid between her legs, finding what I had recreated—wet, swollen, and *so* sensitive that just a touch made her abdominal muscles contract.

"*Nngh—!* M-mercury... in conjunction... *aah!*" Her fingers dug into the sheets as two fingers entered her unceremoniously, curving to find that spot that made her see stars. The magic she had once mastered now leaked from her lips in truncated, useless phrases—as if her archmage brain was still trying to process the overdose of pleasure.

Emilia watched from a corner, slowly masturbating as she watched. "She's so *beautiful* when she's dismounted," he whispered, licking his lips. "I want to see her cry."

I complied. With a swift movement, I turned Roswaaline around and buried my member in her throat, gripping the back of her neck tightly. Her eyes widened, tearing up, but she didn't resist—she just swallowed, her tongue enveloping me as if in prayer.

*CRACK.* Another slap, this time on her cheek, making her blush. "Gag and I'll stop."

She shook her head frantically, trying to say *no* even with her mouth full.

That's when Rem entered, carrying a wooden staff carved with runes. "Master," she bowed, offering it. "For... adjustments."

I smiled. Roswaaline looked at the object, her heterochromatic eyes dilating in pure terror—and *excitement*. Her body was already betraying her, her fluids running down her thighs.

"You like magic, don't you?" I pushed her back, spreading her legs. "Let's see you conjure *this*."

When the tip of the staff entered her, Roswaaline *howled*, her body arching like a bow. The runes glowed, channeling mana directly into her nerves, transforming every inch of penetration into pure electricity.

Elsa, kneeling beside me, couldn't resist—she buried her teeth in Roswaaline's neck while frantically masturbating. "Blood *and* moans," she laughed against the scarred skin. "Perfect."

And then, as Roswaaline lost her voice from screaming, Beatrice appeared in the doorway, her doll under her arm. "Looks like *someone* is being polite," she murmured, sensing

The sound of carved wood against damp flesh echoed in the room as Roswaaline writhed, her body heaving between undone sheets. The runic wand pulsed within her, channeling mana directly into her nervous system—each rune lit like a beacon of pleasurable torment. Her legs trembled, the muscles of her thighs contracting involuntarily as the carved tip found places not even her centuries of wisdom had known.

"I—*it seems*—" She gasped, her clenched fingers scratching the velvet of the canopy, "*—that my knowledge of binding magic... nngh!... was incomplete!*"

Beatrice watched from the threshold, her golden eyes wide as she pressed the doll against her chest. "A disgrace to the library, really," she murmured, biting her lower lip as she watched a drop of sweat trickle down Roswaaline's torso, disappearing into the curve of her breasts. "But... *educational*."

Rem couldn't resist—she climbed onto the bed and buried her teeth in Roswaaline's left nipple, making her scream as her blue hands squeezed her other breast until it was red. "M-Mistress Beatrice should... *ah!*... c-join," she moaned between bites, her tongue tracing circles on the scarred skin. "Her magic... could... *distort* her even more..."

That's when Elsa acted. With one fluid movement, she impaled Roswaaline on her own staff, forcing it deeper until the wooden handle rubbed against her swollen clitoris. "Hum a spell now, *archmage*," she growled, gripping her hips tightly enough to leave bruises. "Show this pet *beast* how a *true* sorceress moans."

Roswaaline tried—her lips trembled, trying to form incantations, but all that came out were broken syllables and saliva. When Beatrice finally approached, her small hands glowing with sealing magic, Roswaaline's body contorted like a bow, every muscle tensed to the ****.

"Isolation," Beatrice whispered, pressing her palms against Roswaaline's sweaty belly. The spell exploded in golden runes, enveloping her internal organs in a web of pure energy—transforming every inch of penetration into a cell of inescapable pleasure.

Roswaaline screamed, her eyes rolling back as the orgasm hit her like a tide—violent, relentless, eternal. Her body shuddered like a puppet, fluids gushing onto the staff, her thighs, Rem's eager hands that were now frantically masturbating her.

I leaned into her ear, pulling at her hair until I felt the bones in her neck creak. "This," I murmured as she convulsed, "is real magic."

When I finally released her, Roswaaline collapsed like a rag doll, her body still throbbing with the remnants of the spell. Her lips moved silently, forming only two words:

*"...more... sir..."*

And so, under the eager gaze of her new harem sisters, Roswaaline L Mathers—once the most dangerous man in the kingdom—had learned her first lesson:

*No gospel* had ever prepared her for this.